The Dasher Challenge : Part 4 - A Vagrant Story

Pitching Tam overhead was as effortless as Dasher had made it out to be, the burly chauvinist actually intending to fling her out of the ring but he simply misjudged where he was in proximity of the ring ropes. His knack for heavy lifting should come as a surprise to no one considering that one of the main strong man exercises he personally teaches at his elite fitness school is hauling around excruciatingly heavy sandbags and chucking them overhead. Nothing quite builds up a solid core of abdominal strength like practicing that exercise, and anyone who objected to it or complained in his class had the personal honor of being Dasher's personal sandbag that day.

Tam weighed nothing like the sandbags he flings around on a whim, but he found more satisfaction in tossing this useless sack of weight around far more than his normal sandbags. He even decided to showcase some of that nimble agility from his younger years in the pro wrestling circuit with an agile kip-up...and a bit of a wobbly landing. Dasher making a mental note he isn't as young as he used to be, and nimbly flipping up to your feet was far easier when he had much less muscle mass. He took it upon himself to tell Tam what he thought of her sullying the sacred martial art of Judo, when her curt response had him make the next logical deduction.

"Hmph...stolen. It figures that you wouldn't even have the decency to purchase that getup with your own money. Probably waited to fleece the money from some poor, deluded man who somehow finds you attractive..." Dasher bellowed out while hauling this despicable tomboy off of the floor and hanging her up to dry from the top rope. His reared back chop now having that much spiteful disdain behind it until Tam's kick smacked his arm and had the bowl-cut warrior twisting back with a pained groan...snarling through his teeth from the meaty smack against his arm before he turned back to face Tam and her bombarding shoulder charge.

"GIOH!!!" The mountainous meathead was sent teetering and tumbling back with wildly flailing arms as he barely managed to remain upright, but only by sheer luck and stubborn force of will. His beady eyes glaring straight through the Vietnamese martial artist as he bellowed his lungs out, opened his arms wide to the side and came dashing for an attempted axe kick straight to her smug face.

Wow, this guy was in rare fucking form today. Tam could tell that much.

Not like they’d started out on the friendliest of terms or anything, but she was feeling like this guy had a serious “in” for her type. The type that wasn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with someone twice their size. The type that actually liked to call bullshit when they saw it. The type that buried idiots like him.

And he was not at all shy about making those feelings known. Every word that came from his mouth was another wrinkle on Tam’s forehead. Another brain cell she was never getting back. She wasn’t very particular about her looks either, but there was something about that jab coming from a washed-up, middle-aged bachelor for retirement that struck a chord few had managed to pluck. That’s what made the punch all the more satisfying, seeing that smug look on his dumbass face switch-up really goddamn quick. But she was going to see more than that before this day was through.

As he came down for the axe kick, Tam didn’t even remotely attempt to dodge away from it. Didn’t so much as twitch to one side or the other. She stood her ground, her legs spread evenly apart with her hands balled in white-knuckled fists at her waist. She stared it down, let it sail toward her with an admonishing glare and a sharp glint to her eye. Then, with a sudden shout to the Hell beneath her, Tam’s hands would shoot up and clap together over Dasher’s foot, catching it right out of the air with a dead stop.

The ring ropes shook against the impact. Tam’s stature seemed to sink a bit into the semi-buoyant ring floor. Her body shook and settled, her head hung low and facing the floor as she worked through the shock. Not a second later did her face raise from the ground, her eyes looking up to pierce flaming daggers straight back into Dasher’s intense gaze.

“Heel, boy.” With a sudden whip and twist to the side, Tam would attempt to flip the bowl-cut veteran off from his high horse, or his one leg, specifically, and onto his stomach with a twist to his caught ankle. Forcing him to the ground, she’d secure a better grip on his foot before giving it another, longer crank, catching the larger man in a rather docile position with a standing ankle lock.

Dasher knew he had Tam pegged from the start. His inherent knack for flawlessly judging a person's past actions, even given the sparse amount of clues and information he's given, remains pridefully intact. Tam's wordless denial being all Dasher needed to confirm his suspicions, her silence being just as good as an admittance of guilt. She having no doubt pilfered the money for that grubby judo gi off of some poor teenage boy she either flimflammed by toying with the poor boy's heart...or simply outright threatening to pummel the poor lad. All towards an obvious goal...which was to fool simple-minded people into believing she had earned that sacred outfit through mastery of the martial arts and build a bed of lies for her to sleep on. Tricking people into not physically confronting her with a blatant intimidation tactic. A cowardly deception only a woman too afraid to fight a man would resort to...well, Takeshi Dasher Inoba was not so easily fooled.

She may have had some vestiges of strength hiding beneath that floppy robe of hers, that ramming shoulder charge that had him reeling backwards being proof of that, but that was simple luck and nothing more. He still saw right through her little farce, and he intended on unveiling it to the world before the match was finished. Namely, with his bellowing axe kick intended to knock, or rather chop, her block off. A substantial amount of meat-headed momentum being put into the kicking stampede...that would be stopped in place by the conniving Vietnamese standing her ground and miraculously catching his offending leg. Both halting Dasher in place and briefly stopping the hearts of the ticket buyers in the audience stunned that Tam hadn't seemed to move a muscle.

"OI-OI-OI!!!" Dasher stuttered and grumbled as he struggled to balance himself on one hopping foot, gnashing his teeth with beady-eyed ferocity as he strained his brain wondering how Tam had pulled this off. Her venomous glare not exactly putting his mind at ease and even making him balk for a second before he was sent flipping through the air to have his deadweight slammed down to the floor. Dasher not even having the time to reorient himself from being twirled around like that before searing pain started spiking him in his ankle, the dashing chauvinist belting out a guttural roar as he interlocked his hands behind his neck. His next course of action being to attempt a steady, pain-fueled crawl towards the nearest ropes which were regrettably all far away considering he was smack dab in the center of the ring.

This was one of those rare moments where Tam’s mouth did a funny little wiggle, to small to really notice  from a distance, but close enough if you were cheek to cheek with her. It was like watching a little seismic wave on the corner of her lip, flickering up and down with subtle twitches and microscopic spasms.

That was her attempting to smile.

Hard to resist the urge, of course. Seeing Dasher’s two-ton, dumb muscle frame slam against the canvas was far more enjoyable than it should have been. Even better that he took it about as well as a cow being tipped over in the middle of grazing. There was some vindication, getting him to squawk like that. There were going to be plenty of more chances, too. It was only the first step of things to come, though. She locked in the hold on his ankle, grounding herself, not even willing to give him an inch of space.

Eenie, meenie, miney, mo…

Before she could get really start putting the pedal to the metal, though, Dasher started getting wise. He flipped onto his front, trying to crawl his away to the safety of the ropes. She caught a few snickers from the crowd. Must have been a funny sight with the size difference between them. Tam didn’t enjoy the defiance one bit, though. After a few steps, she was done.

“Nope. That’s not happening.” Hooking around his leg, Tam would step over and plant her tush square on Dasher’s back. She’d hook her leg under his armpit, reaching her other hand to his thigh, reeling back into a single-legged Boston crab. She looked over her shoulder, throwing a glare his away.

“What happened to you talking all big, Bowl Cut? You were spouting all that good shit a few seconds ago. Bet you were enjoying beating on all the skinny runway models around here, right? Thought you were so big and bad, strutting around this ring like you were top dog, trying to scare people with those gym muscles..” She let go of his thigh, but kept his leg locked under her arm. She curled her free hand into a fist, punching her knuckles into his butt cheek, grinding them into it. “...until a real woman came along and put you in your place.”

Bellowing in testosterone fueled hostility before charging straight ahead...in retrospect, ended up not being the soundest technical strategy Dasher could have come up with. But the bowl-cut beefcake couldn't help but act on his bitter rancor after being morally outraged from Tam's reprehensible method of obtaining that judo gi. He couldn't help but want to teach the scruffy-haired charlatan a lesson in respecting the martial artists and her manly superiors. Plus after having her own kick somehow knock the burly chauvinist backward a few steps, he wanted to repay Tam in kind with a charging boot of his own straight to that boyish mug of hers.

But regrettably both his revenge plans and his axe kick where stopped dead in their tracks by this judo charlatan...who may have more fighting skills that Dasher may have realized. This startling realization being evident on his beady-eyed face before he was sent tumbling down and subjected to an excruciating ankle lock. Dasher snarled and let loose a pained holler from the disjointing twist being wrecked upon his ankle, a steady crawl being taken towards the nearest ropes as Dasher trudged onward. But his troubles only seemed to compound further when the shifty judo girl readjusted her position to seat her backside onto his lower lumbar for a submission that could be no less excruciating.

"Hgh...kuso..." Dasher snarled colorfully through his gritted teeth as he did his best to ignore both the straining tension on his pulled back leg, and the demeaning commentary from the judo tom-boy who suddenly started being rather loquacious considering she was practically a mute up till now. But what Dasher couldn't ignore was the stiff right punch grinding into his muscled derriere, eliciting an involuntary flexing of his glutes and a pained groan of shock with widened eyes. Laughing audience members chuckling to their own amusement. But not the bowl-cut warrior himself, finding the pummeling to his backside as ample motivation for him to continue crawling to the ropes...

Satisfying? Yeah, Tam could probably describe this whole situation like that. Between the shit she’d gone through just to get here and the shit she was still digging out of her ears, finally being able to give Dasher some lumps was a generosity well deserved, a pleasure she should relish for all it was worth. But if she felt that way, she sure as hell didn’t show it.

The crowd was definitely feeling it, a sizable portion of it at least. Oh, she was still getting her fair share of crap. There was no small amount of Tension mainstays and men zipped up in Inoba muscle suits and headbands that continued to rally behind the bowl cut veteran, unhappy with some Friction nobody coming onto their turf and messing things up. Especially one so...small. But for every three that were chanting, there was at least having an honest to God laugh about the whole thing, seeing this seemingly petite girl crushing a guy twice her height and triple her body mass.

However, Tam didn’t chuckle along with them. Didn’t even give so much as a crack of a smile. She just kept looking over her shoulder, sharpening her glare as she broadcasted no small amount of animosity to the burly veteran caught in her hold. “Pussy.”

Regardless, she wasn’t under any delusions of how much longer this hold would last. The difference in size between them didn’t exactly push things in Tam’s favor. He was getting this ropes. Either way, Dasher didn’t seem to be much of a fan of the position he was in, so Tam so no clear reason to bother changing things up. If she could do some damage to the leg from here, all the better.  She eased up on the knuckle-grinding and brought her hand away from his admirably-firm-for-his-age buttcheek.

But she didn’t bring it back right away. Instead, she raised her hand high into the air, extending her fingers and sparing only a second to glance out at the audience to let them know, yes, this was, in fact, happening, before throwing down a harsh, reprimanding slap to that same spot on his fanny. The instant she did that, she brought her hand right back to his leg, increasing the torque on the Boston crab for all it was worth until he broke away.

Dasher always considered himself a motivational and positive influence to his wrestling students back in his expansive training facility. As in he would instruct them that he would "positively" lodge his boot up their ass if they didn't start properly securing an opponent into their suplex after their umpteenth attempt. Thinking optimistically like this did allow him to keep his head on straight during matches when it seemed like absolutely nothing was going in his favor, such as in this miserable instance. For all the excruciating torment that was being unleashed upon his leg, from the joint twisting ankle lock to having his leg muscles stretched to their max capacity in the single-leg Boston Crab, he could at least take solace in the fact that Tam weighted practically as light as a feather compared to the three hundred plus pound men he would normally be skirmishing with.

Which meant his army crawl towards the ropes was going at a far more expeditious rate than were he wrestling amongst honorable male wrestlers, and not some thieving street rat who cheats men out of their money. Of course, this also made the scene more ludicrous as a pint-sized tomboy was bringing the bowl-cut warrior to heel and making him look like a damn fool in the process. Another benefit to facing off against one of his fellow testosterone infused colleagues was that he wouldn't have to worry about being humiliated by his opponent absurdly bringing just as much discomfort and soreness to his remarkably well-toned backside by ramming her fist into his right cheek. A highlight of Dasher's fitness regimen for him and his students always was daily squats to ensure a well-muscled posterior~...but if Dasher needed further motivation to get his ass in gear, it was about to come with one echoing smack.

"OHHO!!" Dasher belted out with his mouth in an "O" shape with widened eyes and a reflexive tensing of his burly physique, resounding laughter emanating from those not in Dasher's camp and even from some who were. A stampeding crawl with enough locomotion to probably unseat Tam already than being taken by the flummoxed grappler than clamping onto both the bottom and middle rope in the hopes of finally getting this faux martial artist off of him!!!

Either Dasher was in more agony than he was letting on, or he had way too much pride at stake to focus on letting Tam know just how little he appreciated having his ass torn into like this. That was the one area she could actually give him a modicum of credit. He didn’t swear, or threaten, or get overly frustrated like she’d seen more than her fair share of "men" do. He kept his head down, let out some steam when he had to, and pushed towards the ropes. It was admirable.

She was still going to wreck his shit and make every moment he spent in this ring another promise to never wrestle ever again, but there was something genuine there now.

In fact, if Tam were at all worried about Dasher finally getting free from her grasp, she didn’t show it. She kept on him the whole way. She had to give him credit that he was taking it better than most people would have their Inch by inch he managed to make his way over to the ropes, finally getting his hand on one and prompting the referee to call for a break.

But Tam didn’t let go. Of course, she didn't. The referee didn’t even attempt to act remotely surprised, starting the countdown a second later.

“ONE!...TWO!...THREE!...”

As her disqualification neared with each passing second, Tam only kept her eyes focused on the floor beneath her, silently channeling a steady stream of strength into the excruciating hold. If anything, she leaned further back into the grip, putting that middle-aged spine to work. Right up until the 4.9999 count.

Only then did she let him go, dropping his leg to the ground like so much garbage in the dumpster. She’d stood up, made sure to brush the bottom of her feet off on his rump, and walked a few paces towards the center. She turned on the spot and slammed her foot down, turning her stance rigid as she faced him with fists planted against her hips. Her face was hewn from stone, eyebrows furrowed and one upturned as she broadcasted a silent message to the burly veteran across from her:

Your move.

One would think that having your spine realigned by having your leg tugged over itself to an excruciating degree would have all been ample motivation for Dasher to get his battered backside in gear and reach those blasted ring ropes already. Dasher had been put through more agonizing submissions before, hence why he wasn't belting out obscenities and cursing Tam's name...not just yet anyway. Though even those other submissions perpetrated by musclebound strongmen were never committed with quite as much ravenous zeal as the Vietnamese tomboy's. Too much of his manly pride was at stake if he were to ever give her the satisfaction of crying out in pain so early in the match. Especially to a faux martial artist with gender identity issues. But Tam already found a way to rob the chauvinistic grappler of his machismo-laden pride as she reared her hand back and dealt one hell of a slap to the blow-cut muscleman's unexpectedly firm backside. An extremely well-motivated if not slightly comical reaction to all of this being Dasher's immediate scampered crawl to the ring ropes.

A prolonged application of the hold was expected, but still not any less tormenting as Dasher gnashed his teeth until he could finally allow his muscled frame to slump down along with his stretched out leg. Dasher than wasting no time towards rolling himself out of the ring for an inelegant landing on his one wobbly leg. Scores of Dasher-haters in the audience getting a hardy chuckle out of seeing the prideful grappler begin to start literally walking off his weariness by taking a hobbled stroll around the ring. Obviously favoring his other leg while grimacing and flinching from putting pressure on his contorted leg so early, though his crooked posture had just as much to do with his aching backside and him probably not being able to sit down anytime soon either. At several points in his slow slog he would glare wrathfully back towards Tam as the referee started counting him out...

"One!....Two!...."

Tam wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from Dasher. Part of her was thinking he might have learned his lesson not to fuck around with her. He might be a bit smarter with approach, make careful steps to not get caught again. It wouldn’t matter. She’d get him anyway, just be a little harder.

The other part was thinking he could just be plain stupid. He had more than enough pride to share with the lot of the dude-bro clientilie in the room. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he just came barreling right back at her. One thing was for sure though…

She did not expect him to fall back through the ropes.

He was running away. He ran away from her. Glaring at her. Judging her. Like he had a right to be pissed for being a complete dumbass. Him being pissed off made her pissed off. Reciprocated it all in a weird way. Under normal circumstances, the smart thing to do would be to just wait out the count. Let the clock run down and either let him come to her or watch as he willingly disqualified himself in front of the whole world.

Normally. But Tam wasn’t in the “normal” mood. She was more in the, “If this guy honestly disqualifies himself after all that I’m going to rip his face off and use it as a frisbee.”, mood. So yeah. Fuck it.

As Dasher rounded the ring to her side, Tam pivoted on the spot and took off towards him with a burst of speed. As she neared the ropes, she broke into a slide to slip underneath them. She wasn't aiming to land on two feet, though. She had a better idea where to plant them: upside Dasher’s head. She’d kick her leg out as she came through, looking to give him the worst headache in the world with a slide kick.