Gil "Arma-Gil-O" vs Karla "Ray" Reinhardt - Collar Match

[Monsy]

She bore down a hellish gaze and fumed at their response. A hand swiped the air before her, kept outstretched to proclaim authority in one shout.

“Quiet, du Stück Müll!”

A rippling numbness patted her stomach. More annoying than debilitating and perhaps insulting. Gil not only denied her opening victory but stole the spotlight in that hip-check. An unforgivable transgression. So, with all the muster and steam thundering from her legs, she exploded into a sprint - her jutted shoulder sought to impale this giddy rat.

Ranks within the audience saw as a pelvic bone crowned Karla’s skull. Once more, the numbness returned and infested her neck like a plague. The disorientation caused her to stumble with legs like a newborn lamb as she shuffled a few steps that collapsed onto her front, face-down.

She recuperated onto her hands and knees within a second, then pushed up and planted a heel, yet failed to stand. Her back arched, both arms outstretched to battle for balance, and a hand cupped her head’s top to nurse the pulsating ache that harassed her senses.

She’s dazed; now, with her leather-clad back faced towards her opponent, there was little to dispute with; nothing but a shallow groan.

[Arista]

Gil winced as soon as she made contact with the top of the woman's head, she did it purely out of instinct, and by the time she had committed to it, her opponent had already taken from for her attempted spear.

"I'm so sorry...!" Gil apologized, but despite this, she didn't hold back for even a second, there was one thing she learned during her short time in L.A.W, and that was that you can't hold back, and Gil's move-set was rarely one that had the other person down on the mat in pain, more common was them seething with rage and making mistakes because of that.

Gil swore to herself that she'd make it up to Karla after the match was finished, she glanced over her shoulder at the collar hanging in her own corner, no, it was far too early to be thinking about that, a quick victory was high risk, high reward, but Gil wasn't going ​to take it.

With Karla down on her knees, Gil took ahold of one of her arms, looping it through and under her legs, turning her back to Karla. Those of the crowd who were familiar with Gil knew what came next, and hung on the edge of their seats in anticipation. Gil have a solid yank on Karla's arm, pulling her face right into her backside! Executing one of her signature moves, the Marshmallow Press!

[Monsy]

A battlement of bone bludgeoned her crown. The headache bore like an infection and mutated into dizziness. Gaze swept towards her leather-clad hands that positioned her on all fours. Ten splayed digits turned to twenty and even thirty. Her head shook, yet the virus clung on, deprived of strength nor a semblance of growl to overpower it by wrath. So she groaned and listened to the voice that apologized.

“Don’t…. Say that…. To….” There was a trail of hot ragged breath. She lifted her head and watched her hand thread betwixt Gil’s leg. Her spine arched, hips sat upon her calves as her free arm laid palm-up on the canvas. A warmness swept her frame, an unexplainable pump inside her chest and blink as her head rolled back, like being lost inside a high. “Me… Hundchen…”

In one yank, her world turned black. Whipped forward did her body careen and threw itself; face found flush inside Gil’s backside, an asset that moulded like dough over the Reinhardt’s face, which resulted in a muffled squeal and occasional whimper. Her chest was cusped in a thunderous ache, a pulse that drummed. Her hand bore up and pressed against their opposite thigh and mounted a push. Both eyes welded shut and sweltered with a scarlet heat that bathed her features to cause a line of sweat.

[Arista]

Gil was perfectly content with this hold, she could keep this up all day if she needed to, and it seemed to do the trick against Karla, her hot breaths adding to the warmth she must have already felt from being trapped between Gil's cheeks.

"...Hundchen, that sounds a lot like hound! Like a dog...!" Gil chirped, not really putting two and two together. She bent down, looking through the small arch of her legs while keeping her grip tight on the redhead's arm. "Oh, I brought a leash along with me as well! I wasn't really sure what good the collar would do without, so I figured it'd be pretty handy...!" She informed Karla, her plans were mild, at least in comparison to whatever Karla's were, smothering was effective, but not really capable of causing any long term damage or injury.

Cheers from the crowd really encouraged Gil to keep up her hold, and a further onslaught of moves, whenever she chose to end this one, confident that Karla couldn't break out on her own.

[Monsy]

Swamped by her loss of breath, the Reinhardt’s strength entered an ever-shifting pool of uncertainty. There were moments of warmth that weighed her spine, forced an arch, and her hips jutted outward against her heels. A redness swallowed her cheeks whole; the scraps against Gil’s leg turned to paws before grabbing a handful of thigh-flesh. It wasn’t her place to lose. Such dignity wouldn’t allow it. All in her career, she found a move she hated more than being dunked on her head.

Her foot slammed into the canvas; an arm reached between Gil’s legs to grab their wrist. She leaned back with all her weight, yanked upon the limb in hopes to gain a modicum of leeway. Should Karla be successful, her freedom marked with a heavy influx of breath that cusped her throat like burning rocks and resulted in a hard cough. She didn’t take time to recoup; instead, she dipped her skull to face the canvas and thrust, so her shoulders pushed against’s Gil’s legs. The weight piled onto the frontal foot, where her teeth grit and reddened countenance scrunched to marshal a stance. One where Gil would go air-bound onto the lightweight’s shoulders. As her second foot reclaimed the mats, she’d run forward and throw herself back to send Gil falling against the canvas back-first!

[Arista]

The snooty Miss Karla Reinhardt was in a more than sour spot in this match, her face buried deep between Gil's butt cheeks, it wasn't really the most admirable spot to be in, though many wouldn't mind trading spots with the redhead if the offer was there.

You can never know what is running through you opponent's head, whether it was uncertainty, shock, desperation, or anger, Gil couldn't really tell. Her grip stayed tight on the German's wrist, doing everything she could to hold her still and in place, this smother was far from finished if she had any say in the matter, the crowd ate it up too much for her to swap it out for anything else!

Gil couldn't be positive, but if she had to throw a guess into the wind, she would say Karla, more than anything, was plotting her next move, her counter! Gil in a series of swift movements, was hoisted up onto Karla's shoulder, shock washed over her, how had she gone from such a powerful stance in this match to completely at the mercy of her opponent in mere seconds?

"W-wait...! Put me down...!" Gil went to pleading, she had been through enough matches to tell Karla wasn't the type to show much, if any mercy to her competition. Gil didn't even have the time to fully understand her position before Karla leaned back with a jolt, sending Gil into the mat with a resounding thud that shook the ring and forced a cacophony of groans from the audience.

Her landing wasn't graceful, she took the brunt of the hit in her shoulders, at least it wasn't her lower-back again, that part of her body had seen more than it's fair share of pain and hard landings.

"Mmm! That hurt...!" Gil stated the obvious, rolling her shoulders to try and find some relief, she might be feeling that one all night, and well into the morning, her already poor defenses were lowered, leaving her wide open to any kind of assault Karla may be itching to deliver.

[Monsy]

Anyone was free to assume her place. By all means, Karla couldn’t spend this match locked between someone’s rear. It smothered her lipstick. Let alone pinned or submitted by such a maneuver. Her pride couldn’t swallow such a feat. This pink ballerina dog didn’t have a hope of survival once she got free! All the cheers and extended smother fed her malice like fuel into an engine, which roared when her opponent hoisted onto her shoulders and brought down to the crowd’s displeasure. She rolled back onto her shoulders, coiled both knees to kiss her chest, then exploded for a kick-up. Landed sound on her heels, arms spread in what bathed inside these groans.

“Huh?? You pissants don’t want to cheer that??” She said, voiced like she scolded a batch of kids, coupled with a glare to freeze their hearts and concluded with an eye roll.

She turned that fury upon Gil, where she loomed like a predator with her raised boot like its jaws, shot down to stomp their thigh.

“You.”

A second stomp aimed for Gil’s stomach. “Little.”

Then a third and last thrust. This time her foot careened high and flexed over her head. The leather gleamed, and there was a moment where the audience held their breath, awaited the impended axe kick that whipped down and sought to punish Gil’s chest. “DOG!”

[Arista]

Maybe it was a bit early to be complaining about the pain, Karla had much more where that came from, and Gil knew, after someone of her attitude faced any kind of humiliation, they usually looked to throw it right back, twice as hard!

Gil yelped, and jolted up slightly with a stomp to her thigh, but would be forced back flat against the mat with another mighty stomp onto her stomach, and a cough would be forced out with a final blow to her chest. If she didn't know any better, she was sure she cracked a rib during the viscous onslaught of stomps.

Gil struggled to bring oxygen in for a moment, the red-headed, hot-headed, villian-esq, Miss Reinhardt, was already wearing a chip on her shoulder, or so Gil thought, but that snobbish personality was far more preferable than the angry one she had to deal with now. Karla stared down at her, she couldn't really bring herself to move as quick as she normally could right now, and even if she could, she was right in the German's sight, she'd have to look for an opportunity elsewhere, but being a sitting duck in a situation like this could only mean trouble for her. Gil was in a tough situation, with little to no options.

[Monsy]

Karla’s chest swelled with magma and gave her heels the extra bloodlust to deliver a trio of blows upon what she saw as a dead carcass. She stopped after the third and pinned her boot on Gil’s chest. Both arms folded shoulder-height, where thumb and pointer formed a circle; eyes closed to inhale a storm, then released a slow silk-smooth wind.

“I’m calm…. I’mmmmm calm.”

When her voice sailed into a whisper, the pressure doubled on Gil’s chest as she slumped and gazed down through a grin that spread ear-to-ear. The sight of another beneath her. What pain and splendour. The bubbles clogged her heart and rushed into a high. Arousing, almost.

“Danke fürs Warten, mein hündchen.”

A laugh patterned her speech, then broke when finished. She lurched to grab a fistful of their hair and drag them, paced back in hopes they’d sit up and present their countenance like one of her heavy bags. If the clean target presented itself, she drew back a leg. The steam pressured within her leg threatened to explode. Her foot shot straight for Gil’s face. The grip released, and all malice counted on fate itself.

[Arista]

Gil coughed, brining in what little air she could, desperately searching for any kind of relief that would never seem to come. Her chest battled up against the boot that rested on her chest, pressing her further down into the mat, unable to suck in any good amount of air.

Gil sword her sternum was going to crack, as the pressure on her chest only grew heavier, giving a pathetic sight for the crowd to behold. A shrill squeak escaped Gil's lips, her hands gripping loosely onto Karla's ankle. "Stop..." Gil whined, her voice hushed and quiet.

Her grip turned from Karla's leg to her wrist as she was lifted up by the bunch of her hair, her legs barely keeping her upright, her knees buckled as she almost fell forward into the German-woman. The look on her face was one of pure discomfort, not pain, per-say, though that's definitely what brought this on, her chest ached and her lungs burned from the harsh stomping she took.

She barely saw it coming, much less did she have time to react to the kick coming right-toward her, smashing into her nose and sending her falling backwards, but not onto her back, but into the ropes. Rather than her holding onto them for support, the ropes offered their own, as Gil looked almost completely limp, as blood dripped from from her nose. Without even an attempt to dodge, the kick landing spot on.