It's No Cakewalk

The Canuck could not speak of the recent years that Pierre has had trouble being on top. It seemed like a long time ago, even before that fated tryout, but back in the day, someone like Gwendolyn would have faced massive amounts of difficulty with maneuvering around him before he’d get his grasps on you. The term prodigy tends to be thrown around more nowadays, but Pierre felt justified in calling himself that. It certainly wasn’t unjustified either if Gwendolyn was to look at Pierre’s past tapes somewhere in the interwebs. Scarce as they are. Still, countless so-called prodigies fall from grace for one reason or another. A would-be Olympic hopeful was relegated to a would-be employer of Primol. Not exactly the kind of glorious life the Quebecoise would have experienced. However, while he thought of this as a curse placed on him, there was a benefit to this. It made moments where he’d have the momentum on his side much sweeter. Although it may come out of luck more than anything else, such moments where he’d dominate were very few and far between. And it just made it much more gratifying, especially when it's to the snooty socialite herself.

Admittedly, this would have been something he’d applied for much longer. However, seeing that Gwendolyn could move her legs so effortlessly created doubts in his mind that he needed a bit more to put her down again. One slam did rock her, but she’s been a professional wrestler for many years. It would take more than one earth-shattering slam to break her, much to his chagrin for even admitting her tenacity and resolve inwardly. At the very least, this position allowed Pierre to transition into something else without much effort. He may not be a professional wrestler for a long time, but the French-Canadian knew of some familiar mainstays in the squared circle. “Of course not. You’ll need…a few more decades to get on my level.” Pierre grunted, giving a somewhat vague response that could mean anything. It’s not his first rodeo where he’d have to tangle with some creative wordplay. His grin grew further upon seeing Gwendolyn’s backside that sways, no doubt realizing what kind of predicament she’s in. “Ooooh, I can see you’re excited. I sure am also.” No doubt, the Haughty Heiress would have guessed what he meant as his package throbbed against her neck. Which brought more…naughty thoughts about what else Pierre could do in this position. Perhaps if he was to bring her face up a bit higher-

*PLAFFF!!*

Unfortunately, such idle thoughts proved to be his downfall in the end. As one said, being idle is a short road to demise as he found his smug face being plastered by Gwendolyn’s sole. The icing did next to nothing in terms of deadening the impact as Gwendolyn’s long, dancer-trained leg came from the cake-filled hell and arced upwards before descending upon him like the grace of an angel. Pierre was left knocked silly, stumbling backward and unwittingly letting go of his grasp of Gwendolyn. Back peddling was one thing, but doing so on the cake-filled floor brought another moment where Pierre struggled to find his footing, let alone shake off the cobwebs that Pierre's filled with his brain. Amongst other things, of course.

For a noblewoman of Gwendolyn's ludicrously extravagant opulence, acknowledging each luxury afforded to her that is unattainable for the typical commoner is an inherently irksome and befuddling task. Aforementioned perplexity towards the exclusive nature in regards to private helicopters aside, the noticeable lack of servantry and dutiful maids indulging the whims of other less affluent members within her social circle became a curious ponderance as well. However, within her current perilous predicament, Gwendolyn found herself in the unenviable position of possessing nigh to scant little luxuries. Such as breathable air aside from whatever faint wisps could be inhaled through the multi-layered pastries her regal visage was currently being smushed into. Nor the basic luxury beholden to freedom of movement of her arms. Both of which were being callously denied to her thanks to the vexingly adept submission skills of the Quebecois straining her balletic flexibility to its utmost limitations, alongside taxing her snobbish pride what with his own macho braggadocio. Insistent on dabbing salt into the blistered wound that was Pierre having somehow subjugated the regal aristocrat and grappler of exalted prominence.

Although due to fortunate happenstance, it was indeed one of her pampered luxuries that ended up becoming Gwendolyn's escaping salvation. The sliding rotations of her toned legs behind her only being plausible due to the ballet schooling and fitness trainers which her sovereign family spared no expense upon. Doubtful though as to whether anyone could have imagined these were the peculiar circumstances under which these pliable skills would be eventually utilized. Regardless, the affluent heiress was granted little time to maneuver elsewhere given Pierre's own abrupt readjustment that found Gwendolyn into a suspiciously familiar and altogether foreign position. Which was on the cusp of becoming kayoed and succinctly defeated by the virile Canuck via her own Imperial Pedigree finisher. An indignity she fervently struggled to circumvent from betwixt Pierre's muscled thighs and the bulged girth against the nape of her neck. An arousal that brought about a scarlet hue and unintentionally further enticed by the angelic curvature of her supple derrière~...and fitting distraction for an uncommon solution for her vexing plight via a bare and frosting flavored backfoot stamped into Pierre's facials.

The newfound freedom having Gwendolyn schlumping over herself with a haphazard slip on the pastry slathered surface before opting to take a knee, appreciating the gratifying relief upon her shoulder blades alongside narrowly eluding a most ignominious fate. She ascended with a flinching rotation of her arm to get the metaphorical kinks out before noticing the rattled Pierre's auspicious positioning near a corner turnbuckle. "Hmph. Ever the gallant gentleman to demonstrate such earnest concern for one's own pupils. Well, proper etiquette dictates that I reciprocate such valiant behavior by, as the English say, taking off the white gloves." Gwendolyn snobbishly enunciated whilst glaring intently at Pierre, and proceeding to adopt the Releve Fifth ballerina position. Balanced seamlessly on the tips of her toes even amidst the cake slicked flooring with arms angled above her before beginning to pirouette spin with a beauteous elegance practiced to honed perfection...belying it's ultimate intent in cleaning Pierre's clock with her Divine Wrath spinkick directing him straight into the corner turnbuckle. However, afterward she'd peacefully proceed to slide across the caked canvas with sublime grace, pristine poise, and cultured smirk in following after Pierre. Where he'd be firmly pinned between the turnbuckle and Gwen's barefoot wedged against his face in a corner choke from her stiffly extended leg.

There isn’t much that both could say they share in terms of similarities, but Pierre could share the experience of finding it hard to breathe. Although the two submission holds both used respectively are quite different in their application, the effects were still the same. Both with plastering the opponent down into the pastry-filled ground; Gwendolyn was straddling the Crazed Canuck and having her shin crushing his windpipe with the gogoplata and Pierre’s taut buttocks pushing the Snooty Socialite into said foundation. Both would test their limits, almost reaching their breaking point, yet their abundant pride would deny the pleasure of submission. Pierre in the sense that it would put his honor as a black belt and would-be tutor for her employer (even if his honor was questioned way before this zany event) and Gwendolyn having her own pride on the line not to be outdone by someone like Pierre. At the very least, the French-Canadian would like to do much better than a certain cowboy…

So far, it seemed like Pierre was on the right track to do so, low as a bar might seem. Any slam by Pierre would be devastating if the makeshift piledriver was anything to attest. One might be enough; two would be grueling. Yet a simple blow wouldn’t be enough for someone like Pierre. It might have been, had Gwendolyn not given him more motivation to not be outclassed by a supposed student. But he did want to show that he has done his research before approaching the classy estate. Especially when it comes to Gwendolyn herself. The Imperial Pedigree was just one of the few that the French-Canadian had seen in his brief look, her go-to finisher that has put out veterans even as prestigious as the Olympic hopeful. And like Gwenniecakes over here, he would give the same flair and grace as she would before the plummet towards the cake. It would have been poetic for the Quebecoise, so much that he was grinning anticipation…where that chance would have been best spent actually putting it to motion.

Whatever poetic justice he would enjoy was the bare and frosting-flavored sole that thwacked upon his facial features, emphasizing a sweet defeet. Pierre would be stumbling back as the kick had him blinking, at least, before he recognized some of the cake that was stuck on his eyes and face. Not quite the taste he was expecting, and his mistake of trying to wipe the frosted veil from his eyes and the purchase of footing gave Gwendolyn the pampered luxury to prepare one of her signatures, settling into a ballerina position. By the time Pierre did wipe the frosting from his face, Gwendolyn gave him much more work to do and then some. Only a brief millisecond before he’d comprehend the Divine Wrath sent him twirling back into the turnbuckle. Which was quite the display that would bring question if Pierre did do ballet before. Had Gwendolyn not pinned him into the corner with her foot, Pierre’s legs would have turned into spaghetti as he was knocked for a loop and dizzy from the twirl. Would have been the worst case of chicken legs he would have experienced, but that was the result of the graceful move that belied the incredible power that Gwen’s dancer trained legs. Pierre would sputter and cough, his legs scrambling to find a grip on the cake-covered floor. Pierre could feel his own heartbeat as it thumped hard, connecting to the throbbing pain around his head and loins as the package stirred underneath the fabric…

Unquestionably seamless though it may have become for the specific purpose behind this pastry riddled mayhem to be forgotten in the midst of one stifling submission applied after another, Gwendolyn's stalwart conviction ensured she would not lose track of what was meant to be Pierre's overall appraisal. From how the Quebecoise formally conducts himself within polite society, his grappling credentials, professionalism, if the former Olympian was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, and currently, whether or not he can maintain his Olympic caliber concentration and fortitude when utilizing his professed grappling skills under particularly disadvantageous circumstances. Gwendolyn obviously withholding her final grade until the match had reached its zenith, but Pierre can rest assured that points were added in his favor from how naturally he course corrected and started outwrestling the two-time champion within her own humble abode and chosen match type. An exemplary feat few could attest to achieving, although one that Gwendolyn may refute if questioned about.

The Prudish Blueblood acknowledging that Pierre must have assuredly performed his own due diligence in reference to researching Gwendolyn's hallowed wrestling history and exquisite moveset preferences, hence his pedigree attempt and foreknowledge of the heiress' disdainful weakness towards rattling slams with exceptional strength behind them. Or perhaps that last tidbit was pure happenstance on his part. Gwendolyn's research upon Pierre supplying her with ample information on his own wrestling techniques as well...difficult though it may have been to ascertain them when buried beneath copious articles revolving around his unfortunate and rather "premature" mishap. However, the refined highborn believed that the time for dutiful appraisals and allocating points had officially long since passed, indeed. Enough kudos had been levied in Pierre's favor, and by her estimation it was now due time for her to wrestle with every full intention of thwarting the Canuck's misguided ambition to actually achieve victory upon this moonlit night.

"...*giggle*...Brava~...Exquisite form and rotation taken with your pirouette, Monsieur Vuillard. You may possess an innate aptitude for the cultured elegance of ballet. Although, I must confess that nigh all of my dance partners within the wrestling ring inevitably twirl with such dignified grace from but one glimpse of mine own beauteous performance~..." Gwendolyn snobbishly professed with a prim smile and what was the sole of her practically bare foot assertively wedged against the side of Pierre's hacking facials. The stiffened rigidity of her statuesque leg being the sole fulcrum preventing the Quebecoise's feet from touching the floor, his breathing rate to stabilize, and for his vision to ascertain anything aside from the arch upon her foot mushed against his face and what color her toenail polish was. (Royal Blue). Pierre's regaining all of these luxurious when the regal aristocrat abruptly relinquished him from the corner choke, but kept Pierre positioned against the turnbuckle by flattening her back up against him. "Now, whom was it that professed to us rubbing off on eachother? A rather bold statement. I do hope you can remain professional and refrain from any indecent thoughts within my sophisticated company~..." Gwendolyn hushed out against the nape of his neck with her head turned, the fulsome swell of her creamy rump snuggly perched against his pronounced package with one swishing sway after another. A provocative and rather prolonged enticement...allowing the heiress to uninterruptedly situate Pierre's legs over the adjacent middle ropes. A prim hop upward and swiveled snuggle to make her seating more comfortable later, and Pierre would be subjected to her Royal Facesit Finisher, Sa Majeste~...