Safiyah Neferet vs. Aspasia El-Shenawy - Dance of the Serpents

[BlackAkuma]

Naga. Asp was getting Naga flashbacks.

She had been in a similar position before, far more times than she wanted to given her rather short stint with LAW so far. She still remembered that night, when the woman first assaulted her, and how powerless she had felt. It was a feeling she wouldn’t wish on anyone. To be trapped, pinned down, and controlled by someone who had malicious intent for you, not knowing when - or even if - they would have their fill. But, as bad as that moment had been, she had told herself that it was the peak of what she would experience in LAW. That it couldn't be worse.

She so hated being wrong.

Even through her hazy eyes, she could see Safiyah clenching her fist, see the rage roiling inside of her, an ill portent of what was about to come. She shook her head and pushed away, trying to make space as the referee called for the bell over and over again, as if the klaxon might bring sense back to her former foe.

Asp knew that was not going to happen. The determination in Safiyah’s eyes was unmistakable, and as she moved in, all she could do was bring up her hands and plead. ”Don’t-”

One of the most brutal punches Asp had ever felt crashed into her jaw, knocking her head to the side. She straightened up, only to take another on the other side, this one hitting with enough force to bring the iron taste of blood to her tongue. Another came down, another followed after that, and soon it was a hailstorm on her features. All she could do was weakly try to batter them away, and as more found their mark, she couldn't even do that.

She was vaguely aware of the crowd’s booing and the referee screaming at Safiyah to stop, but with each punch those noises grew increasingly distant. She wasn’t being knocked out, but she honestly wished she was - maybe then, the pain would stop. Maybe then, Safiyah would leave her alone.

Somehow, though, she doubted it.

[Lightman]

Safiyah could barely see through the haze of fury clouding her vision, her breath ragged, her body trembling with rage and something deeper, something more raw than she dared to name. The referee’s frantic cries, the ringing of the bell, the chorus of boos from the crowd—they were nothing more than distant echoes, drowned beneath the deafening roar of blood rushing through her veins. Safiyah heard none of it. There was only the rage. Only the betrayal. Only the boiling heat behind her eyes.

Asp’s voice had tried to cut through it, a desperate plea, but Safiyah had not listened. She could not. The fire inside her had burned past the point of reason, past the point of restraint. Her fists moved on instinct, each strike fueled by the suffocating weight of loss, humiliation, and the bitter taste of failure that she could no longer swallow. But this wasn't about losing. This was about being mocked. About being played with. About having someone take from her, someone humiliating her, reducing her to nothing more than a conquest for their amusement.

She had felt Asp’s tongue inside her. Had felt her body betray her, surrendering despite every ounce of her pride telling her to fight. And now—now, this woman dared to sit there, all glassy-eyed and stunned, as if she were the victim?

No.

The first punch crashed into Asp’s jaw, snapping her head to the side with a force that sent shockwaves up Safiyah’s arm. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. Another followed, striking the other side, jarring her opponent’s head back in a cruel whiplash motion. The sickening crunch of knuckles against flesh barely registered. Another. And another. The strikes came in an unrelenting storm, her muscles burning with the effort, her vision blurring—not from exhaustion, but from the tears brimming in her mismatched eyes, spilling down her cheeks like silent testaments to her turmoil

And still, she did not stop.

Asp had smiled at her. Had mocked her. Had looked down on her with that same patronizing kindness that everyone else had, as if she were something to pity, something to console. She was tired of it. Tired of losing, tired of being the one left sprawled on the mat while someone else stood victorious above her. Tired of feeling powerless.

A choked sound escaped her lips—not a sob, but something close, something broken. Her fists shook as she pulled back, her knuckles raw, her breathing uneven. But she wasn’t finished.

With a growl of frustration, she grabbed Asp by the hair, yanking her up just enough to look into her battered face. "So this was all funny to you, huh?" she hissed, her voice thick with emotion, her grip tightening. "Like this is just a game to you? Playing with me, using me, making a spectacle of me? You think you can just walk away, just smile and move on like this meant nothing? Like I'm nothing!?!"

Breathless, trembling, Safiyah shifted, turning around, sliding her legs up, wrapping them around Asp’s neck as she straddled her head. She pinned the redhead’s arms beneath her knees, securing her in place, rendering her completely, utterly helpless. The power surged through her, intoxicating and overwhelming all at once, as she sat down and squeezed.

Her hips ground down, claiming absolute control over the woman beneath her, leaving Asp utterly helpless beneath the suffocating weight of her body. The referee shouted. The crowd screamed. But Safiyah did not stop. Asp had taken from her. Had used her. Had turned her into nothing more than entertainment.

And now? Now, she would ravage her in return. Two fingers would slip past the emerald skirt and through the panties to roughly insert her womanhood, pumping with fury. Asp was hers. Completely. And this time, there would be no lucky escape.

[BlackAkuma]

No. No, this was worse than with Naga.

As painful and harrowing as that experience had been, she had some small comforts even as the woman had squeezed that life out of her. Naga wanted to hurt her, but she didn’t want to break her. Ironically enough, she viewed Asp’s body like a work of art, something to be protected and preserved, so there was only so much damage she would dole out. She would never leave bruises or cuts. She would bend bones, but never break them. In some ways, she was safe within Naga’s arms in a way that few could post - the giantess would let no harm come to her. None that she wasn’t directly responsible for.

With Safiyah, she could say no such thing. There was malice in this woman’s eyes. Real danger. As those punches came flying down, she saw the eyes of a woman who was out to hurt her, who wanted to leave her wrecked, and for the first time in a long while, Asp was truly afraid.

Afraid that Safiyah would never stop. Afraid that no one would be able to stop her in time. Afraid she would do something that couldn't be reversed…or worse.

By the time Safiyah stopped punching her, Asp was a ruined mess, her face swollen, her lip busted, both of her nostrils running red. She lifelessly flopped about as the woman seized her head and yelled in her face, but even though she was right there, her voice was muffled, as if they were underwater. Had her eardrum been ruptured?

She tried to form the words for another plea, but only red spittle came out, and it likely wouldn’t have worked, anyway, with Safiyah too far wrapped in her rage. She was hurled back to the floor, and her torturer was on her in the next moment, mounting her and trapping her legs. Asp looked up through bleary, tear-stained eyes as Safiyah’s ass came down on her face once more.

This was not like last time. Then, it had been more sensual, with Safiyah seeking to get her win in the most seductive way possible. Now, there was no holding back. Her countrywoman wanted her unconscious, and she dropped all of her weight right on Asp’s face, pounding her into the canvas. It would’ve been a hard position to escape from if she was at her best, and she was so far from that now.

It didn’t take. Her world mercifully began descending into darkness, even as she felt the invading touch between her legs. The last thing Asp was aware of as the darkness claimed was a burst of pleasure tearing through her loins, a sensation she couldn't even enjoy, and the wetness.

Then, nothing.

[Lightman]

Safiyah had always preferred kicks. There was a certain poetry in it, the way her leg arced through the air, slicing through space with a precision that felt almost divine. The force of impact, the power that surged through her body when foot met flesh—it was intoxicating. The moment her foot connected with an opponent, she felt dominant, assured of her ability to dictate the flow of battle. Kicks were her art, her signature. They were precise, and they always hit their mark.

But not this time.

Her fists—so rarely used, so foreign to her—had done this, hammering down on Asp’s face with raw, unrestrained fury. Her knuckles ached, bruised from the relentless assault, but she didn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. The feeling of flesh giving way beneath her fists, the sound of Asp’s muffled groans—it was fuel to the inferno burning inside her. The blood on her opponent’s lips, the swelling around her eyes, the red trickling from her nostrils—this was what she had reduced her to. And still, it wasn’t enough.

Asp deserved this. Every second.

Her rage had consumed her, blind and absolute, leaving no room for hesitation, no space for second thoughts. The world around her had ceased to exist—the jeering of the crowd, the desperate shrieking of the referee. None of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Asp, broken beneath her, suffering, paying the price for every insult, every humiliation, every moment Safiyah had spent lying in the dirt while others stood over her.

Her legs, toned and powerful, wrapped around Asp’s head like a vice, squeezing with every ounce of strength she had left. This wasn’t like before. There was no sensuality, no slow, teasing buildup—only force, only dominance, only punishment.

Asp’s body shuddered beneath her, her struggles pitiful, her breath hot and erratic against Safiyah’s thighs. Her hand slid down, fingers seeking, finding, forcing their way inside, pumping furiously, relentlessly. One wasn’t enough. Three wasn’t enough. She wanted to wring everything from Asp, to leave her body betraying her in the worst way, to make her feel the shame that burned so deep in Safiyah.

She felt it—Asp’s gushing, humiliating climax, the wetness coating her fingers, the way the woman’s body quaked beneath her. Even so, she didn’t stop. More. More until Asp’s body shuddered. Until her thighs quaked. Until the pathetic, helpless moans of unwilling pleasure ripped through her.

Even as Asp’s body twitched beneath her, even as her breath hitched in short, erratic gasps, even as the last spasms of her climax faded, she kept going. Her fingers pumped, thighs tightened, weight pressed. She would squeeze the last of Asp’s resistance from her. She would choke her out, force her to drown in humiliation, bury her in shame until there was nothing left of the proud, arrogant woman who had thought she could toy with her.

It was only when she felt hands on her—many hands—that she realised they were pulling her away. "No—NO!" she snarled, her voice ragged, feral, as the officials pried her from her victim. “Let me go! LET ME GO! NO!” She kicked, thrashed, screamed, her body burning with unspent fury as they dragged her back, forcing her to release Asp from the depths of her vengeance.

Even as she was dragged to the ropes, even as she was physically removed from the ring, her mismatched eyes remained locked onto Asp’s lifeless form. The officials shouted at her, their words lost in the roaring in her head. Her chest heaved, her entire body trembling with adrenaline and unchecked fury, her lips curling back into something between a snarl and a sob.

These two were done. For now.