Thunder and Hurricanes: Makie Akamatsu vs Blue Thunder Mask

BTM, to his credit, was already trying to get back to his feet even as Makie "helped" him up. Even as the masked hero was standing to his full height, Makie pressed against him-- and for a brief moment, felt the brief, distracting sensation of his firm chest pressed against hers and of his breath against her face...before she whipped him towards the ropes. As anticipated, BTM came rebounding back to her: moving like a shot, Makie was there to meet him, leaping up and latching her legs around his masked head and arching back--

Nothing happened. One of BTM's hands was pressing against her back, bracing her supportively and preventing her from falling. Wide-eyed, Makie tried to get out of this situation, chopping one forearm down at BTM's head, his dark hair the only part of it visible as the rest was compressed between her thighs. It made no difference: there was a tremendous sinking sensation of gravity kicking in, and then Makie was slammed down unceremoniously into the mat, the impact leaving her sprawled on her back, her chest heaving lightly as BTM stood over her, folding her legs back in a pin.

In an instant, the ref was next to them, slapping the mat. "ONE....TWO..."

With a gasp, Makie twisted sharply, getting a shoulder up. The crowd clapped at her escaping the countdown, but it was plain to see that she was in bad shape, especially after getting slammed like that.

If anyone had been harboring a notion that Blue Thunder Mask may have been holding back for the sake of showmanship, the sudden and decisive counter that shook the ring to it's foundation should have been proof enough he was giving this match his all. It had taken a great deal of strength to keep Maki's momentum from snapping herself back and taking him for a wild droids to the mat but there had also been some luck at play too. When he had her locked in though, there was only one place left to go and that was straight to the canvas. He drilled her against the ring with all his muscle and weight behind it, hunching over her folded up body to keep her steady for a pinfall.

Blinking a trickle of sweat from his eye, Blue Thunder Mask took in a deep breath, taking advantage of this brief lull in the action as the referee steady his breathing..breath control was important, especially for theselonge matches. He couldn't really afford to gas himself out against someone as opportunistic as Makie but the fear was there. Be had been out of the ring for awhile now, even with his grueling training regiment there was no assurance his stamina would hold out.

It was a jostle when she made the count, the crowd quick to rally and cheer after coming back from such a devistating move. With a soft 'heh' Blue Thunder Mask lenlaned away, letting Makie's legs start to unfold in front of him. Reaching out he slipped his arms around one then the other, snuggly cinching both limbs under his arms. With a hard twist of his body, the masked grappler roughly attempted to step over his opponent, flipping her over onto her front while he positioned himself over her. If he managed to get her onto her chest, he would crouch low, reclining back to sit his full weight across the small of her back with a steep angled Boston Crab.

Makie's back was a morass of pain at this point as she twisted onto her side, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Blue Thunder Mask was living up to his reputation, countering her moves, and dominating the match with a series of impressive slams and counters. She flopped onto her back again, beads of sweat now visible on her face and chest, slickening her dark hair, her legs still draped over BTM's shoulders as she lay sprawled in front of him.

She forced one eye open as BTM stood up, his impressive body glistening with sweat of its own, before he stepped over her. "N-no--" she managed to gasp, trying to raise her arms outward to prevent the roll that she knew was coming. It wasn't enough: she was too exhausted, and her reaction was too slow. Her body was flipped over, her chest cushioning her as she was forced onto her front.

And then there was pain. BTM sat on the small of her back, both of her limbs tucked under his armpits as he leaned back in a boston crab. Makie's head twisted to the side as it lay against the mat, and she screamed as sharp agony lanced up her spine and downwards from her thighs. Around her, her fans were screaming now, urging her to escape even though right now she felt like she was going to snap in two.

She bit back a further scream, but a pained wimper still escaped her as she dug her elbows into the mat and tried to drag the two of them closer to the ropes....

As his weight settled down across Makie's back, he could feel her struggle and hear the protests in his mind long before they left her lips. It was something he thought about often in regards to his submissions, though not with any real love. This was something he had struggled with in his early days, worrying about botching a slam or overdoing a hold and stealing away someone's dream with a career cut short. This sport had been his lifelong begore he ever stepped through the ropes and the thought of losing it was unbearable. He didn't want that for anyone, even his most heated of rivals. It wasn't his place to decide who was worthy of the ring, just try and be a role model to those who battled within it. His empathy had been something that held him back, but with time and confidence, he honed his craft enough to understand the limits and how to push them.

As a submissionist, much of what he did could be considered innately cruel. Choking opponents out, tying them into knots, stretching them to the more extremes the human body could take. He learned to separate himself from it, do what was needed in a measured way. In the end, he allowed his opponents to test themselves and if they were found wanting, they could surrender in the end. Pride, he had learned early on, was one of the most dangerous things a wrestler could have an overabundance of. It made them stubborn and found them opening doors to needless risks best left closed. There was a fine line between tenacity and stupidity.

Blue Thunder Mask had been working her back this whole match, between slams and holds, there was only so much punishment the human body could take. Makie was doing an admirable job of holding out on him, but it was only a matter of time before her body gave out. When that was though, he had no way of knowing. With a flex of his biceps, he leaned his weight back further, curling his opponent's legs into a steeper angle to put additional pressure on her back slowly and steadily. No need to crank the hold, just maintain it. The longer it was applied, the more he drained the woman underneath him, especially as she summoned the strength to scratch and claw her way to the ropes with her elbows. He remained stone-faced and stoic, sliding his boots just enough to dig his heels in and make her attempts at dragging them to the ropes even more difficult. They were past the point of small allowances of mercy for the sake of showmanship, from here on out it was do or die.

If she managed to make it to the ropes, the moment he was made aware by the referee his arms would unwind, letting her legs flop free from his grasp. Lurching forward with a soft grunt, he would stand himself up, carefully walking over Makie's laying body, mindful not to accidentally step on her as he circled to her side. Earlier in the match, he would have backed off and given her time to breathe and recover, but in the thick of it now there was no time to dawdle, he had the advantage to press. Leaning down he grasped at one of her wrists and the back of her neck, giving the woman a rough tug to drag her to her knees and attempt to haul her up towards her feet.

If Makie had known that BTM was actually concerned for her-- that he was hoping not to permanently injure her, that he was hoping her stubborness wouldn't get the better of her even as he cruelly wrenched back on her legs-- then she would have been touched. Honestly, she would have. As it was, all she knew was that he certainly wasn't holding back as he leaned back, torquing the hold further and stretching her legs back further. The movement pressed her face down further against the mat, forcing her head sideways. Sweat was now dripping down her forehead and from her hair, and causing her red leotard to cling all the more tightly to her.

The referee came down at that point, and asked if she wanted to give.

"NOOO!" she screamed back, furiously shaking her head. Her back felt like it was going to snap in two, and it was proving to be a brutal, draining struggle as she dragged herself to the ropes with BTM weighing her down. But drag herself she did: she had no other choice.

Then, finally, she managed to grab the bottom rope. Instantly, the pressure on her back ceased, her legs went flopping to the mat, and she lay facedown. Her back was throbbing with unbelievable agony, and she could barely move, but she hadn't tapped. She hadn't tapped.

But then her wrist was grabbed, and a hand clamped around the back of her neck. Moaning, Makie found herself being pulled, wobblingly to her feet, for the moment at the mercy of whatever BTM had planned next...

He had started to move the two of them towards the middle of the ring, helping Maki to rise but never fully to her feet. He instead was dragging her along, making sure she was kept off balance and in a poor place to actually mount a comeback. He was mindful to keep her dizzy and compliant, stopping briefly every few steps to hammer down at her with a forearm blow to the head or chest before resuming their trip. Once they had reached the center of the ring, he would circle back behind her and roughly jerk her to her feet while positioning himself behind her.

Stepping one leg over hers from behind he hooked it around her, planting it down between her thighs. Pulling her back against his chest, he roughly started to bend her to the side while keeping her leg locked down with his until she was nearly at a right angle. One of his arms would sweep over Maki's to hook it into place, pulling her shoulder back to trap the limb against his side. His muscles flared as he cranked the hold, positioning his elbow down across her taut side, digging it painfully up against her body as he cinched in an abdominal stretch

Makie huffed as she was dragged back upright by BTM, her legs stumbling as she was pulled towards the center of the ring. She tried to push herself upright, but the movement was quickly rewarded by a clubbing forearm to her upper back, a blow that caused her to cry out and drop down again to her knees. Huffing, she found herself being dragged up again: grabbing at BTM's arms, she tried to haul herself upright again, only to have BTM's knees collide hard with her midsection, causing her to double over, her head brushing against his firm chest as she gagged for breath.

Try as she might, she couldn't get back up to her feet: BTM was ruthlessly keeping her under control as he dragged her towards the centre of the ring. And, very soon, she found out why.

Makie groaned as she felt one of BTM's legs slide around hers, one one of his arms swept over one of hers, causing her back to press up against her opponent's firm abs. Before Makie knew what was happening, her body was being arched sideways in a painful abdominal stretch! A muffled cry of pain escaped her lips as she now felt like hier midsection was being torn in half; her eyes clenched shut, and her mouth hung open, wordlessly panting for breath, as her body was stretched to its limits. Around them, the crowd was roaring now as Makie was locked in what looked to be a finishing hold....

Submission perfection had been a phrase used to describe Blue Thunder Mask's performances back before he had landed in AFW. While he had inherited the mask and his legacy from others who came before him, the skills and wrestling acumen had always been a result of his diligence and hard work. A veritable encyclopedia of holds and techniques, he had a tool for nearly every situation, body willing, and Makie was suffering at the hands of one such move now.

A leg locked, a shoulder twerked, body stretched, and an elbow worked painfully into her exposed side. A culmination of many of his efforts throughout the match coming finally to fruition. The abdominal stretch on its own may not have seemed like a threat, but after working each targeted limb down over the match it had become a devastatingly potent hold that had match-ending potential. It seemed as though they had reached the point where the sportsmanlike back and forth had given way to the nitty-gritty competition and there were no signs he was letting up.

"You put up a good fight, it almost feels like you are at your limit." Blue Thunder Mask spoke low enough that only those in the ring could hear him, tilting his head down just enough to obscure his lip movement from the crowd. He punctuated the point by giving the hold another firm twist, holding the new position as his muscles strained, bending her across his leg. He would work the hold through her thrashing and attempts at release, reigning in her struggling to the best of his ability until she had either finally submitted or seemed unable to have the energy to resist it any longer. He wasn't here to destroy her body though, as stubbornness might let her hold on, to keep cranking the hold on someone nearly defenseless was dangerous.

He would instead opt to transition, roughly pulling Makie upright and quickly trying to hook a forearm beneath her chin, gliding his other arm behind her head to attempt to lock in a simple sleeper hold. If he cinched it in, the masked hero would try and guide the two of them to the mat into a sitting position, drawing her between his legs to lean her back up against his chest while he kept the hold applied. Putting her to sleep was a far more humane way to end things instead of causing serious injury.

Two things were becoming painfully apparent to Makie. The first was that Blue Thunder Mask was a master of submissions. He wasn't merely good: he was a master. The way he had the abdominal stretch applied just now was solid proof of that: her core felt like it was tearing in two, her abdominal muscles burning with intense pain as BTM bent her sideways. She shook and twisted uselessly in his grasp, her limbs immobilized and her body now shining with sweat. Her breathing was hard now as she did her best not to scream, sweat now dripping from her damp hair as she was stretched to the limits of her endurance.

The second thing that was apparent was that BTM utterly committed to victory, and he didn't care how much he had to bend Makie to do it.

Even as Makie's body arched and twisted in a vain effort to escape, BTM slowly transitioned her over, bending her across his knee and stetching her back further, testing her flexibility to its limits. She was bent into almost a C shape now, and she couldn't help but let out a stifled scream of pain as her spine was contorted further. Around them, her fans were screaming for her to escape, but past the pain that wracked her body, she found it hard not to just scream out her submission. But she would not, could not, let herself to that.

Finally, blissfully, BTM stopped stretching her, instead tucking an arm under her chin. Her arms flopped uselessly to her side as she felt herself being pulled upright, her chest pumping as she breathed hard after that brutal series of submission holds. She quickly found herself pawing at BTM's arms as she found herself locked in a sleeper hold, her mouth open in a silent gasp as she tried in vain to breathe.

She had to do something, and do it fast.

Without thinking, Makie reached her arms back and grabbed for the back of BTM's head. The moment she did that, she would drop down, trying to bring BTM's shoulder slamming down against her shoulder in a stunner...and hoping against hope that it succeeded...

Arms taut in a flex, Makie's fingers would find very little purchase as he cinched in the sleeper hold. His technique was nearly flawless, a thing of wrestling beauty and his grip unyielding. Tonight had been a test to see if he had lost a beat or two in his time away but as the match has drawn on any ring rust had flaked off and left him looking as strong as ever. Makie could no doubt attest that power was more than appearances. There was a reason he had garnered such a beloved following past the flashy heroics, the man behind the mask had remarkable talent that might have been scary in the hands of someone less professional than he. Her probing grip was met with a tightened bicep as he worked the hold tighter somehow, finding every millimeter of empty space to fill with his hold. Never had a simple sleeper hold felt so desperately lethal.

When Makie reached back, Blue Thunder Mask leaned away, stretching her aching body up against his, briefly taking her boots off the mat before dropping them back down, trying to work the fight out of her like a thrashing shark or an alligator with its prey in a death roll. This had the potential to be the end, it had fans on the edges of their seats as they watched the struggle.

He felt her fingers brush past his face, her hands gripping at the back of his head. He ignored them. If he could sap the last of her strength they wouldn't matter. As he readied to yank her off the mat again, however, she caught him unprepared with a sudden drop forward. Her weight, while manageable if he had properly braced suddenly became a weapon, leaning him forward with her until it stopped with a hard impact of his jaw against her shoulder. The blow rattled his jaw and jostled her loose, sending the masked hero flopping dramatically backward to the mat with a rumbled thud.