Risk It Roulette: Keith Fox vs. Roulette [D]

[HotWheels]

Dinah gritted her teeth, a steady stream of four-letter words spilling out in a harsh whisper. Her PR team constantly hammered the "sexy, not trashy" rule into her head - boldness sold records, but crassness killed endorsements - yet the throbbing ache in her sternum scrambled her filter. Beyond that, the leather tether kept her from retreating to compose herself, forcing her to stand her ground on wobbling legs lest he yank and pull her back into range without her having the chance to mount anything resembling defense.

She glared at him through the grimace, clutching her chest, but Keith began closing the gap, gathering the strap in his hands with intent. She tried to catch him coming in, driving a knee upward to intercept his ribs, but he juked smoothly to the side, his momentum pulling the strap taut just as she balanced on one leg to deliver the knee. The physics worked against her; the sudden tension yanked her off-axis, spinning her around so her back exposed itself to him. She couldn't turn around in time-

And the lash landed.

The leather bit into the exposed skin of her lower back, right in the gap between her crop top and the waistband of her skirt. It burned like touching a hot iron - and Dinah had done so, once - a white-hot line of fire that felt like it seared straight through to her spine. Every muscle in her body seized in a violent flinch. The noise that tore out of her throat wasn't feminine, wasn't attractive, wasn't alluring - it was a raw, stunned, undignified yelp that the ringside microphone no doubt caught perfectly.

She stumbled forward, clutching at her lower back and nearly dropping to one knee as her eyes watered.

“Oh, shit...” she hissed through clenched teeth, the adrenaline suddenly warring with a very real, very throbbing welt. Oh shit, that did really... really... really... hurt.

[BlackAkuma]

Oh, Keith did not like that knee. He caught it as he was coming in, seeing it fly past him as he dodged to the side, and while this wasn’t the first ime he’d watched her in action, seeing her in person made all the difference. He couldn't help but notice how crisp and clean it was. While he wouldn’t call himself some sort of combat sports aficionada, he’d seen enough knees to know that one was fairly top-rate.

Lucky for him that he didn't have to take it, at least not right now. Instead, he was able to maneuver to the side deftly, letting it fly by. The positioning worked out great, and gave him such a lovely back to work with. He almost felt a little bad about what he was about to do, though. Gentlemanly reflex.

Kieth got over it.

The crowd - and himself a little - winced at the blow and the resulting barbaric yawp that came from Roulette’s pretty lips. While he didn’t doubt she was used to taking hits, that was a special sort of pain, and she’d need a moment to deal with it. A moment she would not be getting. ”Sucks, right?” He moved in with his arms up. ”Let me help you up.”

Kieth’s help came in as he brought one arm under her shoulder, pulled her in, and clasped the back of her head, while the other grabbed her by the waist. From there, he braced his feet, lifted her up, and attempted to send her flying over with a Half-Nelson Suplex towards the center of the ring.

[HotWheels]

It had taken Dinah months to acclimate to the physical toll of her kickboxing stint. She had never been hit before - not really - beyond a stray smack or a punch on particularly bad days for her or for someone else. Going into a ring expecting to absorb impact after impact from someone intent on hurting her hadn't sat right with her initially, but she found a reservoir of toughness she didn't know she possessed. She learned to eat a jab without doubling over, to take a roundhouse to the thigh without limping away.

But those blows came wrapped in 10-ounce gloves and foam padding. They thudded and formed simple bruises. A leather strap snapping against the bare, sensitive skin of the lower back proved a completely different animal.

It felt less like a strike and more like a buzzsaw grazing her spine. The collective, sympathetic murmur from the first few rows confirmed that it looked as bad as it felt, too. But Dinah knew the drill: poker face, shake it off, keep moving. But the neural pathways demanding she acknowledge the pain won out for precious seconds. She stayed hunched, letting out the huffed, groaned noises that the human brain, for some reason, demanded to process the shock.

She managed to straighten just as footsteps approached from behind. She started to turn, a retort ready on her lips as he tauntingly questioned her.

“Yeah you bastard-”

The insult died in her throat as a heavy arm hooked under her shoulder then clamped down on the back of her head. Dinah reacted on instinct, growling as she tried to drop her center of gravity, intending to become dead weight and force him to abandon the lift. But physics and biology conspired against her; Keith simply weighed so much more and could lift and move her so much more easily. He forced her chin down until it mashed against the top of her pushed-up cleavage, locking her posture in place.

She groaned in frustration, her boots leaving the canvas as he hauled her upward. The sudden elevation sent her black pleated skirt tumbling down (or rather, up) toward gravity, exposing the black briefs beneath to the rafters. For a terrifying second, she hung suspended, helpless in his grip. Then the world tilted.

“No- aaaaah!”

A helpless cry tore out of her as the arena spun violently upside down. She slammed into the mat shoulders-first, the impact knocking the wind out of her lungs and rattling her teeth. The world dissolved into a blur of bright lights and throbbing aches as she rolled to a stop, sprawled and stunned by the sheer force of the landing.

[BlackAkuma]

Ooph. Roulette was pissed.

He recognized that look when she turned around. While the woman wasn’t unused to pain, there were some things that you just couldn't prepare for, that you had to experience firsthand. Having your back lit up by a strap definitely qualified, and she was not happy with the revelation. If looks could kill, shit…

It almost made him feel a little bad about going for this stip in the first place, but he pushed through it. He’d make it up to her later. Maybe a little pro-bone promo work. Yeah.

It was the last thing on his mind as he hefted Roulette up and yeeted her away with the suplex. He was careful not to throw her too far, lest he risk dislocating both their arms, but it was still more than far enough to get a real impact and lay her out. He sat up and looked over to see her utterly wrecked. Not accustomed to taking that kind of damage, it looked like.

His first inclination was to follow up with a submission hold, maybe start working on those legs, but a better idea occurred soon after. If she wasn’t used to wrestling, he could, maybe, catch her off guard with things that most wrestlers would’ve never fallen for. Getting a pinfall this quick into a match was rare, but worth a shot. Hell, it might be better for both of them.

He had to try it. Keith rolled to his knees, scrambling over, pushed Roulette on her back, trapped the leg and proceeded to lean on her chest, pinning her shoulders to the mat. The referee clued in quick, and dropped down to start the count.

”1…!”

[HotWheels]

For several seconds, Dinah didn't know which way she had landed. The impact's pain numbed all other sensation in her torso, so she had to rely on her extremities. She groaned and shifted her legs, deciding she lay at least partially on her stomach, given the way her knees scraped against the mat. The crushing pressure on her breasts reinforced that knowledge.

Wow. So that was what it felt like to get thrown in a wrestling ring by someone who actually knew what they were doing. She didn't like it one bit. Zero stars.

She couldn't ignore the cries of the crowd, however, as they called for her to get up. She moved to aimlessly do so, survival instincts kicking in, only to realize two things simultaneously: first, the leather strap had tangled itself awkwardly between her armpit and neck, acting like a makeshift choke; second, the crowd was probably cheering this hard because of the sudden, cool draft breezing across her undercarriage. Her skirt had definitely lost the battle with gravity.

Those complications distracted her long enough that she, still aching, offered nothing but a confused “Huh?” when she felt herself getting shoved over onto her back.

She blinked up into the blinding stadium lights, felt her leg being hooked and lifted, scowled at the ceiling - and then heard the slap of the referee’s hand.

That sound brought her back to reality faster than smelling salts. Her blue eyes flew wide, taking in Keith’s heavy form pressing down on her chest, her own leg trapped in the air, and the ref’s hand raising for a two. Panic, cold and sharp, overrode the pain. She threw everything she had into the motion, flinging her free leg down while thrusting her shoulder and arm up, just like they had taught her in the crash course to prepare for tonight.

Her smashed shoulders screamed in protest, but the leverage worked. She popped her shoulder blade off the mat just before the hand came down again.

The training didn't exactly cover what to do next, so Dinah did the only thing that came to mind. She went feral. She started kicking wildly with both legs, the only parts of her body that didn't feel broken. She drove her heels into whatever meat they could find - Keith’s gut, his thigh. If one of her boots happened to catch him in the crotch? Well, she’d write an apology note later. She just needed the big man off.

[BlackAkuma]

As Keith moved in for the pin, he had to chuckle at the audience’s reaction to seeing under Roulette’s skirts. Cameras were coming out, videos were being made, and it would almost certainly be trending on Instagram by the time this match ended, so they had that to look forward to. It was honestly funny - grown men getting excited by an upskirt shot, when LAW regularly included women having sex in the middle of the ring. You’d think they’d be desensitized by now.

He doubted Roulette would appreciate the humor, though, as she seemed to be having a rough time with things so far. With that in mind, he was honestly half-hoping that this pinfall might win their first bout, give him a chance to reset with something she was more comfortable with.

He got the one.

The referee’s hand came up for the two.

Up came the shoulders, hurling Keith’s bulk off her with an explosive burst. Yeah, she still had a lot of life in her, he’d just hoped that the pinfall might catch her off guard. At least enough for the full two count. She developed some wrestling instinct, it seemed. He made a note to ask about her training later.

”Yeah, figured that wouldn’t work.” He shrugged and sat up, preparing to rise. ”Maybe next-”

Keith had been expecting some banter between them, friendly back and forth, but what he got was a boot to the midsection. If he’d had any doubts about her kickboxing creds, this blow would’ve erased them, as her foot shot out like a piston and drove straight into his midsection, clean on the solar pleux, the tender spot were the ribcage and the abs met.

The blow drove all the air of Keith, sent him rolling away, and left him clutching his stomach as he gasp, kissing along with the pain. To make matters worse, it left him tangled in the strap, meaning he’d need even more time to get back to his feet, time that Roulette could spend in a variety of ways.

[HotWheels]

Dinah felt the satisfying thump of boot meeting abs. Sure, the kicks had looked like desperate, undisciplined shit, which the precise performer hated, but Keith's body still folded around her heel, the air rushing out of him with a gratifying whoosh, and the pressure pinning her chest vanished as he rolled away clutching his gut.

Got him.

Sadly, she didn't have anything in her to gloat about it. But adrenaline overrode the screaming pain in her shoulders as she all but forced herself onto all fours, pigtails swinging wildly, skirt still doing absolutely nothing to preserve her dignity. Whatever. The crowd had already gotten their eyeful - trending on Instagram by end of night, probably, because of course people lost their minds over a popstar's upskirt when LAW literally had sex matches. She'd deal with that fallout later. Right now, Keith was tangled in the strap like a cat in yarn, and she had maybe ten seconds before he remembered he outweighed her by eighty pounds of muscle.

She had to move. Do something before he remembered he could probably just roll on top of her and prove a major obstacle. Jesus, her shoulders hurt though.

Her eyes landed on the leather coiled around him. The strap. Yeah, she still wanted some revenge with that. Her hand shot out, fingers closing around it before her brain fully caught up with the plan. Okay. Okay- choke. Choke him. That was a thing, right? She'd seen it in matches. Loop it, pull. Simple. Brutal. She could do this.

Dinah crawled behind him while he was still untangling himself. She rolled onto her hip behind his head, yanking at the strap so it would hook up and under his chin. She didn't have time to figure out whether he could slip it. She just rolled back and pulled with all her might, trying to push her feet into his back so she wouldn't pull him down, just keep him trapped in the strap.

[BlackAkuma]

So, yeah, Roulette could kick. Hard.

Keith shouldn’t have been that surprised by it. He’d interviewed her. He’d seen her work in the ring. She was in good shape, had the body of a good fighter, well-developed below the waist. But god, there was a world of difference between seeing something and expecting something and experiencing it firsthand. It didn’t help that his own experience with taking damage like that was still new - yes, he’d had some matches, but none of his opponents had that sort of striking power to work with.

It got him thinking that, maybe, the Last Man Standing match wasn’t the best choice for the second match. While he had faith in his own stamina, that wouldn’t matter if she knocked him out, and she definitely had the power for that.

It was a growing worry, one that he kept at the back of his mind for now, as he focused on the central problem of getting back on his feet and dealing with the supreme lack of breath. As bad as that kick had been, the location made it exponentially worse, as her heel struck in the tender area above his stomach. It almost made him feel like puking, and if he’d been a little less strict with his eating habits for the day, he might very well have.

Keith was just starting to get free and up to one knee, when something passed in front of his vision. It took him an instant to realize it was the strap, but by then, it was far too late - it pulled tight, dug into his throat like a noose, and he immediately went into a thrashing fit, kicking his legs about and pulling at it in vain. With her boot on his back and disqualifications, however, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do.

Aside from choke, wheeze, and look pathetic. He could do those three things quite well.

[HotWheels]

He would surely slip this, wouldn't he? Or worse, power out.

Initially, Dinah could feel the resistance as the leather bit into Keith's throat, but something, maybe self-doubt, told her that she couldn't have timed that as well as it seemed. She braced herself with her body taut, feet digging into his back, just hoping that when he got enough leverage that she didn't go flying a second time. She would really... really have to get used to that.

But Dinah felt him thrash and saw his hands clawing at the strap with the kind of panic that didn't indicate that he had a plan, and she hoped the cameras didn't pick up how genuinely shocked she appeared.

Motivated, she braced her boots harder against his back, leaning her whole body weight into the pull. Her arms screamed, biceps shaking with effort and aching shoulders screaming at her to take it easier, but she didn't let up. Couldn't. The crowd roar became white noise as she focused on keeping tension, keeping pressure, watching Keith's desperate struggle from her awkward position on the mat behind him. The thrashing started to slow. Just a little. Just enough that she noticed.

He was actually fading.

She watched his shoulders sag, felt the resistance in his body start to ebb, and something cold dropped through her chest. This wasn't like the kickboxing tournament where the ref would step in the second someone got wobbly. This was a strap match. No tapping. No saving him from her unless she decided to let go herself. Which she... could do. Knocking him out didn't win her anything.

But the other part of her - the part that had survived three weeks of people calling her crazy and reckless, the part that had clawed her way out of an exploitative contract and built an empire on refusing to back down, the part that had just been smacked with the strap and thrown over his head - told her to keep going. This is how she won this part of the match.

Her jaw set, pigtails hanging over her flushed face as she leaned back further, pulling with everything she had left. Her heart thumped so loudly she could feel it in her head.

[BlackAkuma]

…was she seriously going to knock him out?

That was the number one question rumbling through Keith’s head, and disturbingly, he didn’t have a good answer for it. While, no, this wasn’t the sort of thing that would win a match, and tapping wasn’t part of the stipulations, the idea still seemed crazy. He’d thought that he and Roulette were on pretty good terms, at least from the vibe they’d had during their interview. Maybe things were getting a little heated during the match, but that was just sportsmanship, right?

Choking him out like this felt…personal. Intense. More than he would’ve expected when the two of them first crossed paths and set all this up.

The referee seemed to share his concerns, kneeling beside them and checking him for signs of life, but that was likely just a formality, or to make sure his neck wasn’t snapped. Beyond that, there wasn’t anything she could do for him right now. All she could do was watch as he squirmed and squawked, his bug-eyes staring at the ceiling.

Suddenly, Roulette pulled back on the choke, ramping up the pressure in an instant. Kieth’s body went stiff for a horrifying seconds, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his struggling reaching a hectic crescendo, and then..

Nothing. The world faded to darkness, leaving him limp and lifeless like a puppet hanging on a string.