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Guilmon's head fit so snugly between the vixen's thighs. It was the perfect shape and size: not too angular or too round: not too big or too small, either. They were supposed to be sparring, but mostly Renamon was just choking him with her legs, toying with him, though not in a cruel way.

Balanced on crossed feet, she cradled his chin and pulled up, stuffing his head deeper into her sweaty lap. It was hot out in Rika's backyard. They had already been wrestling for several minutes, and once again Ren had him trapped between her legs, this time crushing him in a standing headscissor.

Down on both knees, the back of his head pressed to Ren's crotch, Guilmon grimaced as he strained to pry away the thighs caging his skull. His efforts were cute. He gripped her legs awkwardly, his hands lacking the dexterity of poseable thumbs. Dull claws brushed Ren's fur; they hadn't been sharpened in months, not since their sparring sessions began.

After analyzing Guilmon in combat for years, Renamon noticed how much the dragon digimon relied on his body's natural weapons: claws, fangs, fire breath. She too possessed such natural weapons, minus the fire breath, but a strong proficiency in martial arts set her apart from most digimon, making her especially dangerous.

So to help Guilmon exceed his natural limits, she agreed to teach him some fighting techniques. Today's lesson: grappling.

Pinching his jugulars, Ren hopped up and bent her knees. His face jerked up with her hop, then sailed down and crashed into the ground, stunning him. Ren coiled her legs after the impact, cinching in a figure-four headscissor.

She pulled up on his chin again and flexed her quads, sighing with pleasure as they swelled and pushed against the sides of his throat. She liked the feel of his neck even more than his head. It was nice and thick, and just begging to be squeezed.

Her shoulders rocked back: her legs writhed and clenched harder, tighter. Guilmon endured for one minute... two... then weakly swatted her outer thigh.

"Is that a submission?" she purred.

"Yes... Master Ren..."

During training sessions, Ren always insisted Guilmon call her master. She told him it was a tradition between martial arts students and their teachers, but really she just liked the way it sounded. Master Ren. The words made her feel powerful, and made dominating him all the more fun.

She held her plaything a moment longer before breaking her hold. From there she systematically manhandled him into a dozen submission techniques, all of which included a scissorhold of some kind. She bent and squeezed his body into every shape and pose she could imagine, forcing him to flush and gurgle and moan and pant and tap out--to bend to her will and call her master.

Guilmon was still adapting to the rules of their sparring sessions, which were set up to maximize Ren's pleasure. They wrestled for a set amount of time--sometimes twenty minutes, sometimes more--and whoever scored the most submissions before time ran out won. So far, Ren was up by several falls.

They worked up a good sweat together, their hard bodies bumping and grinding as Ren muscled her toy into numerous compromising positions. As the beating wore on, steamy huffs and puffs flitted from their mouths, Guilmon's accented by groans and bleats. But despite his complete helplessness, Ren noticed how he groped her thighs during scissorholds, his dull claws stroking her knotted muscles.

"You like it down there, don't you?" Sitting on the dragon's snout, Ren leered down with half-lidded eyes, paws on her wide hips. "Tell me you do. Go on, I'm all ears."

Guilmon tried to open his mouth, but Ren pinched his jaw with her thighs, keeping it shut. He shoved at her backside, hips bucking in useless attempts to shuck her off. She drove her weight down on his throat, her knees pinching together, inner thighs boring in by slow, agonizing degrees.

Instinct told Guilmon to bridge, which turned out to be a mistake. The moment his hips bucked, body canting at a slight incline, Ren used the new space between his back and the grass to slip a calf under his head. From there she threaded his arm between her thighs and tucked her instep behind her knee, trapping him in a triangle choke from mount. Her already thick quads swelled with new power, and the orbs of her ass clenched together.

Mashed between the fleshy slabs of Ren's thighs, Guilmon's already red cheeks became roses in full bloom.

"Tight enough, hmm?" Ren breathed, her taunt escaping alongside a pant. Not waiting for a response, she tucked Guilmon's forearm beneath her armpit and drove her pelvis into his elbow. The arm straightened, and the elbow joint extended... extended... and then hyper--extended--adding a new pain in his limb to the tightness still mounting in his neck.

Had he the breath for it, Guilmon would have screamed.

Ren rolled to her back and raised her hips an inch off the grass, showcasing the prey snared between her legs. She played with Guilmon--squeezing and then loosening, squeezing and then loosening--and then just squeezing, both thighs going rigid and staying that way.

Guilmon held onto a furry mound of muscle. He was barely conscious now, and a long, long way past fighting back. Ren's playfulness was the only thing keeping him awake (the vixen was obviously holding back, and had been the entire time). Furry white fingers stroked his crown, his ears, then entwined and pulled down on the back of his head.

With Guilmon's forearm still tucked under her armpit, Ren rolled to her side, adjusted her scissorhold and arched her spine. Her hips drove forward while her shoulders rocked back, at once strangling the dragon's neck and hyper-extending his elbow.

In the end, it was the pain of having his arm stretched that made Guilmon tap out. The pressure on his neck was torture, but Ren had pushed his joint right to the edge of its breaking point.

Guilmon slapped her hip, completely spent.

A hissing laugh escaped Ren. She reached back and grabbed her instep, yanking her heel toward her butt. Her teeth clamped around her bottom lip as her hold grew tighter.

She didn't notice he'd passed out until the twitches started. But instead of freeing him, her legs wound tighter and tighter, throttling his unconscious body. Awake or not, she wasn't done with him just yet.

Then, when a nearby timer sounded, she finally let him go. The final score: 27-0.

When Guilmon came back around, Ren helped him up and set a paw on his shoulder.

"You did good today." She kissed his cheek. "I think we should go out, to celebrate your progress."

Guilmon rubbed his sore neck. "'Kay, sounds good. Should we invite Takatomon and the others?"

"No, no," she said gently. "I really think it should be just the two of us."

Later that night, Ren treated her friend and favorite sparring partner to a picnic in the park under the stars. The scenery was so perfect, and the food so good, and the company so pleasant, that she just couldn't control herself.

She waited for Guilmon to finish eating and then launched a surprise attack, shoving him to the ground. The two laughed as they tumbled, until Ren snaked her legs around the dragon's head. She wedged that long snout of his between her legs, then slowly extended both furry limbs and crossed her ankles. Then, when she had him nice and snug, Ren let her thighs swell and harden.

She squeezed him long into the night. But not too tightly.