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Click. Click. Click. Click. Every step of subtle lifts elicited the awe of the delighted ballroom.
Standing at 5’9, most would scoff at this ‘subtle lift’ from any pallid mutli-time judoka champion. But height mattered so little, when all that mattered is how you carried yourself. Every step is calculated. Every glance is measured. Every breath is weighed. When the crowd looked to her?
Manon knew.
The room was electrified by her presence. Her glasses betrayed nothing, but her delicate smile welcomed all. To not do so would be disrespectful. The photographers who captured her visage at this soirée needed her at her best. Those she challenged deserved naught but her best. That is why her dresses were not dresses - They were art. How this art hung off the lapels of her scarf, connected around her dress - Reminding them how dangerous their beloved Manon was. If the corded back didn’t remind them sooner
Most would have expected heels. “It looked best in the lighting, non?” Subtle lifts accentuated the rise of her ankles. Firm. Sleek. Accentuating. Subtle. She did everything with such immeasurable grace, it was almost as though people could think to slip past her.
One might have expected the World Champion Judoka, World Class Model, and World Renowned Ballet Dancer to be exhausted from all this. She was not tired. She was invigorated. She was not exhausted. There was no match, to be exhausted against.
And she was free.
How many pictures of one’s back can be taken before she grows tired? More than you might think. Dressed as lavishly as her, fingers curled thoughtfully around the glass of wine, she was left to her thoughts.
But who could focus with her around?
“Please, get thee good side!” As a shift too fast showed biceps bulging a just-right shirt.
“Oh, who am I kidding. Every angle is my good side.” One could hear her grin.
A gasp filtered through the dizzying array of pictures.
“Manon! Thee wine! Impeccable, don’t you think?”
Across the room filled with hundreds of spectators, all delighting in the pure decadence of the Manoir, did the Lion of Rome call. Dressed in her own style of decadence; A loose, gleaming suit. The heaviness of her big head doing little to hide the deepened loose V of her firmness on display. If they were obsessed with Manon, they were rabid over the Lion. She was loud; Footsteps stomped into every space she entered. She was heavy; Her subtle chest on full display within the loose shirt, only keeping her ‘honor’ by way of luck. She was brutal; How her suit hugged the broadness of biceps when flexed. Manon’s mind shivered - Mêle-toi de tes oignons.
And as she had done so many times?
She called. There were no games with Marisa. Defense, punishing her when she got overconfident, throwing her down to the sand harder and harder; It didn’t work. Manon could not dissuade the pride. Marisa threw herself into the ring for her love of life. A lion who wished to toss the swan.
Manon was no animal. Even one as beautiful as a swan. She was water.
Her lifted feet. Poised shoulders. Perfectly framed face; All in direct competition to her other. Crossing the room in so few bounds, seeming to float across the floor, Manon answered the call. And as she grew closer, it was so hard to ignore the heat. Was it envy? Non.
Marisa was déchaîner les passions; She had no end.
Marisa’s hand, massive in comparison to the proud woman, slipped down to Manon’s side. A gladdened grin beamed across her face, as Manon’s lips pressed to the chiseled cheeks. Marisa had leaned forward and down; So sweet! “This is–” Peck. Marisa’s hand tensed. The other cheek. Peck. “--your wine, non? Another pursuit, madame Lionne!” Her voice raised, the crowd was on the edge of her hearing.
“And another mountain to climb!” Marisa’s hand lightened, and edged her closer. Manon found herself glad to be wearing that dance belt beneath her dress.
“Perhaps that one is next?” That lapel was so … low.
Manon’s fingers glided forward, coming to rest at its placket. My my, such a warm little Lion!
She wanted a treat, non?
“Mountain climbing? Bah! Unless there are challengers, I see no point in battling thee mountain.”
“Oh? But…” A tongue click. Her fingers were subtle as they pulled. Marisa leaned with it, every word from Manon captured her. She had never felt such a thing. From anyone. “...you have never seen les Alpes françaises! I could…” Marisa’s breath caught - A draft. She didn’t care to look. A smile’s back broken across her chiseled face. Avoir l'air content de soi.
The flash of photography did nothing to break their conversation.
“...take you on a little trip. We must be careful, non? La Lionne and her tender back! You must be so ready for our next showing.
“Careful? HA.” Marisa rose, the scarf curled around her neck perfectly poised around her neck. Manon’s touch improved everything, non? “Why must I be careful? This mountain knows nothing of strength. And they are simple! Take one step, and then another! If you seek thee fight, there is no way but forward.” Marisa’s head lofted.
“And up, chérie.” Spoken from below.
“And up!”
The laughter of the room felt like a perfect melding of the two minds; Lifting up and electrifying, bringing forth more the heat of life into it all. A perfect clash of the two. Marisa’s eyes were upon her swan. The beautiful woman leaned against her ‘mountain’, subtly lifting her lips into a softened smile. So brazen! Manon so rarely did brazen. Worn, warm, and darkened digits lingered against the bareness of velvet skin, when she thought none looked. Letting them slide underneath, feeling the hardened earned muscle of years past.
The muscled back of a Ballerina.
Of Manon.
A twitch. Eyes drawing across the tanned skin of the italian. Up. Up.
Judo was the water this shark lived in. And Marisa had just been grasped into serrated jaws.
She was so glad that her petite lionne had dolled up for her.
Green eyes looked down to Manon, who stared up with the cold electricity. The ‘Little’ Lion of the Colosseum had just stepped into her pool. And what was she to do with such prey?
“...Marisa, may we…” Oh, what was a excuse? Something to tantalize her cherished little kitty. “...go?”
~~~~
“....Pleasepleaseplease-pleaassSSEEEE…!”
“Nono, you have spoken so much, mon petit chien lion avec une grande voix…!” Manon’s hands captured Marisa’s own, whose massive form squatted in the middle of a barren villa hallway. The lift of her hairy plump cunt sat square upon Manon’s knee; She cared not for the weight. She did not even care if the lion soaked her knee. Discipline came first.
Marisa's lip was captured beneath her teeth. Hips nearly the width of Manon, ground an uneven rhythm across a firm thigh. Her hands clasped above her. Core quivering with raw want. One delicate hand firmly kept Marisa trapped. All she could do was get herself off. La Petite Lionne en chaleur! What a delicious treat.
A single eye pulled open, hips still swishing on their own, as Marisa could not break her gaze. She could not! Her champion demanded this challenge. “You have said you are so capable! What was it…?”
Manon’s fingers pulled upwards. Marisa came with it. The Judoka leveraging her weight to ease her eager pet to a taller up. “...oh! Yes! Uuuup.” Marisa’s eyelashes fluttered, as Manon’s thigh shifted. From nothing but thigh rocking against lips - Perfectly amicable! To full pressure against her poor, aching clit. Pressure had her eyes closing. Tongue lolling out.
“Oh, it is not so good for kitties to pant, non?” She needed this grosse chienne rouge to beg. Not get off! Pressure relieved itself, and Marisa’s eyes shot open. Every pound of toned and tanned flesh rocked forward. “Nonono, I…!” Manon was there. In her face, with glasses pulling her dress so decadently low. Marisa acted as though she never saw tits before. “...You what?”
To be large often meant to be a slow, cumbersome thing.
Marisa’s body was balanced. It was heavy. And she knew how to move it.
Manon’s body was perfect. It was sharpened. She knew how to control it.
Marisa’s tongue danced against Manon’s lips. Plush and pouty things, which would have been enough to have her creaming those poor panties. Manon was faster. Her body pivoted. Not tightened. Not loose. Flowing, as Marisa’s eager form found itself staring at the ceiling. She knew how to take a fall, and that wiggling tongue needed proper use.
Click, click, click. Subtle lifts landed on either side of her.
Manon’s dress-covered body looked decadent from below. Perfectly angled calves. Even the back of her knee could leave a woman hard as diamonds!
And Manon, who’s body was like water, flowed. To plop down her sweat-laddened, deliciously pink asshole on her Lion’s head. That fat pair of ass cheeks directly on her kitten’s head. Nose filling with the scent of her champion. Eyes unable to see, as she could only feel the perfect body pressing itself into her. Ears giving a twitch - She could’ve gotten lost here.
“Lap.”
Manon could feel Marisa se lécher es babines. Manon’s cheeks shook in Marisa’s ass-hungry face. Tongue dolling itself out already. Eyes hungering. This was what Marisa had been needing. Victory often brought nothing. No new understanding. Now that she had lost? With tongue pressing itself against the ring of flesh, hands properly lifting to catch at Manon’s knees, this was her lesson. Coiling itself up to press at every wrinkle of tightening assflesh, Manon exhaled. The party was over. No sounds filled Marisa’s villa, except…
“...lalahhhehhhhhh…~...” Drip. Drip. “...Pthew!” Fingers tightened, as Marisa’s head went in. Tongue finding an inch of grippy ass to dig into. ‘Essere una buona forchetta’, rang through Marisa’s head. Pulling back, as she could feel hot breath hit back at her. Elongated tongue dancing against Manon’s ballsack just a moment,as her nose pressed to the sweet spot of a taint.
Manon had to be convinced to have some hair. That her body was perfect, of course! And she had to shave so much of it during her prime seasons. But when she was afforded time, such as this? Marisa’s tongue felt every strand slicken itself under her. It kept Manon’s sweaty scent. Marisa could have huffed her for hours. Any part of her! Nestle her nose just under the frenulum. Sniff as dollops of her come to stain those cute panties. Pant away and beg like the pet she was for Manon’s perfect cock.
But she returned where she belonged. Manon did not even react. Marisa had already lost. Her tongue swirling around the rim of a well-lubricated hole. And dancing back inside, as Manon’s fingers tightened against Marisa’s. “Ohhhh, you needed this, non?”
Marisa’s head bobbed, as she dug in. Curling up, just like she knew her champion loved.
Manon thought to tease, but her shoulders heaved. Head lowered, as she no longer needed to act. It felt so good. Strength such as theirs, a rare image to be understood. That tongue of hers, as decadent as it was, came out. Toes curling against clay bricks as her weight dropped back. “Dig in, dig in. You are so needy…” Her ass shifted, rubbing it into Marisa’s eager lips. Warm and velvet-toned, it would no doubt leave pretty mouth marks across each part of her! “...miserable?” Hips shifting aside. Manon’s cock throbbed, a darkened spot of sticky cum clinging to her dress. Leaking away and tightening her already tight dress.
Manon’s tongue dinged just right. Manon’s heavy form splayed out. Hands having to hold herself up atop that pet. Cock a twitching thing.
“Chapaeu, chapaeu!” The game slipped, briefly. “Make me cum and I will leave you slicker than ever, you…” Eyes half-lidded. Naked hands and feet slapped to the clay. Marisa’s own heels dug in, knees bent. Head leaning upwards, even as those svelte hips pulled. Manon babbled, “...yesyesyes, c’moooon~!” Marisa’s tongue deepened. “You must. You have to!” Marisa craved it. “I need you to make me cum! You are thee only one, I musss…!” The pressure! More! More! “I must!” Marisa’s hands elected to break the rules. “Do it!” Grasped at either end of pale cheeks, they pulled them apart. Strings of saliva connected Marisa’s jaw. “YesyesyesssSSS~!” Twitch! Twitch! Marisa was in heaven. “You are! You are making me cum!” It was too much! Too much pleasure, too much purring and rolling! Manon jaw dropped, her head pulled in, and her hips twitched upwards. That dress never stood a chance.
Backed up, fat loads shot against the restraint of a dress with ease. If anything, the tightness of a clothy pocket did everything to make this perfect. Rivulets of molten body-hot thick sperm splattered against this gorgeous expense. And with nothing to stop it, pulled down across her expansive hips. Streaked down against her balls to nestle against what cute bush she had. Every ounce fired felt so fucking good. Taking a few progesterone up her ass gave her the tits. But that cumshot?
All natural.
Marisa didn’t miss out, for, of course she didn’t. When she could taste the saltiness of her Champion she licked it away. Easing back to let that judoka soak the moment in, she tasted her prize. Her wants. Her needs were still so great! And that spilt load was hers to enjoy, was it not? Deliciously warm licks pulled along that stray-pube covered taint. Marisa’s eyes closed akin to a happy, sun-soaked feline. And was Manon’s ass not so sweetly warm?
Heavy breaths ushered from above. Warm, and hot, in the empty villa. Was the windows always so foggy? My, how hard had they gone! A brief shot of tension pain struck her, but she gave it but a wince. Coming upwards, her mind awakened and eased with Marisa’s tonguing.
Wait…had she…?
The frenchwoman glanced down. Her voice a tutting thing, but it betrayed her exhaustion.
“...Did…I say to lick, méchant chat?”
Marisa’s eyes widened. Yet she could not betray her glee.
Suo campionessa. ♥
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