What's Up, Doc? (For Gwyndolin)

Drake doesn't know what he's doing to her at first; he just knows that she's enjoying it. Hearing her cry out, then begin moaning with each breath certainly clues him in. He lets out a soft, purring murr against her hips before squeezing her waist tighter to his chest. "Ready for that pin yet?," he asks. With her arms wrapped around him, he shifts his own hips side to side, brushing his strained shorts teasingly towards her face.

"Or do I need to keep this up~?"

While Drake would start squeezing her a little more with those powerful arms of his, the girl barely noticed the pain it caused. As he enveloped her hips in a warm, deliberately long exhale, her moans intensified. “That...that feels...” Irene's lips curled, her face blossoming into a wide, guilty grin, “...amazing!”

Irene wasn't sure how to answer Drake's question. The thought of asking him for permission to lose was a little shameful. Then again, so was her enjoyment of this, as Irene buried her face in Drake's jiggling hips to muffle her cries of pleasure. Occasionally, his own aroused member would brush past her face, both humiliating and exciting her.

Ultimately, she was much too preoccupied to directly answer his question, leaving the choice in his hands.

The feeling of control he's taking over her is euphoric, but Drake doesn't let her off the hook just yet. He tries something just a little different - his mouth opens to nip his teeth against the center of her hips. Nothing hard of firm, but just enough that she knows what's happening.

Not that it matters. Feeling her face against his hips and brushing past that firming, covered shaft is enough to convince him it's time to pin her. The teen draws his face back and hops forward to slam her down flat onto her back, his body landing directly over her in the same position. His arms detangle from her waist, opting instead to hook her left thigh to draw it into the air while his other hand rests over her right thigh. His chest beast into her bare stomach, his abs pressing into her breasts, his hips resting flat against her face, his hot breath washing over hers.

"Give in..?," he asks, growing breathless.

Despite Drake's uncontested domination over her, Irene still had a bit of strength left. When he started massaging her womanhood with his teeth, the girl kicked her legs a bit and tried to get her thighs around Drake's neck. Before she could, however, he finally brought his hold to its climax by flipping them both down onto the mat, jostling her awake from the partial trance his titillating tactics had placed her in. Groaning in pain, Irene tried to lift her head up, pressing her face into the smooth fabric of Drake's gym shorts. Well, there was one part that wasn't smooth...

Irene felt one of her legs being tugged up as Drake asked her to surrender. From his tone of voice, he seemed to think he had pretty much beaten her with that finisher of his. Irene, however, wasn't quite satisfied, and wouldn't be until she really knew she couldn't escape from him. To make sure he knew that, too, Irene wrestled her legs out of Drake's grasp and extended them up, trying to use them to knock the sides of his head. She even added some more of her sass into the mix, although Drake might not hear it thanks to the muffling effect his hips were having.

“Get your dick off of my face, dick.”

Her legs wriggle free! Drake tries to grab ahold of her thighs again, but she begins successfully bumping his head around. He may have tried to modify the pin, but for what she says. That, for some reason, makes everything super awkward. Yes, that. Not anything that had happened before. Something about her just pointing it out so crass-like! It might be due to his complete newb-ness when it comes to hentai matches (would this even qualify?), but he quickly jerks to the side with a deep red blush on his face.

"S-Sorry!"

And there he sits for the moment, looking flustered and completely unsure what to do. Does he attack her again? Does he hold off? His mind is going in a million directions at once.

When Drake reacted to Irene's comment by throwing himself off of her, she instantly felt terrible about it. She sat up quickly and held out a hand to Drake, who was sitting next to her with a look of shock on his face. “No, wait, hang on, I...” Irene sputtered, unsure of what to say, “I didn't mean to insult you, I was just teasing. Maybe I should've come up with a better term to use than 'dick', but I couldn't think of a playful synonym for it.”

Looking back, however, Irene realized that her comment hadn't sounded humorous or playful, just bitter and mean. Besides, there was nothing wrong with getting a face full of your opponent's wing-wong during a fight with hentai included in it. Hell, Irene was a young woman with certain urges toward the opposite sex; having a model's package pressed against her features was something she would be bragging about to her small town friends sometime in the future.

Irene digressed from her dirty thoughts and sat up, resting her arms on her knees as she sat across from Drake. What could she do to help him get his confidence back? Perhaps she could set him up for a tighter pin attempt, to get things back on track and show that Irene really didn't resent the idea of getting enveloped by him, so to speak. Acting on that impulse, Irene shifted her weight so that she was leaning to one side, making it easy for someone to push her over and get her on her stomach. If Drake managed to get on top of her and secure her arms, this fight would be over. In the meantime, however, Irene offered one final soft phrase: “I'm sorry for what I said, Dom. I'll try to reign in my snark next time.

Drake fidgets a little when she sits across from him. "No, you didn't insult- I mean, I don't- it's just that-," he stammers, hoping to not let the mood die too badly. His worry was that he messed up, not her! But he just can't complete a coherent sentence, unable to piece the thoughts together.

That is, until Irene gives her full apology and settles in a semi-provocative, 'come get me' pose. Drake blinks at her. Then blinks again. "Dang it, Irene!," he fusses, though his tone lacks any real venom. "I'm new to this kind'a thing! I don't know if I'm ever crossing a line!" Sure, it makes no sense. She shoved her boobs in his face, what could be the equivalent exchange for that? He crawls towards her on all fours, only to shove at her shoulder. "Makin' me think I did something wrong. Geeze."

Irene shifted out of her provocative pose and sat normally, blushing a little when Dom lightly pushed her shoulder. She realized that she was sending him mixed messages as far as whether or not he had gone too far with the hentai stuff, so Irene decided to give him a clearer answer. “Drake, sometime you and I outta watch some AFW reruns together,” she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, “especially the ones in Friction with Natalia and Natasha in them. Have you ever seen what those two are willing to do in the ring? They're completely shameless, but I wouldn't even hold it against them because they're just playing on their opponent's lust to win the match. Trust me, you're a saint by comparison when it comes to this stuff. That's why I apologized.”

After this hiccup in their spar, Irene wasn't sure if Drake would want to bother finishing it, but she still settled back in her lopsided pose to tempt him into attacking, just in case.

"Psh. You're totally just wanting to watch a porn with me," Drake chides. It seems he's relaxed again. It was on him, after all, this momentary hiccup. So now that he knows no harm was done, he's alright with resuming play with her. And now that she's settling into that semi-slouched position, Drake smirks. His hand sets to her waist, running his palm along the curve of her ribs along to her hip in a deliberately slow, suggestive manner.

"You want a soft finish, or do you want things to be rough to the very end?," he asks. He copped out of his finisher before, but there's more he could do to her. He could take off the kid gloves for just one move...

A flustered look crossed Irene's face when Drake turned her comment back on her with some witty teasing. It caught her by surprise and left her visibly embarrassed, but the girl was glad that the awkward moment between them had subsided. Now, he was pulling the same twist on her that he had pulled in their proper match: letting her choose the ending.

Since Irene had told him multiple times that he would have to pin her nice and tight before he could consider himself the victor, the girl felt no regret in challenging him to fight harshly. “Don't be gentle, hun,” Irene said, a feisty grin on her face, “hit me with the worst you got. I can take it.”