Gawd damnit.
Now this is a familiar picture: The powerful, vivacious and sensual Platinum Queen, all tied up and at the mercy of her gorgeous rival. It's become somewhat of a cliche. It's almost a given that in any match that I'm in, at some point I'll somehow end up trussed up in some way. My opponent would use something as simple as an article of clothing stripped off of me or herself, or probably a combination of both, to bind me. Or they'd sneak a pair of handcuffs into the match to secure me and render me helpless, or use some rope to hogtie me tight. I've been wrapped up in chains, shackled to ring posts, duct taped, and even been straitjacketed far too many times. I know Eva may call herself this from time to time, but with the amount of times I've been tied up over the course of my long career, I'm more of a Wonder Woman than she is, at least the Golden Age era Wonder Woman. It's really become my thing, like how Ric Flair would always get thrown off the top rope, or how Kurt Angle would pull down his straps before locking in the Ankle Lock, or how Sadie Davis can never win a match without the use of a crowbar. It's become a regular fixture in my matches, and as humiliating as it is, to be tied up and rendered helpless by my rival, I sorta kinda lo--
"Wow, you just love being tied up don't you - Tied Up Tiffany!!!" Eva says, laughing.
I raise my head up and glare hotly at her, my bangs curtaining my narrowed eyes, a bright red hue surfacing on my cheeks. I wanna retort, wanna snap something clever at ya, but the words just die in my throat. No witty comebacks, no sultry threats. I'm still a lil' loopy from being thrown into the cage wall, still catching my breath from having my breasts clawed and groped, still trying to get my bearings together and form some kinda escape plan. And through it all, I just can't ignore the familiar warmth that starts to crawl up from the pit of my stomach to spread all throughout my bound body. Subconsciously, I rub my thick, fishnet-clad thighs together, while straining mightily to escape the ring ropes.
And of course, there are plenty of times when my lovely adversary wouldn't even need restraints to secure me - I could just get wrapped up in the ring ropes. Like right now. The worst thing about getting tied in the ring ropes is how freakin' tight they get the more ya struggle to break free - again, like right now, I thrust and strain to pull my arms free, but the ropes won't budge, they just squeeze down even tighter around my arms, assuring me that I ain't going nowhere. I've been tied up with rope before that would do the same thing - struggle hard and the ropes would get tighter all over. But usually those kinda ropes are softer, smoother, they feel nice when they rub over your skin or tighten around ya. When these ring ropes squeeze down on your arms, they're fuckin' uncomfortable as all hell. If I stay perfectly still it wouldn't sting so bad, but I don't have that luxury at the moment. You're looming over me, taunting me, and from the looks of it you've got some wicked intentions swirling about inside that pretty head of yours..
"Ngh!"
I bite down on my lower lip to stifle a groan as your hands grab the rest of my top and roughly tear it from my body. I shake my head and hiss at ya defiantly, as that's all I can do. Ya succeed in tearing my lycra top right off my torso, exposing my lean, flat stomach and smooth, taut abs. Ya then close in and set to work, grabbing my ankles, hooking my already bent legs around the bottom rope, causing me to wince and groan as ya use my own top to bind my ankles in such a way that my legs are completely and utterly trapped, secured behind me to the middle rope. This is actually a wickedly genius bind you've got me in - I can barely move an inch, if I struggle too hard the ropes will squeeze down on my arms or an unpleasant amount of pressure would burden my knees. Gawd damn ya, you fuckin' sexy bitch.
You take a step back to survey your work, to look over me as it is now your turn to put me on display, your turn to show me off, your turn to torture and torment me in anyway ya want. And there ain't a thing I can do to stop ya. The mere thought of that, of being in your control all over again, it's making me shudder uncontrollably. I'm start to drown in my helplessness, in the searing humiliation. I lower my head, my big platinum blonde hair a disheveled mess, my face flustered, my limbs completely tied. My nipples blatantly, shamefully hard. I blush even harder.
"Tied up perfectly, just like you like... just like a Perfect Little Silk!!!"
I look up again, narrowing my eyes through the curtain of tangled silver blonde hair that sweeps over my face. Then, the faintest of smirks forms on my lips. I lick those smirking lips, then pucker em' up, and blow ya a kiss. The expression on my face darkens, promising ya world of agony and humiliation is waiting in the wings, just for you, my sweet, beautiful Cuban Goddess, once I get free. For now...I'm all yours.
I watch ya take off, blitzing toward the ropes on the far side of the ring, springing off of em' to come back at me, leaping high into the air to hit your own hesitation dropkick. Those boots slice through the air, honing in to collide with my vulnerable, exposed breasts, still throbbing from your earlier attacks. I shut my eyes tight, grit my teeth, and brace for impact--
"NNNNHHH!"
