Domino vs Amy Poford- Let the Good Times Roll

Match type: Standard
Hentai Allowed
Winning Conditions: Pinfall, Submission, Knockout or Orgasm

Spoiler:

Amy had to hand it to the company. Her new outfit was a perfect fit.

She examined herself in the changing room mirror. It was snug where it needed to be to show off her girlishness, but loose enough that her movement was wholly unhampered. The fabric was light, but it had an extra lining discreetly woven in so that, even if she had chosen to wear her usual blue sports bra underneath (she’d opted for white, just in case), the color wouldn’t bleed through the shirt. And the belt was sown right onto her skirt. That meant that she couldn’t use it as a weapon, but it also meant it couldn’t knock around or throw her off balance while she jumped about the ring.

She even appreciated that it didn’t immediately invoke ‘fighter.’ Quite the opposite really- frilly skirt, and an extraneous outer skirt; long, thin leather opera gloves, an open jacket covered with a ridiculous amount of extra trim and detail; everything about her screamed airhead popstar. It was something that she had trouble stomaching at first, but, in the end, she knew that her innocuous image would lure her opponents into a false sense of security.

Not Domino, though. From his two visits to the hospital while she was checked-in, he was sure to have learned quite a few things about her, including Amy’s incongruous violent nature. Amy suspected that she couldn’t count on the teenage career wrestler to underestimate her. And that was just fine with her.

Amy sent one last text to Domino-

damn, i look good in this outfit. i wish I was the one wrestling me tonight.

-before she stashed her phone away in her backpack. She doubted that he would respond, anyway; it’s not like wrestlers carried their cell phones out to the ring. The irony of the thought didn’t escape her as she pulled out her iPod to hand to the sound technician before she went out in front of the arena. “Come on, buddy. Good song tonight. Don’t let me down.” A PA came to fetch her; it was time. Amy smiled. "Okay, let's go."

Spoiler:

'To shirt, or not to shirt.'

Drake - or Domino, presently - is also standing in front of a mirror, already decked out for tonight's highly anticipated match. Black and white trunks, matching boots, and a pair of bracers currently makes up the entirety of his outfit. Naturally, this leaves his toned thighs exposed, along with the streamlined muscle along his arms. His flat and firmed chest is bare, as well as those sleek abdominals his opponent got a glimpse of before. There's a reason he's a model, beyond just having a pleasant face.

But the conundrum persists. Shirt or no shirt? He keeps shifting his dark gaze between the mirror and the simple, featureless white tee. But truth be told, that's not what's truly occupying his mind; it's tonight. A girl he'd been talking to, whom he felt he was making a nice connection with, would be his opponent. He doted on her in the hospital, brought her flowers, then yogurt, and essentially whatever else would make her stay better. They made verbal jabs at each other, and it was all just... really nice. Oh, make no mistake, he knows she's a vicious little thing; he'd even used those words. But he can't help but hope that, no matter how the night turns out, it won't damage their standing with each other. He has no intentions to hold back on her. He has a career to think about. A legacy to build.

And then his cellphone goes off. Domino mindlessly tugs the shirt on and turns to pluck his phone out of his duffelbag. The message gets a smirk, and his thumbs fly quickly to shoot a message back to her.

"Oh really? Would you like a little alone time? I could tell them you forfeit..."

The phone is stashed.

Domino looks again to the mirror, then realizes he made the decision without even thinking about it. But then again, this is likely the choice that Amy would enjoy more, herself. A little teasing, making her wait long for him to show off what he's got going on under the hood. Maybe it'll fire her up a bit more.

He points his index finger towards the mirror and 'shoots'. Bang. And then he makes his way to the curtain to wait. But when the winning conditions are announced, the teen's eyes widen. First to what?! Okay, his last couple matches allowed, and even encouraged hentai stuff, but they didn't have that as a condition! Would Amy be... attacking him like that? He's nervous, but not as nervous as he was in his match with Irene. He... kind of trusts Amy. She'll fight him, sure. He believes that. But she wouldn't do anything that might humiliate him, right?

But the first song to hit the stadium isn't his! Worries are pushed out of his mind in favor of focusing on the match about to commence. He'd love to poke his head out and get a look at how Amy makes her way to the ring, but the higher-ups would probably lop his head off for it. Stupid showmanship. Grumble.

Amy stood before the curtains, limbering up. The iPod was safely in the tech’s hands; she needed only to hear her name announced before she would make her entrance.

Amy frowned as she heard the rules being read, but the hentai stipulations were amusing more than anything else. From what Domino had told her about his AFW record, and from the conditions in their own match up, she suspected that somebody in the higher ups had a little crush on the young wrestler. But that had nothing to do with her. From what she’d seen of Domino, Amy felt like she could trust him to stay polite, but it was best to not leave any lingering doubts. She’d set him straight once they were in the ring.

Amy stretched out her shoulders. This would not be like her debut match, where she just tried to get to the ring as quickly as possible. No, this time, she had a plan. She was a dancer, she was dressed as a dancer, so she’d dance. She’d watched a handful of J-pop music videos to study the style, but dismissed them outright; the outfit was plenty cute, so there was no need for her dancing to be. No, she’d spend some time at the top of the ramp- a little hip hop, a little locking, a little uprock- before skipping down to the ring, waving to the audience. Of course, her vigor would depend on what shuffle spat out, but Amy was a good dancer. She could dance to anything.

Amy felt good. New clothes, a talented opponent, the promise of a good fight. It felt like nothing could bring her down.

----

Arenaside, music began to play. Ears pricked up all around the stadium. It didn’t matter that the crowd was primarily Japanese, because Eye of the Tiger is instantly familiar to any fan of ringed combat.

For 10 confused seconds, there was no activity at the top of the ramp. Then the curtains exploded outward, and, in the very next moment, Amy could be seen sliding into the ring. She leapt up, turned around, and made an urgent cutting motion across her neck, and the music faded out, far too slowly for Amy’s tastes. Amy’s face was flushed; her hands were glued to her cheeks to try and hide it. Very few things embarrassed Amy, but this… 8 gigs of songs, and shuffle just happens to spit out the most cliched song possible. She would have to stop procrastinating and pick a song already… or at the very least, narrow the choice down to an acceptable playlist. Nathan was probably already preparing his I-told-you-so look.

So much for her plans.

Wait. He knows that riff. It's one note repeated over and over, but every red-blooded American knows it the moment it comes on. It works for Rocky, but in almost every other context, it comes off as just so... ironic. Is this for real? She couldn't possibly have picked that. Someone had to be screwing with her. Yeah - a prank. Gotta be. Some rambunctious dude in Tension switched out the songs.

Either that or he's having a stroke.

Whatever the case was, it only made him want to peek out and take a look that much harder. But he's made of tough stuff; an iron will. He resisted that overwhelming temptation long enough for the music to cut off and his own to kick on. The stadium fills with a throbbing techno beat - no vocals, and sadly there isn't much variation to it. It's generic at best, and Domino loathes how uninteresting it is.

'Hell, it's better than Eye of the Tiger.'

The teen leaps into view, showered in praise from the audience. With a bright, confident smile, the young model thrusts a fist into the air, nodding to the row of seating at his left, then the right. And immediately after, he takes off at a trot, drifting side to side to slap energetic high-fives with the fans lucky enough to be close by, and dole out hugs to a few of the even luckier female fans. When he reaches the edge of the ring, he turns to brace his back against the ropes and curls over, rolling smoothly over the top rope to land boots on the mat.

At this point, he turns to face Amy and finally gets a good look at her.

She looks amazing. Perfect blend of cute, sexy, and pretty; a triple threat all on her own. He clicks his tongue. "You weren't kiddin'."

After flashing her a quick wink, Domino spins to face the audience again. He grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls it off, finally exposing his trim upper-body to a small chorus of extra-enthusiastic female cheering. With a short windup, the garment is pitched out into the crowd as a souvenir. Finally, he hops onto the nearest turnbuckle, balancing neatly at the middle ropes, and points out at the audience with an appreciative smile, then thrusts his fist airwards in obvious salute.

And then, he promptly hops down from his roost and turns to face Amy again. His frame rises visibly and falls again in short order; one deep breath. He's ready for'er.

Amy hardly noticed Domino making his way down to the ring. The crowd’s adulation was on the periphery of her cognizance, and she knew subconsciously that she would have been impressed by his acrobatic entrance to the ring. She was only vaguely aware of his music choice, and mildly understood that she’d have to make fun of him for it later somehow. It was only when Domino directly addressed her that she became fully aware of him.

At first, Amy was glad that Domino didn’t call attention to her entrance music. Then, when it occurred to her that he might have been feeling embarrassed for her and was holding back, she blushed a slightly brighter shade of red. She turned around with a brusque, “Thanks.” She didn’t care if he thought that his compliment caused the blush; all she wanted right now was to crawl into a hole and die.

But that sort of attitude loses fights. She needed to get over it, so she slapped her cheeks sharply, took a deep breath (and then another), and done; she was over it. Any red still on her face came from her slap.

Amy turned back around to face Domino. “Okay, Dom-” she began, then blinked. So much skin. Wasn’t he wearing a shirt just a second ago? She shook her head and started again. “Okay, Domino, hentai’s a go for this match. I’m going to say right now that fucking a dude in front of a crowd is NOT my idea of a good time. Let’s keep things PG here, okay? I wore this outfit just for you, and it would NOT be very polite of you to rip it off of me. And, just in case your fingers 'accidentally' find themselves up my skirt, I've got one word for you:...” she lifted up the front hem of her skirt to reveal… more fabric. The audience let out a disappointed groan. Amy smirked. “...skorts.” The hem came down, and her expression softened. “I’m trusting you here, Drake. Don’t let me down.”

The bell rang almost immediately after her speech. Amy would have preferred to hear Domino’s response, but, like a Pavlovian bullet, she was already charging toward his corner, aiming a one-two punch at Domino’s chin.

Domino is... disappointed by her lack of reaction. He isn't even sure why she's being so curt with him. Did he do something wrong? Is she trying to wall off any other feelings to prepare for the match? Psyching herself up? And then he spots the blush. Is it.. because he lost the shirt?

Confused Domino is confused.

But she looks as confused as he does, at least for a moment. When she speaks, she's addressing a Domino with a furrowed brow who's simply playing catch-up with what must be going through her head. Though when she concludes her explanation and request, a half-smile tugs at his lips. That's a relief. It sounds like they have even more in common. "Well, as a matter of-"

*DING!*

Domino was expecting to at least finish his thought, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards. Amy rushes him with a pair of fists, slamming one after another into his chin and forcing him to fall back a couple steps. "Nng!" In pure reaction, his left forearm crosses his face to put up some defense while the right knee jolts upwards, hoping to nail the girl in the midsection and halt her momentum flat.

Her hits connected beautifully, and Amy decided to launch a third bonus punch before shrinking back. By this time, though, Domino's reflexes had kicked in, and all her fist could find was a firm forearm. Next thing she knew, a knee collided with her midsection, forcing Amy to beat a hasty retreat, a hand rubbing at her sore abdominals. It wasn't a bad exchange, and the pain felt good, even; she'd consider it penance for her shitty entrance song. Her blood was pumping. Man, it was good to be on her feet again.

Amy's all smiles now. "Oh yeah, also, hey, fair warning: I’m gonna be hitting you in the face, like, a lot. I hope it doesn't mess up your modeling too bad, but it’s kind of on you for being a concurrent pro-wrestler." Amy winked and started to bounce on her heels. "Come on, Skip, show me what the future champ's capable of."

Domino works his jaw once the pressure is off, ensuring it's still attached to his head. He catches her speaking, warning him about hitting him in the face - but that's about all he intends to let her get out. He's immediately moving forward to return the favor. His right forearm swings out, aiming to slam into her jaw and capitalize on her chatting.

"That's for interrupting me!," he retorts fresh on the heels of his attack. But there isn't any menace or bile in his voice. It's almost like verbal play. If she can dole it out, she can take it! ...Even if he's not slamming her with a closed fist. He's used to throwing forearms enough that it should be punishing, hopefully!

Domino rushed her, and Amy could guess at what was coming, but damn, she really wanted to get this taunt out. It was a good one.

No such luck though. Domino's forearm crashed straight past her words and across her jaw, an unambiguous retort to her previous rudeness, made still clearer by Domino's shout.

Amy reeled backwards, her head spinning but her guard up on reflex. Her jaw was sore, but that didn't stop her from grinning widely. "You're supposed to turn the other cheek, jackass!" Amy charged him again, this time looking to score something a little more elaborate- a knee to the stomach, then a hammerblow up through the doubled-over man's chin.

She retorts and Domino just mugs at her. Neener! Though she seems to be bouncing back quickly enough. She's not a weak little thing, is she? Used to taking some hits. And with her previous warning, his guard immediately raises, ready to receive her. Only that's not her approach. Bait and switch! Bait and switch!

Domino's abs are tight and firm, but her knee scores the blow. He's forced to double over. "H'nnf!" And the follow-up hammers against his head, dropping him down to his knee. Ugh. So much hits! It's like wrestling a damn boxer again!

'But things didn't turn out well for that boxer, either.'

Her game is all about the strikes so far. If she really is a newbie to wrestling, that should be expected. Less finesse and skill, more raw effort. And it's a weakness that can be exploited, one that can only be remedied with experience and training.

But first thing's first. With a very sore jaw after three hits, Domino doesn't try to spring back to his feet. Rather, he makes use of her close proximity by swinging his left arm inwards, aiming to slam it against the backs of her knees in hopes of brutally sweeping her legs right out from under her!