Tiaras and Tricorns: Angelina Tarrant vs Madeleine Citronelle (Apex Qualifier)

[Malkavia]

Madeleine slipping her fingers from between Angelina's lips made her shake. The naked air was cold along Madeleine's fingers, the texture of the fluid covering them viscous. When she used her index finger and thumb to free the dildo from its harness, it felt sticky in her palm. Now that the dildo had been removed, Madeleine's pussy pressed against Angelina's back. Hot. Moist.

The next set of moves were a rapid series of twists, yanks, and rotations, anchored by the chokehold and the leg Madeleine had captured between her own. The first thing was to unbind her ankles—but only to capture each leg. Then, by the time Madeleine was finished, Angelina was on her back, the Countess seated on her side with the pirate's head against her chest. She had captured Angelina's other leg under her armpit, which allowed her to pull both of Angelina's feet up around her head, splaying them in opposite directions, while her bare behind pointed towards the lights. Codswaddle was still in Angelina's left hand.

Spadle

Did she feel guilty? Of course not. Should she feel guilty? Hard to say. Empathy did not come naturally. She had to force the perspective, to self-consciously model the world of this person in her power. Imagine it. Imagine your legs captured and split open like a book. Your thighs twitch along their hamstrings, painful but powerless, your naked toes squeeze, your ankles flex until they hurt. And in the center of that defeat, lying naked in the middle of that conquered vulnerability, your pussy is soft. Limp. Open. Needy. It glistens, filthy with fluids from the first time it was violated. Even you can smell what's rising between your legs—all while your naked rat body bristles against thousands of unfriendly eyes.

Empathy made Madeleine wet.

The dildo flopped against Angelina's cheek. It had been in the hand holding the choke, but—now that the spadle was locked in, that wasn't so necessary, was it? Madeleine let it splat one, twice more against the pirate's cheeks. Then, she lowered it. It was still slick and drew a slick line between her tits, towards her groin.

"I wish..." Madeleine's breath was hot on Angelina's ear. The tip of the dildo pressed against the puckered entry to Angelina's backdoor. She held the dildo by its base, like a calligrapher handling a brush. She pressed gently enough to avoid insertion and rotated the cock forward. Back. Left. Right. Big breath in—breathing made her feel light. "...I could cover you in kisses. Give you my tiara and let you cry into my shoulder when I finally let you climax. It would be so sweet. To be honest, it hurts to think about." Empathy was unusually easy for once; she had fresh, raw memory of what Angelina was about to experience. "Because that's not how we're going to end, kitten. Maybe once I get you home. But here, you've earned something else. Do you know what you've earned?"

[Monsy]

What Angelina felt was an increasing coil. The metabolism of consequence slowly eating, and herself, both drowsy and lacking will, constrained and confined to Madeleine’s bend. First, it’s a choke. The air runs short but that’s nothing she couldn’t bear. Tighten up that hatch, let the neck go red and the headache swell. Then she meets her back. Tight, but slow ripping sears into her hamstrings. If you took a leather belt, and stretched it, then kept stretching, where the whites of wear and breaking point slowly evaporate the middle into crusted, hyper-active incensed nerves, chewing and spitting warm aromatic candle wax. It’s arousing, humiliating, induces a self-loathing as her sex spreads itself in front of thousands, weeping from stimuli, begging and drooling with lubricant, and glistening from arousal and sweat.

The crowds certainly lauded it, with voices of gold that she wanted to inflict so many things on.
But she can picture the end, here. Two fingers, skilled as the harpist, plucking and resetting into a melody that could coo into a soft chorus where she’d give them a healthy dose of moaning, straight from a healthy young, and recently violated small throat.

The hold was cold, but her back and legs were shivering at once, with pins and needles making her shift in place. And just seeing herself, propped by Madeleine’s chest, with all the bumps, bruises, sores and wetness, made her bite her tongue in intense shame. The dildo was a revisit, but it didn't change much. She could cower away from it like before -- intimidated by its size, like before, and feel its girth and weight swat and schlap, slink down and, steadily, make her heart run laps. Her stomach had the most honesty. Waves, from the bottom of her thinly-indenting ribs to the pelvis. Sucking in and out, first slow, then really fast as Madeleine reached her puckered flower.

She hugged Codswaddle into her chest, clenched, brought both hands on him and stared. “Eh…”

Do you know what you earned? Was that some kind of morality question, or, an ask of what she wanted? To cum. She’d say. If she was slapped once or twice. “K-Keh… mmm…Kehehaha…” Really. She only pondered one answer, and took only five seconds of staring down at what was coming. It came with a batch of tear-filled giggles, fearful, with anxiety welded into twitching fingertips. She rested her head fully into Madeleine’s breast, turned head, Codswaddle under her chin. She muttered with the faintest of grins.

“Screw you.”

[Malkavia]

Madeleine sighed, quirking an eyebrow. Screw you. A poor choice of words. She pressed her head against Angelina's crown, leaning forward so she could run her tongue along the top of her ear, which was salty from perspiration. "I should be furious at you for that that." From beside Angelina, she peered down between her sweet's splayed legs, watching with apparent fascination as she pushed with her palm down on the base of the dildo.

Madeleine's view included most of Angelina's body. The red hair and trembling lips filled the right side of her peripheral vision, as did Codswaddle's long body, which hung from Angelina's cheek down to the mat in a long brown and white splash of color. Angelina was holding him much too tight—it would shift the stuffing in a way that would put pressure on the seams and leave Codswaddle a bit looser once released. But there was no helping that. Madeleine could watch Angelina's belly rise and fall with her breath, now hitching, then seizing.

The Countess felt she had an insufficient number of arms. There was so much she wanted to caress—to cradle her kitten's jaw, to pat her head, to squeeze her sad little thigh. But—too bad. All she could do was push down on the dildo and watch, with gleaming eyes, as Angelina's tightest hole expanded, resisting at first, then capitulating as the silicone slid first slow, then quick inside of the helpless wrestler.

"Alas." Madeleine's voice fell to a whisper, as she licked her upper lip, then swallowed. The dildo sank right to it hilt. Madeleine gave it a slight twist, clockwise, then counterclockwise, to ensure it had gone as deep as it could reach. She let her finger's slide from the base of the rubber cock. It wobbled, but stayed in place, as Madeleine's hand moved over the public region, up her navel. She traced a circle around her bellybutton. Madeleine's eyelids narrowed. She really does have a perfect belly. Her legs might have been her weapons, but Angelina's tummy...The bellybutton looked like a teardrop, slightly taller than it was wide, tapered at the top, ensconced in the softest flesh Madeleine had ever touched. She was sure, as her index finger's nail slid over her abs, that this was not an exaggeration. The very softest skin.

Madeleine raised her hand over that belly button. She made a fist. She wondered: If she dropped it down, full force, onto that delicate belly, would it be enough to launch the dildo? She could picture it arcing like a lewd ballista bolt. Pew! Her fist fell like a hammerstrike—then stopped a breath away. Her fist broke, and she caressed the Marauder's side with all her fingertips. "You're too precious, my sweet. Too delicate and too cute for your own good."

[Monsy]

Angelina’s adam’s apple felt grabbed. Staring, the brow. An instant regret slithered into her trachea. Her tongue retreated as her ear felt another, loosening her up slightly. She waited for some form of reprisal. Sure enough. The rubber cock slipped into her anus, and she could feel her hole squeeze the tip, reject it, then lose slowly. Angelina’s smile evaporated in the instant, being nudged and slightly twisted by twitching cheeks. The squirms started immediately. Up, down -- whatever was most comfortable. And she mewled, but inside her mouth. It had a fluctuating high-pitch, and tuned exactly to the pace Madeleine pushed it in. Her chest started to dance. “I-it’s… r-really big…”

And by the centimetre, she felt more sweaty, and in desperate heat. An eye flinched and started flickering. Her stomach retracted when she sucked in through her nose, twice as fast, and her shoulder-blades pulled back, and used Madeleine’s body as a fulcrum to curl her belly out, then turnt her shoulders back and forth to cope and hold her lungs full.

Then it came out: all together into a pathetic, “g-gyahh..hah…”
The dick slid to its deepest part as her body gave in. Her eyes slipped back, and she groaned. Codswaddle, once on the verge of being mutilated by Angelina’s fingernails, now was calmly held against her collar. She melted back into place, and left the hungry spectators applauding the finished sight.

Being stuffed was sedative. She could feel her core activate, hold and clench. Her abs were tired, but she couldn’t relax them. There were butterflies, and a great brain frog that made her neck feel like jello. Her eyes were open, with pained tears now replaced by a sense of confused overwhelming high. Her legs were blissfully numb. Her purple iris sparkled like jewels, looking down, watching it finally slip to its hilt. She moaned gently, and her body shivered from stimuli. Her tongue, once rolled into a curl, now on her bottom lip as she panted, as if trying to suck in the moisture from her own sultry musk.

Thoughts of escape drizzled down the drain, and she had a new instinct to ride the length until and after the bell. If only she could move. Now, with her chin tucked against her collar, and Codswaddle resting soundly, she leaned towards Madeleine’s chest, and watched her hue look down at her belly. Of course, she could feel Madeleine’s hand exploring her tummy’s shallow curves. Tiny, tight and sweaty. The soft ramp that primarily supported a small layer of muscle. The valley down the middle that went from sternum to navel, and the accented curves around her obliques, perhaps the squishiest point. Or maybe it was the belly button itself. Her sacred temple.

The stimuli relaxed her completely. A return to safety for a moment, glancing down, and seeing the hammer-fist suddenly come down and stop… A squeak trapped in her throat. Her gut retracted to its deepest point and Angelina gasped loudly at the thrill of almost eating Madeleine’s fist. Through her voice trappings, having been spooked and excited at once, she mouse-peeped the jumbled words… “Th-Thankyousomuch…”

[Malkavia]

Madeleine smirked. "From screw you to thank you in under twenty seconds." Her middle finger traced the outside lips of Angelina's pussy. "Quite the emotional yo-yo, aren't we?" Her finger slipped into the outermost fold, then hooked Angelina slightly open. Moisture coated her fingertip, and she withdrew, lifting the finger thoughtfully to her lips to taste.

There were residual aches and pinpricks. For example, when Madeleine's eyes fixed on the round red hilt trembling like a stopper under pressure in Angelina's anus, it made her skin run cold. She remembered how Angelina's fingers had felt inside of her. The penetration had been hot, painful. And then—Bark bark. Remembering that made her face flush, and the pinpricks in her cheeks tempted her to take another, less merciful swing at the rat's gut as she felt herself shrink even now under the gaze of all her fans.

But she had caught her breath. Pain might flare in her knee. She might feel fatigue deep enough to itch in her teeth. But she had been in control ever since she had locked in the GCP, and her brain no longer needed to rush. Forgiveness, with teeth, was the best way to trivialize.

"When I take you home, I'll have a collar ready to squeeze that sensitive throat of yours." Madeleine walked her index and middle fingers down Angelina's belly, then started to fuck her in earnest. Angelina's natural lubricant collected at the bottom of the slit, but the surfaces that made her gasp were at the top. Madeleine adopted a rhythm of slipping deep inside, collecting that nectar, then sliding to the clitoral hood to circle around but not touch her sensitive nub. "It will be an elegant accessory, tasteful and in a color of your choice. Imagine how it will feel to have that promise pressing into your skin—that you belong to me, that my lap is yours. And that's just the beginning, my aching little loser kitten." Her voice was honey, and she slipped the barb in naturally and without a pause, as if loser were every bit as loving as everything else she was saying. Her thumb brushed over Angelina's engorged clit.

"You've built up quite the sweat. It's sweet. Adds something musky to that strawberry perfume of yours. But, still. You need a bath. And I think one of the first things we should do is thoroughly scrub out all your filth." Madeleine punctuated her speech with deeper penetration, and by cupping Angelina's cunt and squeezing, before continuing with her rhythm. "How's that sound, my darling sugardrop?"

[Monsy]

How do you build yourself up to take this? Angelina found that, above all else, to be an ever-fluctuating answer. But it’s one she started to find ever-slightly, with Madeleine’s fist stopping short, she found herself feeling a high. One where, somehow, she’d won a prize with a magic string that she was pulling. This was winning: she told herself. Madeleine is treating her precious. And as filthy as she felt with the depths it plunged, and all the humiliations, the pain in her knees, foreplay endured, virginities taken from her — the high was real.

An eye-watering cliff that went from psychological to physical, no better felt than Madeleine’s finger touching, then tasting Angelina’s arousal. She slow-blinked while watching, waiting for her turn to taste. She also bit her lower-lip anticipating the sequel, longing to be finger-fucked for hours if it were possible. A greed that became a need to be violated, restrained and having to balance rebellion and submission to NOT be punched, but wanting the fist just as bad. Mmph…

She shivered head-to-toe from it, with her tummy relaxing to the walk of Madeleine’s hand, like sparks, she felt each distinguished spot as alcoholic shots. But that didn’t compare to the jager bomb when Madeleine finally stirred her insides. Shlick as they went in. Squelch as they pressed. The released tension made Angelina moan, straight from her throat where her shoulders motioned slightly, and the sweat on her back but a small range of motion to slip and nudge.

“A-Ahh.. Ah..h-hah…” Sweet, earnest sounds from a honey pot. Like musical notes, playing half beats on a stave.

Then the tease around her swollen pink pearl, where her tummy sucked in holding the tension. Her hips involuntarily twitched and her inner walls clenched in what was the most pleasurable and leg-numbing burn inside her lower-half. She weighed and measured the word loser against the thumb finally touching her clit. What she cared about more… at this time… That would make her the world’s littlest loser. And that sentiment would win every day of the week if it meant feeling like this. With fingers plunged so deeply to which her dripping walls could squeeze, lick and kiss. Madeleine’s own vice, which hurt her in such a way that she felt loved -- knowing a collar was just beyond the corner, no matter what.

And her breath, hot, aired out in increasing huffs instead of moans, which were short and sounded like drawn out groans and cries. God, how her face was sweaty. The dark-red blush running ear to ear. Eyes, docile, heart-pupilled and half-lid, but continuing to run her tears freely. A filthy mouth, caught between a thank you and fuck you, dripping drool out its corners with no sense of decency. Her chin tucked against a slender collar, red from her own heat. Nipples at attention, stone-like, soaking in overhead light and sweat on her naked breasts. Then the rest of her body, contorted, bruised and terribly flexed: yet so fuckin’ eager to soak the canvas one more time…

Angelina sputtered… “I-It s-s-sounds!...” Inhale ( tummy in )… Focus… For Madsy. “S-So good! I-I want… P-Pink!”

Huff. Moan. Huff.. “N-No.. Blue!… mm—Red??!…p-pink!…” She was beginning to drown… “...p-p-parple??”

[Malkavia]

She could literally, physically feel the audience cheering. It reminded her of a packed concert. The sound shook her bones, made her feel like her brain was rattling in her skull. Much of it was chaos. Cheers, stomps, buzzers, whistles—but every few seconds, through the blend and the din, she caught her name. Madeleine. The way her fans screamed those three syllables was a bolt of pure gold, a shock that made every hair on her body stand on end.

And who did she have to thank?

Angelina was bucking. Her body was soaked, to the point that the ring lights reflected off her belly as distinct, gleaming circles. Her violet eyes sparked with intelligence, but those sparks were like stray lightning from an electrical board gutted of its components. Disconnected pieces flared and hissed, but the central unit was out to lunch. Nonsense spewed out of Angelina's mouth, which was working up and down with drooling delight.

Madeleine let her breath pour over Angelina's ear as she leaned in, face flushed and eyes dim. "I love all your noises, sweet pea. But. They are starting to feel..." Her fingers sank deeply into Angelina, then slid up her lips. Her knees clenched, almost imperceptibly, as a sweet something shivered from between Madeleine's legs and into her chest. "Pathetic. Grating."

Swirl and stroke and dive and rub. Madeleine's lips caressed Angelina's ear as they got close—as the muscles started to twitch painfully tight and the face began to contort. “Swallow them. Choke on your orgasm. Be a good pet and maybe, when we get home, I’ll let your tongue take care of me.” She watched Angelina as if seeing inside her. Would she be able to damp her volume? As she watched, Madeleine's tongue ran over the helix of her ear. She sucked at the skin, waiting until she could feel Angelina's orgasm start to quiver just under the surface.

"...Which is more than you'd deserve. Rat."

Her hand slipped out from between Angelina's legs. Fingers, gleaming in the stagelights, formed a fist. She bit down on the rat's ear, hard, until she tasted blood. Her fist slammed into her unprepared gut, timed in Madeleine's mind to shatter this girl's abs at the same time that her sex shattered the rest of whatever dignity she had left.

[Monsy]

When she finally thought of Madeleine as a crowd-loving crusader: it made sense. Of course she’d do this. Treat her in this way. When everyone cries for blood: you shed it. Then why would she ever apologize?… To get a collar… right? Something to that effect. Loving what you visualize, the same as having in your hands, or in this case, around your neck. And right now, she could only think of that while being fucked. And becoming a loser kitten, stretched, pried back, with screaming hips and delayed gasps.

Angelina turned her head away when peppered on her ear, hiked her shoulders, head cocked, then bit her lip. She nodded, quickly with a cough stuck in her throat. “I-I c-can!” Angelina belted, twisting her shoulder briefly. Her voice buried into her tummy and she held it, voice cracking, slobbering, tearing up and squeezing Codswaddle betwixt her tits. Her head threw itself back and her toes involuntarily curled. Her legs, spine and ribs felt like nothing but trembles. Her nose decayed from her own disgusting sweat. And before she could feel ethereal, white-hot teeth prongs slowly knife-slice her ear. Like biting into old solidified gum, then squishy and full of thinly-spread flowing blood as it broke.

The urge to sob climaxed, but she buried it into her gut, pushing it out and holding back her orgasm. Madeleine’s fist pounded Angelina’s navel, and it made a wet lotion-padded clap, then plunged deep. The dainty muscle and fat formed around Madeleine’s knuckles, hand and rippled like well-behaved warm baker’s dough, rippling her entire midsection, back and chest. The skin pulled to show ribs and pelvic bone, and a giant indent ruined any beauty her tummy had. Angelina cried. Then, her face flushed and she convulsed, squealed, choked, and began to cum with four clear squirts staining the canvas, each weaker than the last over the course of ten seconds, where the last impotently soaked her own hips, cunt and ass.

The bell rang. The crowd barraged Madeleine with applause, drowning out Angelina’s dazed slack whimpering. They stood, held their signs, whistled and chanted, and snapped several photos, with images to hold for a lifetime of a heroine. And of Angelina, who couldn’t stop pathetically convulsing or even wipe the small snot-line on her nose, fist in her purpled gut and vacantly looking out like something inside snapped in two.

[Malkavia]

Angelina tensed one, two, three, four times, and when she was finished, Madeleine released the hold. Angelina's legs plopped onto the mat, the left hitting slightly before the right. Madeleine collapsed and unrolled so that her head and shoulder blades rested on the mat. Angelina's head lay on her belly. Madeleine felt the world spin beneath her, as her breath lifted and then fell, and pain curled up first in her knee, then in her gut, and then in every overworked muscle in her body, like a cat stretching its claws. As her eyes lidded and her mouth quirked into a smile, Madeleine ran her cum-soaked fingers through Angelina's hair, scritching between her kitten's ears.

Before long, the crowd pierced the bubble sheltering Countess and pet. Madeleine stirred, rolled out from under Angelina, and got to her feet. The adrenaline that had carried her through the last leg of the match had been diluted down to nothing, and her bad knee trembled on the way up. But she smiled all the wider to hide it, and once she was fully standing, she placed a boot on Angelina's belly, threw up her arms, and soaked up all the noise the crowd had to offer. Light reflected off a sheen of sweat on her chest, which rose and fell with her heavy breathing. She felt like a soloist after a symphony, stepping to the front of the stage to receive her flowers and to bask in a protracted standing ovation. But she couldn't think of many symphonies whose audience roared like this one. She felt immortal.

Then she lowered her arms and her gaze fell to the rat underfoot. Her one-time opponent's eyes were vacant, hovering in their sockets with delectable lifelessness. She had spent much of this match imagining what it would be like to dress and strip and paint this girl to the Countess's liking—to make her a doll. Her heel rested on a wide, purple bruise just above Angelina's bellybutton. Madeleine shifted her weight onto that leg, dug in the heel, and then scraped the sole clean. Time to wake up, sunshine. She backed into and sat on the second rope, her arms stretched out to rest along the top wire. She cocked her head and smiled, as sickly sweet as aspartame.

"You wanted the pink collar, I believe you said." Her voice had returned to its sugary baseline, but her eyes glittered with venom. "Greedy greedy. And you've been cheating, too, soaking up all my love with that filthy cunt of yours...while I kindly pretended not to notice Codswaddle. Little rat." Madeleine crossed her legs, leaning backwards. She waited for Angelina's eyes to reach her own before continuing.

"You want to go home? To be my precious little loser kitten? Good. Then show me, here, in front of all these people." She lifted her leg, extending the boot. She snapped her finger and pointed to her foot, eyeing the sad, naked creature before her. Her tongue ran along the inside of her upper lip, and her smile widened. "And leave Codsy behind, while you're at it, or I'll know you're lying."

[Monsy]

Fuckin’ fuck were her legs just done.
And it wasn’t just pain taking her out of it. Though that was sixty percent of it. Her kneecaps looked like they belonged to a six foot man her back prickled from artificial Citronelle-flavoured scoliosis. Now, laid out and able to relax, chin into her collar and soaked fingers behind her ear and against her scalp. Scritch-scritch. Her heel started motioning and scraping. Her head rolled back into Madeleine’s belly, almost stabbing Madeleine with her horns. Eyes closed, a slow and strong intake through the nose and she finally closed that disgusting mouth hers.

The next thing she knew, she was laying down, pat-less, boot imprinted her squishy tummy, and making her gasp and breathe through a straw. One small convulse, a knee sliding up later and Angelina was trying to find the eyes that were slipping into the back of her skull, leaving her expression on stand-by with full whites and slack-jaw. The boot helped, if only to make Angelina curl her shoulders off the ground, make a peril-stricken flushed face while choking on shrills and mewls. Her body tossed the way Madeleine scraped, and she laid on her hip, curled into a ball, holding her gut and finally, FINALLY, closing her sluttish legs.

Then, Madeleine’s voice, like a white butterfly inside the dark, luring her eyes to her seemingly unharmed form on the ropes. She wanted to smile, laugh and do something to Madeleine but didn’t know what. It was blank, tired, longing and Angelina’s thoughts blunted when she tried to summon rage, or draw on vengeance for what Madeleine inspired from the crowd. Their vocal gold. Whatever, dickbags. It was too taxing, and too much faux investment to sob about it. Especially with a fucking dildo still buried six inches up her ass.

We just have to pretend to behave, right? Her thoughts led. She chose to lay on her belly, grunt, then stare at Madeleine’s boot sole. Chewing her bottom lip, Angelina got to all fours, took one pace then collapsed to her front, yelping as her knees bit. She breathed raggedly, so stacked her legs and then pulled herself the rest of the way. Then in front of Madeleine’s foot, she looked at Codswaddle one last time before dropping him, placing that second hand down, leaning over and kissing the filthy sole. Dirt, dust, a bit of rock and slick of her own cum washed her tongue. She fit her whole face into the boot and leaned into it, then kissed the upper-sole, then again to the toes, over to the top-foot, ankle and shin. Angelina grabbed Madeleine’s leg, one hand on the calf, and the other reaching behind her knee. Her sweaty face rubbed the length of her shin in three strokes, kissed the knee, then up further to her thigh, grabbing, holding, then squeezing. Madeleine’s leg would run between Angelina’s tits, between her navel and the top-foot and toes were touching her swollen labia.

In fact, she was sitting on it, leaning against Madeleine, cheek against her thigh, arms fully wrapped around and squeezing, head turned towards Madeleine’s other leg while she peered up. A glistening flat lower lip pleaded to go home, with her eyes peering up, breaking into performative tears of self-pity, wondering if she was behaving. She wanted to hear it whilst her heart pound against Madeleine’s knee… picturing a pink collar for her own neck, and two hands for Madeleine’s, holding until the face popped.