L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Oxygen deprivation did funny things to the mind. That was kind of the trick with holding your breath like this, he’d found. It wasn’t so much the act itself as it was making your body keep going even as you kept circling the mental drain.

As Keith continued to wither in Tris’ warm embrace, his senses - the ones that weren’t being occupied with breast flesh, mind you - focused on strange things around him, centering all over the place. Tris said something about timekeeping, addressing the intern - if he had to guess, she wanted him keep track on the phone, a good idea.

Her heartbeat rumbled against his face. Steady. Controlled. Not the heartbeat of a woman who held someone’s life in their hands, you would think, but Tris was a special sort of woman, wasn’t she.

…

…

…fuck, he should’ve counted, too. If he had to guess, he was somewhere between thirty and sixty second mark, maybe. Lungs beginning to burn. Reflexes kicking. Brain starting to go to funny places. What was he going to have for lunch tomorrow? There was that neat little burger place down the street, good, but he was getting a little bored with their menu, and-

Fuck. Fuck. It was starting to get away from him, he was starting to fade. Reflexes were kicking in, a struggle was beginning. Not too strong, not yet, but he writhing beneath her, his body deciding it was going to take the lead on things regardless of what his mind thought about the matter, not caring too much how unbearably hot the woman atop him was.

The seconds ticked by.

Tris shifted her weight a fraction, rolled her shoulders a little.

Wondered how long he’d last.

Wondered if he’d been expecting to enjoy it and how that was working out for him.

It wasn’t just a guy thing either. She’d met girls who thought the idea was sexy as all hell, right up until she pulled them out, all red-faced and sweaty. Just another thing about this hold she adored, the way she could leave some idiots genuinely terrified of her tits.

And wasn’t that just plain cool?

She shifted a little again.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction; wait, had she felt…?

Why, yes she had. Keith had just tried to get a shoulder up, like he was trying to roll her off. His legs weren’t exactly kicking but she could feel his hips starting to twitch and shift under her. If she was any judge, this wasn’t him trying consciously to get out – it was the inevitable progression to the body cutting the brain out of the loop as those pesky self-preservation instincts kicked in.

And, while the first stages were pretty mild, he was going to be getting downright frisky soon as the effects really sunk in.

Tris had caught the signs in plenty of time. She dropped her hips down so she could ride out his attempts at bridging her off, pulled her legs in tighter against his sides to keep her prey trapped under her weight.

And of course she drew her arms in around his head, made sure that the airtight seal between her chest and his face remained unbroken.

“Not long now,” she told the camera with professional confidence and no little satisfaction.

Air. Needed. Fuck it.

Keith’s body was starting to revert into genuine panic mode, and his brain was slipping as well. Was Tris a natural redhead? She looked natural, but you never could tell these days and she wouldn’t mind if he asked and oh god he was slipping again.

Every passing second felt so, so much longer than it should be, and his body was increasingly ramping up into genuine panic mode. He planted his feet and arched his back, only to find Tris clamped on tight like a limpet, riding down his every movement with perfect weight distribution. ‘The world’s sexiest sack of potatoes’? Oh, yeah.

His hands came up, pressing against her sides, grabbing and squeezing pulling in movements that would’ve been highly inappropriate if he had any control of them. His body, however, had little care for how nice thighs felt on her palm, or the curve of her perfect ass, the way her fiery strands of hair slipped through her finger.

It just wanted her off. Now.

It was growing weaker with each passing second, however. Every thrash was weaker than the last, every push had less force than the one before, and somewhere in the distance, miles away, Keith could hear a faint count.

”85…uh, 86…87…”

And there he went.

It was surprising how many people thought they’d be the one to just lie there and take it. Like they could just fight their own nature. Try as they might, practically everyone fought back sooner or later.

Keith Fox wasn’t going to break that trend. The blond was kicking and thrashing in earnest now, but it was the directionless flailing of someone who hadn’t a clue and not a chance of actually unseating her. Lots of getting handsy, lots of hip thrusting, lots of effort for no profit.

The only question now was how long she waited. Because she was pretty sure he’d slipped past the point of remembering to tap out. Part of her felt like hanging on, then just blaming it on him if he got snotty, but that felt unsatisfying.

And unprofessional.

Still, Tris left it a little longer. Let his hands start to go limp and slide off her sides as his strength drained away, her senses acutely focused on every little tell she could feel.

Just a few more seconds should be fine…

Then she rose up, keeping the hold locked in so that Keith was forced to come along. Now back to sitting on her haunches, the British bombshell finally pulled his face free from the depths of her smother.

She gave him a moment – gave the camera a moment to take in the visual, let the audience absorb what she’d done to him, allow herself to enjoy the sight. Then Tris gave him a little shake, waiting until his eyes focused on hers.

“Hey, Keith,” Scylla’s tone had dropped to a low, throaty purr, her smile wide and haughty, “Kiss my tits.”

‘Death by Breast Smother’.

That’d be the headline, he could see it on a Reddit thread now, with dozens of people below it making that one stupid joke about thinking it was an Onion article- the same joke that someone always made and thought they were clever. He supposed it wasn’t the worst way to go, all things considered. These were nice breasts. Two of the best he’d ever seen, especially up this close.

Things were getting quiet and peaceful, now. Just that steady drum beat of her heart, and the raindrops next to his ear. Drip, drip, drip-

”Ooooooh fuck.”

You could almost hear the air rushing back into his lungs if you listened close enough, this rapid woosh as his body came back into operation and full consciousness restarted. Her opened his eyes wide, then shut them tight to squeeze the water out, then opened them again to look up at Tris’ smiling face and her big, bouncing, bountiful breasts, ready and waiting before him.

Waiting with a request. Or an order. He was too out of it to tell the difference. Either way, he didn’t think much about. Kiss her tits? Okay.

He closed his eyes, leaned forward, and pressed his lips to her breast. A full one, too. Let it linger for a few seconds.

She’d said tits, right? Plural? He gave the same treatment to the other, then let his head flop back as a deep sigh rumbled through. How could he sum that up?

”Wow.”

It would have to do.