Neith vs. Aspasia El-Shenawy - Python and Prey

[BlackAkuma]

Asp would not consider herself much of a strategist, as wrestlers went. Some came into a match with these intricate plans. They studied their opponents. Watched tapes. Analyzed their every move until they had a complicated game plan to work with, then executed that in the ring to great effect. And there certainly wasn’t anything wrong with that approach. If she had grown up in this business, perhaps she would be mindful of such things.

But she hadn't. She was a dancer, and as such, she approached her wrestling in a similar way. While she could and had done dances that followed set steps, she much preferred a freeform approach, where she molded and moved her body to the music, letting the situation dictate her steps. Reacting to what came her way, instead of expecting one thing and being taken off guard when that wasn’t what happened.

This served her well, more often than not, and today was no exception. As Neith came in and sent her spiraling, she flowed with the moment, trying something she had never seen before, and it paid off. While she couldn't see the woman’s face from her position, she could only imagine the surprise on her face, the pause in her movements. It gave her just the opening she wanted.

A little movement, a deft step, pull the arm, and…there. Right where she wanted to be.

It was clearly not where Neith wanted to be, a fact she surmised as the woman began to wildly reach back, trying in vain to grasp at that which she could not see. She came dangerously close to grasp Asp’s braid, but a flick of the neck was enough to toss it back off her shoulder and keep it out of her reach. She glanced over to the side long enough to see the mild surprise from her entourage - they weren’t used to seeing their goddess in such straits. Good.

”[Easy. Easy.]” Asp leaned forward and eased up on the hold, enough to reduce some of the pain without too much risk of her escape. She brought her lips tantalizingly close to the woman’s ear, enough to tickle the fine hairs inside with every word she spoke. ”[Is something the matter, goddess? You seem vexed, and we have only begun.]”

A playful tease, as her free hand came under the woman’s shoulder and found her chest for a soft caress, her nails gliding over the sunkissed skin.

[HotWheels]

Without the lenses trained on her, or the presence of the sycophants who required constant reminders of her divinity, Neith might have broken character to accuse Asp of cheating. Logic held no sway here; in Neith’s mind, a maneuver that defied her script constituted an offense against nature itself. To lift a woman, expecting the satisfying crash of submission, only to find that woman standing, did not suit the narrative. It made the Goddess look... mortal. Worse, it made her look susceptible to an intelligence... perhaps equal to her own. Close, anyway.

While the moment of the counter passed in a blink, the indignity lingered. Neith lacked the brute horsepower in her shoulders to wrench her arm free, so she remained rooted to the canvas, forced to mask a grimace behind a mask of bored indifference. Her free hand continued its futile search, grasping at the air behind her, seeking purchase on skin or hair that simply wasn't there. She shuffled her knees, attempting to throw off the dancer’s balance, but Asp mirrored the movement with infuriating grace, keeping the hammerlock secure. Damn her.

Then came the whisper, hot and intimate against her ear, sending a spike of irritation through Neith’s chest - an irritation that admittedly warred with intrigue. For the sake of the footage, Neith chose to lean into the latter. She smoothed her features, preparing a biting retort, but the words died in her throat. Asp’s nails drifted over the slope of her breast, a touch so light and deliberate it sent a shiver of gooseflesh rippling across her soft skin. Neith’s breath hitched, just once, betraying her. She could not deny the talent involved.

The woman possessed subtlety and a knowledge of the female body, traits Neith found tragically rare in her usual opponents and clientele.

Yet, appreciation did not equal submission. She refused to remain here, kneeling like a supplicant while another woman touched her royal assets from a position of control. That simply would not do. Neith twisted her neck, flashing a look of dangerous promise over her shoulder.

“[I am not vexed, little snake. Merely... inconvenienced,]” she corrected, her voice dripping with unearned confidence as she switched back to their shared tongue. “[And you may continue your worship... provided you do so from your proper place.]”

Neith did not waste energy on a complex reversal. Instead, she utilized her greatest weapon - her hips and legs. She threw her midsection backward, leading with her ample, heavy hips and rear directly into Asp, aiming to crash her considerable weight into the smaller woman’s thighs and send them both tumbling, one way or another.

[BlackAkuma]

It might not have seemed as such at the moment, but Asp was taking certain cares with this match. Namely, in what she did and did not use against her opponent.

She was not so naive as to not realize that this setup was framed to benefit Neith, not her. She was fighting a goddess in her own lair, surrounded by her subjects. It brought to mind a certain movie from her youth, with a beauty - who bore a marked resemblance to Neith, now that she thought about it - laying across an altar, serving as a willing sacrifice to bring spirits back from the dead. She was supposed to be out of her element. The prey, not the python.

Furthermore, while Lucy had not outright said so in the correspondence that led to this and the rules didn’t specify, she was of the impression that certain moves, while not barred, would be frowned upon. Striking, in particular. At the moment, she was willing to acquiesce.

But that did not mean she would stand by and let her body be crushed. She was a wrestler. She was competitive. She was a wrestler.

So far, they seemed to be on the same page, and Asp appreciated the reaction as her hand made its way over the swell of her face, sampling her magnificent body, loving the sensation against her palm. Furthermore, her smile widened as Neith spoke, her voice dripping with confidence and control, despite the situation she found herself in.

Her words seemed idle, at first, but she proved Asp wrong when she rose up and thrust backwards, putting her size and strength advantage to good use. Her thrusting hips were more than enough to knock Asp off her feet and send her flat on her back - weight and momentum simply were not going to be her friends today.

She didn't stay there for long, as she threw her legs up and rose to her feet in an instant, flipping off her shoulders, rolling back and coming down on her feet. It was a lovely flourish, and would play well for the cameras, but she suspected it would also create an opening, and her hands were already up in anticipatio for whatever was coming her way next.

[HotWheels]

Ugh. Neith remembered why she hated the ring itself for her matches.

In these sorts of matches, she tiptoed the delicate balance between the theatrical nature she would bring to a session or a scripted, heavily produced video - when she might have remained in Asp's not-entirely-unpleasant clutches a time longer for the sake of the viewers... and perhaps one more swipe of nails across her skin - and the need to be seen as the finer competitor that came with a "true" match. In something more legitimate, it ate at her for anyone to see her losing... for too long, because surely no one could truly best the goddess. So while part of her mind agreed to the moment, knew what the viewers would see on the camera...

The other half used her hips as a weapon.

The impact sent them both tumbling. Neith felt Asp's grip on her arm falter and then release entirely as the smaller woman toppled backward. The satisfying thud of body hitting canvas reached her ears, and Neith was already moving, twisting up to her knees to pounce before Asp could even consider the notion of rolling away—

The level of her vision once again found a pair of legs greeting her instead of a body ripe for the flattening.

Neith's eyes widened as she completed her turn and nearly grasped nothing but air. The dancer was already upright, standing with her hands raised defensively, balanced on the balls of her feet as if she'd never fallen at all. The slightest twinge of frustration struck Neith again as she peered up from the woman's lithe legs back up to her face again, but she willed it away even as she mentally repeated the word how until even her own internal voice had annoyed her.

Fine, fine. No need to process the woman's gifts. Neith's momentum had already committed her to the attack, her body twisted and reaching for an opponent who wasn't where she had planned. She adjusted mid-motion, letting instinct take over. Rather than grasping at empty air above, Neith dropped her aim lower, lunging forward on her knees. Her hands shot out for the backs of Asp's thighs, fingers splayed to grip and yank.

If she could hook those legs, she could sweep them out from under the dancer, dump her flat on her back where she belonged. On the ground, Neith could work. On the ground, size and leverage meant no more fancy tricks of balance.

[BlackAkuma]

Really. What was Theo doing in his life that was attracting this many Egyptian women?

He didn’t have anything against them, mind you. No prejudice, and he didn’t even mind them in his personal circle, but it was just such a weird, random coincidence that he felt like the universe had to be telling him something. First, they met Neith in a chance encounter. Then they took the Ancestors of Isis on, and god, the less said of that the better. And now, they’d just met Aspasia, a woman who looked like someone straight out of the Ten Commandments.

All this in less than two months. Going from knowing exactly zero Egyptian women to meeting four and getting beat up by three. The patterns were hard to ignore.

Strange as it was, Theo filed it away as a thought for later, as he brought his focus back to the match itself. He was busy with the sound equipment, holding the boom mike near enough to the ring to capture all impacts and spoken words and sensual grunts, but not close enough that it would appear on camera, something that Lucy had stressed ad nauseum. She’d stressed a lot of things, actually - this whole event had absorbed her in a way that Theo hadn't seen in a while. In a way, he was glad that she and Neith were getting along so well - it was giving her something to focus on artistically, and Lucy cooked her best stuff when she was like that.

But the other part of him - the friend - worried that the transaction might be more one-sided than Lucy thought it was. For starters, he wasn’t sure what Neith was even giving back, aside from the gift of being in her presence. That might be enough for some fawning simp, but they deserved better. Lucy deserved better.

The clamor back in the ring drew his attention, as Asp was knocked away by a timely thrust from Neith’s curvaceous ass, which she was oh-so proud of. The fiery redhead didn’t stay down long, though, and got back to her feet with a deft maneuver that left Theo whistling.

Theo winced. He could almost feel Lucy glaring at him. If the microphone picked that up, she was going to be giving him shit for a week.

He brought his focus back to the ring, in time to see the slightest twinge of frustration cross Neith’s face - or, what he imagined as such, anyway. It would definitely track. He’d gotten the impression from their little ‘spar’ that Neith wasn’t a woman who liked to be on the backfoot. Not that anybody did, but she seemed exceptionally perturbed whenever he’d gotten the better of her, however brief those moments had been.

It was a little funny to watch. Needless to say, he was pulling for Asp in this match.

So far, she was doing well, too, though Neith seemed keen on ending her lucky streak. She reached out low and got her hands on Asp’s sinewy thighs, pulling them and forced her opponent back. The smaller woman tried to resist, but that was simply not going to happen with the size difference - if Neith wanted her down, there was little she could do at this range.

But that did not mean she would go quietly. Asp moved with a speed that worthy of her namesake, as she scooted towards her opponent, brought her legs about, and tried to capture the goddess with a bodyscissor, wrapping her up with those slender - but solid - limbs.

[HotWheels]

Her fingers found purchase on warm, smooth skin. Finally. The contact sent a jolt of satisfaction through Neith's chest as her hands closed around the backs of Asp's thighs. She felt the slight give as the dancer tried to resist, but physics and weight difference weren't negotiable. Neith pulled, using her leverage from her kneeling position, and Asp stumbled backward, forced off balance. She also noted to grab hold of those legs much more as the match went on - they felt quite delightful in her hands.

But already Neith's mind raced ahead to the next step. Once Asp's back hit the canvas, she'd need to transition quickly - pin those shoulders, maybe slide up to trap an arm, or better yet, shift her weight forward and-

But Asp moved, and rather than scramble away like most smaller women, she moved toward the domineering goddess.

The realization hit Neith a half-second too late. The dancer scooted closer even as she fell, her legs coming up and around in a fluid motion even the skilled grappler could not move quickly enough to counter. Neith felt the first leg hook around her side, then the second, and suddenly those slender thighs were wrapping around her waist like a vice.

The bodyscissor locked in with a sharp squeeze that drove the air from Neith's lungs in an involuntary gasp. Her hands, still gripping Asp's thighs, suddenly found themselves doing what she had noted for them to do - but not like this. No longer controlling, but gripping Asp's thighs in an effort to try and quickly break the hold, which naturally she came nowhere close to accomplishing.

And the cameras would capture all of this. The angle would be perfect (and horrible) - Neith on her knees, caught between Asp's legs, her face no doubt showing the strain. The image of the goddess, trapped. Unacceptable. She bit back the curse that wanted to escape, swallowed the words that threatened to bubble up - ones she might have used in a less refined video referring to the tricky little slut that stayed one step ahead. No. This wasn't some cheap session video where she could hiss insults.

Damn her. Damn those legs.

"Nngh-" The sound escaped before Neith could suppress it, half-grunt, half-gasp. Asp's thighs, for all their slender appearance, held solid muscle beneath that smooth skin, and they were currently demonstrating exactly how effective leg strength could be. The thin fabric of Neith's golden leotard bunched under the pressure, revealing more of her chest, her sides, her hips.

"[C... lever]," Neith managed through gritted teeth, her voice strained but attempting to maintain some veneer of control. The word came out more measured than what she actually wanted to say. She had to look like she still had some control, though. Her hands shifted, trying to find better purchase, trying to wedge some space between those constricting thighs and her compressed midsection.

[BlackAkuma]

When Asp hit the floor, the first hints of panic ran through her, knowing how bad a position this was for her and instinctively worrying. While she wasn’t unused to working on the floor - as any good snake should be - she preferred to go low only when the match was firmly tipped in her favor, when she had the confidence for control. Her strikes wore her foes down, then she went from there.

Here, she had little choice in the matter. Neith wanted them on the floor; with her size and will working against her, there was little that the Fire Wyrm could do to dissuade her. So down they went.

Neith was on top. But being on top and being in control were wholly different things, as her legs were quick to demonstrate.

Up came her thighs. While they weren’t as thick and thunderous as Neith’s powerful pair, they were thin and sinewy, enabling her to cut deep into a body, applying maximum force over minimal space. On Neith’s body, the effect was particularly noticeable, as her curves, soft and pleasing, molded around her muscles, nearly enveloping them with pleasing flesh.

But there was danger, too. Neith had no power in this form; she could feel it surging through her, and it wasn’t just from the weight difference. If she wasn’t careful, if she faltered, then the goddess would be all over her. Which she wouldn’t hate, to be honest - from this position, she could also appreciate how fetching and comely her foe was. Who in their right mind would avoid a beauty like this?

So Asp choose not to do that at all. Instead, she lifted up, brought her arms around Neith’s neck, and attempted to pull herself up and bring them in close, tight, mashing her body against the bigger woman’s in a suffocating embrace, one that could’ve been mistaken for intimacy.

To be fair, that wouldn’t be too far from the truth. Asp certainly enjoyed the sensation and found herself grinding against Neith without even thinking, undulating, her abdominals pressing and rubbing along her stomach. She tried to bring her legs around, transitioning the scissorhold into a figure-four, clasping her ankle behind her knee to make it an even tighter affair, while a deep moan ran through her bones.

[HotWheels]

If Neith didn't watch herself, she would start to feel jealousy rising alongside the pain. Another Egyptian woman - another kinswoman who looked that good, who moved with that kind of seductive grace, and who was currently turning Neith's midsection into putty.

The squeeze intensified, and Neith had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep from making a sound. The cameras were watching. Lucy and the little subjects were watching. She couldn't let them see her give into suffering - not like this, not so early, not from a hold she herself had used countless times to break others. But staying quiet made pain worse somehow - screaming was cathartic, and quite a few opponents found her screaming very annoying. Every instinct screamed at her to grunt, to hiss, to release the pressure building in her chest through some kind of vocalization. Instead, she swallowed it down, jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached.

That Asp's legs were slender only made them more insidious. They cut into her softer flesh like cables, the muscle beneath that smooth skin finding every yielding curve of Neith's body and exploiting it mercilessly. Where Neith's own thighs would engulf and smother, Asp's carved and constricted. The pressure concentrated itself in sharp, precise points along Neith's obliques, her lower ribs, compressing her core with surgical efficiency. Neith's arms trembled as she tried to maintain her composure.

But of course, Asp moved again.

Arms wrapped around Neith's neck, pulling up and in. Neith tried to push her forearms between them, but it was already happening. Asp drew herself upward, bringing their bodies together in what could have been an embrace if not for the constricting agony still locked around Neith's waist. The dancer pressed close, so close that Neith found herself forced to rest her chin on Asp's shoulder just to breathe, just to find any position that might ease the pressure even slightly. The heat between their bodies built immediately, skin against skin, chest against chest. Neith could feel every breath Asp took, could feel the subtle shifts of the smaller woman's abdominals as they pressed against her compressed stomach.

And Asp started to grind.

The movement was unmistakable - a slow, deliberate undulation that dragged Asp's body against Neith's in a way that had nothing to do with wrestling technique and everything to do with using Neith's curves for pleasure. The moan that rumbled through Asp's body vibrated against Neith's chest.

The audacity. Red flooded Neith's face - whether from exertion, humiliation, or anger, one would have to guess. But the indignity of it irked her. Not just being caught in the hold. Not just being compressed and controlled. But being used - ground against, treated like some kind of prop for Asp's apparent enjoyment. The fury that ignited in Neith's chest finally gave her something beyond the pain to focus on.

But at the same time, Asp's legs shifted again.

One ankle hooked behind the opposite knee, and the scissorhold transformed into a figure-four. The pressure, already substantial, somehow doubled. Neith's eyes went wide as the new configuration allowed Asp to pull her own leg, leveraging her entire lower body's strength into a more concentrated point. The bunched fabric of Neith's leotard dug into her skin as her midsection compressed even further.

"Ngh-" The sound escaped despite her best efforts, strangled and pained.

With every ounce of composure she could scrape together, Neith made her decision. Tapping was not an option - not this early, not like this, not while being ground against like some kind of toy. Neith planted her hands on the canvas, fingers splaying for purchase. Her arms trembled with the effort as she began to push upward, fighting not just Asp's weight but the constriction around her core that made every movement exponentially harder. Her abs, compressed and weakened by the scissors, screamed in protest. She managed to get one foot underneath her, then the other, rising from her knees into an unsteady crouch.

Her foot found the canvas, heavy and uncoordinated. The cameras would see her staggering, see the strain on her face, see how thoroughly Asp had compromised her. Then she lurched forward, momentum building, aimed directly at the corner turnbuckle, and Neith let herself fall.

They crashed toward the corner, Neith using her greater weight and gravity itself to transform her stumbling gait into something resembling a throw. She twisted at the last moment, making sure Asp's back would meet the turnbuckle first, hoping the impact would break that damned figure-four and give her the separation she desperately needed.

[BlackAkuma]

Asp was aware that Neith, on top of being a wrestler for LAW, was a session wrestler - in other words, she wrestled people in a sexual manner for money. It was a profession she hadn't heard too much of before she joined LAW, and had become annoyingly familiar with after. Namely, when she first joined the company, she was inundated with requests online for her to do what Neith did. To meet men in hotel rooms, to scissor them, to sit on their faces.

She had no distaste for those acts by themselves and would happily do them in a sanctioned match. But she valued her privacy and her quiet time. The idea of being beholden to men she didn’t meet in person beforehand, to their whims and desires, seemed too chaffing. To say nothing of the risks that came along with such a profession.

She wouldn’t look down on Neith. It was simply not for her.

That being said, however, as she clung to her fellow Egyptian’s body and wrapped herself around the woman’s curves, she could see why someone would put down a week’s pay for their privilege. To put it simply, Neith felt absolutely divine.

There was muscle underneath these curves, she could feel that, but it was covered by a body that seemed to suck you in, an inviting softness that made every contact a joy. She couldn't imagine what the woman did to maintain such a figure, to sculpt her body in such a way. The right meals, the right training, never too much, never too little. It was humbling, and she made a mental note to inquire later.

For now, though, she was content to merely enjoy it. To grip Neith tight. To rub. To feel that heat radiating from her skin, hotter than the sands that birthed them. It was wonderful, and like most wonderful things, it wasn’t meant to last.

Neith was moving. Maybe lurching was the better word for it. She was standing up, though her steps seemed shaky and uncertain, no doubt signs of the asphyxiation taking its toll. Her body was powerful, deceptively so, but there were limits to anyone’s power, and Asp wagered she was reaching hers. Even though Neith was moving closer to the turnbuckle, she saw no reason for alarm, thinking her foe wouldn’t be able to generate enough force for anything too damaging.

In this belief, she was sorely mistaken. She did not account for Neith falling forwards like a felled tree, recruiting gravity as a temporary ally. The movement was sloppy, but effective, ramming Asp’s upper back and skull against the pads for a nasty bit of whiplash. A shock went through her body, she tensed, then released all once, releasing Neith from the prison of body all at once.

The impact left Asp dazed. Instinct had her grasping the ropes for support, but her grip gave out and she dropped all the way, coming down to sit against the turnbuckle with her legs spread wide and her head rolling from side to side.

A moment. She needed a moment, and then she could right herself, she was sure of that. Could she do it before Nieth capitalized? That was a more harrowing question.

[HotWheels]

Neith had embraced too many bodies too closely over the years to miss when another seemed to truly enjoy her. The signs were always there if one knew how to read them - the quality of the breath, the subtle shifts in muscle tension, the way hands gripped versus simply held. And with Asp, every single sign screamed appreciation. She was savoring this hold.

The grinding hadn't been purely tactical. Yes, it rattled Neith - rattled her far more than someone of her "stature" would ever admit, especially given that Asp possessed one of the few body types besides Neith's own that the goddess found genuinely appealing. All that lean muscle, those defined lines, that controlled grace. But the way Asp moved against her spoke of more than strategy. There was exploration in it, a kind of tactile curiosity, as if the dancer was learning Neith's body through touch and pressure and friction.

And when Neith had managed that quick glance at Asp's face during their embrace - past the concentration required to maintain the hold - she'd caught it. Just the subtlest indication in those eyes, a heat that went beyond competitive fire. She could use that, Neith realized even through the pain.

But that was a tactic for later. For now, she simply needed to throw this woman off her before those damned legs compressed her into a new shape.

The impact with the turnbuckle jarred them both. Neith felt Asp's grip falter, felt those constricting legs suddenly go slack, and blessed relief flooded through her as the pressure released. She tried to make it look controlled as she dropped to all fours, tried to make it seem like a tactical position rather than the near-collapse it actually was.

But she needed a moment. Her midsection throbbed with a deep, nauseating ache, as if her organs needed time to remember their proper positions. Her ribs protested each inhale. The bunched fabric of her leotard had left angry red lines across her skin where it had dug in under the pressure. She stayed on her hands and knees for several seconds, head down, dark hair creating a curtain that might hide the strain on her face from the cameras. Her arms trembled slightly, betraying the effort it had taken to execute that desperate throw. But as the pain receded from immediate agony to manageable discomfort, as oxygen returned properly to her lungs, Neith felt something else rising to replace it.

Fury. Controlled, yes, but still a form of fury.

She had made her look weak.

She straightened slowly, pushing herself up to her knees first, then rising to her full height with deliberate poise. The movement cost her - her abs protested, her obliques screamed - but she refused to show it. By the time she stood fully upright, she had forced her features back into the mask of the goddess. Composed. Superior. Unshaken.

Her blue eyes found Asp slumped against the turnbuckle. The sight sent a spike of satisfaction through Neith's chest. She resisted the urge to glance at the cameras, to confirm they were capturing this reversal. She knew they were. Lucy would make sure of it. Instead, she let her gaze travel slowly down Asp's sprawled form, making sure the dancer would see her looking. Making sure Asp understood that Neith had noticed everything - the grinding, the heat, the appreciation. A slow, dangerous smile curved Neith's lips.

"[Did you enjoy that?]" she asked, her voice carrying across the small space between them. The Arabic words dripped with venom and promise. "[Feeling every curve, every inch of me pressed against you?]"

She took one step forward, then another, her movements fluid now despite the lingering ache. She was closing the distance, stalking toward the corner where Asp sat vulnerable.

"[Let me return the favor.]"

Neith thrust herself forward suddenly, hands shooting out to grab the ropes on either side of the turnbuckle. Her momentum carried her up and forward, and she used the ropes as leverage to lift her hips, to spread her powerful thighs wide. The fabric of her leotard gleamed under the lights as she positioned herself above Asp's upturned face. She dropped her hips, driving her crotch down toward Asp's face with vicious intent. The angle was perfect - Asp's head had nowhere to go, trapped between the turnbuckle pad and Neith's descending body. The impact forced the dancer's skull back against the padding as Neith's thighs clamped shut around her head, one leg on either side, squeezing with every ounce of strength she possessed. They trapped the pads, too, ensuring the snare remained snug and applied pressure from all sides.