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

[BlackAkuma]

Though Luong strove to keep her composure at all times, she couldn't keep herself from shivering as she put the clamps on Storm’s unworthy skull. As much as she loved delivering kicks, there was something supernaturally satisfying about applying a proper scissorhold, particularly when one had the strength to make it truly painful. She trained her legs so often, put so much stress on them, and this was their reward - having something to crush, twist, the destroy. This man’s skull might have as well have been a giant stress ball, and the fact that he’d earned her ire only made the moment that much more of a pleasure.

Now, if only he would stop talking. That, she could do without. ”Idiot.” She spat back at his own accusation, choosing to speak in English just so he could know her opinion on the matter. He would snub her for a lack of honor? Ridiculous. She’d already lowered herself simply by being in this ring with him.

As the moments passed, the soreness in her legs abated and more of her strength returned, though she was still far from her peak when Storm began to make a futile comeback. She swung around his neck as the man rose to his knees and moved to scissor him from the front, keeping her back on the mat and forcing him to support her weight, but taking care not to let her shoulders touch for the pinfall. He could see the disdain in her eyes like this, and she could also give him a well-deserved slap in the face - an opportunity that she happily took, before giving him a hardened jolt with her thighs.

[Crossedes]

The longer she crushed his head, the less his focus fell on the sensuality of having a woman's legs wrapped around his head and the less he cared that she called him an idiot. His hands continued to fumble with her thighs, trying to find the inches, centimeters he needed to relieve the pressure, but he could feel her adductors drawing more and more tightly against him as the hold drew onward. He willed himself to avoid giving her any sound of pain she could enjoy, though he imagined his face couldn't hide the evidence. And if his eye hadn't been watering enough before, the tears forced out from her constriction had started dampening her thigh. Storm had no doubt that her legs could grind him out if they stayed around his head for too long.

Standing seemed his only option. He made it almost fully to his knees, though her legs and hips weighed heavily on his neck and kept him slouched. His ears were too muffed by her thighs for him to hear the crowd's attempts to help him rally instead of her tights grinding and his own heart beating. No, he was isolated between her legs, and that much more so when she delivered a slap to his reddened face that he couldn't do anything to counter. He just breathed, stared at her with the same disdain she showed him, and tried once more to stand fully. The lightness in his head and the spots crossing his vision told him that he would fall over unconscious before he made it. She grew more imperious by the moment.

He blubbered, trying to gather his failing strength with a shot of oxygen, and he lifted both hands, balled them up, and drove them down at her stomach as he started to tumble. If he screwed up, if she didn't let him go, the alarm bells sounded - he would tumble into a deep sleep.

[BlackAkuma]

It wasn’t quite what Luong had planned for her win, but the idea of knocking Storm out with headscissors grew more appealing with each passing second. While she wanted to be known for her kicking prowess, she couldn't deny that something was appealing, empowering, perhaps even erotic about winning this way. Like this, she was gifted with a perfect view of his face, watching as he fought for every breath. She made sure to prolong his pain in the most painful ways, letting her thighs bulge to crush his neck, easing up then powering down twice as strong, shifting her legs to grind away on his skin as if chewing on him with her thighs.

Her toes, she chewed her lips, and a moan - low, raspy, heated - escaped her lips before she even realized it. Storm was fading, and all it would take was one climatic squeeze to launch him off the precipice. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to summon all her power. ”잠이나 자라 개년아…”

And then her stomach exploded.

At least, that was what it felt like. Something, which she could only assume to be Storm’s fists, slammed into her stomach and sunk deep, forcing a hoarse cry out of her. Her legs released his neck and she fell to the side in a coughing fit, curling up into the fetal position while her arms wrapped around her aching gut. ”You-” She heaved and rolled over to her back. ”-you bastard.”

[Crossedes]

Storm's thoughts unknowingly matched Luong's own, though he could barely process them. As he struggled, sputtered, and as her thighs became two doors shuttering his world, he couldn't help but think of this as an embarrassing, intimate way to go out the stuff that the wilder guys he had trained with claimed they did with their wrestler girlfriends in bed as a form of play. Having such a good look at her as he faded didn't help, and by the time his fists had collided with her stomach, his body had begun doing most of its own work based on what he had told it earlier. His mind just wanted the sleep. What... was she saying?

The relief came all at once. Storm did tumble, but not more deeply between her legs. His head bounced off her hip before landing on the mat, and he knew several seconds must have passed before his brain became pleased with its newfound blood flow. Grunting and shaking his head, he slowly pushed up to his knees, only noticing once there how... heated he had gotten. He rubbed his face and gave himself a second to compose herself. This woman had a hold on his mind, and he had to get himself together.

As she rolled onto her back, spouting that he was a bastard, he didn't care to rehash how frustrated he was with her cheating and with her, period. Bantering wasn't getting him anywhere - she seemed too caught up in her own reality to care about the rules and regulations. Instead, he took to the offense again, trying once more to get those legs isolated and eliminated. No fancy stuff, no high impact. She could bait and dodge him all day if he gave her time, and she nearly had him sleeping once already. He barely had it in him to pull of anything dramatic. He had to grind her out.

Worn down and slowed, he grasped at the nearest foot, trying to pull it to his chest and throw up his legs to lock up her ankle and grapevine the leg.

[BlackAkuma]

”Barbarian. Oaf!” Out came another one. ”Braindead, idiotic, 바보, 바보, 바보-”

Luong’s words broke into a stream of English, Korean, and even a few Japanese curses as she swallowed on the floor, feeling like she was on the verge of vomiting her beef bourguignon. How could he strike her like that? His clumsy hands crashed into her abs, driving deep into her gullet, making her lose all semblance of control. The thought alone brought her rage to a boil, and she was already contemplating the myriad of ways she could bring this pain back to him. Most of them involved his head between her thighs, some of them involved her foot crashing into various parts of his body, and her favorite involved her heel and his scrotum.

However, they would all have to wait as Storm moved to capitalize on the opening he had so oafishly created, seizing her leg again with ill intent. This time, he clutched it tight against his muscular, heaving chest - and hugged it like his most prized possession. Her was stretching it, pulling at the ankle, and she could feel her tendons threatening to break free immediately. Persistent bastard.

”Off!” She twisted around furiously and kicked at him with her free leg, trying to hit whatever she could with it while she reached up and tried to reach the ropes, doing anything and everything to save herself before real damage could be done. ”Get your filthy hands off me, 너 하층민 농부야!”!

[Crossedes]

If nothing else, he had learned she was capable of losing her cool just because he fought back. Storm didn't know where this pampered woman had plied her trade or how she had ended up in a wrestling League, of all places, but he hoped he had given her a memo, one that stated that cheaters didn't prosper and neither did any wrestler who thought she could go a whole match without retaliation. Her scratch had done its damage - his eye's pain had abated but continued to plague him - but he remained in it. After that start, being in it was all he could ask for in this strange match.

"Shut up," he finally mumbled, exasperatedly, once he had her by the foot. "Cheater." The brand might not have bothered her, but it would have bothered him. Repeating it was all he could think of, anyway. But his energy had to be directed to holding onto her leg. Never having any desire to injure anyone in a match - even the ones that drove him to within an inch of his sanity - he pushed just far enough to put the fear of injury in her without trying to rip it to shreds. He peered at it as he held to it. She had asked him to kiss it earlier. Weird lady.

But she proved a hellcat, and Storm hardly had the energy after his near-nap to resist. Her opposite foot peppered his side, his hip, and worst, his elbow, pinging right off the ulnar nerve by the sensation her kicking sent up his arm. Between having to defend himself against her flailing swings and their positioning, with him on his back with no use of his arms and her having both hands to crawl, he knew she would reach the ropes before she tapped. She wasn't as fragile as her attitude made her appear.

He let go, and eager to maintain the constant pressure and exasperated from her finding all the exits, he tried to scramble to his knees to throw himself on top of her before she could escape.

[BlackAkuma]

”You shut up!” Not the most biting comeback, she would admit, but Luong was distracted at the moment.

Again, with the claims of cheating. Luong was beginning to grow genuinely aggravated with his pious accusations, as if he had any moral standing over her, as if she should care one whit about gaining or losing the respect of some idiotic peon. That he had the gall to look down on her was the greatest insult - worse than him putting his hands on her, worse than manhandling her, worse, perhaps, than the hold he tortured her with now. He needed to be taught respect and humbled, and she swore to do so before her time was done.

Such things were easier thought than done, however, a fact she had to concede as he continued to twist her leg without answer. Her attempts to dislodge him were anything but subtle and dignified, as she sought to strike at anything and everything within her legs reach, even as he continued to twist away at her ankle. At this rate, he would severely limit her kicking options, perhaps to the point where she couldn't hope to mount a standing offense.

Thankfully, luckily, mercifully, her struggles finally bore fruit. He released her and she rolled over to her back, just in time to see him pouncing her way, jumping on top of her with eyes wide, leaving her no time to escape.

Not that she intended to, mind you. As much as it disgusted her, there was a way to play this into her hands.

She spread her legs wide and let him come down on her, dropping his full weight on her body and flattening her against the canvas. It was far from a pleasant sensation and it drove the wind clean out of her, but in this instance, she was more than happy to endure. He was exactly where she wanted him to be.

Her legs shot around his waist, her ankles clasped behind his back, and she bore into his midsection with every ounce of power she could muster, all while she hissed through her clenched teeth.

”Scream.”

[Crossedes]

Under most circumstances, one where he hadn't been beaten to hell by a woman's feet and squeezed by her legs, Storm might have found some humor in how much they sounded like children. He had a hard time finding humor in this war. His twisting her foot led to no concrete result, nothing to bring him the victory that the match experience made him long for save for giving him another chance if she went back to kicking his jaw out of position. At least he believed he had forced her into doubting her next move lest he catch her in another hold.

And he didn't need to give up yet, either. His weight could put an end to her escape. Given the way she agonized over every thump and stretch, even if she had proven to be tougher than he would have guessed, she believed she might grab at the ankle, nurse it, throw a few more insults and Korean curses his way, and give him a chance to mount her back and roll her to the middle of the ring. If she happened to be wedged in a rear naked choke at the end of that journey, even better. But she whipped over even faster than he could flop forward. Fine, sure, change of plans, he would go for the grapevine.

Except he flopped between spread legs, and he panicked before anything had even happened. For someone who had spent the entire first stretch of the match playing keep-away as the Queen of Taekwondo, she had grappling instincts. Storm shot out his arms to grab something - an arm, her head, almost a breast by accident - but her legs shot out to take his midsection before he could discourage her from going on the offensive. They sank into his sides, and the first squeeze was worse than anything he could have imagined.

She didn't get her scream, but he did choke out a half-curse. "God-" he weakly griped, propping himself up on his arms just to have a chance to relieve an ounce of the pressure. If her legs had been weakened for the headscissor... they weren't anymore.

[BlackAkuma]

”-can’t save you.”

As Luong’s thighs clamped down around Storm’s midsection, she let out an ecstatic sigh and closed her eyes at the sensation of him struggling against her muscles. She’d been wrong before - the headscissor was good, but this felt better. So much better. She could only feel one bone between her legs when she crushed his head. Now, she had access to all of his ribs. His face had been obscured in the headscissor. Now, she had a lovely view..

She could feel him twist and jerk, feel his lungs struggling to draw in air, feel his innards giving way as her muscles encroached on their space. Her thighs were slim and robust with no give, iron girders cutting him in half. There was no relief, no let up, only the relentless, unceasing, unflinching pressure.

[“Yes!”] Lee cheered on the sideline with her usual exuberance. Appreciated, but Luong would’ve rather enjoyed the moment uninterrupted. [“Crush him!”]

The scene was perfect, save for one detail: his lack of screams. She pulsed her thighs, punching his ribs with punishing pressure, but that didn’t produce the sound she craved. Whether because he was unable or unwilling, she didn’t know or care. If he wasn’t using that silly mouth of his for what she wanted, he wouldn’t be using it at all.

She reached up, clasped his fingers around his head, and pulled his face into the valley of her generous cleavage, adding a breast smother to his woes, all while she hunkered down with her thighs and clung to him tightly, mauling him with ceaseless pressure.

[Crossedes]

She struck him as outright unreal. Storm didn't spend much time watching movies, but he had taken a liking to Tarantino movies. She was like one of his heroines. Eccentric, skilled, dangerous, almost larger-than-life. If the kicking, the bobbing and weaving to start had not been enough to flummox him, the fact that she carried herself like royalty did. And if he had gotten adjusted to that trait, she only doubled down to reveal that she had mat wrestling skills on top of all her other oddities. He would have respected her if not for her turning a fair fight into backhanded garbage.

But he couldn't deny that the backhanded garbage had anything to do with his torso being crushed between her legs. As her adductors sliced into his sides, the arms holding him up became more and more fatigued in step with his struggles to pull in a breath from his narrowed diaphragm. He did everything in his power to keep his composure and look composed if nothing else, but the choppy jumping of his chest and the red forming across his abdominals rendered the show of bravery almost moot.

The sound of a wailing freight train that came from his throat just about the time the pressure became the stuff of cracking ribs didn't help, and Storm knew he needed an escape like yesterday. His head had dipped, but he thought he might have enough strength left in his arm to give her one good blow to the chin and force her to release him. Before he could get the arm cocked, she grabbed his head. With one less point of balance, he fell without resisting into the waiting trench of her chest.

"Mmmph..." he griped, quietly, at first, the legs around his trunk still the biggest concern. But it took mere seconds and a peep up into her face for him to realize that he had an admittedly beautiful woman wrapped around him and had a faceful of her breasts - and she was using those breasts to ensure that he couldn't breathe. His fighting became desperate at the realization, and his muffled grunts poured between her breasts as he tried to reach overhead and pull her arms off of his head, unwisely ignoring the more dangerous threat of her legs. He just... needed to be anywhere but here as he battled this. He refused to acknowledge what was welling in his lower half... he couldn't afford to care.