Setting a Pattern: Spectre vs Yuri Yoshika & Natsuki Muramoto

[Malkavia]

CLINK! went the glove — much like an aluminum bat, Yuri reflected, if a few tones lighter. And here was Natsuki in her natural state, wheeling backwards in the well-recorded "ass-first" dance. Plop she goes, hands to her face. But that's when Yuri noticed the blood starting to trickle through her fingers, so she looked away.

"Erhrm." She glanced at Spectre, nodded, then settled back into her corner. A bit like an old drunkard melting into his chair. She ran a finger idly over her bellybutton, feeling out the bruise. "Quantitatively, it was an eight at impact, a four presently. Qualitatively, the concussive impact was crushing, immediately evacuated my lungs, and tore at my deep muscle." Yuri's face tightened with concentration. Her nose wrinkled, and she bit her thumb, as her eyes — two wide purple pools — got lost in her memory. "For a blunt force trauma, the pain was surprisingly...sharp. It sliced. Like a cleaver chopping into the meat. Where you hit me I was..." Air whistled through her teeth as she trailed off. "...Butchered."

Natsuki sat up. Dizzily, swaying left, right. The poor fool still had the glove in her hand. Yuri wondered how much longer she would last.

"Ah, the impact to the central nervous system was sufficient to rapidly put me into a state of shock, however, which." She nodded. "Yes, that. That definitely lessened the pain. While also facilitating your victory. So. Thank you, I suppose."

And here she came, tiny and pink and shivering with rage. Yuri didn't have to look straight at her to know what she was thinking. Aha, I'll just sneak up here and CLONK this stupid-head over the back of her stupid head! And indeed, her paw-pads were undetectable to Yuri's ears as she crept forward, then lifted the iron fist.

"Any other questions?"

[Monsy]

“Hm.”

It wasn’t that hard to believe when she looked at them. She looked more like an animated corpse pulling strings for simple actions, while the rest was compliant with nature’s course. No threat at all.

Her attention remained here for longer. She mused…

Could they just have soft abdominals?
Would that really make a difference?
Likely not.
An instant knockout weapon is useful. Just not for this experiment.
I need my tools. Or to find that fucking pin.

Alas, Spectre nodded to the information, tilted her head and scratched the space above her ear for a quick moment.

“Just a heads up.”

Natsuki’s shadow gave her away. Spectre grabbed the barrel and grip of Punch-A-Gun, held it up at rib height, then thrust it backwards into Natsuki’s lower belly. Spectre stood, tall — and stomped Natsuki’s toes. Then she threw her gun down, moved to Natsuki’s side, tangled one hand in Natsuki’s hair, another on her belt, and aimed her at the bullseye bruise on Yuri’s belly.

And a one
And a two
And a YEET!

[Malkavia]

"ARGH—!"

Oof. The gun sank deep into Natsuki's gut. A range of feelings swirled over the smallest Doki's face. A bit like watching several shades of food coloring mix. Crimson pain and water-logged eyes; nausea as green and sickly as fish scales; violet flashes of humiliation in the blood boiling at her ears. Alas, poor thing.

The stomp was gratuitous. Mean. The girl was already bent over for heaven's sake. Yuri sucked in a hiss, then groaned in sympathy as Natsuki doubled over her toes and began to hop.

"Holy crap that hurts—"

"Mmm. This might not be the time..."

"Ow ow owwww." Still hissing and spitting even while Spectre situated her grip in her bowl of pink hair. Yeesh.

"But. In case I forget. I do believe this is why Monika pushed for us to wear foot gear."

The comment proved...an error. Natsuki's eyes twitched as they reared up at Yuri. As the saying went, if looks could kill... "THE GIS...WERE YOUR...IDEA...YURI—"

Yes, but Yuri had wanted to wear footpads with the gis. However, Yuri did not express this idea outloud. She had begun to frown and to shift her look away from Natsuki towards Spectre. Something in her subconscious had detected a shift in the air. Like an unpleasant smell. Why did it feel as though a fraction of Spectre's attention was still on—

Spectre lifted Natsuki by the belt.

Oh no. Yuri's face paled as her mouth split open. She shook her head, feet scraping against the mat. Oh no oh no oh—

Natsuki's shoulder slammed into Yuri's gut. A whistle erupted though her nose, and a whine gurgled up from somewhere small and feline at Yuri's core. Her grip tightened on the ropes as her friend's body pierced her red and purple tum. Twisting the knife that was already there until her toes curled.

When it was over, Yuri collapsed onto her side, clutching herself. Twitching as tears ran freely down her cheeks.

"Ooooowwww..."

When Natsuki rolled off, her gi was damp and peeled off the skin of Yuri's exposed core, which had shifted from red and violet to black and blue.

"G-get out of the ring..." Natsuki rasped. "You... freaking... moron..."

[Monsy]

She didn’t mind the commentary, actually. Up until the yell, which gives her ear-canals an uncomfortable itch.

Just how can this girl scream so loudly…

Which.
After seeing the effects of the purple giant teetering onto her side, clutching herself with all the beauty trickling down her cheeks, she only felt warm, fuzzy and a little damp herself from peeking at the bruise in the brief gaps of Yuri’s hands. Like a set of lingerie, it made her blush.

“Hm~Hm~”

A small smile formed.

She grabbed Natsuki’s ankles, folded one leg over so the calf was behind the knee, looped her hand underneath to grab the second leg which was like a crank to pull down on. Then her second hand went underneath the folded leg’s ankle, meeting her first hand on the crank.

She leaned back, walked and peeled Natsuki away from the corner. Partially so Natsuki’s hips were higher from Spectre heaving up, sharpening the ankle to the the ground and… slooooowly, bend the girl over so the feet was arcing towards their head.

And in one last add-on, Spectre leaned onto their body and put her head closer and closer to Natsuki’s own pink locks until…

She somersaulted. Head on the canvas, neck-bridged, latex belly in the air and her thin legs stretched to her toes to hold a bridging inverted texas cloverleaf!

[Malkavia]

Ringside, Monika called out advice — Dodge left! No no, your left! OK roll! NATSUKI ROLL! — while Sayori...Sayori covered her eyes and hunched with her back against the ring platform.

"Y...You're doing great Natsuki!" she called out, without looking. Crrrrrrrrrrnk. Oh, gosh. Was that Natsuki getting dragged across the mat? It was so...loud from next to the mat. It put pictures in Sayori's head, like an axe getting dragged out across a gravel patch or something.

"AAAAIIIEEEEEEEEeeee—"

Natsuki's shout started loud, got small, squeaky. Oh no. Sayori breathed. IN, OUT, IN, OUT. Monika ignored her, instead helping Yuri to roll out of the ring.

(Gosh I'm useless)

She should at least...look.

Sayori took a deep breath. Steeled herself. And turned around and peeked over the ringside.

It was... so much worse than she thought. The first thing she saw was Natsuki's belly, streeeeeetched in a big, pale C. Sayori couldn't believe the angle—it was a bendy kind of shape she'd never seen a spine go before. And there was Spectre. Practically breathing down her ear! The expression on Natsuki's face...red in the cheeks, snot dripping down her nose, tears in her eyes, SCREAMING. Right there next to Spectre's cold, purple CAT EYES WITHOUT FEELING—

Ooooh. Sayori felt a shiver down her spine.

"Nnnngyaaaaaah!" Natsuki grasped at the ceiling, shivering, too stretched out to really scream, so it came out like a moan.

Sayori felt her gut turn round itself three time watching that while her heart did its palpitation dance up in her throat. She hated this. Hated seeing Natsuki like this. It made her palms wet, and part of her wanted to duck back down by the ring and SCRUNCH. HER. EYES.

But that wouldn't make her a very good friend. So she watched, jaw chattering, until she noticed...Spectre's leg was by the ropes. Right...where Sayori could reach it.

You really really really really really really shouldn't do this, she thought. And she was right.

But she did it anyway—grabbing Spectre by the ankle and YANKING!

"SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY—!!!"

[Monsy]

This was perhaps her favourite part of submissions.

The struggle.

Natsuki wasn’t much of a squirmer at all. But she was mighty flexible! Taking the bend like a squealing squirrel. And it was messy. Very much so. Snot and tears that Spectre could glance at the corner of her hue, which would normally make her cringe if not for the fact could just test her arm strength and yaaaaaank, just a little more.

Well. More like tug. YANK was too visceral.
Like pulling on a rope, trying to test the slack and its limits.
Tug-Tug. Tug-Tug. Tug-Tug.

Then.
Fwoop!
Spectre’s body followed. The tops of her ankles now laid over the bottom rope, but this wasn’t her rope break. Natsuki would likely roll out, come onto her back as Spectre’s grip pulled Natsu along.

She can hear the apologies coming, which was how she recognized just who she might be.

One wouldn’t scream. One wouldn’t say sorry… Ok, TWO wouldn’t say sorry, but one of them is currently a snotty ribbon. OK.

I’ll remember you.

For now, though. Spectre rolled with Natsuki’s legs still in a cloverleaf knot. Both to their bellies. She released one leg and hooked the other into a crescent over her nape, then worked her way up Natsuki’s backside, putting a hand in front of her opposite foot to block it from kicking. The hand that was holding Natsuki’s leg became her arm, clamping so the toes were in her elbow pocket. Spectre leaned further, grabbed Natsuki’s wrist, pulling it back.

And after the final hurdle.
She got her legs pointing at Natsuki’s head. From underneath, they locked figure-four. One over the throat and chin, the other hooked over the foot. She rolled to her back, taking Natsuki with her so she faced the ceiling.

Segmentation Fault!

[Malkavia]

"SORRY SORRY—"

Natsuki lay on the mat. Her legs were still trapped, felt tight. Her belly heaved up and down like a scared rabbit's. She squeezed her eyes shut and slammed a fist against the mat. "Oh my GOD Sayori SHUT UP!"

—Which seemed to signal Speck into her next move. Natsuki's head still spun from the last one. All that blood in her head didn't exactly drain down the floor, and her knees? Well, shoot. Her knees felt like if she tried to stand on them, they might crack, fizzle, and pop. And then she'd be standing there with no knees. Just a thigh collapsed onto a pair of calves.

...So she didn't resist half as much as the sputtering fire in her gut wanted to. She yelled. She gnashed her snaggletoothed jaw. She clutched at her hair and twitched. But in the end, Spectre did what she wanted, and Natsuki lay and took it: The thigh scissoring her throat. The hand capturing and controlling her boxer's hand. The lock stretching her thigh until it felt like one of the muscles was gonna POP. LOOSE.

Then Spectre stretched the hold, folding in Spectre's leg at the same time she pulled on Natsuki's leg. It stretched her tummy until Natsuki imagined she could feel seams. Sweat beaded on her pale stomach and rolled down her side, around the edges of her belly button.

Natsuki whimpered, bucked, shivered, but couldn't scream because of her opponent's leg, dominating her windpipe. Instead, she let out a long, agonized wheeze that let a line of spittle run down the pinkette's cheek and pooled under Spectre's thigh.

[Monsy]

Must’ve been quite a face they were making.

Stretch. Scissored. Tangled. Just where will the whimpering rat go in this hold? WELL!

Nowhere. The answer is nowhere.

Spectre felt almost total command of their body, from literally head to toe, with one hand still free. She used it to do to Natsuki what she did to Yuri. The belt was pulled and untied until it came free, then she grabbed one side of their gi to open them up and expose the seaming belly underneath.

Just ooooone small kink in what she wanted to do next. Her angle was awful and she didn’t quite have the leverage to deliver the right SMACK needed for this. So… Hmmm…

Ah, yes.

She’d release her arm and leg. It may seem like a backstep, forgetting such a tangle for now just a headscissors. But this would allow her to sit up by Natsuki’s waist. She placed one hand on the thigh closest to her, pushing it flat so Natsuki needed to twist her spine. Or her neck. Dealer’s choice.

This would expose them. Her knuckles clenched and raised overhead to cast a shadow over the belly.

I wonder how this one bruises…

Then she had an idea. Her thighs would loosen on Natsuki’s head just enough to let wind back into that pipe.

And punched. Then punched again.
And kept punching. Knuckles first into the button.
BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM…

[Malkavia]

Natsuki opened her eyes. She closed her eyes. Open. Shut. Open...

Or was it shut? It was getting so she couldn't tell the difference. Lights popped and crackled in a darkness falling on her vision like a pillow pressed in her face.

Then—air! Air and blood rushed in like a splash of water across the face. She gasped, and her belly heaved into the air with the pressure of all this beautiful new oxygen.

She could feel her fingers!

Then came the crash. Five knuckles buried themselves in the soft tissue of her belly. "BLECK!" Spittle blasted five feet in the air and fell back on her own purple face. Not that she felt it much through the explosion of OW in her gut.

The blows kept coming. One right after the other, and even after the third she was still wide-eyed with shock. BAM! Her hips lifted off the mat. BAM! her legs curled. BAM! She yanked her throat against Spectre's thigh, gagging against the force of her own flinching.

And it kept...going.

"Staaaaaahp—!" Tears rolled freely down Natsuki's cheeks, forming small pools along her jaw where the pale thighs of her opponent's pressed against her neck. She felt frayed, like a worn-out sandbag, and any moment the thin fabric holding her together might POP. And her insides would pour out as a pile of sand.

"Tap Nat!"

Natsuki did not tap. She just heaved in painful gasps of air through her snaggletooth, wobble-dee-jank oval of a mouth, eyes rolled up towards the back of her head, as her jerks became weaker and more pitiful after each successive punch. Her gut had turned the color of raspberry, and her legs had gone loose on the mat.

[Monsy]

Once Natsuki gone loose, she started to count the excess in her head.

One.
BAM.
Pause. Raise the fist higher.
BAM.
Two.
Her tiny muscles burned to keep this up. She made the last one count, flexing far back and twisting her spin. Then.
BAM.
Three. She sunk it in deep. Twisted the knuckles. She rolled the hand back to the wrist. Then gave the raspberry a fat slap to finish. Her face also reflected the colour. Inside the mask, she started to flinch and flicker with her smile and breathing strengthening together. She wanted to grab this bruise, stroke it, then nurture it into a bigger one. Natsuki was a perfect recipient. A perfect complexion that discoloured so very-very well. She can do this for hours. But first...

That girl. She almost ruined this canopy of fun.

Spectre slowed into stagnancy. Then after a few moments, she released Natsuki all at once, shoved her, then Spectre rolled back underneath the bottom rope. Her feet went over the apron. Touched down. From about four feet, Natsuki was lined up in her sights. Spectre stared at her without a blank, sharpening a glare.

“...” She crept forward step by step towards the girl, flexed her fingers, wiggled them, then made fists. Her head fixed forward, posture kept consistent and her expression drained to stare into Sayori’s eyes. Then she went… “Run.” In that deep automated voice.

And if Sayori listened at all, then Spectre would have her hunt.