When Two Feral Cats Meet — Sable vs Spectre

[Monsy]

Match Type: Standard 10 Count + LGF
Rules: Scoring a fall on your opponent by pinfall or submission. When a competitor fails to stand by the referee's ten-count, then the winner is declared and the loser gets fucked into the punishment round. Standard wrestling rules apply. ( DQs and Count Outs )



An ab-infested blonde bimbo.

Small-chested, small-brained and ohshit-, are those fuckin’ FANGS?

…

“Yo Dot. You… Find anyone that does irregular dental work around?”
“Not a one herr capitan! Thooooough I have been known to adjust a jaw or two myself when occasion calls. Why ya askin'?”

Spectre didn’t answer that question then. She went back to her terminal, filling up a file of Sable in her long library. Her real name is Erin Monroe. Former MMA superstar. That was easy to find. Has a sister of a not too dissimilar name. Useful. And like many other experienced martial arts girls, they typically have a broader, expanded base than a wrestler that can focus on one style. Even still--The bitch must have a lead foot. A favoured combo. Finishing manoeuvre. Holds and transitions.

MMA fighters are practical. Typically tunnel-visioned, reliant on fair play. Harder to clam-shot when even the misses get sold and called out by the pussy parade that is traditional MMA leagues. Where fighting is a working science about finding the next winning edge and holding onto it long enough to finish a career as a champion, legend and drug-addicted bum. Of course, many fail that shit as they rightfully should. And while she believed that for Sable too, much about her left her wondering: Just what is her winning edge?

… Other than hot air and a smile I want to de-teeth.
De-teeth?
“Is de-teeth a word?”
On the other side of the room that day, she heard a deep man’s voice. “Maybe.”

She didn’t ask.



Her Dot was having a fantastic fun fare of scouting from the rafters with snacks from the concession stands. Spectre was in-waiting on the other side, high into the weeds of the rooftop’s frame on this closed stadium. All that needed was a little buzz on Dot’s waist from her belt, and she tapped the spacebar. The Chrome Skull logo went everywhere once again. And in a pitch of darkening hue, spewing mist inside the ring burbling at the posts and spilling to ringside, a thunder smacked down like boulders in a giant cauldron.

Purple lights.

FIRE. FLAME. FUN. BELLS.

A virus: RELEASED!

And so it begins again…

Low fluorescent lights around the apron gave ringside an ethereal glow of rolling Night Thrill, pumping anxiety, fear and panic into crowd members that covered their faces and collectively whimpered from distress. The referee as well, but no one saw them in the dark un-lit ring.

“Feeling unwell?”

The Virus’s voice picked up across the stadium, but was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t leave them hanging for long. One big ol’ ZAP came from a Trovita-2 Electro Blaster, her latest toy made over the preceding months, shot an arc that hit the centre of the ring. The referee convulses in the dark, then hits the ground groaning from the tasing. Then when a giant spotlight illuminated Spectre standing there with the referee stepped underneath one of her boots, she finished her line.

A shameless smug written all over her.

“Good.”

Then twisted her heel left and right on the official, still looking ahead. “Ready to try me, tiny tit? I got a piece of your future just squirmin’ to break free. Come take their place.”

[Arby]

The crowd buzzed with murmurs as they are shaken by Spectre’s unnerving display. But just as the mood reached its peak, a surge of energy exploded throughout the stadium.

Rock music blared through the speakers, its electric riffs shredding the tension. In an instant, the atmosphere shifted as a roar of adoration erupted from the crowd. Pulsating strobing lights erupted, bouncing off every surface and matching the chaotic yet exhilarating rhythm of Spectre's opponent's entrance theme.

Entrance Theme:

Spoiler

The crowd continue to scream and cheer for the blonde wrestler who had quickly gained a massive following in L.A.W. despite her recent debut.

And then she appeared.

Reference:

Spoiler

From the top of the ramp, Sable stepped into view, her confident grin framed by the flash of the pulsating lights. She was clad in black and gold wrestling gear, her platinum-blonde hair tied into a ponytail. Her walk down the ramp was purposeful, every step exuding star power as she embraced the fans of L.A.W. with open arms.

Sable didn’t rush her approach. She made the entrance her own, completely undaunted by the chaos that had preceded her. Pausing halfway down the ramp, she twirled with a playful wink, blowing kisses to the sea of cheering fans. A few lucky attendees in the front row even got a mock punch aimed in their direction -- Sable’s way of showing her affection.

As she reached the ringside, she ran her hand along the steel steps, letting the cool sensation ground her focus before ascending. She climbed the ropes rather than slipping directly into the ring first. Sable soaked in the adoration, her smile widening as she pointed out to individual fans, acknowledging their support in a way only she could.

Finally, she slid into the ring and began her victory lap, strutting around with her energy. She met every cheer and chant with a grin or a teasing flex of her arms, making sure the audience felt like they were a part of her moment.

When she finally turned her attention to Spectre, her energy shifted. Sable strode directly into her personal space, meeting the woman’s glare with her own ice-cold, unimpressed stare.

She gave a deliberate look up and down. Then, with a light chuckle, Sable tilted her head and spoke.

"Nice costume," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "What are you supposed to be? Some kind of supervillain?" She let the question hang for just a moment before continuing with a teasing grin. "A bit childish, don’t you think?"

Smug:

Spoiler

Sable took a step back and twirled on her heel, waving dismissively over her shoulder. "Don’t worry," she called out as she resumed her strut. "I’ll try not to embarrass you too much in front of everyone... but no promises."

She turned back to face Spectre fully, her grin razor-sharp now. "Ready when you are, sunshine."

With the mood completely shifted back in her favor, Sable positioned herself for the match, her confidence remaining high despite Spectre’s earlier display of terror.

[Monsy]

The initial roar and colour was bigger than her estimations. Her ear throbbed like a bug on tiny knife-legs was gently walking down her ear canal. She touched it ear immediately, upping the noise cancellation as her jaws clamped on her tongue. Then it was fine. “Yo! Someone has passed out!” A crowd member shouted with laughter. Sure enough, a woman was leaning back into a net of supporting folk, the unconscious brunette blushing, smiling, and breathing fast. KO by blown kiss.

“Phew.” Whistled spectre with a slow idle heel grind on a whining official, her head fixed forward through Sable’s entrance, the lap around her and her approach. Up close, the girl was more chipped marble than smooth. The abs drove Spectre nuts holding herself back. It wad simply calling her fists, knees, machines and everything in-between-s. She shamelessly glanced, then looked up to listen. Christ. She knew from the first word out of the dipstick’s mouth that Sable was new. There just was no other way. Spectre knew that, but -fuck- did she expect them to at least not sound like it… At first.

Oh well. "What are you supposed to be? Some kind of Supervillain?"

“Terrorist.” Said Spectre with shit-eating smugness. Being called childish was also new, and had the smell of a wrinkled face suburbanite shouting at clouds. It took a second to re-calibrate the notion that Sable was -really- this new, despite being such a force in MMA. I will make her suck a damn newspaper at this rate. Maybe zipbomb my portfolio. The idea almost made her cackle. Then a second later, she did for a split second. Her mouth twisted, fighting to keep straight. As Sable invited her, sunshine decided to take her time, slowly twisting on that referee more and more.

She took a deep breath in, closed her eyes, contained her smile to something small, then clapped slowly. "Kudos on the mouth." Sable was ready. But having this hot but ignorant piss-stain nip her heels reminded her how much she used to admire these people. “Ever heard of Doctors pullin' outrageous objects out a patient's backside? Our Doctor Yamanaka has dealt with shampoo bottles, mangos, dildos, mountain dew and entire toolboxes. Maybe he can help you out. Erin."

She spat on the ground on the referee’s head, then used her boot to rub that in, sneering at Sable. “I get it, though. New girl, small chest, gotta inflate two things at once but don’t got the cred or the money. Just do one thing for me: Give it your best shot. Or. Don’t. It's the same ending and the same dick goin' in your mouth.” She made a jerking off gesture over her navel, then threw up the bird right after. She turned around and walked to her corner, still holding the finger up by her shoulder. “Hup.” Then hopped off the bottom rope to perch on-top the turnbuckle pads, laying herself across the ropes and pad, an elbow propped up and one leg outstretched, pointing at Sable with her toes, then the ref who was dizzily trying to get off the ground. “Pick up my trash while you’re at it. We'll fight then.”

[Arby]

Sable stood in her corner, her jaw tightening as she watched Spectre’s disrespectful display. Her teeth clenched in annoyance, but her expression remained calm, save for the flicker of irritation in her piercing gaze. She ran a hand through her platinum blonde hair, masking her frustration with the composure of a seasoned fighter. But her eyes? They never left Spectre.

"You know," Sable began, "all that talk must make you feel real big, huh? Guess that’s the only way you can keep the focus off what you’re really compensating for."

She took a step forward, leaning just enough to be heard clearly without leaving her corner. "But don’t worry, Spectre. You’ll have all the attention you crave when I’m done stretching you out like the mat you’re about to get wiped across. Your little antics? Cute. But I think we both know the only 'trash' in this ring is the person dumb enough to waste energy insulting me."

Sable crossed her arms, her body language relaxed. She let a faint smirk creep across her lips. "Oh, and one more thing -- keep dreaming about what goes in my mouth. You won’t even make it past 5 minutes without begging me to let up."

Her gaze shifted momentarily to the referee, who was still shaking off the effects of Spectre’s stunt, before turning back to her opponent. "Go ahead, get comfy on that turnbuckle. Enjoy your little moment. Because when that bell rings? That’s when the real show starts."

Sable's smirk intensifies. "I’m looking forward to making you my plaything, Spectre. Honestly, you should just give up now. I’ll even promise to go easy on you... if you behave."

Sable remains standing in her corner, arms resting casually on the ropes, radiating confidence. Her expression never faltered, the glint in her eyes carrying more than just bravado -- it is determination honed from years of competing back in the MMA. Spectre’s taunts and even the mention of her real name barely scratched the surface. If anything, it lit a fire within her, adding fuel to her already unshakeable drive to win.

Every breath Sable took seems to solidify her resolve. She welcomes the challenge, her body buzzing with anticipation and excitement, not fear. The thought of besting Spectre and silencing her arrogant posturing isn't daunting; it is enticing.

[Monsy]

It figured Sable didn't listen. The universe was her mirror and she was staring RIGHT into that bitch, no blinking, just talking to it like the shower. Filterless. Why was it always the blondes? Sure, there was another hair colour that propped up in her head. But even then: spiritually blonde.

Though… Hell, she did find it… Chest-warming. She was starting to listen closer with pink on her cheeks that was steadily warming the more and more Sable talked down to her. Spectre took a finger, then began to twirl her hair with a cool stable smirk, looking at the girl up, then down, then right at her middle for a good while. Her chest thumped. The warmth spread all over. She wanted to take a cigarette, then zone out glancing at those judge-y eyes that she imagined were crying and staring at her with need and longing.

“A hundred and fifty seven. Words, that is. To my ninety six. I kept track, miss yap Queen.” She let one leg dangle and began to kick it. The referee was slowly getting to their feet, then slipped to hold their head, so chose to crawl. They had time. “If you want the win, come clean my boots with that mouth. Since you have a thing for dirty talk, you might just like the taste.” Spectre took two fingers and put them near her mouth. She realized she didn’t have a cigarette, frowned, then looked over.

“Likewise about playthings, though.” The referee laid on the second rope with their chest, body stretched out and steadily pulling in. They looked half-dizzy, pulling in their hips slowly, their knees getting underneath, grimacing and holding their head. They finally motioned for the bell.

DING-DING-DING.

And not a moment too soon. Spectre grinned, feeling like the cage door finally opened on her pod. She mounted her feet to perch the top turnbuckle pad like a gargoyle. “Now let's have it.” Then soared with a leap that saw her feet kick the stadium light with a slowly arcing front flip. She landed gracefully, rolling through and going on one knee. Her grin reached its most malicious, tunnel-visioned and enthralled with the giddiness of someone about to deliver a sweet receipt: WITH A LOW-BLOW UPPERCUT!

[Arby]

Sable blinked, momentarily stunned by Spectre's smug jab. A hundred and fifty-seven words? No way! Her brow furrowed in disbelief, and her lips parted as if to object, but no words came. She replayed the exchange in her head -- was it possible she’d really said that much? "I--no, that’s not--" she stammered, before gritting her teeth, refusing to let Spectre’s words get under her skin.

Locking in, Sable narrowed her eyes with sharp focus. She didn’t like Spectre one bit -- not her mouth, not her attitude. Winning this match wasn't just about victory anymore; it was about shutting Spectre up for good and making the penalty at the end so utterly humiliating it would stick in Spectre's mind forever.

"Let’s see you run that mouth when I’m done with you," she muttered under her breath, her fingers flexing at her sides.

Eventually, the bell rang.

DING-DING-DING.

Sable barely registered the sound before Spectre was airborne, leaping off the turnbuckle like a dark blur, her momentum carrying her into a perfect landing. Sable couldn't help but be annoyed by how graceful Spectre was in that moment. Why are there so many acrobatic fighters in this organization?! But her frustration turned into sheer pain in the blink of an eye.

A sharp, searing agony exploded between Sable's legs as Spectre drove a low-blow uppercut straight into her crotch.

"GAAH-!" Sable cried out, her legs giving way as she fell to her knees, clutching her aching crotch. Her face twisted with pain, trying to fight through the agony coursing through her.

Gritting her teeth, Sable raised her head, her eyes blazing with fury.

"Why you little--" Sable hissed. "You’re gonna regret that."

If Spectre wanted dirty tactics, Sable decided then and there she was more than happy to beat her at her own game.

Sable, still wincing from the pain, glanced downward. With a burst of adrenaline, she tightened her fist and swung it upward, aiming to return the favor with a swift, low blow of her own.

[Monsy]

Sweet Gilbert Gavlan did that feel GREAT.

First pussy punched of the night and it was as soft, sound and effective as she could’ve hoped. Down timbered the small-tit bitch, leaving Spectre to stand up and look down at her, just three seconds into this. After her bitching and moaning, this one felt just a little unique. “What’s that?” Spectre cupped her ear, “Can’t hear you, stupid mouse.”

Instinctively, her eyes go wide.

Because--

“NNGGHH!!” Said the squeamish squealing Spectre, hit RIGHT IN THE BEAN.

She must’ve shouldered herself with how sharply they rose. Her spine snapped straight. Head tipped up. Eyes fell inward. Ohmygod-Ohmygod-Ohmygod. Like a tower of cards, with her knees banging together, thighs slapped with the sound of light sweat. She grabbed herself to cover her knuckle-dusted cunt, falling suddenly as Sable’s fist pulled back.

Knees first. Then face-down. Hips up, leotard pulled tight. Her expression twisted and squeezed into scrunching slits, eyes and mouth. When she opened her mouth, she gasped, whined, arching her back down as she curled toes. “Gghhoouuu… Who-fuckin’... Hits back with another… c-cunt b-bust. You little… FUCK.” She started to kick her legs quickly against the mat. Her eyes welling up with tears, so she shut them. “G-Gooooooood…”

[Arby]

Sable winced, still feeling the lingering ache from her own earlier low blow, but she wasn't about to let the opportunity to continue the attack pass her by. As Spectre writhed on the mat, cursing through clenched teeth, Sable stumbled back toward the nearest corner, her hand briefly brushing against her own sore cunt.

"Ugh... she's got some nerve," Sable muttered under her breath, her lips curling into a defiant smirk despite the discomfort. Gripping the ropes tightly, she hauled herself up using the turnbuckles for support. Her legs wobbled slightly, but she bit down on the pain and focused her gaze on her opponent.

Spectre's vulnerable position practically screamed for retaliation. "Let me show you what a real hit looks like!" Sable said aloud, her voice sharp.

With a deep breath and a burst of energy, Sable pushed off the corner, sprinting toward Spectre. Every step fired her up more, erasing the ache and replacing it with the thrill of seizing control of the match. The crowd roared as Sable closed the distance, launching herself into the air with a perfectly executed dropkick aimed squarely at Spectre's exposed belly.

Her boots would connect with a satisfying thud, and Sable landed on her side, quickly rolling to her knees to assess the damage. "That should shut you up for a moment," she jeered, wiping sweat from her brow. "Get ready, bitch. I'm just getting started!"

[Monsy]

By the time she stopped smothering the mat with her face, she was just about to take a big breath and settle on the yap-queen.

She got to her knees, then planted a boot, about to stand. Only for said yap-queen to come barreling towards her, first in a dash, then a leap, then with two boots crushing her gut. "BWUUUGH!!!" And sweet-fuck did she make a face. Bug-eyed, mouth wide and spraying fresh spit. Pale. Spectre was launched into a back-roll.

Her shoulders slapped down, then she tumbled over violently, somehow getting to her knees and rolling with the momentum to stand. She tumbled back to her corner, arms crossed over her stomach, hunched, looking up, her expression twisting in an agony as her belly felt a throbbing. Then it kept getting worse. And worse and--. "f-fuckin... h-h-helllllll..." After bumping off the turnbuckle, whining, she collapsed backwards with her knees buckling after a second of shaking. Her lower back flat on the mat, but her shoulders curled onto the bottom turnbuckle. A leg kicked up, hooking over the bottom rope. Her hands continued to grab at the forming red bruise.

And I thought this girl was MMA. What is this, just a name out of a bag thing?

"A--rrrreal hit..." She coughed, seething, "Issssn't being..." She clenched her teeth tighter, feeling a sharp solid pin-point pain over her belly button. "A f-fuckin... ffffat -human- torpedo." Her head rested back against the bottom turnbuckle, rolling in her lower purple lip to find the sanity to suppress every ugly sensation coursing through her. Not all of them being discomfort. "Bitch."