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

[BlackAkuma]

Pain was a funny thing. In her experiences, Beauty had found it edifying to actually study the subject, learning how the body processed harmful stimuli. While she wouldn’t call herself an expert, she’d found it a fascinating field, learning all the ways that even the slightest sort of pain could drive a person insane when applied in just the right way. Even something as small and insignificant as the tiniest digit on the human body could induce supreme agony with the right amount of pressure.

It was always a happy day when she could apply her knowledge in the ring, and even happier when she could do so on someone who deserved it, as March was proving to be. She had thought the woman would try to tie her up since she was going for the rope. That would be the intelligent thing, the practical thing, but she had greatly overestimated March’s common sense.

No, instead, the woman decided to wrapped it around her face and force her neck back, forcing Beauty to bend back at an obscene angle as the scratchy rope dug into her mouth. She let out a hoarse cry of rage at the indignity, but thankfully, she wouldn’t have to endure it for too long, as her little gambit bore fruit. March cried out, fell back, and her opening was created. No, she just had to do something with it.

Beauty didn’t like to go up top for ariel moves to often, preferring to save them for special occasions. The chance to hurt March with her specialty applied to that caveat without question, so she breathed deep, steeled herself, and quickly scrambled up the ropes. She leaped up from the middle rope, bounced off the top, and soared through the air in a wide arc, bringing her body around in a full rotation as she flew. Her legs came through first as she descended towards her target, looking to come crashing down on March, heels first, for a Moonsault Stomp.

[DeVir]

"Uuuuugh. You're not gonna do anything about that!?"

What that was, March had only begun to figure out when the screaming pains died and centered on the base of her pinky toe. With one hand still holding her foot, she used the other elbow to pull her indignant self closer to the ropes and blast the idle referee for no reason. He spouted something about the match rules and threw his hands up, but March beat him on volume, like most people. "If this needs surgery, it's your paycheck, punk." The irony of her fury at the cheap maneuver was completely lost on her, but she could see she wasn't getting anywhere. Her burning eyes glanced back to Beauty.

...To where Beauty had been. March rolled onto her back and finally let go of the foot, unable to find her. "Where the f..." It took her several genuine seconds with her head on a swivel to get so much as the concept of Beauty's location (the cage wrecked her depth perception), and she only discovered the first clues because the lights above her were blotted out. She lifted her head just to get a glimpse of two feet before they buried themselves in the middle of her abs like two asteroids cratering the earth.

It wasn't a cry or any sensible noise that was forced out of the Californian. It was the sound someone must have made when they were well on their way to the other side. A death note. A death croak. March's reflexes made her whole body snap before she curled onto her side, holding her crushed stomach and screaming bloody murder. Or she would have been; her mouth was open but there was no sound since she didn't have the breath for it.

[BlackAkuma]

Beauty wasn’t a heavy woman, but she didn't need to be when it came to a move like this. She could’ve done this moonsault in all sorts of ways, but she put the extra effort in for a reason, getting the maximum result - her feet, sinking deep into March’s proud abs, stabbing like a knife. She could only imagine the pain the woman felt at the moment, with all that weight crashing down in a single spot. Had to feel like she was being cut in half.

After the impact, Beauty rolled off her opponent, kicked her legs up, and came down with her legs crossed, Indian-style. A perfect position to watch March suffer—a wonderous, dazzling sight. ”You really are a pretty girl, March.” She leaned forward with a pleased hum. ”So pretty.”

Now that Beauty had a moment to think, she could ponder her next move. With the rope so close, she could tie March up momentarily and deny her any future rebellions…and she would do just. But she had a particular idea for it. Something fitting.

Before that, though, she needed to get March into position, and she had no intention of being gentle about it.

Beauty stood up and saunted over to her suffering foe, looking down at her with interest and thinly veiled contempt. She enjoyed the sight for a few more seconds, before she stepped back and launched herself forward with a vicious kick into the downed woman’s side, making sure to aim for the same spot she’d hit with the stomp. Another kick would follow, and another after that, vicious strikes to not only pile on the pain but force her to side of the ring, under the ropes, and onto the apron.

[DeVir]

March was going to die.

The possibilities of how were endless, her brain told her. Beauty had shredded her abs off of the rest of her muscles. She had exploded her stomach. Or her spleen. Her kidneys were gone. Her ribs had punctured something important. Those were the only explanations for the first wave of pain that coursed through her entire being. Seconds had passed before she even moved and managed a raspy groan, and then, she only moved to roll onto her back and try to stretch out the parts of her that had exploded and led to her death.

Fuck, and Morticia was having something to say. With her ears ringing from the pain, March heard it as nothing but jumbled bullshit. She dedicated her energy to the Herculean effort needed to try and get up and respond to her in kind. "Keep talking... I'm gonna kick... your head off..." She had the exact kick in mind to do that, but she had to... be able to move first. She got both fists buried into the canvas, and when she thought she could move her knees forward without screaming, she started to do just that.

She screamed anyway when Beauty kicked her.

The hate that filled her eyes when she looked up at the Anastasia Steele wannabe, but whatever hate she would have spouted got caught in her throat when she was blasted with another kick. And another, and another. She cascaded toward the ropes like she was outright rolling down the hill, and she wailed her misery to the skies once she was finally onto the apron where the ropes would at least protect her. If she had come close to sobbing in the last match, the tears were being forced out this time from the excruciating pain. "FUCK-" She coughed violently. "-OFF!"

[BlackAkuma]

Good Lord, this woman did not know how to shut up, did she? Beauty wasn’t sure whether she should be impressed that the woman could still form sentences after nearly being dissected or if she should be irritated that she was stupid enough even to try. Whatever the case, she was still mouthing off, even as all the cards were clearly out of her hand, even as her situation darkened. Maybe it was a coping mechanism? That was all the sense she could make of it.

Regardless, it was only another reason to pile on the punishment, which Beauty did with every vicious kick, forcing March to go where she wanted. She put more and more force into every strike, until she was screaming along with Beauty, releasing her hatred on impact. It was a painful rode, and it only ended when March laid on the apron, a sobbing mess, battered and close to broken. But not close enough for Beauty’s tastes.

She took a quick detour to the corner, snatched up a bundle of rope, and dropped it down near March’s crumbled body, before she returned to business. ”Since you hate me grabbing your hair so much…” Beauty reached through the ropes and grabbed her opponent’s head again, this time gripping her ears tight instead of her precious strands. She pulled her upwards, yanking her every step of the way, forcing her to rise if she wanted to keep her head intact.

As soon as she was up, Beauty turned her to face the crowd and pulled her arms over the top rope, putting her on display for the thousands in attendance and the millions worldwide. ”It’s your moment, March.” She leaned in and slipped spoken venom into her opponent’s ears. ”Smile.”

With March hung on the ropes, Beauty spun about and turned her own body upside down, slipping her legs through the middle and top rope to hook around her foe’s shoulder and keep her aloft. She hung there for a moment, dangling, before she reached down, grabbed March’s ankles, and proceeded to pull them upwards in a rope-hung version of the Boston Crab - or, as it was better known, the Tarantula. A move she had wanted to use in a match, but rarely had the chance. With no rope breaks to worry about, this was the perfect occasion.

And it was only the first part of her plan. She had plans for those ropes that she’d placed in reach, but first she wanted to stretch March out. Really milk the moment.

[DeVir]

March wanted to go home.

The idea crossed her mind. She was too proud to acknowledge it, but in the moment, there were enough new bruises forming or things being torn and broken that she would rather have been anywhere else. This shouldn't have gone this way. People could forgive March for struggling toe to toe with Captain Punch-a-Lot last week. Beauty might have been more physically imposing in her skimpier clothing than March might have expected, but she was still an overinflated Barbie Doll with black hair dye. March could only imagine what people were thinking watching this ensue, and she had a powerful imagination. One that was flashing to all absurd conclusions due to all her aches and pains.

She willed her eyes open to fix Beauty with another stare of hatred, but she was gone. March wanted to take that opportunity to get up, but she pulled on the ropes above her and decided dying a slow death would be preferable to getting up. "You shit... where did you go...?" Gone was the brightness in her voice, replaced by the groan of someone twenty years older with a bad back. And a bad mortgage. She tilted her head as far as it was willing to go to find Morticia as if she could muster some offense once she was spotted.

She spotted the ropes first, and then her ears became the latest thing that she had all but removed from her body. "NOT MY-" She interrupted her complaints with another scream, and for all her desire to fight back, she couldn't while it was her ears being yanked. The crinkling of something inside of them worried her half to death like she would lose hearing at any moment. Suddenly, she was the most obedient woman in the room by necessity. "Letgoletgoletgolet..."

She was so relieved when Beauty did let go that she contentedly sagged into the ropes. Whew, that felt a lot better altogether, taking the pressure off of her abs and ribs and back and everything else beaten down. She breathed and centered herself, hardly caring what Beauty was saying. "I'll smile if you... fuck off and leave me here. Go fuck a light pole or something." It was a rare admission of wanting a break; she would be back and ready to fight before long, anyway. She always was.

But she was also going to be bent. "Give me a-" She didn't follow what Beauty was doing at first when the woman held her arms in place, but once her legs were hooked and her tortured midsection bent back over the ropes with gravity hurting her instead of helping her, she got the hint. Not in time to complain, but to throw her head back and wail out her misery once again.

[BlackAkuma]

March asking Beauty to leave her there was enough to get a full laugh out of her, though she doubted the woman could fathom why. Leaving her there was the ultimate plan, after all. Once she was broken, battered, and beaten into the little pile of nothing she truly was, she had every intention of leaving her strung up, suspending for everyone to see, in knots so tight that they would need to free her with a pair of shears. But that was the ultimate goal. She still had so many steps to go before then, and this was turning out to be one of her favorites.

The noise that came out of March’s mouth - that shrill, wailing scream - was nothing short of ecstasy on Beauty’s side, enough to send a pleasured shiver up her spine, one that her opponent would no doubt feel. It was understandable, given how painful this move was. A Boston Crab was already unbearable, but this variation used gravity to make it even worse, compressing the spine to its breaking point. Most wrestlers could scarcely take it for the five seconds that it usually lasted, much less anything beyond that. That March held on was commendable.

Or idiotic. Again, she couldn't decide which.

Beauty enjoyed her suffering for a few more moments, before she decided it was time to get to work; this hold wasn’t easy for her to maintain, after all. She reached down, grabbed the rope with one hand, and went straight away, working on March’s legs with the kind of swift speed that only comes from years of experience. A loop here, a knot there, a pull here, over and under and through again. She bound Beauty’s ankles together, secured them tight, then tied them to the ring ropes, keeping them bent even after she rolled forward and disengaged the hold. Wasting little time, Beauty grabbed another bundle of rope from the corner and worked on March’s arms next, giving them a similar treatment.

”Just so you know,” She yanked hard on March’s arms as she strung them up, making sure to force her shoulders into the most awkward position. ”This is the part where you start begging.”

[DeVir]

If it were not for pride, March would have forgotten the rules and tried to tap for freedom. But that pride made her last long enough that the cage gave her the reminder she needed. But opening her eyes to take in the sight of it was a mistake. Along with the cage, she could see the crowd beyond and the way they were all standing, glaring at her bent over the ropes. She could hear a good handful of them cheering for her over her complaints and cries, but they were still staring. And she was still bent. And she was still in agony. And she didn't know of a way out. And this could go on for whoever knew how long, and no one knew what Beauty would try to do next. March could think of a few despicable options.

She let out a piercing cry, the loudest one of the match: an exploding jug of her frustration and ongoing pain. "Just... stop... shitter!", she added simply to have something to say and pretend as if she wouldn't rather surrender forty different times than have this continue. "Or just... fuckin'... leave!" At this point, March might let her climb out of the cage without doing a thing about it and tie herself up in the corner. What she was enduring felt like her whole body was burning, and the flush across everything from her face down to her hips might have made it seem like she was.

At first, trying to calm her thoughts and avoid passing out from rage and pain alike, she didn't notice the ropes. Until her ankles slammed together, and she could feel the material digging into her skin. It almost restored her proud anger well enough to push her to free her arms, but by the time she had moved them, the rope was in place, locking her down more deeply into position. Something between an exhausted sob and a resignment to what was happening; a sensation that she wasn't sure she had ever felt before coursed through her whole being.

A strange, almost desired acceptance that this was at least coming to a head. But her overactive mind told her that wasn't all of it.

But she was too tired and pained to do more thinking. Beauty somehow knew how to make it worse. March's knees, thighs, and back were all begging for release she now couldn't find, but her shoulders joined the fray. Of course Beauty knew how to tie her up to bend her shoulders the wrong way, too. Of course. She tried to move any part of her that was in pain, but she couldn't do anything more than flex her feet, spread her knees, and bend her arms at the elbows. The same feeling from before coursed through her at the sensation. 'Oh my god..."

And no small amount of amazement crept into her otherwise dejected voice.

So she would be here as long as she had feared. In pain. On display. Strung up. She wasn't so stupid to think that her begging would get her anywhere, and she let her head loll to the side. "Fuck off... and go..."

[BlackAkuma]

Credit where it was due, March was a flexible one. She had no idea what the woman did to get such a bendable body, but it was working for her, allowing her to hold her contorted state for longer than most would’ve in a similar situation. Even Beauty, who was no slouch in the department and did regular yoga, had to concede that much.

A shame, then, that all her training did was make her a better toy for Beauty to play with. Something of a waste.

And she was a toy. She wouldn’t admit that out loud, but as soon as those ropes tied her up, as soon as she became stuck in that position, she ceased to be a competitor, ceased to be a living being. She was just a thing for Beauty to play with now, and a tool for her amusement, and she had such plans for the pretty little thing.

Beauty had taken a moment to admire her handiwork from a couple of angles, seeing if there was anything she could improve on, when March spoke up and drew her attention. Telling her to leave, as if she didn’t know that was an option. Cute. ”Silly rabbit.” She sighed and leaned on the ropes beside her. ”You still don’t get it, do you?”

Beauty made her way behind March’s body and reached around, cupping her chin with a gentle touch, her fingernails lightly scraping at her cheek like tiny knives. ”You don’t make demands. You don’t control this. You belong to me. Just like Beast. My own little plaything. You exist to please me.”

That same hand trailed down March’s body, until it came across a familiar friend: the edge of her top. Once again, she started to lift it up, drawing the audience, making them bray like the filthy animals they were, pigs waiting for their slop. ”And right now, nothing would please me more than hearing you beg. And I do mean beg. The best begging of your entire life. Because if you don’t, as bad as this is…”

Beauty slid March’s top up, revealing one of her pert breasts for all to see, throwing them into a frenzy. At the same time, her other hand slipped into the action and worked its way into her bottom, sliding along the shadowed skin. Not touching anything intimate yet, but teasingly closed. Three inches away, at the most.

”...it will get so much worse.”

[DeVir]

What little control March had over where her thoughts took her, she needed it now. The ongoing agony had her body seeking a nap, but the horrors of what she was enduring and knowing she had already lost the match in all but the official books crept into her psyche. It kept her too aware and awake despite her looking like she wanted to give into the darkness. The strangely relieved...satisfied feelings had the same effect. She tried to flush all those thoughts down until they became one piece of shit at the bottom of the pot: what the hell did she do now?

Her breathing labored and only broken by the occasional moan, she tried to pull on her ropes again for whatever reason with a cry of pain to accompany the effort. To see if there was any hope. To see what it felt like again. There was no logic to it. She would be here for however long, but Beauty still hadn't left like she had told her. If March could have bitten her head off with one gnash of her teeth, she would have. That thought helped distract her. So did the growing exhaustion in her lower half as it was forced to hold up the rest of her. It could go with her torso, which had stayed stretched beyond its limits for what felt like hours.

"Shut uuuup... leeeeave..."

But she wouldn't leave. The smallest touch from the bitch had the haggard Hare groaning and moaning and whining out her misery again and daring to try and wriggle free. She couldn't stop herself from trying even knowing she was hurting herself and wasting energy. It provided a rush or a hope or something that kept her from losing her mind or giving into the dozens of points of her body that felt like breaking. And Morticia was still talking. March whined out that much louder to try and drown her out, but the horror at the situation amplified her words. She heard plenty.

"You ain't... shit..."

Her knees were going to break. Something was going to break. It was better to think about that than what Beauty was saying, horribly enough. Her green eyes settled on the woman's hand as it slid down her figure, finding skin that was too sensitive (WAY too sensitive) for someone strung up and in miserable pain. That much contact almost proved too much. March only had the energy to wriggle, but she felt ready to explode in every way she could explode.

The cool air hitting her breast brought the vocal explosion. "QUIT IIIIIT!", she wailed, her whole body lifting before flopping back down, and a long moan broken by her voice giving out on her followed, droning on and on. It ceased until Beauty put her hand down her shorts, and March outright mewled in spite of all her desire to deny Beauty everything she wanted, almost unable to control herself anymore. It was the crowd. It was the restraints. It was Beauty's touch and her words.

She was losing it, and everyone could see it.