Payment In Full

Sista A was learning so many things tonight.

Firstly, that smacking Zarya in the face was extremely satisfying. The birch was so haughty that it couldn't not be. She must've thought that she'd be like Makoto or one of the other little troll dolls she ran through all the time. Sista A was happy to prove her wrong.

Secondly, that hitting Zarya always came with a price. A hefty, heavy price.

In this case, it resulted in her taking a knee to the stomach, one that hit so hard she swore it rearranged some of her organs. Her feet lifted the ground, and when they came back, she was a stumbling, staggering, gasping mess. As such, Zarya was able to roll her into the ring with ease, and only once inside did she start to stand up again.

In hindsight, Sista A probably should've just gone in the damn ring.

Zarya climbed into the practice ring after her, intent on exercise that was a bit more strenuous then any light hearted sparring session. She ended up directly behind Sista A, just as the other woman was struggling to stand upright again.

This time, Soldier had no intention of letting up. Whatever amusement she might have felt at being challenged was gone, replaced only with the burning desire to grind the former pop diva into a fine paste.

Before Sista A could make it fully to her feet, Zarya reached for the waistband of the Harlem Nightmares gym shorts, looking to seize them with one hand and grab her hair with the other. Once in hand, the russian would waste no time looking to force Sista A towards the nearest corner turnbuckle and shove her violently, shoulder girl, into the steel ring post.

As Sista A stood up on wobbly feet, she caught some movement out of the corner of her eye, a momentary distraction from the freight train she was fighting. Someone else had just entered the room - at least, she saw the door sway for a second, heard a small commotion.

She didn’t have time to search for whoever it was, as Zarya quickly closed in, gripping her by the hair and shorts and running her towards the nearest corner. At first, Sista A through she was just going to ram her into the pads, but as she quickly learned, the Russian ravager had something more painful in mind.

She slammed into the steel post hard with her shoulder, instantly numbing her to the bone. She cried out and yelled an indecipherable curse while she grasped her shoulder with her good arm, then slouched off the turnbuckle and feel down to her knees. ”Fuck...fucking bitch-”

Zarya stared down at Sista A, looking thoughtful, which was never a good thing. Neither was the barest hint of a smile that tugged at the very corners of her lips, suggesting that whatever dark, winding path her thoughts had taken, she liked what she found at the other end. "You should learn to keep your mouth shut, See-stir."

Reaching down, she grabbed for a fist full of the Harlem Nightmares hair and attempted to force Sista A to her feet, or have those locks ripped from her scalp. Once on her feet, Zarya would duck down to pull the dusky skinned woman over her shoulders in a simple reverse fireman carry, better known in wrestling circles as a torture rack. If she managed that, it would be bad enough, but Soldier couldn't resist twisting that knife a little further. She'd tried raw aggression and gotten aggression back. They were exactly the same in that regard, but Zarya wanted to really get under Sista's skin.

Instead of gripping and pulling down on her thigh, the typical way to apply pressure with a torture rack, the Russian cupped the fallen idol between her thighs, fingers stroking her mound through the tight gym shorts.

Despite what Sista A had glimpsed a moment ago, it seemed like they were well and truly alone in the room now, with no witnesses to view this spontaneous brawl. Considering what was about to happen, she was immensely grateful for that.

Zarya’s interests didn't seem to stop at merely inflicting pain. This was the AFW, after all, and things were rarely that simple. She lifted Sista up into the air, hoisting her up on her shoulders with ease, and for a second, it looked like she was going for the dreaded torture rack. And she was. Sort of.

Hey!” She bucked and squirmed as Zarya’s rough hands began to invade her most private part, brazenly running along her womanhood, stirring feelings she didn't want stirred. Not by her, anyway. ”The fuck are you doing! Stop!”

Was there a security camera in here? God, she hopes not.

"You have nerve, Sister. I'll give you that. You act as if you could stop me." Zarya jostled Sista A up and down on her shoulders, rather violently at that, as if trying to force the other woman's spine into an unnatural arch and insuring the stubborn bitch got a taste of everything Zarya's modified torture rack had to offer. She bent at the knees and jerked her entire body upwards, the solid, unyielding nature of her body doing nothing to soften the hold.

She kept it up for a good twenty seconds before relenting, and then her focus became an attack of a few more sensual nature, the rough, scarred hand between Sista A's thighs, the gym shorts offering no real protection against questing fingers that were able to trace every fold through the thin material and more then once threatened to wedge beneath the elastic leg-band to become even more invasive. Thankfully, Zarya seemed to enjoy the threat of going further enough not to take that last step. Not yet at least.

Every so often she looked towards the door. She could have sworn she'd spotted moment out of the corner of her eye, but dismissed the issue just as quickly.

Sista A cried out with every little jerk and jump as Zarya got her money’s worth out of the hold, putting emphasis on the ‘torture’ in ‘torture rack’. Each movement seemed to give her some new pain, hammering into spine like a nail. Her joints ached. Her bones ached. Things she’d never even realized were there ached. And Zarya just keep exacerbating the pain, making each second worse than the last.

But the fingers were the worst. Sista A had only recently come to terms with her full sexuality, and Zarya was definitely not on the small list of women she was up for exploring that with. She needed to end this, now, before something happened that she could never take back.

She saw her chance in an instant, as Zarya seemed temporarily distracted. That was the moment she chose to raise her arm up and bring it down as hard as she could, looking to catch the Russian in the face with a wild elbow.

Fortunately... and unfortunately Sista A's elbow connected not only with the Russians face, but with the already sore half that still ached and burned by turns. The sound Zarya made at the sudden flash of pain was part anguished cry and part furious growl, a guttural noise from her throat that sounded barely human and barely sane. 

It brought a blessedly quick end to the impromptu groping session, and only moments before things got truly invasive. 

Instead of simply dumping Sista A unceremoniously to the mat, however, Zarya's first instinct for getting rid of her was to try to lift the Harlem Nightmare over her head as if for a gorilla press and then hurl her halfway across the ring!

The good news was that Sista A connected with her elbow.

The bad news was that Sista A connected with her elbow.

It was a clean, solid hit, and immensely satisfying, but she wasn't given much time to enjoy it before she had more salient problems to worry about. Things like the well-being of her body as it was flung through the air like a bag of trash, the way she would be landing, and what would be happening to her immediately after she did.

Sista A game crashing down on the canvas, with enough extra momentum to roll three times before she came to a stop near the ropes.

There she rested for a moment, too, before a small idea struck her.Figuring she’d best be served getting a break, she started to roll under the ropes, looking to slide outside and catch her breath on the floor. Whether she could get there before Zarya could stop her was another thing entirely.

Zarya didn't bother trying to yank Sista A back into the ring. The ideas that occurred to her in the wake of what just occurred were darker by far then anything that could occur in the practice ring. Every beat of her heart sent a new flare of pain through the side of her face, and every flare of pain saw her rage grow until it was a constant rolling boil wrapped in an outwardly cold facade.

She rolled out of the ring immediately after Sista A, intent on giving her no chance whatsoever to recover. She'd pull the Harlem Nightmare to her feet by her hair, if she wasn't getting up already, and attempt to loop one muscular arm beneath Sista 's right arm and the other drawn tight around her throat in what was known as the Iron Lock, a rear choke that also completely immobilized one of the victims arms on the process by trapping it in a half nelson.

Combined with the Iron Soldiers strength, the full effect was akin to being choked out while feeling like one's arm was being slowly pulled from its socket. The only thing worse then being trapped in such a hold was the terrible reality that this was only meant to leave Sista A vulnerable for what Zarya actually had in mind.