March 'the Hare' Michel vs. Beauty - Nowhere to Run

[BlackAkuma]

No joke, Beauty’s abs would be hurting tomorrow, possibly the day after. She had no idea what exercise March did to get such deceptively strong legs, but it worked for her, giving her a pair of pistons that hit harder than anyone in her weight class had a right to, a strong shot that seemed to pierce straight through her core and left her gasping. If she had taken another one right after, she would undoubtedly be picking herself up off the floor, and she wasn’t too far from that reality at the moment.

She needed space. Recovery. A moment to breathe. But March wasn’t going to give her that - either because she saw the tactical advantage or she was just too impatient to not rush in. Whatever her instinct, it served her well in this instance, as she moved in on a foe that wasn’t ready for the followup. She came in quick, lunged towards her, and Beauty prepared to block another strike to her midsection, figuring she could bring her opponent down while she recalibrated.

Not to be. A feint. Beauty grunted her annoyance as March kept running, and swiveled around to try and keep track of her. She was one step behind, though; with a fight like this, one step was far too many.

She saw the foot only for a fraction of a second before it connected with her face and sent her spinning about, making her turn a full 180 degrees. She stumbled forward one step, then another, before gravity got the better of her, and she dropped to a single knee. Looking down, her voluminous hair covered her face like a funeral shroud as she reeled, denying March the pleasure of seeing the shocked anger across her visage.

[DeVir]

Beauty couldn't know it, but she was witnessing March's exercise firsthand. Sure she did all the weightlifting stuff so she could keep up with them big honkin' women in the ring. But March could entertain herself with running, jumping, springing, or any sort of movement endlessly and found it better entertainment than nearly anything. She had been fit and strong back in junior high from rushing around her shitty neighborhood and had taken advantage of that fact by knocking down much bigger assholes when needed; nowadays, she got paid for that knocking.

Plus, hearing the crowd cheer as she landed from giving Beauty a flying faceful of foot fulfilled her need for thrills. She stuck out her tongue. "Taste as good as my lips?", she asked without expecting an answer. Hopefully the cameras had picked that one up... but as long as they took in the kick, March had everything she needed for the coming highlight reel she could brag about for weeks.

And the Beauty queen was down for the count. Conscious but not in any position to stop March from getting her next kicks in, whether figuratively or literally. March had already started moving again (save for one cough from her bashed chest making her stumble) while she eyed her opponent. No kicks. If Beauty thought she was hotter snot than her boy toy, who had been a handful, March wanted to take her down a notch with the same disregard and the same degree of pain.

"Woo!" She sailed over her from behind, legs spread. She had to put a hand on Beauty's back to help with the distance; she threw her hips forward, trying to land on Beauty's shoulders and neck to flatten her face against the canvas. They would look good with matching bandaids on their noses!

[BlackAkuma]

The match had only started, but Beauty wasn’t vain enough to realize it was really not going in her favor. She had suspected it might, at least in the early goings. While this match type suited her, March herself was a different sort of opponent. She did her best with bigger, slower, dumber foes, the kinds she could work over with a 1,000 pricks, the sort she could manipulate while staying ahead of them, mentally and physically.

March was a different sort. Maybe not all that smart, but fast, energetic, explosive. Those things could work against her in the long run, but the challenge would be getting there in the first place, and so far, it was proving to be quite the trek.

As Beauty reeled from the kick to her face, she shook her head and breathed deeply, trying to keep her head clear. That would be the key, here - making sure she was aware enough when the opportunity to change things came her way and maximizing that moment. It was the mistake Beast had made, not capitalizing when the window opened. All she had to do was stay vigilant and-

Beauty was just about to lock in on March’s position, when she was made painfully aware of it by a hand pressing against her back. By the time she registered what was going on, it was too late to stop it - her opponent was on her shoulders, she was falling forward, and there was nothing she could do to stop the combination of momentum and gravity. Her face was rammed into the canvas at high speed, and the result left her flat on the floor and reeling, giving the crowd a wonderful view of her backside in the middle of the ring.

[DeVir]

The blitz was on; March could feel it. The awkward landing on top of Beauty's body rattled her bones (and her vagina...), but that meant Beauty's whole face had been rattled and worse. And the spoiled crowd, a little more reluctant to voice their appreciation for March this time since she faced another beautiful woman, ate it up. The California Hare fell onto her belly after the impact and looked behind her at the flattened brunette, pleased with herself. She propped her chin on both hands and swung her legs like a coy schoolgirl on her bed. "Think I broke her moneymaker?" They could barely hear her or answer, but she didn't care. She was loving this.

After subtly rubbing her stinging inner thigh, she started to rise, but a better idea struck like a lightning bolt. No one would ever call her a proponent for slowing down a match, but when an opportunity appeared to shame an opponent like Beauty (solely based on that name), March had to grab it. Preferably, with both thighs.

"I'm going to need to remove your whole head after that bump, Beauty. Sorry, that's the only cure." With Beauty flat as a flounder, the Hare needed only to turn over onto her ass, scoot forward, and stretch her legs to either side of the woman's head. It was an awkward position to scoop up a listless head, especially for someone too hyperactive to bother with perfect technique. Nonetheless, she tugged on Beauty's hair, trying to situate it where she could trap her, chin-first, between her thighs in an old-fashioned front headscissor.

[BlackAkuma]

Patience was a skill that Beauty had mastered through her years, and it had served her well. The patience to place pawns and pieces exactly where she needed them, to have plans that might not come to fruition for ages. The patience to watch an opponent closely and wait for the right opportunity to present itself. The patience to listen when others only heard and see when others only looked. Inside the ring and out, she had been willing to play the long game, and it suited her.

But that didn’t mean she always liked doing. In fact, it could be downright frustrating to quarrel with her own patience for the best results. So, it was always a treat when the opportunities she usually fought for simply fell into her lap.

Or, in this case, fell on her chest.

Beauty had been laying flat, face down, when March came over and flipped her over, forcing her to face the ceiling. She tensed up at first, expecting the nimble wrestler to go for something on brand - maybe a lionsault or a senton or an elbow drop. Something she could even roll away from if the timing was right. So imagine her surprise when, instead, her young opponent chooses to drop down, pull her head between her legs and wrap her up in a tight front scissorhold, crushing her skull with those steely thighs. An effective move, one that left Beauty choking and struggling for her breath as the vise tightened, robbing her of precious air. She gritted her teeth, grimaced…

…and then smiled. A pained smile, but a smile nonetheless. Little fool.

Beauty threw her legs to the side and rolled them over, placing March on her back while she loomed over. That alone didn’t solve the problem, with the blonde’s deadly thighs still encroaching on her throat, but that was fine. She wanted her closed. Needed it.

One of Beauty’s hands made its way up March, sliding over those perfect abs, pressing over the hills and valley, until it found the bottom of her top and began to make its way underneath. The other stayed closer to home and ran along the contours of her crushing thigh, kneading the muscles, massaging them, and working toward a far more tempting target. All the while, she stared up at her little plaything with a hungry gaze, leaving not a single doubt about her intentions.

[DeVir]

A brief lapse into a cartoon character with an over-the-top tee-hee sealed the glory of lording over Beauty with the scissorhold as capably as her legs sealed around the woman's admittedly pretty face. In turning her opponent into a throne, March was teetering and tottering and failing to have the leverage she could have had if she applied this with her ass still on the mat, but it was the dominance she wanted to display. And god, watching Beauty's confident face contort under the pressure released all the dopamine. March visibly bristled with happiness.

"What, this isn't one of your kinks? Getting smushed between a nice, tanned pair of thighs?", she asked, looking hungrily between her flexing thighs and Beauty's face like she analyzed the world's finest painting. Let a camera get a good look at this. She leaned back far enough that it could, shoving more of her crotch into Beauty's face as a side effect. She shook her hair out, too, if only for a touch of aesthetic flair for those watching; she wanted to make it look like this was the easiest match of her life.

"You're gonna have more where this came from once I get-" She had taken her eyes off of Beauty, and she didn't like what she found when she looked back down. A smile. But then again, this was one kinky woman. "Oh, so you do get your kicks from this kind of thing?"

March couldn't understand how right she was, though from the wrong point of view. With no balance, March didn't have a defense for Beauty twisting and flipping the two of them into opposite positions: Beauty lying on top and March below her with her legs pointed to the ceiling. A squeak of surprise didn't have her loosening her grip but looking annoyed. "Learn to be a bottom, Morticia!" To emphasize the point, March grabbed at her hair and started to pull her tighter.

That her tugging came to a resounding stop the second Beauty's hands passed over her abs and under her thin top likely had Beauty reading her like a book. "Ey! None of your horni...ness." Reflexes took over, betraying her further. She reached for the hand heading under her shirt a second before it found an already-hardened nipple growing even harder. She shifted under the heat of the hand on her thigh. And as someone who loved a good pair of eyes, she froze up at the sight of Beauty's looking back at her from between her thighs, pleasure within them.

Her response was to try and squeeze harder, but the gig was up and her focus was gone.

[BlackAkuma]

God, did this woman love to talk. Not that Beauty could criticize her too harshly, knowing the value of a good word during the right time in a match, often using them as a way to throw off her opponent’s game at a crucial interval. But talking was a tool, and just like any tool, there was a time and a place to apply it. March, on the other hand, seemed to be simply in love with the sound of her own voice. Perhaps it might work on some as a method to enrage them, but against any seasoned wrestler it would be little more than background noise.

She had no idea how experienced this woman really was, but it still seemed like she had much to learn. Today would be a learning experience in so many ways.

For instance, knowing not to put your most intimate places within grabbing reach of a woman who’d made it quite clear how kinky she was, in a match where there was absolutely nothing to stop her from doing as she pleased. March was learning that lesson the hard way - or the easy way, depending on your perspective. Beauty fought pain with pleasure as her hand slithered underneath the woman’s top and found a ripe breast waiting for, already stiffened, as if it had been expecting her touch.

She could see the look in her foe’s eyes, see the confusion as pleasure began to take hold, dragging her into a situation she hadn't com prepared for, but that hardly meant she was out of the woods. There were still a pair of iron thighs crushing her neck, and as much as she loved the touch of this woman’s skin against her palm, that alone wasn’t enough to free her. In fact, it only made it worse, as March clamped down harder than ever before, defiant to the end.

If the carrot wouldn’t work, she would happily go for the stick. Beauty’s hand had started with a tender, kneading massage; those tender hands turned to grasping talons instantly, her claws digging deep into the tender flesh with a possessive grip. At the same time, she planted her feet on the canvas and lifted March upwards, holding her aloft for a moment. She didn't’ have the strength to raise her high enough for a powerbomb counter, but that wasn’t the goal - her only aim was to raise her to chest height, then drop her down onto her upturned leg, trying to spike her tailbone right on the point of her knee.

[DeVir]

March did love to talk and did love the sound of her voice, too. That was why her seconds-long silence testified to Beauty's success in grabbing all the blonde's attentions and placing them on her groped, sensitive breast, her fondled thigh, and the look of lust staring back at her. She was enduring the same way Beauty was enduring the scissorhold, albeit with much less pain involved.

The ideas coursed through her overactive mind all the while. Beauty could have wanted this match solely because she wanted March. She could have some plan for this whole thing. She could have no plan. She could have pictures of a flushed March all over the internet. She could be walking on March in heels in an hour. The blonde tried not to imagine that one.

She finally blurted to stop her racing thoughts. "Could you worry about... this!?" She pumped her legs for emphasis, but at the same time, nails tore into her bulging thigh hard enough to make dents or draw blood. It shouldn't have bothered her; March had fought through concussions for better or worse. But with her body a sensitive mess, she squeaked and recoiled, giving Beauty exactly what she wanted.

March was upturned and stared at the crowd from upside-down. "Put. Me. Down!", she shrieked, her grip on Beauty's head loosening so she could tumble down of her own volition. But she didn't fall; Beauty had enough strength in her big tits and whatever was beneath them to keep March aloft. And then send her back down.

March's vision went white. Her back still had a bruise from the apron powerbomb a week earlier, and a second hard impact on her spine in as many weeks left her to cry out and collapse, listless, onto her stomach.

[BlackAkuma]

Despite her posturing, Beauty was quite worried about March’s thighs. She had knocked out a few people with her own legs, but - and she hated to admit this - her leg power wasn’t in the same league as the blonde’s. If the match had allowed it, she wouldn’t have even bothered with this subterfuge. She would’ve gone straight for the ropes, no question, hoping she could get there before she was knocked out.

That was a real outcome—even now, Beauty was seeing spots in her vision as the lack of oxygen took its toll. If this had gone on for, say, thirty or so more seconds, she would be out, and the match would effectively be over. She would wake up, finding herself in poorly tied knots or handcuffs, with March smiling down on her.

But that wasn’t to be, as fortune favored her today, as her gambit paid off, managing to dislodge her opponent and earn her freedom. Beauty gasped, refilling her lung, and stumbled back against the ropes as March collapsed at her feet. She opened her mouth to speak, but only hoarse coughs came out, and she rubbed her sore throat. A little rest would be fantastic, something to get her stamina back. Somewhere to sit and collect herself. Luckily, she could already see a perfect spot.

Beauty stepped over her downed opponent, turned to face her head, and dropped down for a rough sit on her back, dropping all of her weight on the woman’s shoulder. She took a moment to settle on her throne, then reached out, wrapped her arm around her opponent’s throat, pulled her head upwards and brought her legs under her shoulders, trapping her in a choking variation of a wrestling classic: The Camel Clutch.

”There we are, little rabbit.” Her spare hand ran down March’s chest, once again finding her foe’s breast and picking up where she’d left off. ”Let’s get to know each other, shall we?”

[DeVir]

"Christ on a..."

March couldn't remember the ending to the crude phrase, and it strangely frustrated her that she couldn't. It shouldn't have mattered, but it did. Likely because the pain frustrated her. Her locked-up back frustrated her. Because the stinky smell of the rubber soles of boots on the canvas frustrated her. Beauty playing mind games frustrated her. And she hissed and smashed her fists into the canvas in response as she tried to get up before her back told her she could.

Her back got what it wanted from March regardless, but with Beauty's weight being the only reason the Hare remained on the floor, it ached nonetheless. March grunted under the impact, then griped a wordless complaint that quickly became filled with words. Beauty's weight made it hard to grab enough oxygen to speak, but she didn't let that stop her.

"I bet you think... you're hot shit, but you are so getting a faceful of... cage when... GHK!"

There was nothing pleasant about the choking sound that fell from March's throat, cutting her off as well as Beauty's arm around her neck had cut off her blood supply, air supply, and composure supply. The blonde pawed and clawed at the canvas in desperate hopes of a quick escape before her arms were thrown over the top of Beauty's thighs, leaving her helplessly dangling and flailing.

Anyone could tell it by the look on her strained face: blared green eyes staring fearfully out at the crowd and nervously twitching mouth. Beauty had the better of her. And that was before the hand returned to her breast.

"No," came her raspy defiance, interrupted by a cough.