Nefretiri vs. Mistress Beatrix - A Rough Start

[BlackAkuma]

Beatrice could safely say she had never felt happier to lose in her entire life. It was an odd thing, to take pride in losing well, and yet here she was. As she laid there in stillness and the crowd jeered and cried, she was content with the story she’d told and even more content with the one she’d told it with. She was also 100% sure she was happier with this result than she would’ve been if it had gone the other way.

But it was over. Now, all that was left was the count. Nef had no more surprises for her.

Or so she’d thought.

Beatrice was proven different when she felt the woman moving over her body, crawling over her like a praying cat. While they’d both become intimately close with the way the other felt, this was different than anything else on the mat. It was purposeful and intensely erotic, an act of dominance that wouldn’t have registered much if she had been as dazed as she was pretending to be, but drove her wild, now.

Her body tensed up, muscles hardened, and she fought hard to keep her focus as the woman pulled her leg up and went for the pin. Just three seconds, just three seconds…

”1…!”

The referee seemed reluctant to bring that hand down, but it came down all the same, slapping next to Beatrice’s head. She tried her best not to flinch and keep her focus, even as the woman lay across her body like a blanket, filling her senses with her intense aroma, her thighs around her head, her chest sliding across her stomach. That warmth, that power, that touch- it was all so, so much, and she couldn't keep a lustful moan from slipping through her body, one that the crowd's clamor thankfully devoured.

”2…!”

[CyanDimitrik]

Nefretiri settles into the pin with that sublime combination of elegance and dominance. Every point of contact wasn't just felt, it was poured into. Her hips pressed snug into the other girl's chest, forcing her breasts to mash beneath the pressure - and letting herself feel every curve and contour. The thin barrier of Beatrix's bodysuit mostly separates the Egyptian's warm skin from hers along the midsection, but she can feel that involuntary jerk of muscle beneath her. Her face remains pointed at the cameras, coolly staring wjth every confidence under the moon that her prey has been felled- while subtly squeezing the captive thigh in embrace.

Thoughts of sliding back dance through her mind, of paddling the base of her hips against Beatrix's cute face. The thrumming sensation of the moan spurs those thoughts are little louder. Just to settle right there, to roll her hips the way she wants while pinning her...

The slaps of the second pin count brings her back to reality. Nefretiri sharpens her focus, and her head lifts. Imperious. Haughty. Superior. The girl beneath her is right where she belongs. Nothing more than a fainting sofa for the sorceress.

"Three!"

The finalizing slap hits the mat. The referee lifts to her knees to signal the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

Nefretiri's music begins filtering through the arena as the audience crows wildly around them. Nefretiri is in no rush to release her. The cover was sensual and deliberate - so too will be the dismount. Her body slides along Beatrix's, back the way she came. She lets the leg slip from her grasp, and everything passes by the girl's face.

In the end, Nefretiri rests on her knees above her head, her parted thighs framing Beatrix's head. Her arms raised and swing wide, her head tipped back wjth a wicked smile, as if presenting a sacrifice for some eldritch power in the beyond. The pose is held, her chest rising and falling against the tight confines of her golden top, every contour of definition and muscle tone in her body highlighted in a thin sheen of sweat.

"You're winner by pinfall!," calls the announcer. "The Sorceress! The Great Shadow! Neeefreeetiriiii!"

[BlackAkuma]

And thus, it was over. For better or worse.

That was, undoubtedly, the strangest match Beatrice had ever had in her, admittedly short, wrestling career, and even now she was trying hard to process it. The rest of the world was going to see it as a bad debut - a wrestler coming in and getting stomped straight out of the gate, a sad but common occurrence in LAW. The crowd was booing, showing their disdain. The Morrigan was looking her way with the disappointed face of a little girl whose goldfish had died.

But she was proud. She was so proud. Somehow, knowing that only two people in the entire world knew why she was proud made her even prouder. For now, maybe forever, it would just be their little secret.

She lifted her head up as Nefretiri passed by again, just enough to give her more contact, as the woman sat up and lorded the moment over her, basking in her well deserved glory. She really did look regal, looming above her in radiant glory, and Beatrice was more than content to simply gaze up at her. She could’ve done that for hours, she was sure.

But it had to come to an end. Beatrice waited, barely moving, until Nefretiri had exited the ring, wanting to make the most out of the moment. It was only after she was going up the ramp that she curled up and rolled out of the ring, groggily landing on her feet outside.

The Morrigan, to her credit, rushed in and caught her by the arm, giving her the support to stand that she totally didn’t need. The crowd was throwing out tepid applause, praising her effort, as meek as it was. It seemed she’d made a few fans, which was…interesting. Whether they’d last was another matter entirely.

”Gonna hear an earful from Sabine over this.” The Morrigan grumbled and let it all out with a sigh. ”Everyone loses, kid. Gonna be all right?”

Beatrice just weakly nodded and brought her attention up the ramp, brows furrowing as she watched Nefretiri slip between the curtains. ”Yeah.” She nodded. ”Yeah, I think I will.”