Crista Zhang vs. Anesthesia - Learning the Ropes

Anesthesia was smiling wide as she crashed into Crista, feeling her confidence rise by the second. The girl was strong, there was no question there, and she had considerable cunning, but Anesthesia’s skill could outshine all of that, she was certain. She was the one who’d come out on top, and she’d show this young one that value of her training and skills in the process. And maybe, while she wasl

So she smiled. All the way. Until her head came crashing into the canvas.

It happened with such suddenness that Anesthesia didn’t even realize what had happened until after it happened. For a moment, she just thought she’d accidentally bonked her head on the floor, somehow messing up a simple move she’d employed dozens of times. But no, that wasn’t the case - Crista had turned the move into a makeshift DDT on the fly. That was the only way. Clever minx.

It was a tricky thing, but it worked, spiking Anesthesia’s skull into the mat. The faux nurse rolled off Crista and let instinct take over, telling her to roll away and make some distance between them. She tumbled under the ropes and dropped to the outside of the ring, where she immediately fell down to one knee. Just needed a little time. To recoup. To compose herself.

Beyond the intensity of their bodies pounding to the mat in a messy tangle, a similarly physical gratification struck Crista as she felt Dr. Cutter hit the mat before her own shoulders did. She could not hope to read the woman perfectly on every maneuver, as had already been proven, but when she got the best of her, Crista could not help but delight in the triumph.

The collision rattled her gut, still freshly sore from Dr. Cutter's gut, so rather than hold to the voluptuous woman, Crista tended to herself. And in the short time it took her to gather herself, the doctor disappeared, her weight and the sensation of skin on skin disappearing before Crista could learn where she had gone. The volleyball star lifted onto her elbows, and still, she saw no Dr. Cutter for long enough that her soft features showed her confusion.

Crista caught a glance of the lovely veteran in time to see her drop out of the ring. Escaping? She blinked, and slowly stood.

Sure enough, once she stepped to the ropes, she found the doctor between the ring and the crowd, on one knee. Crista could not help but smirk, but she did resist the urge to ask the doctor if something was wrong. Best to not be a hypocrite about the taunting... No, an entirely different thought crossed her mind, and deepened the smirk. This was an opportunity for the spectacular, and Crista set aside the apprehension in her mind telling her that her scheme could end in a mistake fatal for her chances of winning.

...But she may not get another chance.

With a breath for confidence, Crista took long strides towards the ropes behind her, before bouncing off and propelling herself towards the opposite ropes.

She skillfully and athletically dove through them, turning her shapely body into a projectile aimed at Dr. Cutter.

”Hey. Anesthesia.”

Anesthesia wasn’t mad. She wasn’t angry. She was seething, enraged, and completely livid. This whole ordeal hadn’t gone as she’d planned, almost from the start, with Christa proving to be far more formidable than she’d anticipated.

”Yo! Hey! Might want to get up!”

She wasn’t just being pushed to her limits, but things had gotten so bad that she had been forced out of the ring. Yes, she had her contingency plan, but she didn’t want to play that card so soon, not before she got the chance to properly dominate her thick-thighed opponent.

”Seriously!”

And now she had this to deal with. As she rose up to her feet, she looked up to see her ‘trump card’, Sista A, looking down on her from the other side of the barricade, still hidden among the crowd in her ridiculous hoody. Anesthesia merely sneered and glared up at her - until she noticed that Sista A wasn’t just looking at her. She was looking behind her.

”Oh-”

Anesthesia spun around in time to see a truly terrible sight: Crista Zheng, flying through the air like a human missile, coming straight towards her with gravity and momentum both on her side. The flying assault took the Naughty Nurse off her feet and slammed her hard enough into the barricade to move it a few inches, right before the two of them wound up rolling to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs.

Anesthesia could only lay there for the moment, kicking her legs about while she grasped her chest. Not the best look for her, really.

The leap was as exhilarating as she had hoped it would be. The rush of flinging herself off the bouncy mat, plus the gasped response of the crowd, sent all of Crista's concerns away as she sailed like a superhero. Seeing Dr. Cutter turn and react to her just before she hit was the cherry on top. She had aimed well.

But like any good high, the crash followed. Dr. Cutter may have somewhat broken her fall by being her target, but the doctor's curves didn't save her from the jerk of the impact with the hard ground. Crista tensed in her own pain as the two of them became a pretty, ragged heap, ignoring each other as they nursed their own pains.

She was the first to pry herself free from that heap when the initial pangs went away, since it was clear that Dr. Cutter had gotten the worst of it. It didn't take a doctor to figure out that a flying woman of Crista's size would feel like a battering ram to the chest. Through her recovery, a slow rise to her knee, Crista had to grin. The doctor hadn't seen that one coming. She felt quite victorious, having gotten that one over on her poised opponent.

The ref beckoning for them to get back in the ring convinced her she should not linger. After taking another second to rub away a sharp ache in her hip, Crista reached out and wrapped her hands around Dr. Cutter's chin and jaw, urging her up against her will. "You'll have to nurse that bruise later..."

And she would, because Crista, strong-arming the pain-dazed doctor, got to her feet, and started to yank the her forward just far enough to capture her head between her long legs a second time.

Impressed, annoyed, angered. Three words that accurately summed up Anesthesia’s feelings at the moment.

Impressed that Crista would try such a daring feet. The woman was clearly no high-flyer, seeming more of a straight up fighter from what had been displayed so far. The Dark Nightingale had truly believed that she was safe outside the ring, or that, at the worst, her foe would have to drop down and slip through the ropes to make her way outside.

Annoyed, because she prided herself on being able to dominate her foes, to being the one in control, and she’d yet to establish any long term success against this woman. She was irritatingly adept at making her best-laid plans go astray.

That, of course, led directly into the anger, a rage that mounted as Crista pulled her back up, womanhandling her. She would not be hauled around like some rank amatuer. She absolutely refused.

The moment her head went between Crista’s legs, Anesthesia wrapped her arms around those steely thighs of hers and lifted up with an abrupt jerk, summoning her considerable strength to send her foe flying with a back body drop onto the cold floor. A move born of desperation, if she were being completely honest. Which she rarely was.

The doctor was not obliging as Crista dragged her into position, and the few aches from the fall and the earlier blows and wrenching the German-Chinese national had endured didn't make it easier. But between Crista's brute strength and the assumed damage from the flying shot to Dr. Cutter's chest, Crista was able to get the veteran's dark head close enough to step forward and situate it between her legs as she had planned. The whistles of the nearby crowd made it clear they enjoyed the show, Crista did not fail to notice.

For a second, she had been tempted to simply start squeezing the doctor's head, but that soured on her quickly. Crista returned to her original plan, convinced she had the power and leverage to perform the maneuver to get Dr. Cutter back in the ring the painful way. She set her feet, bent over to wrap her arms around Dr. Cutter's back-

And found herself playing into the doctor's hands as her feet went out from under her. "Haaaagh!"

She did not expect so much resilience.

With her eyes widening, she held on for dear life to the doctor's back, and tried to keep her legs locked around her head. It didn't leave the ex-volleyball player in any less dangerous situation; the two were stuck in a strange limbo with Dr. Cutter trying to throw Crista over her back and Crista dangling from her.

Upside down and disoriented, Crista lost her grip and landed harshly on her shoulders, fortunate she didn't hit her head, before slowly collapsing onto her back.

Normally, Anesthesia would have followed up such a counter with a quip, something to rub her foe’s state in, to establish her superiority. This time, she had no such luxury - the frank fact was that she found herself too tired at the moment. Crista had done an excellent job of working her over in such a short amount of time, and while she was glad to have the tide turn her way, the effects of her transitory dominance still lingered.

But now the tide was in her favor. She would endeavor to keep it there for a good while.

Anesthesia took a moment to straighten  out and rub her back, easing the mounting pain in her back, before she spun about and came  stalking towards Crista, looking to even the field.

The referee leaned over the ropes, calling out their way. ”Hey, enough! Bring it back into the ring!” She started tossing her hands into the air, beginning the count. ”1! 2!”

Anesthesia paid her precious little mind and continued on, zeroing in on her target. Crista’s legs were massive and impressive, but there was one spot that was vulnerable, and that was what she target. Anesthesia stepped in, lift her leg, and brought her heel down hard into Crista’s leg,specifically targeting the knee.

The sharp pangs coursing through Crista's shoulders and back didn't leave much room for anything else in her mind, but some lucid thoughts did form behind the pained grimace.

She had to keep the doctor down. Stop giving her time to work up a counter. She had already proven that little to nothing phased her for long. Crista had to make this match more straightforward, maybe even dull, and keep the doctor in her clutches.

Or she would keep finding herself like this, on the floor, paralyzed, when she had been seconds from leaving the doctor in a similar state. Another moan fled her throat as she rolled onto her side, rubbing at her shoulders to help the pain subside.

As it started to, Crista saw a blurry ankle and calf enter her vision, and she pointlessly reached out to push at it in defense.

She had sprained her knee before, and with the stomp that followed, she got a painful reminder of what pain deep within the joint felt like.

With another wail, Crista brought the assaulted leg up to her chest and rolled over to her other side.

No one could hear it over the Crista’s wail and the crowd’s roar, but after Anesthesia landed that blow? She sighed. A long, drawn out, contented, nearly-orgasmic sigh.

No harm in enjoying herself, after all? The main reason she was doing this was for pleasure, and there were few things that gave her more of that than disciplining an unruly brat. Crista needed to be taught the pecking order. The entire AFW did. None of them seemed to understand her purpose here, the greatness she sought to accomplish, but she was all too happy to educate.

”Now, dear.” She sauntered around her fallen foe, hands on hips, pressing her dominance with every moment and movement. ”I know that leg hurts, but we have to put some weight on it, test it out. On your feet.”

She didn’t expect Crista to follow her instructions without some incentive, of course, so she provided it. She reached down, grabbed the unruly child by her hair, and yanked upwards, pulling her back to her feet with the occasional slap to the face, adding insults to injuries.

The first time a woman stomped Crista in the knee with the heel of her shoe proved as painful as she might have imagined.

She didn't think anything was awry in the knee aside from the nerves screaming at her, telling her to stop the voluptuous doctor from striking it like that again, but while it throbbed, she didn't have any interest in doing anything but lying on her side and holding it. At least until the doctor came to circle and inspect her. Crista's eyes followed her movements. The woman sized her up like cattle, in much the same way she had in the nursing office backstage a few days before.

If Crista hadn't been aching, she might have been entertained by the way the doctor carried herself when she felt in control. The confidence. The taunting. The strutting. Given the circumstances, however, Crista was more concerned about the doctor going after the other knee.

That didn't prove to be her plan. Crista jerked to slip away when Dr. Cutter leaned in closer, but she couldn't make any distance before the doctor had her by a handful of her loosely tied-back dark hair and was yanking her in the other direction. "AAAGH! Aaaaagh...", she complained, shifting back towards Dr. Cutter, no fool when it came to someone pulling her hair.

But the first slap...it almost did have her jerking back. That was another first, and it stung. Through eyes squinted with pain, she tried to give Dr. Cutter a dirty look, but even it lost some of its venom when she momentarily leaned on the ailing knee and had to wince instead. Her hands went up into her assailant's stomach to get her to back off, but there was no shoving someone away who had a grip on her hair. That would hurt like the demons.

But in response to another biting slap, Crista was driven to react, driving upwards with a forearm in the general direction Dr. Cutter's chin. Something to get her to let go.