L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Mila was elated to finally get her hands dirty again with someone worthy of her time. She enjoyed ever waking second of their match but as a wiseman once said: All good things come to an end. Morgan didn’t have much left to give, the Italian cranking up the pressure to push the Scot to her limits, and unfortunately for them, Mila found it. When the both of them dropped to the mat at Mila’s own behest, she noticed those faint shimmering droplets gleaming from the overhead lights. They were crying, actually crying! It made the Doll sneer with to think she managed to force a brawler like Morgan to tears, the very notion made her swoon, but there was still the finishing touches to administer.

Mila made short work of her setup, overlapping limbs, crossing and tucking them together as she rolled them onto their front, her rump found a place along their own bottom and the small of her back. She crossed her legs, sitting proper as a lady should before she heard the begging underneath.

Mila sat there for a good few moments as Morgan claimed she gave up, that she quit so long as the Doll was pulled away. The sound of the bell rang out as Mila stood up, smirking over her shoulder as she turned to press the bottom of her boot against their hip. With a soft giggle, she’d push them onto their side to unravel themselves as the referee raised her hand to declare her the winner of the match. The Doll would quickly snatch it away, her gaze narrowing as she looked up at the ref who was startled and dumbfounded. ”Don’t touch me.” She states coldly.

Her aide, Clair, was already leaping over the barricade, heading to ring side as her master turned to her, snapping her fingers before reluctantly pointing at the broken Morgan. ”Gather this up for me, Claire. She’s going to be my first new toy.” Mila knelt down beside the skull faced brawler, her fingers running through that small snow mane as she bunches up their hair to lift. ”I just can’t seem to choose between keeping this look on you, or wiping that stupid mask off your face. I suppose I’ll have to think it over my bath~.” Mila coo’s in excitement.

Mila was elated to finally get her hands dirty again with someone worthy of her time. She enjoyed ever waking second of their match but as a wiseman once said: All good things come to an end. Morgan didn’t have much left to give, the Italian cranking up the pressure to push the Scot to her limits, and unfortunately for them, Mila found it. When the both of them dropped to the mat at Mila’s own behest, she noticed those faint shimmering droplets gleaming from the overhead lights. They were crying, actually crying! It made the Doll sneer with to think she managed to force a brawler like Morgan to tears, the very notion made her swoon, but there was still the finishing touches to administer.

Mila made short work of her setup, overlapping limbs, crossing and tucking them together as she rolled them onto their front, her rump found a place along their own bottom and the small of her back. She crossed her legs, sitting proper as a lady should before she heard the begging underneath.

Mila sat there for a good few moments as Morgan claimed she gave up, that she quit so long as the Doll was pulled away. The sound of the bell rang out as Mila stood up, smirking over her shoulder as she turned to press the bottom of her boot against their hip. With a soft giggle, she’d push them onto their side to unravel themselves as the referee raised her hand to declare her the winner of the match. The Doll would quickly snatch it away, her gaze narrowing as she looked up at the ref who was startled and dumbfounded. ”Don’t touch me.” She states coldly.

Her aide, Clair, was already leaping over the barricade, heading to ring side as her master turned to her, snapping her fingers before reluctantly pointing at the broken Morgan. ”Gather this up for me, Claire. She’s going to be my first new toy.” Mila knelt down beside the skull faced brawler, her fingers running through that small snow mane as she bunches up their hair to lift. ”I just can’t seem to choose between keeping this look on you, or wiping that stupid mask off your face. I suppose I’ll have to think it over my bath~.” Mila coo’s in excitement.

Morgan was normally a proud woman, a death defying, fearless thrill seeking delinquent who did what she wanted when she wanted without fear of consequences, this is not only how she viewed herself but how the world at large that knew her saw her. As such the current sight of her folded in on herself, crying and in mental shambles while being used as a literal seat was a far cry from how she was known.

Though at least her cries had subsided from ugly sob to a quiet, whimpering cry as Mila finally got up off of her and kicked her over, untangling Morgan's mess of limbs and leaving her in a fetal position on the mat, tears still falling from her eyes as she laid there broken and unable to fully interpret everything that was happening around her, her senses dulled and everything blurring together.

So Morgan was relatively unaware as someone else entered the ring and only vaguely aware of what Mila had said... Up until her hair was stroked making Morgan instinctively flinch away before her hair was then grabbed and she was forced up, forcing her seness back into focus somewhat as she now caught what Mila had said... Yet Morgan couldn't meet her now former foe's eyes, sniffling pathetically as her eyes remained fixed on the mat. "Just... just please don't hurt me... Please." Morgan begged, and likely would have groveled if her hair wasn't being grabbed forcing her head up.