The Princess and the Tiger: Katsumi Oshiro VS. Bengal

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Katsumi's fists slam into Bengal again and again, breaking down her abs like a meat tenderizer pounding a side of beef. Every shot sets off explosions of searing agony, like fireworks going off inside her belly. Overwhelmed by pain, she doesn't see the punkette's arms twine around her for the bearhug - not that she'd be in any state to counter the move, even if she did.

Her opponent pulls her close, and Bengal can feel the warm wetness of her body, perfectly matching the contours of her own. The Blaze Tiger has always enjoyed the heat, but right now, she's a little too distracted by her throbbing midsection to appreciate it. Still, in a different context, maybe...

Then Katsumi tightens the hold, and Bengal has no more room in her head for curious thoughts. She tries to scream, but the punkette is compressing her ribs too tightly for that. All that comes out is a thin trickle of drool, sliding between her lips and onto her opponent's shoulder. Whimpering, she drums her fists weakly against the Japanese woman's sides. She might as well be tickling Katsumi with a feather, for all the good it does.

[CyanDimitrik]

Feeling the weak punches bump against her ribs sends Katsumi over the moon. It's almost like an admission of defeat, yielding to her - but while struggling. And that struggle is.. pure ecstasy. After the torment Bengal's put her through, she relishes this moment in its entirety. The sound Bengal makes as she squeezes her, the way her body crushes into her, even the feel of her drooling on her shoulder - normally she'd absolutely think that's gross. But here and now, it's almost sexy; a primal form of dominance, using nothing but her body to conquer Bengal's.

Breathing harder and faster, Katsumi pours in another round of added pressure. Her back arches, pushing her stomach into Bengal's tighter. Her head tilts forward, bringing her lips closer to her nape. Katsumi's breaths, now heightened with excitement, wash hotly against her neck in rhythmic, ragged beats. The arms slither around her wet, slick back further, grinding herself into Bengal's form.

"Nngh..!"

No more words come forth. Just the strain of squeezing the other woman, bearing her body-to-body, grinding her down. The audience is getting more than what they paid for tonight, capturing the image of Katsumi and Bengal locked in struggle, one trying to break the other's spirit.

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

The skin on Bengal's neck prickles with goosebumps as Katsumi exhales hot breath onto her neck. Blackness is starting to close in around the edges of her vision. Her chin slumps forward onto the punkette's shoulder, burying her face in her opponent's dripping hair. The acrid tang of sweat fills her nostrils. The pressure on her ribs is so strong, she feels like she's about to split in two. The drumbeat of her fists against her opponent's ribs slows down, then stops completely. All she can do now is flop and twitch like a dying fish. Most of the crowd is on their feet, stomping and clapping. They can tell that the end is coming, and none of them want to miss the grand finale.

[CyanDimitrik]

Katsumi freezes in places, arms pumped as tight as she can get them around Bengal's waist. She admired the woman's body before, and now it's become practically her entire world in this moment, feeling her so overwhelmingly flooding her senses. Her eyes squeeze shut, expression written in strain, the streamlined, feminine musculature along her arms flexed.

And then, it happens - Bengal succumbs to the embrace. Whether her mind was willing to submit to her or not, her body seemed to decide it was time to give in and stop the fight. "Hah-.. haah..!," Katsumi exhales, a shudder running through her slender frame. The sensation of the other girl going slack against her felt indescribably amazing after everything she's endured. Her body is burning with pain and muscle fatigue, making this moment the absolute pinnacle for her.

...so far.

If only Katsumi weren't so spiteful. She might've let the reaching referee perform the arm-drop test. But that's just not how it's going to go tonight. Not after everything Bengal did. Thus, holding the Indian's body seamlessly against her own, Katsumi bends her knees and thrusts out, popping into the air. She torques over with her prey, bringing the pair of them to crash down hard against the mat together in the high-arcing belly-to-belly suplex signature, the Shutdown.

Bengal's back will meet the mat, but Katsumi's body will land evenly upon Bengal. corner to corner.

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Bengal is paralyzed with pain, neck lolling, arms hanging limply at her sides. For a moment, she wonders if she's already passed out, and this bearhug is just part of some horrible dream. But when Katsumi hits her with the Shutdown, she's brought rudely back to reality. Her neck and shoulders slam into the canvas, and she feels her vertebrae twisting and grinding against each other. The rest of her follows behind, leaving her lying in a crumpled heap near the opposite corner. Katsumi's own body crashes down on top of her a split-second later.

Bengal's eyes open briefly, squinting at the overhead lights, which have dissolved into a swirling kaleidoscope. Despite her opponent's body pressing down on her, she feels weightless, disembodied, as if she's about to float up to join them. Then she lets out a deep, sighing breath, and the eyes close again.

[CyanDimitrik]

The impact is a jarring one for all parties involved, but Bengal certainly got the absolute worst of it from the high-angle suplex; made worse by Katsumi's bodyweight crashing down atop her. But somehow, the feel of Bengal's form beneath her is deeply inviting. And once they've landed, she finally slides her arms back from around the woman's waist, lifting to just rest against her shoulders.

Her head lifts to look down at her just as Bengal's eyes shut. Her lips twist in mild disappointment. She wanted to meet that gaze. She wants her to not just feel Katsumi lying on her, but to see her in the dominant position. It's almost like she's being cheated! And with that thought, a quick replay of the match runs through her mind; the foot stomp meant for her throat, the kicks to the jaw...

Katsumi remembers herself desperate, asking for relief as she was being choked out, and how the fear and humiliation of that moment wracked through her entire being. And what did Bengal do? She mocked her. And squeezed tighter.

Katsumi's fingers clench onto Bengal's shoulders, teeth gritting. And only then does the nearby referee and her hand slapping the mat register to the Punk Princess.

"One!"

"Two!"

"No!," shouts Katsumi, suddenly yanking on one of the shoulders to lift it off the mat. "Not yet."

She can't let the match end here. Not without a little payback. And despite the referee's protest, Katsumi leans back from Bengal and gradually pulls on her arms to draw her up to her feet with her. No shots to the stomach anymore; she doesn't think she needs to do it. By now, she expects Bengal is perfectly compliant in her hands. So once they've reached a vertical base, she pulls the other woman's head between her legs, feeling her neck against her hips and cheeks against her bare thighs. Leaning forward, she slides her hands around Bengal's waist before fully wrapping her arms around her stomach, breasts pressing against her back.

A couple seconds to gather her strength in that position, and Katsumi strains with what strength she has left to hoist Bengal's body upwards into the air and swing her past her head to slot her perpendicular along her back. Legs shift to try to catch her ankles, and her hands carefully take ahold of Bengal's wrists to suspend her body along her back like a human-borne crucifixion.

And with Katsumi's take on the gory special aligned properly... she leans forward and pulls hard on the wrists, wrenching and hyper-extending Bengal's arms backwards while bridging her spine. It's an intricate bit of finesse, the hallmark of a technician wrestler - a back-to-back suspended backbreaker armbar combo, leaving her opponent's body splayed out, stretched, and fully on display for the cameras and onlookers.

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

Bengal's finished, and she knows it. She can't even lift her fingers, much less get her shoulders up to break Katsumi's pin. The punkette's unrelenting attacks have worn her down to nothing. She feels the referee's hand drumming the canvas, the final countdown before the match's inevitable conclusion...

And then, her shoulder is wrenched off the mat, breaking the pin. Bengal's eyes flicker open, and she blinks in confusion. Did she somehow kick out on pure instinct, without realizing it? No, of course not, that's stupid. It had to be Katsumi. Why would she...

But as the punkette yanks her to her feet and hoists her limp body into a gory special, she realizes why. Simply being defeated is far from the worst thing that can happen in the ring. There's being humiliated. Being made into a spectacle. Being broken. And, for perhaps the first time in her career, Bengal is starting to break. Her hyperextended arms, her arched back, her trapped ankles - those things all hurt, of course. But what really gets to her are the camera flashes, dancing through the arena stands like fireflies, immortalizing her shame for all to see. Tears begin to roll down her cheeks, staining them with her dark eyeliner. She tells herself that it's just the light from the flashes, irritating her eyes. But deep down, even she realizes how pathetic that excuse sounds.

"S-stop it," she croaks through her parched lips, though she's unsure if Katsumi can even hear her now, over the roar of the crowd. "Let me d-down..."

[CyanDimitrik]

Katsumi can feel no resistance from Bengal trapped against her back. And the main thing she hears in this moment is the cascading cheers and shouts of the audience on their feet, yelling at the ring in a cacophony. The once proud Bengal, splayed and helpless, looking broken and desperate as she endures Katsumi's finisher: the Nightmare Fuel. And for her part, the Punk Princess plays into the name heavily as she hunches forward, pulling tighter on the wrists to force them more to her front and cinching up on the arch in Bengal's spine.

The referee hovers close, attentive to Bengal more than ever! She has no spare hands with which to tap out! "I can't accept that! You have to say you submit! Or say yes! Do you submit!?," she frantically barrages the woman, a sympathetic frown on her face.

Katsumi can't see the tears starting to roll down Bengal's cheeks. But she can finally hear her starting to beg. God, it feels good to turn the tables on her after what she'd put her through. Because now they're even. Now Bengal can't lord Katsumi's pleading over her head. But she really doesn't want to give the referee the satisfaction of calling a submission here. That's not the visual she wants to leave this audience with! Bengal's going to have to suffer just a little more - she's going to have to endure the Nightmare Bomb.

Suddenly, Katsumi whips back and drops to her rear on the mat, slingshotting Bengal forward to collide against the mat with thunderous, shuddering impact!

[BengalTheBlazeTiger]

After what seems like an eternity of torture, Bengal is finally on the verge of giving up. She summons the last of her strength to respond to the referee, to tell her yes, she does submit - but the words never come. The instant before she can speak, the world seems to drop out from under her. She feels Katsumi release her arms, sees the canvas rushing to meet her as she plummets down. But she's frozen, like a deer in the headlights, unable to even lift her hands to break her fall.

She touches down. The impact reverberates through her entire body, shaking her down to her marrow. There's another surge of impossible, unbearable pain. Then, mercifully, oblivion washes over her, and she falls unconscious. The Nightmare Bomb is aptly named. Bengal will dream of this moment for years to come, dreams that leave her waking up drenched with cold sweat, clutching her sheets in naked fear. Her first match in L.A.W., and her most humiliating loss.

[CyanDimitrik]

The end of the Nightmare Bomb sees Katsumi sitting on the mat, back turned to her fallen rival, staring out at the audience with a tired, but cocky smile. She takes a few hard, heavy breaths to put a little strength into her limbs again before shifting forward onto all fours and turning to look at the wreckage that is Bengal.

Katsumi crawls across the mat to her side and places her hands to her waist and shoulder, pulling her over to lay on her back. Then she dips her head, only to sharply whip her wet hair back out of her face. She wants the audience to see her, absolutely. But she also wants an unobstructed view of her foe. The feel of her hair hitting her bare back almost gets a shiver, but her focus is too settled on Bengal for it to register beyond a fleeting moment.

Her knees slip between Bengal's legs to nudge them apart, repositioning herself to rest just suspended over the other women. Going one arm at a time, Katsumi takes Bengal by the wrist to pin down to the mat beside her head; first the left wrist, then the right wrist. Finally, Katsumi lowers herself to lie atop her. First, her hips press squarely into the gap of Bengal's legs, deliberately pushed tight. Then, Katsumi lowers her midsection onto her, as if reintroducing herself to Bengal's toned body and sweat-dampened warmth. Breasts push into breasts, no pretense of trying to ease back off of her. And with Katsumi's hair curtaining to one side of her face, her bright green gaze can search Bengal's face freely.

It just isn't enough if Bengal isn't awake to experience this, though. So when the referee drops beside the pair, Katsumi quickly interrupts with a, "Not yet," again. Then those eyes return to Bengal.

"Wake up, kitten..."

Her frame shifts; it's subtle, but heavy. A grind of her body against Bengal's, purely indulging in the extensive physical contact.

"Open your eyes..."