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Description
Author's Note: Veherzak and I started this collaboration way back in the early days of summer. Isa Armstrong is his character, and we took turns writing this -- astute readers might be able to pick out where my voice ends and his begins, or vice versa. Everyone enjoys the pictures, of course, but we do hope you enjoy the story below as well.

Previous: Stranger in a Strange Land VI

"What kind of sick mind came up with this game anyway?" Isa asked.

With a great effort and a pained hiss, Cosworth managed to roll onto her back before she muttered, "Sydney Deschain..."

When she didn't see a spark of recognition in the other woman's eyes, she added, "Sydney's literally been doing this for longer than I've been alive. Nowadays she's retired --"

Her arms and shoulders somewhat recovered, Camille found the strength to raise her hands a bit to make a pair of air-quote gestures with her fingers to indicate Sydney's retirement being in name only.

"-- and runs her own gym where she makes a half dozen of the best wrestlers in our federation -- contenders, all of them -- cry like little girls with skinned knees."

Armstrong thoughtfully rubbed her cheek for a few moments then she said, "So how do I stack up?"

"I'm not crying yet, am I?" Cosworth chuckled as she spread out her arms and legs like a starfish. "I'll give you another chance though. Winner starts the next round, so have at it."

Without another word, Isa rolled Camille facedown once more, grinning as she took a seat in front of her partner's head with her legs spread out in a V.

"Okay, so for the record, I am NOT staring blankly at your crotch," Cosworth said while trying not to blush. "Your crotch just happens to be in my line of sight through no fault of my own."

Isa merely rolled her eyes, not bothering to dignify that with a response. She lifted Camille's head and scooted forward so that the other wrestler's chin was resting on her pubic bone, then she wrapped her thighs around the sides of Cosworth's neck, tucked her left ankle into the crook of her right knee, and squeezed.

If Camille's face hadn't been flushed before, it certainly was now as her normally pale complexion turned bubblegum pink within seconds of Isa putting on the clamps. She'd experienced plenty of Headscissors and Triangle Chokes from the various submission artists that roamed Deschain's gym, but this was something else entirely. Armstrong was at least fifteen or twenty pounds larger than any of Cosworth's regular sparring partners, and it seemed that the Romani girl carried all that extra mass between her hips and her knees. Whatever she lacked in refinement she certainly made up for with power, and black spots were already appearing in Camille's vision by the fifteen second mark.

Cosworth felt that wave of panic wash over her -- that nigh irresistible urge of an oxygen-starved brain thinking it's on the brink of death, typically leading to a bout of desperate, uncoordinated thrashing and flailing that would only make matters worse by causing the body to burn through its reserves. As a rookie, Camille might have fallen into that trap, but her experience in the couple of years since allowed her to suppress that reflex, keeping her body stock still even as her eyelids fluttered and a dark curtain came down on the world. She held on as long as she could, and finally, when the last embers of her consciousness were about to be snuffed out, she used what little strength she had left to lightly tap her hand on Isa's forearm.

The crushing pressure relented immediately, and literally a heartbeat later, Camille was afflicted by an excruciating headache as all the dammed up blood came rushing back into her skull. Cosworth curled up on her side with her arms wrapped over her head, listening to the trip-hammer pounding of her pulse in her ears and feeling like her brain might explode if she made any sudden movements. She didn't keep track of how long she laid there, only allowing herself to roll onto her back once more when her skull-splitting headache had subsided to a dull throb in her temples.

"H -- How long...?" she croaked.

"Umm... like... two, three minutes?" Isa replied.

"Wait, really?!" Camille blurted out as she propped her her elbows against the mat to lift up her torso. "Geez, with thighs like that, I'd be happy to make it to a minute and a --"

"Oh, you meant how long until you tapped out!" Armstrong interrupted. "That was about thirty seconds. Thirty-five, tops. Sorry, I thought you were asking how long you were lying there..."

Cosworth flopped back down to the ground with a disgusted groan and pinched the bridge of her nose. After another extended period of silence, Isa spoke again.

"Sooooooo... how'd that stack up to... err... Whatsherface with the gym..."

"Sydney Deschain," Camille said as she climbed to her feet and walked a lap around the room, rolling her neck one way and then the other to get the kinks out. "And honestly, Isa, that was... hmm... what's the best word for this... that was overkill. Once you get past a certain level, comparisons are a moot point, and you, my friend, are levels beyond that level."

Armstrong's face brightened, though Cosworth couldn't see it with her back still turned.

"You think I could squeeze out Captain Holdo?"

"Admiral Holdo," Camille insistently corrected. "And yes, I think you could squeeze out whatever you darn well please as long as you can get your legs around 'em."

Next: Stranger in a Strange Land VIII

Description
Author's Note: Veherzak and I started this collaboration way back in the early days of summer. Isa Armstrong is his character, and we took turns writing this -- astute readers might be able to pick out where my voice ends and his begins, or vice versa. Everyone enjoys the pictures, of course, but we do hope you enjoy the story below as well.

Previous: Stranger in a Strange Land VI

"What kind of sick mind came up with this game anyway?" Isa asked.

With a great effort and a pained hiss, Cosworth managed to roll onto her back before she muttered, "Sydney Deschain..."

When she didn't see a spark of recognition in the other woman's eyes, she added, "Sydney's literally been doing this for longer than I've been alive. Nowadays she's retired --"

Her arms and shoulders somewhat recovered, Camille found the strength to raise her hands a bit to make a pair of air-quote gestures with her fingers to indicate Sydney's retirement being in name only.

"-- and runs her own gym where she makes a half dozen of the best wrestlers in our federation -- contenders, all of them -- cry like little girls with skinned knees."

Armstrong thoughtfully rubbed her cheek for a few moments then she said, "So how do I stack up?"

"I'm not crying yet, am I?" Cosworth chuckled as she spread out her arms and legs like a starfish. "I'll give you another chance though. Winner starts the next round, so have at it."

Without another word, Isa rolled Camille facedown once more, grinning as she took a seat in front of her partner's head with her legs spread out in a V.

"Okay, so for the record, I am NOT staring blankly at your crotch," Cosworth said while trying not to blush. "Your crotch just happens to be in my line of sight through no fault of my own."

Isa merely rolled her eyes, not bothering to dignify that with a response. She lifted Camille's head and scooted forward so that the other wrestler's chin was resting on her pubic bone, then she wrapped her thighs around the sides of Cosworth's neck, tucked her left ankle into the crook of her right knee, and squeezed.

If Camille's face hadn't been flushed before, it certainly was now as her normally pale complexion turned bubblegum pink within seconds of Isa putting on the clamps. She'd experienced plenty of Headscissors and Triangle Chokes from the various submission artists that roamed Deschain's gym, but this was something else entirely. Armstrong was at least fifteen or twenty pounds larger than any of Cosworth's regular sparring partners, and it seemed that the Romani girl carried all that extra mass between her hips and her knees. Whatever she lacked in refinement she certainly made up for with power, and black spots were already appearing in Camille's vision by the fifteen second mark.

Cosworth felt that wave of panic wash over her -- that nigh irresistible urge of an oxygen-starved brain thinking it's on the brink of death, typically leading to a bout of desperate, uncoordinated thrashing and flailing that would only make matters worse by causing the body to burn through its reserves. As a rookie, Camille might have fallen into that trap, but her experience in the couple of years since allowed her to suppress that reflex, keeping her body stock still even as her eyelids fluttered and a dark curtain came down on the world. She held on as long as she could, and finally, when the last embers of her consciousness were about to be snuffed out, she used what little strength she had left to lightly tap her hand on Isa's forearm.

The crushing pressure relented immediately, and literally a heartbeat later, Camille was afflicted by an excruciating headache as all the dammed up blood came rushing back into her skull. Cosworth curled up on her side with her arms wrapped over her head, listening to the trip-hammer pounding of her pulse in her ears and feeling like her brain might explode if she made any sudden movements. She didn't keep track of how long she laid there, only allowing herself to roll onto her back once more when her skull-splitting headache had subsided to a dull throb in her temples.

"H -- How long...?" she croaked.

"Umm... like... two, three minutes?" Isa replied.

"Wait, really?!" Camille blurted out as she propped her her elbows against the mat to lift up her torso. "Geez, with thighs like that, I'd be happy to make it to a minute and a --"

"Oh, you meant how long until you tapped out!" Armstrong interrupted. "That was about thirty seconds. Thirty-five, tops. Sorry, I thought you were asking how long you were lying there..."

Cosworth flopped back down to the ground with a disgusted groan and pinched the bridge of her nose. After another extended period of silence, Isa spoke again.

"Sooooooo... how'd that stack up to... err... Whatsherface with the gym..."

"Sydney Deschain," Camille said as she climbed to her feet and walked a lap around the room, rolling her neck one way and then the other to get the kinks out. "And honestly, Isa, that was... hmm... what's the best word for this... that was overkill. Once you get past a certain level, comparisons are a moot point, and you, my friend, are levels beyond that level."

Armstrong's face brightened, though Cosworth couldn't see it with her back still turned.

"You think I could squeeze out Captain Holdo?"

"Admiral Holdo," Camille insistently corrected. "And yes, I think you could squeeze out whatever you darn well please as long as you can get your legs around 'em."

Next: Stranger in a Strange Land VIII