The Book of Lucia, Chapter II - Oblatio Incendia

[Lightman]

People often dismissed the bodyscissors as little more than a spectacle. A frivolous move, a mere parlour trick for fetishists rather than a legitimate grappling hold. Madeline herself had once shared that view. In her earlier years, when her understanding of grappling had been narrower, she had seen it as something ornamental. A flourish rather than a foundation. Practical holds had purpose, structure, and lineage. This one, by comparison, seemed indulgent. Decorative. Something that belonged more to performance than to true contest. Her experience with thighs wrapped around her waist had, until then, mostly been limited to pulling her into a closed guard. That belief had not survived exposure the moment she watched Xanthe.

Few competitors truly captivated Madeline in her early days of observing LAW, but Xanthe had been one of them. Deceptively innocent babyface with piercing blue eyes commanded the ring and redefined what such a hold could be. Xanthe didn’t rely on theatrics. She had demonstrated control with an elegance that bordered on artistry. Every movement had meaning. Every squeeze had intent. Strength concealed within grace, revealed only when it was far too late to escape it.

Madeline vividly recalled watching a match, seeing Xanthe’s legs lock around an opponent’s ribs. The pressure wasn’t just pain; it was absolute, undeniable control. The smooth, tanned muscle, impossibly firm, yet deceptively soft, had threatened to squeeze the very consciousness from her opponent. Her struggles were met with calculated flexes, vision darkening, and ears ringing. It was a lesson in power, delivered with graceful, terrifying precision. There was no malice in Xanthe’s composed expression, only quiet confidence. She knew her power, and her opponent wasn’t going anywhere. Madeline had since learned then that a bodyscissors, in the right hands, was a truly devastating weapon, not to be underestimated.

And now, Madeline found herself caught within Sister Chastity’s tightening embrace. The space Madeline had carefully made was gone, and Chastity’s legs were now pressing in with an unyielding, unbelievable strength. The steel hidden beneath the nun’s voluptuous softness had revealed itself, seeking to take and give nothing back. No longer was it exploratory, but deliberate. Chastity’s arms, too, were strong, pulling Madeline close, intent on keeping her captured. A muffled grunt left Madeline’s mouth as the kiss grew deeper, existing in a space between fierce desire and brutality, a tempestuous embrace that offered both torment and bliss. It was time for the true fight to begin.

Despite the sudden surge of pressure, Madeline’s mind remained clear, ever calculating. She shifted her body’s angle, rotating her hips minutely, seeking to create a small pocket of space, a sanctuary for her diaphragm. Her hands, which had been trailing along Chastity’s back, now locked together, forming a tight interlace behind Chastity’s waist. All to grant Madeline not just a measure of control over Chastity’s centre of gravity, but also the ability to subtly adjust her own posture.

With her hands now clasped, Madeline would drive her hips upwards, maintaining simultaneous downward pressure with her shoulders, creating an upward tension against Chastity’s legs. It might be seen as small, but no less crucial, aimed to exploit the leverage point at the base of the spine, striving to disrupt the uniform pressure of Chastity’s bodyscissors. At the same time, Madeline’s neck arched slightly to draw her chin inwards, protecting her windpipe from the tautness of Chastity’s arms, while providing better access for her to breathe. The kiss, which had been a test, now became a cover, a means for Madeline to disguise her methodical grappling adjustments. The fight was on, and Madeline intended to meet Chastity’s strength with an equal, perhaps greater, measure of calculated technique.

[BlackAkuma]

Sister Prudence kept the screen steady as Sister Lucia moved in for a better view. Her face was the usual stony facade she went with, her default, not wanting to give the world around her something to work with. But inwardly, she couldn't help but squirm, as a queer, queasy feeling churned at her guts. She’d been in that position before, hadn't she? She knew what Madeline was going through.

Xanthe. One of her less sexually humiliating defeats back when she was starting up, but still a horrible moment. She’d been caught between the woman’s thighs, and she distinctly remembered thinking, for a flash of a second, that they’d legitimately turned to iron. It was a weird feeling, to have your mouth free, but still be unable to breathe. To be smothered from the inside out. To take in air, only for it to come puffing back out, because it had nowhere to go.

Xanthe could do that to you. So could Sister Prudence. Once legs like that got around, getting them off was no small task, and doing so before bones broke, well…

Snap, crackle, pop. Sister Prudence wondered if Madeline was regretting certain decisions.

If the squeezing had reached an excruciating point, the Briton was doing a wonderful job of holding in her anguish, but that ultimately made little matter. Sister Chastity didn’t require her screams. They wouldn’t make the damage she was inflicting any more or less effective, after all.

That wasn’t to say that Madeline was going quietly into the good night, only that she was fighting in ways that even the best camera could miss. The micromovements, the subtle shifts, the way her hips were rearing up, it was all calculated and controlled, working towards a purpose. Like trying to escape a prison. Thoughtless brute force would never achieve the goal. Precision was needed.

But it wasn’t going unnoticed. As Madeline moved, Sister Prudence punished her, and not with simple pressure either. She suddenly began to alternate, easing up on the hold for a second, maybe two, giving her prey a scant moment to suck in some air, before she would clamp down again. Repeating, repeating, as if Madeline’s midsection was trapped in the maw of some strange, giant, toothless beast, one stubbornly trying to chew her in half before it devoured her.

Sister Prudence broke away from the kiss and gasped, a rapturous and ecstatic. ”Ah, wonderful. Your body is a work of art, Lady Christiansen. I can see why so many long to share a ring with you. Simply exquisite.” Her tongue slipped along Madeline’s cheek, leaving a hot, wet trail in its wake. ”You will forgive my embrace, I hope. A body like this was made to be held.”

[Lightman]

“This comes with the territory.” Madeline managed, her voice a low growl, strained but defiant. There was no mistaking the force of it now. Chastity’s legs had fully revealed their intent, tightening with a burgeoning, unyielding strength that sought to compress and contain. Simple as this hold is, it’s more than that. One that demanded acknowledgement with every constricted breath Madeline drew. The sensation was intense, a firm, enclosing pressure that threatened to steal air as quickly as it was taken in. Yet Madeline did not recoil from it. If one steps into a match such as this, one should expect a certain…blend of sensations. The Briton wouldn’t complain about the method being used. And there’s much worse that Madeline could be feeling.

That’s not to say that this wasn’t bad. Far from it. Each tightening squeeze drew a quieter breath from her; her body reacting despite her composure. The strength in Chastity’s legs was undeniable, and more importantly, intelligently applied. Clearly, she wasn’t applying it haphazardly. It is more calculated, persistent. And it wasn’t any better when the blonde switched to a periodic easing and flexing, a perverse form of torture.

Madeline adjusted again. Her hips shifted a fraction lower this time, deliberately misaligning her core from the centre of the hold. It was a minor change, but it reduced the efficiency of the compression, forcing Chastity to work harder to maintain the same level of control. Her right knee edged outward along the bed, widening her base and giving her a more stable foundation.

The Englishwoman’s hand slipped between their bodies once more. Not pushing. Not yet. “A rather fitting form of worship, then.” Madeline retorted, a wry edge to her voice, despite the ever-tightening vice around her midsection. “And, if I may, what is your chosen sin? The way you enjoy a body like mine…”

Her fingers pressed lightly along the inside of Chastity’s thigh again, this time with a touch more intent, feeling for the subtle shifts in tension that came with each squeeze. “...Lust, perhaps?” The pressure tightened again in response.

Madeline exhaled softly through her nose, her body absorbing it, adjusting rather than resisting outright. Her torso lowered closer, reducing the leverage Chastity’s arms could exert around her neck, while her planted leg pushed more firmly into the soft surface beneath them. One has to dismantle it gradually. Never force against force, but structure against structure.

To an outside observer - and no doubt there would be - it might have appeared Chastity held the advantage. And in many ways, she did. The hold remained intact. The pressure was real. Each passing moment tested Madeline’s endurance, her control, her ability to think under strain. But beneath the surface, there was a quieter struggle to unfold.

Madeline’s hips turned again, more decisively now. Her free leg slid further out to create a wedge of space where there had been none. At the same time, her hand shifted from testing to action, pressing more firmly against Chastity’s thigh, not to pry it open, but to guide it off its optimal line. A subtle bit of redirection and disruption.

Her breathing deepened. And then another shift followed. The torso of the English Rose angled slightly to the side, her weight redistributing in a way to force a minute separation. It might not be as dramatic, but it would be enough. Enough to loosen the hold’s integrity. Enough to create the faintest opening. And Madeline moved onto it at once.

The Englishwoman's hips slipped further through the gap she'd have created, her body turning with controlled precision as she eased one side free. Which would lessen the pressure, while not gone entirely, but much diminished. From there, Madeline pressed forward, using her momentum to advance rather than retreat. With a final adjustment, she shifted her weight forward and across, seeking to come over Chastity’s centreline rather than remain caught within it. It was not a full escape, not yet, but it was progress. Improving positions and opening options.

[BlackAkuma]

Though this was a small room, there was an odd acoustics to it, one that bounced off every sound. Maybe it was the stone wall or the wooden floor, interacting with the vibration in unexpected ways. It was almost like wrestling within a coffin - cramped, personal, oppressive. Intimate, in a way one could never truly have with the typical hentai matches. While they might have lost the raucous crowds, the trade-off was a more heated, strangely sensual affair. It was easy to see why matches like this were becoming much more regular.

Theirs weren’t the only sounds that echoed, either. As Sister Chastity ramped up the pressure and Madeline began her earnest struggles, the bed - a wooden affair - began to groan and creak under their pressure, as did the floor beneath it. The women settled deeper into the mattress, practically melting into the sheet with their writhing forms.

But they weren’t simply writhing. It was more of a dance. The subtle ballet between a python and its prey, as Sister Chastity sought to shut down her opponent’s movements, as if they were playing Chess with their bodies. Madeline would shift here, Sister Chastity would move there. A gap would open, only to be closed, but that closing would leave space for another gap. Energy was being conserved and carefully spent all the while.

Small, silent interactions, barely noticeable, but impactful. The room was already beginning to take on the faint scent of sweat. And other things.

Even so, even with all the strain, Madeline’s words brought a laugh from Sister Chastity. ”I desire you, Madeline, as any sane person attracted to women would be. But lust? Lust is selfish. Lust is indulgent. Lust only takes, without thought of giving.” While she kept the tight grip with her arms, her fingers ran through Madeline’s hair and tangled themselves in the strands.

”Lust would make you an object, and I wish no such thing. Sex should be about connection, about sharing pleasure. If you leave this unsatisfied, I will be terribly vexed.” Playful as she was, there was genuine concern seeping into her voice.

There would be no time to expound on that further, however, as Madeline’s struggles were beginning to bear fruit. The two of them vied for position, and Sister Chastity attempted to keep her position, but it was clear that her foe would either make her escape outright or greatly reduce the pressure. With the woman on top, that could spell disaster.

Discretion was the better part of valor. Instead of fighting for the position, Sister Chastity abruptly unlocked her legs and swung around to her side to put her foe near the edge. She drew her leg in, shot it out against Madeline’s stomach, and shot it straight to push the woman and send her tumbling to the floor.

[Lightman]

Madeline had fought on beds before. Well, Madeline had wrestled in a myriad of conditions, and while this particular room - a peculiar blend of ecclesiastical and dominatrix aesthetics - was certainly novel, the bed itself felt…familiar. Sort of. It lacked the bespoke quality of her personal test playground, yet the principles of fighting on such a yielding surface remained consistent. A mattress behaved nothing like a proper mat. It yielded, absorbed, betrayed footing at the worst moments. Weight distribution became uncertain, and leverage was inconsistent. One had to adjust, to feel out the terrain as much as the opponent. The game might change, but the principles remain.

Her body continued its careful work against the constriction that had threatened to claim her moments ago, each adjustment made with quiet precision. The give of the mattress required more patience, more awareness of how deeply they sank into it. Every shift had to account for that softness, that subtle resistance beneath them.

Even if the output from Chastity’s side leaned heavily in her favour, Madeline knew the exertion was mutual. Chastity, despite her apparent advantage with those powerful thighs, was straining just as Madeline was. But Chastity’s legs had remained formidable. Madeline did not deny that. There had been an oppressive weight to that hold, a suffocating certainty that would have broken many, both figuratively and literally. She could feel the lingering imprint of it in her core, the echo of pressure that had demanded respect. Interestingly, it was not merely the impressive power Chastity could generate, but her uncanny ability to maintain position despite Madeline’s calculated adjustments, that truly stood out.

Many self-proclaimed scissor queens would have had their prized hold broken by the subtle, precise movements Madeline was employing. Enough to unravel their control, to force a transition or to concede space. Chastity had done neither. She had adapted, reinforced, and held firm far longer than most could manage.

Clearly, there was something more, some other training that was supplementing Chastity’s physical strength. The question remained, what exactly was it?

The question of sin lingered between them, though Madeline seemed far less invested in it than before. “I do not believe either of us has quite earned the right to name such things yet.” Madeline managed a ragged, breathless chuckle. “It seems rather premature to search for faults where there may be none.” Even still, this equilibrium was maintained. A fragile one, but one nonetheless.

Then it broke.

The sudden release came without warning. The crushing pressure vanished in an instant, leaving behind only absence and momentum. Madeline’s body, already mid-adjustment, had no time to compensate before the force against her midsection sent her backwards. She’d be sent tumbling from the edge of the bed, sprawling onto the wooden floor.

Training took over at once. Her body turned with the descent, shoulder and side absorbing the worst of the impact as she met the wooden floor. It still stung, a sharp reminder of the unforgiving surface beneath the thin veil of atmosphere this room provided.

A quiet breath escaped her as she rolled onto one knee. For a brief moment, she stayed there, gathering herself, drawing in a deeper breath to steady the lingering tightness in her core. Then her gaze lifted, settling back onto Chastity with the same composed focus as before.

“One might think…” Madeline said, her tone dry as she pushed upright. “…that a room designed with such care would extend that courtesy to the floor.” She brushed a hand lightly against her side, more out of habit than necessity. “A touch of padding would not diminish the aesthetic.”

[BlackAkuma]

For the first time, true sadness flashed across Sister Chastity’s porcelain face, as she broke away from Madeline and sent the woman careering away with her powerful leg. Disappointment, and perfectly understandable at that. So many would dream to find themselves against a body like Madeline’s, to have her writhing between their thighs, and she had to let it go far, far too soon.

But they would only be parted for a few moments. She had every intention of bringing them back together in short order.

After the shoving kick, Sister Chastity threw her long, powerful legs back, rolled off the bed, and deftly landed on the other side, coming down with a dancer’s grace. Despite her size, the wood scarcely groaned under her weight as she stood on the balls of her feet, perfectly poised and balanced.

Sister Chastity could have rushed in and closed the distance on her foe - that would be the aggressive move, the productive one, striking while her foe was still finding her footing. Instead, she made her way around the bed with a leisurely gait, her bare toes lightly gliding along the wooden floor. Through the dimmed shadows of the room, her sapphires scanned Madeline’s fallen form, locked on her as she closed in with slow steps.

”I find the aesthetic rather pleasing. I was raised in a church much like this, though the decor was a good deal more mundane.” She threw the briefest of glances at the wall, adorned with all manner of sexual implements. ”Naturally.”

As she neared Madeline, Sister Chastity’s lackadaisical stance gave way to something more utilitarian and effective. Her stance widened, creating a solid base, and she stood on the balls of her feet, giving herself a bounce with every movement. Her arms were lowered and loose, and her gaze broke away to focus on the rest of her opponent’s body, darting from limb to limb, as if she was sizing up potential targets.

”But I do apologize if the accommodations are not to your tastes.” Her knees bent, a cat preparing to pounce. “Rest assured, I intend to have you back on the bed in short order.”

Sister Chastity seemed intent on making good on the threat - if you could call it that - as she moved in on her foe without another moment wasted, rapidly closing the distance. Where some might have led with strikes, she instead reached to try and snare one of Madeline’s arms, attempting to pull the two of the closer. At the same time, her leg came up and tried to whip around the Briton’s ankle as she jerked hard to the side.

A trip. A subtle, but deft move, as she attempted to plant her foe on the floor, where she could once again take control of the match with her size.

[Lightman]

At the very least, everything still felt intact. Madeline drew a measured breath as she rose, the lingering pressure around her midsection serving as a quiet reminder of what had just transpired. There was no lasting damage, nothing that would hinder her movement, yet the echo of that crushing hold remained vivid. No fractures, no lasting harm. A mercy, perhaps. Even so, she knew better than to underestimate it. There had been something in the way Chastity held that position. The power alone is one thing, but there’s that sense of ease. It was the sort of control that came from familiarity and repeated use. No doubt she would strive to reclaim that sensation, to taste that dominance again. Like a dog wanting its chew toy.

She rose fully just as Chastity descended from the bed, and the contrast did not escape her notice. Where Madeline’s fall had met the floor with an audible impact, the other woman landed with a quiet grace that belied her build. Again, there was that control. Every movement measured, every step placed with intent. A slow approach, unhurried yet deliberate.

Her attention flickered briefly towards the walls, towards the instruments that adorned them, before returning to the figure closing in. Evidently, she had crafted the setting with intention. Chastity offered a perfunctory apology for the accommodations. However, it made Madeline wonder if the battle was intended to remain entirely on the bed, or if the unforgiving wooden floor was also a legitimate part of Chastity’s strategy. “It is just a curious choice.” She remarked, her voice calm. “Creating a space that invites one surface, yet punishes another. But it's so kind of you that you have my best interests in mind.”

That was debatable.

Her stance adjusted, weight balanced, bare feet grounded. Madeline was ready. As Chastity moved, her previously leisurely gait gave way to a more predatory stance. Her knees bent, her weight shifted, transforming her considerable frame into a coiled spring. Madeline read the intention and instantly responded in kind.

The English Rose’s captured arm did not resist outright. Instead, it turned inward, her wrist rotating as she stepped into the motion rather than away from it. Her free hand rose at once, finding contact along Chastity’s upper arm, guiding rather than blocking. At the same time, her threatened leg adjusted, lifting just enough to avoid being caught cleanly, her foot planting again at a new angle. “Mmm…good, but almost.” Madeline said, her voice quiet but assured.

She closed the distance herself. Instead of retreating, the brunette stepped in, bringing her centre closer to Chastity’s, her shoulder aligning near the blonde woman’s chest as she sought to disrupt the follow-through. The Englishwoman's grip shifted, fingers finding purchase along the arm that had reached for her, beginning to turn it outward. A precise counter, one she wouldn’t have to force.

Madeline’s worked to establish arm control resembling a standing overhook, stance widening slightly, grounding herself against the wooden floor as she leads into a dominant clinch. “I do hope you're not the type to concede easily.”

[BlackAkuma]

The room was almost a second opponent for Madeline. It was slightly smaller than a ring already, but the bed and other directions shortened that space even further, making the space more intimate and more restricting. Less space to maneuver, to evade, the sort of format that would favor a bigger woman. It wasn’t a huge advantage, but properly applied, it could be a significant one.

Of course, an advantage was only good if one knew how to properly use it, so the question remained - was Sister Chastity such a person? Moreso than Sister Lucia, it would seem. While their illustrious leader was more prone to acrobatic feats and faster paced style, her lieutenant seemed to favor a slower, more methodical style. Her movements were slow, but deliberate, and forceful as well. Strength, but not like the brutal, crushing power that Sister Prudence wielded. An relentless, inexorable force, like a glacier.

She moved in, clasped Madeline's wrist with a pincer-grip, and they were grappling. It was a close, intimate sort of fighting, with their hot breath mingling in the cool air and their body sliding against one another. The scents of battle were already rising between them.

To an onlooker, it might’ve looked like they were simply struggling, a rough tousle between two gorgeous women. It would be all to easy to miss the minutiae of their dance, as their bare feet slide around the floor and fought for position. Sister Chastity seemed to have it for an instant, but Madeline was quick to adapt, working her foot away at a key moment and staying upright. For now.

More movement. Madeline came in, seizing Sister Chastity’s arm and turning into. It made for an awkward position, but that was likely the whole point. She would not be so easily cowed.

”You will know the answer to that soon enough, I suspect.” Sister Chastity nuzzled against Madeline, lovingly, dreamily, her husky words heating up the woman’s ears. ”Do not rush. We will get to such a place in due time.”

An abrupt change. Instead of pushing inwards, Sister Chastity abruptly pulled away with a violent burst of force, trying to drag Madeline along for the ride. The two of them swung about, and the nun attempted to bring them down, with her coming on top of the Briton, looking for a position of dominance on the floor.

[Lightman]

There was a certain inevitability to the way they kept finding each other again. Madeline felt it in the closeness, in the way distance seemed to collapse the moment it was created. Their bodies met once more in that tight space, chest to chest, breath mingling in the cool air that did little to temper the heat between them. The hot, rising scent of exertion bloomed between them in the strangely cool air. It was intimate in a way that few matches ever achieved, stripped of spectacle and reduced to something far more immediate.

“I could grow accustomed to this.” Madeline murmured, her voice low, almost thoughtful. Her hands remained active even as she spoke, maintaining contact, feeling for shifts in tension and balance. Without the crushing vice of Chastity’s legs around her waist, she could move more freely now, though she did not mistake that freedom for safety. “You are not so easily moved, like a mountain.” she added softly, her eyes fixed and attentive. “Good. I would be disappointed if you were.”

There was honesty in that. Madeline did not seek easy victories. Not here. Not against someone who had already proven capable of challenging her. This closeness, this struggle for control in small, precise movements, was where she thrived. Chastity, for her part, was proving to be a fascinating opponent. Even with her…oddities.

Then the shift came, subtle at first, but became decisive. Madeline felt the pull before she fully saw it, the sudden change in direction as Chastity attempted to drag her into motion. It was a well-timed effort, a sweeping action aimed at taking her balance as her feet adjusted across the wooden floor.

As Chastity’s leg swept out, attempting to hook her ankle and send her tumbling, Madeline’s body reacted on instinct. Rather than resisting the pull outright, Madeline stepped with it, her foot sliding just enough to avoid being cleanly taken. Her grip tightened, her posture lowering as her centre of gravity dropped. The motion carried her, but not fully under control. Both would go down. And the landing wouldn’t be so kind. But it’s not all as intended.

As Chastity sought to come out on top, Madeline turned through the descent, her body angling to the side rather than falling flat beneath her. One arm remained engaged, guiding rather than opposing, while her leg threaded slightly between theirs to prevent a clean pinning position.

Madeline absorbed the impact of the floor through her side and shoulder; the wood groaned loudly under the weight landing on top of it, already moving as they landed. Her hips shifted at once, creating space, denying Chastity the ability to settle her weight fully. One knee drew in, forming a barrier, while her free hand pressed lightly against her opponent’s torso, not to push away, but to manage the distance.

A subtle adjustment followed. Her hips turned further, her planted foot seeking leverage against the floor as she began to angle herself out from directly beneath. At its core, she attempts to prevent Chastity from establishing dominance cleanly. “Patience, dear…” Madeline breathed, her voice steady despite the brief jolt of impact. Her expression softening into something faintly amused. “…is a virtue I am perfectly capable of exercising.”

[BlackAkuma]

”As could I.” Though Sister Chastity kept her tone at the same saccharine heights for the most part, she spoke here with a little more mirth than usual, a darker tone that betrayed some deeper desires. Even as they jockeyed for position, their feet sliding and seeking purchase on the polished wood, she kept her voice steady. ”Perhaps, once your trial is finished and the title has slipped from your hands, we may meet in a more casual setting? Your company would be most welcome, among other things.”

The middle of a hentai-adjacent match was an odd time to be throwing out dinner invites, but if there was humor in Sister Chastity’s offer, she did not betray it. She kept her smile, even as grunts and groans were forced from their throat.

”Disappointing you?” Something akin to a giggle worked its way through her exertions. ”Perish the thought.”

The banter, pleasant as it was, would have to wait, as Sister Lucia sought more action. WIth a flash of movement, the two of them swung around and came down to the floor, hitting in a manner that was anything but alluring. Sister Chastity worked fast, or as fast as one could ever expect a woman of her build to move, trying to secure a mounted position, but her play was not unexpected.

Before she could secure anything substantial, Madeline came to her side and put a pause on those thoughts, making her position more tricky and tenuous. The knee was an obstacle, as well, and her foe was already twisting, making an effort to get out from under her. In seconds, she would likely succeed.

”So you say,” Sister Chastity’s thick, thunderous leg made her way across Madeline’s body, knee passing over the Briton’s chest. ”I will be testing that.”

Sister Chastity pressed down and aggressively planted Madeline onto her back, forcing her back to the wood with a burst of strength and speed, befor she took the mount. Her window would be small, and she sought to fill it promptly. Out came her arms, grasping for her opponent's head with a firm, steady hand. Down came her breasts, crashing over Madeline’s face like a wave of flesh, plunging her opponents eyes and nose and mouth into a sweet, sweaty purgatory, where she would find neither light nor air.