FreeCatFights
General Category => Chat Fight Logs And Message Board Fights => Message Board Fights => Topic started by: RedEnforcer on October 31, 2017, 04:30:25 PM
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*The intro graphics begin with a stirring original piece of music and random highlights of wrestling action throughout the years. Ending with a live shot of the crowd gathered and an eruption of pyro. The camera then goes to the announce table where two men in suits are standing by.*
Bob Weaver: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, Welcome to FCF Unlimited!!!!
Johnny Caudle: Bob, the fans here in the Greensboro Coliseum are hyped and ready for an amazing debut of a brand new form of wrestling!
BW: That's right fans, tonight you're going to see the best FCF wrestlers around competing against each other with no limits on weight class, age or even gender.
JC: And where most places kick things off with standard opening matches, tonight we are going to witness the crowning of the first FCF Unlimited Champion!
BW: We have two worthy contenders from different places across the globe and tonight they are going to fight it out for the belt!
JC: Belt?
BW: Just calling it a title is ridiculous when it's obviously a title belt.
JC: True.
BW: We have a newcomer to this area in "The Golden Dynamo" Kat Dahl taking on someone who might have a home field advantage in the Red Enforcer.
JC: Well he would if anyone here liked him. He's famous in these parts for being a complete @$$----
BW: Johnny!
JC: Fine fine. Personal feelings aside, we know what we're going to get with the Enforcer. Lots of cheating but not too sure what we'll get from The California Doll.
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As the announcers and production goes off I'm in the back in my locker room changing. Peeling off my Red's Gym t-shirt and stripping off my Wranglers. I look in a mirror and grin. Back at it again after some time off. And against a new challenger. I give a wistful glance to a post-it note on my locker with a message from my Angel. I sigh and wish she were around.
But then I see my mask and grab it. All other emotions besides intensity slip away. I put it on and become a new man. Focused on one thing. Winning the title.
I strip out of my boxers and grab my classic black wrestling trunks with Enforcer scrawled in red on them. I step through the leg holes and feel the familiar material sliding up my calves and my tensed thighs. My body seems as excited as my mind is as I grab my socks and put them on. Then my classic black boots go on, laced to the top with a stylish RE on both sides. I get out the black tape and slowly wrap it around my wrists one at a time.
I'm all set. Just waiting for them to call my name. But first, the new girl is going to be welcomed by the crowd. I wait to hear their reaction to see how they think she's going to be.
It's Showtime.
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Cool thread!
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"If you're going to hang your hat somewhere, Kit-Kat, always make sure it's on the top peg!"
I can still hear Daddy telling me that....among other corny sayings he'd impart to me as I was growing up and training in the wrestling biz. I was never quite sure, exactly, what that one meant, but I guess it was "shoot for the top" or something like that. Well, that's my intention tonight. I've been at FCF for almost a year now..took on some winners and plenty of losers in my quest for the top tier and the championship. Then, word came down that the championship was totally up for grabs and I heard a loud noise in the distance.
The loud noise was opportunity.
And it was knocking.
No, scratch that...it was pounding the door with a battering ram. So, being the ambitious sort that I am, I answered...dodging the battering ram, by the way.
The challenge was thrown out and I caught it, not even caring that it was against a man who was built like a linebacker and outweighed me by fifty five pounds. That sort of thing never bothered me. My background in powerlifting left me stronger than most girl and a few guys. I also had some experience in the Family League, with my parents, where I'd throw grown men and women around the ring on a nightly basis. Wrestling guys never bothered me...provided they were in it for the match and not to get off by having a girl whip their ass. No, this "Red Enforcer" I had heard of and knew he wasn't in it for anything but the fight. All business in the ring and business was nasty. Word had it that he was a heel's heel and wasn't above doing whatever he needed to do to win.
That suited me just fine.
I've been seen as both a "face" and a "heel", though I just considered myself a brat. I did what I wanted to do and if you got in my way....you paid.
Tonight, I plan on making this hunk of muscle pay and I'm taking nothing but cash. Now is the time....no personal checks accepted.
I stand behind the thick, black, curtain, hopping on my toes and shaking my arms out. 36C-24-37 curves looking like they were poured into the shiny gold one piece I'm sporting for this main event. The front cut into a severe "V", down to my navel, laced with an "X" of string at my bountiful cleavage. Cut high on the hips, it curves over them and covers about one third of my firm, round, glutes. My thick thighs and legs encased in a fine, black, pair of fishnets with golden knee pads over my knees and golden mid calve boots completing my look. They have black soles, black laces and the word "DOLL" down the sides in fancy black script.
Tupac's California Love blasts from the old P.A. speakers and that's my cue. I burst through the curtains and jog down the ramp to the ring area, my aforementioned glutes and firm C cups lightly jiggling along. I even slap a few hands and give a few winks as I lap the ring while the announcer grabs the mic....
"Tonight's Main Event is for the FCF World Title. The challenger hails from the Bay Area and is the current Dahl Haus champion. She stands five foot three. She weighs...." I shoot him a warning look "...umm....one hundred and thirty pounds" I smile and nod "The Battling Barbie.....The Princess of Punishment....The Golden Dynamo.....she's The Callllliforrrrrnia Dollllllll!!"
I grab the middle rope and tug it down, using the spring to leap up to the apron, stomping the black soles of my boots to the apron before ducking between the ropes and taking my corner. I fluff up my thick, mid back length golden blonde hair and flash the crowd my pearly whites before I lean back into the top and second buckles, examining my nails and yawning while I wait.
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This is going to be fun!!!
I'm loving this new chat option....Stace
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California Love, eh? So this youngin has a bit of sass to her. Very good.
I know that song may not play well here but it sure does for the viewing audience. She may be young but she has a mind for the business.
I hear a knock and a familiar voice calling me to the Gorilla position. I move to get ready and stop at the sound guy. I tell him to play my alternate track. No, not An homage to Godzilla tonight. No tonight is serious business and I want my opponent to know I’m not here for anything short of victory.
The first strains start to play. A thumping drum beat and a haunting voice. Monster by Imagine Dragons. It takes the crowd off guard. They look a bit confused. This isn’t my usual entrance music. But when the chorus hits and I step out. They know exactly what to do and cascade boos down on me.
I stand on the stage and soak it in for a moment. I still haven’t looked at my opponent. All I see is the ring and I stride down the ramp with purpose. Avoiding fans reaching for a touch, eyes staring dead ahead at the ropes. It’s been too long since I’ve been on this stage and now that I’m back I won’t let anyone take it from me.
And her opponent, begins the announcer. I go up the steps, wipe my boots on the apron and enter the ring making a bee line to the announcer and putting my hand over the mic. “They know who I am.” I growl at him and he scurries out of the ring as quickly as he can.
Finally I look over to my opponent. A vision in gold. The suit looks like it was poured over her. Sexy fishnets cover her athletically toned legs. And she is showing just enough to get the crowd behind her. In another place at another time, I would react in a different way. I’m sure she’s used to getting a specific reaction from her opponents in this outfit.
But tonight. It’s all about the belt. I can feel my mask tighten as I glare down at my opponent. After looking her up and down, I meet her eye to eye. To her credit, she doesn’t flinch.
I walk over to her, not breaking eye contact. I get right in her face and stare her down.My mask just does brush against her skin. And I whisper to her, “Last chance to walk away. Stay and there will be pain.”
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"The last thing people expect, Kit-Kat....is the unexpected."
Even though Daddy has a knack for stating the obvious....he's right. People have certain expectations in life. If you can keep them sticking to those expectations, it's simple to trip them up.
As Tupac and Dre finish telling the crowd about the "sunshine state where the bomb ass hemp be", your music start blaring from the green, paint chipped, loud speakers. The tune is...catchy...and a bit haunting. I'm not sure what a "mawnster" is, but the assembled crowd seems to get the meaning as you come marching down the ramp and straight up to the ring. The look on the announcer's face is more than priceless as you cut him off from your intro which is fine with me. His voice is annoying as hell.
You expect the crowd to know who you are. Again, it's all about expectations.
I mean, look at me. A "cute blonde" with the face of an angel and I'm about to square off against a reject from Lucha Underground. Not that I'm really complaining...I like the mask... a lot. Probably more than I should and probably more than my therapist would like hearing about, but I just can't help it. Back in the Family League, masks were our gimmick. Mom, Dad, and I wore them when we battled and I always had a feeling of...I don't know....power, I guess, when I wore one. The look on an opponent's face when they realize they can't quite read your expression or just think you're a whackjob. Either one gets you where they don't want you to be....in their head. So, when I see you stare me down, I don't even blink. I know the game and I know the results of letting you win that game. I continue my fake yawning and making sure I didn't get ripped off on this manicure as you approach.
Anyway, the 'expectation here, I'm sure, is for me to suddenly cower in fear or let you intimidate me or both. Granted, you are a pretty imposing figure and, if I don't keep my head in this, I'm going to get hurt....badly.
Nope, can't think that way....gotta stay on a positive note...gotta push those feelings way down deep and use them for fuel. I'm going to need all the help I can get, I'm sure.
You stride over to me, bold as you please and, again, go for the mental game. My nostrils flare as I get a whiff of your manly, musky scent and I chew, a bit, at the corner of my mouth, right before it upturns into a smile.
The unexpected? It's coming.
“Last chance to walk away. Stay and there will be pain.”, your gruff, Batman-esque, voice tells me as you lean in and whisper about my impending doom.
"Well, one thing is for sure", I grin, "you sure got that...RIGHT!" I shout as I try to hold your gaze and snap my right leg up and bend it. Aiming my gold padded knee right for that large bulge in your black trunks. Yeah, it's cheap and, yeah, it's a bit of a risk....but no risk means no reward...
.....and I'm looking for gold here.
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The ring introductions for the championship bout have taken place, and now the match itself is about to commence. As the crowds settle in, a tall, toned and busty platinum blonde in a skintight leopard print mini dress, silk fishnet thigh-high stockings, and black leather knee-high boots can be seen sitting front row centre. A black choker completes her attire and a pair of expensive sunglasses sits just atop her bangs. That voluminous mane of silver platinum hair tousling down around her bare shoulders to her lower back is distinctive enough so that anyone sitting behind her could tell just who she is. It looks as if the Platinum Queen herself has decided to take a front row seat to watch the Championship Match closely.
I lean back in my chair and cross my legs, watching eagerly as these two exchange words in the middle of the ring. My eyes slide back and forth between the spirited young brat and the menacing masked hunk, sizing both fighters up closely. I drink in every detail of Red's mask, and every sinful curve accentuated by that golden one-piece that adorns Doll's luscious figure. I'm not playing favourites here, I ain't cheering one on over the other. I like the sassy brat quite a bit, even if she's given me some, problems, lately.. and Red's been one of my favorites for quite sometime, despite also having given me some issues in the past. No, I ain't no one's cheering section tonight, I'm here strictly to get a close up view of who I may potentially face in the near future. And beat for that pretty gold title.
I lick my lips and grin anxiously as I'm eager for the match to erupt into chaos. Then, I spot Doll's gold-padded knee thrust up into the air, aiming it at that bulge in Red's tights. The crowds collectively gasp. I simply laugh.
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No matter how hard you try, a pretty face, some boobs and a good butt distracts you. Always, you big ape.
I can hear my Angel's voice echoing in my head. I thought for sure I could look past things and focus on being the beast. But it looks like once again, I didn't look past the girl-next-door sweet and innocent candy shell and see the fierce competitor that earned her way in the indies to be invited to take me on for this new title.
I looked in her eyes and I didn't see fear, indecision or doubt. She gained my respect for that.
Then while waiting her response, there was a flash of light and electric pain and I'm down on one knee. Now's she's gained my ire.
I can't say I blame her. This is her big stage. Her moment to climb the proverbial ladder and make herself famous. I know in my youth I did some crazy things. In fact Johnny Caudle the commentator took the brunt of my own race to the top.
That being said, I'm very pissed off right now. Gloves are now off. That's how she wants this to be. Honestly I don't know if the bell has even rung. What I do know is that I'm not letting this brat stroll in here and make a laughing stock of me.
I've been nut shotted before. Probably the worse was Punky with a kendo stick when she and Gemma were drinking and just "messing about" so I'm used to this pain. Just because I'm used to it doesn't mean I can no sell it. But it does mean I don't have to kneel here paralyzed by the pain.
I can't really see too clearly, but we are close enough that I know she's still in front of me. Her first mistake. Even on one knee, I'm dangerous. And I'm about to show her that.
I dig my right boot into the mat quickly and push off as best I can with the throbbing pain in my groin. That pain and my sudden anger find voice in a growling snarl that erupts past my lips as I drive my body forward.
I can't really target anything, but I am hoping my right shoulder finds her sexy, gold clad flesh and slams as hard into her as I can.
If I can blast her into the corner, bonus for me. Right now I just want her to feel a tenth of the pain I do and realize that more is to come.
Cocky brat.
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"It's like I always say, Kit-Kat, the shortest distance between two points is..."
Yes, Daddy....I know.
A straight line.
The thing this mass of muscle that I just dropped with a cheap, nut shot just decided to take towards me!
I grin as my knee impacts your crotch, compressing that impressive package and dropping you like a rock. The delicious groan that passes your masked lips makes my nipples rock hard and puts a smile on my face. That smile quickly fades, though, as you.....growl?....then lunge at me. My eyes go wide and I know I should move, but there's nowhere to move.....except back.....which you gladly help me with.
"OOFFFFFFFF!!!" Now it's my turn to groan as I exhale loudly through my lush lips as my cheeks puff out. My body folds over yours as your shoulder rams into my toned tummy. My ass sticking out while my arms, legs, and hair fly forward until the abrupt stop at the nearby turnbuckles jerks my body while the ropes bounce wildly. My arms, instinctively, manage to hook over the top rope on either side of the metal ring post and my round rear slumps down to the second turnbuckle, desperate for support. "Uhhhhhh..." I groan, trying to catch my breath as my blonde mane hangs in my face and my chin tucks down into my chest. My thick legs spread wide and the knees wobbly as I fight for balance and trying to remain upright.
I shake my head and hear a bell ring. Whether it's the bell to start to the match of just in my head, I have no idea. All I know is that I can't breathe and I'm wheezing like as asthmatic who's lost her inhaler. A chorus of "boos" and a smattering of cheers sail up into the humid air as you manage to nail me hard.
You could have, at least, bought me dinner first.
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Gotta commend Kat on her aim to hit such a minuscule target ;)
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There is nothing as satisfying in this business as the knowledge that however badly you are hurting, your opponent is hurting worse.
Right now I’m behind on that score but I am motivated to catch up quickly.
I have hit many people with spears and felt all kinds of reactions. I admit that just on looks I expected my impact with you to be softer. But under that model quality good looking body there is a solid layer of muscle, again a reminder that you are much more than you seem.
My shoulder struck firm if unprepared abs and followed through. I may not be the largest male wrestler there, but with a head of steam I pack a punch and you absorbed much of it. The fact that you haven’t completely collapsed is a testament to your training. Again you gain more of my respect.
That being said you fucking kneed me in my balls and for that, you are going to have to pay.
Normally when I am leaning between the luscious legs of a stacked young woman and making her breathing ragged from a vicious pounding, it looks a bit different.
As the pain in my own body starts to subside so does the anger and sudden rush of adrenaline that allowed me to strike back so quickly. When you slammed into the corner and I impacted you again, the groan I pulled from you brought a smile to my face.
I can feel you propped up by the buckles. Those fishnets are rubbing against my sides and again, another time and another place the pain would be passion instead. I know I can’t let you recover just yet or those thighs could be my downfall.
After spearing you my arms rested on those thighs and as I move my hands, the warmth and underlying strength of those thighs get traced back to your sides. Briefly my hands rest on your hips before they clench the middle rope.
There’s a bell I think. And a commanding female voice trying to get me to do something. I ignore it for now as my task is clear. Take advantage of the Doll being trapped in the corner and wear her out some. With a firm grip on the middle rope on either side of your lovely curved bottom, I lean back and drive forward, intent on burying my shoulder into those abs of yours and even that belly button that you must be proud of since you are showing it off in that suit. There is a Ref counting, but I’m sure I can strike you a couple of times before I have to back off.
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"If I've told you once, I've told you a million times, Kit-Kat...."
Never stand in the path of a moving train. Yeah, Daddy...I remember.
Though, being hung up in the corner with my thick legs spread and my arms coiled over the top ropes as the only thing keeping me up, I'm given limited options. If the Masked Mass of Muscle looks to stoke the fires of the engine and chug on in, I'm really not able to stop him.
Letting out another groan, my firm C cups still lightly jiggling under their shiny, gold casings, my nipples still tenting the thin material, I shake my head and wheeze again, looking to catch my breath and get my head back into this match. I feel your large hands pawing me up, gliding over fishnet clad thighs and to my waist. I'm still stuck as long as your hands are on me and my back is to the corner. I look down, shaking my head to get my thick, golden, hair from my face and see your muscled back flex while your arms spread, gripping the middle rope on either side of me. The bell is still ringing....yes, it's definitely the match bell...and I hear a female voice telling Mr. Freakshow to "Get her outta the corner!". Like that's going to work.
My options are limited....but I still have a few.
I could try to go up and try to slide down your back for a Sunset Flip variation, but that means fighting not only gravity, but my own sore midsection as well. I see you lean back, while your arms still hold the ropes and my eyes go wide again. When you have someone hurt, keep on the area....it's Wrestling 101, really. Hell, it's what I would do.
My wheezing becoming less pronounced as you take your sweet ass time setting me up. My only guess being you think you have the "little girl" hurt and/or shocked enough that she's just going to try to ride out the pain. I know I have to move and move now....if only to stop Daddy's voice from ringing in my head again, telling me what I should do. You lean back and it's now or never....I uncoil my arms from the top strands and simply drop down to my knees and curl up into a ball. Looking to let your shoulder ram into the steel pole, if possible, while I roll forward and out between your massive legs.
It's risky and I have to time it just right but, Jesus, anything to shut Daddy up.
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You know if you don't speed things up, you're not gonna catch me!
I've never been fast. No matter how hard I've tried, this huge feet I have have impeded my attempts to be fast. Kids in elementary school made fun of my "clown shoes" which along with the red hair and the popularity of McDonald's led to a whole host of unfortunate nicknames.
Sadie, bless her heart, has tried her best to help me be faster using a variety of ahem "unique" training methods at my gym. But I just have never been fast. Agile, yes. Dextrous, yes. Just not fast. That's why I've focused on strength and being stronger than I look. Most see my body type and think typical high flyer, but I'm not. I'm a bruiser, a brawler and a grappler.
So it comes to no surprise to me that I swing my shoulder forward and where I should hit flesh, I strike air. I could feel her bottom slide off the second turnbuckle and her sides slide against my hands. She wasn't as hurt as it sounded. I feel like the universe is trying to slam me over the head with a 2x4 and tell me this woman is not what she seems, but much much more and I keep failing to learn that.
I can't stop my forward momentum, but I can slow it. Even then I feel my chest sliding across the top of her hair and I tense up. My shoulder just smashes into the steel rail, not at full speed, but hard enough to send electric jolts of pain down all the way to my fingertips. Luckily for me it was my right shoulder and not my left. Even still, my body is jarred and I'm pretty beat up and the match is just starting.
Before I can register exactly where she is, I can feel her sliding between my legs. My legs tense up feeling her thin golden suit brush against me. I think I may have even groaned a bit. I'm sure if I did, it was a reflexive sound of worry from the earlier crotch shot and not any sense of pleasure gained from feeling a warm, sexy body sliding against my bare naked muscles.
I have enough of my wits about me to try and reach back with my hands to grab her to stop her. My right hand can't make a grip as it's still recovering from the damage the post did. My left hand makes contact but not quickly enough. I'm sure to the fans it looked more like I just pushed her between my legs, although some other fans from the correct angle could see her bottom ripple from the impact of my slow attempt to stop her.
I move around as quickly as I can to keep myself from exposing my back to my opponent and when I whip around I see her there. That one million megawatt smile on her face as she gives me a cheeky wave. And the crowd just eats it up.
Despite the pain she's inflicted and the focus I have on winning, I just can't help but smile under my mask. This cocky brat has some real brass to her.
It's going to be fun taking her down.
I move my neck from side to side and reach up to adjust my mask. I adopt a wary defensive stance, hands up and slowly move out of the corner.
Let's do this.
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"Katherine. Move. Your. Ass!"
The only thing worse than having Daddy's pseudo-philosophy on wrestling rattling around in my brain is....you guessed it...Mom's "motivational" speeches. For years I've heard those four words, no matter how fast I moved. The woman is 5'9", 150lbs. and moves like a ballerina. I, on the other hand, "....have your Father's coordination." Gee, sorry I wan't raised by Mexican Luchadors like the almight Donna Matrix.
Well, you know what? Fuck you Mother!
I nimbly scramble between your legs and tuck into a forward somersault as I clear the muscled arch, winding up on my feet before standing tall. I quickly spin to face you about three seconds before you whip around, looking like a bull that still has the matador's sword stuck up it's ass. I give you a wide smile and wave, then blow you a kiss to really get the crowd going. My stomach still hurts like a bitch, but I'm not going to let you in on that. Gotta keep up the "young resilience" facade....until, at least, I can fully catch my breath.
"Always keep up the pressure, Katherine!"
God, would someone put a sock in her mouth? I know, I know and I'm moving! Flexing my thighs as I propel myself towards you, not wanting to give you any time to recover or plan, I get within striking distance and take a short hop in front of you. I stomp my left boot as I chamber my right leg back and feint a quick kick to your left knee cap. Instead of the kick, I spin on my left boot as my hands reach for your right wrist. Trying to lift the muscled limb high while I spin under it, I look to wind up on your right side with your right arm out wide and me levering your palm up towards the hot lights above. I go up to my toes, my fishnet encased thighs flexing while I try to twist to my right and just wring that arm.....hard. Hoping the pain in your right shoulder will give me groan from your yummy mask if I can manage all of this.
Take that and stuff up your lucha mask, Mother!
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If you can't outquick somebody, slow ‘em down, doofus.
The wave was bad enough. But then you blow me a kiss. I can just feel the fans solidify their support behind you. But I couldn’t care less about that. (Couldn’t not could, proper grammar bitches! Use it.)
I’m a little flat footed when you start your intricate dance. I guess my brain is still a bit scrambled from your openin attack. As it is, I overcompensate and pay too much attention to your feet.
I must look like a giant masked sloth with how slowly I respond to your hummingbird like motions. Or someone with the agility of a zombie and the brains to match. Even when I figure out the kick is a feint, I shift incorrectly to guard my left side when you grab my right arm. All too soon I feel a wrench on my still recovering right wing and serious pressure on my shoulder.
“Unnnnn fuuuuccckkk” slips past my lips just before I end up bent over. My left hand slaps my right shoulder to try and stimulate some blood flow and ease the sudden pain.
“Trained in Mexico, doll?” I wonder aloud seeing how you are working the right like luchadors are trained as opposed to the left. I have no choice but to dance like your monkey as you secure this hold. It does give me a chance to get a real good look at you. I can see you really exerting yourself to punish my arm.
Those athletic thighs (gymnast? Powerlifter?) so very tight under the fishnets as you stand on your toes to get added leverage. The thin fabric of your suit starting to really cling to your body as you begin to glisten with sweat.
“Unnnggghh” I can’t help but groan a bit more as you give the arm a small reminder twist. I’m trying to come up with a plan to get free when that Red hearing me groan decides to ask if I give. “Are you kidding me? Hell no!”
My eyes drift back over to your body. I know I’m starting to sweat myself under these hot lights so I know it’s not cold making your suit tent near your chest. You’re enjoying having me in control. Well that’s gonna change.
You’re using my own arm to keep distance between us. Smart. If I were a fancy guy I’d do the flip forward, then back and roll escape.
But I’m not. So instead I grunt loudly and try my best to stand up. Working to shift the leverage. But mostly wanting you to keep working your hands up focusing on my arm.
As quickly as I can while semi upright, I lean away from you and lift my right boot up. My knee bends and cocks my boot back and I fire it out at you. This time I’m purposely aiming for that nicely defined tummy of yours.
If you can’t breathe you can’t dash about.
It’s time I stopped trying to match your quickness and just started hitting you.
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"Keep your eyes on the head and shoulders, Katherine. Usually, they lead the way."
While she's a total pain in my round ass, most times, Mom knows her shit in the ring. I go up to my toes and lever that arm, bending you over a bit and hearing that oh so yummy groan that tells me that shoulder didn't get away as scott free as you're pretending from it's meeting with the steel post. My thighs flexing as I spin on my right boot toe, my left boot in the air, jerking on that arm and letting out a grunt of my own..."Yuuuuuuhh!" Wanting to punish that arm, before I work my way around to other areas of that mass of muscle.
"That's it, Freakshow, scream for meeeeeee....." I grin down at you, the crowd pelting us with cheers and boos and a smattering of applause as we work the ring like the pros we are.
My tanned skin starting to get a nice glaze under the hot lights, I shake my head to get some of the stray strands of stringy hair from my face, mainly so the crowd can see my huge, pearly white, grin while I work that muscled limb.
I keep my eyes on your right shoulder, watching the muscle twitch each time I jerk on that arm. A good sign. What's not a good sign is when you start standing upright, fighting against the pain and the torque like a salmon swimming upstream. "Shit.." I grunt, knowing that the pain isn't enough to keep you down or docile. I hear you mention Mexico and give you a knowing, strained smile. Mom and Dad each brought different things to the training table, that's for sure.
My pearly white smile starts to fade as you power up and quickly stand..."Fuck!" I mutter while you lean away and snap that right leg out....hard and fast. "Oooomfffff!!" I grunt as the sole hammers me low in my flat tummy. My half covered rear jerks out towards an appreciative audience as I'm brought up to my toes. My hands release your wrist and I wrap my arms around my battered core before dropping down to my left knee. My "golden girls" jiggling under my deeply cut suit as I land, shaking my head and, once again, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
The pained look on my face now replacing my cocky look from earlier as I struggle to get my wind back and a chorus of "boooos" sail up into the humid air from the crowd.
"Never give someone your back....or front for that matter, Kit-Kat".
Now, you tell me Daddy.....now you tell me.
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There is nothing quite as satisfying as the sound of someone else's flesh being mashed in by a boot. Except maybe their punk face.
I don't know what's worse, this young girl controlling me like I'm a rookie or her high pitched voice taunting me. But the sound of my boot striking her belly with a sickening SMACK more than makes up for the taunting. My arm drops to my side almost immediately, pressure gone. I shift my head to make sure I can see you so you can't follow up just in case you're faking a bit.
I see your golden tresses hanging down, covering your face, depriving me of the pleasure of seeing the pain on your face, or knowing how badly I hurt you. Your arms are around your waist covering you up so it does look like I struck home hard. And then you're on one knee and those nice orbs of your dancing freely under your suit. Phone cameras in the section behind you are raised so I imagine they are getting a good view of your rear. I can hear your raspy attempts to gather air and I know I need to strike.
I shake out my right arm, some sweat flying off as my own body starts to glisten a bit from the exertion. I can feel my mask matting to my face as usual when I start getting into the flow of a match. It clings to my flesh like a second skin and helps me become more of the beast.
Not wasting any time, I move towards you. I'm going to keep punishing that belly of yours, keep forcing the air from your lungs, keep you silent. My arms wrap around your curled up body, my chest pressing against your back. I can feel just how thin the material of your suit is and how it hugs close to your body. I can also feel the warmth of your flesh against mine as I get a firm grip around you. In my mind, I'm planning on an inverted bearhug, my arms crushing your ribs and that injured tummy of yours. With a grunt, I cinch up my grip on your body and lift.
A couple of things flash before me when I start to straighten up and haul you into the air.
You look curvy and perhaps a bit soft, but there's nothing soft about you. There's muscle beneath your skin and well trained muscle. Solid is what I would call it. Definitely more than you seem.
The second thing is that my arm isn't really ready to haul you up in the air like I'd want. In fact, there's no way I could flip you like I need to to get you up for the bearhug.
But when life gives you lemons, you haul back and bean the shit out of life in its head with those lemons until it gives you what you really want.
In this case, with you still curled like you are, I lift you as high and as straight up as I can, fully intending on dropping you straight down.
Down with my left thigh flexing hard and outstretched to catch you in that flat tummy you like showing off in your low cut suit. Hopefully to stun you even more.
I think I'll rather enjoy feeling your abs clashing with my thigh and crunching from the impact.
-
WOOOOOOO!!!!!! applauds vigorously!!
-
"Muscles, Katherine, are for "go"....not for "show"!"
Growing up in the wrestling business, as well as doing gymnastics and power lifting on the side, has left me with a pretty solid physique. My real definition is in my quads and upper arms, but make no mistake....I'm fairly muscled all over. Something Mother liked to remind me of often, being "...built like your Father". It has never helped me as much as it's helping me right now. The hard shots to my core hurt like a bitch, but my layer of muscle has been a small buffer against a complete breakdown.....for now.
I'm still shaking my head from the solid shot to my abs and just starting to get up to my feet when I feel those sinewy, muscled, arms wrap around me and your well developed pecs press into my mostly bare back. I groan as you start to put the squeeze on me, my left ass cheeks rubbing against that solid bulge in your small trunks which, any other time, might be hot....now, not so much. I'm still wheezing and trying to gulp down lungfuls of air when I can. As your arms encircle my trim waist, my hands slap down on your wrists, struggling to pull them apart but getting nowhere with it as you bring me up off my boots.
"Uhhhhfuckkk.." I groan, throwing my head back, my long, golden hair cascading over your right shoulder while my thick legs slowly kick back and forth as I go on the ride up, only to drop like a rock a few moments later. I do the only thing I can...I tense my muscles up as much as I can, knowing there's going to be a very sudden stop at the end of this ride. Where, I don't know. I find out, though, as you twist me around, dropping my flat tummy across your outstretched thigh and pain explodes in my stomach.
"AWWWWFFFFF!!" I gasp, my cheeks puffing as I exhale loudly and my body folds over that muscled thigh before I bounce off it, flip and land flat on my back. I slowly bring my legs up, my knees to my chest as my arms wrap around my lower tummy. I cough and wheeze, my body jerking and spasming as the crowd boos, jeers, and throws objects at you. My mouth wide open, and breathless "O" formed from my lips as my eyes shut tightly against the pain and feeling of breathlessness. I shake my head head and roll to my left side, the sides of my boots pounding against the boards in protest of the rough treatment while I try to suck in air and attempt to command the ring to stop spinning.
-
I know I told myself I wouldn't be playing favorites.. but I guess I'm getting caught up in the moment, so I lean forward a bit and scream out:
"C'MON DOLL! Ya ain't done yet, kiddo! Get your ass up and whip HIS ass already!"
I settle back into my seat and suddenly notice Eva sitting right beside me. I smirk at her and press my thick, fishnet-covered thigh against her leg, purring.
"Well hey there, sugah. Hope ya can behave yourself tonight an' keep your hands off of me.."
-
Don’t kick people when they’re down. Bash them upside the head and empty out their pockets!
Feeling the impact of your taut, young, fit body against my thigh brings a very very wicked smile to my lips. The effect added to the mask makes me appear almost psychotic. You can feel the persona taking over. The manners and good upbringing pushed to the side and replaced with a crazed joy that is fed on inflicting pain on opponents.
I choke that side down a bit as I stalk over to your injured body. Dropping to my knees and jerking you back over so you lie back flat on the mat.
If I wasn’t so focused on keeping up the attack, I would probably be 😉 by seeing you on your back. Body aching and face a mask of pain. Trying desperately to suck in air as each movement of your diaphragm just makes your core muscles ache. That golden suit now a second skin on your flesh as the sweat makes it cling graphically to your curves. No, another time I would let myself get distracted by the beauty lying before me.
Instead I plan on showing you some of my training. “You showed me a taste of Mexico, let me show you what I learned in Texas” I say as I hurry to move your arms clear.
I slam the flat palm of my hand down hard on your tummy when I get a clear shot. My fingers extend on my large hand. Fingertips slowly digging into your suit and damaged muscles. I can feel their potential strength. But I’m going to crush them.
I press down hard and clench my fingers into your stomach and griiiiiiiind. “Von Erich stomach claw. Might have to Google it but you can do that from the hospital.”
-
(a cry heard from the cheap seats)
"KICK THE BITCH WHEN SHE'S DOWN, RED!"
-
"When in doubt, Kit-Kat, go for the noggin!"
I think this is some of Daddy's best advice. Where the head goes, the body must follow. It's also the "command center", as Daddy used to call it, of a wrestler and if it's damaged or incapacitated, all they have is four limp limbs and a trunk. Of course he would know....Daddy has opened up more skulls than a brain surgeon.
Granted all this is at the very back of my mind as I bounce off your thick, muscled, thigh and land with a rope shaking *BAM!* on the old canvas. Writhing in pain, my tan skin streaked with sweat while my gut feels like I've just taken a cannonball to it. I try to keep moving back and forth, at least a little bit as to not give you a clear shot anywhere while tensing up, expecting some hard stomps while I'm down. Instead, I feel your large hand on my shoulder, pulling me flat to my back and clearing my limbs away from my battered core.
Still trying to catch my breath, I don't offer much resistance to you moving my legs and arms from my torso, I'm mainly concerned with getting my lungs and diaphragm to work correctly again. I'm thinking I should have put up more of a fight as you slap that palm down to my flat tummy, skin meeting skin due to the severe low "V" cut of my sweat stained suit. My eyes go wide and my arm and legs jerk up, then drop as you fingers spread and claw, digging into my solid abs and punishing the muscle under my deeply tanned skin.
"NAAAAhHHHHHH!!!" I scream out, my body arching under your palm and my face a mask of agony while the pain lances through my lower tummy. I shake my head and grit my teeth as I look up into your masked face. I've seen kinder visages in horror movies, but I understand the motivation behind being "under the hood". It's like Halloween....you can let yourself go....get lost in a character...do things you'd never do while not masked. The "boos" come out louder as you go to work. I tense up my already weakened core to try to stave off more pain, but the claw is both effective and painful.
I'm strong and tough...moreso than most women and some men...but there's only so much that even I can take. If I don't act now, this will be the shorted FCF Championship match on record. I let out a long groan, taking a deep breath and bring my knee up to my chest before kicking my leg out and back....trying to nail you in the head with the toe of my boot. Looking to nail you anywhere on that hooded melon of yours....I'm not picky.
"Kat Dahl Boot", I grunt, "you won't need to Google it."
-
Sure you don’t wanna be distracted ya big dope. But you can be too focused. Ahem, my eyes are up here idiot.
I didn’t realize at first just how low cut your suit was. But damn, when my bare palm struck your exposed and vulnerable stomach, I felt an electric shock. There’s just something about you. But I focused past that. And past the writhing you did as I worked on the claw.
I could feel your belly button right at the heart of my palm and I couldn’t remember if Kerry said that was too high or too low. I know he said it wasn’t the most effective. But I was concerned about your speed and focused on hurting you as much as I could as quickly as I could.
That low blow still stung and it pissed me off so I was dealing with my anger. I could hear you scream and moan in pain and I was dealing with my desire to inflict even more anguish upon you. I was checking all the points into the path of a Sith.
The mask does it to me. Most think masks hide. No, what they do is let you reveal yourself. Behind the anonymity of a mask, you can be who you want. Those lusts and vile thoughts you keep locked away can no be free. For me it is my physical mask that lets me lash out at the world for the life I’ve had to live. For others, the mask is a screen name on an internet board. Granted the freedom to be yourself doesn’t always mean you’re going to be your worst self. That’s just what it can do and does to me.
So when I look at you lying on your back, wheezing like you’re trapped in a low oxygen environment trying to get your breath made all the more difficult by the scream I have wrenched from what sounds like your very soul, I cannot help but let you see that darkness, that evil inside me that comes out to play only in special occasions. Congratulations Doll, you bring out the worst in me.
And I see that you recognize that look I have. In fact I think you look like you are peering into a twisted mirror. It’s at that point that I feel you try and flex your core. In response I look down at your belly and I just grind. But I’m too caught up in the minutiae. So blind am I to what you are doin and so intent on hurting you, I don’t see you move.
WHAMMMMMMMM
Again there is a purple flash in front of my eyes. Through dulled sense I register an impact on my skull.
My arms go limp.
My body slumps.
I feel a slight wetness under my mask above my ear that doesn’t feel like sweat.
I think in the distance I hear a thunderclap.
I’m falling.
To my right side.
Now..my head...why’s it hurt so bad?
And I collapse on my side on the mat parallel to you. Eyes open but not seeing. Muscles not flexed. The fight in me momentarily quelled.
Will someone pick up that phone? That ringing has to stop.......
-
"Sometimes, Katherine, I think you just do these things to get on my nerves."
Gee, wonder where I got that from?
The intense pain in my core starts radiating outwards, down my thighs and up to my chest as I groan and try to tense my muscles past it. I thank the Wrestling Gods when the toe of my boot manages to catch you flush on the temple and you drop like a side of beef, twitching and staring at my through glassy eyes.I let out a half gasp and half sob, drowned out by the applause and cheers I get for felling the muscled tree that was punishing me. A pained look on my face as I roll away from you and to my hands and knees. Shaking my head before I slowly get my boots under me.
I know I have to keep you not only off balance, but also dazed. What I know and what I feel are two different things, right now, though. I'm fucking pissed. And when I get pissed....I like to hurt people.
Guess who just got elected?
I grin as I slowly walk around to your right side. Taking a hop up, I stomp my right boot to the canvas, my firm breasts bouncing under the thin layer of metallic gold material while my left boot hammers down into your forehead. If I get it there once, I go for a double play. Taking another hop and putting my black sole to your masked head to really rattle your mushy brain. And, while I'm on your right side. I take another hop...this time I chamber my left leg up and stomp it down right on that hurting (I'm guessing) right shoulder of yours. "Ayaaaa!" I shout, giving it another stomp for good measure and the crowd a nice look at my lightly jiggling, fishnet clad, ass in the bargain.
I move off your prone body and up to your head. My hands gripping the sides of that hot mask and looking to pull you up into a sit. If I get you there, I raise my left hand high, flexing the fingers before drilling them back down into your right trapezius muscles. "YAAAAAA!" I shout as my educated fingertips look to grind down into that thick muscle and work in a Nerve Hold. My right hand grabbing my left wrist as I lean all my 130lbs into it, looking to continue punishing that right shoulder as my breasts are framed by my considerable, flexing, biceps. I've shown you what Mom has brought me from Mexico...not it's time to show you what Daddy has brought me from the Far East.
I nod my head and grit my teeth though a curtain of stringy blonde hair, wincing every once in a while if I breathe in the wrong way.
"Texas doesn't have anything on Japan, big boy....what'cha think?"
-
Cmon Red dont let a little flower beat you sheesh
-
Pain is nature’s way of reminding you you’re alive and that you need to beat the ass of whatever’s causing the pain.
Slowly the world comes back in focus. The side of my head feels like I slammed into a metal 2x4. That pain is good. It means I’m regaining my senses. I’m lying back. Naked. No, boots and wrestling trunks. That’s right. I’m on the canvas lying back. A bit sweaty. Mask is on. But before I can finish the quick anatomical diagnostic....
WHAMMMM
A solid mass slams hard across my forehead with enough force to make my body spasm. Legs flopping up in the air. This fogs up my thinking some more. But I can gather myself. I can....
WHAMMMM
Another harsh blow across my head. My body jerking in random, erratic ways as a deep groan slips past my lips.
Now I’m back to trying to remember anything. My survival instinct tells me I need to move. But my body just isn’t responding.
WHAMMMM
Another big impact, but on my right side I think. Maybe my shoulder. Can’t really feel it now.
WHAMMMM
Could someone please stop dropping anvils? That dull ache is definitely on my shoulder now. What the hell?
I then feel soft fingertips gripping my mask rather roughly. My hands reflexively go up to ty and swat those fingers away, but it looks more like a drunken attempt at patty cake than a defensive move.
I’m sitting up. Ok that’s something. Now what am I forgetting?
At that moment a pair of players descends and grips my shoulder. No beside my shoulder into the muscle.
“AAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHH”
I cry out as an electric jolt slams through my right arm from the shoulder down into my fingertips. I can even feel it somewhat in the right side of my neck. I flop a bit in my seat wad position but I can feel some serious weight bearing down on my shoulder making it impossible for now for me to fight up. Not when the pain is this intense.
“FUUUUUCCCKKKK”
I haven’t felt my nerves on fire like this since Kabuki had to teach a green teenager a lesson back in the day.
One thing this pain is doing is that it is clearing my mind. But I can’t even think of a counter now. All I can do is feel the pain.
I slap my left hand over, just to see if i can dislodge the hand gripping my so effectively.
“FUCCCCCKKKK”
All that did was make the hold feel like a fish hook sinking in and ripping my muscle and flesh.
shit
Shit
SHIT
Come on old man think!
Mentally I’m fighting. But my body. No, it’s just slumping down. Spasming like you’re poking my with a cattle prod. Your weight and pressure making me slide down towards the mat.
-
"You always want to inflict more pain with less effort, Katherine. Why be wasteful?"
Gritting my teeth as I go up to my tiptoes and lean hard into the nerve hold. My thick thighs flaring, the quads bugling as I get more lift and try to put every once of my 130lbs of pressure into the hold. My fingertips purposely positioned, each one pressing in on a spot that causes maximum pain as I look to debilitate that right arm.
"Come on, Freakshow....give it up!" I shout down to you, my firm, bobbing, breasts framed by my considerable biceps as I work the hold in deep and hard. I shake my head, flipping stringy strands of sweaty blonde hair from my face to give me a better view of your body as it spasms in the hold. My right hand gripping my left wrist to help increase the pressure of the hold, both arms start trembling. I can't keep this up forever, so I have to inflict more pain with less effort. Quickly releasing your trap muscle, I reach down, grabbing that right wrist and holding your well muscled arm high into the air. I balance on my left boot and bring my right up, putting it on your right shoulder with my knee facing out to the right. Putting your elbow joint against my padded knee, I tug back on your wrist, locking the arm up and trying to hyperextend the limb for added pain with minimal effort.
See, Mother? I do pay attention!
"Ayaaaaaahhhh!" I shout, my round, fishnet clad, ass cheeks dimpling I keep my boot sole on that right shoulder and lever that arm back.
"C'mon...ask him!" I shout, seeing if the ref will come in and ask for your submission.
If you were willing to give it, I'd sure like to take it.
-
Sometimes to get out of the frying pan you have to jump in the fire.
Good news bad news.
The good news is the electric shocks of pain shooting down my arm have stopped.
The bad news is now this freakin' brat is trying to play snap, crackle, pop with my arm.
I can't tell how she is contorting, but it feels like she has a boot on my shoulder and not content with just pulling back, has her knee pushing against the back of my elbow making my arm bend outward exactly opposite the way it should.
And it feels like just an inch or two of more pressure and she's popping my elbow out like an angry elementary kid snaps their pencil in half after a bad test.
"MOTHERFUCKER!!!!"
I've had my arm worked over by some experts, but I have to admit, this young girl is working it as intensely as anyone. And this positioning is brilliant as it limits my possible movements. I would grade her very high on skill for this if she wasn't trying to wrench my damn arm off.
I think about slapping my shoulder, but don't. That didn't work out so well the last time. I just need to think about this. But
"GAWDDAMNNIT!!!!"
She's making it hard for me to concentrate. I would think about tripping her somehow since she has to be balancing on one leg. But I saw those powerful thighs of hers and the calves as well. With her height I would imagine gymnast or powerlifter. Either one is bad as with one, she has supreme balance and I might as well try knocking over a flamingo. And the other, she has enough strength in her leg and glutes to resist what little attempt I could muster. While I'm trying to figure this mess out, the ref gets in my face and asks "Do you give it up Red?"
"Fuck no!" is what I scream back at her. I crane my neck around so I can try and look at the woman punishing my arm. I'm glad my mask is on so she can't see just how much pain I'm in. My paleish skin is reddening from the heat and strain of the hold that she has completely locked in.
The big problem is, one way of getting out (and to be honest, it may be the only way) could put me in a more vulnerable position. And now this ref is in my face. Man how I'd love to just grab her and toss her over my head at the brat holding my arm. While that would be satisfying and effective, it would result in a DQ and I can't have that. I worked too hard to get here and I need that title.
So I lift up my left leg and stretch it out as far as I can manage to the left side and then I swing it over to my right side, twisting my hips as best I can. I'm hoping the moment of my muscular leg swinging to the right along with my hips moving will allow me to swing into the bend of the hold and get my knees under me. It won't get me free of the hold, but it will eliminate the most dangerous aspect, the elbow bend if I can make it over.
"AHHHH COOOMMMMMME OOONNNNNNNNN" I cry out as I try to make my body move.
-
"When an opponent is making a mistake, Kit-Kat, never hesitate to continue to let them..."
If my time punching cows (and, in Erin Lee's case...literally) at the Open Circle Ranch taught me anything, it's to know when a bronc is going to buck.
I'm working that muscled right arm of Mr. Red pretty nicely...continuing to keep on it and punish it any chance I can and hoping to make it nothing but a mass of dead weight soon. I bend it back against my knee, working it at an odd angle as I hear you grunt loudly in protest, the sound even rising above the roar of the crowd and I can feel it.
The bronc is about to buck.
I lick my lips and redo my grip on that wrist as you swing your lower body and use the perfectly muscled leg to start whipping your body around so that we're face to face. Already on the move, i drop my knee off your broad shoulder and try to hold that right arm high as I plant my boot back down to the canvas. You spin and put even more torque on that arm. Shit...I know that has to hurt.
"Since you like pain so much, big boy, let me give ya some more..." I grunt as I snap my thick left leg up and and point the toe of my boot. Hoping to bury it into the nerve cluster just below the armpit. "HYaaaaaa!!' I shout, releasing the arm if the nerve shot hits and hoping my "eight seconds" are up.
-
You have two ways to control the car, the gas or the brake. If you can’t use one, use the other.
I succeed in getting flipped around onto my knees. (Yay me!) But like the pain in the ass you’re becoming you still manage to wrench my arm pretty hard.
Well now that I’m facing you, I’m just gonna man up and lunge....
“FUCK ME AuGGGGH”
That damn boot of yours, is it loaded? It hits me right in my armpit and I get another flash of pain.
It actually take me a moment to realize you’ve let go of my arm. But in that heartbeat it feels like you hesitated. You’re worried about me spearing you again. But there is no way I can pull that off again as hurt as I am. So I decided it’s time to hit the brakes.
As quickly as I can I hurl myself away from you and on my left and roll over to the ropes and out of the ring. Shit. My shoulder and arm is still trashed.
I ignore the cascade of boos raining down on me as I take a time out. I stare at you as I slowly walk away from you around the ring.
I take stock of my situation. I’m tired, sweaty and my arm feels useless. I’m trying to flex my fingers but not getting too much reaction. It’s gonna take a bit for my nerves to reset from the damage you’ve done. Great now I’m one armed against a dynamo who sill looks fresh. Not sure how badly she’s hurting but it’s clear if I want to survive this I have to get smarter about things and stop taking her for granted.
There you are standing in the ring watching me. The Golden Girl showing some stress from the fight but mostly just looking gorgeous. And you know it. But under those lovely blonde tresses and hidden within that body built just so right are the eyes of a damn predator who thinks it’s Red season. Well give me a minute while the Red is counting me out and I’ll come up with something to surprise you. Ya damn brat.
-
"Always make whatever ring you're in, your home, Katherine. When you're at home, everyone else is just a visitor."
You let out the most delicious scream as my boot toe hammers up into your armpit....a loud "Ayaaaaaa!!" rings out as well as a loud *WHAP* as I smack my quad (for effect) and it lightly jiggles from the impact that runs up my leg. I grin and drop your arm, taking a step off to your right and my left, crouched a bit and expecting you to do your "bull in a china shop" routine again. Instead, I find myself straightening up and scratching my head as you go, not for me, but for the ropes!
That sonuvabitch!
You roll out of the ring and take a breather and I'm left standing alone in the ring. I give you a cocky smirk and start absently adjusting my suit while the crowd rains a chorus of "boooos" down on you.
"C'mon!! Count him!! Start counting!!" I whine to the ref who rolls her eyes and continues the count she's already started....
*Six, seven, eight....* she continues as I hop on my toes, pissed that I'm giving you a breather, but the throbbing pain in my core is telling me I could use a good, uninterrupted, ten seconds too. I move in closer to the ropes on the side of the ring that you're prowling...not close enough for you to reach in and grab me, but close enough to "greet" you when you come in. I'm right on the ref's back and she's holding her well toned, left arm out to try to keep me back.
"Come on, scaredy cat!! Get back in here!!" I shout down at you, wiping a mass of sweaty strings of my blonde mane from my face with my right forearm while my left index finger points at you. "Make him get back in here!!" I whine again to the ref who continues her count, an exasperated look on her face. My thick thighs flexing as I go up to my tiptoes and lean in some on her back, my round ass cheeks dimpling under the thin fishnets, and my firm, golden, breasts bobbing along under my severely low cut suit.
I might act like a brat but, most times, I try to listen to Mom and Dad's advice, especially in this case. An obvious ploy to get me on your turf won't work.
This ring is MINE now and if you want to come back in, you'll need MY permission.
-
You can set all the traps you want, but sometimes prey just won't take the bait.
I can see you whining at the referee and disrupting her count, letting me have a bit more than the standard 10. I bet that means you're in need of a break as much as I am. I have to admit, I never expected someone so young to have such an experienced mind. Whoever trained you did their job right.
I'll have to remember to send them a fruit basket or flowers after I whip your ass.
I look across the ring to the crowd and you must be putting on a show because the phones are up filming your rear end again. Of course the poor ref has to feel those firm, nicely rounded orbs of yours rubbing against her back as you complain. That would explain the deep red flush of her cheeks as she stammers out more numbers.
You didn't come out to meet me where I could control things, which is smart. And you're keeping a good distance meaning I can't goad you into coming at me. Shit. I can't count on rookie mistakes with you. Despite the pain my my mostly numb right arm, I feel a smile creeping along my face. I'm having fun. I haven't had this much fun facing an opponent in such a long time. No one has pushed me quite like this since FTW folded under. I made the right call jumping in with this new group.
For now though, let's play this slow then. I make my way to the steps, eyes on you and those young, firm fishnet clad legs to see if you're going to make a mad dash at me. On the apron, I see you still hanging back as I tell the ref to keep you back to let me in. I know it's not necessary, but it does get the crowd riled up. And it gives me some extra seconds as my arm now feels like all kinds of tingles are running up and down. Like when your arm falls asleep and then the blood flow returns.
I wipe my boots on the apron and slide in through the middle rope, back to the corner and smiling over at you.
"Come on little girl. Show me what you've got."
-
What the…? The Doll? In a Championship Match?
What kind of podunk wrestling federation is this??
And, Red!?!? Have you suddenly developed an allergy to illegal objects?
Time to toss the “Boy Scout Handbook,” Ape-man!
We’ve got dinner reservations in 45 minutes!
Well, well....look who got released from the half-way house to come watch the fun. Grab a ticket and get in line, Stringbean.
-
Positively surprised to see the smaller girl in control to this point. I know this is far from done, but love the action so far!
-
"There are times in the ring, Kit-Kat, when all you can do is try to dazzle 'em."
I glare at you, stomping my foot impatiently as I watch you slowly make your way up the old, metal steps and to the apron. I can tell you're an old fogy, like Daddy, because you both wipe your feet on the canvas outside the ropes....like the soles of your boots are really getting cleaned by that. As if!
"C'mon, c'mon...." I hiss moving towards the ropes as the ref turns and, bodily, holds me back from rushing you. I continue to glare as you duck between the strands and put your back to the corner.
"Move it!" I shout at the ref and shove her aside as you gesture to me to meet you. I stake a quick step towards you, then stop....shaking my head and backing up two steps.
"Nuh uh, Freakshow.....you want some...you come here!" I wag my finger at you, then motion it from you to the spot right in front of me. Realizing, though, the more I wait, the less that arm hurts.
Shit.
More "boos" shoot out from the audience at you as you stall in the corner, the lights gleaming off your skin, highlighting you lean, muscular build. I glance over at your still twitching right arm, imagining the pain there slowly subsiding and I'm wasting a good opportunity here by waiting.
"Fuck it... ", I growl and push off on my boots, sprinting right for you. My ex-gymnast thighs flexing each time my black soled boots pound the boards, while my firm rump lightly bounces along. I grit my teeth in determination while I raise my arms high above my head and twist as I fall forward. Landing on my palms, I spin in a cartwheel and twist again, landing on my soles, my back to you while I spring back and bounce off my palms again. Going into a back flip, then another....faster and faster as I nail one more rotation and flex my thick thighs, bouncing up into the air and tucking in tight, looking to let my forward momentum carry me....and my round ass...right for your face.
My stringy blonde hair flipping along with me as I nimbly look to butt bash you....hoping my acrobatic display was enough to hold your attention while I got close enough to nail you.
Tensing up, just in case though.....
-
What the…? The Doll? In a Championship Match?
What kind of podunk wrestling federation is this??
And, Red!?!? Have you suddenly developed an allergy to illegal objects?
Time to toss the “Boy Scout Handbook,” Ape-man!
We’ve got dinner reservations in 45 minutes!
Awww come on. You know I like to tease the newbies. I’ll be done before the appetizers arrive.
-
Aerial maneuvers are graceful, athletic and crowd pleasers. Don’t get distracted by the.....Red are you checking out her butt!?!
I love the boos. The worst reaction is no reaction. I can tell these fans are just loving seeing the Doll outfox me. Well most of ‘em probably just like seeing the Doll. Not that I blame them. She dressed just perfectly for this area, full coverage to not upset people but with added spice to let their imagination fill in the blanks. And from all the phones I see going up at times, she’s probably going going to have her own thread over at r/WrestleWithThePlot. ( Surprise this old man knows Reddit.)
For a moment there I thought my tortoise like pace was going to goad you into coming at me. But you stopped. Either way I win. You rush in and make a mistake or stay back and my arm starts getting closer to normal. You even call me Freakshow again. Seriously? Limited vocabulary aside you hold back. No problem. I can rest.
But then I can see you making the same calculation in your eyes. Your gaze shifts from my face over my lean, fit body and to my right arm. You’re wondering how much of the damage you did earlier is wearing off. And then I see you set your jaw. Yeah you’re coming at me.
I back to the corner to brace your charge when you put your arms up and fall and twist. Yeah that is a beautiful movement. Round off double handspring maybe coming my way?
Man if my arm wasn’t hurting I’d catch you mid flight and slam you down to the mat in disgust. Unfortunately, I don’t want to chance hurting my arm trying to catch your solid, sexy body.
That being said, I wait. Trying to time this just right. Then you launch ass first. Now I know some of the guys watching would just stay right there and take that attack with a grin. Tempting, but not my style. Instead I move my body to my right, covering my right arm with the left side of my body just in case my timing sucks.
This is gonna be close but if I can move quickly enough, I’m going to avoid the shot and watch your fine ass slam into the turnbuckles.
It was a pretty dismount, but I really am hoping you don’t stick the landing.
-
What the…? The Doll? In a Championship Match?
What kind of podunk wrestling federation is this??
And, Red!?!? Have you suddenly developed an allergy to illegal objects?
Time to toss the “Boy Scout Handbook,” Ape-man!
We’ve got dinner reservations in 45 minutes!
Hey, pipe down, pipsqueak! We're all tryin' to watch Doll whip your man from one end of the ring to the other! ;)
-
"Katherine, I wish you would stop listening to your father concerning 'dazzling' your opponents."
Me too, Mother....me too.
Not blinking my eyes as I go....ights....canvas....light....canvas....lights.....canvas...aaaaaaand spring!
My sweat laden hair flying around as I go, I plant my boots to the boards, coil my thighs and push up....hard. I get some good spring considering I haven't done anything like this in over a year. I launch myself right for you, leading with my round, firm, ass. Bringing my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around my shins, I become a tanned little cannonball as I shoot for your leather encased cranium.. I tense every muscle in my squat frame and really look to hammer you....
.....only to see you off to my right, my mouth opening just as my lower spine rams into the top turnbuckle.
"OOoofffffff!!" I let out with a hard breath, my arms and legs spreading wide as the buckle spears my back and I bounce forward. I land roughly, flat on my face, tits, and tummy and that brings out another 'Uhhhffff!" from the impact. I groan loudly, but it's drowned out by the sounds of loud boos (and some cheers) while I slowly start getting up to my hands and knees. Shaking my head as I drop down to my left elbow, my right hand reaching back and grabbing my lower spine. The pain racing up and down my back, my legs working behind me and the toes of my golden boots pounding the old boards in protest. A pained look etched on my face behind a curtain of stringy strands of blonde hair tells the crowd that it wasn't the best Idea I've had this match but, hey, you have to give it a shot sometimes.
I can still see you in my periphery and I start trying to will my body to move.
It has picked now as it's time to go on strike.
Shit.
-
When presented two options, choose the one most painful for your opponent. Bonus if you enjoy it.
I didn't think people could curl up that small but you found a way. It's probably the sexiest cannonball I've ever seen hurtling by me. But the image of you seeing me to the side and not in your path, that moment of recognition that your rather flamboyant attack with all the energy you expended and the flash of it all is going to mean nothing but pain to you, that jaw dropping and eye widening heartbeat is just priceless.
Seeing that curled up body strike the corner...
your mid back drive into the top turnbuckle...
the pain radiate out from the point of impact...
your body continuing back even as your midpoint stops...
strong legs uncurling and flying downward...
arms flying upward and back...
that lovely face of yours crying out in pain...
your matted blonde hair whipping up and back behind you...
That image is just icing on the cake.
I watch you fall forward hard on your front. Not a chance of anything breaking your fall so I know the groan that emits from your lips is truthful.
The crowd is angry, but high risk, high reward and also high chance of complete fail. Their heroine is down and they don't like it.
I see you getting up, unsteadily onto your hands and knees. Then to your elbow as you reach back feeling the spot where the pain is the worst. Those little boots tap tapping onto the mat.
I have two options here and I need to move quickly to keep up the pressure. One would hurt most and I enjoy, but has a chance of you escaping quickly. The other, not quite as much pain, I won't be able to taunt you, but less chance of getting those feet on the ropes.
Just as you look up with that anguished look on your face, I hop over and straddle your back, facing the turnbuckle.
Then as I line up to the injured area, I DROP straight down with all of my weight onto your aching back.
I can feel your flesh next to mine for the first time in a while where I'm not hurting. You're warm, a sheen of sweat on you. In another setting this would be very nice. But I've got a job to do. Well maybe I should add a little insult to injury I think as I look and see that nice rounded bottom of yours. I bring down both of my palms hard onto both of your cheeks with a loud SMACK as the crowd boos more. I can feel the jiggle in response and it is oh so delicious.
My hands start at your hips and slide down to those well defined thighs of yours, still feeling the heat from your tanned skin and the potential power they hold.
I allow myself a slow smile as I grab out for your fishnet stockings. I'm using the very item you were trying to distract me with to punish you. Catching those stockings and pulling your legs back towards me, bending them.
If I can, I'll snatch your boots as well and bend those powerful legs, tucking your boots under my armpits.
If I've gotten this far, I'll wrap my arms around your lower legs, hands joining at your calves.
By now you should have figured out what is happening, but hopefully it will be too late.
And if I still am in control here, I will jam my boots into the mat...
clench my calves...
power up my thighs...
secure my grasp of your legs...
and leannnnnn back as I yank your legs into a steep bend of a rather nasty Boston Crab.
That's the plan anyway. Inflict more damage to that back you hurt mere moments before.
-
"Sometimes the ropes can be mean...sometimes they can be nice. Always keep them on your good side, Kit-Kat."
No doubt the assembled group of perverts and wrestling degenerates are getting an eyeful as my fishnet clad rear wiggles while I struggle to get up to my hands and knees. My lower back on fire after my botched attempt to nail the Masked Muscle Man with my gluteal cannonball. I grunt, finally getting my palms to the canvas and shaking my head as i start to shift my padded knees and begin heading for the middle of the ring.
It's just about then that the ceiling falls down on me.
Well, not exactly....but 185lbs of Freakshow sure as hell feels close. You hammer down on my already throbbing lower spine and it drops me flat. A loud "Ummffff!" blasting from my lips, blowing stray hair from my face as I'm brought down to my tummy and tits. I shake my head and prop up on my elbows, just in time to yelp as your hands slap down on my round ass. My body jerks from the twin slaps and my eyes widen as the sting travels through my glutes and down my toned legs. I plant my palms on the canvas and try to push up but your weight on my already sore back prevents that from happening. As I feel your hands travel down my legs, I get a good idea of where you're going and I know I'm not going to like this. My legs bent, you hook my gleaming boots under your arms and secure them before powering up and locking in a textbook Boston Crab.
"Ahhhhshit!!" I shout, my lower back throbbing, even more now, as I lean on my left elbow and throw my right hand back to grab at my lower spine. You arch my body into a painful "C", my toned tummy stretched out while my firm C cups halfway come off the canvas, only the topswell on the boards, at this point. I slap the canvas with my right palm, bringing it from my back to do so, while shaking my head "No" as the ref leans in, asking if I'm ready to give it up. My face etched in a pained look, I shake my head again, reiterating my defiance as I grit my teeth against the pain.
You could probably sit here all night and that wouldn't be good for me....my chiropractor....yes...but not me. I let out with another loud groan as I flex and fully extend my arms. My triceps swelling as I bend myself further upwards before tucking and rolling backwards, shooting my body back between your legs so I'm now looking at you while I reach over my head and grab the bottom rope with both hands.
"Ropes!!" I scream at the ref, "I got the ropes!!" I shout, blinking against the pain and hot lights above, waiting for the ref to do a little something in this match.
-
Playing by the rules is fine. But sometimes you just need to cheat like the bastard you are.
I have to admit it feels fun to have such a powerful opponent trapped in a Boston Crab like this. I can feel the muscles in your legs tensing as you fight my wrong way bend. I can hear you cuss which is such a nice indicator that the pressure applied is much higher than the ability of your neural receptors to handle the increased load of impulses from the injured sections of your anatomy. So yeah, this hurts like a bitch.
I can only imagine what the look on your pretty little face is when you feel me cinch in this hold. I'll definitely have to run back the footage on this when it's over. For a moment I think you've given up when I hear the sudden slap. But the loud, commanding "NO" I hear next lets me know you're still in the fight. Good, because I'm not done punishing you yet.
I think over my handiwork and I'm in a good position here. Hold is secure. Your arms are too far away from the ropes. You're not going to be able to push up out of this one. Life is good. Now my arm is taking a break so the pressure on your legs and back is a little more on one side than the other.
I hear you groan again in that lovely way you have and it makes my smile broaden. That brings some boos from the fans who can see me as they can tell I'm taking great delight in hearing your pain. If only they knew how much.
But then I feel you push up. Fine, keep doing that because I know that just magnifies the pressure of the bend and soon you won't be able to....
sonuvabitch!
I didn't think you'd be flexible enough to pull off the move you just did. But once again here I am selling you short. You obviously have some gymnastic training which I need to factor in on my plans. And now you're on your back in front of me desperately grasping the ropes like a tightrope walker who just made a misstep and realizes there's no net below and only by hanging on can he avoid injury.
The ref finally comes along and demands I break the hold and I growl at her as I start loosening my grip on your legs. She decides to impose her will on the situation by gathering her courage, getting in my face and screaming at me "1". I yell back at her even as I move your boots out from under my armpits. By the time she yells "2" I have almost completely let go of you while staring at the ref and screaming more.
Meanwhile, my right boot raises up and drives down onto your prone body. To be honest, I wasn't paying much attention as I was keeping the ref looking up at me. In the spirit of competition, I hope I just drove it down onto your core that I've been working on all match.
Of course, I may have missed and gone low.
Whoops. My bad.
-
"The best piece of advice that I can share with you, Katherine, is....always keep your legs closed. In and out of the ring!"
I manage to tuck in and flip under you, negating the Boston crab, but not your grip on my legs. Your muscled arms wrapped around my golden boots, right at the calve muscle, as I hold onto the bottom rope, my arms up over my head. Gritting my teeth while my fingers tightly coil around the bottom strand, I shake my head as i scream at the ref...
"I'm on the ropes. Get him off me....I'm on the fuckin' ropes!!" I shout as you keep your grip on my legs, earning you another chorus of "boos" while I shriek and try to kick my legs loose. You hold tight, though, milking the ref's count for all it's worth and showing why you're one of the most ring savvy heels the FCF has to offer. I twist and jerk my body, biceps flexing as I continue holding onto the rope, my tanned body hanging in the air, mainly at your whim.
Finally,after the ref admonishes you more, you drop my legs and, after they land with a loud *BANG!* to the boards, I release the rope and prop up on my elbows. My thick legs still spread wide as I shake my head and start going about the business of catching my breath. The ref's screaming at you subsiding as I see you grin underneath your second skin and raise a leg. My eyes go wide while I scramble to move, but i"m not quick enough. "Ref looOOOOOFFFFFF!!" I gasp loudly, my cheeks puffing as your boot hammers low..... REAL low.
I gasp out pain, my mouth opening wide and working like a fish out of water as my hands shoot south and cup my battered mound. I roll to my left, the sides of my boots banging the canvas in protest as a fresh chorus of boots (as well as a smattering of cheers) erupt from the audience.
Once again, the ref is in your face, asking you if you just where that boot landed....as if you're going to tell. My moaning and groaning should be a good indicator, but you know refs.
-
Attempting to keep a low profile, sitting right behind Tiffany and Eva, in a second row seat. Munching on some popcorn, while Tiffany slowly begins to work her sexy ways on Eva, as she watches the match and shouts out her comments..Keeping a close eye on the match, making mental notes, again trying my best to remain silent, but quickly a devilish laugh escapes my lips, as the Doll begins to gasp like a fish out of water..."Ohhhh, that's gonna leave a mark, not to mention, just a tad painful" Looking over at Sadie, as she's concerned about her dinner date, thinking to myself,,she never let's Red enjoy his playtime in the ring, always looking to rush him...tsk tsk tsk...Looking around at the others in attendance, seeing who is actually focused on the match. trying to figure out thier intentions..
-
Don’t play with your food. Opponents you can toy with a bit.
The smack of my boot into your flesh is satisfying, very satisfying. Hearing that gasp sends tingles up and down my body and inspires some intense blood flow.
The ref is yelling at me. I turn to her and she pauses.
My deep brown eyes look almost black and the smile I give her takes her aback.
I turn to see your body facing away from me. Your hands holding yourself. The delicious moans and groans of intimate pain flooding my ears and drowning out the cacophony of boos.
For once the sadistic, twisted look on my face and the wicked smile on my lips is actually more fearsome than the visage on my mask.
I look at my target.
Take a step.
Drop violently down to one knee.
My right kneecap aimed at your lower spine, just above the curve of your well developed glutes.
The bone strikes flesh hard and I feel your body quake from impact.
I lick my lips in delight.
My hands go to your body quickly, trying to prevent you from reacting too soon.
My left snatches a handful of the blonde tresses you are so proud of and yanks them back angrily to expose your neck.
My right goes to your well muscled thigh and pulls back, sliding down your warm, fishnet lad flesh, stopping above your knee,
My biceps and triceps coil and then explode with power as I lean my body forward.
My arms pulling with all their might to bend that strong body back as the bony point of my kneecap digs into your spine and pushes forward.
I lick my lips again in anticipation of the sounds of pain that my hold will elicit from your young body.
-
"Remember, Kit-Kat, the mind doesn't always have to go where the body leads it."
Daddy's dime store, squared circle philosophy sure as hell isn't helping me now.
My hands covering my throbbing mound after your "accidental" tap dance, my legs kick in protest, and I shake my head and grimace in agony while knowing I have to move! While my mind recognizes the danger being in this position puts me in, my body didn't get the memo. Your knee drills in hard to my lower spine, jerking my body as if I've been electrocuted and I howl in pain. "AWWWWWW!!" My scream almost drowns out the din of the rowdy crowd as I go to reach for my back, but feel your large hands already on me. My firm C cups still jiggling as my scalp lights on fire and you stretch my head back, giving the crowd a good look at my agony twisted face. Again your knee goes to my lower back while you grab my knee and bend me around it....using the bony protrusion as a spike to try to break me in two.
"Naaaaahhhhh!!" I howl out again as you bend me almost in half. My firm golden orbs bouncing under the severe low cut of my suit. My right hand grabbing at your wrist while my left waves wildly in the air. I try to shake my head as much as you allow it to move, my teeth gritting against the pain as you continue your methodic punishment of my bronzed body.
"Focus Kat....focus..." I repeat like a mantra in my mind, trying to fight through the pain while most of my nerve endings feel like they're being ground to dust.
-
Everything has a breaking point. Sometimes you just have to remind people of theirs.
The ref seems to have some issue going to ask you if you give up. Mostly because I'm blocking her from going towards your head on one side so she won't see how I'm using your hair to amplify the pain of the hold. The fans that are yours are trying to tell her. Well the ones who aren't manning their camera phones hoping I stretch you so far those marvelous breasts you're so proud of pop free from your suit.
I double down on the hold by curling even more of your hair in my hand and jerking your head back farther so I can glance down and see some of that pain I'm imparting etched on your pretty face. Yes, my blood is pumping and my pulse is racing. The excitement from hearing you cry out. Your hand goes to my wrist and I just smile.
"Go ahead and tug on that if you want, I'm sure it'll make your scalp feel soooo much better."
I sink my fingers into the flesh of your leg just above your knee. I clamp down on that area near your joint to try and damage your leg while I yank back even harder on that sexy thigh of yours.
There is pure delight in the air as your smaller, toned body is being stretched back in an angry C shape, pushing even to the limits of a gymnast to be able to withstand.
And my knee. I feel it hard against the muscles of your lower back. Those muscles trying so desperately to resist, even as they are being forced to flex and stretch. And I start moving my kneecap around to really grind away at that area.
I'm really sweating now under the heat of the lights.
My arm muscles are flexing intently, so much so they look like they are pulsing themselves.
My smile under my mask makes me look even more horrifying.
All because I have the Doll down, and stretching out against her will.
I'm not sure how much longer she can last.
And to be honest, I don't want her to submit. I want her to stay trapped here in this painful hold for some time.
But maybe she needs a reminder of just how badly this hurts.
I ease up on my pulling for a heartbeat.
And then my arms just SNAP back and drive your leg and head back again. Knee really grinding into your flesh.
How much more can you take?
-
"Oh my..." a gasp comes out of my parted lips as I watch intently at the action in the ring.
The camera pans over Kat's stretched body, giving a nice view of her toned belly, then upward on her breasts pushing at the limit against her gear.
Sitting on a large luxury sofa in a unknown office, wearing a black catsuit which is covering my legs and body, cut low to give a nice glimpse of my 38 DD.
I uncross my legs and cross them back to the other side, ass pressing down against the soft material of the sofa.
My right hand instinctively and unvoluntarily slides downward on my meaty thighs, nails tracing along the line quad.
Left hand clenched in a tight close ball.
"Come on...do it..." hot voice mixed with warm breathe out of my lips as the tongue follow the line of the bottom lip
-
Settle down Emily.Save all that excitement for when we finally get together and I squeeze your voluptuous body in my big arms in a tight bearhug. Youll be squeezed into submission and maybe out cold . Looking forward to it.
-
"The ropes are there for you to use, Kit-Kat.....so, use 'em!"
You pull on me mercilessly.....my hair and my thick thigh...working your knee into the small of my back and sending shards of pain searing up and down my spine.
"Awwwwwwww!" I moan loudly, my lips rounded as I throw my head back and squint my eyes against the pain. My right hand still on your wrist as you use my hair for a lever, my left fist pounding the boards....not in succession to give the idea that I'm tapping out....I'm not....but I know I can't take much more of this.
You pull back again, my firm breasts bouncing heavily under the severe "V" cut of my sweat stained suit. My fishnets stretched, a hole appearing in the upper thigh and letting my deeply tanned skin shine through. My flexing leg highlighting my pronounced quad muscle as you tug back and I howl, again, up into the bright lights above. I blink past stringy strands of blonde hair and realize, exactly, where I am. I glance up at the ref and kick my left leg out, hooking the heel of my golden boot over the bottom rope.
"Ropes!!" I croak out, between grunts of pain, "I'm on the ropes....!!" Trying to get the referee's attention and hoping she's passed her last hearing test.
-
You've got till 5. Make it count.
I was able to block the ref from seeing the hair pull. That allowed me even more precious, delicious moments to wear that powerful body of yours down. Your moans are like a symphony floating amidst the sea of boos.
When I snap you back again, I see several camera flashes. You must really be putting on a show for the fans. I can appreciate their enjoyment of your body being stretched out like this, especially with you struggling so mightily and crying out so loudly.
Just when I get ready to snap you again I hear a throaty, harsh sounding "Ropes!" And like some Pavlovian test subject, the ref wheels around to the side she can get to to see your boot on the bottom rope.
"Break it up! Let her go! 1....2..."
I hear the count begin and I pull harder than I have before as I try to time it just right.
"3"
"4"
And I break the hold, putting my hands up to show the ref. My knee, well I may still be grinding it into your back but who can really tell, aside from you. The ref can't, she's too busy yelling at me and I just calmly respond. "I've got till 5."
I get to my feet and slide over to your head, grabbing two heaping handfuls of that lovely blonde hair you like to toss around which is now pretty matted and sweaty from the stress of the match.
The ref starts in yelling and counting again.
"1"
I yank you up to your knees.
"2"
Now I have you on your feet in front of me, back towards me, looking at the ropes.
"3"
See I let go now. Sure you were crying out and complaining, but I released your hair. My arms shoot around your waist and my hands lock together in front of you. I power my arms and pull back on your body.
My hands are on your stomach, digging in near where I've struck earlier in the match. I'm hoping that your core is still pretty banged up from the earlier attacks. My forearms grind into your sides. My biceps press into your ribs as I pull you back into me.
I can feel the heat from your flesh and sweat stained suit against my body as I cinch my hold. Your back pressing against my chest. Those powerful glutes of yours shifting back against me.
In another setting, this would look like the most intimate of hugs. Here in this ring it is just a precursor to violence. My masked face slides against the top of your head. My feet brace onto the mat. My calves and thighs flex in preparation.
With a grunt, I jerk my arms harder into you, my legs powering up to assist in the lift and pull upwards, looking to lift the California Doll up off her feet and in the air. Aiming to shoot you over my head as I drive my own body back with a violent rapidity wanting to slam your shoulders neck and perhaps your head into the mat.
Texas, Mexico and now Germany. It's been a real international affair.
-
"Never count on the ref to save you, Kit-Kat. Mainly because most of them can't count, anyway."
Yeah, and if they can count, it's always slow as hell!!
I lay on my side, being stretched out by this masked, muscled, brute, and the ref can't seem to remember what comes after "3". I let out a piercing howl each time you stretch my tanned, sweat slicked frame out. My jiggling golden globes, while quite the hit with the degenerates in the audience, show the intensity that you continue to awkwardly bend me with.
Finally, the referee figures out that "5" is after "4" and you're forced to release me.I roll up to my left elbow and my right hand goes to my golden mane. My scalp still on fire, even after you release my hair and I moan, rubbing my head as I shake it and try to get my bearings. I don't get long to savor my respite, feeling your fingers lace into my hair again and you start tugging....."urging" me to get to my feet. At this point, I'm ready to comply while the ref stutters out a count, admonishing you for doing what you've been doing this entire match....breaking the rules!
My face etched in pain as I slowly get my thick legs under me. My hands grabbing your wrists to try to alleviate some of the pain in my scalp as I come up in front of you. Again, you release my hair and I moan, rubbing my scalp again just as I feel your thick, muscled, arms encircle my trim waist and start to squeeze.
"Haaaaaahhhhhh!" I groan out, throwing my head back, my hair against your bare chest as I moan up to the bright lights above. I shake my head while gritting my teeth and closing my eyes...struggling to catch my breath while my breasts dance and bounce under my low cut suit. My arms hang limp at my side, my sole purpose is to catch my breath, which I don't seem capable of doing right at the moment. Suddenly, I get the feeling of being jerked up and back, my eyes going wide as my cheeks puff out a loud "Ooommfff!" from behind my lush lips. My boots leave the canvas, my arms and hair fly forward as my legs kick up, folding over as you arch backwards and dump the back of my head and my upper back to the boards behind us in a devastating German suplex.
Landing with a loud, rope shaking, *BAM!!* My legs fold completely over me, the toes of my boots bang on the canvas above my head as my arms spread wide. I see stars and my body goes limp and you keep my body in your grip. My round ass lightly wiggles, the fishnet clad cheeks jiggling in the air with my legs spread and folded over me. I lay there, gasping for air and trying to get the ring lights above to stop spinning.
-
You know that thing about if at first you don't succeed well sometimes if at first you do succeed, keep doing it too!
I love power moves. They really let me get out my aggression as well as show off a bit of my strength. I admit, I don't look like the strongest in the world, but like some of my buddies say, I'm "country strong." It surprises people that I can lift so much but don't look like a bodybuilder. It's all about those lean muscles.
But doing a nice clean and jerk never felt as good as jerking you up into the air clean over my head and driving you into the mat.
I hang on in order to give myself some options. I can already see the ref sliding down towards your shoulders. I definitely have to run the tape back later because I'm sure you're a lovely sight with your legs over your head bent like that and very limp. I could hold you down here and go for the pin. But then I remember how well trained you seem to be. I have no doubt that kicking out at 2 3/4 was part of it. I can't take the risk of letting you have that brief time to recover.
Besides, there are times I just love to show off.
I press down with my back and lift my hips up, my thighs flexing and calves pointed out in the air. My arms cinch in tighter around your waist. I swear I coulda heard a little "ufff" escape your lips as my joined hands dig into that belly of yours that was so strong in the beginning but has been worn down throughout this match.
My hips pop right at the count of 1 and my body twists to my right. Like a delayed domino reaction first my legs, then my hips and then my waist begin to curl over. My torso moves as well, but more slowly as I am having to turn your body with me as well. The ref looks up from her count with a confused look as your shoulders peel off the mat.
Like a hungry gator with his prey firmly trapped in his jaws, I roll myself and you over on the mat. I take a moment to reset.
My knees tuck under me. My arms remain tight around your waist, pulling your warm, barely covered flesh in close, almost intimately close against my body. I can nearly feel the curve of you pressing against me. I get one boot on the mat.
I move the other boot to get it set as well as begin to haul your frame up with me.
Weights on a bar are relatively easy. Bodies that are limp or nearly limp tend to do a lot of moving and wriggling about. I force my biceps and forearms to dig harder into you to make sure you can't worm your way out of this. I'm always assuming you can counter at any time because I've learned to be wary of opponents playing possum.
I get my second boot down on the mat, shoulder length apart and have you dangling in my arms. I could pull you to your feet, reset and fire off again. I worry that that might take too much time .
I can feel my body hunched over yours. My mask has to be scraping against your cheek as I ready myself. I can't help but whisper, "Let's go for another ride Doll" into your ear.
With my feet shoulder length apart, my calves coil.
My knees bend.
My thighs tense.
Then I push hard with my feet.
Calves and thighs exploding with effort.
Arms clenched against your body as they lift.
Leaning back again as I try for a double play with another German Suplex.
Second verse, same as the first.
I hope.
-
I don't know who to feel more sorry for....Doll for being on the receiving end of that suplex. Or Red, when he gets the bill for repairing the ring after using her hard head to put dents in the ring boards. :P
-
"Traveling down the road of pain is always a bumpy ride, Kit-Kat. Sometimes, you just have to buckle up and take your lumps."
The hot ring lights above are still spinning as I blink into them from between my own widespread legs. I feel your muscled arms still around my waist as you roll, spinning me from my back to my fishnet clad ass. I let out another groan as you pull me in closer..."Uhhhfff!", my body limp and drenched with sweat. I shake my head and string strands of my blonde mane fly around while my arms hand limp at my sides.
"No...wait.." I groan, asking for leniency that I know won't come. You're a man in a mask, for Pete's sake....the only 'mercy' you know is at the end of a kendo stick or something along those lines. I shake my head as I feel you tug on my waist again, compressing my diaphragm as I get that feeling of weightlessness and you bring me up and over again.
*BAM!!*
My limp body flies backwards. Hair, arms, and legs trailing before my head and upper back impact hard on the old bards and I see stars again. My legs flop over and the toes of my boots bounce on the canvas above my head. My round ass in the air again, my arms out wide while my chest is pushed up against my chin and I struggle for oxygen.
The crowd lets you know of their displeasure....at least most of them do. Some cheer as you plant me into the stained canvas again. I wheeze, trying to catch my breath as the hot lights gleam off my tanned skin.I look above my head, trying to find the ropes once again, but there nowhere to be found....at least within my grasp, as I see it.
At this point, I'll settle for just being able to see straight, again.
-
When they look left, you go right. Wait that’s the Kansas City Shuffle. You get the idea.
The first time you hit the mat it was nice. The second, well that felt really amazing. And now the crowd is pretty much Pavloved into anticipating the third.
Let’s not disappoint.
My legs fly out and hips pop again.
I roll myself and then you over. Our heads or side by side again and I lean against your cheek a bit to let you feel my sweaty mask stroke your warm flesh just a bit. “Can you handle one more time?” I say wickedly loud for many to hear, not just you.
Half the crowd is screaming for their blonde heroine to do something to stop the evil Enforcer from punishing her once more. They can’t feel what I feel. Your body is drenched in sweat. Your breathing is very labored. The words that do come from your lips sound like babble. I doubt you’re an actress of the caliber to fool me at this. There is little resistance coming from you as I set my feet and begin to lift you from the mat.
The other half of the crowd is nearly quiet. Eerily so. I can’t tell if the vicious impacts you’re taking have them scared for their favorite. Or perhaps the sight of that fitness model body of yours being hauled into the air like a sack of potatoes and then blasted into the canvas with a loud crash followed with a whole body quiver and your ass up in the air has them nearly ready to climax. It could be either.
I disappoint them and I feel that disappointment roll over the crowd even as your fans spike in the levels of their hope.
Instead of immediately driving you into the canvas, I lift you up higher, but straight up. My arms at shoulder level grinding into your ribs and hand digging into your belly as I squeeze you with a reverse bearhug. But I don’t stop there. I move both of us to Center ring and lower you to your feet.
Now both sets of fans are confused and I know the announcers are losing their mind. They’ll see soon enough. I move quickly, like a python sensing my prey is trapped. My leg and arm at the same time.
My left leg moves around your left leg, coiling around that well muscles thigh of yours, my boot snaking around the back of your knee.
My right hand grasping your outfit as best I can while my left arm disengages and slides around the back of your body. I force your torso into a lean to the left which I’m sure sets off a lusty seismic reaction from your chest. My left arm moving under your right arm and then pushing that arm hard to the left.
Younger fans may not recognize this, but I’m sure you were taught this one. A very severe Abdominal Stretch.
I can’t help but smile feeling our bodies so closely intertwined. And my right hand moves low and gives your right cheek just a bit of a slap.
Now there. I think the fans will appreciate this better than a third German Suplex. The question is, will you?
I most certainly hope not.
And the smile under my mask goes wider.
-
From the audience, I stand up in my thin black cotton tank top with my black leather pants and shout, "FINISH HER!" in my mock Mortal Kombat voice.
-
"When things look bad, Kit-Kat, they're usually worse...."
The ring is still spinning and that feels even worse with the hot lights shining down, dehydrating me, and making me constantly lick my lips so they don't crack. And, speaking of 'crack', it feels like my ribs are doing just that as you roll me over, continuing to punish my core and taunting me all the while. If I had the breath I'd tell you to kiss my round ass, but you'd probably just laugh and get turned on, so I won't waste my energy.
The crowd seems like they're staunchly behind their Doll tonight....at least most of them do. The rest of the degenerates are howling like banshees for my blood and hoping their 'heel hero', the big, bad, "Red Enforcer" gives it to them. Well, in the immortal words of the Iron Sheik......"Go fuck yourself!" I shake my head as you put your hooded one right next to mine, asking if I'm ready for another rough suplex. I can only grunt as I tell you 'no' and still struggle to catch my breath. Then the weightless feeling hits me again as you easily hoist my 130lbs up and hold me....giving my already throbbing core some more squeezes and eliciting more grunts and groans from my lush lips. I tense up, waiting for the big drop.....but it never comes. Instead I'm dropped to my boots and I waver on unsteady legs while sweaty strands of my golden mane hangs in my pain etched face.
I shake my head, not knowing what's coming, but pretty certain I won't be liking it.
And, I'm right.
You deftly slide behind me, locking on a wicked Abdominal Stretch. I groan in pain as I'm bent to the left. My already sweat stained suit pressing against my tanned curves, threatening to spill some of the contents if I'm moved to far either way. My right arm high in the air, I plant my left palm against my face and shake my head....wanting to hide the agony I'm feeling as your muscled body locks me up tight, with nowhere to go. I let out another scream as some of the fans start to boo the hooded heel, but I know you just eat that up.
My ring sense knocked out of me a while back, I have almost zero clue as to where I'm at in relation to the ropes or the corner. I reach my free left hand out, the fingers flexing, hoping beyond hope that I'll feel the plastic coated steel cables that are the ring ropes and get a grip on them. Right now, a rope break is about my only chance to get out of this quicker than you plan on letting me go, in my guesstimation.
I can remember almost every corny bit of ring advice Daddy ever gave me, so why can't I remember the counter to an abdominal stretch, applied by a lunatic in a Halloween mask?
-
It's always fun to use people's moves against them. Always.
I know what you're thinking. The Abdominal Stretch? When's the last time anyone has gotten a submission from an abdominal stretch? I've spent a lot of time working over her core to get her weak but still, this is more an inconvenience hold than a true submission.
The fans like the hold. It causes enough pain for the Doll to cry out and struggle. And she does look so lovely struggling. Plus the strain it puts on her outfit gives fans that faint hope that there will be a malfunction and more of her lovely flesh will be exposed. I have to admit, as sweaty as we both are at this moment, her suit is pretty much transparent.
She's reflexively reaching for the ropes with her free arm like I knew she would. Exactly the reason I put us in the center of the ring. This shows me she's struggling. Not just physically, but mentally as well. I'm not sure if it's the pain that's causing her brain not to focus or exhaustion or a combination of both. I do know that I'm resting while she's aching.
Of course if I try holding her like this for too long without any change, she should just go numb to the pain and get a chance to gather herself and figure out the counter.
My smile under my mask widens to almost a grotesque level and I'm sure I actually licked my lips in anticipation. You see, I'm not going to let her sit here without adding a little more to this hold.
My right hand moves over her hip and I give the right side of her cheek that is free a nice sharp smack to the delight of the more lusty fans out there. Not painful, but definitely humiliating. I need her to realize she is in a very very vulnerable position.
I crane my neck over closer to where her blonde tresses are shaking back and forth as she says no to the ref asking if she submits. Such a fighter. Such heart. Time to crush it.
"Earlier, you showed me you had some training in the ways of the Far East. I guess I should be polite and return the favor."
I slide my left arm up a bit on your right arm, causing it to go from 90 degrees straight up to more of a 135 degree position. This adds to the pressure of the stretch which is bonus.
It also exposes a nerve cluster that just happens to reside in your armpit.
My right hand flashes like a cobra towards the now wide open area.
Four fingers grasping the top.
Thumb finding the bottom.
Now the two disparate elements conspire to join together with as much strength that my rather large, rather strong hand can impose.
It should feel like I've attached a workbench clamp to that area of your arm and now I'm turning the pressure up and digging into your nerve cluster and sharing with you a taste of the fire and agony you inflicted on me earlier in this match.
I'm a giver, I know.
-
Shouting from the stands: "GREAT MINDS, RED!!!"
-
What a performance!
-
"If you're going to sell a move or hold, Katherine, always make it a million dollar sale."
Ummm....yeah, no shit Mother. Mr. Freak Show has me bent at an odd angle and the right side of my body feels like it's being torn in half. The howling screams that are being flung from my glistening lips aren't a "sell"....it's pure, unadulterated, pain.
I now realize I'm trapped in the middle of the fucking ring. There are no ropes to be had and no break to try for. I'm stuck here, shaking my head while my face contorts into a mask of pain behind a curtain of sweat soaked, stringy, blonde hair.
My right arm ratchets up higher as you re-position, a bit, and I figure you're just opening me up for more stretching....I should have known better. I should have remembered what nerve cluster lies just under the armpit. I should have remembered who I was in the ring with...a fucking twenty year veteran.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda, I think the expression goes. Not that I have all that much time to think about it before the pain lances throughout my chest and up and down my right side. Feeling like someone is taking a cattle prod to me, my body jerks and I throw my head back...howling at the hot ring lights.
Now, I'm not only contorted like a cheap pretzel, but I'm also being fed even MORE pain through the educated fingertips of Mr. Halloween Havoc.
The ref leans in, "What'cha say, Doll? Wanna give it up?"
I wearily shake my head....."Fuh....fuh....fuck....no.." I groan as my lips part. She shakes her head, "No submission!" she shouts as she steps back, many in the crowd on their feet....booing my rough treatment, a few beer bottles being flung into the ring as the audience shows their displeasure.
Trust me, I know how they feel.
-
When you have your opponent’s balls, well more likely with you tits, in a vise, you can turn the pressure up more than just physically.
I admit. I’m loving the show you’re putting on right now. I know it’s not an act, well it could be extreme method acting like gaining weight to play Al Capone or surrendering to the role like Andy Kaufman or Jim Carey as Andy.
No. Right now we are seeing the true side of the Doll. Pain has a way of stripping away the polished veneers we layer ourselves with to become presentable in society. This match has taken a lot out of us both. It’s lasted quite some time in the heat and we’ve both sweat enough that dehydration may become an issue. You got your shots in my early. In fact if my arm wasn’t still weakened by you, my grip would be so much tighter and this match would be over.
Right now your fans and everyone else is seeing your true nature. When your back is to the wall and there’s only pain around you, your mind clears away all the distraction in your life. Your senses get heightened and that blood pumps faster.
I have you in a position that would make lesser men much less lesser women fold and give into the pain. Your body is stretched to the limit. Your suit itself may be starting to wear down from the strain. That bronzed flesh of yours is shining from the glistening sweat coating you. The blonde tresses you had done up so magnificently earlier are now flowing down your head like a badly overused mop. The moans, cries and agony issued from your lips speaks of physical pain. And when asked, you go from Bratty Blond Bombshell to tough, foul mouthed fighter. And your fans, Dahl House regulars have come to Greensboro and are tossing their beers in the ring. I know they’re visitors because Carolinians would never waste beer like that. But they exemplify where you are now. Backed in a corner and having to fight anyway you can. Physically you are beaten. Now I have to break you another way.
I lean myself over and get your right arm out of my way so while I’m still cranking on the nerve pinch, our heads are temple to temple.
I turn my face around, mask scratching against your flesh as I put my forehead on your temple and face the right half of your face.
My lips brush against your earlobe, breath washing warmly over your ear and cheek.
“Is your daddy in the audience?”
“Is he watching his little girl struggle and squirm? Sweat on her skin. Her eyes almost in tears.”
“Those little sounds you make...they almost sound like...”
-
He's got the whooooooooole world ... IN HIS HANDS.
He's got your little tiny nerve clusters ... IN HIS HANDS!
-
*throws my Perrier in disgust over The Doll getting worked over like this* "BBBBBOOOOOOOOO!" I hiss as I watch the action, "Come on Doll get back into this and kick his ass!" I shout.
(Don't take that personally Red, NOTHING against you at all. Just The Doll is my homegirl).
-
"Well, there's really no such thing as cheating, Kit-Kat, only varying degrees of....bending....the rules."
My body aches. I'm being twisted and contorted like Myrtle Beach saltwater taffy, and I'm starting to feel 'the haze'. That point in the match where, after your body starts rebelling against what you want it to do, your mind starts checking out. I shake my head, trying to fight it. Sweat just drips from my bronzed skin. My hair hangs in sweaty string in front of my face, blowing out each time I exhale. My (very expensive, I might add) suit is stained with sweat and m fishnets are ripped in a few spots.
The sad thing is....I look way better than I feel.
I let out another strangled groan as you continue working my nerve cluster. Your educated fingertips really delivering the pain as you show this crowd, most of whom are firmly behind their Doll, just why you're one of the most dangerous wrestlers on the circuit. I hear your heavy breathing almost right in my ear. Your voice like rough sandpaper over gravel. Menacing. Intimidating. Forceful. My eyelids blink heavily as you start to speak, your breath wafting over my twice pierced earlobe. I expect you to start trying to get into my head....asking for my submission....looking to tell me to scream or some other nonsense. At this point, I'm willing to do almost anything to get the pain to stop.
Then you mention Daddy and I don't hear anything else after that.
That's the problem with these "old school" wrestlers.....they talk too much.
My eyes snap open wide as you mention my trigger word. My parents may be manipulative, money grubbing, opportunists, but try to use them against me in a match and all bets are off. I let out another loud groan as my left arm, that was hanging limply at my side, slowly slides up my thick thigh, the forearm resting there as my fingers flex. As you drone on, my fingers almost seductively slide under the shiny gold of my suit at the leg hole. Yeah, I know the perverts and degenerates will probably think I'm so delirious with pain that I'm now playing with myself, but I'm going for something way more valuable at the moment.
The Packet.
"While this has to be one of the dumbest things you have ever done, Katherine", Mom said as she forced the plastic coated mixture of talcum powder and salt into my palm, "I can't let you go in there totally unprepared."
At first I sneered a 'fuck you' under my breath at her. If this works, though, I owe her a big apology.
My fingers finally find what I'm looking for (The Packet, you perverts! The Packet!) and I slowly pull it from my suit, praying my trembling fingers don't drop it to the canvas. I manage to hold onto it, trying to visualize just where your face is by your voice on my right side. I feel your sweaty material of your mask on my cheek, your lips brushing it and I take a deep breath and hold it.
Stifling a grunt, I swing my left arm up and across my body. My fingernail slicing the plastic coating of the bag as I snap my left forearm up, the hand aiming over my right shoulder as I shut my eyes tight and turn my head....hoping to open your face up to take the full blast of white stuff. (The Packet, you perverts! The Packet!)
Not sure how much, if any, you'll take but if there was ever a time I could say I'm out of options....this is it.
-
When you see a shiny red button with a sign that says "Do Not Press" it's smart to not press it. But it isn't as much fun.
Days like this, I wish my mask had full eye coverage. That really cuts down on your peripheral vision. But it would've helped me out here with this powder/salt mixture on my face.
I have to admit, this girl is prepared. She's been trained very well and I need to stop treating her like a rookie. Whoever's in control of her training has her running like a vet.
I know what you're thinking, surely some talcum powder and salt can't be too effective right? Well that's the mistake people make. They assume the talcum powder is just for show. It's not, it's smart. You use the mixture late in the match and it acts as a double team. The talcum strikes first. It coats the sweaty flesh and dries it out. Then the salt hits. Without sweat to wash out the salt, it just stays where it is. Stinging your eyes until you can wash them out either with water or tears. Now, normally you could just wipe your eyes clear and in a few seconds you're good. But in this instance, the mask hinders me. Oh and did I fail to mention, salt in your eyes burns like a motherfucker.
So in the attosecond that occurred as these thoughts struck me, the pain signals finally hit my brain. There are reflexive actions that are such an ingrained part of your nature that training just can't overcome them. They're nearly autonomic. Protecting your eyes is one of those. My left arm releases you and my left hand goes for my eyes and that proves ineffectual for reasons stated above. I'm forced to give up my grip on you to try and get both hands to get the stinging to stop.
I uncurl from your leg and growl in pain before shooting out my right boot into where I think your bottom is. I would like to say it was to push your body forward and give me more time to deal with my vision issues and not just spite from the pain. But I'd be lying.
I know I'm vulnerable so I try to back up as the stinging gets bad. Of course the damn ref didn't see a damn thing. I mean I have this white powdery substance all over my mask and am rubbing my eyes and growling in pain. What does she think happened? I got assaulted by a sugar donut out of nowhere?
I can feel the ropes bite into my back and I try and listen for you as the palms of my hands do their best to rub away the blindness. I know you're going to come at me.
Going to hurt me.
Going to get some measure of revenge.
Going to pull out every trick you know.
The opening moves have been made. We've tested each other's defenses. I see what she's prepared to do and how far she wants to take this. The middlegame is up now.
And despite the pain....
Despite the frustration...
I'm smiling
-
Leaning forward so Red can see just enough down my thin black tank top, shouting to start a chant...
RED IS GONNA KILL YOU! RED IS GONNA KILL YOU!
-
"When you come across an opponent who 'likes' pain Katherine, always make sure you give them what they like."
An old wive's tale says that throwing salt over your shoulder gives good luck. Never was that more true than right now. I turn my head, close my eyes and say a quick prayer to the Wrestling Gods. My aim is, pretty much, dead on...your grunt and cursing tells me that much. It's confirmed when you release my pretzel upped body and stumble backwards. I slump over to my left side, trying to stay upright just as your boot sole meets my fishnet clad ass. I stumble forward, my left arm holding my spasming right arm as the pain lances up and down my right side. The deep nerve "tissue massage" has my whole right side throbbing and the pain runs up and down my body, a parting gift from the Man in the Mask. One thing is for sure, though, I didn't break out one of my contingencies just to go curl up and die. I need to capitalize.
I turn and see you backed up against the ropes, soaked in sweat while you try to fruitlessly rub the blinding cocktail out of your eyes. Why a pro like you doesn't have clear shields over them, I'll never know. I don't stop to ponder too long on it, though, I'm too busy hobbling over to you...a determined look on my face.
A smile on yours. Are you kidding me?
"Here fucker", I say as I get within range, "let's see how much you're smiling after THIS!" I drop to my knees and swing my left arm up between your legs, looking to nail that bulge and drive it up into your throat. If I nail it, I stand back up slowly, my left arm running up my golden boot, fingers digging into the top of it and pulling out length of gleaming, silver, chain.
"While this has to be one of the dumbest things you have ever done, Kit-Kat", Daddy said as he forced the slim, but strong, silver chain into my palm, "I can't let you go in there totally unprepared."
Thanks Daddy.
I try to keep the chain hidden as much as I can but, at this point, I'm not really caring about getting DQ'ed...I'm more interested in getting some payback on Michael Meyers here. I wrap one end of the chain around my left hand before whipping it around my right, forming a nice choker. As I stand I try to loop the chain around your throat and tug it tight. I hear a few more boos in the crowd, now, as I stoop down to your level (and probably lower) in order to bring some pain to you. I hear one crazy bitch in the crowd shouting "Red is gonna kill you!" We'll see how much she knows when I start choking the shit out of her pimp, here.
If things go my way, we'll see how long you can smile without any oxygen.
-
Oh dear Red, pain is not your enemy. Embrace it. Use it to fuel you. Stop being so soft on your opponents. And so hard on yourself. That's what I'm here for.
I hear a voice in the crowd that sounds like whiskey soaked broken glass. Suddenly my memories of Sadie melt away and the voice takes her place. I'd been years into my career when I met the owner of said voice. In fact, I was thinking about wrapping up my career at that point. Pushing 40 at that time takes a toll on you when you've been doing this thing for as long as I have. Moving onto full time training especially with Sadie (talk about a full time job) seemed to be the right move. But then she appeared. I still can't remember why she started touring around in the same areas. But I kept my eye on her. She had obviously had training and a passion for wrestling. But she also had 'IT', that undefinable quality that just drew your eyes to her. And she knew it. Even then, it took me months before daring to test her out. The chemistry was instant. I remembered why I loved wrestling. I lost myself in the bout and something sparked that day.
Of course it wasn't too much longer that I had one of the greatest matches in my career with her and one other. But that's a tale for another day. Rowan. I could pick her out of the Superdome full of noisy fans, or even Bourbon Street after. One thing consistent about Rowan is that even when I would dominate opponents, she thought I was holding back. She loved to whisper taunts at me. Try to use whatever tricks she could to let me unleash the monster I have inside me. And now here she was, urging me on to just pound this newcomer into dust. I can hear that voice, smell the perfume on her olive flesh...but no. I can't let that side of me free. It wouldn't be right. Not many have seen the Enforcer Unchained. I don't want to do that....
"ARRRGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
The blow is swift, sudden and on target.
Your flexed bicep smashing into my body. Crushing sensitive areas with cold precision. My scream is loud and immediate.
I drop to one knee.
Tears flood from my eyes, helping flush the debris away.
And I start laughing.
It's a crazed laugh. Full of spite and venom and chaos. All thoughts of this being a technical classic are completely out the window. This just became a dirty, gritty street fight.
My laugh doesn't last for long as suddenly you wrap something...metal perhaps around my throat. I know then the championship is no longer the goal here. I've hit a trigger for you by mentioning daddy and now you've got something to prove.
I can sense you standing close by me, feel the heat of your flesh near as you twist and tug and try and choke the life out of me.
Your mistake.
When your opponent is blind, you stick and move. Keep them confused. Make them wonder where you are.
I know where you are.
And you're close because you have to be.
My hands go from my throat to around your legs. Gawd my crotch is on fire again as I shift my body.
Embrace that pain. I can hear her saying.
With a grunt, I look to lift you off the mat. And I try to rise myself. If I can just get you in the air and myself on my feet, I'm going to show you the beginning of pain.
I can't see. My groin has been injured again. My arm is weakened. I'm sweating like a madman. My oxygen is being depleted. I'm in rough shape.
So the only thing I can do now is just lift you up and run. Run quickly and carry you in my arms and run us both towards the corner.
If I can only just get up.
-
"Kick his ass Dolly!" I shout as I get to my feet and clap making a clench of encouragement. *She cannot let Red to his feet, if not she is in deep shit* I think to myself.
-
"When you rack a dude and he starts laughing, Kit-Kat....it's time to run."
Ok that's not advice from my parents, that's just plain common sense. And, yes, I sometimes call myself "Kit-Kat"...don't judge me! Back to common sense. It's a good thing to follow, but not when you want payback.
And that's what I want. Payback.
My bicep flexes before I send it up to play the 'Nutcracker Suite' on your manhood. Your howl is like listening to a symphony....then comes the scratching of the needle on the record.
You laugh.
It's not a jovial laugh. It's not even a humorous laugh. It's maniacal. Insane. I should run, I know, but I don't. Instead, I grit my teeth in determination and wrap the shiny silver chain around your throat. If nothing else it stops the damn cackle that was bringing up goosebumps on my tanned and sweaty flesh. My left hand goes over your right shoulder, my right hand over your left as I move to your side and twist my body, twisting the chain tighter around your throat in the process. I grin down at your gasping face. My lips twisted in a mask of evil. I pull and twist on the chain, wanting it to bite deep into your throat and make oxygen something you have to earn.
I see your body move, your arms snapping out and looking to wrap around my thick legs. Even in this state you still have your ring senses about you while not giving into the panic that would be settling in on lesser wrestlers. I start to move, managing to get my right leg out from your encircling arms, but you get a vice like grip on my left. The quad automatically flexes as I give it a tug, trying to get it out of your grasp, but it's no good. I grunt, trying not to forget to keep choking you with Mr. Shiny here.
A loud grunt and you start to stand. No. Fucking. Way. I shake my head, both impressed and frustrated with you pain threshold as you start to lift me off my feet while getting onto yours. I do the only thing I can, at this point. I swing my right leg around, trying to hook it over your right shoulder before bending it and trying to hook my round, golden booted calve right under your chin. Looking to sit on your shoulder and hook my right boot under my left leg, if there's enough room, I lean back and pull harder on Mr. Shiny, trying to use my newfound leverage to really make your white caked eyes bug out.
"Night, night, Freakshow!!" I growl, my breasts framed by my flexed biceps as I lean back and try to really pour on the pressure.
Daddy, if you're out there, now is the time to snap the pic for the next promo tour.
-
I've got you, little Monster. I've got you. And nothing is going to save you.
Those words ring out in my mind as my plans get foiled by you. I get one of your legs, but like a certain slithery serpent goddess, you slide just out of my total control.
You mount my shoulder as I rise and swing your right leg around looking a bit like a sidesaddle horsewoman who has decided to ride an ox. I've had women clamber over me before, but only a few with as deadly of intentions as this young blonde bombshell.
I can feel her powerful legs on me, one in my grip, immobilized. Not a threat.
The other, moving about my chest then up to my neck to wrap around. Powerful thigh and strong calf flexing against my head. Still partially blinded, I can feel how you're perched on my shoulder. I'm sure it's a very entertaining, exciting sight.
The chain tightens on my neck and I feel the metal biting. My oxygen is being deprived and I'm sure your upper body is straining hard to put this level of pressure on me.
So why did those words pop in my head?
That was a time when a different sensuous fighter had me in a terrible position. I solved that problem with pure brute strength. Unfortunately, this brat riding semi piggyback on me isn't cooperating so the same counter won't work. But I feel her shift. I can feel how she's riding my shoulder. And I'm going to use that.
I grip her leg tighter to try and keep her in place even as she is focused on choking me out. The boos and cheers are beginning to sound muddy as the loss of air becomes more pronounced.
Now or never then.
I bend my knees, tense my legs and jump.
Yes, jump. Straight up in the air. I jostle my unwanted passenger a bit.
And then I drop. But not to my feet.
Right down onto my ass.
Now this hurts me. It sends a serious shock up my spine.
However it also causes my shoulders to drive straight up with some serious force.
The left shoulder and arm flop about.
The right shoulder?
Well it drives upward and transfers some serious force into whatever it strikes.
Not last time. Not this time.
I'm far from done.
-
"Always remember, Kit-Kat, the most overlooked part of the ring is.....gravity."
It's like riding a masked, Brahma bull.....only a Brahma would have a sunnier disposition. I tug back hard, the glimmering chain biting into my hands almost as much as it's biting into your throat. I lean back, counting on my thick, coiled, leg for support. This would be a prime position if I had my left leg free, but..."We do with what we have, Katherine."
Blah, blah, blah.
My biceps rounding as I not only tug the ends of the chain outwards, but up, as well. Sweat pouring off me from the effort and, once again, my eyes go wide as you show not only your strength, but your resolve. You start to rise, getting a good way up before I can react so I'm forced to just go along for the ride. I shake stringy hair from my face as you stand, the jump.....carrying my 130lbs of golden curves with you. We drop and I get that sinking feeling in the pit of my gut. It really is like they say..."It's not the fall that gets you, it's that sudden stop at the end that does the damage."
This is no exception. You drop your ass to the boards, shaking the ropes as well as your spinal cord and mine. Had I not had my hips pivoted up, just a bit, it could have been a very uncomfy landing for me. As it is, pain shoots up and out from my spinal cord and I scream up towards the lights as I crane my head up. My coiled right leg falls from across your throat and I drop off your shoulder and to the boards below....thankful that I had the presence of mind to take the chain with me.
The bad news: The impact to my spine has sent pain tendrils through most of my body and my legs feel like I've just gotten up after sitting on them for days.
The good news: You just dropped 130lbs of California Doll onto your already damaged right shoulder.
Well, it's good news for me.
-
Remember, there are more was to punish than just using brute force
I hate wrestling agile opponents. They slide, slither, bend and matrix dodge all over the place. The best thing for me to do is inflict pain so they slow down. My right shoulder struck her hard I know it. But even so, there?s a numbness down that arm.
I can?t delay. My ass hurts but I?ve had worse.
I roll to my right just to get my feet under me and up. Moved closer to her as well. I?m working my jaw that she has clamped with her leg and closing the distance. The ref, I have no idea where she is. She must be letting us play by ECW rules which is fine by me.
I move in on my prey as she lies curled a bit on her back and side. Doesn?t look like those legs are moving too well so she can?t really get away. But I keep a respectable distance while really moving my jaw.
I bet it looks like she damn near broke it. But with the ref behind me and out of he line of sight I lean forward. Looking for all the world to be ready to taunt this little brat.
My lips part into a wicked smile.
And a bright red mist sprays from my mouth and towards the Doll?s eyes and face
When I?m done spewing the caustic mess from my lips I slide out of the ring and each in with my left hand for Kat?s lovely blonde locks.
Time to move this battle to the outside.
Time to lay into her with some pain.
-
"MIST!?" I blurt out, jolting in my chair, leaning over the guardrail with a look of shock and disgust. "Really, Red!? You're gonna spit red MIST at the kid!?!"
-
"Booooooooooo you cheater asshole Red!" I yell as i hope my friend can withstand the cheating move.
-
Glaring at Kelly: "Shut up, loser!"
Back at Red: "GO, BIG GUY! PUT HER DOWN FOR THE COUNT!"
-
Looks at Rowan "you have something to say hun?" *folds my arms*
-
"Never trust a masked man, Kit-Kat."
And that's saying something coming from a man who spent years 'under the hood', as they say. One good thing about wearing a mask, it rarely gives away what you're feeling.
The look on my face now, though, says it all.
That hurt.
Even though you just dropped a luscious 130 (give or take) pounds on your shoulder, the pain that shoots up my spinal cord threatens to give that right shoulder of yours a run for it's money. I let out a scream as I drop off your shoulder and to my right side, landing with a loud *THUD!*. I shake my head and prop up on the elbow, my left hand rubbing my lower back, trying to massage the tendrils of pain away.
I have to start moving or, at least start to roll away. The way I see it, the change of venue would do me a world of good. Before I can't going though, you're in front of me. A ghoulish grin under an even more ghoulish mask as you lips part and then things go.....red.
I howl in pain as the red mist covers my eyes and I reflexively blink hard. My tear ducts start working overtime as I dig the heels of my hands into my eye sockets and try to rub the crimson hue from my eyes. Dropping to my back, my legs bicycle while my boots rhythmically pound the boards, barely jiggling my firm, thick thighs. I flop like a fish out of water, unable to see and the pain starts putting my threshold to the test.
As if things weren't bad enough, a wave of pain explodes in my skull and I'm rolled around to my hands and knees, forced to go where my hair is being tugged towards.
Too bad I can't see where that is, at the moment.
-
*hrm*
-
If your opponent won't change her mind, change it for her by rattling it around her skull
There are few things more lovely than watching a woman on her back in the throes of passion. While not exactly passion, the writhing and undulating my opponent's body is making in her very tight, very sexy outfit come pretty damn close.
I'm almost sorry to have to interrupt, but pain does not wait. I know it's not waiting for me. This adrenaline rush I'm riding is bound to run out soon and then all the pain I've felt is going to rush back like relatives you didn't know you had when you win the lottery. But this doll has woken up my wrath and I'm gonna show her why she needs to fear me.
Usually pulling someone over like this when blinded is a lot quicker. But to be honest, I'm only pulling with one arm. My right is still kinda trashed for now with pain and the shoulder may be out. I'll have to remember to get that operated on one day.
I'm pulling the sexy doll over to the edge of the ring and she's on her hands and knees. Not only does this give the opposite side a very lovely view of her full, fit bottom as she moves, it keeps her hands from wiping off the mist too quickly and that stuff really affects you the longer it stays in your eyes. I hated when Kabuki would put on his demonstrations of the different colors of mist and use me as a freakin' practice dummy. I can hear the hooting and hollering of the rowdy crowd, so they really must be getting a nice view. I bet she's got some kinda wedgie going to get that loud a reaction. She should feel special, Her ass is about to be Twitter famous.
I pull her through the bottom and middle rope and encourage her to lay a little flatter with a forearm between her shoulders. Her belly has to hurt when it meets the bottom rope like that. I shake out my right arm after that blow because it's like a million pins and needles. Yeah, the pain I've been trying to ignore is coming back. I gotta keep on this quickly.
My left hand releases her hair and my left arm wraps around her head as I keep up my crazy smile. Here I am, sweat pouring down my body, lips looking like blood is flowing from the sides, my pale freckled flesh looking a bit flushed, but under my scary mask is a smile that goes from ear to ear and maybe farther as I set up my target for the next step on the path of pain. I can hear her fans yelling for me to stop, don't do it even as some others cheer for me to pound that Yankee doll senseless. (I know California isn't the North, but Yankee pretty much is anyone not from the South and even some Floridians.) I mentally prepare for this and, like a lightning strike, drop down to my back quickly...Her head in my grip. A Hangman's DDT from the ring to the floor. That should rattle some sense into her noggin.
JC: HOLY @!#$#@#$
BW: Language Johnny, we're trying to keep it PG.
JC: That was a vintage DDT! I haven't seen anyone use that since..hell that Lady DDT woman over in Japan!
BW: That is definitely not a move out of the Enforcer's playbook.
JC: It's a sign Bob. The California Doll has taken it to the big bastard and now he's gotta whip out all kinds of moves to try and take her out.
BW: But is this desperation Johnny or is he just trying to show off?
JC: I don't know Bob, but for her sake, I hope she can pull it together.
-
After the DDT...
"Hey! That's my m--"
Stops. Looks around. Makes sure nobody noticed.
"YAY RED! WAY TO STEAL THAT LADY DDT'S MOVE!!!"
-
"OH MY GAWD NO!!" I scream out loudly as Red snaps back to nail the Hangman's DDT on the Doll, driving her head/face first into the arena floor. I groan and shudder as the impact of the kid's face smacking into the ground echoes throughout the ring side area. "Ugh, c'mon, Red! Are ya tryin' to kill the kid!? That was too damn far!"
Abruptly, I pause in mid-rant, and turn to Rowan arching my brow.
"WAIT, hold up a minute. What did ya just say just now??"
-
"What's your prediction for the fight?"
"My prediction?"
"Yes, your prediction."
"Pain!"
Ok, that wasn't any ring advice I ever got from either of my parents, but was from an old movie about a boxer who fights Mr. T. This isn't boxing, but the words couldn't be more true.
Pain. The searing kind. The kind that seems to attack you on a cellular level and make you want to scratch your skin off. Whatever sort of red gunk Freakshow spit in my eyes, it's burning like a California wildfire. My eyes continue to water as I moan and flop on the canvas like i'm having an epileptic fit. I (obviously) can't see and the blood rushing to my head makes hearing anything that much harder. Of course my pain receptors are firing on all cylinders and my scalp feels like someone's using it for a pin cushion. I'm being pulled along by the hair and I compliantly roll up to my hands and knees, forced to abandon my attempts to get this crimson shit out of my eyes as I'm brought to the edge of the ring....I think. I'm sure the gathered crowd, some baying for the blood of the Dahl House Champion, is getting a nice view of my fishnet clad rear as my suit had steadily been sliding up between my toned ass cheeks. I shake my head, grimacing while sweat and red powder fall from my face and I feel the ropes. Edge of the ring confirmed. The pressure from your arm flattens me and you drag my chest and tummy over the bottom rope until only the toes of my boots remain hooked over the strand. My arms waving wildly as I groan..."No...wait.....please...." just before I get that sinking feeling, my arms flailing, and it's lights out.
Well, not quite 'lights out'...that would be too easy, you see. Instead, I'm treated to a lightshow of stars as they dance in my field of vision and my skull feels like it was just used for a pitching backstop. My head throbbing as I slowly roll and try to pull my legs in closer to my body. I still can't see and can still barely hear while I try to roll to my back and, again, dig the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to get the red dust out of my eyes. I crawl along the dirty floor like a bum trying to score a free cigarette butt. Finally, getting to the guard rail, I grab the cold, steel, bars, and try to get to my knees. I feel a hand grab my chin and I know it's not yours because it just holds it, as if trying to hold my head still. I open my mouth to start to protest a fan touching me when I feel cool liquid start to run over my eyes and down my face. The burning stops and my vision starts to clear, albeit a bit blurrry. I blink rapidly as things go from a red haze to an out of focus arena with a bunch of slack jawed fans gaping at me. I squint and glance around, trying to find my mysterious benefactor (it could have been anyone, who knows?), but no luck. I need to focus on where -you're- at and I start to turn to face the ring, still on my knees, but doing a bit better than I was just a few minutes ago.
Unfortunately, I don't think that feeling is going to last.
-
If they won't go the way you want 'em to go, encourage them. With pain.
Moves on the outside are powerful, impactful and bring out the "Oh Shit!" factor in fans. The only problem is when you drop someone on their head with a DDT on the floor, you end up hitting the floor yourself. As much of a pounding as it hit Kat with, I'm on my back and it just hurts.
My shoulder is screaming at me and I think part of the air got knocked out of me. I lie there and think, Damn I'm getting too old for this
I'm sure after all the bumps, bruises, broken bones and hearts people wonder why I still do this. I smile and remember being on my back on the cold concrete at age 17 (yes I lied about my age) in Charlotte after a training session. Building rings before Great American Bash tours all over the US. Being up close and seeing the Midnights and Cornette, the Horsemen, Dusty, all my favorite heroes and villains.
If I weren't doing this, I'd probably be slaving my days away behind a generic desk typing on a generic computer wearing generic work outfit and watching the clock till quitting time.
This, the rush of adrenaline, the pain, the sweat, the blood, all of it reminds me I'm alive. And as I come out of my reverie, I look over and see my opponent recovering from the move and crawling so slowly towards the railing for escape or a time out. She's a good kid. Needs to grow up some in the business and maybe get knocked around a time or two and learn to respect her elders. She's been taught well, but experience is the best teacher. I haul my aching self up (I am going to need a long stay in the big tub tonight) and make my way over to her.
It looks like she got some water to wash off the mist but that won't help her right now. I put my left hand on the railing to brace myself. Towering over her as she turns to face me. I'm sure she still can't see me so I snap quickly and launch my right boot into her battered core to make breathing a bit harder. I smile at the feeling of her flesh being mashed under my boot. Once I get my foot down on the concrete, my hands go for her hair and haul her up to her feet. I can't believe this tiny young thing has given me so much of a fight in this match. I need to shut that down before she can regroup though.
My right arm snakes between her legs and I grab at the back of her suit near her bottom. My left hand on her right shoulder to brace as I haul her up in the air. I really want to press slam her into the fans, but the damage she's done is making just lifting her 130 lbs frame a chore.
I'm not going to get her up all the way. Time to adjust. I get her up to shoulder height and move her right over the railing. The fans are cheering wanting her to make a guest appearance. I just smile and let her go. I've aimed that belly of hers right over the guard railing. That should knock some of the fight out of her. I just hope it's enough. Because damn, my arm is throbbing now.
-
"Even if you hate your opponent, Katherine, always give them a modicum of respect."
My eyes are still going like Niagra Falls, working overtime to try to wash whatever Far Eastern, powdery, concoction you spewed into my eyes. The water (thanks again, mysterious fan!) helped, a lot, and turned things from "red blobs" to "sort of in focus blobs"> I shake my head as I turn, only to see a pair of muscled legs right in front of me.
"OOOOFFF!!" I grunt out loudly from pursed lips as your boot drills down into my flat tummy. My cheeks puffing as the hard exhalation of air blows sweaty hair from my face and my ass jerks back towards the very appreciative crowd. My arms wrap around my lower tummy, biceps framing my golden globes while I struggle to catch my breath. My core feels like mush and I can barely do a sit up, at this point. It's all I can do to keep breathing and my gasps and pants punctuate that fact. I just want to sit here and catch my breath. Just for a few minutes. That's not asking too much now, is it?
Apparently, it is.
You hands in my stringy, golden, mane as you "encourage" me to get back up to my boots. I, reluctantly, take your sage advice and get to my feet. Whining and gasping the whole way up. You easily hoist my 130lbs up into slam position, but don't quite get me all the way there. Instead, I just hang suspended in the humid air. Shaking my head and gasping out, "No, no...puh...puhleese..." while my limbs hang limply. As easily as I go up, I go back down. The guardrail almost cutting me in half as you drop my toned tummy across it.
Another loud "AWWWWWFFFFFF!!" blasts from my lips, my mouth works wordlessly as I close my eyes and shake my head. A look of abject agony etched on my sweaty face, I go limp. My arms and upper body draped over the railing and into the crowd, my spread legs and fishnet clad rear pointing towards the ring. My golden skin gleams from the lights above as a hush falls over the once rowdy crowd. A steady chorus of "booos" now echo in the grimy venue...not that I would know much about that, trying to get my lungs to start working again, and all.
Never think things can't "get worse"....because I'm here to tell ya....they sure as hell can.
-
Don't ever humiliate an opponent. Unless they deserve it, then kick them in the balls if you have to.
I lean against the railing. My shoulder is screaming at me for that, but it was worth it. This pain in the ass brat has been trying to out heel me the whole match. Pulling out all her tricks to try and take me down. I need to make this hurt.
I stand there gathering myself. Sweat is just dripping off of me. My mask is plastered tightly to my face, some of the powder mix still on it. My chest and abs have a reddish flush from heat and exertion. I flex my fists to keep the blood flowing in my arms, especially my right one. My standard tights feel a bit tighter now against me as this match has me very stoked. I need to send this girl a message. One that she won't forget anytime soon.
My eyes shift over to where I hear my old nemesis Johnny Caudle barking like the trained seal he is into the microphone.
A slow smile plays over my face.
I look down at my opponent, body nearly bifurcated by the railing. Her ass up in the air and her suit nearly wedging tightly between.
My smile gets wider.
Yes this takes precious seconds from me, but it sure as hell is going to be worth it.
I grab her suit just above her hips and pull up. Then with a hard, vicious streak I snap the fabric forward, shoving it hard, splitting your cheeks and giving the front row a lovely sight to see.
But I'm not done.
I pull back with my left hand and slam the palm quickly and sharply onto your left cheek and then the right....Hard enough to get some red on that bronze flesh of yours. And then I just shove you forward into the front row, to the surprise and delight of the folks in the audience.
Smile still plastered on my face, I wheel around and stalk towards the announcing table...
JC: Oh fuck, that sunuvabitch is coming this way!
BW: Johnny, I've been told by production to go to the back. I'll see you later.
-
"I WANT TABLES!"
clap! clap! clap clap clap!
"I WANT TABLES!"
clap! clap! clap clap clap!
-
"Always cover your ass, Katherine."
i feel like I'm gonna hurl.
My tummy feels like jello and I'm having trouble breathing. I'm gonna guess between two and three broken ribs. The loud "boooos" from the rowdy crowd letting you know exactly what they think of your treatment of their favorite blonde bombshell.
My core pretty much shot means I can hardly move. My upper body hanging into the audience, some hands on my mostly bare back, in my hair, trying to feel around to the front and my globes. I jerk and spasm as best I can to try to shake them off. I want to scream, I want to tell them to "Get the fuck off me!", but my lack of air only makes it sound like garbled wheezes...mainly because that's what it is.
I know you're on the other side, probably getting another eyeful of my firm and round ass.
It's confirmed as I feel you grab my suit and give me an atomic wedgie, splitting my gymnastic hardened glutes as I let out a breathless grunt. I limply shake my head, my body barely twitching as you give my ass two hard, loud, *SMACKS!!* The pain registering but, compared to the rest of my bodily suffering, it's nothing. My head tries to raise a bit, glaring at some of the crowd from behind a curtain of sweaty, blonde hair.
Still struggling to breathe, I hang there...my head dropping again as I'm forced to stare at the dirty, disgusting, floor.
I tense up as best I can, waiting for the other boot to drop.
-
When you have the chance, show no mercy finish the job
I can hear my girls screaming in my own head at me as I stalk over tot he announce table and clear it off. Sure I want to punish this girl, but I don't want to have to pay for the electronic equipment. I turn back as Johnny looks on me with disgust. He knows I probably could finish this off in the ring. He also knows I'm the type that doesn't forgive too easily. And this brat, with all her skill and training has just pissed me off.
That's part of the reason why I feel the need to humiliate her a bit more. I can tell she's proud of her body by the outfit she's wearing. She's proud of her strength and her skill. She's won over a few fans, but I just need to show her that she has a bit more to go. A less bratty attitude for one would go a long way to help.
I grab a nice handful of her hair and lift her up a bit off the railing. Camera phones come out and take images of her worn down visage, half covered in sweaty matted blonde hair. I'm sure she still looks pretty, even with the remains of the red mist looking like a bad make up job. Of course there are fans pointing the cameras lower as her revealing suit looks teasingly like it's going to fail at any moment, especially as I make her arch her back up. I know her core is aching and having her bend like this is making her abs grind into the metal.
The fans nearby want some more from me. And I indulge a bit, leaning to her ear and whispering, "Brats get spanked when they get too out of line" followed by sudden, swift smacks across that pert bottom of hers. Enough that when this match is over, she'll feel the heat of my hands even in the shower and see the red for a while.
Then I hear my most bloodthirsty fans screaming for the table. and now is the time for that. I finish peeling the Doll off the guardrail and get her to her feet by her hair and drag her along to the announce table, turning her so the table is behind her.
"Very nearly done now Doll...very nearly done now."
-
*cringes in my seat for my friend as she is about to be seriously hurt* "Come on Red, she has had enough and you know it!" I hiss.
-
I crouch down, right in front of Doll's limp body as it hangs over the guardrail. That landing on the rail made my core ache, so I could only imagine the pain that's swelling inside the Doll's ragged body right 'bout now. That humiliating spanking made me blush, and probably punched a few holes into her willpower as well. And it certainly left a mark. I stare deeply into her perturbed face, watching her struggle to even raise her head, the color drained from her cheeks, her eyes glossed and filled with anger, shame and pain. I reach out with my left hand, gently stroking her soft face, brushing away the strands of her sweaty blonde hair that curtains those darkened eyes. And I lean in close, my lips brushing over her cheek before they hover above her ear, to whisper to her "c'mon kiddo.. get your ass up.. this ain't over..c'mon sugah wake up, ya gotta keep fighting.." I plant a warm kiss on her cheek, before I rock back on my heels and take a step back from her.
Red's there now, leaning in and grabbing a handful of the Doll's hair, peeling her off the rail with the wickedest intentions swirling about in that thick, masked head of his. I narrow my eyes at him darkly and grasp the rail that the Doll was draped over a second ago, the heat of her luscious body still warm on the cold metal. I hiss out loudly as I watch Red drag the kid to the table, "ohh, don't ya DARE.."
-
"The waiting is the hardest part, Kit-Kat."
"That's from a song Daddy!"
"Umm...no...it's not."
Sweat drips off my skin, into my eyes and down my mostly bare back as I hang over the rail like a puppet who's strings have just been cut. I hear a voice right next to me, on the spectator's side of the rail....
"C'mon kiddo.. get your ass up.. this ain't over..c'mon sugah wake up, ya gotta keep fighting.."
Even through the pain and suffering I recognize the voice and accent of my pal, Tiffany. I wish I could follow her advice, get up, keep fighting...but I can't. I'm spent and hurt. A gentle kiss to my cheek helps to soothe some of my suffering, but the respite doesn't last nearly long enough.
My scalp on fire as my hair is tugged, pulling me up just enough to give the sea of perverts and degenerates in the crowd a nice look at the pain and agony etched on my face. My own mask, as it were. You tell me what happens to "brats" and then go on to show me. Some hard smacks to my fishnet clad ass has my body lightly bucking, the pain tingling down my hamstrings and to my rounded calves. I shake my head in protest, still trying to catch my breath while m shattered core hangs over the cold steel of the old guardrail.
You drag me slowly off the railing, your hand still in my hair. My hands weakly come up and grab your wrist in a vain attempt to lessen some of the pain in my scalp. My golden boots drag along the dirty concrete as you haul me over towards the table and, if I know anything about the the wrestling business (and I do), a cruel fate.
-
Make no mistake Red...inflicting pain can be fun, but there are times when inflicting humiliation is all the sweeter.
I have you standing before me, the announce table behind you. Johnny Caudle has to be getting a mindblowing view of those firm and reddened glutes of yours with that wedgie you have now. Your blonde hair is a sweaty mess atop your head and covering your face. Your tight golden suit is now so soaked in perspiration that it's nearly translucent and clinging to your body. So much so, it leaves very little to the imagination. The look on your face, if I didn't know you were wrestling, I'd say you were doing one too many shots. You're out of it, fighting on instinct. Brave woman to the end.
Now, it's time to put this match to bed.
But first....I take one hand and move your hair away from your face so you can see me clearly. "Tiffany gave you a little spark with that kiss of hers I'm sure. Now it's time to take that away."
My hands on your cheeks, I pull your face towards mine. Our lips meet and you struggle. I kiss you hard, strong. A message to let you know what you signed up for when you decided to challenge me. And while you struggle, my right kneecap flies up swiftly and bashes into your soft body. Low. Low enough to make you bend over gasping once I release you.
I guide your head between my thighs, flexing and grinding them against your head. My arms wrap around your waist even as the flashes start happening again. Everyone wants a picture of this, the moment the Doll was broken.
With a grunt, I haul your athletic body into the air, snapping you over so that your legs are resting on my shoulders. I leave you perched there for a few seconds so you can recognize what's going on.
And then....
My arms pull down hard on your belly as I jerk you off my shoulders and down.
What's it like to have the air rushing past your body before it slams into something solid?
I wonder if that's one of the lessons your daddy taught you.
-
I GET TABLE!!!
clap-clap-clap clap clap
I GET TABLE!!!
clap-clap-clap clap clap
I GET TABLE!!!
clap-clap-clap clap clap
-
"The best way to learn how to inflict pain, Katherine, is to take it."
The light and the darkness are now merging. One moment, bright light shines in my eyes, the next...nothing but blackness. I'm fading in and out and can barely move under my own power. My red, almost bare ass cheeks sting, my scalp's on fire and I'm still blinking tears from my eyes as red goop runs down my face. I bump into something as your hold on my hair forces me to move along with you.
The announcer table. How nice. It doesn't take a teen wrestling prodigy to realize where this is going. My only, hazy, thought is how long it's going to take.
Your rough palms and fingers cup my face and pull me in, spouting on about "sparks" and "kisses" and whatnot. I'm just trying to stay upright....it'd be pretty embarrassing to pass out in front of all these people. The next thing I know your rough, slimy lips press to mine as you give me a kiss devoid of anything but malice.
The Kiss of Death.
Ok, maybe not "death", but something that feels pretty close. The next thing I know your knee crashes into my already destroyed core, eliciting a loud groan and doubling me over so you can stuff my head deep between your thickly muscled thighs. My arms drop limp to my sides while your arms wrap around my tummy and the room spins as I'm jerked up and over. My legs landing on your shoulders while my thinly veiled womanhood is almost right on your face. It's all one quick, fluid, motion, but it feels like it takes weeks to do. Up....then you tug me back down as my arms go wide, a blank look on my face as my broad back plants into the table, my arms spreading wide on impact.The table splits in two and my descent continues down to the cold concrete. Half of the table on either side of my body, my legs fold over my body and the toe of my boots drop over my head to the dirty concrete.
That's when things go really dark.
-
I GOT TABLE!!!
clap-clap-clap clap clap
I GOT TABLE!!!
clap-clap-clap clap clap
I GOT TABLE!!!
clap-clap-clap clap clap
-
At the end, when you pretty much have things won Most people would just go for the pin Not you, you big Ape. You finish any bitch or bastard in your path with style. Now hand me the remote, Alabama vs Clemson is on and I wanna see your face when those Tigers lose again.
Ass over teakettle is what Johnny would call it in his deep southern accent. I'm sure he's saying that to the home viewers even as he's getting an eyeful of some seriously scrumptious booty like he hasn't seen in some time that close up. But as much fun as he and the crowd seem to be having (Oh yeah, /r/WrestleWithThePlot is going to have a new cover girl after this match) I can't pin you out here. So I lean down and smack that bottom to help you finish your roll over.
Ewww, was that buttery popcorn and beer you just kinda landed in on your belly. Yep, glad that's not me. Greenhorns gotta learn the hard way. I have to admit, the bounce as you landed on your belly with the accompanying jiggle of those legs all the way up was impressive. But we got a match to continue, so...
I reach down and grab two good handfuls of that blond mane you're so proud of and half drag half haul you along, forcing you to your feet as I move you towards the corner near the steel steps. I toss you headlong to the apron and watch as that hard edge is driven right into your gut. While your upperbody lays out on the apron, legs barely holding you up (in fact, if they weren't so damn jacked, you'd probably be on the mats on your ass) I climb the steps and stand near the corner.
I know no one knows what's coming next. I'm sure they think they do, but I'm about to try something I've only done once before. You should be proud. You fought hard, fought dirty, fought to win and now you're making me bust out a move I've only done in private or in spars and in one particular match. Congratulations I guess?
I reach down for your hair again and peel your torso off of the apron. Does any part of you not jiggle? I swear for someone so fit, you do bounce in all the right places. I coax you into climbing up onto ringside by pretty much damn near ripping your hair right out of your scalp. And as you slowly move up, I start a slow ascent of the corner.
BW: I'm sorry for the interruption fans, we're back on now. Our table is destroyed and there's carnage everywhere and the Enforcer is still not done.
JC: That sick sunuvabitch isn't gonna do this..
BW: Johnny, you can't interfere, you know the contract you signed.
JC: I know dammit, but that damned Enforcer is gonna do a Super Hugo!
BW: You don't mean...
JC: Yeah, the move that retired me.
It takes a bit but I have you. I'm on the top turnbuckle sitting down and I have you in front of me. I stand up on the top turnbuckle as people are gasping. I am holding you up by your hair and it sure does look like you're having a hard time breathing. I force you up to the middle turnbuckle And as I lean down, I say just loud enough for you to hear. "You've been trained well darlin, but no amount of training can prepare you for this pain. Go back and learn some more. Then come find me."
I pull your head between my own strong thighs and wrap my arms around your waist. I can't resist giving that battered core of yours one last harsh squeeze before hauling you into the air. The ropes shake just a bit and the audience gasps. Dammit, this is trickier than I remember. I get you settled up on my shoulders and let you sit there for a moment. Open those eyes for me so you can see just how bad your situation is.
Ahhh...there you go....
And just as I feel you about to start jerking about in fighting mode, I launch us both off the top rope. I pull you down so your arms catch my legs and your back is lined up as the first thing to hit the mat.
The sound of the impact is gonna be loud.
Can't wait...heh
-
*gasping as I watch my friend get really wrecked by the bully*
-
"Of the five senses....the sense of humor is the most important, Kit-Kat."
"Umm....Daddy..."
"Don't argue with me, Kitten"
"It's called a "stinger" Katherine", Mom would explain every time she'd deliver a big Spinebuster to me as I came off the ropes and she dropped me on my back. My legs would tingle and I wouldn't be able to move them for a a few seconds. Not the best of feelings, but there are worse things you can suffer in the wrestling business.
A broken back being one of them. I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure my spine is shattered into a million pieces. I'll never walk again. I'll be in a clunky back brace for the rest of my life. I'll..... Wait a second...hold that thought.
"Ughhhshit....my hair..." I groan as you peel my off the dirty floor using my sweat slicked tresses. You bring me up and I'm suddenly healed....or I'm over reacting and my back wasn't that bad off. It still hurts like a bitch, my left hand on my lower spine attests to that, my right planted on your hip just before you whirl around and send me to the apron. The hard edge almost cuts me in half and I fold over it, my arms jerking out as my upper torso plants on the old canvas. "OOoofffff!" I gasp again...for the one millionth time in this match, my fingers clawing and digging my nails into the canvas, trying to stay upright. My legs are jelly and the rest of me isn't too far behind
Things are going in slow motion now, my brain not properly processing all the stimuli around me as you bring me up and tuck my head between your legs again. My hands holding onto your rock hard thighs for dear life as you set me up and the ring spins once again. I get a feeling of weightlessness as you take us out of the corner and back down to the boards. Even in this state, I still manage to spread my arms to help cushion the fall...for all the help -that- give me. A loud, rope shaking, "KA-BOOM!" rings out and my body flop like a broken marionette whose strings have just been cut. I flop once, then again, before coming to a half in the middle of the ring. I black out...twice, I think, and wake up to the hot lights above me spinning like a helicopter. My legs refuse to move....they'll spasm uncontrollably, but they refuse to move.
Someone call my chiropractor....or a surgeon, I'm still not sure which.
-
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9JArvEJ64M
-
A win's a win. It can be 7 star in the Tokyo Dome or it can be bowling shoe ugly. Just get the win. And some snacks. I need some snacks if you're gonna make me watch another 80s movie.
I honestly never thought this match would go this far. Sure, I'd heard of the California Doll (which admittedly brought up memories of that classic movie from back in the day) and seen some tape of her in action, but you never really know how skilled an opponent is until you mix it up with them.
She's not good.
She's amazing.
She didn't start off intimidated and hasn't backed down. She brought up old school tricks that kept me off guard. But luckily enough for me, I had one trick more than she did. I have no doubt I'll be seeing her again in the future. And to be honest, I can't wait.
All those thoughts cross my mind when we leap. It's amazing how fast the speed of thought really is. I have enough time to think these things and get a broad grin on my face at the thought right before we slam hard into the canvas, shaking the whole ring.
Fuck. I hung on too tightly and my shoulder got jarred.
I do my best to hang on to your waist with my left arm as my right hangs a bit limply. Yeah, I probably knocked it loose. But this should be enough. I don't think you're a horror movie villain waiting to do the one last jump scare at the end of the match.
I shift my hips forward a bit to angle your shoulders farther to the mat, my thighs and calves running parallel to your torso, with my ankles pressing down on your arms to keep you pinned down. Your nicely tanned and toned legs resting on my chest, spasming a bit I'm guessing from the impact.
I look down at your face, semi-covered by the sweaty golden locks. Your eyes are fluttering between open and shut. Just a little bit longer. Stay down just a little bit longer.
"1!"
Shit, she's twitching....Come on..come on...faster with that slap...
"2!"
-
"Come on Doll hun ger up!" I yell as i stand hopimg beyond hope my friend can get kick out of the pin....but have my iPhone in my hand ready to call 9-1-1 in case she doesn't since I don't see any medical EMT's around.
-
I think we need another Kat..this one is broken!
-
"Always remember, Katherine...there are winners, there are losers, and there are those who didn't try hard enough. It's always better to be one of the first two than the last one."
I'm still flat on my back with you holding my waist. My legs half in the air and half match booked over my spasming torso. My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe and my arms are spread wide with your legs over them. All the ingredients are there for a pin.....which I suddenly realize is what's going on.
I shake my head and blink heavily at the lights above....the spinning lights above, I might add. My entire body is sore and throbbing and this big, sweaty, ape is leering down at me.
I want to buck my body...in fact, I send the signal down to my prize winning thighs, telling them to do just that.
They're on strike.
I then send a message to my arms, telling them to flex, jerk up and get your legs off them so I can roll a shoulder up.
They're on strike too.
In desperation, I open my mouth, commanding my voice box to express my displeasure at my current situation.
You guessed it....on strike.
Is any part of this body working for me?
A split second later, the point is moot as I hear a loud *BOOM* on the canvas, followed by a loud "THREE!" and it's official....I'm done.
The crowd roars and my body decides now is good time to go slack...so that's what I do. My legs drop back across your chest and I continue to gasp up into the hot, not so fast spinning lights. Gazing up through a curtain of sweaty, blonde, strands, I realize I've lost.
My entire body is on fire and, if my tear ducts didn't hurt so much, I'd probably cry.
-
I jump from my chair, spilling popcorn all over the couple in front of me.
"MY RED! MY CHAMPION RED!"
And if I catch your eye, I wink and send you the silent message...
"Who's next?"
-
Akanbou, fight with all you have. If your opponent is lacking, crush their spirit. If your opponent is worthy, give them respect.
I'm hanging on to this mad young woman as best I can. She reminds me a bit of my.... I let that thought end because if I dwell on her I'll lose my grip. But I'm sure if she's watching this, she'll appreciate the fact I took down a rival of hers.
If I can keep her down. Her tapes don't do her justice. She hits hard and can take hits. And she's sneaky as hell. But once the two comes down I have a feeling this is over. Normally I would pop up and celebrate but fighting this brat has me feeling like I've been hit by a bus.
Annnnnndd there's the three....A decent mix of cheers and boos...I just hang my head down and exhale a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. I disentangle my arms from her waist and nudge her over so she lands on the mat. I lay back and look up at the lights.
Motherfucker....one more title...at my age...
Yeah gonna need a hot tub for this one..I grin thinking about all the side roads I've taken since FTW went away...the people I still am in touch with and those I'm not. The ones that've sharpened my skills back then in FTW and to this day. Without that long list of names and faces I wouldn't be here today.
I get to my feet and the ref takes my hand and hands me the new Championship Belt...and I look down at the worn down body of my latest foe.
Yeah I may need to add her to the list.
Instead of hitting the corners and holding up the belt and acting the fool, I hear my old Sensei's voice in my head. I place the belt around my waist, stand at The Doll's feet and give her a short sharp bow. I see Rowan in the crowd cheering and see her wink. I grin like an idiot and give her a nod.
And then I slide out of the ring. And head to the back, my music playing me out as I look forward to defending this title in the future. I pause before going out of sight and look back at the ring and my opponent. One day kid.
(Stepping out of character for the moment here, I'd like to thank all of you reading this for following this tale. I've enjoyed seeing your comments both in the thread and in private. I'm glad I could help entertain you.
I'd also like to thank The Doll for answering my challenge and being a tremendous fighter to take on and a skilled writer. I'm done with this post and I hope you all give her the chance to do one more post and soak in some well deserved adulation.)
-
Sitting away from Rowan, in a darker corner of the arena, I smile.
And when both fighters get to their dressing rooms, they will find bottles of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold Champagne waiting for them.
-
Awesome match really!
I enjoyed reading each posts!
Thanks for sharing and Red...I'm coming for you! *grins*
-
*dials 9-1-1 for my girl as her back might be broken*
-
"You lost today kid, but that doesn't mean you have to like it."
Again, not any nugget of advice from Mom or Dad, but from a movie about a punk kid who grows up to become a whip cracking archaeologist. It's amazing what runs through your head when your body is on the brink of shutting down. In the far distance I hear the clang of the bell and a mixed chorus of cheers and boos.
That's it....I'm finished.
You drop my legs and they spread while bouncing once off the old, canvassed, boards. My arms still out wide while my head lolls side to side. Catching a glimpse of you, I turn to see the ref hold your muscular arm up high, then give you a big, new, shiny belt.
Fuck. That should have been mine, I whine to myself as I watch you grin, then stop just as you prepare to make your big exit.....and bow.
Seems the Masked Primate does have some heart...sort of.
My breathing slows as I start to catch up with it, rolling to my right and propping up on my elbow, my left hand grabbing my battered core and wincing in pain. Your music plays and you make your triumphant exit as I struggle to start slowly rolling towards the ropes.
I finally get there and two hands...two very large hands...grab me and gently slide my off the apron and hoist me up, cradling me close to their barrel chest. A huge man wearing one of the black "SECURITY" shirts I saw earlier starts carrying me away from the ring and towards the locker room. Even with that black baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes, I'd know him anywhere.
"I'm...I'm....sorry...." I gasp, half sobbing as we brush by the rowdy crowd.
"Shhh....it's o.k, Kit-Kat. Can't win 'em all. You gave him your best and that's all you can do."
I nod and lay my sweaty, red misted, cheek against Daddy's chest as we head up the ramp and towards the back.
"You know, Kit-Kat, this reminds me of a match I had over in Tokyo against a female midget tag team where....."
I groan and wonder if it's too late to climb back into the ring......
THE END
(I'd like to echo Red's sentiments in thanking all of you who followed along, commented and sent encouragement. It really means a lot so...Thank You!)
(I'd also like to think Mr. Red Enforcer for not only accepting a rookie's challenge, but for coming up with the idea in the first place. Also, I'd like to thank him for being such a great writing partner. Always a gentleman with a kind word and encouragement and second to none when it comes to wrestling knowledge. It's been an honor and pleasure. Whoever Red takes on next, it's a good bet that The Doll will be there in the front row ;) )
(Thank you!)
-
Sitting away from Rowan, in a darker corner of the arena, I smile.
And when both fighters get to their dressing rooms, they will find bottles of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold Champagne waiting for them.
Guzzled and gone...thanks!
-
Awesome match really!
I enjoyed reading each posts!
Thanks for sharing and Red...I'm coming for you! *grins*
Thank you!
-
Sitting away from Rowan, in a darker corner of the arena, I smile.
And when both fighters get to their dressing rooms, they will find bottles of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold Champagne waiting for them.
*gets back to my dressing room and sees the expensive gift. Chuckles and gets out my phone and dials a number. *
?Hey, it?s me. Yeah I won and Tantalus left me a present. Wanna help me enjoy it? See you soon.?
-
Awesome match really!
I enjoyed reading each posts!
Thanks for sharing and Red...I'm coming for you! *grins*
Thanks Emily!
-
Wow, what an absolutely amazing match!!! Such a shame, my Doll didn't come out on top, though *pouts*
Two options come to mind here...either go after Doll and take advantage of her hurting body, or make a run for this Red Enforcer and get some payback for what he did to my lovely Darling.
Decisions, decisions...oh, maybe I'll just do both!
-
Wow, what an absolutely amazing match!!! Such a shame, my Doll didn't come out on top, though *pouts*
Two options come to mind here...either go after Doll and take advantage of her hurting body or make a run for this Red Enforcer and get some payback for what he did to my Lovely Darling.
Decisions, decisions...oh, maybe I'll just do both!
You could take a run at me. Just sayin':)
-
Sitting away from Rowan, in a darker corner of the arena, I smile.
And when both fighters get to their dressing rooms, they will find bottles of Armand de Brignac Brut Gold Champagne waiting for them.
*gets back to my dressing room and sees the expensive gift. Chuckles and gets out my phone and dials a number. *
?Hey, it?s me. Yeah I won and Tantalus left me a present. Wanna help me enjoy it? See you soon.?
*2 years later*
“Yes, I do. See you soon R“
x
Worth waiting for.