A Professional Courtesy

[BlackAkuma]

No matter how this turned out, no matter who came out on top, Wendy would always treasure the exclamation of panic that came out of Neith when she realized what was about to come her way. There was just something so sublime about knocking this woman off her damned high horse, and it was never, never going to get old.

It brought a hearty belly laugh out of her as she clamped down, a rumbling sound that echoed through their mashed bodies. She gripped tight and felt that taut body against hers, felt those bones bending. She was a flexible woman, but there was no escaping this kind of pressure - she had that raw, brutal, crushing kind of strength built from years of hard wrestling. She’d made more than her fair share of women scream in holds like this, and Neith wouldn’t be any different.

”Mmmph, yeah, that’s what I wanna hear.” She gave Neith a good, long grind, then punctuated it with a few popping squeezes, releasing the pressure then ramping it up, over and over in short bursts, making her body contract and expand with each pump. ”I ain’t go nowhere, baby girl.” She declined the request with a hard crush right on top for emphasis. ”In fact…”

Wendy could only think of one way to make this worse for Neith off the top of her head, so, naturally, she went right for it. She threw them to the side, so hard they almost rolled off the bed, and placed herself on top of the Egyptian beauty as she kept up the pressure. Once she’d settled in, she smacked her lips and dove face first into the woman’s chest, rubbing her face deep and just enjoying the feel of her opponent’s breasts, having her way them to drive Neith even crazier.

[HotWheels]

Hearing Wendy's pleasure at her exclamations of misery made Neith bite down on the sounds with all of her will...for at least five seconds. But she was soon alternating between grumpy groans and moans and shrill shrieks between each pulse of power that made her body feel like tenderized meat. Her fumbling with the cap came to a stop in favor of touching each and every part of Wendy's neck and upper arms and shoulders in an effort to find a way to unhinge the American's grip from her body. With her far weaker arms, however, even managing to get her fingers between Wendy's biceps and her side did no good.

And the bitch had the audacity to make things worse. "Don't you fucking-" she began to say, as Wendy forced her to teeter and fall over onto her side. With her flexibility, she let one leg bend beneath her in hopes she could throw herself back up and onto her knees to escape, but despite a great roar of effort to do so, she only managed to get one arm high enough to keep from becoming completely flattened to the bed, right before Wendy completely flattened her to the bed anyway. And then motorboated her, hard enough that the top of Neith's one-piece felt like it would be peeled off. "Get your...face...", she demanded, through labored breathing.

By now, her howling had doubled, and Neith struggled and writhed beneath the bigger American for several seconds as it felt to her like her lungs and stomach were all being moved into the same small space. She even raised her hand to tap out before remembering that her own match would not spare her from the torture. Promptly, she remembered the marker. Too frustrated to try and pop the top off again, Neith did the only thing she could think to do in the moment. She grabbed the back of Wendy's head by the hair, yanked back, and tried to jab the end of the marker harshly into the fair woman's neck.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy wanted to burst out laughing at Neith’s attempts to keep quiet, but she couldn't deny - inwardly - that she was all about doing the same thing when the situation was reversed. This was as much about pride as anything, not wanting to give an inch that could be used against them. To say nothing about the fan perception - in a real way, they were fighting for their careers. Looking weak here could lead to losing bookings, diminishing the aura that brought their clients in. Worse yet, it could lead to the wrong sort of clients, guys who thought they were easy prey to take advantage of. Wendy had to shut down more than a handful of guys like that in her time session wrestling, and she bet Neith had her own stories to tell.

So she could understand the stubbornness, as much as she’d rib the bitch for it.

What came next, though? That she couldn’t understand.

Wendy had been well on her way to whittling Neith down to nothing, grinding away at her midsection and having a grand time in her chest, when her hair was suddenly seized. That wasn’t too surprising, this did border on a catfight, and it wouldn’t be enough to make her stop crushing Neith’s midsection. But then a sharp pain cut into her neck, something hard and plastic striking against her tender skin, and she only realized what it was when her arms parted and she saw that object in her opponent’s hand: The marker. The filthy little bitch had stabbed her with a goddamn marker.

”You little-” Wendy’s words devolved into an indecipherable mix of curses as rage filled her eyes. ”Wanna go rough, huh?”

If that was the game they were playing, she’d play that game. She’d been in session wrestling mode since this started, avoiding the strikes and sticking to mostly wrestling, but she didn’t have any qualms tapping into her non-grappling skills. That was the second time this woman had struck her in the neck, and there wasn’t going to be a third.

Wendy brought her hands together, locked her fingers with each other, and brought her arm high above her head. She held the position for a half a second as she summoned her full power, then lurched forward and brought it all down at once, driving her combined fists into Neith’s sumptuous chest with a double axe handle, one that had her full brute strength backing it up.

[HotWheels]

Neith herself did not normally resort to elbowing or jabbing or scratching or anything else those more pathetic "session girls" did on a regular basis against her, but she also normally did not have to endure the kind of pain that Wendy seemed intent on putting her through. Smaller wrestlers could not overpower her to have the chance, and most of the bigger men held back. If they did not, she put them in one hold and did not let go. Wendy had some wrestling sense and strength, and frankly, Neith felt quite justified (in her own mind) about using every tactic available to her. This was her match, so she could do what she wished.

She wished to jab Wendy in the neck. Though she did not do it nearly hard enough to cause real damage, she knew it would hurt, and hurt would lead to her freedom. When it did, she continued to reel around on the bed with soft moans, enjoying the relief she now felt in her freed body. She arched her back and reached down to palm at her sides, making sure she still felt ribs in there somewhere that didn't hurt. Not for a moment did she listen to any of Wendy's words or curses as she settled in relief.

Perhaps she should have listened, because when she did pay some attention to the bigger American, she saw two fists raised above her. Neith gasped and thought to roll, but she couldn't before both of those fists pounded down into her chest. With the size of her breasts, they took most of the blow...but that did not help in the slightest the woman who hated pain. She choked out with a groan-curse-cough, and her whole body seemed to react to the hit. In the seconds after, she just rolled in place and moaned, holding her chest and spouting out insults in Arabic.

[BlackAkuma]

Nothing held back, not a single bit of force spared. Wendy gave Neith the 100% experience, driving her fists down into the woman with all the authority she could muster. Fighting on the bed was just about the only thing that saved her, as the soft surface saved her from having her body smashed into a hardened floor, but that was the only bit of mercy she was getting, and the results spoke for themselves.

Laid out, aching, subdued. Maybe it wouldn’t last for long, but for now, Neith was putty.

”Fucking hell…” Wendy took a moment to rub her aching neck as her opponent wallowed beneath her. No skin had been broken - in truth, it wasn’t all that bad of a hit, as much as it had pissed her off. It was probably more the indignity of getting stabbed with a damn marker, of all things, that lit her up.

She brushed it off for now and scowled down at Neith, taking a moment to catch her breath and plan her next move. She reached over and snatched up the marker, then rolled her tongue around her cheek. She could just mark the bitch up now, would’ve been easy enough…but why settle for that, when she had so many fun options?

”Was gonna save this for later.” She crawled up Neith’s body and spun around to face her legs, then took the woman’s arms and tucked them under her thighs, making sure they were secure and pinned. Neith would know what was coming. She had to. ”But since you want to bring out the bad side of me, well…you’re getting it early.”

Wendy let her ass hover over Neith’s face for a few tantalizing seconds, playing it up for the camera and drawing out the moment for her victim. Her rear swayed from side to side, jiggling a bit with every little pop. The anticipation was key, here. Plus, she didn’t want to give Neith the chance to get too much air.

”Deep breath in 1, 2-“

She interrupted her own count and plopped her full weight down on Neith’s face, covering it in a hot, smoldering facesit, giving her nothing but darkness and flesh. Her eyes, nose, and mouth all belonged to Wendy, for as long as she wanted.

[HotWheels]

As Neith rolled and reeled, she herself nearly spit something out about striking like the hypocrite she was proud to be, but she spent more of her energy rubbing at the inside of her breasts and at her sternum. After a moment of rolling in utter agony, she even raised the front of her one-piece to see if a bruise was not already forming despite the impossibility that it could have started yet. "Ape..." she grumbled, with so much grit in her voice that the word likely couldn't even be understood. Though her breasts had taken part of the hit, Neith hated nothing more than getting punched in the breasts aside from getting punched in the face. The only clients that had ever done that ended up with some popped blood vessels.

But Wendy wasn't a client, and she knew wrestling. She was moving before Neith could regain herself enough to start protecting her writhing form from more punishment. Once she was sure that her chest wouldn't burst (and she grabbed at her side again), she shifted to do something more, but Wendy's weight atop her stopped that movement cold. She was left looking at that barely covered ass and back in front of her, and she raised one arm to try and shove her off. But as she raised that hand, Wendy grabbed the other, and with Neith's arms far weaker, she could do nothing but grumble and strain and complain as it got pinned down beneath one of Wendy's thick legs.

She fought her with the other arm, too, but Neith could just gasp and strain again before it got trapped, as well. Promptly feeling like a damn fool as she wriggled and strained and uselessly flailed with her hands unable to reach any part of Wendy that she could try and claw with her long nails, the frustrated goddess tore into a verbal fit after she coughed from the blow and the weight on her chest. "You get your cheeseburger-eating body off of me! If you think I am going to let you mark on my thighs, I will..."

But that was not what she intended, Neith realized, as her eyes widened at the ass hovering over her face, a face that came alight with even more fury as she shook back and forth like a woman trapped in the stockade. She did not heed or make use of Wendy's countdown. "Don't you dare. I will claw your eyes out, bitch! I will use that marker on your face, and I- NO YOU- MMMMMMMM!"

Her features became swallowed in warm cheek and a shred of fabric, and if Neith could have abandoned her own smothered body in that moment, she would have.

[BlackAkuma]

These shorts were Wendy’s favorite, and it was just because of the way they looked. Oh, they were hot, sure, a great way to show off her best features and look cute at the same time, a good intersection between sweet and sexy that worked for her whole image. But what she really liked was how they allowed her do jeansitting and regular facesitting at the same time. You got that same rough, abrasive feeling you could only get from rubbing denim in someone’s face, but you also got the feel of flesh on flesh that made a normal facesitting so damn delectable. It was the perfect way to display her features and create some extra pain in the process.

She was certain that Neith would agree, if her mouth wasn’t currently so occupied.

The little verbal tirade made her sitting all the sweeter, as she got to shut Neith up in one of the most embarrassing ways possible. What made it better was all the squawking and shrieking that came out after she’d settled down, the echoes that reverberated through her body. She didn’t get that much with her clients - oh, they’d moan and groan, but nowhere near as loud as this. They liked it, you could tell. This was what they paid for.

She was all too happy to take their money, too. Getting paid to sit on faces was the dream. But there was something just too sweet about sitting on the face of someone who hated it, who loathed it as much as Neith did. It made Wendy feel like a queen. About the only thing that could’ve made her feel better was beating the Egyptian at her own silly match type, and wouldn’t you know it, she was well on her way to doing just that.

”Hope you’re liking the view down there.” Wendy popped off the marker’s cap and lifted up on the smother, just enough to let Neith take in a few good breaths. She wanted the bitch weak, but not so out of it that she wouldn’t know what was going on. It was a delicate balance, but she’d walked this tightrope enough time to be a master at it.

”Might want to keep the squirming to a minimum, by the way. You’re gonna have these marks on your tits for a while and my drawing skills ain’t the best, don’t want to make it look even worse.” She issued her warning and settled down again, and she made the facesit even more effective by shoving her feet in under the back of Neith’s head, creating an inescapable seal. She could turn and twist all she wanted, that head wasn’t going anywhere but Wendy’s ass, and it was going in deep.

With all that settled, the Backstage Bully went to work on Neith’s breasts. She decided not to go with anything fancy and sufficed to draw two circles on the top of each breast, just high enough that the little bitch wouldn’t be wearing any tops that showed off her chest for a while. Once that was done, she took a moment to look over her work and rubbed her chin - not bad, but she should add a personal touch, right?

After some brief deliberation, she turned the circles into smiley faces with their tongues sticking out. Perfect.

[HotWheels]

Neith had smothered what was probably a thousand different people in her ongoing session and internet wrestling career, and each and every time, she had thoroughly enjoyed herself. Being on the receiving end? She had endured that experience maybe fifteen to twenty times with some of those dumb fitness models who had gotten lucky or a session client who thought they had a right to give what they received. Every time, their technique had been horrible, and they had not weighed enough for Neith to fail in throwing them off and squeezing them unconscious for daring to place their ass on her face. As soon as she saw Wendy's ass descending, she imagined this instance would be identical to those. Rage told her so.

But when her world, or more specifically, her face, became consumed by asscheek, she remembered that her arms were still hopelessly trapped beneath Wendy's heavy legs. That did not stop her from flinging them wildly and screaming muffled screams into Wendy's ass as she did so, but when her helplessly twitching appendages did nothing more than get an occasional useless slap against Wendy's thighs, the hopelessness of her situation set in. And alongside it, so did the humiliation of having her perfect, porcelain faced trapped underneath this bitchy American's ass. She screamed somehow louder, robbing herself of precious breath.

Her legs still wildly swung, but they proved as ineffective as her arms since she didn't do anything resembling thinking through her situation. She just loathed the feeling of the bare cheeks, the denim, the disgusting parts of Wendy only barely concealed by her bottoms, the heat, the weight, her own hitching breaths. Most of all, she hated that people were seeing her like this, or not seeing her, more specifically.

But as soon as she was ready to release another scream that would probably smear makeup on Wendy's ass, she was momentarily freed. Neith rasped as she pulled in air, but her fighting never once stopped. The stream of Arabic curses that came from her mouth when Wendy spoke would have made the hardest sailor blush. She finally reeled back to English after a time. "You get your ass off of me and you-" Another muffled scream poured out when Wendy sat back down on her, and though Neith thought strongly about trying to turn her head and take a bite of asscheek to stop Wendy from smothering and marking her, the feet that pushed underneath her head, burying her deeper, deterred her chance. She screamed again, starting to tear up from the heat and sweat being exchanged between ass and face.

She was shamed already, and then she felt the cold marker against her breasts. Again Neith tore into wild fighting, but her efforts did not prove any better than before while her humiliation drove her to desperate action. She tried to move every inch of her, but the weight on her completely consumed face and head gave her no escape.

[BlackAkuma]

Most of the time, when Wendy was sitting on a face, she’d play it up a little, especially if the guy was getting into it. She did love her trash talk and never missed a chance to really grill into someone. It was always good for the cameras, helped reinforce the whole badass bitch routine that she made real. Just one more part of the experience they were paying for.

But, while she did have plenty to say to Neith and she’d get it all out due time, she had to go quiet and let silence rein for a little bit, as she put the coup de grace on her little masterpiece and came ⅓ closer to winning. The moment was too perfect - seeing her thrash around like a fish out of water, the screams reverberating through her body, and knowing that the Egyptian was hating every second of it, but all she could do was silently seethe under her flesh. This - this - was the reason she’d come to Japan, this was the sort of domination she needed. Better than any fucking drug.

Wendy arched her back, threw her head back, and gave her hips a good gyrating, bouncing to her own private soundtrack. Partly to play it up for the camera, partly to just enjoy herself. Fun as this was, though, she knew it could last - Neith’s legs were too frantic and out of reach, and there was no way she could get anything on her ass.

Not a problem, though. She’d have even more fun getting Neith into position.

”Aaaaaaand I’m off.” Wendy popped off her foe’s face, dropped her butt once on the woman’s stomach, then slid her way off to let Neith deal with everything at once. She could’ve just pounced and kept on pouncing, but she had to let this woman see what was on her chest, first. Really twist that knife, make it sting.

”How ya like my style, honey?” She tossed the market to the side and stalked about on the bed on her hands and knees, a cat circling about a wounded mouse. ”I’m no Rembrant, but I dunno. Think I did pretty good.”

[HotWheels]

If Neith was a crying woman, she surely would have started crying given the position she found herself in and given the roughly three dozen overwhelming emotions that flooded her in response. The goddess hated and dreaded nothing more than the appearance of inferiority, and close contenders on her hate list (at least top five) were being restrained and having anything she deemed dirty touching her pretty face. She was currently enduring all three of those at once, but Neith wasn't the crying type, more the unbridled, pointless rage and panic type, and the more seconds she stayed buried beneath Wendy's ass, the closer she pushed herself to an early sleep. The breathing would have been hard enough with ass-flesh sealing her off from reality, but she just breathed hot air and ambient noise into Wendy's cheeks and got nothing but another woman's musk and heat and sweat back. Then came the horrid gyrating, with each cheek beating down on hers and shifting her nose to and fro against...all of this gross woman's everything.

And she was getting beaten at her own game, she was reminded in a moment right before she started feeling too lightheaded to really think. The marker continued its path of semi-permanence over her chest, and Neith stilled long enough to feel it and see if she could reach her chest with a hand. When she couldn't, she finally made a sound closest to a whine while the whole thing playing out like a horror movie in her addled head. With nothing but a butt and a tiny piece of cloth keeping her company, she didn't have much else to think about.

Almost making herself pass out in her rage, Neith blanked for a dangerous pair of seconds before sweet, precious relief in the form of the hotel room's cool air hit her cheeks instead of gross asscheeks. Neith roared through a cough, then roared through another one when Wendy landed on her stomach. With her hands free, they naturally came up to her extremely red face and started rubbing off on the whatever that Wendy's butt had just smeared all over her.

After no more than three to four seconds of (partially) catching her breath, Neith flew into another fit of berating the other session wrestler. She did not rely on any Arabic this time. "I am going to pop your fucking head off. You-" She had to stop to regain her breath. "You could have just laid back and had it easy, but you've made your pit and you're going to wallow in it like the pig-"

She noticed her chest when Wendy brought attention to it, and even the sight of the nearest marks over the top of her cleavage had her seeing red. Both a primal scream and a foot flew out, the latter aimed for Wendy's jaw.