Zarya Volkov vs. Makoto Aihara - Iron and Gold [FWC]

The crowd cheered when Makoto Aihara made the count, completely a valiant struggle to return to the ring and avoid a cheap and embarrassing loss by ring-out. Yet one individuals applause stood out above everyone else.

*CLAP* *CLAP* *CLAP*

It was a slow, exaggerated slapping of palm against palm. Zarya Volkov was applauding, and doing so in a manner that was intentionally obnoxious, mocking Makoto.. mocking the fans who cheered her resilience and determination. When her taunting was finished, whatever mirth was written on Zarya's face prior fell away in an instant. Her hands tightened into fists and her eyes narrowed, constricting her focus until nothing remained beyond it except the Judo Babe herself.

The Russian stalked forward, imposing even with the slight limp that plagued her, and showing no sign of additional caution despite the potential weakness. The ring trembled as she stalked across the ring like an angry bear, her lips twisted into a snarl that promised payback for her throbbing ankle. Zarya crossed the distance between them and moved to simply grab Makoto by the hair and pull the girl to her feet, eager to press the advantage before the Judoka recovered.

”MAKOTO! MAKOTO! MAKOTO!”

The chants of the crowd were like a war drum in Makoto’s head, this steady pounding, as if she were some god they were trying to will into being. She wanted to be moved by it more than she was turning out to be, but then she felt the chill over her shoulders, and she remembered that many of those people chanting had just been taking pictures of her uncovered top, pictures that would certainly be circulating the internet in an hour and a half.

It somewhat dampened the mood.

It was easy enough to push those thoughts aside, however, as Zarya closed in on her, darkening Makoto with her looming shadow. Familiar fingers grasped her hair and forced her wobbly legs to straighten out, as the Russian tugged her back up. Defiant to the end, Makoto tried to twist around  and send her foe flying with a throw, but she could only get halfway with it before she clumsily bumped in Zarya, unable to muster the strength to go through with it.

It was a startling thing, how quickly a true judoka could spin into a seemingly effortless throw, tossing larger, seemingly immovable opponents around like rag-dolls. Under most circumstances, Zarya would have been more cautious in dealing with Makoto. Part of it was knowing that her smaller opponent had to be hurting after the abuse she'd recently suffered on the outside. An even larger part was something that had cost Zarya in the past.

Namely, her temper. The Iron Soldier was entirely capable of cold blooded, methodical planning... but when pressed, she was all too quick to abandon all of that in favor of mindless violence and cruelty, to hell with caution and consequences! It almost cost her again, the Russian's eyes widening as she realized, in the span of an instant, that she was about to be thrown.

And in the next instant, she wasn't. Makoto had grabbed her, spun around and now stood pressed back against the Russian... but she'd been unable to follow through. Zarya's reaction was swift, attempting to yank free of Makoto's grip. Managing that, she would seek to wrap both arms around Makoto's middle and heft the smaller fighter upwards as Zarya herself fell back, looking to launch Makoto overhead with a release German Suplex!

”Shi-”

Makoto almost cursed as she messed up the throw, blowing up one of the scant chances she'd likely be getting from this point. Almost, but not quite - she was Makoto, after all. Good, pure, honest, trusting Makoto, who'd blindly stumbled into a trap and was paying for it.

She wasn't given much time to regret it. In the next moment, Zarya’s were wrapping around her waist, lifting her up, sending her flying…

She came back to the canvas hard, right on her shoulders, with enough momentum to make her roll an extra time. Hardly a second had passed before she attempted to push her way back up again, but her aching limbs and gravity couldn't agree. Down she went, flopping down on the mat, her face mashing against the surface.

Zarya was quite literally stalking Makoto, crouched a few feet behind the judoka and waiting for the other fighter to rise. In this, she was patient, ignoring the surging crowd who chanted and cheered, as if the power of their voices could somehow overcome the physical toll the suplex had taken. Soldier knew better. There would be no 'miracle' come backs, this time. Makoto was at her mercy, and she was going to enjoy toying with her before finishing the girl off. Her Japanese rival was going to learn just how far Zarya intended to test her, mentally and physically.

She would wait until Makoto got back onto her hands and knees before moving in to grab her a second time. If the Judo Babe took too long rising, Zarya was strong enough to lift her from a completely prone position. Either way, her method was the same, attempting to wrap her arms around Makoto's waist as if for another German Suplex and hauling the smaller girl to her feet. Instead of actually going for the suplex, however, Zarya would change tactics, letting her hands move up to cup each of Makoto's breasts from behind, roughly fondling them through the thin fabric her bra!

”Get up….come on…”

Makoto couldn't see Zarya from her position, which would've been troubling all by itself. But the fact that she wasn't being attacked was what really worried her more than anything else. If Zarya wasn't attacking, that meant she was thinking. Thinking about ways to hurt her, to humiliate her, to make this whole ordeal that much worse.

Makoto had to get up. She had to.

So she did. Defiant and daring, she tried to rise, and maybe she would've made it all the way...if not for the arms wrapping around her waist.

Makoto grunted as she was hauled up, knowing another German Suplex was coming her way. This time she tried to fight back, reaching down in a feeble attempt to pull herself free before she could be sent flying.

Only that what wasn't what Zarya was going for. What she was actually going for was far worse.

Makoto gasped as she felt rough hands move to her breasts, brazenly squeezing away at them without the smallest concern for decency. All thoughts of countering went out the window as she squirmed about Zarya’s grasp, fidgeting around like an unruly child in her mother’s embrace.

”Stop it! Stop!” Makoto screeched, her face growing a crimson red. ”Get off, you bitch!”

"What's that, little girl? You actually getting mad?" Zarya sounded... amused. As if this were all a game, the whole rules just a source of entertainment for a bully with a cruel sense of humor. Her fingers clenched, catching Makoto's nipples between her fingers through the material of her bra. The russian threw her weight from side to side, attempting to shake the struggling Judoka like a terrier with a rat in its jaws. 

"You want me to let go? As you wish.. " The mind was so much easier to manipulate once the body had been pushed to its limit. Zarya had broken the will of opponents before, crushed that vital spark, their fighting spirit. This job called for something a bit more subtle. She wanted Makoto demoralized... She wanted her in pain... She wanted her humiliated. 

But above all else, she wanted her *angry*. 

Zarya suddenly threw her weight backwards, trying to turn the double fisted groping session into a second release German suplex!

The pain wasn't the only thing that was making Makoto squirm in Zarya’s lecherous, torturous hold, though that was certainly a big part of it. The Russian’s carnal hands roughly seized her, putting pressure in areas that other women hadn't touched in so long. Nothing sacred, nothing held back.

But what made it even worse was the fact that Makoto’s own body was betraying her, mixing in some pleasure along with the assault. After all, this was hardly the first time she'd been fondled in such a way - not quite as rough, but Aigle used to touch her in similar ways all the time. Her former lover loved the feel of breasts between her fingers, and they'd spent many nights just touching and exploring and enjoying each other.

And now that memory was tainted. All thanks to Zarya.

A furious road had just begun to mix in with Makoto’s squeals, though it didn't have long to run its course before she was lifted into the air and flung backwards like the trash Zarya surely thought she was. Once again, she crashed down hard on her shoulders and continued to roll with the momentum, carrying her all way over to the corner.

Her shoulders hurt. Her head hurt. Her everything hurt. But rage made for a great painkiller, and she had an impressive supply. After taking a moment to bang her fist on the mat, Makoto readjusted her bra and grabbed the middle of the turnbuckle, using it to stubbornly pull her way back, staying defiant.

”I'm not… I'm not going to stay down.” She spat at Zarya’s feet. ”You can't make me-”

"Should I be worried now? Cute, sweet, innocent little Makoto is upset with me. I'm in trouble now." The mirth dripped from her words completely unrestrained. As if this were nothing but an exhibition in humiliation for Zarya and the very idea that the Judoka was a threat was laughable in the extreme. Of course, the Russian knew better. She had a still throbbing ankle to prove it. 

She dared to lean against the ropes not more then a foot from Makoto, watching as her opponent slowly made her way to a standing position. Ever respectful, Zarya offered encouragement in the form of a harsh slap aimed for the back of Makoto's head. 

"I thought I felt your nipples get hard right then. You feel conflicted, little one?" She aimed another slap to the back of the head. "Come on. Get angry. Your country is watching...and you're embarrassing them." She said, taking a third and final swipe at Makoto.

For her act of defiance, Makoto expected some punishment to be coming her way. Zarya seemed to take no small amount of glee in hammering the resistance out of her, after all, and there she was. Pushing back up to her feet. Stubborn. Resilient. Resisting.

In the end, she would've preferred a standard beatdown. That would've been more dignified than what she wound up getting.

SLAP!

Makoto’s eyes widened, first at the brazen disrespect, then even further at Zarya's lewd - though not inaccurate - suggestion. She'd just began to open her mouth for a reply, when-

SLAP!

Another one came crashing down on her head. ”You bitch-”

SLAP!

That was the straw that broke Makoto’s back. Despite the protests of body and sheer common sense, she scrambled to her feet and drove forward, plowing into Zarya’s stomach with a tackle. That she wouldn't have had the strength or weight to make such a move effective on the Russian, even at her absolute best, didn't seem to matter. She just wanted to hurt Zarya, and she wanted to do it now.