Starfall: Starboy vs. Brigitte Hargrove

[HotWheels]

Brigitte felt the feeble, trembling resistance of his hands against her forearm - barely more than a token protest - and it pulled a low, throaty chuckle from her chest that vibrated warmly against the palm sealed over his mouth. She could feel his breath fogging her skin, and she savoured every shallow gulp he took. His fight was so transparently theatrical, so deliciously telling. She thought she might have to break down the hero physically, but maybe her little "obstacle" course and her mere presence had done the work already.

To that end, she pressed her thigh higher between his legs, slow and deliberate, the bare skin gliding against the thin fabric of his briefs as she ground in lazy, threatening circles. “What a sad little hero,” she murmured, lips brushing the back of her own hand as she leaned in closer, black hair spilling like silk over his masked cheeks. “All that righteous bravado, and look at you now - you're melting for more. I leave you a few promises, and you can't keep your head clear long enough to fight me."

Her voice dripped with mockery. She tightened her grip over his mouth just enough to feel his lips part beneath her palm, then let her free hand trail down his arm, fingertips grazing lightly before she sought to capture his wrist and force it down beside his head, spreading him wider beneath her weight.

“You're not going to fight back, are you?” she continued, while her thigh pressed firmer, more insistent, right where it would do the most damage to his composure. She clicked her tongue as if disappointed, her accent adding more sultry danger to her words. “Is that the point of this hero act? To make sure you lose?"

She considered a moment before leaning in once more. "I can force the fight out of you. I'm a fine lover, but I prefer a little struggle, a little taste of victory." Her free hand made it to his chin, looking to tilt his eyes northward until he was staring into hers. "I could squeeze you until your eyes are bulging out of your head or kick your teeth out of your head with one roundhouse. Do you still feel safe?”

[Jaystar]

Well, it was a protest... Even if not even remotely an effective one. But Starboy was coming up short with ideas on any effective tactics at this point. True, it was quite sad, especially considering how quickly and easily the hero had seemingly fallen already in peril. It must had been certain for anyone watching the match already now that the self-proclaimed Lonely Superhero surely didn't stand a chance against the mighty assassin. He was already firmly trapped beneath her. But still, there was this air that things were only about to just get started...

While Star was in peril, between the struggle around his upper body, and the sensations around his lower one, he still had some spare mental capacity to analyze the psychology of his situation some further. And especially, why the villainess was already rendering him feeling so helpless... There was just something about her that was making him feel so... Hapless. His foe was just so... Dominant tonight. She had the edge with the location, she had surprised him, she had set him up, she was more powerful than him, probably more skilled as well, more confident, more deviant... And he was already insecure over having any realistic chances of beating her. It was almost as if Brigitte was this motherly, or big sisterly figure... And no, not in a way that he would ever wrestle against his mother or big sister if he had one, but in the way that she just seemed to have this inherent control, this confidence, experience, and knowledge on her side, and he was just a brave little boy destined to succumb to it all.

Unsurprisingly, that wasn't doing any good for his efforts at resistance - a fact that the villainess was detecting awkwardly well by now. She even made suggestions that the hero did not even want to put up any resistance, which was obviously something that Star couldn't allow anyone to think, or even admit to himself. Needless to say, Brigitte's words of him being a "sad little hero", and "melting for more" stirred up some quite significant unease inside the aspiring hero. While he had to admit that her mockery was justified in light of what had happened in this bout so far, he had to do something to make it stop - or at least, look a bit more unjustified.

Starboy tried to mumble something in response to the assassin's question over him not fighting back, but his words got cut off by the natural barrier sealing his mouth. Trying to catch any air he could through his nostrils, he was forced to listen to the continued mockery of his performance, and the villainess detailing her plans for the night... Accompanied by some coaxing for him to put up a better fight.

Sure, he could try.

Not that he wouldn't had tried already, had he had any good ideas on how. And he still wasn't having any good ones. But he was having one.

The assassin's thigh might had been pressing against the special material that the Lonely Superhero's attire was made of, and sure enough, it was causing some problems for his composure. But the placement of her leg also meant that it had two of Starboy's own legs around it... And that was the fact on which his hopes relied on now. Thus, bravely, or perhaps, foolishly, the trapped hero tried to wrap his own legs around Brigitte's own, lock his ankles together, and apply as hard of a squeeze with his own more slender thighs around his opponent's lower thigh to provide at least some resistance - even if the effort probably didn't make the feeling inside his own attire any easier at all.

[HotWheels]

The muffled attempt at speech beneath her palm sent a small ripple of satisfaction through her. "What are you trying to say, I wonder?" She kept her palm sealed firmly over his mouth, feeling the warmth of his breath fogging against her skin as he struggled to pull air through his nostrils. "An excuse? A plea? A denial? Whatever it is, you've lost the right to voice it. You have to earn it back."

She could feel him listening - that particular kind of stillness that came when someone had no choice but to absorb every word being said to them. Then she felt it - the shift of his legs. The purposeful movement as they wrapped around her thigh. Brigitte's thoughts sharpened immediately, predatory focus snapping into place. His ankles locked together behind her leg, and she felt the squeeze - slender muscles flexing with everything he had, attempting to apply pressure to her trapped thigh.

The sensation registered immediately. Not threatening, but... actual pressure. Real compression that dug into the meat of her thigh with surprising intensity. Brigitte's eyes narrowed fractionally as she assessed the hold. It wasn't going to stop her - not even close - but it was causing genuine discomfort. A dull ache that radiated from where his legs clamped down, the kind of pressure that would leave her thigh sore if she let it continue.

For a moment, she considered simply powering through it, grinding her thigh harder against him until he had to choose between maintaining his squeeze or protecting himself from her assault. But that felt... crude. Inelegant. No. She had a better idea.

"There we are," she purred, and there was genuine approval in her voice now - the kind a teacher might give a struggling student who'd finally produced something worthwhile. "You found your teeth."

Brigitte released his mouth and pushed herself back, breaking contact with his upper body as she shifted her weight. His legs remained locked around her thigh for the moment, but that would change. She reached down with both hands, finding his ankles where they crossed behind her leg.

Her fingers wrapped around his ankles - not gripping to hurt, but with enough firmness to control - and she began to try and turn him over with slow, deliberate strength. At the same time, Brigitte rose smoothly to her feet, standing over him for just a moment with him attached - a predator surveying prey - before she moved with practiced efficiency. She grabbed both his ankles, lifting his legs as she turned her back to him and stepped through. He could choose whether he hung on or let go - but she locked in a variation of a Boston Crab all the same.

She sat back, dropping her weight onto the small of his back while pulling his legs up and back, bending his spine in that brutal arch. But Brigitte wasn't satisfied with just the hold. She freed one hand and reached down. Her fingers found the thin fabric of his star-patterned briefs, and more importantly, what lay beneath them. She pressed her palm firmly against his crotch, feeling the evidence of exactly how much his body had betrayed him during their encounter.

Then she squeezed.

Not brutally - not yet - but with enough pressure to make her point crystal clear. Her fingers closed around him through the thin fabric, controlling him in the most intimate way possible, and her purple-painted nails came just short of prodding.

"Tell me, little hero," she said, her voice dripping with dark amusement as she maintained both holds simultaneously, "which hurts more? Your back... or your pride? Or... which feels better?"