L.A.W. - League of Anime Wrestling

Storm’s eyes fluttered open from a deep sleep, and she tentatively stretched - only to have her movement halted by the restraints pinning her wrists behind her back. Startled, she looked around, and discovered that she was sat in the corner of the private ring, handcuffed to the turnbuckle.

“Oh, fuck.”

It was more in exasperation than fear. She knew all too well that this was a little joke arranged at her expense by her lover, the Morrigan. Over the past few weeks, they’d managed to schedule several hookups; sometimes drinks, more often “sparring” sessions, with lurid stakes, that served as foreplay for frenetic sex on LAW’s private mats. The two heavyweights played rough, but the raunchiness was always worth it. Their lust for each other had not dimmed since their first wild meeting. Still, those backroom bouts had always felt a little transient, so when Jack suggested they go back to her place, with a private ring built into the home, Storm had jumped at the chance. Seeing a bit more of Jack’s personal life seemed like the natural next step in their fledgling relationship, a possible promotion from ‘fuck buddy’ to ‘actual girlfriend’.

So Storm had no regrets, even if it had resulted in her being shackled to a steel post. She knew it could have been worse; she’d not been gagged or stripped, and was still in her wrestling gear, albeit the skimpier version she wore specifically to excite Jack, with the blue sports bra cut lower than usual, and the booty shorts riding higher. A part of her would probably acknowledge she deserved this little bondage punishment, too - over the past weeks she’d been pushing Jack to use more technical skills, to move beyond the brute force of a pit fighter. She could hardly complain if her student did as asked, Jack pulling a surprise reversal on one of Storm’s holds that had left the brunette’s head stuck helplessly between the goth’s pale and powerful thighs, scissoring her to oblivion.

“Very funny Jack, well done, you win,” the Scot called out to the echoing ring. No answer. She sighed in frustration, and saw that the handcuff keys had been left a few feet in front of her, almost as a taunt, since she had no way of using them.

Storm was inescapably reminded of her first night with Jack, when the domme had made a show of smashing free of such handcuffs with pure brute strength. Maybe that was the game here? Storm grit her teeth and grunted as she tried to pull her arms apart. No progress, beyond chafed wrists. A stark reminder that she didn’t quite have the same ferocious upper body strength as her lover.

The defeated Scot sighed and slumped back in the corner, resigned to her fate. Given the times she had topped Morrigan, a little reversal was hardly unfair, or unwelcome. Since she was stuck, and alone with her thoughts, the handcuffed girl allowed herself to drift into a pleasant reverie about what she would say and do on Jack’s return. Storm didn’t exactly have a bondage fetish, per se, but she had come to realise that she could cope with these sorts of prolonged predicaments reasonably well, her stoic nature helping her pass time alone quite passively. Compared to her partner Lyssa, who would noisily thrash and writhe at being restrained, like a bluebottle under glass, Storm could take this stuff in her stride.

Suitably zoned out, the shackled woman lost track of time. It could have been twenty minutes, it could have been an hour, when she heard footsteps nearby.

“I am SO getting you back for this Jack, you do realise?” she called out playfully, squirming a little in her seat as she eagerly awaited the Irishwoman’s return.

”Tall and tan and young and lovely…”

It had been a boring few weeks for Sabine, and frankly? She despised boring, with a searing passion.

Fortunes began turning a month or so ago, when S+M’s tag team prospects started drying up. For whatever reason - be it bad timing, or a dearth of solid opponents, or management being unwilling to put smaller talent up against the ‘big, bad, heels’-the two of them hadn't had a tag team match in a while, with booking frequently keeping them out of rotation. Sabine accepted that things like that happened from time to time, LAW had a huge roster, insanely so, and it was inevitable that some talent would fall through the cracks and go to the wayside. But it was annoying to be said talent.

”The girl from Ipanema goes walking…”

Thankfully, she and Morrigan had alternate income streams that were enough to sustain them in lean times, but even then things had been dreadfully dull. Their recent clients had been on the more mundane and less adventurous side, wanting little more than the standard affair, the tepid, old, ‘reverse 50 Shades of Black’ experience that BDSM was so often boiled down to in popular lore. She was a professional, she provided what was given, but she always preferred to stretch her creative muscles, and they were growing painfully atrophied.

To make matters even stranger, Jack, usually her emergency spice in such times, was becoming less and less present around the household, apparently having acquired a ‘girlfriend’. The details she could glean from the woman were sparse; the Irishwoman wasn't the most loquacious sort, even at her best, but she had been oddly tight-lipped about her new paramour. It wasn’t Sabine’s business to pry, but she couldn't help being curious about Morrigan, who, so far as she could tell, rarely dallied for more than 24 hours, yet was suddenly trying something that required real commitment.

”And when she passes, each one she passes, goes…”

It was all vexing, terribly vexing, and when she was vexed, Sabine found that a good workout could clear the mind. That was why she, after coming home from a particularly long and eventless session today, immediately showered and slipped into her

, looking to do a little training in the ring. Singing as she went, her voice echoing through the lonely house, she headed straight for the garage…

”...ah.”

…where a woman she had never seen before was handcuffed in the corner.

It was a testament to the sort of life Sabine led that, while she was surprised to see this, it didn't elicit the response 99% of people would have to such a sight. Immediately, the gears turned, and she made a few logical deductions. This was Morrigan’s doing, most certainly. Her first instinct was that she had walked in on a session, but her partner would not be so irresponsible as to leave a stranger handcuffed and unintended in their house. That likely meant this wasn’t a stranger, but someone that Morrigan had a good deal of trust in.

Therefore, with everything she knew, she could draw a reasonable conclusion about the identity of the woman strewn before her.

”Storm, I presume?” She tilted her head, appraising the woman as she approached with a subtly sultry stride. ”Guten tag.”

Storm’s senses, dulled from her somewhat enforced daydreaming, slowly came back into focus as she realised she was no longer alone. She felt a vague sense of unease as she thought she heard someone singing elevator music - a decidedly un-Morrigan thing to do. Storm shuffled and rattled in her restraints, but she was still stuck sitting in the corner.

The other person entered the garage. The shock of red hair confirmed Storm’s suspicions - this was not the woman she had been waiting for. Their eyes met across the airy room, as they both took in this sudden and unexpected sight.

“Oh,” Storm reacted, as dryly as the redhead. She wrinkled her nose awkwardly, but otherwise elected to ignore her embarrassing predicament for now. Instead, she watched closely as the athletic redhead slunk into the ring and sauntered towards her. Storm swallowed hard, trying to disguise her apprehension. This woman was beautiful, which coupled with Storm’s helplessness, made her heart skip a beat. There was a lot of uncertainty over what would happen here, with Storm at a ridiculous disadvantage.

“Er, yes, hello. And you must be Sabine.” Storm already had already known, even before the sultry sprinkling of German in her introduction. She’d been with Jack for a few weeks, so of course the subject of tag partners had come up. It was interesting, though, that Sabine seemed as clued in as she was. Storm hadn’t wanted or expected her relationship with the Morrigan to be secret, as such; she just hadn’t really stopped to consider the goth confiding in someone else. She couldn’t help but wonder what details had been shared.

There was a pause. Storm realised they were both sizing each other up. It wasn’t entirely unreasonable for Sabine to be assessing the heavyweight wrestler she’d just stumbled upon in her own garage, but still, Storm found it unsettling. There were calculations being made behind that pretty face, but as to what they were, Storm was unsure. Sabine’s eyes were inscrutable. The Scot tried to remain poker-faced too, but given her hapless position she felt she had to break the silence when it ran slightly too long to be comfortable.

“Er, nice to meet you, Sabine. You wouldn’t have happened to have seen Jack around on your way in?” she said, trying to be as personable as possible. “Me and her were, um, kind of in the middle of something?”

Storm suddenly had a nagging worry that that this was somehow planned, that Jack had set her up for this. She tried to dismiss the idea; the goth was pretty reliable when it came to consent, and it wasn’t her style to pull stunts like that unless it was part of the game. Still, Storm was really hoping for some more context on this meeting, hoping it was an accident. She steadfastly ignored the elephant in the room, though, and avoided mention of her handcuffs, as if it somehow made her less helpless to disregard them, as she held the German girl’s gaze.

As a woman who routinely wrestled in nothing but pants and suspenders, Sabine was acutely aware when someone looked her over and sized her up. She could say, with no small amount of certainty, that Storm was doing much the same.

Of course, so was she, and what she saw in the Scotswoman intrigued her. She was big. Not as big as Morrigan, but few women were. Big enough that she could only imagine what they had done to the room they'd occupied in their first encounter. She certainly saw the effects of it on Morrigan’s body after she came home, the lacerations and bruises and cuts decorating her skin.

Morrigan - or ‘the Morrigan’, as she insisted on calling herself at the start of sentences, for some odd reason - favored women her own size, whenever possible. All the better to keep her up with the vigorous pace she set. That would explain the attraction, but not why Storm was enduring where others had been sent walking. For that, Sabine would need to probe deeper. But first…

”Bingo.” So they already knew each other’s names. That was good. It saved her the trouble of explaining basic facts. She brought her attention to the handcuffs, examining them for a moment as she leaned, dipping into Storm’s personal space as she did. Her long, fiery red hair slipped over her shoulders and dangled about the Scot’s lovely face. ”Yes, yes, I can see. She left you in a rather compromising position. And no, I did see her on the way. She’s a difficult woman to miss, too, as you well know.”

Sabine straightened, put a hand on her hip, and considered the situation for a moment before speaking again. ”A callous woman might leave you like this until Morrigan arrives. Perhaps even have some fun of her own.” Her eyes narrowed, turning sultry, before widening again. ”How fortunate, then, that I am not callous.” She clapped, slipped through the ropes, and headed to a toolbox on a nearby shelf. ”The lock is simple enough to pick. A screwdriver will serve us well.”