POW Match - Evelyn Fallanger vs Blaise Cameron

[Monsy]

She’d make his torso her throne, at least for a few moments. Scratch that, ten seconds. Maybe longer? If it’s well deserved. It felt warm and comfortable, further embellished by her pin. His wrists within her hands, not even twitching. Tranquil, wasn’t it? Something about these moments made her heart skip. Each slap; a thump.

“C’mon.” She said, chewing her bottom lip.

As the referee counted two, her hips popped up, one palm redirecting to support her teetering side. Blaise kicked out, nearly bucking her off! But she rebalanced, ascending to her knees. Though her victory slipped away, Evelyn’s battle plan merely continued from here! First, she suffocated his wrist with a powerful grip, setting a second hand upon his opposite shoulder. Once she stood, her body was looming over ninety-degrees with pearly white hair tickling his cheek.

“Guess I’ll have to keep trying, hm?”

She’d tug, attempting to drag to sit upright, doing so by angling his wrist towards her head, retreating three long steps and using her second hand for maximum effort! And after ducking beneath the outstretched limb, she appeared on his flank to wrench his wrist. An arm wringer, through and through.

[CyanDimitrik]

Nevermind the ache in his torso, the pin was pretty peaceful. In fact, were it not for that persistent ache from the elbow drop, Blaise likely would've laid there constantly beneath her for a while longer. But he wanted to make sure it didn't get away from him.

This girl, "Fallacy," is dangerous levels of adorable-meets-pretty. It's a woefully distracting combination, and in a match where there is more on the line than a mark on the K/D ratio, he has to try to fight through the egregiously natural urge to indulge in the obvious body contact.

He isn't in a position to respond to her just yet. But he presents her with no rebuttal, and no resistance to her tugging his arm. He wants to get back onto a vertical base with her! Though he first has to wrest control of the situation before things can really turn around.

That might take a moment. Fallacy raises his arm and dips beneath forcing him to double forward with a yelp. His free hand sets over his shoulder, fingers splayed. He attempts to walk the hold loose for a couple steps, but finding no success there, opts to instead manually unravel the wrench she'd applied. Pitching forward, he plants his free hand to the mat and handsprings his body over in a short, forward flip, landing neatly on his boots. Reaching to seize her by the wrist in turn, he elevates the arm and rotates in a quick spin to reverse the wristlock onto her!

[Monsy]

Though the pin broke, Miss Fallacy wasn’t short of ideas. She’ll make him regret kicking out! Which Is something she’d say if she were mean. Still, the easy transition into an arm-wringer did bring a smile towards her face. Two dimples formed, periodically interrupted by his sudden yelp that scratched her ears and her heart.

Instincts wanted to ask if he’s alright, but that would be silly. Of course, they were okay! They knew they’d get hurt, risking slams, drivers and all forms of uncomfortable stretches until someone cried for mommy lest they win themselves. Thus, she pressed onward, working the hold, trying to nudge them towards the ropes or corner to unveil her aerial domain. However, Blaise proved too keen on escape. His flip caught her eyes, flowing freely into the reversal. Her wrist becomes a prisoner of his swift technique, resistance broken by superior strength and a bee-stung throttled her entire limb.

“Oww, ow, ow, ow-hey! M-My arm!” She practically squealed.

She lurched forward, her eyes winding tight, lips slipping out strained whimpers with her second arm reaching out and grabbing fistfuls of air. An arch formed in her back as she kept inching for the ropes. Whether Blaise allows it or not is up to fate because control has slipped from her fingers.

[CyanDimitrik]

"My arm, now!," laughs Blaise in retort. Those are the newfound rules. If he captures it, it's his. Right?

Of course it's pain mixed with play, teasing with the beautiful blonde. She's clearly skilled and confident; he doesn't share her qualms about causing her discomfort. As she concluded, herself, they both signed up for this. Wrestling is a rough, painful, full-contact sport wherein it's rare for one individual to not feel pain. It doesn't mean he delights in her suffering, no no, let's not get it twisted. But her willingness to fight, struggle, and ultimately hurt for the sake of competition and pride is a fetching quality. She's a fighter. A ridiculously cute one, but a fighter nonetheless!

He can feel her tugging them towards a corner, the referee lingering nearby at the ready to call for what would no doubt be a rope break. But Blaise has no intention of letting it get that far! With her arm under his control, he raises the appendage and twists the wrist inwards further, forcing the elbow to bend and tuck tight against her back to force her body suddenly and directly against his, chest-to-chest. One hand keeps the hammerlock in place for that moment - he needs only a moment! - while the other arm reaches to catch her head in a front facelock.

And with that done, Blaise will drop backwards to introduce Evelyn's pretty forehead to the surface of the ring in a hammerlock DDT!

[Monsy]

“H-Heyyy, it’s n-not nice to tease! You meany beany!”

Heesh.
Couldn’t think of anything better, huh?
Still, the brief dialogue allowed Evelyn’s mind to drift elsewhere. The burning on her shoulder, nerve-pinching aches in her wrist and the throbbing in-between. Her breath poured out like a sputtering engine, quick and brief, fending off his influence. That’s what she believed; fingers flexed, hoping for the ropes to caress her palm. One swift second ended this fantasy with Blaise’s emphasizing his control in one torque. She hopped, stomping her left foot. Her lips narrowed, a whine beckoning against her brims while her eyelids screwed shut. Suddenly, a hot spring of warmth pushed against her chest as her arm folded flush against her back. When she opened her eyes, her cheeks started burbling with heat, a claw dug into her throat and hindered any speech beyond a babble.

“A-Ahh… Hey…”

Though her fluster didn’t last long as an arm ensnared her head, forcing her eyes to meet the mat. Her heart raced into a panic. Her eyes bulged, then, everything became black. THUNK! With her knees pressed against the mat, her hips stuck in the air, facedown against the mat, her limbs slumping like loose weights. A weak mumble broke her silence, followed by a rather unceremonious fall where her hips towered onto its side. Here, she mumbled her curses while loose strands swiped across, dipping into her mouth. She couldn’t tell, though. In fact, she could hardly tell anything.

[CyanDimitrik]

The ring shudders under the impact of Evelyn's head meeting the mat. His hand restraining her arm loosens and releases, instead resting his palm flat against her back. Her skin is smooth, warm, inviting - not so sweaty just yet. Their match has only begun.

For the second time tonight, Blaise finds himself in the bittersweet position of lying beneath "Fallacy". But this time, it's on his terms and with a very stunned girl. As she topples to the side, Blaise tilts to follow suit. The two smoothly roll over, ending with Blaise lying directly atop her.

The position wouldn't exactly suggest a secure pin in the competitive sense, but assuredly a dominant poise with its own merits. His legs shift between hers, forcing her thighs to part a little. His hips meet hers, perhaps a little indulgently in the firm contact. Abdominals press flush to her own toned stomach, skin melding against skin. Firm pectorals push tight against the swell of her breasts, mashing into them. His face hovers centimeters above hers, his every inhale swelling his body against her feminine figure, every exhale a wave of warmth against her cheek or lips.

Lastly, his hands grab for her wrists to secure her hands at either side of her head to complete the pin attempt.

In a voice decidedly softer and more flirty, he murmurs, "Hey..."

[Monsy]

The mats lay home to Evelyn's stupor. Her flickering eyes gazed upon the ceiling. Limbs like idle weights clung to the warm canvas, twitching, dulling. Fingers unfurled, her strength bled until her greatest motion was the rise and fall of her bikini-covered chest. Ragged breaths drooled from her parted lips, finding her cheek fall against the mats as his weight topples on. Alas, her legs become wrapped within his own, seized and parted, the warmth of Blaise's front splashed against her stomach, mounds that mushroomed against his stomach. Now, every inch of her frame was swallowed by his shadow and pinned. Well, not yet. Last on his agenda was taking the lithe hands of Miss Fallacy and asserting them on her head's flanks, sitting within the pool of ivory hair that splayed in all directions like tendrils of silk.

The referee reached two without a hitch. Groans became the only source of response. Until, three rang, then four. Alas, her eyes blinked rapid-fire, slowing down once she came to. The lights she fixated on before were now overshadowed by Blaise's looming face, the cooing warmth against her pale cheek that seemed burned into cherry once more. "H-Hey! H-Hi!"

Her hips began wrestling for their freedom, same with her legs and hands. She grunted, arching her back, pushing into Blaise's stomach as six was called. "C-C'mon, let me upppp!"

Though if Miss Fallacy proved successful in unhooking her legs, her pleas didn't need an answer. Instead, she craned her knees skyward, kicking the air with all her strength to buck the shoulder up before seven. Albeit, humiliating… She could rest knowing she hadn't lost.

[CyanDimitrik]

The count is nice and slow. Enjoyable. God bless the slow-count stipulation. It gives Blaise long enough to particularly enjoy the view of Evelyn's pretty face, peaceful beneath his; the feel of her body against him, the skin against skin. Feeling her toned body shifting pleasantly in the subtle rise and fall of her breasts and stomach against his chest and abs. By the seconds count, his mind is starting to wander towards the eventuality of taking the girl home tonight and reliving this moment, minus the audience. Somehow he suspects she'd still have a little bit of a competitive side, and truth be told, he's into that.

She's groaning. Poor girl. He doinked her head pretty hard against the mat. But look at her - she's tough. She's not out. The three-count has come and gone, sure. That would've meant the end of the match under normal circumstances, but she's still moving. His hands slide up her wrists, fingertips touching her palms before settling with her palm-to-palm. It's a small thing, but somehow so much more intimate.

Those big pretty eyes flutter open and focus on him. There's the six-count. He doesn't have to wait long to see what she does with this position, and it's exactly what he'd expect - she struggles. Her legs unhook from his, and her hips buck up sharply, all at once ramming against him and his very unsubtle physical attraction to her. Well, no hiding that at this point, is there?

The referee seems satisfied that the motion bucked her shoulder off the mat! "No fall!"

Blaise lingers a second over her, noting the blush on her cheeks, the desperate look in her eyes, the subtle part in her lips. After a pause, he murmurs, "God, you're beautiful." His hands squeeze hers before pulling back, withdrawing the warmth of his body from hers and trying to draw her up to her feet by the still-captive hands - and ultimately twist the wrists outwards to try to maintain control on her.

[Monsy]

It was like she dreamt.

Arms and legs; split, held in all directions like some rag-doll. Though, she never realized. Not even as the count descended past three and onto four, the young American stayed within Blaise’s wrapping without the faintest of struggles. And when his palms nestled into hers, they twitched, but instinct forced her to tighten her fists, interlocking their fingers, proving her first semblance of struggle. Lucidity returns with Miss Fallacy’s legs exploding into the air, the washboard abs meeting her smoother stomach, coupled with the heat that touched her core. Her mind is too hazy to register anything behind the overwhelming heat. The headache is still fresh - wounds still un-licked. So, she lay still beneath him, satisfied, yet whining with renewed struggle. Strain kept her painfully subdued, further restrained by the pertinent reality: she’s trapped beneath a man no less. The risque situation spurred moments where she fought a little, focusing on recovery before hearing his words.

“H-Heh… You’re not so bad yourself.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, surrendering the next move to her adversary. There wasn’t an option, so she prepared. It didn’t take long; he’d already separated himself, pulling on her hands until she used sat up, scrambling both feet beneath her person and springing upward. The subsequent twist stung, capturing her wrist, the discomfort engulfing her entire forearm like a spreading blaze.

One eye closed, whimpering out with a slight hobble accompanying her step.

“C-Can’t you just… let me go??”

Now, it was her turn to act.

First, she postured her left foot forward, taking her right limb back before driving it forward, hoping to spear his gut with her knee. This accompanied a yank aimed at liberating her twisted limbs. If successful, her right foot stayed in the lead, donning southpaw as she twisted her upper body and threw her right heel around, swiping for his jaw.

It would mark her first attempt to turn this around, drown out the humiliating fall she nearly received with something explosive - a switch spinning heel kick!

[CyanDimitrik]

Blaise hadn't really thought about where he was going with the wristlocks, and in fairness, those were notoriously not helpful. The idea behind them is to simply ply more pressure on the other's wrists, since both attacker and recipient were in virtually the same position. Truth be told, he was simply reluctant to release her hands and fully break from her. And in their mutual language of pain, discomfort, and power struggle, twisting the wrists while keeping palms pressed together is enough of a statement.

That's not to downplay the statements she makes verbally, however. She's so coy, so playfully aloof; whereas he still struggles with being too sincere and forthright. Still, the modicum of what may have been sheepishness or bashfulness at having her beauty acknowledged is charming. Followed by the musical whimpers in the jointlock to come, and a request to be let go. A part of him wants to. A much bigger part of him doesn't. Breaking contact isn't so desirable, and he suspects she doesn't really mean it. No, he believes to baby her in the fight would probably insult her. It'd annoy him, for sure.

So the request is met with a teasing smirk. "Nah-uh. I plan to keep ahold of ya all night. Perk of winning the match."

That isn't even a lie. His mind is clouded with the anticipation of keeping her long after the bell.

Alas, he didn't expect her to rally. Her pointy knee drills into his sleek midsection, causing him to expel the oxygen in his lungs with a hard, choked grunt. He pitches forward, stunned, and in no condition to keep her hands past her desire to yank them free. He can't uncurl enough to mount a defense for what comes next, striking him and bearing him down to the mat on his front.

Completely stunned and reeling, Blaise lies there before her, arms down at his sides and palms up. There's an occasional twitch as he starts to regather his breath, but all he's processing right now are stars.