L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

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.

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.

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.