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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. Also, apparently I can't count and left this one out of the initial batch of posting. Whoops.

Previous: Stranger in a Strange Land IX

Isa muttered something inaudible before sitting up and flexing her leg.

“Mixing it up, huh? I can do that.” There was a glint in her eye that Camille decided she didn’t entirely like. So far, Isa had been nothing but pleasant (as pleasant as she could expect given their profession) but there was something more… domineering to that look.

It wasn’t the expression of a rookie with something to prove. It was the look of someone who knew exactly how she was going to make you tap in short order.

When Isa asked her for the third time that day to lie down on her front, Cosworth obliged with a due sense of exhaustion and dread. Feeling Isa pick up her feet, the Girl of Tomorrow cringed mentally, anticipating a figure four of some sort in retribution.

What she actually got was worse. Definitely worse. It just took her a moment to understand what Isa was up to, at which point all she could do was brace herself.

First, Armstrong started to bend Camille’s legs forward until, stepping between the trapped limbs, Cosworth found herself caught in a Reverse Boston Crab. Already the visitor found herself with a distinct sinking feeling to go with the steadily increasing pain in her spine, only for Isa to up the ante almost immediately when the Romani girl plopped her butt down on Camille’s back.

Armstrong was no super-heavyweight to be sure but nor was she a lightweight: having the hundred and fifty odd pounds of curves and muscle dropped on her didn’t improve Cosworth’s situation, even if it hadn’t also been deepening the arch of her lower spine to an even more agonising angle.

Up to that point, so far so standard. By no means was it comfortable but it was hardly something Camille felt was terribly inspiring. Syd dreamed up more painful holds in her sleep, not to mention Yoona and more than one other regular to Deschain’s gym.

Which wasn’t to say it was comfortable, of course. But it paled in comparison to – just as an example – that headscissors.

“Thought – ugh – you were going to mix it up,” Cosworth grunted, pain readily apparent in her voice, “’Cause this is more vanilla than-“

Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, Armstrong promptly mixed it up.

With her legs already placed neatly on either side of Camille’s head, it was child’s play for Isa to cross her ankles – resulting in the strangled croak that ended whatever pun the Girl of Tomorrow had in mind. It wasn’t anywhere near as devastating as the earlier hold, with the muscles of Isa’s hard calves providing the pressure instead of her quads and hamstrings, but it was still an added problem she could have done without.

At that point, Isa proved that imitation was the greatest form of flattery by repeating Camille’s earlier action and slapping her right below the ribcage. As the Girl of Tomorrow’s hands instinctively reached back, the Romani girl snatched them firmly by the wrists, holding them tightly back. With Camille now entirely trapped, Armstrong went to finish her hold by tucking her right ankle behind her left knee. The smooth transition both deepened the arch in Camille’s already abused spine and clamped Isa’s scissors shut tight as the pressure skyrocketed.

She honestly had no idea what she ought to even call this. But, whatever it was, she could feel the hold wrenching away her spine, all the way from the top of her neck to her hips. And this time all she could do was thrash in futile panic, all four of her limbs trapped uselessly as the other woman relentlessly tried to bend her into a letter ‘C’.

Fortunately, Isa seemed to detect when the attempts to find a way out turned to attempts to tap out and relented as soon as Camille’s struggling hit fever-pitch intensity.

Though, to be honest, it was going to take a while before everything stopped aching. Between that, the Camel Clutch and the Lotus (not to mention the Headscissors), Isa had done a pretty good job of turning Camille’s neck and shoulders into aching wrecks.

And, letting her head loll over to regard the Romani girl, Isa wasn’t exactly looking at her best either.

… Maybe this hadn’t been her best idea ever.

Next: Stranger in a Strange Land XI

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. Also, apparently I can't count and left this one out of the initial batch of posting. Whoops.

Previous: Stranger in a Strange Land IX

Isa muttered something inaudible before sitting up and flexing her leg.

“Mixing it up, huh? I can do that.” There was a glint in her eye that Camille decided she didn’t entirely like. So far, Isa had been nothing but pleasant (as pleasant as she could expect given their profession) but there was something more… domineering to that look.

It wasn’t the expression of a rookie with something to prove. It was the look of someone who knew exactly how she was going to make you tap in short order.

When Isa asked her for the third time that day to lie down on her front, Cosworth obliged with a due sense of exhaustion and dread. Feeling Isa pick up her feet, the Girl of Tomorrow cringed mentally, anticipating a figure four of some sort in retribution.

What she actually got was worse. Definitely worse. It just took her a moment to understand what Isa was up to, at which point all she could do was brace herself.

First, Armstrong started to bend Camille’s legs forward until, stepping between the trapped limbs, Cosworth found herself caught in a Reverse Boston Crab. Already the visitor found herself with a distinct sinking feeling to go with the steadily increasing pain in her spine, only for Isa to up the ante almost immediately when the Romani girl plopped her butt down on Camille’s back.

Armstrong was no super-heavyweight to be sure but nor was she a lightweight: having the hundred and fifty odd pounds of curves and muscle dropped on her didn’t improve Cosworth’s situation, even if it hadn’t also been deepening the arch of her lower spine to an even more agonising angle.

Up to that point, so far so standard. By no means was it comfortable but it was hardly something Camille felt was terribly inspiring. Syd dreamed up more painful holds in her sleep, not to mention Yoona and more than one other regular to Deschain’s gym.

Which wasn’t to say it was comfortable, of course. But it paled in comparison to – just as an example – that headscissors.

“Thought – ugh – you were going to mix it up,” Cosworth grunted, pain readily apparent in her voice, “’Cause this is more vanilla than-“

Grinning like a Cheshire Cat, Armstrong promptly mixed it up.

With her legs already placed neatly on either side of Camille’s head, it was child’s play for Isa to cross her ankles – resulting in the strangled croak that ended whatever pun the Girl of Tomorrow had in mind. It wasn’t anywhere near as devastating as the earlier hold, with the muscles of Isa’s hard calves providing the pressure instead of her quads and hamstrings, but it was still an added problem she could have done without.

At that point, Isa proved that imitation was the greatest form of flattery by repeating Camille’s earlier action and slapping her right below the ribcage. As the Girl of Tomorrow’s hands instinctively reached back, the Romani girl snatched them firmly by the wrists, holding them tightly back. With Camille now entirely trapped, Armstrong went to finish her hold by tucking her right ankle behind her left knee. The smooth transition both deepened the arch in Camille’s already abused spine and clamped Isa’s scissors shut tight as the pressure skyrocketed.

She honestly had no idea what she ought to even call this. But, whatever it was, she could feel the hold wrenching away her spine, all the way from the top of her neck to her hips. And this time all she could do was thrash in futile panic, all four of her limbs trapped uselessly as the other woman relentlessly tried to bend her into a letter ‘C’.

Fortunately, Isa seemed to detect when the attempts to find a way out turned to attempts to tap out and relented as soon as Camille’s struggling hit fever-pitch intensity.

Though, to be honest, it was going to take a while before everything stopped aching. Between that, the Camel Clutch and the Lotus (not to mention the Headscissors), Isa had done a pretty good job of turning Camille’s neck and shoulders into aching wrecks.

And, letting her head loll over to regard the Romani girl, Isa wasn’t exactly looking at her best either.

… Maybe this hadn’t been her best idea ever.

Next: Stranger in a Strange Land XI