Clyde Gastin Vs. Irene Inger

A deep sigh escaped Irene's lips as she slipped into her usual, unassuming match getup: purple gym shorts, purple sports bra, and a lab coat to wear out to the ringside. Most importantly, she donned a pair of black boots to keep her sensitive feet protected, especially after watching a rather humorous match which tonight's opponent, Clyde Gastin, had won by bending his opponent's toes until she submitted! Irene's tootsies were ticklish on top of everything else, so the college girl made a note not to let him unlace her boots.

Tonight's match against the Texan, however, was no laughing matter. Irene's first two matches had resulted in resounding defeats, and Clyde was more experienced than either of her previous opponents. There were a lot of reasons that Irene shouldn't feel too bad about the prospect of losing tonight: he was a veteran of the ring, she wasn't as big as him, she was a part timer who still went to college while he was a redneck airhead who probably didn't know anything outside of brawling, etc. Despite all that, the thought of losing another match was killing her. The girl was tired of letting people look down on her as some kind of submissive jobber...even though she was submissive, at least in terms of how she expressed herself sexually. Her affinity for hentai matches had also cost her the respect of others, including her first romantic flame, Domino, whose insistence that she preserve herself for him had cost her the relationship.

This match would be different. Irene was going to show the entire Tension league that she wouldn't be pushed around, not even at the veteran level, and no tactic was off limits. Irene had a special concoction prepared for Clyde; a plastic vial of ketamine that was tucked away in her gym shorts. It was a nerve suppressant that would knock her shit-kicking foe on his ass, if she could wrangle him for long enough to get it inside him.

Irene had picked herself some new music for today's match, something a little livelier than her old tunes. Once her new theme started, the girl ran out to a mixed reception. She gave an appropriately mixed response, waving briefly to the crowd but not stopping to show off or pump up their excitement level. She slipped through the ropes and then slipped out of her lab coat before turning to face her foe.

“H-hi there,” Irene said, becoming flustered right out of the gate as she realized just how attractive the rugged delinquent look was up close. Fortunately, her composure came back fast. “Hope you're ready. Just so you know, I am planning to 'mess with Texas' tonight.”

“Oh, I can hang, and if you're not careful, I might wind up hanging you out to dry,” Irene said while she and Clyde circled around the ring, sizing each other up in the moments before one of them would finally strike. She was trying to keep up her humorous demeanor, but the play on words that she had just uttered was undoubtedly more ominous than her last joke had been. Like Clyde, Irene was here to fight, and she wanted to reassure both him and herself of that fact. Her cowboy foe had an infectious, friendly demeanor, but she couldn't afford to let herself get too attached to this guy, at least not during the match. Back when she had fallen for her debut opponent, Domino, her refusal to go all out on him had cost her the match, and for what? He had dumped her like a sack of potatoes not long after their fateful match together, and he and his new girlfriend had since gone on to tangle with the likes of the Tension world champion! Now that Irene had been judged worthwhile enough to fight a veteran like the Gastin brother, she was gonna make sure she gave no quarter in the ring.

“Don't hold back, Gastin, because I sure won't!” Irene said, sounding eager and excited for the fight. However, the statement also concealed a subtle warning to the cowboy, a warning that she might not play by the rules. In the meantime, however, Irene was content to wait Clyde out, hoping for him to make the first move. She was a defensive fighter by preference, but against someone as tough as this, she had extra incentive to play things carefully. “Come at me, cowboy.”

Like a raging bull, Clyde came at Irene fast and hard, grasping her shoulders and practically enveloping her in a lockup that Irene quickly found out she was unprepared for. Even though Irene wasn't as weak as her size suggested, the Texan brawler was unquestionably the stronger of the two, and he soon had her stepping back so quickly that she couldn't even seize the initiative to counter. Only when her rump touched the corner post behind her would she be able to do anything about her predicament, sinking one foot into the canvas to steady herself while the other shot up to deliver not one, but two knee strikes to Clyde's gut. She was hoping to wind this windbag to stop him from capitalizing on his advantageous position, but when her knee felt how rock-solid his abs were, she realized it might not be enough. If he proved tough enough to power through the strikes, Irene was going to regret letting herself get trapped this early.

Two shots to the gut later, and Clyde was still going strong. He had the resilience of a bull...and as Irene would soon find out, the constitution of one. “Grmph,” Irene grunted as Clyde pushed their chests together, keeping her pressed back while he recovered. Irene's arms would immediately wrap around Clyde's waist as she braced to try and push him back. At this point, however, Irene was short of breath and off balance, unable to counter or wrest control away from him. Adding insult to injury, it looked like she was hugging him, earning some cheers and suggestive calls from the audience. Even Irene blushed a bit, but the moment only lasted a couple seconds before Clyde reared back for a counterstrike.

“Gah!” Irene yelped when a fist that felt more like cast iron smashed into the side of her head, dazing her and causing her legs to buckle as she was pummeled against the corner. Barely kept aloft by her grip on the top ring rope, Irene brought a foot up and braced it against Clyde's stomach, then thrust it out in an attempt to push Clyde back and gain some wiggle room. As much as she'd wanted to insult him and the crowd with a shot to his crotch, he had been too close for her to wind up the kick, so merely forcing him back was all she had for now.

“Don't read into the gesture, cowboy,” Irene called out with an embarrassed pout. This meat-head was a real piece of work, just like the last two men that Irene had fought in the ring. He was a looker like they were, but Irene wasn't going to embarrass herself by swooning over him. Nothing good would come of that.

While Clyde quipped, Irene moved out of the corner to keep herself from getting trapped again, but she didn't charge into battle right away. As much as the scientific sexpot wanted to spear this joker into the canvas, she was still a bit dazed, and if Clyde was lucid enough to taunt her, he was certainly lucid enough to counter. Instead, she moved in slowly with her arms raised. If Clyde didn't act first, Irene would rattle him with a surprise uppercut to the chin once she was in range.