Stancil 'Storm' Jordan vs. Luong Chun - He Who Hesitates

[BlackAkuma]

Luong sincerely hoped that Storm appreciated the blessing he was being given. Many men - and no shortage of women, either - would have sacrificed much to be in the position he found himself now, to be pressed against her immaculate body. Though few were worthy, she had long since accepted that there was little chance she could go long in a wrestling promotion without such close contact and come to accept the necessary evil. Even so, he was receiving a more intimate caress than she was willing to bless most with.

If the feel of something rubbing against her backside was any indication, she would say that he did, in fact, know how gifted he was. His body did, at the least.

Luong grimaced at first, fraught with righteous indignation at the thought of this uncleansed welp achieving some kind of sensual high off her body, as if she was some object to be lusted after. But that look softened when she realized the possibilities. Storm was to be humiliated, either way, but there were different degrees, different ways to make the experience so much mortifying, and she had ideas. Such wonderful ideas.

First, she needed to keep him pacified, however. On that front, she rolled him over to his back with a sudden movement, then abruptly unlocked the scissors and freed him from her chest. His relief would be short, however, as she planted her arms on his chest, lifted her lower body into the skin, and did a perfect handstand, straightening her body and maintaining her balance with astonishing ease. She held the pose for a second before bringing her legs down, jerked up, and drove her knees into his stomach with her full weight behind them.

[Crossedes]

Storm had only passed out in one match. It had happened a few times accidentally in practice and sparring since people had points to prove, but the match had been with a freakishly talented submission expert. He hadn't mourned the loss because he had deserved it. As his fight drew weak in Luong's clutches, he didn't know if this one struck him as equally deserved, and that frustrated him. But the predicament remained all the same, and his frustration became a distant thought as he fought to free his face from its position wedged into her bosom, struggled to kick his legs hard enough to slip from between her thighs, and hoped to think that his reaction to the sensation of having her breasts, thighs, and hands all over him bumped against the floor rather than against her. He had a few more seconds until he reached a point of no return, and he had nothing to save his dignity except the hands that explored every possible exit.

And she flipped him over. He couldn't do anything to fight it, and with her breasts weighing heavily on his face and her weight keeping him pinned, he thought he would be passing out with nothing but shame to show for his efforts. But she let him go. He rasped out with something just short of a cough, felt his diaphragm seem to expand back into shape. The air of the cool arena tickled his face. It was relief, in a sense, but she didn't bother allowing it to last. She had already begun to move, and her hands pressed on his chest before he could move to roll away. He didn't have enough to shake her off.

And all of her weight propped on those hands, hard enough to have him wincing on the floor - his torso already hurt like hell. Her body stretched out above him, and his thoughts about the circus crept back to him. He didn't have the energy to ask what she claimed to be doing. He just reached up, took hold of her forearms, tried to pull, and shattered in half before he could manage to shake her off-balance.

His tortured abs and ribs collapsed underneath her knees, and he jerked, sprawled like a rhino had gored him before he tried to curl onto his side.

[BlackAkuma]

If Luong lived to be 1000 years old, she swore, she would never forget the look on Storm's face when her knees crashed into his abs. Nothing could erase the image of anguish on his as she knocked back out what little air he’d managed to store after the smother. The widened eyes. The gaping mouth. The tongue, lashing out like a cut snake. Luong was not an artist, but she wished for the talent to commit such a thing to a canvas. Her only hope was that the cameramen had secured a decent angle.

She rolled forward after the impact, threw her legs into the air, and rose to her feet as if she were as light as a feather, standing on the ball of a single foot with perfect balance. She took a moment to look over her shoulder, enjoying the sight of his anguish, while the crowd voiced their opinion on the matter with vociferous jeers. Adorable - they thought she had a single thought for their approval—quite the opposite.

Luong took a moment to bow towards Lee, the only one with the sense to applaud her work, before she spun about on her heel to face her fallen foe. She stepped over to him with arms akimbo, looking down at him with all the respect she would afford for a cockroach. As much as she wanted to watch him suffer, there was business to attend to. Debts to be paid.

She planted one foot on his skull and roughly mashed into it the canvas, grinding her heel into his temple with her full weight behind it.

She planted the other foot close to his mouth. Close enough for him to smell. To taste. To…

”Kiss.”

[Crossedes]

Storm didn't waste his breath or his mind rummaging through profanities, but what the fuck? No question could sufficiently address the insanity she had unleashed on him. A handstand on his body in the middle of the match, and most idiots would have botched the landing fifteen different ways. Some would fall, the others would have missed entirely, and the rest would have never hit him nearly hard enough to leave him rasping, aching like his abs had been separated at the seams. She was a freak - in the literal way, yes, but also in the way they talked about top athletes.

Storm could only rub his stomach and hope she played too many games to take advantage of him while he dealt with pain like an abdominal surgery, sans anesthesia. He didn't assume he would offer much resistance anytime soon. He squeaked an eye open to see her stepping over him, and he tensed up his entire body to withstand a kick. It didn't come - not at first She just loomed over him, menacingly, until he saw her foot lift and started to raise his arms to protect his head. A body could take a lot if the head remained intact.

She didn't punt him. He opened one eye again just in time to see it descending on his head, and Storm groaned out as she mashed his head between her heel and the canvas. Instincts triggered, he reached up to grasp her around the ankle and try to pull her off of him, but too much weight combined with too-weak arms rendered his struggle fruitless. But he continued to fight until the other foot dropped in front of him and he heard what she demanded through the sound of his own hair grinding across his skull.

He hadn't even thought about the implications of her stomping over him, but the earlier "offer" crept back to him. She had a thing, didn't she? Storm had never sat and dwelt on his thoughts about anything relating to feet, but the circumstances made the question of his desire to kiss a foot - one that had run all over the grimy ring - moot. It was the weight of dominance that grasped at his spine. And he couldn't let it happen. "Screw..." He shoved on her pinning foot again with all the energy left in him. "...that."

[BlackAkuma]

Luong shook her head as Storm futilely pushed at her ankle, trying in vain to shove her off. While she wouldn’t tolerate anyone saying such things about her, she was not a light person. She appeared slender, yes, but that was primarily due to her being so tall, spreading the muscle over her body. Most of her weight was concentrated in her legs, which rippled with daunting power and gave her a relatively stable base. She had more mass to throw around than many would’ve expected, and most of that mass was now coming down on Storm’s head, crushing it into the mat. Storm could struggle all he liked, but he was not getting away.

Most people would have had the sense to know that they were in a losing situation and that obedience was their only path to escape. Storm, however, seemed to be particularly stupid. Whether she had knocked the sense out of him or he never had any to begin with, Luong couldn't say, but she knew what to do about it.

She reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and held tight as she forced him to sit up, much to the referee’s protests. She wouldn’t be holding like that long enough to create a problem, however - she just wanted him upright, on his knees, in the perfect position for what came next

Luong swung her leg into his chest like a whip, hammering it fast enough to make the same sharp, slapping sound that a chop would’ve created. It knocked him back, but a kick into his back would force him forward before he went to0 far. Another kick to the chest landed, then the back, then the chest again. Luong struck with deadly precision and dazzling speed as she battered his body around, showcasing her dangerous kicks in one of her signature moves - Empress’ Scorn, as she called it.

Storm could likely guess where the name arose.

[Crossedes]

At least she took the foot away. Storm gasped out when she stopped grinding it against his head, glad that she hadn't escalated the point but again rubbing tears out of his eyes. His head and his torso had been through hell - he couldn't imagine how bad he looked. If it in any way matched his pain, between his aching stomach, stinging ribs, and throbbing head, he figured he had earned someone's pity. And nothing could be more embarrassing than ending up in a position where he needed pity. Trying to maintain any semblance of a threat, he willed himself to start sitting up.

Fortunately, that made her grip on his hair a little less painful. Storm still winced against it, threw out his hands to try and get her to let him go, but he continued to show what little fight remained as he rolled forward enough to try swinging at her leg. She kicked him in the chest first. The jolt and the stinging had him tensing up like she had blasted him with a taser. The kind of kick that could stop a heart if it hit in just the right place. She had her legs back. Storm could only dwell on that one thought as she pounded either side of him, and he didn't know which hit was hurting him most - the one she just unleashed or the one before.

At some point, he lost count of how many new bruises he would have speckling across his entire figure, and he dropped over onto his side after one kick with all the same feebleness of a man who had been kicked square in the head. He had hurt in matches before. He had taken blows that would crumple the biggest men. But he couldn't remember having every single inch of his chest and stomach hurting, reddened, blistered like it was, not to mention the pain between his shoulder blades. It was all he could do to clutch at one pectoral, hoping the skin didn't outright fall off.

He couldn't tell if she was toying with him or just this vicious. He just hoped she either got too cocky one last time, and he would do what he could... or that she would lose interest in batting him around like a cat playing with yardn and go on with her night. He didn't like that the latter would even come to mind.

[BlackAkuma]

Excited gasps flew from Luong’s lips as she lost herself in the reverie, enjoying her dance to its fullest. This was one of the reasons why she had come to wrestling - yes, it opened up areas and meant she had to deal with attacks that she would not have had to in traditional competition, but it freed her up in other ways. In a conventional taekwondo match, she wouldn’t have been allowed to torment a foe like this. Storm would’ve been saved by the referee before she could, protected before she could pile on real damage and humiliate him. Why there were safeguards in wrestling, she was given more latitude - as long as she kept Storm under control, he was hers to torment until the match was won. A toy for her amusement, essentially. A plaything.

It was a role suited to him. He made an excellent kicking bag, giving her satisfying feedback on her blows. Some in the crowd tried to count along, though they gave up doing so in unison after the double digits were reached, her strikes coming too fast for their drooling lips to catch up. They could only watch as their hero was battered about, ragdolling from side to side, until…

There. His body flopped over to the canvas, a lifeless, bruised husk. She couldn't even count the bruises, and she doubted he could, either. There would only be pain inside and out, and with pain came fear. An excellent teacher in her experience. What had he learned?

Luong took a moment to catch her breath and straighten her hair, before she came over to his side with a stroll. She planted one foot on his chest, pushed him on his back, and proceeded to stand on him, pinning him under her heel, driving all of her weight into his chest. She reached out to grab the ropes, using them for extra balance, and she brought that same foot over to his face, keeping it suspended just within reach of his lips.

She doubted she needed to tell him what was expected, but she would, anyway, in her usual cold, impassive tone. Just in case the kicking had dulled his senses.

”Kiss.”

[Crossedes]

The only positive that came to Storm's tired mind, as tired as his battered body, was that he wouldn't leave the match with any permanent injuries... so far. She enjoyed beating in the only part of him, his trunk, that could take the brutality without shattering into a million pieces, and while he couldn't remember hurting this much from a series of strikes, he knew his body could take it. She wouldn't have knees to assault if he stayed on the ground. He just kept protecting his head. He would like to have that for his next match against any egotistical kicking lunatics.

He took the few seconds that she strangely lost her fascination with beating on him to roll more onto his shoulder than his side - his shoulder didn't hurt - and try to decide if the aches in his chest and back would stop anytime soon or if they would stay with him forever. They tortured him enough that he could buy the latter being the truth. Again, he wondered why he kept going, but he threw that thought aside. He wasn't built for surrender, and he knew he could win with one more window and a little more caution. And a bucket to chuck at the translator's head.

She knocked him onto his back, and even that slight contact was enough to send pain out like a blooming flower. That didn't come close to the pain from her planting that damn foot on him once more - his chest this time - and crushing his sternum under her weight. Again he tried to throw her off, and again her balance and weight proved too much for muscles that might have failed to tear through kleenex. He glared up at her, started to reach for the rope break - and there came her foot again, almost touching his lips. He pursed them and tilted his head back. Why did it hit him so hard every time she did that? Why was she so insistent?

Though it was hell to look indignant with her standing on his battered chest, he reached one hand over his head to grab the ropes, hoping the ref would count her standing on him as a reason for a rope break - and once again saying no to the kiss.

[BlackAkuma]

Some people just did not know when they were beaten, did they? Was it an American thing? She was not overly familiar with the people there. Still, she had seen enough of them through social media and the like to know that they were braggadocious people, prone to displays of masculinity and chest-thumping. ‘Never give up, never say die’, though they had likely done both in their history more times than they would ever admit. Luong had little patience for it, especially when an olive branch was shoved back in her face.

Defiant till the end, Storm reached for the ropes, going for them like they were his salvation.

”No.”

The foot offered to him came down on his wrist instead, stomping on it and pinning it to the floor, just shy of the ropes. She’d given him a way out, his only chance, and he’d thrown it back in her face. There would be no more escaping, no more delaying. If he refused to bend, then he would break, instead.

She brought her foot off his chest, stepped back, grabbed the arm she had stepped on, and dragged him back towards the center of the ring, taking him away from his salvation. She made sure to throw a few kicks into his side, both to keep him weakened and out of pure spite. The venom showed on her face, glaring at him with utter contempt.

Luong was going to set an example. Here and now.

[Crossedes]

He supposed getting her to move the foot was something... not what he wanted, but something. The other foot remained wedged between his pectorals, and he tightened his chest as best he could despite the pain to withstand it in case she thought to keep him in place any longer. Fortunately, she didn't, and he gasped in relief. The pain remained, but without her actively targeting the source, he had a reprieve. What good it would be he didn't know, and he didn't know how much longer she wanted to play these games, either.

He hoped she would give him a window, use any and everything he had left to put her down and keep her there permanently this time. Willing himself to ignore his pain, he steeled himself to just dive and go for it, but she acted with greater purpose and had him by the arm before he could scheme anything. That didn't stop him from trying. The Highlander turned, tried to push out on his knees, launch himself toward the ropes, and hope she bit recklessly on the chance to track him down again, but the first kick she delivered put a stop to that. The others left him slumping.

Once they reached the middle of the ring, however, he made his play. Slowed and with a third of the power he could normally muster, he swung out as aggressively as he could in hopes of catching her kneecap with his arm, just hoping he could pull her down one more time and have one more opportunity to even the ever-decreasing odds.