Nefretiri vs. Mistress Beatrix - A Rough Start

[BlackAkuma]

Just the right amount of jiggle, just the right amount of thrust. Beatrice was careful not to push too hard and far - she wasn’t looking to have any nipslips or wardrobe malfunctions. But other than that, it was all fair game, as she gave the audience a view that more than a few of them greatly appreciated.

And there was that voice in her ear again, making her shiver and shudder. There was no ignoring it at this point, she was starting to grow extremely accustomed to that sensation. Nefretiri had this deep, lustful voice, the kind that would’ve been perfect for ASMR, the sort of sound that tickled the fine hairs in your ear and simply made you want to melt under it. She did the best she could to stay in control, to stay focused, but even she had her limits - a moan slipped out, one that wasn’t in any way indicative of pain and was so much the opposite.

She clamped her mouth shut, bit it back, kept it from getting any worse than. Eyes on the prize.

It was a good thing, then, that Nefretiri gave her something else to occupy her headspace, as the woman abruptly popped off her hat, leaving her sweaty blonde hair to fall free. She couldn't tell what the woman did with it for this angle, but judging by the crowd’s reaction, she could hazard a healthy guess that it was currently riding on a new, prettier skull. ”Hey! Hey, give that back!” She let out a weak, mewling roar of frustration and furiously shook her head about, thrashing beneath the taller woman in impotent rage.

Her cries came to an end, however, when Nefretiri’s arm came down on her throat - or appeared, too, anyway. It was close, she could feel the power within that limb, the potential for damage, the heat of the muscle beneath the skin, but the pressure never came. It was an almost tender hold, more of a cuddle than anything, like a lover holding her tight in the morning…not that she would know what that was like, but how she imagined it would be.

She sold it like death, of course. Pulling at the arm, writhing about, gagging, eyes desperately shifting about as she fought for every single wisp of air she could get. Her body undulated against Nefretiri’s like a trapped serpent, grinding, skin against skin.

She had to be careful, though, as the referee kneeled close and looked her way with intense interest - Beatrice knew she needed to look desperate, but not so desperate that the official would call off the match for her safety. That would be like ending a movie right before the third act, utterly unthinkable.

[CyanDimitrik]

That sound. That unmistakable sound. Throaty, primal, automatic, pouring from the blonde's lips. By this point, Nefretiri had the very strong suspicion that Mistress Beatrix was enjoying this. And she would be a hypocrite if she claimed she wasn't at least a little bit enjoying it, herself. The girl trapped and 'suffering' in the hold is attractive - big eyes, tight body, submissive to her, fair hair and flawless skin...

The Egyptian adjusts herself a little, causing her hips to grind a little tighter against her backside. The arm flexes again with a little squirm, as if emphasizing the pressure of the hold and giving her 'opponent' a chance to react more. But really, it was just buying time so the full focus wasn't strictly on Beatrix; she didn't want her to have all the pressure of getting the severity of her dire situation across. The free hand holding the girl's stomach presses in just a little firmer - more than strictly necessary, driven more by the impulse to feel her body stretched backwards in this way.

"Ask her!," she shouts to the referee.

"D-do you submit!?," sputters the referee-girl, darting her gaze between Nefretiri's callous glare and what she can see of Beatrix's face from this angle. "Tap out if you can't speak!"

Nefretiri's knees press into the mat as she lifts herself a little. The arch would appear more dramatic, as if going for a more extreme, torturous burst of pain on her captive for several seconds. But in reality? Her lifting her weight gives Beatrix more slack in the hold, given she's not actually constricting her throat. Her back arches, pushing her hips against her lower back - just enough for some pressure, to feel her waist between her legs a little more...

...and then everything is released! The arm unhooks, the hand pulls away, and the Egyptian's arms raise, allowing Beatrix to most likely fall forward.

[BlackAkuma]

Beatrice noticed the fine details during their little dance, and in so many ways, it was a dance. She wasn’t exactly an expert at choreography, but she had taken a couple of classes in school, enough to get a feel for what worked and what didn't, and to know how it was supposed to work. Improvisation was a big part of it, and it was always a wonderful thing when two people just clicked. She was taken back to a lovely experience with a partner who knew all the right moves and was always where she wanted them to be…

It was much the same, now. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here; this was certainly not what she’d pictured when she came through the curtains, but somehow? She felt this was the best outcome she could’ve asked for out of the night.

A strange thing to say while someone was choking you out in front of a capacity crowd, but here she was.

”No!” She cried out, weak but defiant, as the referee asked her once again, stretching out her face to the point of pain as she did. Even now, though, she could feel the slack that Nefretiri was giving her, far more than you could’ve ever hoped for with this move. More freedom meant more safety, more ways to protect herself, and it gave her a good idea of what was coming next.

Sure enough, Nefretiri let her go, and she fell forward onto the canvas. She created most of the momentum herself, slamming her hands into the canvas. Her face hit, too, but a split second later, enough that nobody could tell the difference, especially with her freed hair in the way.

The crowd ate it up, though. Even Morrigan, only a few away, reacted. ”Shit, Bea. You alright in there?”

Beatrice just raised her hand for a weak thumbs up, before she let it flop back down.

[CyanDimitrik]

Everything seemed to be going well for Nefretiri. And for Beatrix, to be honest. The both of them, playing to their role. The Egyptian has no way of knowing if this is a natural fit for the blonde, but it's definitely a natural fit for her. The most effort she's having to put into this is the active decision-making to hold back, to give more slack, to not hurt her. The forcefulness, the aggression, the arrogance - all of that comes entirely too natural. And hearing Beatrix's ally on the side call in to check on her is so delectable.

The little raised thumb earns a pursing of her lips, unsure how to really handle that. Should she punish it? Pretend to not see it? ..No, she definitely saw it. Should she play into it? Make her 'work' to keep in the match? Or...

Her brows raise with realization. Of course the solution is simple, even impulsive. She would give Beatrix a chance to not only indicate she's hanging in there, but to prove it. There is no need to complicate the situation or try anything elaborate here, not after the submission hold she'd just put her through. And on her part, it reveals just the right amount of confidence and disdain.

In a single smooth motion, she dismounts Beatrix's backside to reposition at her ribs. One hand sets to her thigh, the other to her shoulder to roll her over onto her back. Her head tilts to give the blonde a direct look, silhouetted against the harsh overhead lights. But that purloined hat would be distinct against her otherwise smooth and predictable form, whether she would be able to make out her features or not.

Nefretiri pauses long enough to pluck the hat off her head, and with a careless flick, she tosses it to the ring's perimeter - specifically in Morrigan's direction. Even if the ropes catch it, it'll be within easy reach.

Without another moment's delay, the sorceress lowers herself upon Beatrix's body. Her muscled midsection settles across the blonde's stomach, rendering the two into a plus-shaped position. Her left forearm braces against the mat, keeping her chest and head raised to peer out over the audience. Her right hand reaches between her legs, deliberately sliding her palm across the smooth skin of her inner-thigh before hooking the knee into the air and far to the side to accommodate the position.

As the referee drops next to Beatrix's head on hands and knees, Nefretiri cocks her head to look back at her, hoping to catch her gaze. And if she does, there's a subtle dip of her head, a nod, an attempt to wordlessly communicate her desire to kick out of this pin as well. Though in the process, her back dips inwards to press her stomach tighter into Beatrix's, her toes digging into the mat.

"ONE!," the referee calls as she slaps the mat.

[BlackAkuma]

She might not have shown it well, but Beatrice knew Morrigan probably didn’t like her much. She could be a little dense about that sort of thing, true, but the big Irishwoman wasn’t exactly subtle about it, looking at her with the kind of disdain you’d usually save for an annoying puppy that ran up on you out of nowhere. If it wasn’t for Sabine, she probably wouldn’t have been anywhere near this match.

Hearing that concern in her voice, small as it was, gave Beatrice heart and told her she must’ve been on the right track, a good way to gauge how well she was doing.

It seemed to spur on some action from Nefretiri as well, who was quick to change things up once again, flipping Beatrice over like a hotcake and taking her place on top once again. For a moment, she found herself looking up the woman through her bleary, blinking eyes, and she couldn't hold back an audible gasp - the sight of her looking down on her, silhouetted in garish light, was terrifying and beautiful and haunting all at once, and for a startling second, a real part of her wondered if she was the goddess she portrayed herself as. That part didn’t last long, as reason set in quickly after, but it was there.

Nef’s next move was to hurl the hat toward Morrigan, and Beatrice didn’t have time to see if she caught it before the woman moved again. Swinging out, the bigger woman laid across her, stomach to stomach and pressed down, letting her feel a good deal of weight, but not enough to be truly stifling. The slight nod was all the confirmation she needed. Another kickout was coming, but she would have to make this one close than before, needing her perfect timing.

”2…!”

She kept her eyes closed but visualized the referee’s hand, picturing where it was and using experience to guide her. She waited for that crucial moment when it was high in the air, when the referee had just started to gather momentum to bring it down, right then, and-

Bam. Beatrice threw her shoulder up hard at 2.5, earning a cathartic gasp from the audience. Love her or hate her, they didn’t quite seem ready to see this end just yet, and she felt the same.

[CyanDimitrik]

Nefretiri wasn't going to deny to herself that feeling Beatrix's body beneath hers was nice. The girl's trim. Slender. The bodysuit does well, hugging in against her figure and showing off so much. High hips, low-cut upper hem, the gap along the front letting glimpse to the body beneath. She would've preferred more skin against skin contact - it always felt more raw, more meaningful in a pin. But Beatrix was a very welcome sensation beneath her, pressing in just a bit to test the firmness of her midsection against her own.

These thoughts swim in her head as she watches the other girl's face in the pin, the way her eyes rest shut, the way her chest rises and falls. She really is quite pretty, in a diamond-in-the-rough sort of way. Edgy, but not too edgy that it takes away from her soft facial features and natural allure.

The hand strikes the mat the second time. Nefretiri continues watching her. The flex of her muscles beneath her signal the motion before it's ever actualized into movement. Beatrix's shoulder dramatically lifts, right when it should. The audience erupts, some in defiant joy, some thrilled that the brutality will continue. Neither would be disappointed.

But Nefretiri remains pressed across the girl's body for several seconds more, glowering at her, holding her hooked leg in the air.

"Two-count! No fall!," insists the referee.

Nefretiri is visibly ignoring her. Visibly considering what to do next to this upstart, this runt who dared to occupy the ring with her tonight. To challenge her greatness and glory. The leg is suddenly shoved free of the grip, deliberately being forceful with its release. All signs of frustration, after all! Beatrix was supposed to lay there and accept her place, wasn't she?

Her midsection lifts from Beatrix's, and she instead reaches down to grab a fistful of her messy blonde bob near the scalp. There would be no avoiding pain with a hair-pull, but grabbing near the roots allowed more control - and less give. It would be the least painful way to do it. And as she pulls, it's slower, smoother than any yank or jerking motion, allowing her plenty of time to move with the hand, or even lead it. More ways to lessen the pain of being manhandled.

First, she's pulled to a seated position. Then, as Nefretiri stands, so too will Beatrix be dragged up to her feet before her. And it conveniently lets them stand close.

"I'm about to give you a signature move," she murmurs. "Tighten your stomach again. Body shots. Then the signature."

Without releasing her hair, Nefretiri raises her right fist... before swinging it in low, aiming to drive three punches into the blonde's belly. After each hit, she pulls Beatrix's hair to straighten her back and leave her stomach 'defenseless' for the next blow to rain in. But each shot is controlled carefully, knuckles just bump into the girl's stomach despite blazing in hard and fast. The third impact sees Nefretiri release the hair fully, allowing her to double over or fall, whichever way she chooses to sell the battering!