The sound of the audience remained deafening the entire time Katsumi continued to lie over Stacy, pinning her body to the mat. Camera phones flashed throughout the sea of darkness surrounding the ring, creating magazine shots and promotional posters. Videographers immortalized the moment for the highlight reel, and for the archives of tonight's episode, to relive again and again.
Katsumi was aware of all of it. She was aware of the spectacle. The message it sent to the stadium. To fans and the locker rooms alike. To the management who'd no doubt be reviewing the fight. She loved this moment. She lived for this moment. The feel of Stacy's body lying beneath her, tacitly accepting its place under her. The girl's a fighter. She's strong. She's fit. But tonight, she's hers. One body conquers another. It's a thrill unlike anything else. And knowing the girl lying beneath her worships her...
Stacy was gifted with a subtle, personal touch before she'd released her. Her hips shifted, dipping inwards to press tight between her legs in a slow, friction-heavy grind. It was purely indulgent. It was purely selfish. Stacy might not've wanted that kind of intimacy. But Katsumi's on top. She's the dominant force in the ring tonight. And she wanted to feel her in that way, while pinning her body down.
At last, the referee would've coaxed Katsumi off of the other girl's body to grudgingly raise her arm. Katsumi placed her boot over Stacy's stomach, just lightly pressing down in one final, lasting visual of claim.
Then, she's off backstage, leaving her glove behind and ignoring the audience. Her sashaying hips and confident smirk is all she needs.
However, just past the gorilla position and into the hallway itself, she gets an idea. Wry, impish, unable to help herself, she dashes off to Stacy's locker room. No thoughts given to changing out of her gear, no thoughts given to toweling off. The mixture of her and Stacy's sweat clinging to her body gets to stay there for now, the cooler air of the backstage whisking against her skin.
Once inside, she makes her way to the mirror and leans forward, teasing her hair to try to fix it. Why? Why would she care? In truth, she wanted to make sure she still looked good before the girl arrives. And once done, she turns to wait, facing the door. She plucks off the remaining glove, tossing it onto the counter. Then she waits. Hips cocked. Fist settled against the smooth curve of her waist.
Katsumi Oshiro
