Catch a Tiger (For Blaze)

[CyanDimitrik]

Katsumi patiently sways her weight from one foot to the next, those green eyes never leaving Suravi. There's anticipation there. Eagerness. She's already seen much of the Indian girl's body, thanks to the merit of her wrestling gear. But it's somehow inexplicably more saucy seeing her in a bikini when there's no water to dive into. It's the purpose behind it - strictly and unavoidably meant to show her off.

Suddenly, the top comes off. Then the pants. But she's still wearing socks. Katsumi's gaze travels over her figure, taking in the orange material snug against Suravi's curves, trailing down her hips, and- yep. There they are. Socks. It's so absurd, it gets a snicker. But she isn't about to ride her over that. No, she has other plans.

Stepping back, Katsumi's hands move down to the sash tying her robe closed. With some gentle tugging, the fabric falls loose, offering just a glimpse of the fair-skinned body beneath. She runs her fingers along the inner-lapel of the robe from collar to hip, before finally shrugging her narrow shoulders forward to slip the garment. The back falls to bunch around her elbows, and soon after, she relaxes her arms to let it fall gracefully around her feet.

Standing poised in bra and panties, Katsumi tilts to the side to prop her shoulder against the wall. A wry smile tugs the corner of her lips, eyebrow perked at her. "We might wrestle in bikinis sometime. But you're never gonna see me in this anywhere but my home," she coyly explains.

Katsumi's State of Undress

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Bengal can't help but feel like there's something she's forgotten, in her rush to undress. Some ridiculous mistake, something she forgot to take off...before she can ponder it any further, however, her jaw drops as Katsumi suddenly shrugs off her robe. Bengal appreciates the dramatic touch that the robe lends to the act of undressing; a part of her wishes that she had dressed in a robe herself, instead of her sweatshirt and jeans. The Japanese woman's lingerie is decidedly more elegant than her swimsuit as well. Black and gold, similar to her wrestling outfit, but so sensual and inviting. Bengal's eyes are drawn to Katsumi's lithe physique, just as they were earlier in the ring, but in a different context. Before, she felt intimidated by that body, by the prospect of fighting such an experienced competitor. Now, there's no longer any fear, only excitement.

Propped casually against the wall, the Punk Princess cuts such a stunning figure that Bengal is struck speechless. When she does recover her voice, she's still not exactly eloquent. "Wrestle in...w-what?" she stammers, her tough-girl facade falling away. The Tiger is too confused to be hostile anymore. The way this night is unfolding is decidedly different from what she'd expected. She'd heard whispered rumors about POW matches, suggesting they were some sort of sadistic torture. But Katsumi is acting playful, welcoming - friendly, even. Is it just an act, to get Bengal to drop her guard? Or is Katsumi being sincere?

[CyanDimitrik]

"Bikinis," Katsumi replies offhandedly. "First time I did it, it was weird. I've only done it like.. twice? Maybe three times? Trick is finding one that's not gonna, y'know... fall apart."

She totally caught the Indian checking her out. She relished it. It's another form of dominance and power, and one the Punk Princess is very, very unaccustomed to. Prior to her makeover, at best she'd be considered cute in an off-beat kind of way. Now, though... just look at the way Suravi's staring at her. It's euphoric all on its own.

Straightening her posture, Katsumi steps forward and places her fingertips against the other girl's stomach, plying just enough directive pressure to ease her back against the wall. "Here's my problem...," she begins, her voice lowering to a soft purr. "Part of me wants to wrestle you more. To earn that pin again. This time, without an audience. Just to.. take my time with you. But another part of me wants to just... see what happens if I give you what you want right here'n now.."

The fingers begin walking their way up her midsection, digit-step by digit-step, before knuckles bump against the curve of her breasts. The hand then moves up, sliding behind Suravi's neck and against her nape to pull her head forward, touching brow to brow. Her gaze locks onto the other girl, hungry and conflicted, fiery and barely restrained.

"Any.. feelings, either way?" Her voice lowers a touch more, nearing a purr, "Suravi?"