Tasha Jackson vs Sista A - A Storm Is Brewing

Tasha had started off her debut well enough. She had managed to deliver skilled moves on her nasty opponent, gained control of her body and verbally humiliated her in the ring. Everything had appeared good enough.

But then the tide had turned. Like a lightning out of a blue sky, Tasha had become the underdog. She couldn't really even comprehend herself how that had happened, but the match had certainly taken some absurd twists since then. And painful ones too...

All of the Southern Twister's hopes of finding relief from the Harlem Nightmare's attacks were now counting on a single hand. One that was trying its best to push Sista A's heel off her belly. And one that was miserably failing in its attempt.

Matters turned even worse for the Alabaman, as the idol decided to pierce her heel into Tasha's said arm this time. That itself would have been a major problem by now, but then there were her words too. Ones that were absolutely true, despite how much the rookie hated to admit it.

Then there came the brutal punches, accompanied by according cries of pain. One, two and three.

There was no confusion anymore. Tasha's direst threat had to be looming right above her head. And she just couldn't take it any more.

"FFUUUCK!!! YOU OWN ME!!! YOU OWN ME!!!"

Nobody ever accused Sista A of being a submission master. Oh, she knew a handful of them, but they were standard at best. The Boston Crab, the Camel Clutch, maybe a sleeperhold if she was feeling fancy. Nothing too complicated. She was a striker, through and through, and knocking fool’s senseless was a lot more satisfying than bending them into a pretzel. In her book, at least.

One might’ve thought that would put her at a disadvantage when it came to a match like this, that she would’ve needed a bonafide submission move to close the deal, here. One would be damn wrong. You could get someone to submit off of anything, really, and Sista A had just the right tools: good, old-fashioned blunt trauma.

She pounded away at Tasha’s face, relentless and remorseless, enjoying the feel of her face against her padded face. She would’ve been content to do it for a long while, too, but the Southern Twister lucked up - her brain was still functional enough to make the right choice.

She said the magic words, the referee called for the bell, and the match was over.

But that didn’t mean Tasha’s torment was through. Far from it, in fact. Sista A had a nice, hearty laugh, as she looked down at the rookie, licking her lips and letting them glisten. ”You’re damn right, I do.”

Sista A brought her foot off of Tasha’s arm, but it wasn’t an act of mercy. She merely did it so she could straddle her fallen foe’s waist, reach down to seize her head, and roughly yank her into a raunchy kiss, shoving her tongue down the younger wrestler’s throat. Claiming her prize. ”I own you.” She broke away from the kiss just long enough to mutter, before hungrily diving back in. ”...fucking own you…”

OK. So. "You own me." That was just a replacement for "I submit", right? Basically, Tasha had just submitted with different words this time, right? The ownership stipulation, or whatever it had been called that she had accepted in the haste of getting the match going, only meant something like that the winner could maybe pick the loser's next opponent, right?

Tasha had barely time to go through those thoughts before Sista A decided to start showing the rookie the real meaning behind that stipulation. Contrary to Tasha's expectations of being left reeling on the mat from the punches and her loss, her foe instead came straddling her, and hoisting her up for a deep kiss.

Tasha usually liked kisses. Not this one though.

Instead of being the usual act of caress, this kiss was more of a tormenting one. One that was depriving even more air out of defeated rookie, and one that was clearly establishing the nature of the ownership stipulation.

There were many "if"s. If she hadn't been all that rowdy and full of her "I take on any challenge" -mentality before the match, could she have thought about the stipulation for a second? Could she have pondered if there was any sense to it? Had she known what was to come, could she have fought off the punches a while longer? And what was the role of that Anesthesia? To what direction would have the match headed, if she hadn't been there?

The Southern Twister had absolutely no idea where she was headed at now. Well, apart from the current tongue-twister...

This was the best kiss Sista A had enjoyed in a long time. She was sure of it.

Granted, she didn’t get as many of them these days as she would’ve liked. Her current situation meant that women wisely gave her a wide berth, not wanting to risk getting near her, which meant that most of her sexual needs were satisfied by Anesthesia in their spare time. That was fine, really. Crazy as the nurse was, no one could say she wasn’t a talented lover, knew how to work her body like a champ.

But Sista A craved a little more variety. Wanted a taste of something new. And Tasha? She fit the bill nicely.

There was something about kissing a woman who hated it that set her nerves on fire, made her tremble with delight. The way Tasha’s tongue fled from her own. The way she shivered and whimpered and tried to fight it in some small way.

It was domination. Pure, unfiltered domination. She reveled in every second of it.

When she finally pulled away, there was a thin smile on her face and an even thinner string of saliva linking their lips together. ”Good bitch.” She gave Tasha a quick tap on the nose, the pushed up and rose to her feet. ”We’ll be in touch. And don’t worry about Anesthesia, there.” She pointed a thumb to the Dark Nightingale, who gave Tasha the friendliest, warmest, most loving smile she could muster. ”You two are gonna get to know each other real well. Trust me.”

With those purposefully cryptic words, Sista A winked and sashayed out of the ring, with far more pep her step than she had on the way down. She was tired, aching, hurt, but you wouldn’t have know it to see the look on her face. She practically skipped way up the ramp with Anesthesia close behind. The two of them gave Tasha one, final knowing look, then vanished behind the curtains, as if they were melting into the darkness.

It was quickly becoming clear, that AFW was indeed a whole different animal from the underground wrestling federation Tasha had fought in back in Alabama. That was caused by aspects such as that the stage was grander, the atmosphere at the arena was almost tangible, and the fighters were tougher.

But all that had been expected. What hadn't been was the raunchier side of it all. To be honest, Tasha had some awareness of the lewd reputation of the league. But she had considered those aspects to exist mainly to spice things up, and Hentai fighters to be a breed of their own. By now it was apparent, that those assumptions of hers were woefully misinformed.

And as Sista A, the incredibly impudent prick that had lucked out in the match and managed to torture her way into victory at Tasha's expense was kissing the rookie in the most repulsive way possible, the Southern Twister had to admit that there were still many things to learn in life. Such as having your friends turning into your enemies was not necessarily the worst thing that could happen.

It was far worse to have your enemies forcing you to be their friend.

Unfortunately, there was absolutely nothing Tasha could do about it. Her body straddled by the Harlem Nightmare, it was clear to everyone that the rookie had been utterly defeated. Despite her promising start, her performance just hadn't been enough against the ruthless veteran.

But then, Sista A stopped. Pushed herself up, said some words and was clearly all too happy to leave the ring.

"We'll be in touch." "Trust me." Right. It was like listening to a job interviewer or an insurance agent. Nothing in the prick's words signalled to Tasha anything that she should really be worried about. She was just putting on a show, right? Something different for the crowds to observe this time?

If she hadn't turned around in time to see the final look the two women gave her, Tasha would have been fairly confident that nothing major, nothing that she should have been worried about was to follow. But it was not only the look, but also the fact that the two of them were doing the same thing, that had to signal some dark clouds approaching in the horizon. The rookie was not really keen to find out who Anesthesia exactly was any more...

But now it was time to go. Limping her aching body to the corner, Tasha grabbed her bottle of sweet tea and started making her way towards the backstage. It had been a humiliating loss, the fact being conveyed clearly by her body language, but the Alabaman still gave a few feeble waves at the audience. Only positive thing about this all was the fact that clearly they would have wanted to see her win tonight.



Winner: Sista A by submission
Tasha Jackson is now managed by Sista A for the time being