Beatrice Harper [D] vs Black Severin - Still Waters

[Liesmith]

On Tris’ part, she was having a blast. Suffice to say, there were far worse people to be pressed body against body with than Black Severin.

But, however much she was enjoying their enforced proximity, Tris wasn’t blind to what her opponent was getting up to. She could feel him moving, could guess why he wanted his feet flat.

The problem she had was more what she did about it. If she’d got all her weight on his hips, it’d be different, she could just ride him down. But she didn’t, and letting go of the choke wasn’t exactly going to improve things for Tris here.

And she didn’t have time to think about it, because he was thrusting (focus, girl) and she had to pick her poison right now.

Tris chose. Kept the choke locked down and went with it, staying close and rolling along with Severin.

In an ideal world, she’d roll them right through until she was back on top. But, at the least, Tris meant to avoid ending up under Severin – as much fun as that could be some other time. If she could keep the choke and keep him from any sort of vertical base…

This could still work.

[DSX93]

There.

It didn't go entirely his way, but again, even the side was an improvement. The hand at her elbow kept pushing. And pushing until...Oh, thank God.

Severin was feeling light in the head, with spots floating into his vision. He was right there on the cusp. And his strength had been appropriately sapped; he wasn't out of the hold. But he'd eked out just enough space, relived just enough of that pressure on his throat to be able to breathe again. If Tris had something extra to put into the struggle before he could get more of that delicious, life giving air back into his lungs, though...

Despite the danger, the man couldn't help himself.

"Slow down, girl!" He was just able to squeeze out when he felt he had enough in him to talk. Not quite, but the fact that he could get the words out at all was lifting his spirits. "There's gotta be...Gotta be more you wanna do before you put me to sleep, isn't there?"

[Liesmith]

It turned out this wasn’t an ideal world. Wow, who knew?

Still, while Tris hadn’t got exactly what she wanted – Sevvie back under her – she had managed to avoid getting trapped under him. Even if that would have put him right between her legs again and Tris had yet to be disappointed when she’d got her thighs around a man, it’d also have handed any positional control squarely to Severin.

Not great.

Instead, they’d been left on their sides and Tris wasted no time in trying to tangle his legs with hers, looking to make sure he couldn’t pull that trick again.

Then she could focus back on the choke, where her next problem was already looming – and this was fun. This was so much fun. Sure, Black Severin was doing that thing people often did and substituting strength for technique. But there was enough technique leavening the strength that Tris could feel her pressure on his windpipe lessening.

This, she reflected, is where it’d be nice to be on top.

Still, Tris was happy to fight this one out. She thought she’d lose sooner or later – her meaty arms were deceptively strong but Severin had her beat, no shame in admitting it. Yet each second she had even a partial choke was a little more of his endurance sapped away. Both from the choke and, she guessed, because he was working harder to fight it than she was to keep it.

That he was able to talk though, that she didn’t like. Talking meant he felt he had enough air to burn. Still, if he felt she’d fall for that old gag, more fool him.

“Oh, I dunno,” Tris hummed, more focused on keeping her hand tight around her bicep than the banter, “Maybe I’m the kind of girl who likes it quick and dirty…”

He wasn’t exactly wrong, of course. Not that she was about to admit it.

“Maybe I like it when a guy can’t handle me…”

[DSX93]

As oxygen-deprived as he may have been, Severin wasn't so deluded as to expect mercy from this woman. But maybe a few extra moments to figure out his next move. And lo and behold, it got her talking. He hadn't made his way out of the woods just yet, though, as those powerful, sagacious legs of hers were quick to remind him.

He made another push. The objective? Get on top. But he knew that staying on the mat with her was a straight slope to...well, it wouldn't be Hell, but...Yeah.

"Sorry to disappoint you, lovely, but..." He began, grunting with his effort, not knowing if he would actually be able to rightfully finish that sentence. It took everything he had to pull back. Onto his knees, bringing her along for the ride. Still struggling to keep his windpipe safe from any harassment. Though getting that much made the effort a tiny bit easier.

Though the multitasking was taxing, applying a chokehold of its own, damn near. His masked face was one of pure struggle. Gritted teeth. Veins in the forehead. Sweat dripping down his brow to form a nice sheen.

One foot. Lifted, then set flat on the mat. "I think...You migh...Might find anoma..."

One more push. That's the second foot down. With her legs tangled with his, the mat would almost catch them again.

No.

"An anomaly in me!"

Impulse and maybe a little bit of desperation. Okay, more than a little bit. Those are what drove his next steps. One step. Two. Three. Four. The crowd's excitement picking up as he charged towards the corner...

[Liesmith]

To be clear, Tris had picked up a lot of stuff by doing rather than learning. But she had also done more than a little genuine training in submission wrestling. It was something she genuinely enjoyed, not sexually but because so often it was like cracking a code. Solving a riddle.

But one of the things that had been drilled into her over and over and over again was that technique trumped strength more than ninety percent of the time.

Black Severin was proving exceptional in that regard, just like he’d said (gasped). Scylla’d bet happily that her ground game beat his. But he was stronger than her. Just so much stronger that, even with her active resistance, he managed to roll them over. Now she was on her back – just not for long.

In a move that made those icy blue eyes pop wide open, Severin fought to his knees. Then to his feet, carrying her all the way until he was standing. Bent over, wavering – but still bloody standing!

Part of her genuinely wanted to applaud him. Sure, she’d seen him do something similar to Arlise Christiaens. But he’d been fresh, she’d been seated – that redhead hadn’t spent long seconds choking him halfway to sleep. This… Wow.

Of course, the other part – still impressed – was mostly just thinking about putting him right back down again.

It also left her in a bit of a bind and, as she took stook, he stumbled into motion. Slowly at first but picking up momentum rapidly until-

“Agh!”

Tris’ back slammed into the turnbuckle pad with a dull thud, the redhead echoing it with a sharp cry of pain. Instinctively, she arced, threw her head back with her eyes momentarily closing as the impact sent a jolt dancing up and down her spine. It hurt. Hurt in a way that the Brit grappler was unaccustomed to – she’d be slammed on her back before, but here the force was entirely focused across a much smaller area.

It was just pain though. And pain? Pain she could handle.

Breathing sharply, Scylla snapped her gaze back to Severin, a sensual snarl baring her teeth and peeling back her dark lips.

“Think you can handle me?” She whispered with no little amusement, then leant in to snare her opponent’s mouth with her own, kissing him with an almost vicious passion.

All the while, she went to redouble her efforts to secure her choke. Her legs came up to drape around his waist, letting her brace herself on his hips, forcing him to fully carry her weight now.

She could almost taste the desperation on his lips (and, no, she wasn’t going to say it). Just a little more, just a little tighter.

[DSX93]

That did it. Her legs were circled loosely around thigh level now. The next move was obvious: Take a step back. Get the fuck away from those legs. Play a defensive game until he got his air back.

The problem? His legs needed a breather. The things were starting to fill with lead. Yeah, he could move them, but they probably weren't going to carry him as far as he needed them too. And even if they could...Severin didn't want to take the risk of falling again.

So all he could do for now was lean into the corner. Into the very person responsible for his current state. At least he was on his feet; things were going to go right back to sucking in the next few moments. Those thighs we're gonna come right back up and...Yeah. At least he's not on the mat.

Ironically enough, this was acting as something of a recharge for him. Just biology doing its thing. Being body to body like this; his sculpted pecs all squeezed up against her very ample buxom, forehead resting against forehead, the two of them feeling the other's every breath, his dangerous attraction tented against her...

Speaking of dangerous attraction...Jesus. Those eyes. Severin locked in more on those than he did on her lips, as delectable as they were. The heat inside of them was so intense, it was palpable. Hypnotizing, almost.

But not so much that he was about to start listening to the submissive urges that were welling up inside of him again. Consider his last name to be

for the rest of the night.

But ever the daredevil, he chuckled in the face of her challenge. But before he could say anything slick...Ooh. He may have been fighting urges, but he wasn't fighting that kiss. The exact opposite, meeting her fervor with his own. Legs came up. One hand stayed on the small of her back, the other trailing a smooth northern path along her thigh, circling around at the hip to rest on that killer derriere of hers, pulling her as close to him as was humanly possible. Primal instincts moved his hips, driving him firmly into her. Just once, the lascivious contact flooding his mind with near-blinding sensation and pulling a pleasured, yet tantalized moan straight from his throat to be muffled against the luscious lips that were sealed against his own.

In the heat of that moment, he couldn't decide what was worse: The fact that they had clothes on, or the crushing agony he was bracing himself for.