The Dasher Challenge : Part 4 - A Vagrant Story

All grappling veterans would tell you that sometimes the best action you can take, is inaction. The grizzled bowl-cut endorser exercising that sound strategy with an aching lower lumbar, a sore backside, and a wounded pride from having to retreat from the faux martial artist with whom he exchanged equally bitter glances. This was regrettably not the first time some womanly deceiver had miraculously managed to somehow lock the musclebound grappler into an early and especially excruciating submission. It simply astonishes him how much simple, clueless luck the women in this federation must have to unknowingly stumble into an advantageous position with such regularity, since luck was the only logical reason that these talentless, creampuff weaklings keep getting the better of him...

...though his flawlessly deductive reasoning was not shared by the majority of the Tension fanbase, in particular the rowdy fans in the front row who were heckling and deriding the bowl-cut warrior for what they saw as a cowardly retreat. No one in attendance who paid for the most expensive seats in the house that close to the ring were not taking kindly to his timely departure, to which he responded with a burly Japanese expletive and a wound back arm as if he were ready to slap them with the back of his hand, or as he would describe later to the media, ask them to politely quiet themselves. Whatever his excuse was, it wouldn't matter in the long run as now sooner had he turned to face them then Tam would end up sprinting headlong towards the ropes. A blurring motion that Dasher would only just notice out of the corner of his beady eye and thanks to fans looking behind him for some reason. After only just side-stepping the slide-kick, Dasher would spin himself in place and attempt to mow Tam down a with a walloping discus lariat.

A plan? Yeah, Tam had those from time to time.

Considering her previous occupation entailed dodging bullets for a living, being able to come up with a plan was up there with knowing how to breathe to keep yourself alive. Despite appearances, she could something of a strategist when she wanted to. Kinda had to be with her size. If there was anything she hated, it was the idea that she was nothing but dumb muscle. She could think on her feet. She knew how to take things slow, read the room, take an approach that worked.

And then there were moments like these when she genuinely didn’t care. She didn’t care when she kicked her sensei between the legs in the middle of sparring. She didn’t care when she slammed Cho’s head through that table in the middle of blackjack. She didn’t care as she charged through the ropes at a two-ton ape without any thoughts beyond planting her foot in his face.a

If only the rest of the universe were on the same page.

Tam came diving out through the bottom ropes like a pint-sized torpedo, ready to rearrange Dasher’s in the face with explosive force...and whiffed. She breathed in deep, killing a gasp of surprise in her throat as her wide eyes sailed over to her side and watched her mark pass her. Her feet hadn’t even touched the ground before Dasher’s fist clipped her out of the air with a resounding smack, sending her straight down to the floor like a meteorite, splashing her body against the unpadded ground. She let out a sound like a dying animal as she pushed onto her side and brought a hand to as far up her back as she could, trying to get some feeling back into her lungs.

Dasher's spirited repartee with the ring-side audience members proved to be beneficial in numerous ways. Including allowing him to vent some well-justified frustration at how this match was going by barking obscenities at the smart-mouthed fans who saw his tactical decision to leave the ring as nothing more than a cowardly retreat. None of them appreciating the finer nuances of the ebb and flow of a match or of how he was so clearly being the gentlemanly competitor by allowing Tam time to rest and recoup. Had he simply rushed in there to continue the match, he would have assuredly mowed her down within seconds, so by taking his leave from the ring, he was merely showcasing an act of fairness and chivalry to allow the naive tom-boy an actual fighting chance in providing him decent sport. Dasher already mentally preparing this excuse for any post-match interviews...but another benefit to jaw-jacking with the fans was that he could see in their eyes when something was coming from behind. Allowing Dasher ample time to turn around and...respond.

The booming lariat being uncomfortable to watch and moreso listen to after pasting his bulky bicep against her face from his whirlwind clothesline. The muscled bowl-cut enthusiast nearly tripping over his feet from how much cocked back force and walloping power he packed into that one maneuver. The dashing one catching himself from tripping with a hand on the nearby barricade before turning back round to face the writhing faux martial artist, casting an ominous shadow over her from his hulking mass and beady eyes. Dasher breathing heavily before his clawed hands reached down to clamp onto her disheveled hair and haul her upwards in one swift feat of motion before not so snugly applying a herculean sleeperhold. Dasher firmly slotting her head between his flexing brawn and forearm as he powered down on her, intermittently rag-dolling her left and right with visceral roars and wild abandon...

Never before in her life did Tam believe she’d be able to empathize with a fly. Yet here she was. She was just sailing through the air, minding her own business, enjoying her day. Maybe getting a little too close to another person’s face for their comfort, but nothing to worry about. And then, out of nowhere, came the almighty hand of God that struck her down before her tiny mind could even process what her own fate had led her to.

The fall definitely didn’t help her feel any better. She didn’t show much crash as she did splat across the floor, her skin rippling just beneath the surface as her spine rattled up and down like an accordion of pain. Not fun, and definitely not something she was going to be forgetting anytime soon once she was back on her feet again. On her side, her hand instinctively went to rub her back through the rough material of her gi. It was only for a moment before she remembered the two-ton gorilla that was no doubt waiting to pounce on her as soon as he had himself oriented again. The Viet tomboy brought herself onto her stomach and went to push herself up…

..which it seemed Dasher was counting on. Tam’s feet kick wildly at the air as she was bent further back in the sleeper hold. Her hands clawed at his forearm in a desperate attempt to break free, finding it difficult to find a firm grip between all the dense muscle. It was even tougher to do that when he started fingering her about left and right, swinging her like a doll in the arms of an unruly child. Her brain rattled around inside of her head, stalling her breathing and making it hard to tell what was down and what was up. Tam bit down and bared her teeth, doubling her efforts on the hold.

She wasn’t passing out. Not here. Not to this asshole.

One would think that mowing down the churlish tomboy with the approximate strength and lack of grace of a rampaging bull in a china shop would have been more than enough to satiate whatever vengeful aspirations were milling around in Dasher's bowl-cut noggin. And it certainly would have for most people...but most people weren't muscled up, block-headed grappling legends whose testosterone-laden pride had to endure being having his leg bent out of shape along with his backside taking one hell of a pounding. All by some foul-mouthed faux martial artist whose only talents were her immensely fortunate luck in finding a way to topple Dasher in the first place, and knowing how to pull of pretending to be a martial artist. A ruse Dasher saw through instantly, of course.

Continuing to pummel, stomp, and otherwise tenderize the scruffy tomboy was initially going to be Dasher's next plan of attack, but squeezing the fight out of Tam until she was nothing but a drooling and inert rag-doll won over his decision making process for now before firmly tucking her head into the stifling sleeperhold. The callous manner in which he remorselessly flung her around to and fro showcased a startling amount of aggression and strength on Dasher's part, but with Tam's cat-like scratching digging into his forearm came the unfortunate truth that Tam was not going to be lulled night-night so easily. "Hmph...starting to get scared of those gym muscles yourself, now aren't ya!?" Dasher's scowled out as he tensed his bicep against Tam's cheek while jostling her a little, tossing her words right back at her while continuing to whittle her away with those exact muscles. The bowl-cut enthusiast than promptly releasing Tam from the claustrophobic hold before swinging her around by her shoulder, than attempting a lunging European uppercut from his studly bicep to her chin.

Credit where credit was due, Tam had to admit this was probably one of the worst rear chokes she’d ever been in. There had been a few in the past, when she’d let her guard down and someone sneaked her from behind. A lot of people just didn’t do it right, basic as the hold was. Didn’t work the chin properly, didn’t dig in as far with the pressure as they could have. Not Dasher. He made the thick muscle along his arms work as best as they could, putting in some solid torque. It would have sucked even if she hadn’t been getting thrown around like a ragdoll part way through it and given some serious nausea to work with. He wasn’t holding back. There was even some crushing force to go with all the constricting. Her heart got going a bit after that, feeling her natural limits being pushed farther than she would have liked.

She just had to calm down. Much as she hated to do that, as terrible as it felt to hold back, that was the smart thing to do. Every fiber of muscle in her body just wanted to tear out of this stupid hold, to get her mites on this meathead and show him how scary a chokehold could really be. But she couldn’t fight a war on two fronts. She had to think logically, feel out his weaknesses, and then when she saw an opening-

He let her go.

Tam hunched over and took in a deep breath through bewildered eyes. She stared at the floor for the briefest second, eyebrows furrowing at what just happened. Was he showing her...pity? Dasher didn’t even have to bother with the hand on her shoulder. She was already turning around to meet him, chambering the tightest right punch she could manage. “You son of a-!”

A roaring shot to her jaw cracked out across the arena. Tam’s feet left the ground for an instant, pinning her about midair as the uppercut shot through her  She smacked back first to the floor and doubled over like a folding chair, ass out in the air with her arms splayed out at her side, peering at the hazy lights above from between her legs and a rough groan.

Dasher was not particularly known for his intellectual erudition...the bowl-cut meathead not even knowing what the word erudition even meant as a matter of fact....or intellectual. The puroresu grappler devoting the entirety of his life to the honorable sport of wrestling since a young age after it was clear that book-smarts weren't going to be his forte when his parents found him using his text-books to prop up his newly created bench press. However, Dasher considered him a genius of a different caliber, a wrestling and physical fitness genius as a matter of fact. Any other room in his brain dedicated to Math, Art, Science, Hygiene, and above a tenth-grade reading level was only space wasted...something he would proudly bellow to his chuckling wrestling students. As such, Dasher didn't exactly have the largest vocabulary....but one word that is most assuredly not in his vocabulary...is "mercy." So when he suddenly released the Vietnamese tomboy from the throttling chokehold against his flaring biceps, pity was the last thing on his mind. Though walloping the tomboy in the chin with a meteoric European upper-cut was easily the first thing on his mind...

Thrusting forward momentum and every fiber of his prodigious muscles was directed into the booming blow, sending Tam flying heels over head to the wincing sympathies of the tensed up crowd. Dasher standing his sweat dripped, hulking frame over her with his perfectly rounded bowl-cut blotting whatever spotlight was shining down on her, all before raising one boot to stomp down and position itself on top of her perfectly rounded ass. Flexing with a strongman pose to make this a truly unflattering moment for Tam, before bellowing down at her. "Hmph...catch me in one measly submission, and you think yourself better than The Mighty INOBA?! Still, perhaps if you humbly apologize and grovel before a real man, I may spare you any more humbling embarrassment..."

"Seven!!!"

The referee's countout mercifully put an end to Tam's embarrassment, Dasher overhearing the count out before kicking the tomboy over. He callously grabbed a handful of her scruffy hair and judo belt for a rough escorting back to her feet and towards the ring. Although Dasher only managed to shove her halfway inside the ring, Tam's legs left precariously dangling outside of the ring. An intentional maneuver that led to more salt added to the wound in the form of one of Dasher's legendarily blistering chops...but directed to her shapely rump to help compel her back into the ring.

Tam thought she’d ended up in a pretty humiliating position. It was already plenty humiliating enough to have been taken off guard like that, being forced to eat one of this lunkhead’s strikes like a bowling ball to the face. That blame was on her, and it was totally hard enough to eat already. Then she’d have to come to the realization later than her finely-tuned buttocks were on free display to the entire world. At least what they could make out bast the bagginess of her trousers. It probably would have gone unnoticed for the most part.

Until Dasher stamped his boot right smack dab on the center, making it a talking point whether she liked it or not. The weight pressing down was enough to stir her, put the world back into a perspective and made everything a bit less hazy. She could only make out bits and pieces of what the bowl-cut bastard was saying, even if it sounded like he was underwater, but she could hazard a reasonable guess. Her eyes narrowed and she groaned lethargically, an attempt at a curse that died halfway out of her mouth. A red hue entered her cheeks, not only from the frustration of not being able to control her own body, but from the fact that her nausea was wearing off, and the snide laughter from the front row was becoming all the clearer.

After the meathead took his foot off of her, she immediately attempted to uncurl her body and let her legs flop back down. The tomboy went to flip onto her stomach until Dasher went and did that for her with a harsh kick into her side, one that left a nice dent in her ribs to sort out later. Right now, she was distracted by the grip on her hair, snarling as the veteran dragged her to the ring. She was expecting him to throw her into the ring before the count got them both. Only she was left halfway out, seemingly left there with a confused look on her face as she went to look over her shoulder...

Then a thunderclap to her ass woke her up.

“FUCK!” Her body spasmed for a moment, unsure of what to do or how to react as the shock trailed through her. It only took a couple more meaty claps before she was officially done with this shit and got a grip on the bottom rope. She kicked and flailed her legs over the edge as she worked her way fully into the ring, rolling about on the canvas. Her hands immediately went into the back of her pants, feverishly rubbing her burning red cheeks as she rolled about left and right on the floor, kicking her heels against the canvas, flailing her body around like a fish out of water. “Fucking fuck! You fucking shithead, fuck! What the fuck, dude?!”

"Adaptation for whatever given situation" was one lesson in puroresu grappling that was not taught in training facility, as it was a lesson one only learns from in-ring experience and getting your hands dirty. Sometimes literally should they become stained red after an errant chair-shot or two. Improvisation in the the middle of a burly tussle sometimes being the difference between being powerslammed through a table or using an announcer's water bottle to splash your opponent in the eyes and give you valuable seconds of relief. Dasher never needing to resort to such cowardly tactics of course, not when his finely honed wrestling technique and sculpted musculature already affords him win after win regardless of who his opponent is.

Still, when it comes to thinking up creative ways to discipline the brattish and defiant ladies of this deluded wrestling league, Dasher was finding himself to be quite the talent, if he said so himself. The scalding chops normally directed towards the soon to be stinging chest of his opponent, now aimed squarely for the finely toned rump of the Vietnamese tomboy enduring the spanking of a lifetime, and one she won't soon forget. Both from the searing hand-prints on her ass making her sit awkwardly for the foreseeable future, and the more lasting mental image of the bowl-cut bruiser spanking the insolence right out of her as if she were a naughty child bent over his knee. The snide laughter becoming booming guffaws as Tam scampered inside the ring with the burly chauvinist hot on her trails soon afterward.

"Watch the way you speak to the Mighty Inoba!! All naughty little girls deserve a spanking when they act out of line and speak back to their superiors. Hmph...consider it a lesson in manners on how to behave yourself...and divine retribution for taking liberties with my own backside..." Dasher bellowed with a hardy harrumph as he stalked the languishing martial artist still spasming about while soothing her freshly tanned butt, than standing over her with his massive arms folded and his iron-willed scowl directed downward at her. Not too soon afterward Dasher's manly mitts would clamp onto those disheveled scruffs of her hair to haul her up, and firmly slot her noggin under his armpit. Cranking down on her head would have been debilitating and humiliating enough, especially considering it was between his sweat-slathered muscles and flexing pectorals. But with his other arm raised before balling his hand to into a fist, a ruthlessly grinding noogie known as his signature maneuver The Inoba Knuckle, would make it all the worse.

He spanked her. The fucking assfuck spanked her. Who the fuck did that? No one did that. Her parents didn’t even fucking do that. What fucking decade did he think he was living in? She had no idea how people did things in Japan, or the zoo, or wherever the fuck this ape came from, but in her country, there were some things you just didn’t fucking do. Especially not to Tam Fucking Nguyen.

She would have said all that to his face too, but she knew he’d just turn it back around on her, and she wasn’t entirely in the mood for that. Besides, deep down, she knew the real reason, the less than subtle confirmation that he still wasn’t taking her seriously. Just playing with her, like an errant child, barely even worthy of being called a threat. Yeah, she got some good licks in, but so what? He was stronger, smarter, more experienced. She didn’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell of beating him.

She bet that fat head of his was thinking something stupid like that.

Even if she didn’t, he went ahead and told her as much with one of those mini-lectures he was getting way too comfortable with for her liking. The sound of his voice may as well have been nails on a chalkboard. Even the searing pain in her ass couldn’t distract from it long enough. By all rights, she probably should have expected him to keep a grudge. Not exactly something most people would be getting over on prime time. But, for a moment there, she thought she was wrestling a man. You know, someone who could take his chops without complaining like a little bitch and cryin' to mommy? Silly her, right?

Oh, and then he grabbed her hair again. Prick. It was a bit hard to stand on account of her glutes not being in the best of shape right now, but Dasher didn’t seem to care. He shoved her right up against his sweaty, stinking frame, forcing her gaze the floor as he kept her secure with one arm. She gasped, a curse that failed to work its way out as her head was suddenly squeezed.

“Fucking...closest you’ll...ever be to a woman.” Her first reaction was to push against him, try to wedge her way out before he could wedge its way out. Then his knuckles came down, and that all took a one-eighty quick.

The build-up was slow, but steady. At first, she just thought the rubbing on her head was just odd, but then friction started to go to work and it began to burn, then it started to sear, and only a couple seconds later it felt like an oversized power drill was tunneling through her crown. Her feet stamped against the floor as she let out a partially muffled scream towards the ground. Her hands didn’t know where to go, going up and down from his arm and the top of her scalp, torn between freeing herself from the lock and trying desperately to stop the insufferable stinging from his knuckles. Everything was going haywire, and before she knew it, Tam was moving on her own. She barred down and pushed one hand at his forearm and the other at the back of his bicep, trying to wedge herself free from the lock in one desperate attempt that didn’t go much of anywhere. She twisted and wedged partway in before she stopped. His body was too thick. It didn’t let her escape...but it did obscure her mouth a bit behind those broad muscles he was so proud of. Just enough to lower her jaw and bite her pearly whites down on whatever she thought would hurt most.