Nefretiri vs. Mistress Beatrix - A Rough Start
Posted: Mon Oct 05, 2026 5:16 am
Match Type: Standard
Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, or KO
***
Not here. Not with her.
The ‘her’ in question was the woman hanging out nearby, dressed up like a strange mix between a dominatrix and an exercise TV show host, , or as she was trying to get everyone to call her ‘Mistress Beatrix’. The thought of it made Morrigan’s eyes roll every time she heard it, and now was no exception, as she watching the woman doing practice swings with her single-tail whip.
Beatrice had come in a couple weeks or so ago, Sabine’s cousin trying to hang on her coattails, and had immediately tried to slot herself into their group, introducing herself as the BD to their S+M. She had the trapping of a domme, sure - the whip, the look, the gear - but everything about it was superficial. She reeked of a TV domme, the sort of person who only had experience with BDSM from lame media adaptations, from watching bad movies based on even worse books. She swore, if the woman mentioned Fifty Shades of Grey one more time, she was going to make her taste the back of her hand.
But Morrigan could tolerate the little shit, if Sabine was around. Which raised the current question: Where was Sabine?
”Hey, Ms. Morgan!” Morrigan glanced up from her phone as Beatrice approached, whip slung over her shoulder. ”I was thinking we could come down together, like side by side, and you could do this thing where we picked someone in the audience, and-”
Reason #40 why Beatrice wasn’t cut out to be a domme: She had a voice like nails on a chalkboard. High-pitched, tinny, like she’d just sucked down a helium balloon. The Morrigan chewed her lip, stifling what she wanted to say, and opting for something a bit more diplomatic. ”No, I uh, think it’s best if you lead the way on this. Your debut and all.” Plus, she absolutely did not want anyone thinking they were a tag team. ”Also, it’s ‘Morrigan’. Not Morgan. There’s an extra R and an I in there. For the twentieth time.”
And yes, it was actually twenty. She had been counting.
Beatrice pouted, but accepted the logic and went back to trying out her whip, making Morrigan take a few cautious steps back as she did. She checked her phone again.
A few minutes later, Morrigan found herself stomping down the ring as Beatrice performed her best ‘sexy walk’ ahead of her, strutting and swaying in time to her , moving like a stripper on her first day onstage. It was an awkward, janky motion, but the woman was all smiles, and it seemed like the crowd didn't care so long as her cute butt was shaking. Which, to be fair, it was.
The Morrigan made her way around the ring and leaned up against the barricade as Beatrice hopped up on the apron, dropped into a split, and crawled in under the bottom rope, a maneuver she’d been practicing for days. She rolled to her feet, threw a flirty wink at the nearest camera, and made her way to her corner of the ring, bouncing with every step.
She supposed she couldn't fault the woman for energy, at least. The only question now was who’d that energy was being spent on?
Victory Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, or KO
***
The Morrigan rattled off a few quick texts on her phone and sent them Sabine’s way, as she leaned up against a wall in the gorilla position, more anxious than she would’ve liked to be. By all rights, she shouldn’t have even been standing. Her body was still a mess, taped up and bruised and battered from her match with Storm, and if she had any good sense, she would be in bed, nursing the murderous migraine that was currently threatening to split her skull in twain.Hurry. Up.
Her match is starting soon
Where TF RU?
Not here. Not with her.
The ‘her’ in question was the woman hanging out nearby, dressed up like a strange mix between a dominatrix and an exercise TV show host, , or as she was trying to get everyone to call her ‘Mistress Beatrix’. The thought of it made Morrigan’s eyes roll every time she heard it, and now was no exception, as she watching the woman doing practice swings with her single-tail whip.
Beatrice had come in a couple weeks or so ago, Sabine’s cousin trying to hang on her coattails, and had immediately tried to slot herself into their group, introducing herself as the BD to their S+M. She had the trapping of a domme, sure - the whip, the look, the gear - but everything about it was superficial. She reeked of a TV domme, the sort of person who only had experience with BDSM from lame media adaptations, from watching bad movies based on even worse books. She swore, if the woman mentioned Fifty Shades of Grey one more time, she was going to make her taste the back of her hand.
But Morrigan could tolerate the little shit, if Sabine was around. Which raised the current question: Where was Sabine?
”Hey, Ms. Morgan!” Morrigan glanced up from her phone as Beatrice approached, whip slung over her shoulder. ”I was thinking we could come down together, like side by side, and you could do this thing where we picked someone in the audience, and-”
Reason #40 why Beatrice wasn’t cut out to be a domme: She had a voice like nails on a chalkboard. High-pitched, tinny, like she’d just sucked down a helium balloon. The Morrigan chewed her lip, stifling what she wanted to say, and opting for something a bit more diplomatic. ”No, I uh, think it’s best if you lead the way on this. Your debut and all.” Plus, she absolutely did not want anyone thinking they were a tag team. ”Also, it’s ‘Morrigan’. Not Morgan. There’s an extra R and an I in there. For the twentieth time.”
And yes, it was actually twenty. She had been counting.
Beatrice pouted, but accepted the logic and went back to trying out her whip, making Morrigan take a few cautious steps back as she did. She checked her phone again.
The Morrigan sighed and pinched her nose so hard that it hurt. ”God fucking damn it.”Traffuc
Traffic
Go on without me
and be nice!
A few minutes later, Morrigan found herself stomping down the ring as Beatrice performed her best ‘sexy walk’ ahead of her, strutting and swaying in time to her , moving like a stripper on her first day onstage. It was an awkward, janky motion, but the woman was all smiles, and it seemed like the crowd didn't care so long as her cute butt was shaking. Which, to be fair, it was.
The Morrigan made her way around the ring and leaned up against the barricade as Beatrice hopped up on the apron, dropped into a split, and crawled in under the bottom rope, a maneuver she’d been practicing for days. She rolled to her feet, threw a flirty wink at the nearest camera, and made her way to her corner of the ring, bouncing with every step.
She supposed she couldn't fault the woman for energy, at least. The only question now was who’d that energy was being spent on?