Post by alyadmirer on May 8, 2016 20:50:50 GMT
Yoona Park stood in front of a mirror wearing nothing but a frown. On the beaches back home in San Diego she had always wrestled in an assortment of skimpy bikinis, but all of her swimwear was in a piece of luggage that had gotten lost on the cross country flight to Maine. She would have to improvise an outfit, preferably something with some spice and sex appeal.
Yoona looked at the other women in various states of undress around the locker room. There were several dressed in high quality, customized one and two piece spandex ensembles. These were the FAWN professionals, they would not be her opponents tonight. The majority of the wrestlers, however, were dressed in homemade getups, including gym clothes, bikinis, and fancy lingerie. These were the amateurs hoping for a shot at the federation, these were the women Yoona was competing against. A voluptuous young Latina wrestler walked by wearing a corset and hot pants combo. Taking a breast in each hand, Yoona pushed her bosoms together and tried to imagine what she would look like in that set up. No dice. While not flat, Yoona was still at least a cup size too small to pull off the look. She would have to portray a different brand of sex appeal. Yoona let out an exasperated sigh and banged her forehead against the mirror as she racked her brain.
Out of ideas and almost out of time, Yoona decided to seek some inspiration from the professionals. Fetching her laptop from her locker, Yoona took a seat on a locker room bench and opened up her pornography library. Sexy teacher, sexy doctor, sexy masseuse, sexy plumber. Yoona wrinkled her nose and scratched her head. None of these were thematically appropriate. At this rate she might as well wrestle in the nude, she thought to herself. Soon, a crowd of curious wrestlers gathered around Yoona.
“Ah...ex--excuse me,” said a short, mousy brunette. “Are you…..?”
“Watching porn,” Yoona replied without looking up.
“Oh!” exclaimed the petite wrestler, before adding, “I...uh...I’m not sure that’s...err...appro --”
“It’s for research,” interrupted Yoona, her eyes still fixed on the laptop screen. The locker room fell silent, save for the sounds of the sexy plumber dutifully laying pipe. After a few minutes, Yoona still felt the gaze of the crowd on her and finally looked up at the group of gathered wrestlers.
“Guys,” Yoona said in an annoyed tone, “You're making this really weird. Cut it out.”
Slightly embarrassed, but mostly confused, the crowd dispersed and muttered to themselves. Yoona turned her undivided attention back to her pornography. Sexy pizza delivery, sexy cab driver, sexy milkman. “Who even has a milkman these days?” she wondered aloud to herself.
Suddenly, Yoona had an epiphany. The specific settings and costumes didn’t matter. The allure was in the anticipation and implication of sex, that’s why everyone in pornography started out clothed rather than naked. Yoona put away her laptop and grabbed some clothes from her bag. She slipped into a pair of panties, pulled a tight fitting tank top over her torso, tousled her hair, and jumped into the locker room sauna until she was covered in a sheen of sweat. As a finishing touch, Yoona rubbed her own nipples until they stood visibly erect through the fabric of her sweat soaked tank top. Looking into the mirror, Yoona put her hands on her hips, batted her eyelashes, and said in her best sultry voice, “Why yes, I did order the cheese pizza with an extra large helping of sausage on the side.”
Satisfied with her just-had-sex / about-to-have-sex look, Yoona grinned for the first time that night. The hard part was over, now she just had to go out there and kick some ass.
--------------------------------------------
Open Fight Night was a sideshow to the Jungle main event, and thus was relegated to an auditorium in the attached convention center rather than the main arena. A makeshift ring had been haphazardly erected in the middle of the room surrounded by maybe a hundred people sitting in folding chairs. The announcer and color commentator was a single man on a portable microphone. The volunteer referee was a local high school wrestling coach. There was no entrance music, or big screen TV, or pyrotechnics. The wrestlers simply walked to the ring when called by the announcer.
Camille Cosworth liked the cozy feel of Open Fight Night, however. She had been a regular at these events for almost four years now, and she had developed a bit of a following with the fans in attendance. She never did manage to impress the scouts and thus never got the call up to the main show, but Camille was happy just to have a venue to wrestle even if most of her matches ended with her on her back and looking at the ceiling.
Now her time in Bangor was coming to a close. Camille already had more than enough credits to graduate from the University of Maine with her degree, and she couldn’t keep enrolling in frivolous electives to stave off graduation forever. She looked at the mask she held in her hands, a black and teal lucha-style mask that covered the upper half of her face with a long, avian beak-like hook on the nose. It wasn’t a real lucha mask, rather it was merely a plastic imitation that she had gotten as a young teenager. Nevertheless, it was her most prized possession, the direct representation of all her wildest childhood dreams. Her family and friends all chided her for still clinging to such juvenile aspirations, and deep down, she knew that she would soon have to hang up her mask and become white collar office drone Camille Cosworth.
For tonight, however, she would take flight one more time as her alter-ego. Camille strapped the mask to her face and stepped into the auditorium, just as the introductions for her match were starting.
“The next match of the night is Yoona versus La Halcon. Coming to the ring first at 5’7” and 128 pounds -- Yoona,” deadpanned the announcer.
YOONA:
Camille watched her opponent pad her way to the ring in her bare feet to polite applause more suitable for a golf gallery than a wrestling match. In addition to her tank top and panties, she had her hands and wrists wrapped in white athletic tape. On her face were a pair of ridiculous looking pink shutter sunglasses. After she climbed into the ring, she blew kisses to the assembled fans and lightly hopped up and down under the pretense of warming up so they could get a good view of her jiggling breasts.
Camille sighed heavily. Just her rotten luck, she was matched against the creep who was watching pornography in the locker room earlier. Then again, maybe this was an opportunity for her to get a rare win notched on her belt. Everything about the young woman in the ring from her behavior in the locker room, to her ditzy mannerisms now, to her trashy ringwear screamed talentless floozy who couldn’t wrestle her way out of a wet paper bag. Her opponent would make the perfect patsy for a crowd-pleasing, scout-impressing finishing move. Against all hope, Camille wondered if tonight would be the night that she would get called up to FAWN..
“Coming next to the ring at 5’6” and 130 pounds -- La Halcon.” The announcer almost sounded bored.
Camille appeared to a round of warm and enthusiastic applause and shouts of support. In addition to her beloved mask, she was dressed in a black one piece swimsuit with matching knee-high black boots. Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical for her to judge her opponent’s ring wear as trashy when her own attire showed just as much skin, save for her feet and lower legs, Camille thought to herself.
Camille performed a series of twirling, acrobatic spins and flips, drawing more cheers from the crowd. As she approached the ring, rather than take the ring stairs or climbing onto the apron, she leapt up directly from the floor, then in one smooth motion she grabbed the rope and slingshot herself to the center of the ring before landing in a three point stance. The crowd whooped and hollered at this display of athleticism.
Even her opponent let loose a sharp whistle of appreciation.
“IT IS I, LA HALCON, DEFENDER OF JUSTICE AND VIRTUE,” she announced dramatically as she stood up and pointed at Yoona, “EVIL DOERS, TREMBLE BEFORE MY MIGHT!”
Yoona guffawed. “HA HA HA! Ohhhh man, you could’ve been anyone and you chose to be Hawkman! Even fucking Hawkman wouldn’t choose to be Hawkman!” Yoona bent over in laughter and slapped her knee.
“LAUGH NOW WHILE YOU CAN, VILLAIN,” proclaimed Camille, unfazed by Yoona’s mockery, “NOW PREPARE TO FACE MY AVENGING WRATH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS!” As if on cue, the bell rung to signify the start of the match. Camille crouched down and threw some flashy capoeira flip kicks.
“Hah! Breakdancing Hawkman, this keeps getting better and better,” snickered Yoona. “COME AT ME HAWKMAN. IT IS I, YOUR GREATEST NEMESIS, uhhh...I AM...er... GIRL who...err...ISN’T VERY ENVIRONMENTALLY CONSCIOUS, and uhh...CONTRIBUTES TO THE DESTRUCTION OF YOUR NESTING HABITAT and who...hmm...WHO ENJOYS HAWK EGG OMELETTES!”
“Wow, this is harder than it seems,” said Yoona to no one in particular.
Totally a ditz, Camille thought to herself. This Yoona probably had an IQ no higher than the room temperature, measured in Celsius.
Without further comment she launched herself at Yoona in a front flip, before turning 180 degrees in the air and attempting an axe kick as she landed. Yoona turned her body to the side to avoid getting smashed on the top of her head and Camille’s foot harmlessly whiffed through the air in front of her.
Camille was not finished, however. Without rising from her landing crouch, Camille planted both hands on the ground to support her weight as she performed a gymnastic flare, swinging out both legs in a wide V and attempting to sweep Yoona’s feet out from under her. Quickly reacting to this new attack, Yoona lept into the air and dove over her gyrating body before landing in a graceful front roll.
Camille still had another trick up her sleeve, transitioning into a full handstand and turning three full circles on her hands with her legs splayed out like helicopter blades. Before Camille’s spinning legs could kick her in the ribs, Yoona threw herself into a back handspring, putting herself a safe distance away from the whirling dervish in the center of the ring.
Having forced her opponent to retreat to the corner for the time being, Camille regained her feet and returned to her crouching position, staring intently at Yoona. This bimbo was much more skilled and agile than she anticipated. Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as she thought.
The audience stood and gave an ovation for the display of acrobatics and agility.
Yoona planted her fists on her hips, puffed out her chest, and tilted back her head in an exaggerated supervillain laugh. “HA HA HA HA! YOUR HAWK POWERS ARE USELESS AGAINST MY ABILITY TO MOVE SLIGHTLY TO THE SIDE! AH HA HA HA HA HA!” she cackled.
Out of the corner of the eye she caught a glimpse of a scout scribbling furiously on her clipboard.
“Alright then,” continued Yoona after her laughing abated, “Shall we wrestle for realsies now? Don’t want to disappoint the scouts.”
Camille hesitated for a brief moment. There was apparently more to her opponent than meets the eye, and now she was unsure how to proceed. Camille decided to try her luck again and launched another somersault axe kick which Yoona easily dodged.
“Hey, come on,” said Yoona, ducking under Camille’s follow-up roundhouse kick, “Quit playing around.”
Another roundhouse kick, with the other leg this time. Another casual dodge from Yoona. “Cut it out,” said Yoona with a hint of frustration in her voice, “You’re ruining this for both of us!”
Camille tried her spinning handstand kicks again. Yoona simply back pedaled out of range, no fancy tumbling this time. “Damn it! Get serious!” Yoona shouted. Camille ignored her and continued spinning in her handstand.
“FINE! HAVE IT YOUR WAY!” Yoona yelled. Timing the gap between Camille’s twirling legs, Yoona stepped forward towards the luchadora and knocked out one of her arms with a swift and forceful low kick, eliciting a yelp of pain. Camille fell from her handstand and awkwardly sprawled onto the mat in a tangle of limbs. A handful of audience members laughed.
“Look, I’m not against putting on some theatrics for the fans,” sighed Yoona, “but we need to use show the scouts some real skills here or else neither of us is going to make it to the next level. I’ve humored your superhero shtick enough already.”
Camille said nothing. Her opponent had been just toying with her the whole time -- her efforts amounted to nothing more than a joke, and now the audience was laughing at her. Camille had fought and lost many times at Open Fight Night before, but as far as she could remember, this was the first time she felt embarrassed for herself. She stared back at Yoona, hoping her shame wasn’t visible on her face.
No such luck.
Yoona’s expression changed from exasperation to amusement as the realization dawned upon her. “Wait,” she said, “don't tell me you expected any of those ridiculous moves to actually work? You were serious this whole time?! That's so sad it's hilarious! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!” Yoona laughed so hard she was afraid she would break a rib.
The sight of Yoona laughing at her sent Camille into an incandescent fury. She had always hated bullies growing up, even though having twin older brothers who were co-captains of the football team ensured that she herself was never the target of any bullying. Nevertheless, her opponent embodied everything she despised about the girls who would arrogantly flaunt their good looks, popularity, and money to mercilessly taunt and mock those less fortunate than themselves.
Channeling her rage, Camille charged across the ring and exploded into the air as if carried by invisible wings. The luchadora turned sideways and violently torqued her body in mid air, swinging her right leg at Yoona’s head like a deadly scythe.
“Hahahahahahaha--WOAH!” Yoona was so preoccupied that she almost didn't see the kick coming. She jerked her body backwards at the waist at the last second, and the Camille’s foot passed so close to her head that the bottom of her boot scraped the sunglasses from Yoona’s face. Having lost her balance from her desperate dodge, Yoona stumbled and unceremoniously fell on her rump with an oof.
Camille landed in a dramatic superhero pose and flashed a triumphant smile. Who’s the joke now? She couldn’t resist spouting another hammy one-liner. “MY VIRTUOUS KICK OF HONOR SHALL SMITE YOU,SCOUNDREL!”
Yoona rose to her feet and frowned as she looked at her broken sunglasses lying on the mat. “You jerk! Those sunglasses were expensive!” she lied while feigning outrage. “I’ll make you pay! Both figuratively and literally!”
Yoona rushed at her opponent, throwing out a dazzling, rapid fire series of flashy feints and stance switches. Right knee feint, left knee feint, pirouette, spinning right elbow feint, reverse pirouette, hop step into left high kick feint. An experienced kick boxer would have recognized Yoona’s combo for what it was: a theatrical display of fancy footwork intended to confuse and intimidate rather than injure. The little dance actually left several holes in Yoona’s defense that could be exploited by standing ground and counter-attacking.
Camille, however, was not an experienced kick boxer. She quickly found herself overwhelmed trying to block punches and kicks that were never coming, and soon she back pedaled herself into the corner. After dropping her arms to protect her midsection against a kick that never came, Camille was out of defensive moves as Yoona’s left hand came rocketing at her face. She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut and braced for impact.
Instead, all she felt was a light pinch on her cheek.
“Oh babe, you're in way over your head,” Yoona cooed with a condescending smile. Camille angrily slapped Yoona’s hand away from her face.
“THE RIGHTEOUS SHALL NOT BE COWED BY IDLE THREATS!” she bellowed, even as she realized that Yoona was right.
Yoona skipped away, laughing. “You know,” she said, gesturing towards Camille’s milky white skin on her bare arms and thighs, “you're pretty pale for a luchadora --”
“JUSTICE IS NOT BOUND BY SKIN COLOR!” interrupted Camille, bristling at the mention of her ethnicity. She was acutely aware that she was a white woman indulging in what was traditionally Mexican culture, and more than a handful of her friends had accused her of cultural appropriation.
“-- are you sure you don't want to just go grab a Pumpkin Spice Latte instead of getting your ass kicked?” Yoona continued with a smile. “Come on, it’ll be my treat. All my white girlfriends love Pumpkin Spice Latte. That shit’s all they ever post on Instagram.”
“JUSTICE WILL NOT BE BOUGHT BY FLAVORED COFFEE DRINKS!” replied the luchadora. Camille did in fact love Starbuck’s Pumpkin Spice Lattes, however, her opponent was on the mark with that observation. She could sure go for one after the match and -- Camille realized it was May.
“AND PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE IS A SEASONAL OFFERING THAT IS NOT AVAILABLE IN THE SPRING,” she added, after a beat.
Camille sprinted at Yoona from across the ring. As she approached Yoona, she juked one step to her left, trying to flank her opponent.
Yoona was ready, and mirrored the luchadora's move with a step to her right.
Quick as a flash, Camille reversed her momentum by pushing off her left foot and leaping to her right.
Yoona again tried to mirror the explosive movement, but this time her right foot buckled under the strain.
“ARGH!” she cried as a painful twinge shot through her heel and ankle. Yoona stumbled again, but managed to stay standing this time.
By the time Yoona recovered her balance, however, it was too late. Instead of landing from her quick leap, Camille planted her right foot on the top rope while still in mid air and pushed off into a sort of double jump. As she was coming down from her boosted jump she twisted her body so that she was face-down to the mat with her legs pointed at Yoona’s head.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Yoona, “That was some pretty fancy schman---MMMPPFFFHHH!”
She was interrupted by a faceful of Camille’s crotch. The luchadora quickly squeezed her thighs around Yoona’s head then forcefully threw herself into a front flip to complete the modified hurricanrana.
An experienced luchadora caught in a hurricanrana would have had the wherewithal to realize when she was past the point of no return, and then thrown herself into the flip to use the additional rotational force to land on her back rather than her head.
Yoona was not an experienced luchadora. She dead-legged the entire throw, and as a result, she flipped a perfect 180 degrees and slammed into the mat with the back of her head and neck.
Yoona’s vision exploded into an ocean of stars on impact. There was a deafening ringing noise in her ears, although she thought she could hear people cheering and screaming in the distance. She wasn’t quite sure where the rest of her body was, and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to stay conscious.
But she was so tired…
If only she could rest her eyes a second and…
NO!
NO NO NO!
She couldn’t fall asleep.
Had to stay awake.
Had to keep…
Keep…
Shit, what was she doing again?
Yoona tried to unscramble her brains and gain her bearings. The ringing in her ears had subsided a bit, but now the people were chanting something over and over again. God, what assholes. Couldn’t they see she was trying to concentrate? Yoona realized that she was on her back, and there was something laying across her hips. She felt her legs spread and stretch outwards, seemingly on their own without her commands.
On her back.
Something pressing on her hips.
Legs open.
Yoona put two and two together. She was having sex. Not very good sex, however, considering she was about to fall asleep. Maybe the poor guy could use some sexy words of encouragement.
“Hurrrrrddduuuuuurrrrr,” Yoona slurred drunkenly.
The only response was another tug on her legs, opening them slightly wider. Ugh, what the hell is this? Amateur hour? Yoona groaned in disgust.
“SUBMIT TO THE WRATH OF MY LEG LOCK, SCOUNDREL!” shouted a female voice.
Okay, so it was a gal, not a guy. And wow. Worst. Pillow talk. Ever.
Yoona’s senses were slowly coming back to her. The ringing in her ears was gone and she could hear that the people were chanting, “TAP! TAP! TAP!”
What a weird thing to chant during sex. In fact, the very presence of these strangers was weird. Yoona rubbed her bleary eyes and took another look at her surroundings.
The woman lying across her hips had her back facing Yoona. Her legs were wrapped around Yoona’s right leg, stretching it out at a 90 degree angle from her torso. She had her arms hooked around the crook of Yoona’s left knee and was pulling Yoona’s thigh out at an opposite 90 degree angle from her torso. Yoona was not familiar with this sex position, although the light stretching sensation in her legs was quite pleasant.
She looked around again and saw a balding, middle aged man in a black and white vertically striped shirt standing over her. “Hey! Hey you, baldy,” Yoona called, having recovered fine motor control in her face, “What’s going on here?” She was beginning to suspect she wasn’t having sex at all.
An experienced referee would have recognized the signs of traumatic brain injury in one of the wrestlers and called off the match. The Bangor High School junior varsity wrestling coach was not an experienced referee. “Uhh, you’re in a wrestling match,” he replied, “La Halcon is trying to get you to submit.”
“Ohhhhh a wrestling match! Of course!” said Yoona, slapping the palm of her hand to her forehead. “But what the hell is La Halcon?”
“That’s your opponent....” said the referee. “So, uhh, do you give up?”
“Naaahh,” Yoona replied indifferently. She laid back, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples with her fingers, trying to recollect the events that brought her to this point.
Sent highlight tapes to FAWN.
Registered for Open Fight Night.
Rented out her condo on airbnb.
Told her bank and credit card companies she would be traveling.
Booked her plane ticket.
Booked her hotel.
Packed her bags.
Flew to Maine.
Lost her checked bags. TSA bastards!
Checked in at hotel.
Masturbated in shower.
Ate chicken nuggets.
Went to sleep.
Woke up.
Watched cartoons.
Ate more chicken nuggets.
Now she was here.
Right, had to impress scouts.
But there was something she was forgetting....
Something really important...
“Oh SHIT!” Yoona screamed, sitting bolt upright.
“HA HA HA! READY TO SUBMIT, VILLAIN?” laughed Camille. Victory was assured, she thought to herself.
“What? No, I forgot to set my hotel DVR to record Game of Thrones. Goddamn it,” muttered Yoona as she pushed the luchadora off of her.
Camille quickly clambered to her feet, while Yoona rose unsteadily, holding onto the ropes for support. “Ref, what the hell happened?” she demanded.
“You, uhh, you offered to buy her a Pumpkin Spice Latte, then she dropped you on your head with a sick hurricanrana. It was pretty sweet,” answered the referee.
“That’s fucking stupid,” retorted Yoona, “Everyone knows Pumpkin Spice Latte is a seasonal offering that’s not available in the spring.”
Camille gaped at Yoona like she had grown a second head. She was worried that the impact from her hurricanrana had destroyed the last handful of brain cells her opponent had left.
“Alright whatever,” said Yoona, shaking the last remaining cobwebs out of her head. “Shall we continue?”
Camille ran at Yoona and attempted to spear the Korean wrestler in the mid section. Just before her shoulder made contact with Yoona’s belly, however, Yoona sidestepped and sent the luchadora to the canvas in a faceplant with a forearm club across the back of the neck. Camille hissed in pain as she rolled on the mat, both hands wrapped around her sore vertebrae.
Yoona saw an opportunity with her opponent momentarily disabled.
“Yoink!” she exclaimed, as she snatched the mask off the luchadora’s face. The fans gasped in shock. Camille’s face was frozen in a look of horror even as she laid on the ground.
“Give it back,” she demanded, speaking in a normal tone and volume for the first time in the match. Removing a luchadora’s mask was a serious breach of professional etiquette, surely anyone who stepped into a wrestling ring, even a vapid bimbo, would understand that.
Yoona ignored her and examined the mask. It was made of flimsy, brittle plastic and attached to a thin elastic band that was now snapped in two from Yoona pulling off the mask. Inside the forehead of the mask, signed in semi-faded black marker, were the words La Halcon.
“Hahaha! Oh geez,” Yoona laughed, “Do you have name tags on your underwear too?”
Apparently vapid bimbos didn’t understand.
“Give it back!” the unmasked luchadora angrily demanded again.
“You should be embarrassed to wear this,” sighed Yoona, “This isn’t a real lucha mask, this is just a piece of shit plastic toy. It’s a wonder it hasn’t broken already.” As if to drive home that last point, Yoona snapped the mask in half.
“NO!” cried Camille. She lunged for Yoona, but her effort was cut short when Yoona fired a kick into her right kneecap, sending her crumpling to the ground once more. “No…” she whimpered weakly, tears welling in her eyes.
Yoona took the two halves of the broken mask and snapped it into fourths. Then, with a more concentrated effort, snapped it into eighths and threw the pieces onto the mat.
“That makes us even for my sunglasses,” Yoona said with a laugh and a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a replacement mask after the match.”
The disgraced luchadora had no response. She was still on the ground clutching her wounded knee with her eyes squeezed shut and grimacing in pain. A large, ugly bruise was starting to form over her quadriceps tendon where the kick had connected, marring her otherwise smooth and pearly skin. At best, it was a deep thigh contusion. At worst, it was a dislocated kneecap. Either way, her night was finished.
Yoona looked at the pairs of scouts in the audience. Not good. They either looked bored or were scribbling on their clipboards and shaking their heads in apparent disapproval. Yoona sighed. She would have to showcase more of her skills, and that meant further embarrassing an already defenseless, overmatched opponent.
Yoona knelt down next to Camille and whispered into her ear, “Babe, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to, uhhh, borrow your body to demonstrate some submission holds to the talent scouts here. I won’t put much pressure into the holds, so please just hang on and don’t tap out. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
The luchadora looked at Yoona, her humiliation and anger plainly written on her face. “Haven’t you done enough!?” she cried.
Yoona could only offer a pitying look before twisting Camille into the first submission maneuver. Yoona picked up the luchadora’s left leg and wrapped her own legs around it. Then very gently as to not further injure the wrestler, Yoona sat down and laid back, stretching Camille’s leg out at a perpendicular angle.
“This is a knee bar,” Yoona narrated. Most of the audience knew that, but Yoona wanted to demonstrate her knowledge of technical holds to the scouts. “Right now, by holding your leg at this angle to your hips, I am already stretching your groin and inner thigh muscles. Inflexible wrestlers would already be surrendering right now.”
Yoona studied Camille’s expression. Clearly uncomfortable, but not in unbearable pain. “Looks like you have better than average flexibility in your legs,” Yoona continued, “but if I raise my hips while bearing down on your ankle, I can hyperextend your knee. No amount of flexibility will save you from tearing your knee ligaments as the joint bends in a direction it wasn’t supposed to.”
Yoona slowly raised her hips a couple of inches off the mat. A sharp yelp of pain told Yoona that Camille’s knee had reached the breaking point, and she quickly released the pressure. From her spot lying down on the mat, Yoona could see one scout nodding her head in agreement.
“From this position, I can also submit you with a variety of foot and ankle holds,” Yoona explained while looking directly at the scout. “The most basic is simply to grab the foot and twist until your ankle rolls further than you can stand. Another basic hold is the Achilles tendon crush. I use the hard bones in my left wrist as a wedge against your Achilles tendon, then I push and force you to point your toes with my right hand. Ridiculously painful and easy to do. And if I want to really hurt you I can use a heel hook. I tuck your toes into my right armpit, then lift and twist your heel with my left arm, destroying both your ankle and knee at the same time.”
Yoona briefly demonstrated each move to oohs and ahhs from the crowd. At this point there was no longer any pretense of a wrestling match, it had become entirely a showcase of Yoona’s submission skills. The unfortunate luchadora turned practice dummy squealed in pain with each move. Even with Yoona’s relatively gentle touch, the submission maneuvers were extremely unpleasant. Camille wanted to simply slap the mat three times and end it, but she was afraid doing so would enrage Yoona and cause the Korean wrestler to cripple her for real. It was best to just do as asked and hope for mercy, she thought to herself.
“And that’s how you break a leg in five places!” Yoona said with a bright and enthusiastic smile as she finished her demonstration. “Now for some body locks!”
Yoona calmly went through a succession of holds from a seated abdominal stretch to an octopus hold to a butterfly lock, narrating the entire time. Camille had muscles that she never knew existed pulled and twisted in ways she never thought possible.
“Now arm locks!” Yoona cheerily announced. Jujigatime. Wakigatame. Omoplata. Crucifix. By the time Yoona was finished, Camille’s arms and shoulders felt like limp noodles. She couldn't even sufficiently move her arms to tap out any more.
“Do you guys want to see more submissions?” asked Yoona. The fans cheered in response.
“Oh God, no…” whimpered what was left of Camille.
“Then you guys will have to come back and watch me wrestle in the Jungle!” beamed Yoona. She gave a smile and a wink at the FAWN talent scouts.
“Of course,” said Yoona, “this match isn’t over yet. Who wants to see one more submission of the --ahem-- sexy kind? How about we end this with a bang?”
The fans whooped with approval.
Yoona laid belly to belly on top of her opponent and sweetly whispered, “You did great! Now just relax and let me handle things. Trust me, you are going to feel so good.”
Before Camille could respond, Yoona trapped her head, neck, and left arm in an arm triangle choke. At the same time she was securing the hold, Yoona slipped her right knee between the Camille’s legs and rubbed the middle of her right thigh against Camille’s groin. Yoona began to slowly tighten the choke, cutting off the blood supply to her head.
“I know this seems scary but you’ll come so hard and so fast it will blow your mind,” explained Yoona after she saw the panicked expression on Camille’s face. “The lack of air makes the brain hallucinate. Every sensation feels so much more intense, so just lay back and focus on me grinding against you. Back and forth. Back and forth. Just like that.”
Hot tears fell from the corners of the luchadora’s eyes and rolled down her face. The choke and grind combo felt just as good as Yoona promised even through the fabric of her swimsuit, but the idea of climaxing with so many people watching was just too humiliating for her. Rapidly approaching her limit, Camille slapped her feet against the mat in an effort to signal her submission.
The amateur referee, however, was too mesmerized to notice and call for the bell.
“It's okay, babe. It's okay,” Yoona gently cooed. “I was afraid my first time too. Just think sexy thoughts. Think of the first time someone went down on you. Didn't that feel incredible? The way the heat and tension built up in your clit and spread all the way to your fingers and toes. More and more and more until you thought you would burst.”
Camille did in fact look like she was ready to burst. The oxygen deprivation plus imminent climax made her face flushed and sweaty. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, and she could no longer muster the energy to continue tapping out with her feet. “Oh my Goooood…” she quietly moaned.
Yoona leaned in close and nibbled on her earlobe. “You are so fucking hot right now,” she said in a breathy, seductive whisper, “Everyone in this room wants you. I want you. Just touching you, looking at you, thinking of you makes me so wet. I'm about to come too. Let's do it together, it'll be so amazing.”
Yoona abruptly released the choke hold. Camille reflexively took in a huge, gasping mouthful of air and then violently shuddered as a powerful orgasm rippled through her body. She opened her mouth as if to scream but was immediately muffled when Yoona forcefully drew her into a deep French kiss.
Camille passionately returned the kiss. She wasn’t sure what came over her. Perhaps it was a malfunction of her oxygen-starved, sex-overdosed brain, but she suddenly realized that her opponent was very, very attractive. In that moment, Camille wanted nothing more than to embrace and melt into her lover as she massaged Yoona’s tongue with her own. Not for long, however, as the sudden rush of blood back to her brain rendered her woozy. She broke off the kiss, and looked at Yoona with glassy eyes and a faint smile.
“Yoona…” she managed to murmur before she fell back unconscious.
“Sweet dreams,” Yoona whispered as she stood up. She turned to the referee, who was red faced and visibly flustered. “Did someone choke you out too, baldy? Think you still have it in you to count to three?”
“Oh sweet Lord I am in so much trouble with the missus if she ever finds out what happened here,” he muttered as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
Yoona gently placed her foot on Camille’s stomach and gestured to the referee.
ONE
TWO
THREE
The bell rang.
“Your winner, by, err, pinfall -- Yoona!”
Without another word Yoona slipped out of the ring and walked out of the auditorium, exchanging a knowing nod with the head scout on the way out.
Yoona looked at the other women in various states of undress around the locker room. There were several dressed in high quality, customized one and two piece spandex ensembles. These were the FAWN professionals, they would not be her opponents tonight. The majority of the wrestlers, however, were dressed in homemade getups, including gym clothes, bikinis, and fancy lingerie. These were the amateurs hoping for a shot at the federation, these were the women Yoona was competing against. A voluptuous young Latina wrestler walked by wearing a corset and hot pants combo. Taking a breast in each hand, Yoona pushed her bosoms together and tried to imagine what she would look like in that set up. No dice. While not flat, Yoona was still at least a cup size too small to pull off the look. She would have to portray a different brand of sex appeal. Yoona let out an exasperated sigh and banged her forehead against the mirror as she racked her brain.
Out of ideas and almost out of time, Yoona decided to seek some inspiration from the professionals. Fetching her laptop from her locker, Yoona took a seat on a locker room bench and opened up her pornography library. Sexy teacher, sexy doctor, sexy masseuse, sexy plumber. Yoona wrinkled her nose and scratched her head. None of these were thematically appropriate. At this rate she might as well wrestle in the nude, she thought to herself. Soon, a crowd of curious wrestlers gathered around Yoona.
“Ah...ex--excuse me,” said a short, mousy brunette. “Are you…..?”
“Watching porn,” Yoona replied without looking up.
“Oh!” exclaimed the petite wrestler, before adding, “I...uh...I’m not sure that’s...err...appro --”
“It’s for research,” interrupted Yoona, her eyes still fixed on the laptop screen. The locker room fell silent, save for the sounds of the sexy plumber dutifully laying pipe. After a few minutes, Yoona still felt the gaze of the crowd on her and finally looked up at the group of gathered wrestlers.
“Guys,” Yoona said in an annoyed tone, “You're making this really weird. Cut it out.”
Slightly embarrassed, but mostly confused, the crowd dispersed and muttered to themselves. Yoona turned her undivided attention back to her pornography. Sexy pizza delivery, sexy cab driver, sexy milkman. “Who even has a milkman these days?” she wondered aloud to herself.
Suddenly, Yoona had an epiphany. The specific settings and costumes didn’t matter. The allure was in the anticipation and implication of sex, that’s why everyone in pornography started out clothed rather than naked. Yoona put away her laptop and grabbed some clothes from her bag. She slipped into a pair of panties, pulled a tight fitting tank top over her torso, tousled her hair, and jumped into the locker room sauna until she was covered in a sheen of sweat. As a finishing touch, Yoona rubbed her own nipples until they stood visibly erect through the fabric of her sweat soaked tank top. Looking into the mirror, Yoona put her hands on her hips, batted her eyelashes, and said in her best sultry voice, “Why yes, I did order the cheese pizza with an extra large helping of sausage on the side.”
Satisfied with her just-had-sex / about-to-have-sex look, Yoona grinned for the first time that night. The hard part was over, now she just had to go out there and kick some ass.
--------------------------------------------
Open Fight Night was a sideshow to the Jungle main event, and thus was relegated to an auditorium in the attached convention center rather than the main arena. A makeshift ring had been haphazardly erected in the middle of the room surrounded by maybe a hundred people sitting in folding chairs. The announcer and color commentator was a single man on a portable microphone. The volunteer referee was a local high school wrestling coach. There was no entrance music, or big screen TV, or pyrotechnics. The wrestlers simply walked to the ring when called by the announcer.
Camille Cosworth liked the cozy feel of Open Fight Night, however. She had been a regular at these events for almost four years now, and she had developed a bit of a following with the fans in attendance. She never did manage to impress the scouts and thus never got the call up to the main show, but Camille was happy just to have a venue to wrestle even if most of her matches ended with her on her back and looking at the ceiling.
Now her time in Bangor was coming to a close. Camille already had more than enough credits to graduate from the University of Maine with her degree, and she couldn’t keep enrolling in frivolous electives to stave off graduation forever. She looked at the mask she held in her hands, a black and teal lucha-style mask that covered the upper half of her face with a long, avian beak-like hook on the nose. It wasn’t a real lucha mask, rather it was merely a plastic imitation that she had gotten as a young teenager. Nevertheless, it was her most prized possession, the direct representation of all her wildest childhood dreams. Her family and friends all chided her for still clinging to such juvenile aspirations, and deep down, she knew that she would soon have to hang up her mask and become white collar office drone Camille Cosworth.
For tonight, however, she would take flight one more time as her alter-ego. Camille strapped the mask to her face and stepped into the auditorium, just as the introductions for her match were starting.
“The next match of the night is Yoona versus La Halcon. Coming to the ring first at 5’7” and 128 pounds -- Yoona,” deadpanned the announcer.
YOONA:
Camille watched her opponent pad her way to the ring in her bare feet to polite applause more suitable for a golf gallery than a wrestling match. In addition to her tank top and panties, she had her hands and wrists wrapped in white athletic tape. On her face were a pair of ridiculous looking pink shutter sunglasses. After she climbed into the ring, she blew kisses to the assembled fans and lightly hopped up and down under the pretense of warming up so they could get a good view of her jiggling breasts.
Camille sighed heavily. Just her rotten luck, she was matched against the creep who was watching pornography in the locker room earlier. Then again, maybe this was an opportunity for her to get a rare win notched on her belt. Everything about the young woman in the ring from her behavior in the locker room, to her ditzy mannerisms now, to her trashy ringwear screamed talentless floozy who couldn’t wrestle her way out of a wet paper bag. Her opponent would make the perfect patsy for a crowd-pleasing, scout-impressing finishing move. Against all hope, Camille wondered if tonight would be the night that she would get called up to FAWN..
“Coming next to the ring at 5’6” and 130 pounds -- La Halcon.” The announcer almost sounded bored.
Camille appeared to a round of warm and enthusiastic applause and shouts of support. In addition to her beloved mask, she was dressed in a black one piece swimsuit with matching knee-high black boots. Perhaps it was a bit hypocritical for her to judge her opponent’s ring wear as trashy when her own attire showed just as much skin, save for her feet and lower legs, Camille thought to herself.
Camille performed a series of twirling, acrobatic spins and flips, drawing more cheers from the crowd. As she approached the ring, rather than take the ring stairs or climbing onto the apron, she leapt up directly from the floor, then in one smooth motion she grabbed the rope and slingshot herself to the center of the ring before landing in a three point stance. The crowd whooped and hollered at this display of athleticism.
Even her opponent let loose a sharp whistle of appreciation.
“IT IS I, LA HALCON, DEFENDER OF JUSTICE AND VIRTUE,” she announced dramatically as she stood up and pointed at Yoona, “EVIL DOERS, TREMBLE BEFORE MY MIGHT!”
Yoona guffawed. “HA HA HA! Ohhhh man, you could’ve been anyone and you chose to be Hawkman! Even fucking Hawkman wouldn’t choose to be Hawkman!” Yoona bent over in laughter and slapped her knee.
“LAUGH NOW WHILE YOU CAN, VILLAIN,” proclaimed Camille, unfazed by Yoona’s mockery, “NOW PREPARE TO FACE MY AVENGING WRATH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS!” As if on cue, the bell rung to signify the start of the match. Camille crouched down and threw some flashy capoeira flip kicks.
“Hah! Breakdancing Hawkman, this keeps getting better and better,” snickered Yoona. “COME AT ME HAWKMAN. IT IS I, YOUR GREATEST NEMESIS, uhhh...I AM...er... GIRL who...err...ISN’T VERY ENVIRONMENTALLY CONSCIOUS, and uhh...CONTRIBUTES TO THE DESTRUCTION OF YOUR NESTING HABITAT and who...hmm...WHO ENJOYS HAWK EGG OMELETTES!”
“Wow, this is harder than it seems,” said Yoona to no one in particular.
Totally a ditz, Camille thought to herself. This Yoona probably had an IQ no higher than the room temperature, measured in Celsius.
Without further comment she launched herself at Yoona in a front flip, before turning 180 degrees in the air and attempting an axe kick as she landed. Yoona turned her body to the side to avoid getting smashed on the top of her head and Camille’s foot harmlessly whiffed through the air in front of her.
Camille was not finished, however. Without rising from her landing crouch, Camille planted both hands on the ground to support her weight as she performed a gymnastic flare, swinging out both legs in a wide V and attempting to sweep Yoona’s feet out from under her. Quickly reacting to this new attack, Yoona lept into the air and dove over her gyrating body before landing in a graceful front roll.
Camille still had another trick up her sleeve, transitioning into a full handstand and turning three full circles on her hands with her legs splayed out like helicopter blades. Before Camille’s spinning legs could kick her in the ribs, Yoona threw herself into a back handspring, putting herself a safe distance away from the whirling dervish in the center of the ring.
Having forced her opponent to retreat to the corner for the time being, Camille regained her feet and returned to her crouching position, staring intently at Yoona. This bimbo was much more skilled and agile than she anticipated. Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as she thought.
The audience stood and gave an ovation for the display of acrobatics and agility.
Yoona planted her fists on her hips, puffed out her chest, and tilted back her head in an exaggerated supervillain laugh. “HA HA HA HA! YOUR HAWK POWERS ARE USELESS AGAINST MY ABILITY TO MOVE SLIGHTLY TO THE SIDE! AH HA HA HA HA HA!” she cackled.
Out of the corner of the eye she caught a glimpse of a scout scribbling furiously on her clipboard.
“Alright then,” continued Yoona after her laughing abated, “Shall we wrestle for realsies now? Don’t want to disappoint the scouts.”
Camille hesitated for a brief moment. There was apparently more to her opponent than meets the eye, and now she was unsure how to proceed. Camille decided to try her luck again and launched another somersault axe kick which Yoona easily dodged.
“Hey, come on,” said Yoona, ducking under Camille’s follow-up roundhouse kick, “Quit playing around.”
Another roundhouse kick, with the other leg this time. Another casual dodge from Yoona. “Cut it out,” said Yoona with a hint of frustration in her voice, “You’re ruining this for both of us!”
Camille tried her spinning handstand kicks again. Yoona simply back pedaled out of range, no fancy tumbling this time. “Damn it! Get serious!” Yoona shouted. Camille ignored her and continued spinning in her handstand.
“FINE! HAVE IT YOUR WAY!” Yoona yelled. Timing the gap between Camille’s twirling legs, Yoona stepped forward towards the luchadora and knocked out one of her arms with a swift and forceful low kick, eliciting a yelp of pain. Camille fell from her handstand and awkwardly sprawled onto the mat in a tangle of limbs. A handful of audience members laughed.
“Look, I’m not against putting on some theatrics for the fans,” sighed Yoona, “but we need to use show the scouts some real skills here or else neither of us is going to make it to the next level. I’ve humored your superhero shtick enough already.”
Camille said nothing. Her opponent had been just toying with her the whole time -- her efforts amounted to nothing more than a joke, and now the audience was laughing at her. Camille had fought and lost many times at Open Fight Night before, but as far as she could remember, this was the first time she felt embarrassed for herself. She stared back at Yoona, hoping her shame wasn’t visible on her face.
No such luck.
Yoona’s expression changed from exasperation to amusement as the realization dawned upon her. “Wait,” she said, “don't tell me you expected any of those ridiculous moves to actually work? You were serious this whole time?! That's so sad it's hilarious! Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!” Yoona laughed so hard she was afraid she would break a rib.
The sight of Yoona laughing at her sent Camille into an incandescent fury. She had always hated bullies growing up, even though having twin older brothers who were co-captains of the football team ensured that she herself was never the target of any bullying. Nevertheless, her opponent embodied everything she despised about the girls who would arrogantly flaunt their good looks, popularity, and money to mercilessly taunt and mock those less fortunate than themselves.
Channeling her rage, Camille charged across the ring and exploded into the air as if carried by invisible wings. The luchadora turned sideways and violently torqued her body in mid air, swinging her right leg at Yoona’s head like a deadly scythe.
“Hahahahahahaha--WOAH!” Yoona was so preoccupied that she almost didn't see the kick coming. She jerked her body backwards at the waist at the last second, and the Camille’s foot passed so close to her head that the bottom of her boot scraped the sunglasses from Yoona’s face. Having lost her balance from her desperate dodge, Yoona stumbled and unceremoniously fell on her rump with an oof.
Camille landed in a dramatic superhero pose and flashed a triumphant smile. Who’s the joke now? She couldn’t resist spouting another hammy one-liner. “MY VIRTUOUS KICK OF HONOR SHALL SMITE YOU,SCOUNDREL!”
Yoona rose to her feet and frowned as she looked at her broken sunglasses lying on the mat. “You jerk! Those sunglasses were expensive!” she lied while feigning outrage. “I’ll make you pay! Both figuratively and literally!”
Yoona rushed at her opponent, throwing out a dazzling, rapid fire series of flashy feints and stance switches. Right knee feint, left knee feint, pirouette, spinning right elbow feint, reverse pirouette, hop step into left high kick feint. An experienced kick boxer would have recognized Yoona’s combo for what it was: a theatrical display of fancy footwork intended to confuse and intimidate rather than injure. The little dance actually left several holes in Yoona’s defense that could be exploited by standing ground and counter-attacking.
Camille, however, was not an experienced kick boxer. She quickly found herself overwhelmed trying to block punches and kicks that were never coming, and soon she back pedaled herself into the corner. After dropping her arms to protect her midsection against a kick that never came, Camille was out of defensive moves as Yoona’s left hand came rocketing at her face. She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut and braced for impact.
Instead, all she felt was a light pinch on her cheek.
“Oh babe, you're in way over your head,” Yoona cooed with a condescending smile. Camille angrily slapped Yoona’s hand away from her face.
“THE RIGHTEOUS SHALL NOT BE COWED BY IDLE THREATS!” she bellowed, even as she realized that Yoona was right.
Yoona skipped away, laughing. “You know,” she said, gesturing towards Camille’s milky white skin on her bare arms and thighs, “you're pretty pale for a luchadora --”
“JUSTICE IS NOT BOUND BY SKIN COLOR!” interrupted Camille, bristling at the mention of her ethnicity. She was acutely aware that she was a white woman indulging in what was traditionally Mexican culture, and more than a handful of her friends had accused her of cultural appropriation.
“-- are you sure you don't want to just go grab a Pumpkin Spice Latte instead of getting your ass kicked?” Yoona continued with a smile. “Come on, it’ll be my treat. All my white girlfriends love Pumpkin Spice Latte. That shit’s all they ever post on Instagram.”
“JUSTICE WILL NOT BE BOUGHT BY FLAVORED COFFEE DRINKS!” replied the luchadora. Camille did in fact love Starbuck’s Pumpkin Spice Lattes, however, her opponent was on the mark with that observation. She could sure go for one after the match and -- Camille realized it was May.
“AND PUMPKIN SPICE LATTE IS A SEASONAL OFFERING THAT IS NOT AVAILABLE IN THE SPRING,” she added, after a beat.
Camille sprinted at Yoona from across the ring. As she approached Yoona, she juked one step to her left, trying to flank her opponent.
Yoona was ready, and mirrored the luchadora's move with a step to her right.
Quick as a flash, Camille reversed her momentum by pushing off her left foot and leaping to her right.
Yoona again tried to mirror the explosive movement, but this time her right foot buckled under the strain.
“ARGH!” she cried as a painful twinge shot through her heel and ankle. Yoona stumbled again, but managed to stay standing this time.
By the time Yoona recovered her balance, however, it was too late. Instead of landing from her quick leap, Camille planted her right foot on the top rope while still in mid air and pushed off into a sort of double jump. As she was coming down from her boosted jump she twisted her body so that she was face-down to the mat with her legs pointed at Yoona’s head.
“Holy shit!” exclaimed Yoona, “That was some pretty fancy schman---MMMPPFFFHHH!”
She was interrupted by a faceful of Camille’s crotch. The luchadora quickly squeezed her thighs around Yoona’s head then forcefully threw herself into a front flip to complete the modified hurricanrana.
An experienced luchadora caught in a hurricanrana would have had the wherewithal to realize when she was past the point of no return, and then thrown herself into the flip to use the additional rotational force to land on her back rather than her head.
Yoona was not an experienced luchadora. She dead-legged the entire throw, and as a result, she flipped a perfect 180 degrees and slammed into the mat with the back of her head and neck.
Yoona’s vision exploded into an ocean of stars on impact. There was a deafening ringing noise in her ears, although she thought she could hear people cheering and screaming in the distance. She wasn’t quite sure where the rest of her body was, and her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to stay conscious.
But she was so tired…
If only she could rest her eyes a second and…
NO!
NO NO NO!
She couldn’t fall asleep.
Had to stay awake.
Had to keep…
Keep…
Shit, what was she doing again?
Yoona tried to unscramble her brains and gain her bearings. The ringing in her ears had subsided a bit, but now the people were chanting something over and over again. God, what assholes. Couldn’t they see she was trying to concentrate? Yoona realized that she was on her back, and there was something laying across her hips. She felt her legs spread and stretch outwards, seemingly on their own without her commands.
On her back.
Something pressing on her hips.
Legs open.
Yoona put two and two together. She was having sex. Not very good sex, however, considering she was about to fall asleep. Maybe the poor guy could use some sexy words of encouragement.
“Hurrrrrddduuuuuurrrrr,” Yoona slurred drunkenly.
The only response was another tug on her legs, opening them slightly wider. Ugh, what the hell is this? Amateur hour? Yoona groaned in disgust.
“SUBMIT TO THE WRATH OF MY LEG LOCK, SCOUNDREL!” shouted a female voice.
Okay, so it was a gal, not a guy. And wow. Worst. Pillow talk. Ever.
Yoona’s senses were slowly coming back to her. The ringing in her ears was gone and she could hear that the people were chanting, “TAP! TAP! TAP!”
What a weird thing to chant during sex. In fact, the very presence of these strangers was weird. Yoona rubbed her bleary eyes and took another look at her surroundings.
The woman lying across her hips had her back facing Yoona. Her legs were wrapped around Yoona’s right leg, stretching it out at a 90 degree angle from her torso. She had her arms hooked around the crook of Yoona’s left knee and was pulling Yoona’s thigh out at an opposite 90 degree angle from her torso. Yoona was not familiar with this sex position, although the light stretching sensation in her legs was quite pleasant.
She looked around again and saw a balding, middle aged man in a black and white vertically striped shirt standing over her. “Hey! Hey you, baldy,” Yoona called, having recovered fine motor control in her face, “What’s going on here?” She was beginning to suspect she wasn’t having sex at all.
An experienced referee would have recognized the signs of traumatic brain injury in one of the wrestlers and called off the match. The Bangor High School junior varsity wrestling coach was not an experienced referee. “Uhh, you’re in a wrestling match,” he replied, “La Halcon is trying to get you to submit.”
“Ohhhhh a wrestling match! Of course!” said Yoona, slapping the palm of her hand to her forehead. “But what the hell is La Halcon?”
“That’s your opponent....” said the referee. “So, uhh, do you give up?”
“Naaahh,” Yoona replied indifferently. She laid back, closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples with her fingers, trying to recollect the events that brought her to this point.
Sent highlight tapes to FAWN.
Registered for Open Fight Night.
Rented out her condo on airbnb.
Told her bank and credit card companies she would be traveling.
Booked her plane ticket.
Booked her hotel.
Packed her bags.
Flew to Maine.
Lost her checked bags. TSA bastards!
Checked in at hotel.
Masturbated in shower.
Ate chicken nuggets.
Went to sleep.
Woke up.
Watched cartoons.
Ate more chicken nuggets.
Now she was here.
Right, had to impress scouts.
But there was something she was forgetting....
Something really important...
“Oh SHIT!” Yoona screamed, sitting bolt upright.
“HA HA HA! READY TO SUBMIT, VILLAIN?” laughed Camille. Victory was assured, she thought to herself.
“What? No, I forgot to set my hotel DVR to record Game of Thrones. Goddamn it,” muttered Yoona as she pushed the luchadora off of her.
Camille quickly clambered to her feet, while Yoona rose unsteadily, holding onto the ropes for support. “Ref, what the hell happened?” she demanded.
“You, uhh, you offered to buy her a Pumpkin Spice Latte, then she dropped you on your head with a sick hurricanrana. It was pretty sweet,” answered the referee.
“That’s fucking stupid,” retorted Yoona, “Everyone knows Pumpkin Spice Latte is a seasonal offering that’s not available in the spring.”
Camille gaped at Yoona like she had grown a second head. She was worried that the impact from her hurricanrana had destroyed the last handful of brain cells her opponent had left.
“Alright whatever,” said Yoona, shaking the last remaining cobwebs out of her head. “Shall we continue?”
Camille ran at Yoona and attempted to spear the Korean wrestler in the mid section. Just before her shoulder made contact with Yoona’s belly, however, Yoona sidestepped and sent the luchadora to the canvas in a faceplant with a forearm club across the back of the neck. Camille hissed in pain as she rolled on the mat, both hands wrapped around her sore vertebrae.
Yoona saw an opportunity with her opponent momentarily disabled.
“Yoink!” she exclaimed, as she snatched the mask off the luchadora’s face. The fans gasped in shock. Camille’s face was frozen in a look of horror even as she laid on the ground.
“Give it back,” she demanded, speaking in a normal tone and volume for the first time in the match. Removing a luchadora’s mask was a serious breach of professional etiquette, surely anyone who stepped into a wrestling ring, even a vapid bimbo, would understand that.
Yoona ignored her and examined the mask. It was made of flimsy, brittle plastic and attached to a thin elastic band that was now snapped in two from Yoona pulling off the mask. Inside the forehead of the mask, signed in semi-faded black marker, were the words La Halcon.
“Hahaha! Oh geez,” Yoona laughed, “Do you have name tags on your underwear too?”
Apparently vapid bimbos didn’t understand.
“Give it back!” the unmasked luchadora angrily demanded again.
“You should be embarrassed to wear this,” sighed Yoona, “This isn’t a real lucha mask, this is just a piece of shit plastic toy. It’s a wonder it hasn’t broken already.” As if to drive home that last point, Yoona snapped the mask in half.
“NO!” cried Camille. She lunged for Yoona, but her effort was cut short when Yoona fired a kick into her right kneecap, sending her crumpling to the ground once more. “No…” she whimpered weakly, tears welling in her eyes.
Yoona took the two halves of the broken mask and snapped it into fourths. Then, with a more concentrated effort, snapped it into eighths and threw the pieces onto the mat.
“That makes us even for my sunglasses,” Yoona said with a laugh and a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a replacement mask after the match.”
The disgraced luchadora had no response. She was still on the ground clutching her wounded knee with her eyes squeezed shut and grimacing in pain. A large, ugly bruise was starting to form over her quadriceps tendon where the kick had connected, marring her otherwise smooth and pearly skin. At best, it was a deep thigh contusion. At worst, it was a dislocated kneecap. Either way, her night was finished.
Yoona looked at the pairs of scouts in the audience. Not good. They either looked bored or were scribbling on their clipboards and shaking their heads in apparent disapproval. Yoona sighed. She would have to showcase more of her skills, and that meant further embarrassing an already defenseless, overmatched opponent.
Yoona knelt down next to Camille and whispered into her ear, “Babe, I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to, uhhh, borrow your body to demonstrate some submission holds to the talent scouts here. I won’t put much pressure into the holds, so please just hang on and don’t tap out. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
The luchadora looked at Yoona, her humiliation and anger plainly written on her face. “Haven’t you done enough!?” she cried.
Yoona could only offer a pitying look before twisting Camille into the first submission maneuver. Yoona picked up the luchadora’s left leg and wrapped her own legs around it. Then very gently as to not further injure the wrestler, Yoona sat down and laid back, stretching Camille’s leg out at a perpendicular angle.
“This is a knee bar,” Yoona narrated. Most of the audience knew that, but Yoona wanted to demonstrate her knowledge of technical holds to the scouts. “Right now, by holding your leg at this angle to your hips, I am already stretching your groin and inner thigh muscles. Inflexible wrestlers would already be surrendering right now.”
Yoona studied Camille’s expression. Clearly uncomfortable, but not in unbearable pain. “Looks like you have better than average flexibility in your legs,” Yoona continued, “but if I raise my hips while bearing down on your ankle, I can hyperextend your knee. No amount of flexibility will save you from tearing your knee ligaments as the joint bends in a direction it wasn’t supposed to.”
Yoona slowly raised her hips a couple of inches off the mat. A sharp yelp of pain told Yoona that Camille’s knee had reached the breaking point, and she quickly released the pressure. From her spot lying down on the mat, Yoona could see one scout nodding her head in agreement.
“From this position, I can also submit you with a variety of foot and ankle holds,” Yoona explained while looking directly at the scout. “The most basic is simply to grab the foot and twist until your ankle rolls further than you can stand. Another basic hold is the Achilles tendon crush. I use the hard bones in my left wrist as a wedge against your Achilles tendon, then I push and force you to point your toes with my right hand. Ridiculously painful and easy to do. And if I want to really hurt you I can use a heel hook. I tuck your toes into my right armpit, then lift and twist your heel with my left arm, destroying both your ankle and knee at the same time.”
Yoona briefly demonstrated each move to oohs and ahhs from the crowd. At this point there was no longer any pretense of a wrestling match, it had become entirely a showcase of Yoona’s submission skills. The unfortunate luchadora turned practice dummy squealed in pain with each move. Even with Yoona’s relatively gentle touch, the submission maneuvers were extremely unpleasant. Camille wanted to simply slap the mat three times and end it, but she was afraid doing so would enrage Yoona and cause the Korean wrestler to cripple her for real. It was best to just do as asked and hope for mercy, she thought to herself.
“And that’s how you break a leg in five places!” Yoona said with a bright and enthusiastic smile as she finished her demonstration. “Now for some body locks!”
Yoona calmly went through a succession of holds from a seated abdominal stretch to an octopus hold to a butterfly lock, narrating the entire time. Camille had muscles that she never knew existed pulled and twisted in ways she never thought possible.
“Now arm locks!” Yoona cheerily announced. Jujigatime. Wakigatame. Omoplata. Crucifix. By the time Yoona was finished, Camille’s arms and shoulders felt like limp noodles. She couldn't even sufficiently move her arms to tap out any more.
“Do you guys want to see more submissions?” asked Yoona. The fans cheered in response.
“Oh God, no…” whimpered what was left of Camille.
“Then you guys will have to come back and watch me wrestle in the Jungle!” beamed Yoona. She gave a smile and a wink at the FAWN talent scouts.
“Of course,” said Yoona, “this match isn’t over yet. Who wants to see one more submission of the --ahem-- sexy kind? How about we end this with a bang?”
The fans whooped with approval.
Yoona laid belly to belly on top of her opponent and sweetly whispered, “You did great! Now just relax and let me handle things. Trust me, you are going to feel so good.”
Before Camille could respond, Yoona trapped her head, neck, and left arm in an arm triangle choke. At the same time she was securing the hold, Yoona slipped her right knee between the Camille’s legs and rubbed the middle of her right thigh against Camille’s groin. Yoona began to slowly tighten the choke, cutting off the blood supply to her head.
“I know this seems scary but you’ll come so hard and so fast it will blow your mind,” explained Yoona after she saw the panicked expression on Camille’s face. “The lack of air makes the brain hallucinate. Every sensation feels so much more intense, so just lay back and focus on me grinding against you. Back and forth. Back and forth. Just like that.”
Hot tears fell from the corners of the luchadora’s eyes and rolled down her face. The choke and grind combo felt just as good as Yoona promised even through the fabric of her swimsuit, but the idea of climaxing with so many people watching was just too humiliating for her. Rapidly approaching her limit, Camille slapped her feet against the mat in an effort to signal her submission.
The amateur referee, however, was too mesmerized to notice and call for the bell.
“It's okay, babe. It's okay,” Yoona gently cooed. “I was afraid my first time too. Just think sexy thoughts. Think of the first time someone went down on you. Didn't that feel incredible? The way the heat and tension built up in your clit and spread all the way to your fingers and toes. More and more and more until you thought you would burst.”
Camille did in fact look like she was ready to burst. The oxygen deprivation plus imminent climax made her face flushed and sweaty. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, and she could no longer muster the energy to continue tapping out with her feet. “Oh my Goooood…” she quietly moaned.
Yoona leaned in close and nibbled on her earlobe. “You are so fucking hot right now,” she said in a breathy, seductive whisper, “Everyone in this room wants you. I want you. Just touching you, looking at you, thinking of you makes me so wet. I'm about to come too. Let's do it together, it'll be so amazing.”
Yoona abruptly released the choke hold. Camille reflexively took in a huge, gasping mouthful of air and then violently shuddered as a powerful orgasm rippled through her body. She opened her mouth as if to scream but was immediately muffled when Yoona forcefully drew her into a deep French kiss.
Camille passionately returned the kiss. She wasn’t sure what came over her. Perhaps it was a malfunction of her oxygen-starved, sex-overdosed brain, but she suddenly realized that her opponent was very, very attractive. In that moment, Camille wanted nothing more than to embrace and melt into her lover as she massaged Yoona’s tongue with her own. Not for long, however, as the sudden rush of blood back to her brain rendered her woozy. She broke off the kiss, and looked at Yoona with glassy eyes and a faint smile.
“Yoona…” she managed to murmur before she fell back unconscious.
“Sweet dreams,” Yoona whispered as she stood up. She turned to the referee, who was red faced and visibly flustered. “Did someone choke you out too, baldy? Think you still have it in you to count to three?”
“Oh sweet Lord I am in so much trouble with the missus if she ever finds out what happened here,” he muttered as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand.
Yoona gently placed her foot on Camille’s stomach and gestured to the referee.
ONE
TWO
THREE
The bell rang.
“Your winner, by, err, pinfall -- Yoona!”
Without another word Yoona slipped out of the ring and walked out of the auditorium, exchanging a knowing nod with the head scout on the way out.
