Nefretiri vs. Mistress Beatrix - A Rough Start

[BlackAkuma]

All of the sudden, Beatrice found herself wishing she’d opted for a skimpier outfit.

She should’ve looked harder on Amazon, but finding BDSM themed outfits that were suitable for the ring was a shockingly difficult endeavor. Most of the outfits were either too heavy, too cumbersome, too expensive, or some combination of all there, and she’d eventually have to settle on buying several, cheaper items and just putting them together in a vaguely coherent look.

It worked well enough in practice, but as she laid on top of Nefretiri, she couldn't help but think of the skin contact she was missing, what it would be like to have her bare stomach against the Egyptian’s. To feel their legs minging and thighs touching.

Just the thought was starting to drive her wild and tempt her to do things, foolish things that would likely ruin whatever this good thing they had going was. She couldn't risk that. She needed focus. Steely, iron focus.

Locking in as best as she could, she considered the next move as she reached down, grabbed Nef by the head, and picked her up - even though it was more like Nef was helping herself up and she was just trying to look like it was a strain. The next move was hers, but it couldn't just be any move. She needed a move that would keep her close, that her partner could easily catch, that wasn’t too flashy but wasn’t boring, like…like…

Ah, yeah, that would do.

As soon as they were standing, Beatrice wrapped her arm around Nefretiri in a hug, pulling them close, mashing them together. For a hot moment, they slid into each other like a well-worn glove, eye to eye, hips pressing, the bigger woman’s chest sliding against her neck. Time seemed to freeze, cliche as it was. It was the best way Beatrice could describe it.

Then she rapidly pushed Nefretiri away as she stepped back and kept a hold of the bigger woman’s wrist. Beatrice stretched, moving as far away as she could while they were linked, then abruptly yanked herself in as she swung her free arm around, attempting to nail Nefretiri with a Ripcord Lariat!

…or rather, making it look like she was attempting to it. It was a flashy move, but she was doing it slow enough, with enough wind up, with a loose enough grip that Nefretiri would have no trouble pulling her into her waiting arms.

Those big, strong waiting arms.

[CyanDimitrik]

Nefretiri found it difficult to sell.

Just, in general.

It wasn't that she's a poor actress, or that she couldn't commit to a bit. Her gimmick is an unbelievably elaborate one, after all, and she works it, the crowd, and her opponent to the bone. But pretending to be hurt? Pretending to suffer? Pretending to be weakened? It chafed. It felt frictional. Rubbing against something innate inside of her like sandpaper, grating beneath the skin. She'd never really tried to do it before, even as a ploy or misdirection for an opponent - her conceit wouldn't allow it. And the prospect of trying now was a concerningly uncomfortable one, even though she genuinely did want Beatrix to have her moment.

That is why she wanted her to really hit her. She could take it. All she had to do was be less guarded when receiving the hit.

Now, however, that the pin has been broken, she's suddenly unsure how to act. Instincts are clawing in her mind, wanting to take over and exert that cold defiance. And the moment she stops thinking about it, that's what manifests.

Beatrix takes her by the head, and Nefretiri willingly follows along as tugged. This makes it significantly easier on them both, really! And suddenly, the two are upright, and surprising to the Egyptian, Beatrix opts to lock bodies with her. The two meld together front-to-front, and that's where the illusion has a chance to fail. Nefretiri's head is canted to look the four inches down at Beatrix, which somehow seemed so much more dramatic and emphasized when pressed into one another. Lips rest slightly parted to accommodate heavier breaths, pain still pulsing dully from her midsection. Her gaze is narrowed on the other girl's blues, piercing purples unflinchingly locked on.

The feel of her body against her lasts only a few seconds. It feels like it takes longer, her arms resting more loosely around Beatrix's figure and overlapping her arms. She had felt her body tight against hers similar to this twice before, each time a little more... informative... than the last. Now, she's feeling her on the blonde's terms, upright, standing of her own volition. Everything comes across as a little tighter somehow than when she'd laid upon her for the pin after the Obelisk.

Suddenly, it breaks. Nefretiri is shoved back, which effectively takes her by surprise. Low-key, she'd forgotten what the plan was for a moment there. But the push crashes her awareness to the forefront again, a couple steps taken on her heels with an annoyed grimace. Her arm is taken, Beatrix prepares the ripcord! Bodies whip in again to meet, and-- Nefretiri comes in a little lower, faster than would've been intended! Were there really intention behind it, at least! Stepping into the attack would visibly nullify the swing, her free arm lashing low around the waist, and the captured arm snapping away from her grasp to join it. Both forearms cross against the girl's lower back, and with a surge of motion, the Egyptian lifts to her full height again with Beatrix supported a couple inches off the mat in an embrace!

The goal is simple. Just raise Beatrix enough off her feet that the two are evenly matched against one another, with no need to tilt her head to look her in the eye. And the moment they're in position, it's instantly reminiscent of the first beat of their match, with one exception: Beatrix's arms aren't restrained. But this, too, is on purpose. She can flail, emote, and suffer well with those arms! And more importantly, those arms can rest on or around her as the hold continues. As an embrace. But that's just for Nefretiri's benefit. No need to share that.

The pressure of the hold is tight, a squeeze but not crushing. She's not trying to make it crushing just yet. The first step is to let the audience see them locked together again, hips against hips, thighs brushing thighs, toned stomach against toned stomach, breasts pressed tight to one another, and very nearly face-to-face. She wants the audience to soak in the cruel glare she's giving Beatrix, the look that communicates cleanly how annoyed she is that the girl would dare attempt to pin her down. That she would dare fight back against the natural order.

The girl's arms visibly flex, emphasized with a shifting of her weight and balance into a slightly wider stance. For Beatrix, the increase in pressure is minimal. But she's likely savvy enough to know that this is meant to be the start of a crushing squeeze, pulling her spine inwards and crushing her skinny stomach hard into Nefretiri's abdominals.

"Let it ride," she growls to her. "This is it. Just don't pass out."

The arms visibly ease a little on the pressure, emulating giving Beatrix a chance to catch a strained breath for a couple seconds. And then the pressure 'ramps up' again.

"I don't want that idiot ending the match early..."

[BlackAkuma]

Behind them, the crowd surged all around, and Beatrice frankly didn’t even know what to do with it. It had been a long time since she’d had them on her side to this degree; far more often, they gave her no reaction at all or outright turned against her for some reason. But now, as she stood up to the big, strong, arrogant destroyer, a groundswell of support was building as people concocted a David-and-Goliath story in their heads.

Basically the biggest thing she’d wanted, and she was getting, and it was fake. And the weirdest part of it all? She didn’t even really care. The only opinion that mattered to her much at the moment was that of the woman she was wrestling. The one she was embracing right now, wrapped up tight with like a burrito. She looked down at her with those hypnotic eyes, their sultry allure.

Ugh. She was in trouble.

She knew what was coming, but it still couldn't keep her from gasping as she fell into Nefretiri’s waiting clutches. Her instincts sounded an alarm, warning her of the danger she was willingly heading into, and it took real effort to override them and let it happen. The trap was open, and she stepped right into its waiting jaws.

Beatrice cried out as the hold clamped on, letting out a wail of pure anguish, throwing her head back and letting it shoot into the sky. Her hands flailed, her body jerked about, and her legs wrapped tight around Nefretiri’s waist to pull her in tight, leaving precious little space between them. She pressed her hands against the woman’s arms as they flexed in a vain attempt to create space, only to find raw, unbending muscle beneath the smooth surface.

That was the most incredible thing. Nefretiri could crush her here. She had almost done so at the beginning of the match. Having this power and using such restraint was incredible. She held Beatrice like fine china, like something precious she had to preserve.

She went along with the plan, taking a chance to breath and relax as Nefretiri ‘eased up’, only to cry out again as the hold was relocked. Her sweaty hair whipped about her face as she shook her head, and the referee stayed close, monitoring every movement with an eagle’s eye. ”Beatrix! Beatrix, do you give up!”

”No! No!” She scrunched her face up and threw a few feeble punches at Nefretiri’s arms. The blow would hit about as hard as baby slaps, but that wouldn’t matter - they showed life, they showed fire, and that was enough to keep the audience engaged and the referee from calling the match.

[CyanDimitrik]

What a bizarre bit of theater the night's been. In a way, it's been higher stress than her usual matches. After all, in a usual match she could just go all out, crush the opposition, and finish them off at her leisure. In this match, she was having to be more careful. More deceptive than perhaps she's ever been before. All for the sake of showing lenience to someone who demured for her.

Was it worth it?

Seeing the way Beatrix theatrically suffered for the camera, yes.

She's a pretty thing, Beatrix. She's decided that. Big, pretty eyes, a cute face, tomboyish haircut, and a tight body. No doubt the people out there would have noticed this; and it's no doubt feeding into the frenzied state of the audience. A cute girl like Beatrix, suffering helplessly in Nefretiri's clutches. And now, seemingly trapped and primed for the kill. Ah, it's delectable.

Beatrix's legs wrap around her, pulling their hips tight together. It earns a sudden, subtly sharp inhale through the teeth. And all at once, the tactile awareness of the other girl's body against hers is unavoidable. Every time the blonde breathes, she can feel the shifting flex of her body against her, the swell in her chest. Every squirm and fidget causes their bodies to brush together, and Nefretiri responds by arching her back. It's a visually dramatic way to emphasize the bearhugging submission hold on the girl, focusing the pressure and force between their midsections and hips - while letting Beatrix relax herself against the Egyptian's body.

Her head tips back enough to try to lock eyes with her, narrowing those deep, exotic violets on the bright blues. "Once I'm done.. crushing you in my arms..," she begins, emphasizing the word with a small jostle and flex along the biceps, causing the smoothly rippled muscletone to pop against her bronze skin, "..you're going to be mine..!"

The referee continues to hover close, looking terribly fretful! But as far as injuries go, those tend to not happen with a bearhug! Usually just a knockout! But still, poor Beatrix has been put through so much!

"Submit to me..!," demands the sorceress. Her arms actually tighten around Beatrix's waist! But only marginally, enough to cue that she's ramping up the pressure on her body. And in the process, her face moves closer to Beatrix's, letting her voice lower.

"Enjoy the moment... and lay against me.. when you're ready to be finished off," she instructs between heavy breaths. "Unless you want to submit to me right here..."

[BlackAkuma]

Being this close to another woman reminded Beatrice of how long it had been since she’d had a chance to be, well…’intimate’ with another woman. It wasn’t for lack of trying, mind you. She’d put herself out on dating apps, even had a few hits, went out to clubs and tried to keep an active social life. It was just…how did that one cute brunette put it? She ‘radiated little sister’ energy.

Beatrice wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but it apparently was reason enough for people to avoid intimacy with her. Maybe she was too cute.

But that wasn’t a problem here. Here, she tightened and pressed against Nefretiri’s body, and she felt truly connected to the woman in a way she’d never thought possible. She could feel the Egyptian’s heart beating like Sousa march, thrumming steadily against her chest. Every jolt and jostle ground them together, grinding and pressing and sliding and-

God, Beatrice wanted to kiss this woman so bad. If this went on much longer, she might, and she didn’t even want to know what would happen if she did. The universe might implode.

She chewed one her lip and tried her best to keep the show going on earnest, but she couldn't help but falter when Nef came in and whispered another instruction. It was tempting, too. She had no idea what this woman’s finishing move was, but she had a fair feeling it was something high-impact, destruction, probably Pharaoh-themed. The sort of move she wouldn’t easily dull.

Beatrice could take the easy way out, just lay in, give up. It wasn’t as if she hadn't already gone beyond the call of duty. Nef wouldn’t be mad at her, she was sure.

But she didn’t want to. If she was going to do this story, she was going to give it a proper ending, and the proper way to end a wrestling match was with a finishing.

Beatrice flopped forward, sagged against Nefretiri and put her mouth to the woman’s ear - too close, for a second, before she backed an inch away.

”Do it.” A hot puff came out of her lips. ”I trust you.”

[CyanDimitrik]

It always felt euphoric. That moment the other girl went limp in the ring. Whether beneath her, when she could feel every muscle simultaneously relax under her body, or when clenched in her arms like this. Beatrix sags forward - not sandbagging her, but loose. Surrendered. Giving the audience the signal that her body and mind are done resisting. Letting them know that if she simply dropped forward and laid over the girl, she could keep her pinned for far more than a three-count.

Beatrix was hers. In every way but official.

At least, that's the sensation it gives and the tale her body language tells the cameras. Logically, Nefretiri knows otherwise. The squeeze was tight, but not punishing. If Beatrix happens to... like it rough, for instance, there's a solid chance she'd even be into it. The Egyptian knows she is. But it's the words that steer her clear of that misdirection. And the heated puff of breath against her sweat-glistened skin. It causes her to cinch up just a little more around the blonde's slender waist.

She trusts her.

She trusts her.

That's a new one.

There had to be some level of implied trust throughout their match, but actually hearing someone say it is a bit surreal. She wants her to finish her. That, in itself, is an intensely sexy proposition. The pin to come will be the reward for it. Probably.

The referee has caught sight of the weakening in Beatrix's fighting spirit, and looks absolutely ready to end the match for her sake!

But Nefretiri doesn't allow it. The arms begin to loosen, gradually easing the tension. Her head tips down, briefly enough for her lips the graze the bare skin of her shoulder. But ultimately, she's coaxing Beatrix's legs to relax and for her feet to find their footing again beneath her.

Once they're standing chest-to-chest again, Nefretiri swiftly wraps her arms around her waist the opposite way - and with a quick burst of force, smoothly sweeps the blonde's body upside-down to re-establish the hold. Only inverted now.

Arms locked around Beatrix's waist. The blonde's face directly before Nefretiri's hips, with Beatrix's hips half over Nefretiri's face - mouth and chin pressed between her legs. Toned stomachs squeezed to perky breasts, one to another in symmetry.

The tombstone piledriver position. The prelude to Nefretiri's finisher. And she turns slowly, making sure to show off Beatrix's helpless predicament. To make sure everyone sees who is in charge. That they all know the perky blonde girl is on the precipice of total conquer.

[BlackAkuma]

”Ah.”

Beatrice gasped, a slight puff, as Nefretiri cinched up against her. It wasn’t much, just the slightest twitch, but with the power differential between them, it was impossible to miss. That inch somehow made all the difference, and she tightened her legs around the woman as well, almost possessively. Her muscles tensed. A part of her just wanted to stay like this. It was so nice and comfortable and safe and warm…

But they had a match to finish. And they were so, so close.

She was released, and Beatrice went along with it. It took legitimate willpower for her legs to loosen, but they did at Nefretiri’s silent urging, as she went along wih the unspoken plan, step by step. Down she went, then up again.

Only this time she was upside-down. Beatrice's eyes widened as she realized what was coming, the most dreaded finisher of all: the Tombstone Piledriver. She suspected Nefretiri had another name for it, maybe something sarcophagus-related, but none of that mattered much to her right now.

The crowd was baying, trying to rally around her, trying to rouse her into a last-second escape. Even Morrigan seemed to be animated, waving her way with both hands, though Beatrice couldn't make out her words over the furore. Beatrice tried her best to shut it all out, even her own fears, as she prepared for the inevitable plunge.

She clenched the woman tight, holding onto her legs for dear life, and readied herself, burying her face in Nef’s lap and breathing deep. Just another couple of seconds, and-

[CyanDimitrik]

-hop!

Tangled together, one beautiful body to another, embraced in what is unavoidably a sensual spectacle, the two women pop into the air. Nefretiri's legs tuck beneath herself while her knees shift forward, surrounding Beatrix's head with her thighs.

The rest of the world ceases to exist. There is only the two of them here, together, in this wrestling ring. It's how she always feels when finishing someone off. It's almost a compliment. The victim has her full attention, no distractions - she's fully dedicated to feeling everything. The panicked tightening of their limbs against her, hugging her as if it might lessen the impact. The feel of their voice against her hips or thighs as they scream. The jarring point of impact between their head and the mat, feeling every muscle in their body clench against her. And then the inevitable feeling of their body going limp. All of it, hers to treasure.

How Beatrix comports herself on the descent is her business. But the point of impact this time is very different. Beatrix had been kept at a certain height let herself land primarily along her shins and knees, protectively hiding her head between her legs to avoid scrutiny. The landing will be jarring, to be sure - just not that level. Beatrix will receive only a mild bump on the head, and after which, Nefretiri remains perched. Partly on her face, still holding Beatrix's body tight against herself.

It's a selfish thing, that. It may not be clear to everyone else, but Nefretiri is savoring the moment. Savoring the feel of the blnode's body tucked against hers in this position, feeling her pretty facial features pressing into her lap. But it also gives Beatrix the chance to process what just happened safely before leaning forward to release the girl's waist - to let her drop flat to her back.

From there, Nefretiri rests back on her knees, head cocked with a confident smirk to admire her work. And the girl's body in this new state.

[BlackAkuma]

The waiting was the worst part. Probably worse than the move itself.

It was the worst kind of waiting. The moment before something could go either very well or very poorly, with no variation in between. Beatrice was suspended, trapped in the clutches of a woman she had only just met, and entrusted with a decision that could alter the course of her life. There was a real, palpable chance that this could be the last moment of her career. People had been taken out by less.

But, somehow, that didn’t trouble her, at least not as much as she knew it should’ve. As Nefretiri leaped into the air, Beatrice closed her eyes, held the Egyptian tight, and just…let go.

A bump. Just a bump, right on the head. Not exactly pleasant; it felt like someone had bopped her with a wooden plank, but a far, far cry from the sheer agonizing pain she knew she could and should be feeling. She finally exhaled and waited for the plunge, but it didn’t come, she just held her thigh. Close. Even in this weird position, it was strangely comforting, though Beatrice was glad her face was hidden for now. The blush would’ve given it all away.

After a moment, Beatrice was released and allowed to flop to the canvas, coming down in a lifeless heap, arms splayed, eyes shut, still as the grave save for the steady rise and fall of her chest.

That, and the hand at Nefretiri’s thigh, subtly and softly stroking it.