The Dasher Challenge : Part 4 - A Vagrant Story

Tam being somewhat of a lightweight made securing the tomboy atop his shoulders relatively seamless. Than again, the dashing chauvinist had the muscle-headed strength to lift most anyone onto his shoulders, even once doing so to a world-renowned yokozuna as a dare on an implausibly nutty Japanese game show. A manly feat of strength he was quite pleased to oblige to, and one he enjoyed re-enacting this night by effortlessly propping the faux martial artist upon his broad shoulders. Tam now getting to unwillingly pay it forward by having the bowl-cut haired brutes head between her toned thighs, though it being up in the air as to which experience she detested the most between the two. Dasher huffing out against her bruised nethers right in his face and gripping onto her thighs before going for a stampeding march forward into a beyond cataclysmic powerbomb that shook both the ring and a vast majority of audience members to their core. Dasher remaining seated for a few seconds before sauntering back up to stand over her and snarl down at her flippant mutterings.

"...Hmph, that disobedient mouth of yours. Still...I think I might just know how to silence it..." Dasher ominously imparted with a curling scoff of his upper lip. Demonstrating the superiority of puroresu over whatever faux Judo this faker practiced was quite the satisfaction, but not as much as what would come next. Dasher tenderly removing the white jacket of Tam's wrestling gi without stirring her back to life too much, flipping her onto her back in the process with her scarlet red top still on underneath. He opened it up and briefly examined it..before promptly using it as a cleaning rag to soak and cleanse his bulbous muscles of it's slippery sheen. Than callously wiping it all over his sweat-smeared abdominals, pectorals, forehead, and rank, foul-smelling armpits. Audience members booed and/or shuttered from how that judo gi must now reek of manly B.O. as Tam was than propped into a seated position to face the world...and have the sweat-drenched gi ruthlessly smeared into her face. As if brutishly smothering the forlorn tomboy's senses with his masculine stench before rearing her head back and slamming her muffled face into the canvas.

Like it was Tam's fault she was a rebellious spirit. The world made her that way. Can't fault her for choosing how to live in it. Catharsis was her morning coffee, its what made her blood move and kept her mind at ease. Sometimes she just couldn’t stop her mouth from moving, and frankly, she stopped caring what came out of it around the time she started flinging people off boats for a living.

Should have figured that Dasher wouldn’t take that lying down. Tam was already running through some of the possibilities. A boot the gut? Another powerbomb? The bowl cut bruiser hadn’t eased up just because his opponent was flat on her back before. Only two things were certain when it came to him. Pain and…

“H-hey...!” The chill was the first thing Tam felt after her gi was suddenly taken away from her, the cool air brushing over her toned stomach. She looked up as her gi was taken to like a cheap rag. She was less disgusted by her She moved her arms behind her to try sitting up before she realized Dasher was doing that for her already. If Tam appreciated the help in any way, the glower on her face didn’t show it an inch, casting her dark eyes over her shoulder.

“Tch. Shoulda took ya for some sleazy old-” Damp. Dark, damp, and dead rats. That was all Tam’s senses could tell her in the next instant and she knew right away what was covering her face. Her muffled screams probably didn’t make it past the ropes. Tam had never been waterboarded before, but it was probably not as bad this. Nothing but the feeling of a wet, rough rag scraping her face and the smell of a retirement home toilet, growing worse each second. Some people laughed. Some people booed. Some people were honestly surprised to see a bra underneath all that garb. Everyone made their opinion known in some form or fashion.

Right up until she was slammed face first into the canvas. The ropes shook against the impact of her skull and echoed out into the stands. Tam folded in and snapped back like a slinky, falling flat on her back with her tainted gi still covering her face. The crowd went silent for a moment, murmurs and mutters slowly cropping up all around. The official looked on with a stunned gaze, looking between Dasher and the fallen martial artist before she took a few, tentative steps toward Tam.

Then the Vietnamese stirred slowly, turning over onto her stomach with her face still obscured by the damp piece of apparel. With her hands pressed to the floor, she slowly rose her body from the floor. Her head raised slowly from the rough fabric of the gi. Her head craned, eyes wide and casting forth a blazing light toward Dasher through the shade of her eyes, flowing silent fury in each pupil.

Dasher may have...misspoke, when he alluded earlier to no longer engaging in juvenile tactics and acts of sheer appalling embarrassment upon his faux martial artist foe. Being the undisputed headmaster of his own wrestling training academy technically puts Dasher in the role of disciplinarian as well as educator. And he has indeed cultivated an encyclopedic knowledge of exercise drills, spittle-laden tirades, corporal punishments, and of course, acts of sheer embarrassment. The latter being the perfect method of reining in that youthful obstinacy that comes from his rebellious first-year students thinking it wise to talk back with snippy comments or dare to question the fashion sense of a man who prioritizes perfect symmetry in a well-maintained bowl-cut. Those particular subversive students having ample time to reflect on their comments while being put on jockstrap laundry duty for the duration...and now, Tam has been dutifully disciplined as well...and smelling just as badly as those other students.

"Best way to deal with the insubordinate mouth of a delinquent is to wash it out with soap, but I have the next best thing!!!" Dasher bellowed, the bowl-cut brute seeing his...odious, assault on Tam's senses as just another disciplinary tactic intended to rein in and humble this foul-mouthed tomboy. Which was by smearing her judo-gi turned sweat rag all over her muffled face and providing for her a noxious whiff and perhaps nauseating taste of a man's sweat, grit, and manly determination. But mainly his sweat. Dasher's massive mitts finishing it off by pieing her repulsed face and offering her scant chances of escaping with her dignity intact or her senses unassaulted. Those in attendance who were not laughing or booing instead opting to just squint and squirm with facial expressions akin to having just taken a bite out of a lemon before Tam was mercifully slammed face first into the canvas...which wouldn't normally be considered an act of mercy, except for this particularly repulsive instance. Dasher than stepping over the sweat-rag covered tomboy with a hardy harrumph towards the nearby ropes.

"OORYAHH!!!" Dasher bellowed with a flexing showcase of his strong-man muscles to both elicit a stirring pop from the bowl-cut faithful audience members, and to hype the chauvinistic meathead into an adrenalized fervor. He open-palmed smacked both of his shoulders to feed off the pain before turning back towards the clambering up martial artist. Dasher clamping onto the top rope behind him and willing Tam back to her feet by wiggling his fingers towards him, sweat dripping from his forehead as her gnashed his teeth with his beady-eyes deadlocked onto her. Waiting for her to find her sense of balance once on her legs, right before Dasher would attempt to have her lose it all over again in wrathful rush of rampaging muscle in his Dynamite Dasher finisher attempt.

Tam didn’t look as pissed off as she should have. Oh, she didn’t look particularly happy on the outside. The glare she threw over her shoulder was caught by the camera and, despite her less than intimidating posture, there were plenty of chills to go up plenty of necks sat both here and a million miles away.

There were a lot of emotions she’d been contending with throughout the night. Anger, frustration, confusion, desperation, vexation. Swirling and churning through her body one after another, pairing together, all at once. The pure energy of it all was something she wasn’t expecting to unleash facing a joke like this. But here it was and she was not even remotely shy about giving it all to him.

That stunt pulled out something else, though. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time, from years long past and dead. It came on the wind and traveled like a chill up along her bare body. Hatred. Pure. Refined. Straight from the heart. From over her muscular back, she peered at him and bored holes straight through his big and bulging frame as he charged straight at her.

It was a terrifying sight to watch from the stands, to say the least. The little, feeble fawn standing in the center of the ring was doomed. Dazed and reeling from the sweat-clad torment she was forced to endure, unable to tell up from down and left from right. She stood dazed and moving limply, seemingly the perfect target for the bowl-cut bull kicking his hind feet at her. How could she hope to walk away from this?

It was pretty simple.

As he launched, Tam stepped around with a flourish like a matador with her cape going to grip the bull by its horns. In Dasher’s case, it was his head. Her left arm wrapped around his neck while her free hand went to his thigh as she seized his momentum from him. Her impressive frame flared, accentuating every muscle once hidden beneath her honored gi. With a burst of power, she flipped the veteran over and looked to slam him down onto his back flat in the middle of the ring.

Like a disciplinary father figure confidently utilizing his own methods of obedience training, Dasher earnestly thought himself to be doing the Vietnamese tomboy a favor. A feral, smart-mouthed wild child like herself was in dire need of a reality check, and help her realize just how pathetic and insignificant she was when stepping into the ring with bowl-cutted beefcake that Dasher Inoba. It's just a shame that reality check reeked of wickedly foul body odor along with sweaty moistness plastered across her face. Bottles of high-end body wash could, one day, potentially rid Tam of the lingering stench...though who knows how many hours of therapy could address the mental scarring. However, one act of depravity would prelude an act of barbaric savagery as Dasher would come barreling off the ropes with all the grace and nuance of a cantankerous bull catching a matador who was bending over to pick something up off the floor.

The blitzing locomotive of muscles mass practically having train bells accompanying him as he rampaged down the tracks with the steam shooting out of his ears instead of any engine pipe. No man having withstood his Dynamite Dasher without gaining frequent flyer miles from the sheer distance they were pitched back. And with Tam's lighter frame, Dasher was expecting to break his all-time record by plowing her clear out of the ring and into the ring announcer's laps. But in a flash of while linen and the sudden feeling if being hoisted off of his booted feet in a nimble display of unforeseen strength from the incensed martial artist. Dasher whooped out a startled breath from the startling elevation before having his massive frame brought slamming down to Earth, than bouncing up to his side with hand in the air and his mouth agape in agony from proving right the old adage starting with "The bigger they are..."

Tam could still smell him. That was the worst part.

Her muscles ached from their battering, the crowd was going infuriatingly loud, her head shook and tightened with fleeing traces of nausea. Catcalls were interspersed through the mad cheering and appraisal now that her gi was nowhere to be found. There were perhaps a million other, better reasons to suddenly lose track of her temper.

And she could still smell his musk on her face.

Wasn’t doing wonders for her mood, wouldn’t you believe. Her teeth gnashed inside of her mouth as she looked down at the onyx veteran. The pain, fatigue, and disorientation she’d been contending with only a few moments ago were nowhere to be found. As far as she was concerned, it was just her and Dasher in this ring.

Soon enough, it was just him. Tam already knew how she wanted to proceed on this matter, and it wasn’t where he was strongest. It was where she was. And she knew how to make it hurt on the way. The Vietnamese tomboy slid out of the ring and landed squarely on her two bare feet, not wasting a moment as she turned back to reach in and grab Dasher by his heels.

“RRRAAAHHH!”

Tam screamed defiantly in one heinous effort as she attempted to drag Dasher’s massive frame from under the ropes and out of the ring. She wasn’t kind enough to simply let him drop, however, as most in the crowd were suspecting. As she pulled him out, she’d pivot hard on the spot, dedicating all of the excess energy in her trunk and flaring muscles into swinging the boisterous bowl cut bruiser over the floor and smackdab into the barricade with the awe-striking form of an Olympic hammer throw.

Describing himself in flexing photo-shoots as a "Bowl-cutted Adonis", Dasher was obviously quite the staunch advocate for bulking up and putting on as much muscled mass as one can attain while still achieving some measure of maneuverability in the ring. A signature line of protein shakes and supplemental protein bars brandishing his sparkly toothed smile and thumbs up had just hit nutrition stores that year as a matter of fact. Even the commercial for the training regiment at his gymnasium has a before and after comparison of a pencil-necked geek transforming into the swole beefcake having ladies wrapped around his flexing arms. So it wouldn't be in Dasher's favor to go around saying the negatives of having such a brawny physique...

...one of them being that the sheer impact of being hefted over and slammed was multiplied tenfold when someone actually managed to accomplish the feat of lifting you into the air. An unlikely hazard that Dasher never thought possible from the fake martial artist who had done just that, the bowl-cutted neanderthal agonizing from the flaring soreness burning all around his broad back. Dasher seething and wobbling his head around to try and get his focus back...when another impossible feat replaced the first one as The Dash was dragged out of the ring by his feet and swung with ruthless authority into the barricade!!! The fans in that front area scurrying for cover into the rows behind them as the barricade became dented in the middle. The fans at ringside retreating not just from the bulked up bully being tossed toward them, but to keep clear of the enraged perpetrator herself. Dasher, being dizzied and knocked loopy, patted against the barricade for any grip he could manage for a groggy, stalled attempt at an ascension. His feet slipping and scrapping against the floor as if he was attempting to stand on an ice rink without skates with his eyes widened in disbelief at what just happened.

Slamming Dasher against the barricade felt good. Really good. Scary good. If she could beat him against the wall like a dusty bed sheet twenty more times…

Yeah, scary how into this she was getting. And just as scary how much she didn’t care. The image of her gi getting used as a wet rag was burned into her mind as she watched it repeat on the big screen. Everyone could see the resolve harden in her eyes as if she’d just acquired yet another reason to tear this chauvinist limb from limb. The deepened furrows on her brow, the fire blazing in her eyes, the clenched fists shaking at the center. All of it pointed to one thing.

This guy was fucking toast.

Tam huffed a heavy breath of air through her nostrils, so hot and thick that two billows of steam were visible just close enough for those in the front row to make out through the naked eye. The Viet girl stomped forward to Dasher’s side and raised her foot high over her head, letting it hang for a moment in an impressive show of flexibility before she brought the heel straight down, tapping Dasher on the small of his back. Painful, but not as bad as what she had planned if that hit.

The moment after she felt the clap, Tam would reach over and seize his legs. For a second, everyone was under the impression she was going for a Boston Crab, until she put her knee to his back. In another demonstration of the immense strength dwelling inside such a tiny body, she lifted his lumbering lower half upright against her, pressuring the pro-wrestler’s back even further inside a Lion Tamer.

Dasher was having a lot of his preconceived notions challenged at the moment. The most pertinent one being that it took someone of equally muscled mass to accomplish half the feats of strength that Tam was currently pulling off. The bowl-cut aficionado not remembering being tossed around with this much jaw-dropping ease since his last match with that American hotshot and despised rival Wolf Hawkfield...though even someone of his sculpted physique needed to take a breather before approaching once more. Which didn't seem to be the case for the much more diminutive, yet nevertheless fuming judoka currently burning a hole into his back from her vitriolic gaze...before just straight up stomping down into that back to keep Dasher grounded.

Dasher bucking downward to a sweaty and exasperated flop with his prodigious chin propped against the floor. Dizzied, frazzled and generally knocked loopy to the point where he didn't notice his beefy legs being hauled off the ground until the initial pressure started being levied against the same spine that had just been stomped down upon. A burning fire being ignited in the small of his lumbar as he bellowed and growled in pain from the unexpected Lion-Tamer from someone he equally didn't suspect could pull it off. His quads tensing up as the dashing chauvinist took to nibbling on the back of his index finger, his other hand wobbling in the air with the world watching on with bated breath to see if Tam could actually make the strongman tap out...except the referee was signaling to Tam with a clearing of her breath and a finger pointed into the ring that even if she did get submission...it sadly wouldn't amount to a victory.

People were applauding now. This was a very funny turn of events, a good match between two wrestlers that had earned their respect, an interesting dynamic between a clash of styles. There was intrigue, anticipation, excitement, suspense in the air. Everyone could agree they were getting their money’s worth tonight and couldn’t wait to see how things ended.

Good for them. Tam didn’t give a shit.

When she cranked Dasher’s spine back another inch, it wasn’t because she thought it would bring her any closer to victory. It wasn’t part of some grand strategy to get him any weaker, to exploit an opening she’d made for herself or tire him out for the next three moves she was planning in advance. The only thing she was thinking about was how badly this would hurt him. She dedicated five whole years of her life to figuring out how to damage people in the worst ways possible. She’d spent the rest of it throwing people twice her size overboard and beating would-be thugs into turkey stuffing.

In short? He chose the wrong person to fuck with.

Tam had every intention of nailing that lesson into him again and again, harder and harder, worse and worse until he forgot why the hell he became a wrestler in the first place. Tam raised her hand and flipped the referee off, then went back to what she was doing.

“If you don’t tap, I’m just going to break your spine in three places.” Tam said sternly as she looked down at him, not an inch of hesitation or remorse on her lips. “Unlike you, I have some shred of dignity left. So you decide what’s more important. Knowing a woman's never beat you, or getting around without a wheelchair?”