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Perfume and sweat. Not the bakery below. Not the fresh sea breeze outside. Not the wet stone after a rain.
Perfume and sweat. It was overwhelming in the chamber mats, and it always lingered in Agatha’s nose after a match. She did not mind it, however. It was a sign of hard work, of a fight hard fought. She enjoyed the scent, unless of course she was on the losing end.
Today was batch day. The new girls had already been lined up, numbered, and quartered in the castle. Agatha barely had time to unpack her things when her number came up. She groaned at the idea of coming back to a messy room after a grueling match.
She gave herself hope by having a new bedmate, even if just for a night. Then again…
Her faint smile vanished. The thought of Iris made her uneasy. Of course, just, of course. Her first match had to be Iris, the stout veteran, not to mention the only other Latina. She was not pretty, she was agonizingly attractive; her velvet-rich hair, her tanned bosoms and waistline that cast the figure of a cartoonishly proportioned mistress, yet she made it natural. Everything about her screamed to be in tight silk or a bikini on the verge of slipping off. Everything about her was agonizing and seductive and beguiling and hot to the–
Agatha took a deep breath. She needed to collect her thoughts. It was bad to get turned on before the match even started, but how could she help it.
This is not to say Agatha was dull faced. Not by any means. She was just, for lack of a better term, softer. Agatha always believed this. She leaned to the cuter, innocent side of attractive. Her soft brown eyes that could melt a heart in two blinks, her warm-toned skin and peach hair were adorable and if she wished, playful.
But she was not dominating. That is what Iris was and that was what won matches.
She stepped onto the rubber mat. It was cold, it was black with a white circle. Leaving the circle forced a reset. Leaving twice was reset with disadvantage. Leaving thrice was reset with, well, Agatha smiled a little.
Her smile turned to a blush when Iris stepped to the mat after her. If anything, Agatha had forgotten details about her figure. It was wrapped tight, toned from years of conditioning and training, but that did not diminish curves. It emphasized them.
She was in a white bikini a single size too small. The straps of her tops wanted to pop open as her bosoms spilled ever so slightly over them; her bottoms were yanked up and in enough to barely make outlines of her womanhood.
Her dark hair was down and behind her shoulders. Her eyeshadow turned her lashes into wings, which made her unblinking stare almost ceremonial, a type of champion goddess.
Agatha’s heart fluttered. It would not be so bad to be her bedmate, but no, wait. This was not the time to doubt.
She took another deep breath.
Iris had to notice Agatha’s beauty, be it softer or innocent or whatever. It was still beauty. The warm air expanded Agatha’s lungs and her chest puffed. Her black bikini concealed her own bosoms, they pushed tightly together and she could feel them bounce slightly when she walked. Her rump was nothing to laugh at, either.
She never considered it, but it was far toner and more shapely than Iris’s. And if this was a contest of ass alone, she would stand more than fair chance. She chuckled.
“Something funny, darling?” Iris took another step onto the mat.
Agatha did the same. “Just thinking about how your tongue will feel on my clit tonight.”
“Big talk.” Iris licked her lips. “Let’s see if you can back it up, darling.”
Agatha did not like the names. It made her feel small. And in some ways, she was, but she made it here. She was Red Flower of the Domina Dominans. She got through so many women to get here, left them broken on the mat, but also satisfied (despite their resentment).
Iris was a vixen, but Agatha was still a fighter. She would not be taken lightly.
She offered no response as she stepped in the white circle.
When Iris entered, the bell rang. The first fight of this year’s prelims had begun. Each abidinpaşa escort girl knew the rules, each girl knew the stakes, and each girl had sacrificed to be here.
Agatha locked hands with Iris and the match was fully underway.
At first, Iris was a mountain. Though they pushed and pulled at each other with their arms, the real battle was a little more center.
Both girls locked bosoms, smushing and grinding; Agatha’s nipple’s stiffened from the constant pressure. Every time one girl moved left, the other countered right. And deep down, both girls felt the elixir working.
It was black tea that smelled like mist and tasted like licorice. Every contestant ceremonially drank it from iron mugs. It sharpened the senses, made adrenaline rush, and horribly, desperately turned the girls on. It took effort to ignore it, like an unreachable itch.
But all this motion, and her sweaty body, warmly getting closer and embracing, and tugging and tearing into–Agatha’s eyes widened.
She was winning. Iris. A dark mountain, a sultry seductress, was surely being pushed down.
Agatha tightened her grip and pushed harder.
Iris fell to one knee as her arms began to fold, her chest raised higher and faster, yet her breaths were neat and controlled.
Agatha centered herself and slowed down. If this was a trap, it was a good one. If this was how the fight was playing out, she needed to be cautious. The vixen may have had one knee down, but she was a grizzled fighter.
And the bigger girl.
Agatha needed to wear her down standing up; if she got pinned on the ground, her tits, her womanhood, everything would be fair game.
But Agatha saw this too late. Iris smirked, locked her grip, and fell back, bringing Agatha down on top of her.
Iris knew this was a gambit. Being under meant she could not maneuver for angles or set up positions, or even grope her opponent. It was a gambit, but worth it as she saved one thing.
As long as she held Agatha down, she would work less.
And as a surprise, she would gently grind her thighs against Agatha’s crotch. Presently, this did little, but over time, well, a boiling kettle only takes so much.
Iris smiled. Agatha’s warm breath tickled her neck as the smaller girl found a way to roll her nipples.
This elicited a small moan from Iris. Agatha pinched a little harder, and felt a contraction. She knew Iris was a master on the ground, and slow but steady was her only option. She worked her nails into the nipple.
Iris yelped. Her grip loosened and Agatha could sit up some. She had full posture, and in one motion, leaned in. Nails, digging into Iris’s plump flesh, thumb and index rolling her nipples left and right, left and right, pulled out and pushed in, cruelly. And tenderly.
Iris closed her eyes. Heated radiated up and down every nerve, her sweaty back stuck to the mat as she needed to arch.
Agatha hardly let her. Even if the vixen had a game plan, this was too much pleasure for anyone to think through.
And she was right. Iris was lost. The very tips of her breasts were white hot with sharp pain, which unfurled into pleasure. Pleasure that lingered through her and bubbled to the brim, a cup that was too full and begged to let a single drop go.
Iris’s eyes shot open. Her brown nipples were red now; Agatha’s nails left thin love trails through her breasts and that agony simmered. She needed to break loose.
She began to buck. Turbulently at first. Nearly throwing Agatha off, until she saw the smaller girl’s face. Agatha grinned devilishly. She deserved to. Iris’s gambit was failing, she was losing. Losing herself to each yank that sent sharp pains, each tweak that wrenched a moan out of her, each pinch that pushed her pass an edge she was desperately close to letting go of.
Her thoughts were interrupted when there was a new sensation much lower. While Iris was focused on not cumming, Agatha had traded a nipple for the vixen’s clit.
Agatha was pleasantly surprised. Iris’s bikini bottoms were spotted with aktepe escort dampness. Under normal circumstances, it would have taken fifteen, twenty minutes to get half this on a woman like Iris, but with the elixir, everything went five times faster.
Including Agatha, which she had neglected to notice. Iris would have forgotten too if it were not for the surprise attempt at her clit.
She glanced past her tormented nipples to Agatha’s womanhood. The grinding worked, though admittedly, it was impossible not to this point, as Iris arched and squirmed beneath the pin. Fuck. Agatha was rubbing hard in both places. Iris’s bottoms clung to her from the wetness, her nipple was raw from pleasure.
She had to buck out. If she rested her head a final time, she would burst. She knew it. It was already taking everything in her to not scream and release the itching tension. She strained up, higher than before–no good.
Agatha’s fingers only pressed harder, which made her rubbery. Her legs shook to hold her up, until they tensed up, and her entire body locked up. She resisted to the end of her wit, but she–her womanhood–could only take so much and she was in the final split seconds before orgasm.
Agatha sensed this and smiled. She wanted to end this with style. A win is a win but a win with flair would set her apart from other girls. She removed her hand from Iris’s clit and put it back on the scratched nipple. The orgasm was moments away regardless, and scoring one with a little extra edging… Agatha leaned down and planted a kiss on Iris’s lips while tweaking her nipples harder than ever before. Iris howled through the kiss, ready to let a cracked dam shatter.
Until sharp pain radiated through Agatha’s chest, until it got sharper, until something was going to tear. Until she screamed.
Her grip on Iris loosened a little, which was enough for the vixen to break out and toss Agatha off. Her lost orgasm electrified her muscles. She was on fire, and already on her knees by the time Agatha had landed.
Agatha lay, dazed. She scanned the room and saw, in a swift motion, Iris plant a knee on her chest. It constricted her breathing as the vixen began to roughly fondle her womanhood.
Agatha tried to whimper as she realized what happened. When she leaned into kiss, Iris’s fingers, either by plan or dumb luck, could reach her own nipples. The surprise, and instant ferocity, of Iris sent Agatha into shock.
By the time she recovered, it was too late. Iris’s heavy knee had slipped to her neck. Her breath was a labored rasp as she clawed at Iris’s back and shoulders.
Iris ignored her. In fact, it was gratifying. The futile clawing. It was animalistic, cornered. There was no plan. It was flailing. Fear.
Iris left no room for escape. She moved Agatha’s black bottoms aside and inserted two fingers. Agatha’s back became a C. She was instantly tense.
All Agatha could feel was brink. Verge. Edge. The tipping point of passing out from lack of air and screaming from pleasure, although she tried. She tried to control her breaths and stifle her moans.
She noticed a new sensation. Slowly, she craned her neck until she saw Iris looking back.
Agatha could not take it. Three fingers, pumping rough. She wanted it to slow down, just one pause to catch her breath.
Iris knew this, and she grinned.
Tears welled in Agatha’s eyes.
Just one… pau-AHH
Agatha thrashed. She bucked wildly. Her body was not hers anymore. It was Iris’s.
And Agatha’s wish was fulfilled. Just before the crest of her greatest pleasure, a sting ran through her. It was heavy and turned her gut until she was nauseous. Confused, she wriggled beneath Iris.
The lustful fog cleared, and she saw not what just happened, but what would happen.
Iris slapped her womanhood down at the sheer brink of climax. Agatha’s body thudded on the ground, wet and denied release. Agatha twitched, uncontrollably, as her hands subconsciously moved to finish the job.
Iris slapped them down too.
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” She akyurt escort ran a fingernail over Agatha’s brown nipple. “Kiss me, will you?” It was Iris’s turn for a devilish grin.
Agatha was too exhausted and short of breath to do anything other than cough and moan as Iris began inserting fingers, bringing Agatha back to the peak. This was punishment, for losing and for trying to win.
Pleasure swelled, Agatha’s southern lips were inflamed and slippery. She was beyond her limit and Iris did not care. Her fingers pumped mercilessly.
Without thought, the broken girl’s hips raised, her moans were choked with spit, and tears ran from her eyes. P-Please.
She did not say the word. It escaped her. As if her body was surrendering though despite her pride.
Say it or not, Iris heard it. “Please. What.” She stuck a fourth finger in.
The jolt sent silent moans from Agatha, as her head spun from lack of air, the need to release, and crying.
With all her remaining strength, she managed to saw the word. “Ple…ase..”
Iris tilted her head. “Good girl…” She removed her fingers and slapped Agatha’s womanhood again. “But not good enough.”
In the final moments before Agatha blacked out, all she saw was Iris’s lips getting bigger as she planted a kiss her silent, devastated foe.
Agatha awoke to a cool sensation. She tried to spring up but was immediately halted. Above her was a foreign room. The walls were stone, a full wooden bookshelf was next to a crackling fire as a clear night and crescent moon were visible through the room’s single window.
Also above her was Iris holding a damp rag.
“Finally awake, darling?”
That name sent shivers down Agatha’s spine. She blushed and looked down. “W-What happened?”
Iris walked behind her and sat down on the white linen bed. She playfully ran her hand over Agatha’s, which was chained to the bedpost.
“Oh, darling. What do you think?” Iris leaned closer. “I won.”
The words burned in Agatha’s mind.
Iris straightened and stretched. “Well, you passing out was not part of the plan.” She laughed softly.
“But a win is a win.” she continued.
Agatha stared blankly. She had no answer, no question. Nothing. She was defeated and hollow. She fought so hard to get here, only to lose harshly.
That’s when she felt fingers tenderly pick up her chin. Iris stared into her eyes. “Kiss me.”
“What?” Agatha found herself asking.
“It was a match. It was a tough match. Now its over. Kiss me.”
Agatha was bewildered. She was angry. She wanted to break the chain and storm away. She had that victory. There were just moments, two seconds, maybe three, and should would be sitting on that bed.
“Yeah, kiss me.” Iris moved into range.
“As you wish.” Agatha moved to kiss but found Iris’s finger on her lips.
“Mean it.” Iris stopped her.
Agatha was truly beautiful. Her warm eyes and graceful gestures made Iris want to lay next to her all day. Iris imagined her laugh too, probably soft and delicate.
“Agatha, we fight. We come here knowing the risk. And in fighting.” Iris paused. “We can lose. We all do. All the talk, all the temper, that goes away after the fight… for most girls.” She looked away.
Agatha heard a notch in Iris’s voice.
“It goes away though. At least it should.” The vixen continued stroking Agatha’s peach hair. “And if you don’t want to stay, you may go. But why not have some fun before the fighting starts again. I can even give you some tips on kissing, and my guess is you are still in bad need for that orgasm.”
Agatha stared fiercely at this, but was soon disarmed by Iris’s coarse chuckle. Both these were true. She could learn from Iris and ever since she blacked out in the match, she, as foolish as it was to say, never got her chance to release. And it burned between her legs.
“I guess…” Agatha finally said. “I could learn something from your kisses.”
Iris’s eyes lit up as she unlocked the chain and Agatha crawled into the bed. For a few minutes, they watched the night pass them by. The Domina castle was a vast labyrinth of stone and sweat. Murmurs and cheers could be heard at all times from all corners. No matter what, business and commotion buzzed.
Iris rested her head on Agatha’s shoulder and before Iris could say it, Agatha leaned in and planted a deep kiss.
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