Blaise Cameron vs Makie Akamatsu

[Underdoggo]

The crowd was howling now as Makie had on the mat, unmoving, her eyes closed, her limbs splayed outward, her sweat-soaked hair clinging to her forehead. The crowd was going wild now, many of them chanting for the new girl to get back on her feet and keep fighting, many others simply stunned at the tremendous, earth-shattering drop that Makie had just taken. Surely, despite her seemingly indomitable will, Makie couldn't get back up from that...could she?

Blaise was seemingly not content to wait for an answer, patting Makie on the stomach to seemingly denote a target, before grabbing her by the wrists to drag her towards the corner post. Makie did not react as Blaise did this, only groaning slightly as she was positioned lying down in front of the turnbuckle, body shining with sweat.

Despite this, the crowd's incessant shouting seemed to be having some effect, as Makie's eyelids began to flutter open, a soft groan escaping her lips as she was forced back into awareness.

It came too late.

Down Blaise came, his full body crashing down hard against Makie's slender wait. The impact caused Makie's upper body to jerk upright in with droplets of sweat, a mixture of pain and bewilderment on her eyes...and then, slackly, her body fell to the mat again, whatever fight she had left seemingly taken out of her by that one brutal impact...

[CyanDimitrik]

When wrestling with someone, you get acquainted with some things. Your opponent's physiology, sure. But also the way their muscles feel when reacting to you, when tensed and alert, when struggling and straining. It's a primal kind of connection you forge with the other person in competition; words not needed. And though the wrestlers may not be consciously thinking about it, there'll eventually come a point in the match when one body gives out to another; when the fight leaves them. It's a multitude of feelings and sensations, a change in the energy, a kaleidoscope of factors that register all at once to the one in the dominant position, letting them know that it's over. They've won. And when Blaise's abdominals collide across Makie's stomach, he feels her body tense up against him... and then there it is. She's finished. She's done. For sure, this time. He's confident in it.

The referee-girl quickly drops beside them, but pauses upon seeing Blaise adjusting his position over her. He could've just lied across her waist, settling into that warm skin contact with her, but that wasn't how he wanted to end their in-ring time together. Spinning around, he aligns his body along hers. Knees push between her knees to slide in between her thighs. His hips press tight against hers, that tense firmness she'd felt against her face before now deliberately grounded against the base of her hips. His sweat-slickened abdominals lie flush with her own damp stomach, feeling her breath against him. His bare chest rests heavily against her sportsbra-hugged breasts, heart pounding to heart. He pushes her arms above her head before taking hold of her biceps, squeezing them to keep her shoulders pinned back against the mat.

Finally, he brings his face to rest inches above hers, panting hard against her lips. Half-opened eyes rest on hers, lost in that inherently submissive expression on her face.

The pin is unavoidably intimate. It's meant to be; meant to be a kind of claim tonight.

"One!" The referee-girl slaps the mat. "Two! Three!"

[Underdoggo]

Makie was out of it at this point, of that there was no doubt. The girl's skin shone with sweat.after this brutal bout, her hair sticking to her forehead, her eyes closed. If she felt Blaise pressing down on her at all-- his faced aligned tantalizingly close to hers, his bare pecs flattened against her own heaving chest-- then she gave no sign. No sign except, maybe, for her face becoming flushed an even deeper red as she breathed softly.

"Four! Five! Six! Seven!"

[CyanDimitrik]

The cameras eat up the imagery; the male lying dominantly over the female, both spent, exhausted, beaten, no space left between them. It's a very physical, kind of primal sight.

Blaise, meanwhile, mentally counts along with the referee. Nothing has changed or altered that feeling of being in complete control now. He can take what little time he has to admire the female beneath him - from her pretty face, flushed no doubt in the same way his is, sweating, panting. The feel of her breasts pushing up against him every time she inhales, the way she conforms to him. The feel of her bare midsection against his, skin against skin, toned, inviting, hot. The evaluation ends at the hips, with his nestled tight between her thighs. The stiffness with which she's no doubt become acquainted throughout this match now pressing tightly to her, unabashedly so; every subtle shift and adjustments grinding them together intimately.

His fingers flex on her arms, squeezing her. Each labored exhale beats warmth against her lips.

"Eight! Nine..!" The referee girl raises her hand at the ready to strike the mat for the final time.

[Underdoggo]

It is abundantly clear at this point that Makie is done. Her eyes are closed as if in a soft sleep, her breathing is shallow, and her skin-- bare navel, arms and thighs-- glistens with sweat from an intense mafch. All the cheering of the fans can't seem to rouse her, and she seems completely oblivious to the countdown.

"TEN!"

And there it is: the countdown ends. The bell rings, signaling the end to a hard fought match-- a match where, in the end, Blaise Cameron has emerged triumphant!

[CyanDimitrik]

There it was, the ten-count and the following bell. It rings throughout the arena, and the audience is going wild. The long, grueling, intense match between the two has finally come to an end, with a picture-esque finish of one rival lying atop the other, pinning her down.

With the sound of the bell, strength seems to sap from Blaise's muscles all at once. He collapses against Makie, pressing more heavily into her sleek body, with his sweaty face pushing against her cheek. He lies there several seconds, breathing her in, feeling all at once overheated, exhausted, and tense. There was something exciting about it; after the ferocity of the match, now feeling her body stretched out beneath him, the swell of her breasts pressed tight to his chest, the slick warmth of her toned, bare stomach melded against his chiseled abdominals, the heat from her neck and cheek radiating against his face. It all brings so much more focus to the point of his hips pressed against the gap of her thighs.

He's never been one to enter into the field of hentai wrestling in LAW, but this particular moment makes him wish they were, in the most animalistic, base way. It's a guilty thought; but one he can't help but have in the heat of the moment.

That is, until he's reminded the audience is there. No, that wouldn't do at all! That kind of thing would be meant only for himself and Makie! It's enough to center him in the moment again, and he lifts his head to look down at her. Dipping his head again this time, he just lightly bumps his forehead against her temple in a subtle show of affection before allowing himself to be pawed off of her inviting body.

First to his knees, then rocking back onto his boots and full height, the referee-girl raises his arm to the audience.

"You winner by pinfall!," enthuses the announcer, "Blaise! The Phoenix! Cameron!"

When the wrist is released, Blaise trots to the nearest turnbuckle and climbs to the middle ropes, fists thrown high into the air, body stretched taut and glistening under the blaring overhead lights as well as the myriad flashes of camera phones. It felt incredible to hear his name called as the winner; genuinely an unbelievably euphoric feeling after being nothing more than a loser for much of his life. And though everything hurt and he desperately needed rest, it felt like a high was burning in him.

Hopping back down from the turnbuckle, he makes his way over to Makie and leans over. If she's still not stirring, he reaches down to gently jostle her shoulder.

"Hey!," he calls, voice elevated to cut past the cacophonous clamor of the audience. "You good?" And should she look his way, she'll be met with his smiling, softly panting face framed by the lights. And then a pair of hands offering to ease her to her feet.