The Dasher Challenge : Part 4 - A Vagrant Story

For now, after having practically put this disrespectful whelp over his knee and spanked the insolence right out of her for all the world to laugh and point at...Dasher was content with merely playing around with her. Like she was nothing more than a mischievous delinquent, unworthy of even being considered a tangible threat. She somehow managed some piddling of an offense, but it meant nothing to the Mighty Inoba. A man of his stature still held the advantage in terms of strength, brains, and a storied career's worth of wrestling background. So why not take some time in making an abject mockery of her since she clearly had no earthly chance of defeating him. And preferably, in ways that could truly humiliate this disgraceful milksop. Perhaps enough to have her trade in that tattered and clearly stolen judo gi for a frilly dress apron...the mere thought making him guffaw internally.

"Hmph...and this is the closest any real man would ever want to be to you..." Dasher continued showing no mercy. Whether it was by his ear-grating and chauvinistic lectures, his ceaseless pressure as she talked to Tam from behind, or simply by the torquing compression of his suddenly applied and muscled headlock. Tam's ensnared noggin now caught between a rock and a hard place, those being his flexing bicep and rippled musculature, which both had an unpleasantly sweaty sheen to them. A jostling stomp reaffirmed the headlock that had pure muscled machismo behind it. The bowl-cut endorser gnashing his teeth from the sheer exertion he put into it before applying one of his more dreaded, feared, and juvenile maneuvers. His knuckles scrapping and grinding at her scalp at a comical speed. Grown men having actually submitted from what was ostensibly nothing more than a schoolyard bullying tactic, one which he last implemented on that insufferable blonde girl during his third Dasher challenge. The one had actually had the gall to-

"ERRAGH!!!" Dasher bellowed out and tossed Tam away before she could take a bite out of him. He seethed and let the Japanese expletives fly as he massaged his arm and stomped around the ring, at times stomping up and down like a child having a temper tantrum from not getting his favorite toy, all to the startled laughter of the audience. Instead of Tam, the referee was now the one who was the brunt of Dasher's ire. He was red-faced, snarling, and just generally getting all up in the official's face about disqualifying Tam...but from her wagging finger and stern look, it looked like the referee was standing her ground against the puroresu legend.

Tam got off worse from that bite than Dasher did. Sure, it wasn’t the most respectful way to get out. Yeah, he wasn’t expecting it, so the pain would have been a lot worse than normal. Sure, she probably broke a bit of skin in that attempt that wouldn’t leave the most attractive bruise. But she had to taste him. That was a scar that wasn’t going away anytime soon.

The second she released him, Tam was on her knees and spitting wads on the floor, wiping her tongue feverishly while the mad gorilla stomped away before looking back down and spitting some more, convinced she was turning green beneath the skin. Wasn’t the most flattering display for either of them, but “couldn’t care less” would be putting things lightly for how she felt on that. Far as the Vietnamese tomboy was concerned, respect had died a hard death between them. That line was crossed, burned, and had a stake driven through it over and over again. Even if her mouth tasted like a wet gym sock, it was worth it if she left a little mark for him to remember her by. Hope it set and stayed for the next time he went for a move like that.

At the same time, she knew she wasn’t getting away with that bite without some diminishing returns. She’d done it enough to know the routine. That was why she was quick to stand and get her eyes on Dasher, bringing her hands up for the renewed fury he was about to throw her way.

But he wasn’t focusing on her. He was complaining to the referee about what anyone could reasonably guess. Cute. Much as Tam would have loved for this match to be over, she had a much more decisive way of going about that.

She walked right up behind Dasher. Didn’t make a show out of it, didn’t pause for dramatics. By all accounts, if this were on some sidewalk rather than a ring, one would probably think she was just going for a simple Sunday stroll. Right up until she was right behind the bowl-cut lunkhead. Then she’d turn on the spot, reach down, grab the side of his trunks, and lift them up in the world’s most matter-of-fact wedgie. Her face not moving even a single iota from the deadpan glower she approached with, Tam would simply look up at Dasher’s reaction from behind, half-heartedly mustering whatever juice came out like an uninterested farmhand. Right until the last second, where her scowl came back in force, letting his trunks free to wrap her hands tight around his waist, and using her small body to lift him and over with a solid German suplex.

Dasher considered doling out some corporal punishment to this defiant faux martial artist, via a public spanking, to be a public service. Ever since first having his ears marred with that insolent tongue of hers, he was assured that Tam was in sore need of a dose of reality, discipline, and a freshly tanned backside. Nothing quite tempering the rambunctious defiance in this rebellious child like a few walloping whacks to her glutes, ensuring that she would remember this lesson whenever she'd even contemplate sitting down. It was the same form of archaic, strong style type of disciplining that quelled any disobedient mischief Dasher once had as a wee lad, and helped shape him into the well-adjusted, mountain of bowl-cutted masculinity he is today. It was a method of tutelage he would have passed down to his own son had his mother not strong-armed him out of it...

However, this next example of disciplinary punishment was a brand doled out to him on the playgrounds by towering bullies filching him of his lunch money when he was but a wee bowl-cutted youth. And it was their deep-rooted jealousy of his haircut that they picked on him so, he figured. Regardless, after tracking down those bullies as an adult when he was now a muscle-bound brute so he could satisfyingly return the favor, the dashing grappler opted to add the knuckling noggie to his arsenal after learning firsthand of it's humiliating and demeaning aftereffects to a persons' spirit. This particular maneuver becoming a dedicated favorite of his after joining the Tension roster, as he felt it an appropriate way of putting these hopelessly delusional women in there place by taking all of that trumped up pride they had, grinded it out of them until they crying and whining at the hands of his brutishly manly might...unless they happened to take a clenching bite out of him.  

"^*&$#!!!!" Dasher now bellowing Japanese expletives in a spittle flying tirade that the poor referee had to withstand as the bowl-cutted blowhard demanded Tam's immediate disqualification for her biting reversal. A request that was soundly rejected by the looks of the referee who considered it Tam's first offense, which deserved no more than a stern first warning to keep it clean. And by the looks of Dasher, he wasn't standing for such shoddy officiating as he continued getting in her face like a baseball coach at the World Series about a blown call. A distraction he brought on himself as he felt the tightened fabric of his trunks be wedged up his granite-like toned backside...which stopped his blustering rant on a dime, and left him wide-eyed and red-faced before he was suplexed out of his trunks, metaphorically speaking, and slammed onto his head and shoulders. Dasher gnashing his teeth and spasmed about with his flossed butt cheeks horrifying the ladies...and thrilling a certain subsection of men.

Heavy fucker.

Not exactly her biggest revelation, Tam realized. Anyone with half an eye working could tell just how hefty this slab of meat with a bad haircut really was, but in her own defense, they weren’t grappling with the jerkoff. There was a reason she hadn’t thrown out the fat card yet. Muscle weighed more, and he was packed down to the bone. She’d sworn she’d thrown oil drums that were lighter than this.

But on the flip side, all that weight would work against him. When the suplex hit, it hit with the sound of roaring thunder The important thing was that he was on his back and, from what she could feel, wasn’t going to be getting up straight away. More than a few in the audience seemed stunned by the display For once even Dasher seemed rendered to silence. Not that she was complaining. Only a second later, the Vietnamese tomboy was quick to kip up to two feet and turn on the spot. The suplex was fine, but she had plenty more Hell to put him through before she was sat-

Oh. “Oh….”

...fucking Jesus. Tam’s hands came up on reflex, faster than the need to jerk her head off to the side.

“Oh God. Wow Christ, okay.” She tried and tried, but no matter how much she looked away, it was always there. Imprinted on the back of her eyes, staring straight back at her from the infinite dark. “Seriously!” She kicked out in front of her. She didn’t need to see it to know it was there. Watching her. The tomboy aimed her kick straight for the tailbone, hopefully able to flip him over onto his stomach. Only then did she dare to let her eyes peel open again, with a tentative shake to get her senses back. Whatever few hadn’t been robbed, that was. Soon as that was over, her eyebrows went straight back to their usual scowl as she walked up to his side and went to straddle his back with a harsh thud. From her perch on his back, she’d reach out and grab a fistful of that ridiculous do on the top of his head and yank his face up off the ground.

“What now, huh?” Her tone was deep, venomous. She reeled a fist back and punched the back of his head, cracking her knuckles upside his remarkably thick dome. “Gonna keep messing around? More noogies? More spanking?” She threw another punch. “Call yourself a wrestler?” Another punch. “You're a fucking joke. Here me?”

Punch.

“A big-”

Punch.

“-dumb-”

Punch.

“-joke.”

Dasher's personal gripes with the Tension federation as a whole were numerous, detailed, and exaggerated enough to the point where he even contemplated publishing yet another one of his long-winded, rambling books about the subject...which would only end up collecting dust in retail stores around the country alongside his other self-promoting auto-biographies. Although the issue that was concerning him most at this particular moment was the shoddy officiating allowing these talentless wenches to bite and snarl their way out of any submission that can't wrestle their way out of...which has now happened to him not once, but twice now. It was most definitely a running gag at this point, with Dasher being the only one in the arena not laughing as he fumed and quarreled with the referee who was having to take some steps back as he ominously advanced towards her. Dasher was red-faced in rage, glowering, and perhaps several seconds from getting himself disqualified via tossing the referee into the front row before the wedgied suplex sent him flying...with a pinching discomfort back there.

Dasher proving the age-old adage in regards to "the bigger they are...", by shaking the ring via the booming suplex...unsettling both from the meteoric sound of the impact, and the mental imagery of his manly glutes that Tam would have to cope with for the rest of her days. It was the exact same upside down position she found herself in after getting mowed over from Dasher's lariat clothesline, although with the audience being significantly less enticed from this cheeky view. Luckily for Tam, Tension's health insurance covered extensive therapy sessions. Unluckily for Dasher, his head trauma was only about to be worsened after getting kicked over and mounted from behind.

The dashing one offering scant resistance to being nudged over to flop on his front side with limbs splayed...grumbling and griping into the canvas and not caring one iota what Tam was badgering him about until they began being punctuated with concussive blows to the back of his cranium. Each one more malicious than the last...rattling his vision...warbling his senses...and upon realizing she was scuffing up his bowl-cut...only began to feed his swelling rage. The lumber meathead groggily shuffling up to his hands and knees, one hand grasping onto Tam's wrist to make sure she was riding piggyback for all of this. Teeth gnashing after firmly stomping back to his feet, Dasher would attempt to flip clamp both of his mitts onto her gi from behind and flip this monkey off his back.

Tam hadn’t actually realized how good this felt until after the fifth punch.

CRACK!

Correction. Sixth punch.

Don’t get it twisted. She was far from the sadistic punks that usually lined these halls, the kind she had to share bunks with for some months at a time on occasion. Tam stepped into this ring with one goal in mind, and she was going to achieve it one way or another. But the catharsis was something else. She hadn’t noticed how much her body had been craving it until this moment right here. Poised on the ape’s back, fist in hand, raining punches into that doughy head of his. Oh, and she got to mess up that stupid ass haircut. Bonus points.

Didn’t even surprise her that he had fuck all to say back. She was content to watch him sink, sweat, and flounder. Stew in his own mistakes. Choke on them if he had to. If there was one cosmic truth she knew for sure about the art of conversation, it was that you had to hammer in the points to make them stick.

And hammer away she did. The scruffy tomboy reeled her first back even further this time, clenched her fist tight enough to see the white of her knuckles, the veins along her forearm as the sleeve of her gi slipped down. The cannon was cocked, and with a sharp glint in the dirty brown of her eye…

...Dasher bucked and her swing whiffed. The momentum from her punch nearly made her fall off. She probably would have...if a thick, strong hand hadn’t grabbed her by the wrist. Her eyes shot wide, throwing a couple of swift punches to his sweaty back and try to force a reaction. If anything, it just made things worse. He let go of her wrist, yeah, but only to grab onto the sides of her gi, throwing her off and slamming her back first onto the ground. She splashed against the ground, her body leaving the floor for a brief instant in an arch as she choked back her cry. She grit her teeth and writhed on the ground, every fiber and muscle tensing and flaring as the shock tore through her.

Her head told her to move. Nothing doing.

Summoning what strength he could given the several brain cells knocked loose from Tam cracking her knuckles against the back of his bowl-dome cranium, Dasher ascended upward while shouldering the extra baggage against his back. The smoldering rage within him now fueling his strained leg muscles and keeping himself aloft as his massive mitts clung onto the judo tomboy behind him, and pitched her clear across the ring with a disturbing lack of empathy and prolonged airtime. Dasher himself taking a slight powder by leaning against the nearby ropes and massaging the back of his throbbing and, thankfully, quite thick skull with one hand. He scrunched his face and blinked his eyes repeatedly to help solidify his fuzzy vision. His monstrous show of strength and freakish reversal was thanks largely in part not to what this badly groomed street-rat was spouting off to him...but the growing concern that she was sullying the perfected symmetry of his shimmering bowl-cut. An obvious source of immense pride...and perhaps even his strength, as some online wrestling podcasters have begun to theorize.

"Ku...so..." No sooner was Dasher speaking whole expletives again, than he remembered to handle the next biggest issue he had, and unwedge his wrestling tights from up his backside. A collective sigh of thanks being breathed from the audience, with several women in the crowd being told that they could open their eyes now. The muscled meathead than shoving himself off the ropes with a bit of a dizzied stumble before beginning to prowl around the immobile Vietnamese...towering over her with beady-eyed intensity and an eerie hoarseness to his breathing before he creepily leaned over to speak down to her. "No more noogies....no more spankings...." Dasher ominously imparted while wagging his finger in front of her left and right like reprimanding an infant. He then promptly scooped up both of Tam's legs by her ankles, and spread them in a distinct V-shape. Everyone who knew anything about wrestling knew what was happening next, and crossed their legs in preparation as Dasher would go careening skull first into Tam's ladyhood...a signature maneuver Dasher appropriately dubbed The Black Meteor.

It was like every time she thought her disgust for this man couldn’t get any worse, he somehow found a new low to sink to. Not that she came in here with high expectations or nothing, but it seemed like they certainly weren’t low enough.

Tam let herself ruminate on why in the hell she even stepped in this ring while her body was busy shaking off that throw. Easier said than done, of course. If she was the monkey on his back, Dasher was a goddamn silverback with the strength to match. The last thing she needed was more evidence of that and even less-so if that evidence involved her, but here she was, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come. Her vision hazed as she looked to the stage lights above. Trying to move put her ribcage through hell. Even the slightest turn made her spine pinch and sent up a jolt of pain. He wasn’t holding back.

Supposed that’s what she asked for, not-so-appreciated reminder aside, but that worked for her in the long run. It’d make him a bit more orthodox, a bit more predictable to fight now that she got him to knock that silly ass shit off.

In theory.

“Wh-?! What’re you-?!” Tam’s eyes went as wide as dinner plates behind her scowl when she noticed her legs being pulled apart. Her mind went wild with quite a few possibilities of what he was planning, so she can say with certainty she didn’t see that headbutt coming. Her mind lagged behind the reality for a second before the pain caught up with her. Her hands instantly shot to the injured spot between her legs, cupping the area about as tight as she could without making the pressure worse. The rest of her body moved on it's own, rolling onto her stomach and burying half her face into the canvas as a slightly muffled, yet agonized wail clipped the ears of many a disgusted audience member in the stands.

“...Yo, that ain’t right man!”

Of the many notorious distinctions that can come with grappling against the dashing chauvinist himself, being able to truthfully state that you had The Dash's head between your legs was simply the kind of side-note that can never truly be expunged from your wrestling record. It was perhaps even more mortifying than being outright humbled within Dasher's back-bending clutch...and to some ladies, even preferable to having his thick-skulled, bowl-cut haired cranium slam into their precious tenders. To which the audience without question decried as dirty pool with their riled up discontent. Normally in Tension, it's the man who winds up getting their sensitive nethers walloped by a man-hating she-devil who than earns the ire of the men in the audience. Though this time, it was the ladies in the crowd who had the more deafening voice in their booing displeasure at the male grappler proving once again that low blows hurts just as much for women as it does men.

"Kuso kurae!!!" Dasher bellowed back with a derogatory slap of his upraised bicep, not taking kindly to the ladies suddenly not wanting women to have equal treatment in the wrestling world. When a man suffers a low blow, the offending lady gets cheered and put on a pedestal. But when roles are reversed, suddenly the man is the villain. The hypocrisy was ludicrous in Dasher's eyes...which he now centered on the writhing faux martial artist at his feet. Whom he hoped was enjoying her insistent request to no longer be underestimated, and a request he continued to oblige as he bent down to guide her up by her scruffy locks before promptly shoving her noggin between his rippling thighs. With a squeezing flex of his tree-trunk like legs to sedate her further, Dasher than went about flipping Tam into a seated position on his shoulders before a brief sprint and sudden drop to his backside precluded the running sit-out powerbomb attempt...emphasis on the power.

He fucking headbutted her in the crotch. Who the fuck did that? Nobody did that.

Tam practically wrote the book on fighting dirty. She grew up in a literal gutter, had her own food taken from her by a pack of rats, and even she never saw something that fucking dirty. There were some lines human beings were just never meant to cross, lands just meant to go uncharted.

She probably would have appreciated the support from the audience in another timeline where this didn’t just happen, but Tam was too concerned with the pain to really care. She headbutted the mat a couple of times to try to get her mind off it. Helped a little bit, not enough. In a weird way, though, it helped her piece together why this guy had such a reputation. Why no one seemed eager to take him on. He wasn’t just strong as an ox. He was no-holds-barred, all the way through.

An animal. She was in the ring with a fucking animal.

Dasher wasn’t going to give her the right to complain, of course. She barely had a minute to recover when his meaty hand grabbed her hair - something that was starting to become a real fucking pet peeve - and slammed her between his thighs. It was about as pleasant as one would expect, the smell even worse, but on a side note she was starting to realize Inviting him to go all out probably wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had, but it felt good. Couldn’t say the same for the powerbomb.

She tried to concentrate. Her mind instantly told her to use all that momentum against him and try for a throw with her legs, but in the same instant that she went to clamp down her thighs, the spot between her legs cramped and seared. The sharp bolt of pain caused Tam to wince and that moment of hesitation was what ultimately cost her as Dasher threw her down with the fury of rolling thunder. The tomboy arched and choked against the raw impact that made the ropes shake and the posts wobble at their corners. She laid spread eagle with her eyes shut tight, barely able to move a finger and seemingly defenseless.

“...throw...like a bitch…” She sneered through clenched teeth.