Nefretiri vs. Mistress Beatrix - A Rough Start

[BlackAkuma]

Just the right amount of jiggle, just the right amount of thrust. Beatrice was careful not to push too hard and far - she wasn’t looking to have any nipslips or wardrobe malfunctions. But other than that, it was all fair game, as she gave the audience a view that more than a few of them greatly appreciated.

And there was that voice in her ear again, making her shiver and shudder. There was no ignoring it at this point, she was starting to grow extremely accustomed to that sensation. Nefretiri had this deep, lustful voice, the kind that would’ve been perfect for ASMR, the sort of sound that tickled the fine hairs in your ear and simply made you want to melt under it. She did the best she could to stay in control, to stay focused, but even she had her limits - a moan slipped out, one that wasn’t in any way indicative of pain and was so much the opposite.

She clamped her mouth shut, bit it back, kept it from getting any worse than. Eyes on the prize.

It was a good thing, then, that Nefretiri gave her something else to occupy her headspace, as the woman abruptly popped off her hat, leaving her sweaty blonde hair to fall free. She couldn't tell what the woman did with it for this angle, but judging by the crowd’s reaction, she could hazard a healthy guess that it was currently riding on a new, prettier skull. ”Hey! Hey, give that back!” She let out a weak, mewling roar of frustration and furiously shook her head about, thrashing beneath the taller woman in impotent rage.

Her cries came to an end, however, when Nefretiri’s arm came down on her throat - or appeared, too, anyway. It was close, she could feel the power within that limb, the potential for damage, the heat of the muscle beneath the skin, but the pressure never came. It was an almost tender hold, more of a cuddle than anything, like a lover holding her tight in the morning…not that she would know what that was like, but how she imagined it would be.

She sold it like death, of course. Pulling at the arm, writhing about, gagging, eyes desperately shifting about as she fought for every single wisp of air she could get. Her body undulated against Nefretiri’s like a trapped serpent, grinding, skin against skin.

She had to be careful, though, as the referee kneeled close and looked her way with intense interest - Beatrice knew she needed to look desperate, but not so desperate that the official would call off the match for her safety. That would be like ending a movie right before the third act, utterly unthinkable.

[CyanDimitrik]

That sound. That unmistakable sound. Throaty, primal, automatic, pouring from the blonde's lips. By this point, Nefretiri had the very strong suspicion that Mistress Beatrix was enjoying this. And she would be a hypocrite if she claimed she wasn't at least a little bit enjoying it, herself. The girl trapped and 'suffering' in the hold is attractive - big eyes, tight body, submissive to her, fair hair and flawless skin...

The Egyptian adjusts herself a little, causing her hips to grind a little tighter against her backside. The arm flexes again with a little squirm, as if emphasizing the pressure of the hold and giving her 'opponent' a chance to react more. But really, it was just buying time so the full focus wasn't strictly on Beatrix; she didn't want her to have all the pressure of getting the severity of her dire situation across. The free hand holding the girl's stomach presses in just a little firmer - more than strictly necessary, driven more by the impulse to feel her body stretched backwards in this way.

"Ask her!," she shouts to the referee.

"D-do you submit!?," sputters the referee-girl, darting her gaze between Nefretiri's callous glare and what she can see of Beatrix's face from this angle. "Tap out if you can't speak!"

Nefretiri's knees press into the mat as she lifts herself a little. The arch would appear more dramatic, as if going for a more extreme, torturous burst of pain on her captive for several seconds. But in reality? Her lifting her weight gives Beatrix more slack in the hold, given she's not actually constricting her throat. Her back arches, pushing her hips against her lower back - just enough for some pressure, to feel her waist between her legs a little more...

...and then everything is released! The arm unhooks, the hand pulls away, and the Egyptian's arms raise, allowing Beatrix to most likely fall forward.

[BlackAkuma]

Beatrice noticed the fine details during their little dance, and in so many ways, it was a dance. She wasn’t exactly an expert at choreography, but she had taken a couple of classes in school, enough to get a feel for what worked and what didn't, and to know how it was supposed to work. Improvisation was a big part of it, and it was always a wonderful thing when two people just clicked. She was taken back to a lovely experience with a partner who knew all the right moves and was always where she wanted them to be…

It was much the same, now. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here; this was certainly not what she’d pictured when she came through the curtains, but somehow? She felt this was the best outcome she could’ve asked for out of the night.

A strange thing to say while someone was choking you out in front of a capacity crowd, but here she was.

”No!” She cried out, weak but defiant, as the referee asked her once again, stretching out her face to the point of pain as she did. Even now, though, she could feel the slack that Nefretiri was giving her, far more than you could’ve ever hoped for with this move. More freedom meant more safety, more ways to protect herself, and it gave her a good idea of what was coming next.

Sure enough, Nefretiri let her go, and she fell forward onto the canvas. She created most of the momentum herself, slamming her hands into the canvas. Her face hit, too, but a split second later, enough that nobody could tell the difference, especially with her freed hair in the way.

The crowd ate it up, though. Even Morrigan, only a few away, reacted. ”Shit, Bea. You alright in there?”

Beatrice just raised her hand for a weak thumbs up, before she let it flop back down.

[CyanDimitrik]

Everything seemed to be going well for Nefretiri. And for Beatrix, to be honest. The both of them, playing to their role. The Egyptian has no way of knowing if this is a natural fit for the blonde, but it's definitely a natural fit for her. The most effort she's having to put into this is the active decision-making to hold back, to give more slack, to not hurt her. The forcefulness, the aggression, the arrogance - all of that comes entirely too natural. And hearing Beatrix's ally on the side call in to check on her is so delectable.

The little raised thumb earns a pursing of her lips, unsure how to really handle that. Should she punish it? Pretend to not see it? ..No, she definitely saw it. Should she play into it? Make her 'work' to keep in the match? Or...

Her brows raise with realization. Of course the solution is simple, even impulsive. She would give Beatrix a chance to not only indicate she's hanging in there, but to prove it. There is no need to complicate the situation or try anything elaborate here, not after the submission hold she'd just put her through. And on her part, it reveals just the right amount of confidence and disdain.

In a single smooth motion, she dismounts Beatrix's backside to reposition at her ribs. One hand sets to her thigh, the other to her shoulder to roll her over onto her back. Her head tilts to give the blonde a direct look, silhouetted against the harsh overhead lights. But that purloined hat would be distinct against her otherwise smooth and predictable form, whether she would be able to make out her features or not.

Nefretiri pauses long enough to pluck the hat off her head, and with a careless flick, she tosses it to the ring's perimeter - specifically in Morrigan's direction. Even if the ropes catch it, it'll be within easy reach.

Without another moment's delay, the sorceress lowers herself upon Beatrix's body. Her muscled midsection settles across the blonde's stomach, rendering the two into a plus-shaped position. Her left forearm braces against the mat, keeping her chest and head raised to peer out over the audience. Her right hand reaches between her legs, deliberately sliding her palm across the smooth skin of her inner-thigh before hooking the knee into the air and far to the side to accommodate the position.

As the referee drops next to Beatrix's head on hands and knees, Nefretiri cocks her head to look back at her, hoping to catch her gaze. And if she does, there's a subtle dip of her head, a nod, an attempt to wordlessly communicate her desire to kick out of this pin as well. Though in the process, her back dips inwards to press her stomach tighter into Beatrix's, her toes digging into the mat.

"ONE!," the referee calls as she slaps the mat.

[BlackAkuma]

She might not have shown it well, but Beatrice knew Morrigan probably didn’t like her much. She could be a little dense about that sort of thing, true, but the big Irishwoman wasn’t exactly subtle about it, looking at her with the kind of disdain you’d usually save for an annoying puppy that ran up on you out of nowhere. If it wasn’t for Sabine, she probably wouldn’t have been anywhere near this match.

Hearing that concern in her voice, small as it was, gave Beatrice heart and told her she must’ve been on the right track, a good way to gauge how well she was doing.

It seemed to spur on some action from Nefretiri as well, who was quick to change things up once again, flipping Beatrice over like a hotcake and taking her place on top once again. For a moment, she found herself looking up the woman through her bleary, blinking eyes, and she couldn't hold back an audible gasp - the sight of her looking down on her, silhouetted in garish light, was terrifying and beautiful and haunting all at once, and for a startling second, a real part of her wondered if she was the goddess she portrayed herself as. That part didn’t last long, as reason set in quickly after, but it was there.

Nef’s next move was to hurl the hat toward Morrigan, and Beatrice didn’t have time to see if she caught it before the woman moved again. Swinging out, the bigger woman laid across her, stomach to stomach and pressed down, letting her feel a good deal of weight, but not enough to be truly stifling. The slight nod was all the confirmation she needed. Another kickout was coming, but she would have to make this one close than before, needing her perfect timing.

”2…!”

She kept her eyes closed but visualized the referee’s hand, picturing where it was and using experience to guide her. She waited for that crucial moment when it was high in the air, when the referee had just started to gather momentum to bring it down, right then, and-

Bam. Beatrice threw her shoulder up hard at 2.5, earning a cathartic gasp from the audience. Love her or hate her, they didn’t quite seem ready to see this end just yet, and she felt the same.

[CyanDimitrik]

Nefretiri wasn't going to deny to herself that feeling Beatrix's body beneath hers was nice. The girl's trim. Slender. The bodysuit does well, hugging in against her figure and showing off so much. High hips, low-cut upper hem, the gap along the front letting glimpse to the body beneath. She would've preferred more skin against skin contact - it always felt more raw, more meaningful in a pin. But Beatrix was a very welcome sensation beneath her, pressing in just a bit to test the firmness of her midsection against her own.

These thoughts swim in her head as she watches the other girl's face in the pin, the way her eyes rest shut, the way her chest rises and falls. She really is quite pretty, in a diamond-in-the-rough sort of way. Edgy, but not too edgy that it takes away from her soft facial features and natural allure.

The hand strikes the mat the second time. Nefretiri continues watching her. The flex of her muscles beneath her signal the motion before it's ever actualized into movement. Beatrix's shoulder dramatically lifts, right when it should. The audience erupts, some in defiant joy, some thrilled that the brutality will continue. Neither would be disappointed.

But Nefretiri remains pressed across the girl's body for several seconds more, glowering at her, holding her hooked leg in the air.

"Two-count! No fall!," insists the referee.

Nefretiri is visibly ignoring her. Visibly considering what to do next to this upstart, this runt who dared to occupy the ring with her tonight. To challenge her greatness and glory. The leg is suddenly shoved free of the grip, deliberately being forceful with its release. All signs of frustration, after all! Beatrix was supposed to lay there and accept her place, wasn't she?

Her midsection lifts from Beatrix's, and she instead reaches down to grab a fistful of her messy blonde bob near the scalp. There would be no avoiding pain with a hair-pull, but grabbing near the roots allowed more control - and less give. It would be the least painful way to do it. And as she pulls, it's slower, smoother than any yank or jerking motion, allowing her plenty of time to move with the hand, or even lead it. More ways to lessen the pain of being manhandled.

First, she's pulled to a seated position. Then, as Nefretiri stands, so too will Beatrix be dragged up to her feet before her. And it conveniently lets them stand close.

"I'm about to give you a signature move," she murmurs. "Tighten your stomach again. Body shots. Then the signature."

Without releasing her hair, Nefretiri raises her right fist... before swinging it in low, aiming to drive three punches into the blonde's belly. After each hit, she pulls Beatrix's hair to straighten her back and leave her stomach 'defenseless' for the next blow to rain in. But each shot is controlled carefully, knuckles just bump into the girl's stomach despite blazing in hard and fast. The third impact sees Nefretiri release the hair fully, allowing her to double over or fall, whichever way she chooses to sell the battering!

[BlackAkuma]

That look on Nefretiri’s face was maybe the hottest thing Beatrice had ever seen.

There wasn’t any real point in ignoring how she was feeling at this point. She had only been in this company for five minutes, but even she knew that LAW was the place when it came to wrestling matches getting steamy, to put it in the most PG way imaginable, and she was definitely starting to feel some of that. Wrestling was an inherently intimate thing even when you were trying to beat the other woman up, but there was something about what they were doing that made it exponentially more so.

When she broke the hold and looked up to see Nefretiri glaring down at her with those powerful, domineering eyes, a shudder ran through her, head to toe. She knew how she felt. She only wondered if the Egyptian felt any of that back.

She hoped so. God, she hoped so.

Panting, gasping, she pondered that as the woman lifted up and reached down to grab her by the hairs, hoisting her back up. Of all the things that could’ve happened to her in the ring, hairpulling was definitely on the milder side - heck, depending on the mood, she might’ve even liked it. She sold it like the most painful thing, however, squirming and whining and twisting like Nef was about to rip her scalp clean off.

She was making so much noise that she almost missed Nef’s words, but she managed to get the gist of it. Three punches, a little something for the bellybusting fans out there. She breathed deep, tightened up and made ready.

One! Not bad, more of a slap than anything. Beatrice let out a wheezing gasp.

Two! She rocked back and jutted her hips out, giving her butt a good shake in the process.

Three! She added some bounce to this one, jumping up like the blow had launched her. It made the grip on her hair far worse for a moment, but it was worth it.

She came down and sagged, dropping to one knee for a moment before weakly and meekly straightening up. The referee chastised Nefretiri for the old, while Beatrice watched, staring up at her tormentress with her best puppy-dog eyes.

[CyanDimitrik]

Naturally, Beatrix didn't disappoint in her commitment to selling. Each punch was light enough that it wouldn't do more but ache a little if she hadn't tightened her abdominals before the impacts. But to anyone watching, they'd believe that sharp, pushing blows rocked her world. It's convincing enough that the referee is feeling the need to get directly involved! There's some growing concern that the sorceress is, in fact, going much too hard on the blonde!

"Leave her hair alone!," fusses the referee. "And take it easy with the closed fists!"

Nefretiri stands tall and poised, unbothered by the yapping of the official. With her head held high, silken black hair cascading down her back, shoulders back, chest forward, and one fist propped to her hip, she simply looks down at the zebra-clad woman. "She chose to fight on. Call the match if she's too pathetic to continue."

The referee glares! She's very aware that she can't do that! Not unless the blonde has clearly fallen unconscious or become injured! And she wouldn't do that, anyway! Because she's officially yearning to see the smaller girl turn the tables on her! She's supposed to be impartial, but this Egyptian isn't making it easy! She shoots a quick look to Beatrix, then back to Nefretiri, flustered.

"That's what I thought. Now, again - aside, gnat."

With the smooth sweep of a forearm, she manually pushes the referee into a sidelong stagger, clearing her view of the struggling German. It's right in time to meet her eyes. Those big, beautiful blue eyes, looking up at her with that pitiful expression, caught between determination and hopelessness. A refusal to give in, even when she knows she has no chance.

It's beautiful. And not in a sardonic way. Everything about it makes Beatrix appear younger, sweeter, like the would-be heroine of their little encounter, innocent despite her wardrobe, defiant against the supernatural force she's been pitted against. But ultimately, everyone knows how this story ends. Especially her. It's written on her face, in her body language. Nefretiri is taking a mental snapshot of the look; another layer of exquisite submission.

There would be no mercy, of course.

None the audience or referee would know about, at least.

Both hands reach out to snag behind Beatrix's head, and she promptly yanks her forward. Beneath her left arm, that's where she'll find her head caught - snug against her side, forcibly bent forward. Nefretiri takes Beatrix's left arm and slings it behind her neck, securing her balance. At first, her hand sets alongside the generous gap of skin offered by the high hip-cut of her singlet.

"Try not to squirm," she murmurs aside to her. "You've been.." She pauses, glancing downwards briefly. To the audience, it'll look like she's gathering her strength. But in reality, she's trying to find her words. "..I wasn't expecting someone like you."

The hand drifts a little higher, fingers hooking into the hip of her singlet. Knees dip to pump, and with a soft huff of a breath, she hoists Beatrix's body into the air, suspending her upside-down. The arm around her neck braces her balanced against her shoulder, while the hand at her hip keeps her body straight and secure, captive in the vertical suplex position. The cameras begin firing off rapidly once more, freezing the spectacle in time; the blonde's young body stretched taut upside-down, awaiting her fate; Nefretiri's richly tanned body, lightly aglisten with sweat.

The commentators are going wild, calling the move for what it is: Nefretiri's signature slam, the Obelisk of Terror. Which way is it going to go!? How will she choose to put the girl down!?

Naturally, the Egyptian has already decided. It's going to be the lightest version of the signature, the simple delayed vertical suplex. Not the brainbuster or powerslam. The trick, of course, is that a suplex is the least controllable thing she can do in the ring. And she is absolutely not accustomed to pulling back and making the impact of this move lighter. Every practice, every drill, she has blasted her training partner/victim with as much guided force as she can muster from this position, often looking to end the match with it alone.

She glances aside, hoping to catch a glimpse of Beatrix's face. But from this angle, there'll be no such luck. She gets a great view of her chest, her trim body supported upside-down, but that sweet face... not so much. The audience has begun stomping the floor rhythmically in anticipation. She's held her long enough.

Nefretiri takes a single step forward and lets her legs kick out from beneath herself. Beatrix's body is swung down powerfully, the pendulum effect in full swing - ahem. Though an effort has been made to pull on her singlet to lessen the force, it's awkward. Clunky. And the impact against the mat made with Beatrix's back is going to carry a thunderous effect, to the point that even the turnbuckles rattle and ropes clatter.

The Terror Slam! That's what it turned out to be!

[BlackAkuma]

The referee was almost becoming a third participant in the match, getting into it with Nefretiri at least once a minute since they’d started this thing. On one hand, it was refreshing to see a LAW referee who actually, you know, refereed the match. In her time looking up LAW matches, Beatrice had seen plenty of the officials act like every match in the promotion was No DQ. Low blows, interference, women turning standard matches into impromptu hentai matches, double teaming, blatant interference, people who seemed to wrestle for minutes on the outside with nary a count, on and on and on…

This referee was intent on doing her job, so she had to commend that. But on the other hand, she sort of wished she would ease up on things, just a touch. The threat of this match ending early was a constant worry - at this point, she was reasonably sure that if it looked like she was unconscious for even a moment, the match would come to a screeching halt.

That was not going to happen. She refused. She was writing a story here, and hell or highwater, she would finish it.

Nef was of the same mind, and she quickly made the referee give her some much appreciated space so they could continue her dance. She had mentioned going for a signature move next, and while Beatrice couldn't know what exactly that was, her mind had already concocted a list of possible candidates for a wrestler with this level of strength. Her first guess was a powerbomb, since every biggish wrestler seemed required by LAW to do a powerbomb these days. Maybe a powerslam, that would look awesome with her body, or…

Yeah, a suplex. That was going to be her third guess. Beatrice let out a shocked cry as she was brought under Nef’s shoulder, her body shaking with anticipation as the audience did much the same. She wasn’t so taken with the moment that she didn’t register her partner’s warning, however. This was going to be a big one. They were dealing with gravity, now, and that made everything trickier.

Nef’s words gave her some pause, and she opened her mouth to share her own thoughts, but that would have to wait - she was hoisted up in the next moment, held high, kept erect in the vertical suplex position. Like every wrestler, she’d been here more times than she’d care to count, and all the familiar sensations came to her - the momentary dizziness, the feeling of blood rushing downward. Nearby, she could hear Mr. Satan throwing out his two cents on the move - ‘the Obelisk of Terror’? Was that the name of it? Bit of a mouthful, but she liked it.

Beatrice kept still, ramrod straight, forming a perfect line between the two of them, as she sucked down lungfuls of air.

Impact in 3, 2, 1…

Down they came bringing Beatrice crashing into the canvas. She landed hard, taking more impact on the tailbone that she would’ve liked, and her body immediately shot up, back arching as very real pain took a tour of her body. She flopped back down a second later and laid still on the canvas, her face warped in a grimace.

It hadn't hurt as bad as she was making it look, but it had hurt, no doubt. Still a far sight from what she could be feeling right now, though, and she appreciated the difference, knew she had no right to complain. She’d tough it out.

[CyanDimitrik]

When someone has used a move so many times, they get used to the flow of it. To the way it moves, transitions. The feel of the weight shifting in the drop, the unified sound of two backs hitting the mat, how loud it's meant to sound. That's why this one stands out to her. That was meant to be a single, deafening boom of impact. Instead, it was a heavy thud followed by the expected impact of backs to the mat. Something happened. Something that wasn't supposed to happen. Beatrix hit the mat wrong - too early.

The sorceress instantly shoots to a seated position, trying deliberately to keep the widened look from her eyes and somewhat failing. Before the expression can register as worry, she hurriedly whirls around onto hands and knees to look at her opponent. She was just hitched up, seemingly agonized and in pain. Oh no, she was trying to lessen the impact! Was it not enough!? How much of this is acting, how much of this is real!?

There's another burst of movement as Nefretiri repositions herself from Beatrix's side to at her feet. She nudges the girl's legs apart and throws herself down against her directly - a natural flow of movement from what would appear to be a devastating signature move going right into a pin. And it's rather on-brand for the sultry sorceress as well, lying directly over Beatrix. Her hips unabashedly press in tight between the other girl's legs, abdomen resting flush along her midsection, breasts resting heavily upon the blonde's. Her hands seize the other girl's wrists to forcefully slam them down to the mat above her head, sealing the two of them together.

Every breath either takes pushes them into one another, every adjustment, every arch, creating friction between them. Nefretiri's face hovers just above Beatrix's, looking sharply down at her and hoping to seek out the truth from her eyes.

"Are you hurt?," she asks immediately, her voice a little more rushed and tight than before. "Don't struggle, just rest..! But are you hurt? It came down harder than I meant..!" The Egyptian's warm breath had previously tickled over her ear, but now Beatrix will feel those breaths lapping heavily against her lips.