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

[Malkavia]

Madeleine lifted her foot to meet Angelina’s lips. As they touched, heat swept over the Countess—from where her too-willing lips touched the gleaming gold trim of her boot, out to the Countess's sweaty palms and slick forehead. Her face prickled, her backside clenched. Her nipples hardened. Lovely, sweet, simply lovely. But her cupcake didn’t stop there—oh no. There was pleading, and scraping, and worshipping yet to come.

At first, the Countess was a shell, face stiff, posture firm with tight lips, watching with her head tilted, lips thin. The further Angelina slipped up her leg, however, the more she experienced a buzz, a feeling like drug-induced light in her veins—something that made her feel like she was floating inches off the ground. She felt tempted to glance and make sure she was still attached to the canvas, but no. She couldn’t peel her scarlet eyes from this for even a second.

The skin along Madeleine’s calves and thighs was bare, and when Angelina touched skin, Madeleine released the breath she had been holding. It poured out of her in a growl that rumbled in her chest. A shiver ran up her back. Her hand took Angelina roughly by her scalp, but then. A moment’s hesitation, before her icy grip melted, loosened, and stroked her angel's cheek. Angelina's skin was the kind of soft that made Madeleine want to pick her up like a stuffy and squeeze her.

“Good." Her voice was almost a whisper, though heavy, as if alcohol hung on her breath. "Simply perfect, sweet. Absolutely...flawless.” And it was, without a ghost of a doubt, perfect indeed. Angelina by now had curled around Madeleine’s leg, pressed to her with her cheek, her breasts, her tum, her cunt. Madeleine closed her eyes and focused on letting every detail sift through her center—the friction of boot on skin, the cold when Angelina shifted and exposed some sweat to the air, the subtle shifts in her grip. Strawberry and fingertip and trembling lips. While she savored those feelings, she recalled the image from only seconds ago—lips on her boot. Face pressed to foot. Her lips curled in a wobbly kind of crook, and a high whine escaped her lips. She opened her eyes, smiling, and saw with fresh eyes the vast, sated crowd.

Whoever says you can’t please them all was simply another incompetent. There was, she supposed, the gray-haired woman who had stolen, then tossed Codswaddle. But who was she? Nobody. A speck within a speck, so small in its frame as to be a rounding error. Chopped off and forgotten. Nothing like the adoring diamond on her foot.

A quick brush with her fingers resettled her hair, and she shifted herself to slide down to Angelina’s level. She pressed her lips to her forehead, then, after a pause, kissed her. She hooked her arms under Angelina's shoulders and lifted her off Madeleine's boot. A few adjustments later, and her new treasure hung bridal-style in her arms. Although her knee and a dozen other injuries throbbed, and would make the next few days an agonizing journey of recovery, just then? It didn't even register.

“Let’s go home.”

[Monsy]

‘Another slap was surely coming’ Angelina assured in her head.
The touch was gentle again, after all that. And it made her think to have her face less sweaty, and that she was smothering them with her own disgusting filth. Any moment now, there would be a shove or some play to further ram in the knife. Feed the fire: a whispering, malevolent thought told her. It can only end tits up for you later.

But, instead she found praise. The kind that struck her dimly with dopamine and held Madeleine’s leg that much tighter. She then shut her eyes on reflex, looked down when eye-level, then was forehead kissed. When she peeped again, there came another on her dirty wet lips. Her being bubbled with this sense of overwhelming gratitude. The kind that makes her groin shiver and lips greedy. As if being touched by the sun while being merely: an undeserving ugly rat. That name call felt so cozy.

For the time being… Those feelings won.
Up she went into Madeleine’s arms, quite awe-inspired to be held. Butterflies.
And just how would she show gratitude? For all of what happened? By clinging, arms wrapped around her new captor’s neck, holding and burying her face into their neck. She released toxins through sniffles, sighed and closed her eyes one last time to hide, whispering, but firmly enunciating the words… “Thank you…”

Winner 2-1 via Two Orgasms: Madeleine Citronelle