The Princess and the Tiger: Katsumi Oshiro VS. Bengal

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Bengal's eyes flicker open as she feels Katsumi's hands stroking her chin. The punkette's smiling face seems to swim in front of her, like a reflection in a pool of water. She's saying something, but Bengal can't make out the words over the roaring in her ears. Before she can recover, her opponent yanks her roughly out of the corner and wraps her arm around Bengal's head. She can feel Katsumi gripping onto the waistband of her trunks, pulling them tight against her rear, and she flushes - whether from embarrassment or exhaustion, she's not quite sure. But that's not the worst of it. A split-second later, her world literally turns upside down, as she's lifted into a snap suplex! Bengal arcs through the air, then slams down onto the canvas like a meteor, racking her back. She twitches, once, twice, then goes limp.

[CyanDimitrik]

The full completion of the suplex sees Katsumi lying flat on her back, feeling the tremors of the much heavier landing of Bengal behind her. She doesn't get to watch the writhing, but the audience surrounding the ring certainly does, earning a wince. Katsumi, for her part, lies there panting for a few seconds, smiling up at the bright overhead lights.

She can feel that momentum. It's on her side. Her opponent is bound to be stunned there on her back, ripe for what she has in mind; a little something special. Something she doesn't pull out often. And feeling a rush of energy, the girl curls back onto her shoulders before kipping up to her boots, similar to Bengal before. And the moment her boots plant, she thrusts a fist into the air, signaling something more impressive to come!

"That's right, this is my house!"

She rushes a few steps forward, only to pivot on heel and face her supine foe, practically with tire screech coming from her boots. She rushes towards her again, only to skip into the air at the last second in a forward-driven backflip. Arms whip back, legs curl back, her toned stomach drawn taut before she splashed down onto Bengal belly-to-belly in a standing shooting star splash!

The landing isn't going to feel great on her end, of course. Splashes never do. There's an immediate ache and questioning of one's own sanity to follow typically, but it quickly gives way to the overwhelming rush and euphoria of using her own body, her own abs, to crush an opponent's. So the inward cringe lasts only a moment before Katsumi arches her back, pressing her stomach hard across Bengal's, her arms and legs splayed flat along the mat to keep her weight settled on her.

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Lying spread-eagle on her back, Bengal finds her gaze drawn to the overhead lights. Her blurred vision makes them dance and twinkle, like some bizarre indoor fireworks display. But a moment later, they all disappear, blotted out by a looming shadow. Where...where did they go...

Her question is soon answered, as Katsumi crashes down onto her belly with a shooting star splash! Bengal moans and shudders as her body is flattened against the canvas; it feels like she's just been run over by a steamroller. Her eyes squeeze shut again. She doesn't see the referee drop down to the mat, but she can hear her begin to count. "One! Two! Th-"

Operating on instinct, barely aware of what she's doing, Bengal manages to thrust one of her shoulders off the mat, the instant before the official's hand can come down a third time. This time, though, there's no follow-up attack to drive her opponent back. "No Fall! Two-count!" the referee declares. The crowd erupts with applause - but are they cheering in support of Bengal, or do they just want to see her suffering prolonged?

[CyanDimitrik]

Katsumi settles into the position over Bengal's downed body, not bothering to hook a leg. Something about that just makes it feel more dominant to her, emphasizing how beaten-down her rival is at this point. She shifts her balance onto her elbows, keeping her legs spread flat on the other side and just letting midriff bear down across midriff.

The first count sounds off, and she feels no resistance. Just the warm slickness of Bengal's skin against her own.

The second count slaps the mat. Still no resistance. Katsumi shifts slightly, just enough to brush her toned abdominals against Bengal's, secretly indulging in the feel of her in as clandestine a way as she can. The girl's solid, just as she concluded from the punches. She can feel every defined ridge of her abs against her own. Maybe she'll linger just a little after the pi-

She suddenly feels a shift and hears the referee declare no fall. Her head tilts, shooting a look over her shoulder to see the shoulder raised. Her adrenaline begins to spike, a rush of excitement running through her. Results be damned, she likes that she's still fighting to stay alive. It makes the conquest so much more thrilling!

Lifting herself just enough to alleviate pressure off her exotic opponent's stomach, Katsumi tugs at her hip and shoulder to roll her over onto her chest. Immediately going for her left arm, she scissors her thighs around her bicep to secure it away. Then Bengal's right arm is seized to pull back behind Katsumi's waist, leaving the Japanese girl to rest her side along Bengal's midback. Finally, she brings her hands together beneath Bengal's jaw to pull backwards, locking in a double underhook chinlock!

For those who've kept a close watch on Katsumi's wrestling career, they know this isn't the final destination. If she can keep this hold on the foreign debutante, it'll surely turn into the torturous Yokaidzume. But for now, Katsumi rears back with her captive, using her own waist as an anchor against Bengal's back to strain her neck and spine, while her legs curl to force the shoulderblades to painfully compress backwards.

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Just as Bengal begins to regain her bearings, she feels herself being rolled over, and a fresh wave of dizziness washes over her. Her left arm is wrenched back and squeezed between Katsumi's viselike thighs. A moment later, and her right arm is trapped as well. She gnashes her teeth desperately, trying to bite the hands locking around her chin, but they're out of reach.

The chinlock is fully cinched in now, and Bengal's whole upper body is on fire. Her arms and shoulders are strained to their limit; they feel like they're about to pop out of their sockets. And her neck...well, she'd rather not think about what will happen if Katsumi keeps pulling on her neck. Nothing good, that's for sure. All she can do now is thrash and drum her legs on the mat, like a child throwing a tantrum. She can feel the crowd's eyes fixed hungrily on her, waiting for her to tap. She refuses to give them the satisfaction.

[CyanDimitrik]

Katsumi keeps the hold nice and tight, though she can't say anyone's ever tried to bite her as she set in a submission lock before! It's kinda funny!

But most importantly right now, Katsumi keeps the hold in place, exerting full control over Bengal's upper-body. Arching her backwards, the leverage fully rolled onto her hip, but with no way to really use it. Ah, the submission hold itself might be enough to wrench tapouts from most! But for the Punk Princess, it lacks a certain panache, a certain flair to make it her own.

The referee crouches close, watching on in concern. There may be no DQ's in this match, but submissions are viable! And she isn't interested in seeing anyone get injured!

"Do you submit?!," she asks, wide-eyed.

Whether or not Bengal was about to answer, Katsumi snaps in, "She doesn't! I don't give'er permission to!"

Leaning forward, some of the pressure is alleviated along Bengal's back and arms - a chance to take in some breaths, to ease the tension in her muscles. But most notably, Katsumi is transferring Bengal's jaw from her hands to her left forearm, freeing the right hand. She raises it to the audience while simply cradling Bengal, holding her against the mat, displaying the open palm to the crowd. Then she brings it in, tilts the wrist, and bites the fastener holding her glove in place, tugging it loose - then off, leaving the hand bare. With a flick of her head, she tosses the glove aside and flexes her fingers.

Why? To build dread. To add to the theater. But also, because she wants to feel what she's about to do.

Her bare hand sets to Bengal's throat, fingers wrapping around the neck as if to squeeze - but no pressure comes. This isn't a choke. She's just messing with her there.

"I said I wanted you begging for a pin...," Katsumi says, her voice a little more low. This is meant only for Bengal. Not the audience, not the referee. This is just between the Punk Princess and the Blaze Tiger. "...so I'm gonna cut you a break."

She begins slowly drawing her hand downwards, trailing fingertips along the front of her throat before her palm meet collar. As she brushes her hand down along Bengal's skin, inching towards the swell of her breast, she continues, "You get to choose. You can tapout for me, and this can all be over... or..." She pauses, her hand just edging the curve of Bengal's right breast. "...you can give me a little signal that it's too much. And I'll let go."

Suddenly, the hand diverts! Drawing inwards, avoiding feeling over her chest, Katsumi instead redirects the hand to Bengal's ribs. The audience feels duly cheated their moment of tawdry indulgence, but that's half the point! Half. People can puzzle over why she wouldn't take advantage in their own time! But for now, her hand strokes slowly, sensuously along Bengal's waist.

"And if you do that... you'n I will both know it's you.. beggin' to be pinned. Beggin' me to not make you my bitch in this ring. Beggin' to not be humiliated in front of your family."

The fingertips trace along the outlines of Bengal's taut, defined abdominals, searching along her skin, soon joined by the palm.

"Bet they're watchin' right now, hopin' I'd let their baby girl free. That I'd stop feelin' 'er up, huh?," she coos. Admittedly, she's taking her time with the position more than usual, but the audience is devouring the visual. Suddenly the submission isn't entirely about pain, it seems. Though they can't tell what anyone is saying in the ring!

Katsumi's fingertips find Bengal's bellybutton, sliding over it teasingly; the final destination.

"Ready to scream for me?," she asks.

Without another beat, Katsumi leans back hard into the hold, forcing Bengal's back into a tight arch. The arm hooking her jaw pulls back to add strain along her neck, and her legs tuck, forcing her shoulders backwards. But that probing hand now placed at the center of Bengal's stomach, it doesn't simply rest there. The fingers curl against the cluster of abdominals she'd felt out, clenching and squeezing in a stomach claw on her defenseless midsection!

Now the submission hold has turned into the Monster Claw - the Yokaidzume.

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Despite the pain, despite the humiliation of being felt up in front of a cheering crowd, Bengal can't help but laugh bitterly to herself - though, due to the pressure on her neck, all that comes out is a choking, sputtering sound. The idea of her family watching a wrestling match is just too funny. They'd always looked down on the sport, viewing it as crass entertainment for the unwashed masses. So stuck-up, so arrogant, so unwilling to see the world outside their palatial estate. That was the reason she left Kolkata in the first place. One reason of many. They'd get along well with Katsumi, she muses. They all wanted me to give up too. She laughs again.

The feeling of Katsumi's bare hand sliding over her breasts and navel is unexpectedly pleasant. But as for the "break" the Punk Princess is offering? She'd rather quit wrestling altogether then take a deal like that.

"I'm beggin' you..." she gasps through clenched teeth, "To stop talking..."

As Katsumi clenches her hand, preparing her deadly Yokaidzume, Bengal swears to herself that she won't scream. Unfortunately, it's a promise she isn't able to keep. "nnyyYYAAAAAAAH!" she wails, as her abdomen is crushed in the punkette's agonizing grip. The Monster Claw feels like five burning hot pokers, pressed against her stomach. Nothing could have prepared her for this.

[CyanDimitrik]

For as much ire as Bengal had built up for herself in Katsumi's eyes, she does have to admire the woman's tenacity. Even in a helpless state like this, she refuses to compromise. Refuses to show weakness. It makes the prospect of finally breaking her so much more thrilling; to earn that dominance over her.

She's screaming, but Katsumi isn't faulting her for that. That's not a submission. That's the body trying to work through the pain, trying to release it in whatever way is available, an automatic, reflexive cry for help latent in every living creature capable of making noise. It's music to her ears, proof positive that she's doing things right. But there was never any doubt. The Yokaidzume is brutal. Horrific. First rendering someone defenseless, then gouging the unprotected stomach - that's a unique kind of suffering.

The referee drops to all fours, hovering as near as she can without blocking Bengal's face from the crowd or cameras. "Do you submit!?," she demands again.

Katsumi slowly bobs back bit by bit, each shift meant to send a shockwave of pain through Bengal's spine and shoulders. The hand over Bengal's stomach continues to bore against her, and she sustains it for a few seconds before leaning forward a little, easing the pressure on Bengal's back without letting her go. The fingers relax on her stomach again, resting her palm flush against her flat belly.

"Shh, shh, breathe~," she coos to her prey. Her palm brushes over the girl's stomach, petting from upper abdominals to lower, grazing the waistband of her trunks before sliding up again to her navel. "Time for round two..."

Curling back further, her ankles lock together to squeeze the secured bicep and force the shoulders closer together in compression. Her fingers curl, first dragging the fingertips along the stretched abdominals before diving in against, clenching against the muscle definition. Her palm presses in tight against the pit of her stomach as she squeezes, thrilling at the feel of breaking down her abs.

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

When the referee asks her if she wants to submit, Bengal's only response is an angry hiss. A moment later, Katsumi releases her grip, and for a brief, confused second, Bengal wonders if the official has somehow misinterpreted her reply. But it's just the Punk Princess toying with her, repositioning her hand for a new angle of attack. After a brief respite, the fingers drill back in once more. At least it can't get any worse, Bengal thinks grimly, taking what small comforts she can find.

Katsumi clenches her hand again. It gets worse. Bengal's eyes roll back, and her keening scream reaches an even higher pitch. Her abdominal muscles feel like they're about to collapse in on themselves, and her shoulders are bent so far back that they're practically touching. At this point, even if she doesn't submit, it's only a matter of time before the pain knocks her unconscious. She has to break the hold before that happens. But the agony coursing through isn't exactly conducive to planning her escape.

[CyanDimitrik]

The suffering lasts several long, agonizing seconds, Katsumi's frame tense and rigid as she constricts with her legs, curls tighter towards her back, and grips harder against those captive abdominal muscles. The shrieking is glorious, the hold no doubt going to go on her sizzle reel to be played for every subsequent match to follow, with Bengal's agonized face right beneath her.

Once again, after the burst of intense pain, Katsumi eases the hold enough to let the shoulders relax and her back stop actively burning. The arms are still restrained and Bengal's body remains arched, but not nearly as painful as before - just mostly secured. The fingers digging into Bengal's belly relax as well, bringing her hand to rest flat on her stomach.

Her heart races with excitement, thoroughly loving how this match has turned out. The woman who didn't even have the good decency to mouth off with her on the outset of the match, now seemingly her prisoner of torture. Moreover, she's confident in the knowledge that she holds control over her adversary completely. Her body belongs to her at this point; to abuse as long as she likes.

Katsumi pats her hand to Bengal's stomach lightly. "Still awake?," she asks, her head tilting to try to look towards her face. It's not really possible from this angle, and she's unwilling to compromise the hold's security to do it. Oh well! "You didn't pass out from the pain, right~?"

Her fingers spread, palm gliding over the tortured abdominals slowly, taking her time in feeling over the sweat-slickened skin. This time she strokes upwards, slowly edging to the start of her sportsbra, before starting to trail back down again. "'Cuz it's gonna get worse. I'm real impressed that'cha lasted this long... but it's time to accept it."

Her fingertips find Bengal's navel again, tracing over it. "Time to tap out or beg for mercy. Which way do you want it? Submitting to me out loud? Or by lying under me?" She tilts back a little, steadily intensifying the arch in her foe's back as she draws her head close enough to her lips to whisper into her ear. "One way or another, you're mine tonight."

The legs clench again, and Katsumi rears back now rolling flat onto her back against Bengal's rear. Pulling on her jaw, she tries to bring Bengal's back into a C-shape. And with her body stretched excruciatingly taut, Katsumi draws her hand away from Bengal's midriff - only to swing back in with a sudden hammerblow against the pit of her stomach. It doesn't have enough room for a hard blow, but against abdominals she'd been pulverizing, she's hoping it's pure Hell. But after the strike, he palm presses into her belly again, thumb, index, and ring fingers digging into her abdominal muscles, while the middle finger hooks her navel for added pain.