Annette Weber vs The Black Belt Demon - Troubled Waters

Makoto laughed.

It came out of nowhere, before she even realized it. Things had been going well, so well that she let her guard down. She had control of Annette, was turning the tide in her favor, and it had been such a good, assuring feeling. While it had hardly been the first time that she had been in sexual position, it was the first time she’d ever taken charge like this in a match. She had always been on the opposite side when it came to this, still reliving her time with Kaylee and how mortifying that ordeal was.

Here, she was the dominator. The controller. She flicked Annette, and with the lightest touch of her foot set the woman on fire. Empowering? The word didn’t come close to describing. She was turning this sex bomb of a woman on, and she could feel that reaction transferring to her. It didn’t help that the Norweigien’s arm was in such a convenient place to rub against, either, and her hips acted on their own. A little rub here. A little thrust there. The slightest touches.

It was enough to make her breath quicken, her heart race. She forgot herself, for a moment. The worst one. The one where Annette made her silly little joke.

And out came the laugh.

The Black Belt Demon killed in a second, biting her own lip to cut the noise off, but there was no denying it, no pretending it was a cough or a snort or anything. The smile turned to a sneer, and she shoved her foot against Annette’s face as punishment.

...pun-ishment.

...ugh, she hated this woman.

”Shut up!” Flustered, she brought her legs out of the hold and moved over Annette’s waist to straddle her. That would mean bringing her feet away from the breast, but that was fine, since she would replace them with her hands a second. She slipped them into her opponent’s gi, found the orbs, and went at them with both palms, slipping under the fabric to work them over without restriction. Alternating between gropes and rough squeezes, pain and pleasure. At the same time, she leaned in with her weight, keeping her foe pinned.

”I’m in control here, not you.” She wasn’t sure whether those words served more to intimate Annette or reassure herself, but she could definitely do with more of the latter effect.

Dealing with an armbar was nothing special for Annette. In her ceaseless climb towards her prized purple belt, she'd been thrown into this particular submission enough times to develop some basic level of muscle reflex. Her arm already went for the most comfortable position she could find. There wasn't anything in this otherwise rudimentary hold that she wasn't familiar with or could catch her by surprise.

No, no. It was Makoto laughing. That was something that caught her off guard.

Her aura was significantly darker than Ann was anticipating. She knew from her personal studies that Makoto was a competitive person, maybe a tad too serious for her own good, but this was beyond a bad day. Questions had started taking shape in the back of Ann’s mind. Did she hate this match? Did she hate her? As much as the Norwegian would have liked to see some of that sunny disposition, Makoto had made it quite clear from the moment they’d set eyes on the other that she had little to no intention of letting that come to pass. Ann didn’t even think of anything with her silly little joke. Just something that came to mind.

But she did laugh. A genuine laugh. A beautiful laugh. And that, in turn, made Annette laugh. For a moment the pair were caught in a spontaneous fit that seemed a clear contrast to the otherwise tense positions the two martial artists found themselves locked in. It was a pleasant little moment and just the kind of wholesome atmosphere she hoped for in a competitive match against a worthy opponent. So of course it wouldn’t last.

“Ah!” Annette felt a relief when her arm was finally released from Makoto’s grip only for it to be swept aside by a sudden weight straddling her waist. A surprised gasp slipped from between her lips feeling a pair of hands slip beneath the fabric of her top, forcing her back to arc for a moment towards the abrupt sensation. Ann relaxed against the canvas and let herself be taken with every jolt of pleasure from Makoto’s fingers digging into her soft orbs. Her toes curled, she bit her lip as she looked the woman in the eye with a soft, breathless chuckle.

"Oh of course you are, søt liten jente." Her hair fell to one side as she turned her cheek to the ground, joining the periwinkle blanket upon which her head rested. The princess gazed back at the demon with a longing gaze in one eye, her hands helpless at either side of her head. "What are you going to do with me, oh mighty demon?"

Edith Perheim.

That name had been on the tip of Makoto’s tongue for a while now, since she started this match and her opponent’s first word, and she was only now realizing why it kept popping up - that was the name of the last Norweigian she’d fought in a match. Ages ago, during the Olympics. Not the match where she picked up her gold medal, the one before that, semi-finals. She’d honestly thought the woman was a little unwhelming, really, nothing much to write home about, just kind of average. But she’d had a similar accent. Similar smile. Similar laugh. Minus the sexy, but other than that, fairly close. Close enough to bring Makoto back to a different time, a different age.

It was making her backslide. The worst part was that Annette probably wasn’t even doing it on purpose, unless she was a psychic. Somehow, that just made it all the more infuriating.

Makoto hardened her face, trying to erase any memory of the laugh from a moment ago. Annette had laughed along with it, so she heard it, which meant she had wedged her way into her head, still messing with her - this woman was a witch, tricky, smart, dangerous. But she was on top, now. The Black Belt Demon was on top, and had her pinned. She could do anything she wanted.

Which sort of brought up the big question: What did she want to do, exactly?

She opened her mouth, then closed it just as quickly, realizing she didn’t have any real answer for that question. Annette was wide open, but this wasn’t like a judo match, where she knew the right moves in the right positions at the right time. This was more spontaneous. Improvisation. So, the better was wasn’t what she wanted to do, but what she would want done to her.

He lips curled, morphed into a dismissive sneer, and she leaned down. She shifted her hands around, using one to pin Annette’s wrists and the other to seize her by the chin, forcing her to look straight up. ”Whatever. I. Want.”

It sounded like an Anesthesia thing to say, and she followed it up with an Anesthesia thing to do: Dipping down and taking her opponent in a rough, dominating kiss, invading the woman’s mouth with her tongue and clashing teeth. She ground their hips together, pumping against the Norweigian hips and beginning a hard, steady motion, one that picked up speed with each thrust.

Was Annette losing this match at this moment? It was rather hard to tell, speaking solely from her point of view.

Makoto had her under complete control as far as the judoka was concerned. The goal was to force as many climaxes as possible and her opponent was certainly in the opportune position to do exactly that. Technically speaking, everything was swaying towards today’s thus-far regarded underdog. She had all the cards and was all too eager to use them, as the purpose lingered in the heated words wafting over Annette’s face and the intense gaze reflecting in her eyes.

And yet, the former model had little more to offer than a starry-eyed gaze and a coy grin laced with anticipation. There was a match to win. She was a competitor at heart. But something about her attitude, the die-hard assertiveness from this national icon...Annette felt a curious heat building between her legs along with the runaway rhythm of her heart.  When Makoto’s lips slammed into hers, she leaned her head forward to deepen the kiss, opening her mouth wider to allow her easier access. What was it that just made her want to give herself over?

First Chloe, now this one. It may have been safe to say that she was developing a type.

"...you're good...very good…" She rasped between breaths. Her mouth from then on was better spent contending with Makoto's. Their lips touched and lapped as their tongues struggled in together between gnashing teeth and hot, moist air that brought a delightful cherry red to the Norwegian's cheeks. The impressions left behind from those claws that had sunk into her breasts only stimulated her further with lingering jolts of electricity against her hardened tips. The experience was brutal, callous, but far from unenjoyable. Whatever Makoto Aihara would have been in this kind of situation, Ann couldn't have expected her to match what the Black Belt Demon could offer.

The more she tasted of the Japanese beauty, the more her heart desired.

Her impressive quads pronounced as they supported her shapely lower body. As Makoto's hips came down to meet her, Ann would meet her halfway with an ardent thrust. The sound of smacking flesh and thighs began to echo from the ring as their pace increased. In this terrible embrace, the silver-haired angel found herself taken in a rare, sinful delight. Her lips curled into a smile as she kissed Makoto back eagerly.

Anesthesia had to say, this surprised her. She was rarely surprised, at least when it came to sensual matters, but here she was. Backstage, looking up at the screen, watching the birth of Makoto Aihara - Hentai Wrestler.

It was hard to believe this day would ever come. She still remembered the first time she met Makoto, back when they were both starting out in Rumble Roses. The Olympian was a shy thing, so bashful and easily flustered. The poor thing had probably never had a sexual experience in her entire life, and Anesthesia would bet good money that she didn’t even truly realize what her attractions were until Aigle came along. To see her here, turning a sexpot like Annette into a puddle, was something no amount of planning could’ve steered her towards. But then, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising - after all, the Judo Babe was a driven woman, focused in all that she did. A true competitor, and that wasn’t something Anesthesia could change, nor would she want to. It was only a matter of focusing her towards the proper outlets.

The Black Belt Demon didn’t see it that way. She didn't see much of anything at all, really, beyond the heated Norweigian she had locked lips with. She was so tame now, so easy to control - Makoto knew that Annette could break out of this with half a try, that there’d be little to stop her if she did, but she wasn’t going to. The idea that she could do that with pleasure was intoxicating, but not unfamiliar. She had been here before, only on the opposite end.

Aigle had been such an aggressive lover, so bold, like she was channeling her conquering ancestors whenever they were in the bedroom. It had driven Makoto wild back in the day, left her wheezing so many nights, and she brought those lessons here as she dominated her opponent’s body. She picked up the pace, humped hard, and even readjusted, bringing her leg over Annette’s thigh, straddling it. She lifted up and gripped her collar tight as she rose, only to shove her back down hard when they were halfway up.

”I know I’m good.” She sneered, bringing out that dismissive air as she glared at Annette’s chest. She reached back, got her arm under her opponent’s knee, and lifted up Annette’s free leg, putting her in the perfect position to slam their hips together. Long, drawn out, deep grinds, followed by quick slaps, with each contact sending sports through her pussy.

It was easy to get lost in this, too easy, but the Black Belt Demon kept focus. That was the danger with a match like this - if she had too much fun, she could wind up defeating herself. ”Tell them.” She brought her palm down on Annette’s stomach with a slap and dug her claws into the abs, digging at the muscle. ”Scream it, tell them how much you love it. Now!”

Ritsuko had no idea what was happening right now.

She'd been a loyal AFW follower for years now. Hell, she was probably one of the few subscribers that had likely seen every hentai match variety under the sun instead of sticking to her niche. Not just for herself, mind you. She and her boyfriend both had always been looking to spice their Saturday evenings up and just one lewd match gave them enough ideas to last for weeks. At some point though, Ritsuko just found herself watching them on her own. On the nights when she just couldn't get to sleep, when her beloved would be working another long shift at the office. She'd seen so many she eventually started recognizing names and falling in tune with the flow of each match. But for her, there was one thing AFW did better than any other service out there: sweet, sweet domination.

Ritsuko found that it was more about the wrestlers themselves than it was about the rules when it came to those kinds of fights. Kozue Kaburagi and Mariko Ishii had an interesting rivalry, for instance, but you’d never know who was going to come out on top of one match or another until it was already happening. That was pretty much never the case with a select few wrestlers, and Makoto Aihara was close to the top of that list.

How could she even count the ways? Getting fingered to death by Kaylee, choked unconscious by Zarya with the symbol of her national pride, even that one-shot KO from Alicia she had replayed more times than a healthy mind might have allowed. A girl like Makoto just wasn't built for this kind of competition. So when Ritsuko noticed that tonight's top billing had thrown her into a hentai match? Against Annette Weber? She was lucky to get that last ticket for the front row.

Like, extrodinarly lucky. Because there was no way Ritsuko would be able to believe what she was seeing on the other side of a computer screen. Makoto wasn’t winning. She was dominating. Controlling the supermodel at fingertips like a remote control. And Ritsuko wasn't alone in that confusion. The entirety of the audience along the beachside had seemed to have suddenly and quietly changed their tune in tandem with the rapidly shifting positions of the two wrestlers.

Annette personally had no complaints. Her toes curled as Makoto once again reasserted her position, lifting her leg into the air and having her way. She appeared content to let herself be taken by the rapid tides of Japan’s hottest passion incarnate. The lilting Norwegian cries carried across the splashing waves and the sound of pounding flesh. Ann threw her head back with a whip of her silver mane.

Ann yelped, feeling Makoto’s nails digging into her skin. The drag was slow and painful, leaving red streaks behind on the ends of her fingertips. Annette bit down hard and tensed on the ground. Pain and pleasure flooded her mind all at once, unsure of which direction to be taken in. Through the Japanese wrestler’s relentless offense, Annette could just force her eyes to open and bring their gazes together. She wasn’t certain until she cold look the Black Belt Demon in the eye. Makoto was honestly expecting her to beg. From a little love tap.

The model simply curled the corner of her lip in a smile. “Make...me...”

Makoto had this match in her sweaty palm, controlling the entire situation far better than she could have ever hoped for. Had Anesthesia’s training helped her that much? It was hard to fathom that she could be in this position, that she could ever have this much sexual control over a woman. She was starting to understand why her leader craved this sort of thing, where that hunger came from. Annette was hers, a living toy that she could manipulate to her whims, and the power alone was intoxicating. Not to mention the sweat, the flesh rubbing along each other, the salty smell in the air, the audience growing more excited with each passing second.

She was a goddess. A sexy judo goddess. It took a real effort to not burst out laughing from the pure exhilaration of it all. She had always looked down on hentai wrestlers and their entire craft, but it was feeling more and more natural. She’d never been in the driver’s seat before, but it was certainly something she could get used to.

The only caveat, though, was that she needed Annette to go along, and that reached an unfortunate snag.

The Black Belt Demon’s brow furrowed at her opponent’s defiant words, her face wrinkling up as blood rushed to her cheeks. Things seemed to be getting along well enough, she was doing what would’ve driven her crazy, but it seemed like the Norweigian had a bigger threshold - okay, now that she thought about it, that kind of followed. If she wanted to impress this woman, she’d have to spice things up.

...how? For a moment - a hot, agonizing moment - she hesitated, going through options. She kept their hips grinding together, not wanting to give up that contact, but it slowed down as her brain worked. The audience couldn’t have been further from helpful here, too, throwing a lot of vague suggestions her way.

”Yeah, Makoto, show her what that tongue can do!”

”Just get in between her legs, and-”

”Strip her! Strip her!”

It was what they wanted, that didn’t matter. Anesthesia taught her about finding the need, locking into your opponent’s desires and feeding them What did Annette want? What did she want?

Makoto’s hands moved up Annette’s body,  moving from her stomach to her ribs to her chest and stopping there. She gripped Annette’s breasts again, keeping them tight in her clutches, but this time she did more than just squeeze them. She gripped her opponent’s top tight and pulled the cups down, exposing her hardened nubs to the fresh and gaining appreciative cheers from the crowd all around, and they only grew louder with what came next. With a few tugs of her gi’s collar, Makoto pulled that down as well, giving her full, unfettered access. Ripe and round, tender and tasty. Annette’s body was a wonder, there was no getting away from that.

Makoto wetted her lips with a long lick, let out a heavy breath, and dove in, planting her lips on Annette’s nipple, kissing it with the same fervor that she’d brought to their mouths. She was loving at first, suckling away it, pressing the tip in with her tongue, but that all ceased with a sharp bite. She worried the flesh with her teeth, chewing on it like a tough meal, grinding hard, almost as if she were trying to pierce the skin and getting close to it.. only for her to let up right away. Then it was right to damage control, lapping at the gnawed flesh.

And all the while, she never took her eyes off Annette’s face. Making mental notes and monitoring her, learning as much as she could while this window was still open.

‘Make me.’

Not the kind of challenge you issue to the woman on top seizing the advantage. Not when the ‘challenge’ involved multiple orgasms and the freedom to invoke them by whatever means necessary. Not when the woman on top had so much to prove and so little to lose. And most certainly not when the woman on top was arrogant enough to call herself ‘demon’.

The Norwegian wasn't expecting an offense that she couldn't withstand. Makoto's touch was tempered but far from the worst Annette had ever dared herself to endure. Even before AFW, she’d enjoyed herself in the ring with many a beautiful model and their heated passions. It wouldn’t be Makoto’s prowess or her body alone. It was the look in the Black Belt Demon's eyes that forced Annette’s heart to skip.

Ann let out a scandalous gasp feeling the cool air cascade over her exposed nubs gleaming in the sunlight. She gnawed at her lip in a pitiful attempt at masking a reflexive squeal from the back of her throat. Her body electrified with tantalizing lightning as the Japanese girl tended to her breasts and pinched her hardened nipples with her sharp fangs. Each time she made Ann think she was on the brink before the pain suddenly subsided and she came right back down to yield beneath the Demon’s caressing tongue. What else could she do but lay bare and accept Makoto’s gifts?

As badly as she may have imagined she wanted to win, Annette simply wanted this more.

"...oh Makoto...Makoto…" It had been some time for Annette since anyone had paid her chest with such diligent attention. Her hips rose from the floor, thrusting for any inch of relief she could find on Makoto’s skin. Her body started to burn, her head lulled into a relaxing stupor as she arched her back and invited more of herself to the Japanese beauty.

In the back of Makoto’s head, some small, cautious part of her sounded alarm bells. This wasn’t right, it said. This had to be som kind of trap, it demanded. She was inexperienced, untrained, so new to this side of wrestling. This wasn’t her domain. Only a year or so ago, Kaylee Rush had worked her over to an orgasm with ease, manipulated her with the kind sensual prowess that she could only dream about, and now she was the one on top, dominating, controlling, making a woman like Annette - gorgeous, voluptuous, smoldering Annette - melt beneath her?

It couldn’t be happening.

But it was happening.

She wanted it. She wanted it more as she watched Annette react to her affections, twisting and writhing and gnawing at her lips, doing all the things that she would’ve been doing if their positions were switched, that she expected would’ve been happening to her at this stage. Makoto had control over this woman, complete and intoxicating, and she felt as if she could’ve made her dance for hours.

But that wasn’t the goal, was it? No, she had a match to win, and she would need to do more than gnaw on this fine body. Annette’s defenses were gone, her body was open and wanting. A vast valley of possibilities were open to her, and her mind raced with the possibilities, before settling on one that stuck with her. She had to do this.

Makoto gave Annette’s delicious breast one, final rough bite, before pulling away and bringing their faces together. She used one hand to pin her opponent’s wrist to the mat - unnecessary at this point, but there wasn’t any harm in hammering home the message. Her other hand reached out, took hold of her foe’s lustrous hair, and gave it a hard yank to the side, just enough to make their faces meet so she could dive in for a rough kiss. Smashing lips, gnashing teeth, all of it.

But that was the sideshow. The real action was below, where the same hand that had gripped Annette’s hair was going lower. Reaching under Annette’s gi, she tugged the Norweigian’s panties aside and exposed her most intimate place to the fresh sea air. It wouldn’t stay exposed for long, however, before Makoto brought her thigh down on top of it and began to slide and grind, rubbing her leg hard along it. Slow motions, long and powerful, building with each thrust to speed her opponent along to the first climax of this match.

Makoto possessed quite a noteworthy finesse with her hands. Annette was hardly the picky type when it came to choosing her partners for romantic activities or otherwise, but she could often notice similar patterns and tendencies with their bedroom habits. It was a difficult balance to play, that comfortable space between gentle and bold.

Then again, Judo gold medalist. Transferable skills and all that.

Annette had seen her Olympic matches and her national championships. She’d admired the judoka’s form and prowess from afar for so long. Those hands that grappled with countless foes, that controlled the weight of hundreds and brought untold numbers to the ground, were now grasping and molding her sensitive buds and voluptuous chest with the same unparalleled vigor. And it felt heavenly. Being manipulated by her. Controlled so effortlessly.

Makoto applied herself beautifully.

Her lips eventually left the model’s breast, much to Ann’s chagrin. At first. That was before a hand gripped her silver hair, raising her head from the mat and forcing their lips together. Ann’s eyes closed and accepted the Demon’s taste. She fought back helplessly against her invading tongue. Her bikini bottoms were easily shifted aside as the sea breeze forced a shiver up her spine. Makoto caressed her as an experienced lover. Far from the budding flower, she was expecting.

She had no desires of her own. For a beautiful moment beneath a blue sky and before an infinite blue sea, Annette’s mind was consumed by the touch of Makoto’s lips, the smell of her hair, the taste of her tongue. And the leg rubbing intensely between her legs.

Catcalls and whistles carried over the sea air towards the dominant display of Annette’s body yielding to the Japanese girl above her. Her hips rose to meet Makoto’s toned thigh as it rubbed her sensitive region. Her head reclined back as she bit down on her lip, stifling a moan without much success. She was so fast and full of aggression. There was nothing the Norwegian could do - nothing she wanted to do - other than let the riptide tear through her. With each passing second, she felt herself closer and closer to bursting.

“Makoto...I-I’m..oh, I’m-!”