La Belle Dame sans Merci

The smile was what really drove Makoto crazy. Anything else from Margaux, she could’ve put up with. It wasn’t like people hadn’t tried to push her buttons before, hadn’t tricked her - though the Frenchwoman did a far better job at it than anyone she could remember. Regardless, the judoka was trained for this sort of thing. Discipline was a cornerstone of her martial art - the gentle way. Gentle.

There was nothing gentle about the judoka when she plowed into Margaux and brought the jackal to the floor. There was no intricate technique when she mounted her waist and pinned her to the floor, ignoring all the aching protests from her failing body. She hadn’t spent countless hours perfecting the punches that she threw at Margaux’s face, hammering it over and over again.

These were the moves of a caged animal fighting for its last chance, something that would’ve been better suited to a schoolyard brawl than anything from a judo competition. Somewhere in the back of Makoto’s mind, a familiar, loving voice warned her away, told her she needed to break away and make a chance at escaping while she had this window…

...but Makoto ignored it. Because, despite the grounding and pounding, Margaux was still smiling.

She was no boxer, but Makoto knew these punches had to hurt. They were sloppy, but she was no slouch in upper body strength. She put fierce, feral force into each strike, shrieking with each one. ”Stop it!” A harsh hook to her cheek. ”Stop smiling!” That one hit her right in the ear. ”Stop! Smiling!” Two shots, drilled straight into Margaux’s eye.

And she was still smiling. If anything, her smile was growing.

Makoto didn’t know how that was possible, and she didn’t much care, either. She only wanted it to stop.

Before she could make that happen, however, her side erupted in fiery pain, as Margaux’s wandering fingers found her weakest spot and slice into her, digging her claws in deep. The Judo Babe made a noise like a dying animal as the strength fled her body, and all she could do was flop forward on her tormentress, cradling her aching side.

But, maybe, that wasn’t all she could do. There was another voice in her head, louder than the other one and getting louder by the second, which gave her a suggestion. It was one she wouldn’t have even dreamed about before, but now, with her blood boiling and her back against the wall, she didn’t see much choice.

Makoto lifted her head up, tensed up, then jerked it down hard, attempting to slam her skull into Margaux’s for the fiercest headbutt she could muster.

Makoto was as finely tuned on the inside as she was on the out, it seemed. Her bones were resistant and strong, further complemented by taut, healthy flesh beneath the skin. Resilience born from composure of the mind as well as the body. She could only wonder if her organs shared a similar robustness. Perhaps that was something she could experiment with soon enough.

Her cries would have to satisfy her for now. Margaux was always fascinated by how a human could be deactivated by the slightest twitch. The further she explored, the harder she clutched, the more surprised she became. The damage was nothing short of extensive, and yet the judo girl had taken her to the mat all the same, raining down strikes without a hint of hesitation to them.

had It must have been agony. Her fingers danced between the gaps, desperate to unravel the Japanese woman’s secrets. For all her faults, Makoto truly was a strong woman.

It was too bad the same couldn’t be said for her temperament. The boxer grinned as her hand shut the woman down from the inside, ruined her guts like a broken doll. Where was that spunk? What happened the unrelenting, fearsome rage of the world-renowned Olympian? The Frenchwoman couldn’t help but giggle at her embarrassingly weak constitution.

Well...not quite as weak as she believed. There was one more kick left in Makoto. Or headbutt, evidently, landing with enough power to halt the senses. She wasn’t gone. Makoto was still within her grasp, but it seems she’d succeeded in her task at least. Margaux was no longer smiling. For a moment, she wasn’t doing much of anything. Merely looking up at the woman with wide eyes and a distant stare.

Then a surprise of her own came simmering up from below.

Margaux leaned forward with her lips parting ever so slowly, her mind, for but a moment, stalled from the collision. Then, in one snap movement, her fangs would tear into the judoka’s precious face, clamping down and yanking unrelentingly against the elastic flesh and sinew like an unruly terrier. After a couple moments of allowing the pain to seep in, her hand would go back to work and land with truer purpose. Reeling the arm back, she would launch a palm strike into Makoto’s wounded side, attempting to bring the judoka off of her as she released the girl from her maw.

Headbutts were never a good idea, but they were especially not when you had absolutely never done one before and no way to predict what it was like. If Makoto has to compare it to anything, it reminded her of the time - well, the first time - Candy Cane hit her in the head with a guitar. If that guitar had a hard, steel edge. And she did it to herself.

It wasn’t a pleasant moment. Margaux had a skull befitting a boxer, one that left her thoroughly rocked and limp, but it was worth the pain. Worth it just to knock that stupid smile off her face. To make her feel some of the pain she’d given. That was the only thought she had and the only one she cared to think.

But there was a price for that, too, A harsh one.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Makoto saw the look in Margaux’s eyes, strange and alien, as she opened her mouth and brought it forward. For a horrifying moment, she thought the woman was going to go for a kiss, something she would have relished only minutes before, but would turn her stomach, now. Not the case. Not even close.

Margaux fangs sunk into her flesh like razor sharp daggers, and the scream Makoto made was unlike any other she’d produced. Filled with disgust and despair, pain and pathos. She could fill them digging, moving past the flesh, so close to the blood underneath…

Before they could reach, however, a strike crashed into Makoto’s side, worsened all the new pains, and she was sent rolling away on pure reflex. She jerked about the floor like electricity was coursing through veins, and try as she might, she couldn’t force her body to obey a single command. She wanted to fight, but her bones had other ideas.

To make matters worse, a slight trickle of blood was making its way down her forehead, a souvenier from her first headbutt. ”Hate you…” Her hand was too busy massaging her battered midsection, so she rubbed her face against the mat to get the blood out of her eyes. ”Stupid...crazy...hate you…” Her words came out in muttered growls, struggling to form each word.

Finally, it seemed as though the resurgence of Makoto’s flame had breathed its left huff of oxygen. The woman fell limply to the side, seemingly losing control of her body. A splayed mesh of blood and and tortured flesh barely able to rise once again underneath tattered skin. Margaux grew a wide smile as she heard the woman whimper her denial.

Alas, no one was here to hear her.

All Margaux would respond with was a simple rise to her feet and a brush of her arms and shoulders as she turned and made her way over to the cabinet. The whole act a dignified statement in contrast to the unrelenting savagery Makoto had inflicted upon her just moments before. A feverish frenzy entirely unbefitting a judoka. The cracks were widening, and it was about the time the Frenchwoman broke them open.

She opened the cabinet, seeing nothing but the iron bar that had held up her boxing gloves but a few minutes ago. She grew and wide and vicious smile as she gripped the bar. The contours of on arms pronounced themselves, the biceps and veins flaring beneath the skin of her iron body as she attempted to wrench the thing away. With a few decisive yanks, the wood splinter and broke away, rewarding Margaux for her efforts with a satisfying crunch. She brushed the more stubborn pieces away, leaving nothing but an iron bar a couple feet in length in her grasp. She ran a finger down the unorthodox instrument, examining it as if a family heirloom, preserved from centuries past.

“'Hate'? An appropriate reaction.” She turned away from the cabinet and looked over at the writhing judoka. “‘Crazy’? I’ve received more biting insults upon my character.” She started walking towards Makoto, slow, but with heavy steps, growing heavier with each one that brought their distances closer together. “But 'stupid'?” Margaux clicked here tongue, shaking her head for a brief moment. “I believe you are the only one in this room to whom such a term could be most appropriate.”

She stopped and looked down at Makoto, licking her lips and pondering the taste of the scarlet smudge decorated upon her forehead and staining her fresh mat. The iron bar slacked in her grip as she brought it down, running it along the judoka’s face, pressing it into her cheek to force her gaze upward.

“There is nobody to blame but you and your simple-minded nature for ending up in this room, in this moment. What was it you were look for, Makoto Aihara?” She ran the bar down past her face, moving the chilling iron over her breasts and stomach. “An ally? A friend? A human crutch to support your weak body and remarkable failings as a martial artist? Or...” She stopped at her crotch, slightly rubbing it against the hard length and giving a tentative tap.  “...something more?” She grew a wry smile as she giggled irrevocably at the former Olympian. “Ease yourself now. Your worries are over.” She hunched herself over, casting her shadow over Makoto and ensuring the next words were heard. “I will take it all away from you.”

She straightened herself again and took a step back. For a brief moment, Margaux closed her eyes and brought her inner mind to a stand still. From the outside, it may have looked as though she were attempting to regain some sort of lost composure, prepare herself The inside was nothing so peaceful. They were the mad chantings of a warrior newly unchained. A hunter on the plains, paying its respects to the elegant beast beneath it, destined for slaughter. Her eyes opened once more, and she met Makoto with with one more smile, holding the bar in both hands and running one up and down its length.

“Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession. Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel.” She cocked her head to the side. ”Be wise now therefore, O ye kings: be instructed, ye judges of the earth.” She raised the bar high over her head, smiling down upon Makoto as the thunder outside shook the walls maddeningly. “Serve the Lord with fear...and rejoice with trembling!”

Like a crack of lightning, she struck the bar down onto the judoka’s shin. Then again. Then again. Then she’d repeat the process with the other before finally moving up to her torso. Over and over again, she’d beat the metal against her, clanging against bone, softening flesh, tearing away every last scrap of resistance still left inside of her.

Makoto should’ve run.

That was the single nagging thought that kept coming to her as she laid on the floor, a broken, withering shell of her former self. She had a shot when she’d managed to throw Margaux off of her, had a golden moment where she could’ve made it out. Would the insane Frenchwoman have let her escape unmolested? No. Not a chance. She would’ve hounded her every step of the way. But it would’ve been better than just laying there and taking it, and much better than trying to bring the fight to her attack for some odd reason.

How had the anger blinded her so badly? How could you be so mad that basic survival instincts were overridden? Now was not the best time for contemplation, as she realized that Margaux had left her alone for a few moments, which likely didn’t mean anything good or wholesome was on the way.

Forcing her eyelids to open instead of staying shut tight was an effort by itself, one that she only managed long enough to get a peak at the psychopath’s activities.

”What are you…” For a moment, she was confused, watching her captor wrestle with a metal bar in her closet, but it all became clear - horrifyingly clear - when ripped it free of the wood, creating a makeshift metal club. A weapon. A dangerous, metal weapon.

She rolled over and looked on as Margaux approached, her body frozen with fear, registering so many thoughts that it was as if nervous system became overloaded. Makoto didn’t move as Margaux let the metal bar roam across her body. She couldn’t. The only response, save for the quickening rise and fall of her chest, was an involuntary spasm when the cold steel touched her crotch, her legs retreating inward in small act of defense. It wouldn’t be enough to stop this woman from taking what she wanted, she knew that, just as she knew the truth to what Margaux was saying.

She was the stupid. She was the one who’d fallen in the trap, the painfully obvious ruse. Now, the body that she’d spent decades building up was going to pay for that mistake. She held up her hands in a weak defense, as Margaux raised the bar high and kept it there, drawing out the moment. ”Don’t-”

She did.

Each blow found its mark, crashing into Makoto’s body. Each blow made her shriek, creating a new sound that was loader and hoarser than the one that came before it. Her body jolted and twisted, writhed and wriggling, contorted in a dozen ways, feebly trying to find some cover. It didn’t work, nothing worked, and in the end she could do nothing but lay there on the floor, her body riddled with bruises, with more broken and breaking bones than she could count. Makoto couldn’t move a single inch, could do little more than twitch about and moan with every new pain she felt.

She needed a doctor, badly, but she had the distinct feeling that wouldn’t be happening any time soon.

“HAH!”

The smack of crying flesh and snapping bones filled the room.

“RAH!”

Makoto’s belly protested against the strike, surging back up and down like a gelatinous mass.

“YAH!”

A thin streak of red followed from off the bar’s edge as she raised it away from Makoto’s body. Seems she’d broken through.

She accounted for each and every one, taking mental notes of where’d she been and where to move next. All the way until there was nothing left to pillage. Nothing more to take. On the surface, that is.

Margaux stepped back and looked to the ceiling, breathing heavily and ruggedly after the long minutes of throwing every ounce of energy, every fiber of her being, into battering the once proud judoka beneath her. Sweat glistened off her iron body, muscles and contours pronouncing themselves with each breath she took.

They’d hardly been at this long. Far from even five minutes of the woman’s cleansing, but Margaux considered herself to be a spirited sort. She tore into her prey as a relentless hound. The shrieks that filled the room only spurred her further, tightening her grip around the makeshift weapon as she striked with renewed vigor with each passing second. She would eat away until there was nothing left. And then, bathe in the afterglow.

"C'était merveilleux! Votre corps est incroyable, Makoto!"

She loved this. She loved this so much.

She looked down at the judoka, canting her head slightly as she looked over the newly fashioned piece of art beneath her. Bruises lined her entire form. Shades of red and broken capillaries gave a new, vibrant color to the creamy skin and resilient muscle lining the Judo Babe’s form. A crimson splatter adorned her side, a thicker red line amidst the shade running down to touch the mat. A new opening that had already begun to seal as the the blood coagulated.

Margaux licked her lips and dropped the iron bar at her side. She took a couple steps over, swinging one leg over Makoto’s body before crouching down, straddling her waist. With the same, sharp smile, the Frenchwoman leaned forward, pressing her sweat-ridden forehead against Makoto’s, snaking her hands to the back of the woman’s head as the two locked eyes, exchanging hot and tired breaths in the proximity.

“Are you still among the living?” She whispered. “I believed you were stronger than this. Despite all the abuse you have been forced to endure, all of the matches that see you humiliated before the world, you still cling to life. To your naivety. To these notions of honor and courage. You are like carrion, beckoning the vultures to pick you apart piece by piece, un par un.” She pressed further, her lips grazing the surface of the Judo Babe’s own. “You presage misery. Only suffering and anguish accompany you.” She moved her lips away, brushing cheeks as she brought them to Makoto’s ear. “I see now why Aigle left. She had to save herself...from you.”

How long had Margaux been beating on her? Makoto couldn’t be sure, couldn’t even fathom a faint guess. That was the thing about pain, real pain. It messed with time, made it difficult to know what was going from one moment to the next. Every new hit made her mind explode, brought some new agony that she had to process. Escape was impossible in all senses of the word - Makoto tried to find a happy place and endure the torture, but Margaux would drag her screaming back every time she tried.

The woman - no, the monster was relentless, yet somehow cool and calculating like a machine. Even through the agony, Makoto could recognize the precision, the brutal efficiency. Margaux wasn’t wrecking her body anymore than a butch wrecked his meat. She was being dissected.

How long had it lasted? Two minutes? Three? Ten? It was hard to tell with the way she faded in and out of consciousness. Whatever the length, it didn’t really matter, because when Margaux was done, her objective was complete. Makoto laid on the mat, a broken shell of her former self. She could scarcely move save for the occasional twitch, couldn’t manage words beyond gurgles and coughs.

But she was alive. More importantly, she was aware, which was doubtless the exact thing that Margaux wanted.

When the beast came in and straddled her waist, she couldn’t even muster the energy to turn her head away in disgust. The simple act of curling her lips back was all that she could do, a pitiful act of resistance while Margaux insulted her, demeaned her, reached into her heart and tore it clean from her body.

She trembled all over at the heated words in her ear, and she tried to form a single sentence for a return. ”I...you…” Makoto gave up the effort after a moment and sagged into the floor, resigning herself to nothing but silent sobs.

Margaux leaned back away from the judoka’s ear as she smiled down at her. If only Olivier hadn’t other matters to attend to. She would have relished in having a proper recording of this night to look back upon. Perhaps even Madame Cutter would appreciate a grandeur once all was said and done, and the broken judoka lay limp in her hands, wondering what devices could have reduced the pride of the East to such a state.

Of course, she hadn’t finished quite yet. Her body may have been finished, but that was but the surface. Bones could heal, tissue could scar. Everything that doesn't die comes back stronger than before. The work on her mind, therefore, was just about to begin. She was going to make Makoto Aihara disappear from the face of the Earth.

“Yes, Makoto?” She brought her ear to the judoka’s lips for a moment, feeling the hot breath and daring her to make a response. “Then…if there are no more words you wish to share...”

Her hands moved away from the back of Makoto’s head, sliding down past her shoulders and down the sides of her chest. Margaux’s fingers snuck underneath the judoka’s sports bra, peeling it up and over the woman’s arms and exposing her petite chest to the musky air between them.

“Impressive.” She chuckled darkly, bringing a hand to one the warm mounds, letting her fingers sink into the soft skin. “I had always heard that the Japanese had usually possessed such slim bodies, but you are a special case, are you not?”

Margaux slid her body down and brought her mouth closer to the Olympian’s chest, gracing the surface and feeling the heat seep in between her slightly parted lips. Her breath quickened and her throat allowed for a slight gulp as she stared at her appetite got the better of her. Slowly, her tongue ran across the underside of her breast, tracing a circle along the entire orb before slowly making its way to her rosy areola. Her free hand would make its way to Makoto’s other breast and kneading it roughly.

Gradually, she found her mouth traveling its way southward, teasing the top of her toned abdomens and her tasting every inch of the vitality latent within her athletic frame. Such lovely skin. Such beautiful musculature. Such a warm, enveloping, addicting sensation that crossed her taste buds. How anyone could leave a body such as this behind was beyond her. For a moment, she brought her mouth away and give Makoto a toothy smile.

“Six days a week. Three hours a day?” She giggled. “It shows.”

Makoto didn't think this situation could get any worse, was certain she’d reached the absolute deepest depths that she could ever be dragged to. An extensive knowledge of the human anatomy would’ve been required for anyone to find any significant bone on her body that hadn’t been bashed or bruised or broken. She couldn’t move. She could fight. She might not be able to enter a wrestling ring ever again, and that was assuming she would even be allowed to leave this room alive.

What more could Margaux take from her? What else was there?

In a moment’s time, she would hate herself for asking that question.

Makoto gasped - a sharp, scandalous wisp - which she felt the hand at her chest, working off her top with deft fingers. It was off before she could voice a single protest, letting a cool wind blow of her battered chest. She shut her eyes tight at the indignity, but she shouldn’t have bothered. It would be the first of many.

Those eyes opened wide the moment she felt a hand at her breast and opened wider still when a mouth worked on the other one. There was so much pain, so much agony ripping ints way through her body, that any pleasure was like a shining light in the darkness. Impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. Her own systems revolted against her will, as the tender affections made her stiffen in Margaux’s mouth.

”No…” The twitching began anew, more furious than before, as Makoto tried to make her useless body pushed Margaux away or shift to the side or do something to keep this from the dark road it was heading down. ”Stop this...stop it! Get off me…” Every kiss brought pleasure and she shivered as the feeling she’d been so long denied came back to her in the worst way. Makoto clenched her teeth harder with each passing second, a helpless observer in her own body.

Makoto wasn’t alone in her rediscovery of practices long dead and buried. She wasn’t entirely sure when it occurred, but this type of torture had gradually slipped away from her ever since. Perhaps it because of her shift to more malevolent methods. Perhaps it was before she realized where the true beauty of humanity resided. Perhaps she’d simply done a lot of growing up in her brief time on this earth.

All the same, Makoto was bringing back some very warm memories. Hundreds of bodies had crossed her table. Thousands of pictures on a cell phone with a name and a want written beneath it. But there few in her past as finely tuned as Makoto’s. She lost herself in frenzy, biting and lapping the surface, taking in her scent, her pleas only adding to the sensations and forcing Margaux’s mouth into a cruel smile. The body always surrendered before the mind.

“As you wish, Madame Aihara.” She said with a hoarse laugh.

Her lips made their way down the judoka’s toned stomach, tracing a line of kisses and suckles as Margaux descended her lithe body. She slid slowly down as her tongue ran over a ridge of her shaped abdominals, tasting the supple skin as she lapped over her belly button, down to the soft layer of her crotch.  She stopped just at the top of the tender, the tender layer of flesh so close to her lips, her face slightly obscured between the Judo Babe’s legs.

She hadn’t pillaged these treasures quite yet, savoring the moment until now. Merely observing from a distance, feeling the riches that may lay beneath. Her eyes drifted up, her gaze desiring to meet the judoka’s before the inevitable overwhelmed her. Let us see what treasures the Great Khan left behind.

Margaux’s arms wrapped around Makoto’s thighs, peeling them apart and keeping them at bay in the event she sprung to life and attempted to squeeze the Frenchwoman’s head from her shoulders. Her nails dug into the skin, a pair of beasts’ claws seizing a fine grip on its prey. She slowly opened her mouth and breathed heavy, hot breaths against the woman’s waiting folds. The judoka’s own warmth tingled on her lips, drawing her closer and closer until she couldn’t resist the impulses any further. Margaux’s tongue extended from her mouth, taking long and slow licks into Makoto’s slit. She probed deep into her pleasing nethers, taking in her warmth and tasting her essence.