Red: A Fantasy Wrestling Love Story

[urban warrior]

Here's a little something I jotted up one night for fun. It was inspired by an artist on devientart.com named Playboy Vampire. Look him up sometime if you're interested in this story's source material.

There's technically no mixed wrestling in this part, but here will be in future chapters, so keep reading!





Red

Chapter ONE

Kat entered the chamber via a carpeted runway and climbed into the wrestling ring, slowly, offering the Red Man a generous helping of her sheathed-in-spandex physique. Glossy black fabric clung to the bold swell of her chest, and even bolder surges of her biceps and triceps, her corded shoulders and rippling back. The costume accented every dip and bend of her compact muscles, every peak and valley and surprise of her limber form. She was an amazon dipped in black ink, or perhaps oil, as precious as she was poisonous, her imposing build promising bliss and danger in equal shares.

Standing near the ring's edge, she raised her arms and folded them behind her head, displaying the oil-coated canvas of her intricately defined stomach. Though veiled in black, the six stone-like rises of her abdomen demanded to be seen, their splendor on full display beneath the paper-thin lamina of shadow that was her costume. A white belt disrupted the blackness at her waist, creating a distinction between upper and lower body. The black was disrupted again by a white skull printed on her chest, its nose and upper jaw dipping between the valley of her perky breasts. Her clothing did little to hide her figure from the Red Man. If anything, the full-body suit only heightened the appeal of her muscular build, robbing her brawny frame of its roughness while burnishing her muscles with brush strokes of something distinctly feminine.

A smile crinkled the edges of the half-mask veiling her nose and mouth. It was the first natural smile to break across her clay-gray features in... hehehe, she couldn't even remember when. Normally the ring and the watchful eyes of strangers made her feel like the piece of meat she was created to be, but The Red Man's stare was pregnant with more than just lust. He studied her with the slight squint of a man scrutinizing a museum sculpture, at once enjoying and analyzing the vision before him. His fascinated expression bordered on bewilderment, as if he wasn't quite sure what he was looking at. He had likely never seen such a lively Jiangshi; it was rare that re-animated corpses retained so much of their... human characteristics. But the Doll Makers' necro-magic was improving with every passing day; the warm blood coursing through Kat's veins was evidence of that.

Seated at ringside in a director's chair made of pale wood, the Red Man tilted his head and rested a cheek on his upturned fist. He was no devil like the fiends Kat normally rolled with in the ring, no hell spawn or fallen angel or supernatural being of any kind. He was just a man. But red. A Red Man. And not just red; his skin was at once the burning red of a wildfire, and the inviting red of a ripe tomato, and the pale red of blushing cheeks, and the dangerous red of ax blades, and the majestic ruddy red of desert dunes rising beneath a sensuous sunset. His skin was red like Kat's eyes as well, a deep passionate color that whispered of blooming roses and burgeoning flames—things that began as sprouts or sparks and mushroomed into boundless beauty.

He watched her with eyes that appeared bored, but Kat was keen enough to notice the lust stirring in his seemingly expressionless face. Turning away from him, she clasped her hands together and flexed the fleets of muscles in her shoulders and back. She felt his eyes caress her sculpted rear, and the lenses of the cameras as well; there were dozens of them, shooting her from every angle as she performed her one-woman show for the Red Man.

But tonight's raunchy affair wasn't meant for a single woman. And as Kat continued to flex, her opponent entered the room and then the ring, dressed in clothing similar to Kat's, and bearing an equally impressive physique.

Zoey. A true Undead. A Stillborn. One of very few. Her costume was predominately black, with scarlet boots, scarlet gloves and a scarlet mask. Kat eyed her with a mix of admiration and disdain: the former because of her stunning beauty, and the latter because she feared that same beauty might steal away the Red Man's attention.

While their builds were similar, Zoey was softer, fuller, more effeminate, but not in a way that betrayed any hint of weakness. On the contrary, the voluptuous rise of her chest was as imposing as it was appealing. She brandished her femininity like a weapon, challenging Kat with the curves of her muscular arms and legs.

Zoey was a cocky little thing. She blew the Red Man a kiss before sauntering up to Kat and extending a suspicious hand. Glaring, Kat accepted the offer, making sure to give the Stillborn's palm a firm squeeze. A smirk canted Zoey's lips, and she squeezed back, her grip tight, her eyes locking on Kat's. Her gaze was lively and emotional, almost human, almost alive. Almost. A closer look dispelled that impression. She was a Stillborn alright: born dead and aged to her physical prime by the Doll Maker's black magic.

Born Dead. Kat may have been a corpse herself, but born dead... she couldn't image what that was like.

Then, at the Red Man's silent command, the contest began.

Kat moved first, and quicker. Still squeezing her opponent's hand, she jerked Zoey forward and drove a breath-stealing knee into her gut, folding her double. It was a cheap shot, but Kat wasn't paid to fight fair, and the look on the Red Man's face suggested immense approval. Hmmm, those eyes. They were almost too much.

Eager to please her new master, Kat snaked her arms around Zoey's neck, catching her in a tight front headlock. Silky arms folded around her torso, squeezing, but Kat squeezed back, harder, her biceps swelling against the vampire's neck. Hushed croaks flitted from Zoey, and her throat quivered between Kat's arms, her pulse pounding like a second heart.

Blood galloped through the vampire's jugular veins. Warm blood. Artificial, yes, but the likeness was convincing enough to stir the enchanted brew that sluiced through Kat's own veins and granted her life, or at least something resembling it. Hungry for more points of contact, she sprang up and snapped her legs around Zoey's middle, her ankles crossing behind the vampire's back. She took a breath, supplying her muscles with the oxygen needed flex, to squeeze, to crush -- and then her thighs went taunt and her biceps rigid. She squeezed a breathless yelp from Zoey, and her face twisted with a mix of strain and delight as the vampire dropped to her knees, her arms still circled around Kat's middle. She tried to match the raw crushing power of Kat's arms and legs with just her arms, but the pressure was too much, and her own grip started to slacken.

One oil coated body pressed hard against another, and pants smoked from both fighters, the sounds melding as they drifted off toward the ceiling. In her moment of control, Kat suddenly became hyper-aware of the cameras aimed at the action in the ring. The thought of them capturing her in this moment of dominance—her opponent wilting in her grip, completely at her mercy—was almost overwhelming. Moister gathered between her legs as she imagined the cameras filming close ups of her breasts, her rear, her writhing muscles. She shot one of the lenses a half-lidded gaze, teasing the lesser daemon behind it, but quickly grew bored at sought out the read man instead.

Their eyes locked, and his delivered a silent message. "More," they insisted. And more was exactly what Kat intended to give them.

Breaking her scissor hold, she stomped her boots down on the canvas and stood up straight, dragging Zoey upright with her. With the vampire's head still tucked under her armpit, she hooked her arms under Zoey's and interlocked her fingers, her elbows pinching the sides of her opponent's body. Then her knees bent. Her hips lowered. Her mask crinkled, concealing a devilish grin.

And then Zoey was soaring, her boots slicing a red crescent through the air as Kat hoisted her off the canvas and fell backwards. Brute force worked in tandem with gravity to slam her tailbone into the mat. Her breath caught, and lightning bolts danced along the length of her spine, starting at her rear and surging up to the base of her skull.

Swirl-headed, her fighting instincts took over, sparking her body to swift action. She pushed off her left foot and tried rolling to her stomach, grimacing against the pain in her back.

But Kat was ready for her. Still clutching Zoey's arms, the Jiangshi sprang off her toes, flipped, and landed face down on the vampire, their chests colliding with a wet smacking sound. She lingered atop her opponent for a long collection of seconds, enjoying the closeness of Zoey's hard body, and the thrill that came with dominating it. Their nipples rubbed together as both fighter's shuddered: one in pain, the other in ecstasy. The pained fighter flexed her shoulders and back, her muscles staining against Kat's in attempt pry apart the cattle clutch hold.

"I'm gonna enjoy breaking you," Kat breathed, her clit starting to ache. She drove her chest down harder and clamped her thighs around Kat's body, her ankles crossing to reclaim her lost scissor hold. Then, balancing on the ball of one foot, she straightened her legs and flexed her thighs, hard, lifting Zoey's hips an inch off the mat as she her thighs squeezed together. The vampire bleated and wriggled, her face a mask of humiliation and agony. Her breath came in short huffs, almost more panic-stricken than pained.

Almost.

"Stop..." she panted. "I... I give..."

Kat slackened her grip, adjusted both legs, then took a breath and squeezed harder, her thighs stiffing into oil-coated pillars. The pain made Zeoy bridge reflexively, her heels leaving the canvas, hips trusting up toward the ceiling.

"You win..." Zoey tried again, sweat rolling down her brow. She tried to verbalize one more submission, but her words became a breathless groan as one of her ribs popped between the crushing legs. The sensation sent a chill through Kat, and she redoubled her efforts, wanting to feel it again.

Pop, went another rib—collapsing Zoey's bridge—and then another and another. Pop, pop, pop¬, the pleasing sounds joined by a chorus of agonized moans and pants.

"You're mine," Kat breathed. She felt light-headed, could hardly think straight. "Admit it. Say it and I'll let you go."

"I'm yours, I'm yours." The words rushed from Zoey's mouth, and Kat rolled to her side and continued squeezing, annoyed that her opponent had yielded so readily. She shut her eyes, arched her back and switched to a figure-four hold, squeezing with every ounce of power her thick thighs could muster.

"That's quite enough, Jiangshi."

And then she stopped, startled by the Red Man's voice. It was different from what she had expected. Smaller. And warmer, too. A purr in place of the growl she had imagined.

"I'm impressed with your zeal, but I'd prefer you not damage my property any further. That Stillborn between your legs is worth double what your kind are, Jiagashi."

"Is she now?" Panting lightly, Kat uncoiled her legs and sat down on the vampire's stomach, her knees posted on the canvas, her legs folded, her sweat-dappled thighs straddling her vanquished foe's middle. She bore her weight down on the fleshy sack of fractured ribs beneath her rear, pinching her thighs together in attempt to hinder the Stillborn's healing powers. But it was no use; she could already feel the jagged mess of broken bones slipping back into alignment.

The Red Man rose from his seat and approached the ring, his palms smacking together in droning, condescending applause. He adjusted the plain black tie that laid against his plain white shirt, then ran a hand through his slicked-back hair. Up close he looked like a mobster, or perhaps the son of one, for he had the face and build of man still revealing in his youth. His rolled up shirt sleeves showcased much of that youth, teasing Kat with the enticing swell of his biceps. Was he a fighter too? The prospect tickled her in all the right ways.

"Climb down off my pet, Jiangshi," he said. "I'd like to have a word with you in private."