5. Alyssa Lynch vs. Kyra Santoro III (Body Saddle)
Dec 16, 2023 7:39:06 GMT -6
Vassago, Bonzo, and 4 more like this
Post by caspian on Dec 16, 2023 7:39:06 GMT -6
(Results: Lookout!, Words: Caspian)
5. Alyssa Lynch vs. Kyra Santoro III (Body Saddle)
Alyssa:
(27, 5’7, 120, 59:26 FCBA, VIXENs)
Kyra:
(29, 5’7, 118, 48:18 FCBA, VIXENs)
BEFORE:
First to step into the spotlight is Kyra Santoro. Her powerful physique is emphasized by a form-fitting black dress and matching heels. Her dark hair flows freely down her back, and her eyes gleam with a mix of mischief and confidence.
Moments later, her opponent for tonight, Alyssa Lynch, makes her appearance. Dressed in a sharp white pantsuit that accentuates her lean form and silver stilettos, she exudes elegance. Her brown hair is neatly tied back, revealing sharp blue eyes that glint with determination.
They take their seats, a comfortable familiarity evident as their eyes meet.
"Welcome to the press conference for the much-anticipated rubber match between Alyssa 'Lyssa' Lynch and Kyra Santoro," begins the moderator. "Kyra, after your victory in the previous match, how are you feeling about this third round?"
Kyra chuckles, leaning into the microphone. "I feel great. Lyssa's a tough opponent, but like I showed last time, I can handle her. But, we've been sparring partners for years, so anything's possible."
Alyssa gives a playful scoff. "I think you got lucky last time, K. But I've been training hard, and I've got some new tricks up my sleeve."
Kyra smirks, "Oh, come on, Lyssa. We've been in the same gym for years. Think I haven't noticed you practicing your new moves?"
Alyssa grins, "Well, you can't catch everything, can you? Especially with how far you’ve recently climbed in the rankings. Hard to see coming with your eyes on the prize, eh?"
The room erupts in light laughter, but there's a glint of competitiveness in both their eyes.
Kyra winks, "Just wanting what none of us have accomplished so far. You do keep me on my toes. But we both want the same thing: the Bantamweight title."
Alyssa nods, but also adds. “But first, I need to ride Anya Taylor-Joy about the ring. Empress of the Body Saddle my ass. She needed to face me instead of Megan back in November.”
The moderator, sensing the undercurrent of tension, asks, "Final thoughts before the big match?"
Kyra, leaning forward with a glint in her eye, says, "Look, we both know the body saddle match is one of the most entertaining bouts for the fans. It's why we both agreed to it. And it's not just about the show; it's about sealing the deal for our growing rivalry."
Alyssa nods in agreement, her eyes locked onto Kyra's, "Exactly. It's our third fight, K. The decider. The saddle’s the ultimate symbol of who comes out on top. But," she smirks, "remember, no matter who wins, we agreed to be gentle."
Kyra chuckles, "Don’t worry, babe.. I’m always gentle with you, even when we’re sparring in the ring. Promise to be extra gentle when I’m riding your back, ‘kay?"
Alyssa raises an eyebrow playfully, "So that’s how you want to play it, huh? When I’m tugging on your hair, we’ll see who’s gonna be real gentle." Lynch emphasizes that last word with deliberate bitterness.
Moments later, standing on opposite ends of the stage, both Alyssa and Kyra appear calm yet confident. As their names are announced, they begin to unzip and remove their outer clothing. The crowd erupts in cheers as the fighters reveal their toned bodies, each wearing sports bras and boxing shorts that show off their dedication and countless hours spent in the gym.
Alyssa is the first to step onto the scale. The official announces her weight, and the crowd acknowledges with a mix of cheers and applause. Kyra is next, and she too receives a warm response as her weight is declared.
As the two women come face-to-face, Alyssa, with a mischievous glint in her eye, reaches out and pokes a finger into Kyra's tummy, teasing, "Looking a bit soft there, K."
Kyra's eyes flash with a mixture of annoyance and challenge. Instead of shying away, she braces her abs, letting Alyssa's finger bounce off her toned yet yielding flesh, before she forms her own hand into a fist and plants it gently but firmly into Alyssa's midsection, leaving a clear imprint on her rival's toned waistline. The force causes Alyssa's muscles to tense up, but the brunette doesn't step back either. "Better soft than out of shape, Lyssa? Guess we’ll find out later, won’t we?"
Alyssa's eyes narrow, not one to be outdone. She inhales sharply, then counters, shaping her own fist and thrusting it with slightly more force into Kyra's tummy. Kyra tightens her muscles, absorbing the impact, her face registering the blow but her gaze never wavering.
"Oh, you're gonna feel it tomorrow, K. Don't worry," Alyssa taunts her back with a smirk.
The mounting tension is undeniable as they lock eyes, their raised fists indicating the silent battle of wills playing out. Just when it seems like one might launch another provocative move, the ring official steps in, placing himself between the two frenemies and pushing them apart, ensuring that the staredown doesn't escalate further.
Later, the hall darkens momentarily before spotlights focus on the entrance. A rhythmic beat begins to echo through the hall, setting the tone for the evening. As the first notes of Alyssa's chosen walkout song blare from the speakers, she emerges, bathed in the glow of a blue spotlight.
Dressed in a shimmering, silver robe with "LYNCH" emblazoned in bold, black letters on the back, Alyssa looks confident. Her stride is purposeful, her face set with determination. A few winks and waves to familiar faces in the crowd hint at her underlying excitement.
Reaching the ring, she climbs the steps, pausing for a moment to soak in the cheers. With a swift motion, she disrobes, revealing a sparkling blue bikini that contrasts beautifully against her tanned skin. Her gloves, matching in color, are pulled tight by her corner team, securing them in place.
Alyssa bounces lightly on her toes, shadow boxing briefly, as she mentally prepares for the upcoming bout. After a brief pause, a new melody fills the hall – sultrier, with a hint of aggression. As red lights flare, Kyra steps into the scene, looking every bit the warrior. Her black robe with gold trims, bearing the initials "KS" in elegant script, flows around her as she moves.
Kyra’s face is a mask of concentration, but there's a playful challenge in her eyes. She high-fives some supporters, responding to the calls of encouragement from the crowd. Upon reaching the ring, Kyra elegantly discards her robe, unveiling a bold, red bikini that showcases her toned physique. Her gloves, a darker shade of red, are laced and tightened by her team, ensuring they're fight-ready.
She stretches her arms and neck, rolling her shoulders to loosen up, then shoots Alyssa a friendly yet competitive smirk, signaling her readiness.
The referee calls both fighters to the center for final instructions. They listen intently, nodding occasionally. The close proximity once again ignites the subtle competitive tension between them. After the instructions, they touch gloves, a symbol of their mutual respect and shared history.
Then, retreating to their respective corners, they get a final pep talk from their coaches, Steve in Alyssa’s corner, and Corey in Santoro’s. With a wave of the referee’s hand, HERE WE GO with ten rounds of Bantamweight action! This here’s a Body Saddle rubber match!
ROUND 1:
The bell's sharp clang pierces the charged atmosphere, and Alyssa immediately starts on the balls of her feet, a feint of a left hand high drawing Kyra’s attention. Kyra’s eyes narrow, her larger build stalking forward, her intent to pin Alyssa down and establish dominance right from the start. But Alyssa sees this coming - they've danced this dance before, and each time Kyra throws a heavy hook towards her head, Alyssa slips under, before sending a quick jab into Kyra’s ribs. The "thwack" of leather on skin is followed by a hiss from Kyra, but the brunette presses on, undeterred. It’s a game of cat and mouse, with Kyra trying to corner Alyssa to the ropes and wail upon her frenemy. At one point, Kyra feints a right high, but Alyssa doesn’t buy it, instead delivering a snappy uppercut to the center of her belly, making the brunette lurch forward slightly. "All that training, Ky, and you're still predictable," Alyssa taunts, a smirk on her face. Kyra responds with a growl, launching a barrage of hooks at her rival’s head, one of which catches Alyssa flush on her side, the impact forcing a gasp from her lips. Kyra grins, “Still say I’m soft, Lyssa?” The last minute of the round sees both competitors in a fierce exchange near the ropes. Kyra’s larger frame tries to bully Alyssa inwards, but the agile fighter ducks and pivots, landing a series of body blows that leave reddening imprints on Kyra’s tan skin. And just as the bell is about to sound, Alyssa plants a solid hook to Kyra's jaw, drawing a loud cheer from the crowd. The round ends with both fighters glaring at each other, the tension in their gaze revealing the close nature of the bout. But, for those keeping score, it's clear that Alyssa's strategy and her ability to wear Kyra down with those body shots give her the slight edge in this opening frame.
ROUND 2:
From the starting bell, there's a shift in energy. Kyra moves with an urgency that wasn't as present in the first round. She drives forward, catching Alyssa off-guard with a rapid combination. Jabs, crosses, and a particularly ferocious uppercut emphasize her intent to dominate the round. Alyssa tries to counter, moving to the side and aiming quick body shots back at Kyra. But the brunette is like a woman possessed. Every shot Alyssa throws is met with a more powerful, precise counter. At one point, Kyra traps Alyssa against the ropes, unloading a barrage of punches that target the stomach, chest, and then a rapid switch-up to the head. "Come on, Lyssa! Thought you were gonna put me away??" Santoro taunts, landing another hard hook to Alyssa's side. By contrast, Alyssa's face shows her distress. The constant pummeling to her body starts to wear on her. Her movement slows, her counterattacks become less frequent, and she's playing a dangerous game of defense. Every time she seems to find her footing, Kyra sends her reeling to the side with another powerful blow to her arms. It's not that Alyssa isn't fighting back; she is. But for every punch she lands, Kyra returns two or three, not allowing her friend to gain any momentum. Alyssa's flanks are now visibly reddened, testament to the repeated, ferocious body shots she's had to endure. The final seconds have Alyssa on the ropes again, desperately blocking Kyra's attempts to finish her off early. The bell rings, and it's clear to everyone watching: this was Kyra's round. As Alyssa makes her way to her corner, trying to shake off the effects of the punishment, Kyra circles the ring, gloves raised, a triumphant smile on her face.
ROUND 3:
Both girls are no strangers to each other's fighting styles by this point, and are fully aware of the need to adjust and recalibrate their approach. It's Alyssa who takes the early initiative this time, making a statement with a thudding left hook that streaks in and impacts Kyra's cheek, making her head snap to the side. Kyra tries to regain her posture, but Alyssa's aggression doesn't let up for now. "Not so fast!" Alyssa sneers, nailing another quick one-two to Kyra's jaw, followed by a brutal uppercut to her midsection, making Kyra grunt and bend forward slightly. However, Kyra, the formidable fighter she is, retaliates swiftly. As Alyssa moves in for another body shot, Kyra deftly sidesteps and cracks a powerful right cross directly onto Alyssa's temple. Alyssa staggers back, her vision slightly blurred. Pressing her advantage, Kyra charges forward, sending a sequence of hooks and jabs, focusing on Alyssa's already reddened torso, each shot making a distinct slap as it lands on its mark. Alyssa grits her teeth, absorbing the shots, and in a testament to her resilience, fires back with a sweeping hook to Kyra's ribs. The sound resonates in the intimate setting of the sports hall. But Kyra is relentless. Every shot Alyssa lands, Kyra returns with interest. She lands a solid jab to Alyssa's nose, immediately followed by a hook that catches her on the chin, causing Alyssa to momentarily lose her balance. The two are almost inseparable in terms of points, trading blow-for-blow. Kyra, with her raw power, manages to push Alyssa back time and again, showing her determination to dominate. Yet, Alyssa, with her resilience and determination, stays in the fight, giving as good as she gets. As the bell sounds to signal the end of the round, it's a close call, but the edge seems to go to Kyra. Both fighters, panting and drenched in sweat, nod in respect to each other as they make their way to their respective corners.
ROUND 4:
The bell rings, and Alyssa immediately adopts a nimble, evasive stance, slipping agilely left to right, back and forth. As Kyra moves in, Alyssa's footwork becomes the star of the round - she's sidestepping, ducking, and dodging with incredible precision, each movement fluid and calculated. Kyra tries to plant her feet and unleash her signature power punches, throwing massive hooks and haymakers into Alyssa’s space. However, Alyssa reads each one well, either ducking under them or allowing them to crash against her raised guard, the sound echoing around the intimate arena. Every time Kyra lunges, Alyssa slips to the side, delivering sharp counters that snap Kyra's head back or sink into her tummy. The arena fills with the rapid 'pat-pat' of Alyssa's gloves peppering into flesh. Another quick jab to the mouth makes Kyra taste blood, another stinging shot to the chin causes her to blink rapidly, and rapid-fire combinations to the breasts and belly force Kyra to grunt, the impacts visibly affecting her. Kyra's frustration is evident on her face. She's trying to trap Alyssa, to get her into a corner or against the ropes where she can unleash her true destructive power. But Alyssa refuses to be pinned down, dancing around Kyra, and continuously landing those short but snappy punches that are slowly but surely taking their toll. By the time the bell sounds, Kyra's face and body show the wear of the round. Red welts on her midsection and a slight swelling on her lips paint a picture of Alyssa's dominance. Kyra, breathing heavily, returns to her corner with a glare, while Alyssa, looking like she's found her groove, flashes a confident smile, fully aware of the round's success.
ROUND 5:
With a burst of energy as the bell sounds, Kyra explodes out of her corner. Her intent is clear - she’s out for blood. Alyssa tries to maintain her evasive rhythm from the last round, but Kyra's sheer ferocity makes it hard. The larger woman charges forward, cutting off the ring and leaving Alyssa with less room to dodge. Kyra’s gloves become a blur of motion, whistling through the air. When one heavy shot crashes against Alyssa's temple, it’s evident this isn't the same Kyra from the previous round. Alyssa, dazed, finds herself backed against the ropes, and that’s when the real punishment begins. Kyra uses her position to keep Alyssa trapped, throwing heavy hooks to the head and then mercilessly targeting her body. One particularly powerful punch thuds into Alyssa's stomach, its impact causing her abs to visibly ripple, folding her forward at the waist. Another sharp uppercut slams into the soft underside of Alyssa’s breasts, making her gasp and her eyes to water. And when Kyra throws a focused blow to the belly, you can almost see the indentation her glove leaves, forcing a loud groan from Alyssa’s lips. Each punch Kyra delivers seems calculated to make Alyssa hurt more than the last. "Come on, Lyssa!" Kyra taunts with a sneer, "Where’s that groove?" As Alyssa attempts to clinch up with arms wrapped over shoulders, trying to protect her already bruised body and perhaps gain a moment's respite, Kyra doesn’t allow it to lock. Instead, she uses the close quarters to dig her gloves even deeper into Alyssa’s tender flesh, targeting her body, her already reddening breasts, and jutting her glove sharply into the point of Alyssa's chin. Alyssa's breaths come ragged, her body heaving from the relentless barrage. The final seconds of the round see Alyssa in a purely defensive posture, trying her best to shield her body from Kyra's onslaught. When the bell rings, Kyra, having unleashed her fury, steps back with a triumphant smirk, while Alyssa, clearly worn out, stumbles to her corner, desperately trying to catch her breath and reset for the next round.
ROUND 6:
Both fighters take a moment to gauge the other at the sound of the bell. But Alyssa wastes no time in establishing her rhythm, knowing she needs to strike first and true if she wants to turn the tide. The first cross smacks Kyra square on the nose, eliciting a grunt from the brunette, Lynch having waited for the best moment to thrust that arm right through Santoro’s defences. Alyssa then doubles down on her strategy, the sound of leather smacking flesh punctuating the sports hall as she consistently beats Kyra to the punch. Kyra tries to raise her guard in anticipation, but the speed and accuracy of Alyssa’s punches find their mark time and again on her face. By the second minute, the damage is evident. Blood trickles down from Kyra’s nose, staining her lips and chin, and she’s forced to wipe it away repeatedly, breaking her rhythm. But the sight of her opponent's blood seems to invigorate Alyssa, urging her on. But Kyra isn't one to be dominated easily. With a frustrated roar, she attempts to mount a comeback. Lunging forward, she manages to land a couple of hooks to Alyssa's ribs and follows with an uppercut to the chin. Alyssa's head snaps back, but she recovers quickly, using her nimbleness to keep out of Kyra's clutches. The round continues with Alyssa predominantly targeting Kyra's bleeding face, though not without taking a few retaliatory blows from her heated opponent. As the round progresses, the two seem almost evenly matched, but Alyssa's early dominance and continuous focus on Kyra’s damaged face give her the edge. Then, the bell sounds, both fighters showing the wear and tear of the round. Alyssa, with a gleam in her eyes, heads back to her corner, confident in her performance. Meanwhile, Kyra touches her nose, assessing the damage, her eyes burning with determination to reclaim the next round.
ROUND 7:
The round begins with both fighters looking like they have something to prove. Kyra, desperate to reclaim the momentum, takes the initiative. Her punches come in fast and hard, each one designed to put Alyssa on the back foot. The first minute sees Kyra landing a series of jabs and hooks that make Alyssa's head rock backwards, her body absorbing more heavy, thudding blows. The crowd is on the edge of their seats, sensing that Kyra might just be on her way to dominate this round in turn. But fights, especially ones as closely matched as this, can turn on a dime. Midway through the round, as Kyra advances aggressively, Alyssa times a perfect counter, a hook that smacks Kyra flush on the jawline. The effect is immediate. Kyra’s eyes flash with surprise, her advance halted momentarily. Seeing her opportunity, Alyssa steps in, burying a powerful uppercut deep into Kyra’s exposed stomach. The sound is gut-wrenching, Kyra gasping as the air is forced out of her, her body folding over slightly from the impact, her knees dangerously buckling on the spot. AND HERE COMES ALYSSA, methodically returning fire! Each punch is precise, calculated to do the maximum damage, and with Kyra reeling and pressed up against the ropes, Alyssa targets her rival’s body. Glove after glove sinks into Santoro's tender midsection, each blow making Kyra wince and groan. Intermittently, Alyssa switches her target, landing shots on Kyra's breasts, making her yelp, then turning her focus back to the head, jolting it from side to side with vicious hooks. Kyra, desperately trying to hang on, feels the room spinning. Her arms, which started the round so aggressively, are now wavering over her face, easily brushed aside from Lynch’s attacks. Another crushing blow sinks into her belly, followed by a hook to her jaw, and finally, her legs give out! The proud brunette fighter CRUMPLES to the canvas, her body heaving from the accumulated damage! It’s the first KNOCKDOWN of this rubber match, and it goes to Alyssa Lynch! The referee starts the count, the entire arena holding its collective breath. But as the count nears its end, it becomes apparent to everyone that Kyra isn’t getting up! She’s stuck on all fours, her forehead to the canvas, eyes still shut and breathing hard! Finally, the bell rings, and it’s OVER!
Official Result: Alyssa Lynch defeats Kyra Santoro via KO7!
AFTER:
As the referee holds Alyssa's hand aloft, declaring her the winner, the atmosphere in the small sports hall is electric. However, her celebration is short-lived. The weight of the stipulation both girls agreed upon becomes immediately apparent, and Alyssa's joy is replaced by a deep concern for her friend and former opponent.
She hurries over to Kyra's side, crouching down next to her. The arena quiets, allowing their whispers to echo. Alyssa's voice is soft, filled with emotion. "You were amazing, K. I'm proud of you, always have been," she murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair off Kyra's sweat-drenched face. Kyra, still trying to gather her bearings, nods weakly, appreciating the gesture.
Alyssa then leans closer, her voice a hushed secret meant only for Kyra's ears. "I'm so sorry for this next part. I truly am." Even with those sympathetic words, there is a slight smile on Lynch’s lips, at having proven herself the better woman, and now seiling the deal in front of the live audience.
The VIX saddle is brought into the ring next. Alyssa, her heart only semi-heavy, carefully begins strapping the leather straps around Kyra’s back and torso. Every movement is deliberate, every strap tightened with the utmost care. Kyra, despite her battered state, tries her best to make the process easier, adjusting her position slightly whenever Alyssa gestures for her to do so. The occasional gasp or groan from Kyra punctuates the air, and Alyssa's eyes frequently dart to Kyra's face, checking for any sign of excessive discomfort.
With the saddle secured, Alyssa takes a deep breath, each second seeming to stretch out. She gently, almost hesitantly, places herself onto Kyra's back, the weight of the situation bearing down more than her physical weight ever could. The flash of cameras illuminates the arena, capturing the poignant moment. Alyssa reaches down, her fingers intertwining with Kyra's hair, tugging it upwards just enough to raise Kyra's grimacing face, ensuring that the scene is immortalized from every angle. But she doesn't push Kyra forward, doesn't take a victory lap. This isn't about dominance; it's about a renewed demand for respect, at least for now.
After what feels like an eternity, but in reality is only a few heartbeats, Alyssa carefully dismounts. She immediately starts unbuckling the saddle, her fingers working with urgency. Once it's off, she casts it aside, her priority now firmly on her friend. With a few sharp gestures, she signals the medics, her eyes never leaving Kyra's prone form.
Kyra’s body paints a vivid story of the battle that has just unfolded. Her ribs and belly, the target of so many of Alyssa’s precise punches, are mottled with purplish-red bruises, each discoloration a testament to the ferocity of the bout. A nosebleed, the aftermath of Alyssa's powerful crosses, stains her face and drips onto her chest, while a swelling on her jawline hints at the devastating hook that precipitated her downfall. Despite the pain evident in her expression, Kyra’s eyes remain defiant, a burning spirit still present beneath the weariness.
“Anya, you saw what I did to my own stablemate back there,” Alyssa later speaks to the press in the ring, her cheeks flushed red and the rest of her body heaving with sweat and exhaustion, but also triumph. “You managed to defeat Fox, someone ten years your senior. What say you get ridden by someone your own size?”
The challenge issued, Alyssa turns to soak in the intimacy of the small sports hall, every spectator seeing the raw emotion playing out in the center of the ring. The victory, the saddle, the spectacle - all of it fades into the background. In the end, it's about two friends, two rivals, who've given it their all, and their mutual futures in this unforgiving sport.
Backstage, amidst the hustle and bustle of post-fight activity, the press swarm both fighters. Alyssa, hair slightly damp and skin still flushed from the exertion, faces the reporters with a confident smile. "Tonight just proved what I’ve been saying all along. I am the best Bantamweight in the locker room. Kyra's an incredible opponent, and tonight we showcased our skills, but I came out on top, as I knew I would."
Across the room, Kyra, a cold pack pressed to her jaw, takes a steadying breath before addressing the media. "I respect Alyssa and what she did tonight," she starts, pausing momentarily to wipe away the residual blood from her nose. "But let’s be clear: this isn’t over. I got careless tonight; I’ll admit that. Alyssa got the better of me in this one. But give me another shot, and I promise you, the result will be different."
The two fighters' statements, juxtaposed yet echoing the mutual respect, are a testament to the intricate dance of rivalry and friendship they share. The evening might be over, but it's clear: this saga is far from its conclusion.
*
AFTER AFTER:
In the dim, echoing solitude of the locker room, the earlier bout's electricity seems like a distant memory. Bare fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting their stark, unflattering glow on the wooden benches and rows of lockers. The sounds of the venue's hustle and bustle have been replaced by the distant hum of cleaning machinery and muted voices.
Seated on a bench and slowly unlacing her shoes, Kyra looks up as Alyssa enters the room, her posture exuding an arrogant satisfaction. Alyssa has a smirk on her lips, observes, "You know, Kyra, it’s just a shame for you. Every time you think you've got me figured out, I come out on top."
Kyra's eyes flash, and she rises slowly, her bruised frame straightening to its full height. "You got lucky tonight, Lyssa. That’s all. Next time won't be the same."
Alyssa steps closer, eyes locked onto Kyra’s. "Lucky? I think the bruises on your belly would disagree." They're inches apart now, a tangible tension sizzling in the air. The two warriors are nose to nose, each breath warm against the other's face. Their hands, initially resting on their hips, now reach out with a purpose.
Kyra starts, her index finger lightly prodding a particularly dark bruise on Alyssa's abs, feeling the tender flesh give way beneath the slight pressure. "This one was a beauty," she murmurs sarcastically, pressing just a bit harder, relishing the slight wince that crosses Alyssa's face.
Alyssa, never one to be outdone, retaliates by poking Kyra's bruised midsection. "And what about this one?" Alyssa taunts, her finger digging deeper into the purpled skin, causing Kyra to bite her lower lip to stifle a gasp.
Neither willing to back down, they shift from fingers to knuckles, slowly pressing into each other's battered abdomens, exploring for the most tender areas. The soft, yielding flesh dimples under the pressure, each touch sending fresh waves of pain lancing through their bodies. They keep their gazes locked, every challenge met with a returned taunt, their expressions a mix of pain and defiance.
"You think this hurts?" Kyra whispers, her knuckle sinking deeper into Alyssa's belly button, the flesh enveloping her finger.
Alyssa clenches her jaw, refusing to give Kyra the satisfaction of a reaction. "Not as much as this will," she counters, plunging her own fist, gently but firmly, into the softest part of Kyra’s lower belly, causing her to grunt and take a step back.
As the brief confrontation dissipated, Alyssa’s confidence bloomed even larger. With a smirk, she leaned in close, her voice dripping with condescension. "You know, Kyra, next time, I won't just defeat you. I’ll break your body in half."
Kyra's eyes narrowed, the previous bout's humiliation and the subsequent taunting further stoking her anger. Without warning, she unleashed a powerful shot, her clenched fist sinking deep into Alyssa's midsection, crashing into the smooth plane of her abdominal muscles. For a split second, those previously taut muscles warped and contorted, caving inward from the sheer force of Kyra's strike. A visible ripple effect traveled across Alyssa’s midsection, her skin reddening immediately upon impact.
The force was so unexpected that the air rushed out of Alyssa’s lungs in a sharp gasp. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her legs buckled, causing her to drop to her knees, clutching her bruised abdomen.
Seeing Alyssa brought low, Kyra didn't miss her chance to further assert her dominance. With a triumphant smirk, she stepped closer, grabbing Alyssa's hair and gently pulling her face up to meet her gaze. "What did you just say, Lyssa? Couldn’t hear you," she sneered.
Kyra then pressed her battered abs forward, making Alyssa's still-open mouth connect with the bruised flesh. "You wanted to break my body?" Kyra taunted, her fingers lacing tighter through Alyssa's hair, guiding the stunned woman's face over the purpling landscape of her abdomen. "Well, here it is. Close and personal. Take a good look."
Alyssa, her pride wounded as much as her body, glared up at Kyra, seething, humiliated, but without the energy to retaliate further. Kyra held the moment just long enough to make her point, then released Alyssa, stepping back.
"One hit doesn't change the outcome of tonight," Alyssa managed to say, voice filled with pain and defiance, still on her knees and cradling her stomach.
Kyra smirked, looking down at her. "We’ll see about next time, then.”
And with that parting shot, she left Alyssa alone in the locker room, both women all too aware that their rivalry was far from over.
5. Alyssa Lynch vs. Kyra Santoro III (Body Saddle)
Alyssa:
(27, 5’7, 120, 59:26 FCBA, VIXENs)
Kyra:
(29, 5’7, 118, 48:18 FCBA, VIXENs)
BEFORE:
First to step into the spotlight is Kyra Santoro. Her powerful physique is emphasized by a form-fitting black dress and matching heels. Her dark hair flows freely down her back, and her eyes gleam with a mix of mischief and confidence.
Moments later, her opponent for tonight, Alyssa Lynch, makes her appearance. Dressed in a sharp white pantsuit that accentuates her lean form and silver stilettos, she exudes elegance. Her brown hair is neatly tied back, revealing sharp blue eyes that glint with determination.
They take their seats, a comfortable familiarity evident as their eyes meet.
"Welcome to the press conference for the much-anticipated rubber match between Alyssa 'Lyssa' Lynch and Kyra Santoro," begins the moderator. "Kyra, after your victory in the previous match, how are you feeling about this third round?"
Kyra chuckles, leaning into the microphone. "I feel great. Lyssa's a tough opponent, but like I showed last time, I can handle her. But, we've been sparring partners for years, so anything's possible."
Alyssa gives a playful scoff. "I think you got lucky last time, K. But I've been training hard, and I've got some new tricks up my sleeve."
Kyra smirks, "Oh, come on, Lyssa. We've been in the same gym for years. Think I haven't noticed you practicing your new moves?"
Alyssa grins, "Well, you can't catch everything, can you? Especially with how far you’ve recently climbed in the rankings. Hard to see coming with your eyes on the prize, eh?"
The room erupts in light laughter, but there's a glint of competitiveness in both their eyes.
Kyra winks, "Just wanting what none of us have accomplished so far. You do keep me on my toes. But we both want the same thing: the Bantamweight title."
Alyssa nods, but also adds. “But first, I need to ride Anya Taylor-Joy about the ring. Empress of the Body Saddle my ass. She needed to face me instead of Megan back in November.”
The moderator, sensing the undercurrent of tension, asks, "Final thoughts before the big match?"
Kyra, leaning forward with a glint in her eye, says, "Look, we both know the body saddle match is one of the most entertaining bouts for the fans. It's why we both agreed to it. And it's not just about the show; it's about sealing the deal for our growing rivalry."
Alyssa nods in agreement, her eyes locked onto Kyra's, "Exactly. It's our third fight, K. The decider. The saddle’s the ultimate symbol of who comes out on top. But," she smirks, "remember, no matter who wins, we agreed to be gentle."
Kyra chuckles, "Don’t worry, babe.. I’m always gentle with you, even when we’re sparring in the ring. Promise to be extra gentle when I’m riding your back, ‘kay?"
Alyssa raises an eyebrow playfully, "So that’s how you want to play it, huh? When I’m tugging on your hair, we’ll see who’s gonna be real gentle." Lynch emphasizes that last word with deliberate bitterness.
Moments later, standing on opposite ends of the stage, both Alyssa and Kyra appear calm yet confident. As their names are announced, they begin to unzip and remove their outer clothing. The crowd erupts in cheers as the fighters reveal their toned bodies, each wearing sports bras and boxing shorts that show off their dedication and countless hours spent in the gym.
Alyssa is the first to step onto the scale. The official announces her weight, and the crowd acknowledges with a mix of cheers and applause. Kyra is next, and she too receives a warm response as her weight is declared.
As the two women come face-to-face, Alyssa, with a mischievous glint in her eye, reaches out and pokes a finger into Kyra's tummy, teasing, "Looking a bit soft there, K."
Kyra's eyes flash with a mixture of annoyance and challenge. Instead of shying away, she braces her abs, letting Alyssa's finger bounce off her toned yet yielding flesh, before she forms her own hand into a fist and plants it gently but firmly into Alyssa's midsection, leaving a clear imprint on her rival's toned waistline. The force causes Alyssa's muscles to tense up, but the brunette doesn't step back either. "Better soft than out of shape, Lyssa? Guess we’ll find out later, won’t we?"
Alyssa's eyes narrow, not one to be outdone. She inhales sharply, then counters, shaping her own fist and thrusting it with slightly more force into Kyra's tummy. Kyra tightens her muscles, absorbing the impact, her face registering the blow but her gaze never wavering.
"Oh, you're gonna feel it tomorrow, K. Don't worry," Alyssa taunts her back with a smirk.
The mounting tension is undeniable as they lock eyes, their raised fists indicating the silent battle of wills playing out. Just when it seems like one might launch another provocative move, the ring official steps in, placing himself between the two frenemies and pushing them apart, ensuring that the staredown doesn't escalate further.
Later, the hall darkens momentarily before spotlights focus on the entrance. A rhythmic beat begins to echo through the hall, setting the tone for the evening. As the first notes of Alyssa's chosen walkout song blare from the speakers, she emerges, bathed in the glow of a blue spotlight.
Dressed in a shimmering, silver robe with "LYNCH" emblazoned in bold, black letters on the back, Alyssa looks confident. Her stride is purposeful, her face set with determination. A few winks and waves to familiar faces in the crowd hint at her underlying excitement.
Reaching the ring, she climbs the steps, pausing for a moment to soak in the cheers. With a swift motion, she disrobes, revealing a sparkling blue bikini that contrasts beautifully against her tanned skin. Her gloves, matching in color, are pulled tight by her corner team, securing them in place.
Alyssa bounces lightly on her toes, shadow boxing briefly, as she mentally prepares for the upcoming bout. After a brief pause, a new melody fills the hall – sultrier, with a hint of aggression. As red lights flare, Kyra steps into the scene, looking every bit the warrior. Her black robe with gold trims, bearing the initials "KS" in elegant script, flows around her as she moves.
Kyra’s face is a mask of concentration, but there's a playful challenge in her eyes. She high-fives some supporters, responding to the calls of encouragement from the crowd. Upon reaching the ring, Kyra elegantly discards her robe, unveiling a bold, red bikini that showcases her toned physique. Her gloves, a darker shade of red, are laced and tightened by her team, ensuring they're fight-ready.
She stretches her arms and neck, rolling her shoulders to loosen up, then shoots Alyssa a friendly yet competitive smirk, signaling her readiness.
The referee calls both fighters to the center for final instructions. They listen intently, nodding occasionally. The close proximity once again ignites the subtle competitive tension between them. After the instructions, they touch gloves, a symbol of their mutual respect and shared history.
Then, retreating to their respective corners, they get a final pep talk from their coaches, Steve in Alyssa’s corner, and Corey in Santoro’s. With a wave of the referee’s hand, HERE WE GO with ten rounds of Bantamweight action! This here’s a Body Saddle rubber match!
ROUND 1:
The bell's sharp clang pierces the charged atmosphere, and Alyssa immediately starts on the balls of her feet, a feint of a left hand high drawing Kyra’s attention. Kyra’s eyes narrow, her larger build stalking forward, her intent to pin Alyssa down and establish dominance right from the start. But Alyssa sees this coming - they've danced this dance before, and each time Kyra throws a heavy hook towards her head, Alyssa slips under, before sending a quick jab into Kyra’s ribs. The "thwack" of leather on skin is followed by a hiss from Kyra, but the brunette presses on, undeterred. It’s a game of cat and mouse, with Kyra trying to corner Alyssa to the ropes and wail upon her frenemy. At one point, Kyra feints a right high, but Alyssa doesn’t buy it, instead delivering a snappy uppercut to the center of her belly, making the brunette lurch forward slightly. "All that training, Ky, and you're still predictable," Alyssa taunts, a smirk on her face. Kyra responds with a growl, launching a barrage of hooks at her rival’s head, one of which catches Alyssa flush on her side, the impact forcing a gasp from her lips. Kyra grins, “Still say I’m soft, Lyssa?” The last minute of the round sees both competitors in a fierce exchange near the ropes. Kyra’s larger frame tries to bully Alyssa inwards, but the agile fighter ducks and pivots, landing a series of body blows that leave reddening imprints on Kyra’s tan skin. And just as the bell is about to sound, Alyssa plants a solid hook to Kyra's jaw, drawing a loud cheer from the crowd. The round ends with both fighters glaring at each other, the tension in their gaze revealing the close nature of the bout. But, for those keeping score, it's clear that Alyssa's strategy and her ability to wear Kyra down with those body shots give her the slight edge in this opening frame.
ROUND 2:
From the starting bell, there's a shift in energy. Kyra moves with an urgency that wasn't as present in the first round. She drives forward, catching Alyssa off-guard with a rapid combination. Jabs, crosses, and a particularly ferocious uppercut emphasize her intent to dominate the round. Alyssa tries to counter, moving to the side and aiming quick body shots back at Kyra. But the brunette is like a woman possessed. Every shot Alyssa throws is met with a more powerful, precise counter. At one point, Kyra traps Alyssa against the ropes, unloading a barrage of punches that target the stomach, chest, and then a rapid switch-up to the head. "Come on, Lyssa! Thought you were gonna put me away??" Santoro taunts, landing another hard hook to Alyssa's side. By contrast, Alyssa's face shows her distress. The constant pummeling to her body starts to wear on her. Her movement slows, her counterattacks become less frequent, and she's playing a dangerous game of defense. Every time she seems to find her footing, Kyra sends her reeling to the side with another powerful blow to her arms. It's not that Alyssa isn't fighting back; she is. But for every punch she lands, Kyra returns two or three, not allowing her friend to gain any momentum. Alyssa's flanks are now visibly reddened, testament to the repeated, ferocious body shots she's had to endure. The final seconds have Alyssa on the ropes again, desperately blocking Kyra's attempts to finish her off early. The bell rings, and it's clear to everyone watching: this was Kyra's round. As Alyssa makes her way to her corner, trying to shake off the effects of the punishment, Kyra circles the ring, gloves raised, a triumphant smile on her face.
ROUND 3:
Both girls are no strangers to each other's fighting styles by this point, and are fully aware of the need to adjust and recalibrate their approach. It's Alyssa who takes the early initiative this time, making a statement with a thudding left hook that streaks in and impacts Kyra's cheek, making her head snap to the side. Kyra tries to regain her posture, but Alyssa's aggression doesn't let up for now. "Not so fast!" Alyssa sneers, nailing another quick one-two to Kyra's jaw, followed by a brutal uppercut to her midsection, making Kyra grunt and bend forward slightly. However, Kyra, the formidable fighter she is, retaliates swiftly. As Alyssa moves in for another body shot, Kyra deftly sidesteps and cracks a powerful right cross directly onto Alyssa's temple. Alyssa staggers back, her vision slightly blurred. Pressing her advantage, Kyra charges forward, sending a sequence of hooks and jabs, focusing on Alyssa's already reddened torso, each shot making a distinct slap as it lands on its mark. Alyssa grits her teeth, absorbing the shots, and in a testament to her resilience, fires back with a sweeping hook to Kyra's ribs. The sound resonates in the intimate setting of the sports hall. But Kyra is relentless. Every shot Alyssa lands, Kyra returns with interest. She lands a solid jab to Alyssa's nose, immediately followed by a hook that catches her on the chin, causing Alyssa to momentarily lose her balance. The two are almost inseparable in terms of points, trading blow-for-blow. Kyra, with her raw power, manages to push Alyssa back time and again, showing her determination to dominate. Yet, Alyssa, with her resilience and determination, stays in the fight, giving as good as she gets. As the bell sounds to signal the end of the round, it's a close call, but the edge seems to go to Kyra. Both fighters, panting and drenched in sweat, nod in respect to each other as they make their way to their respective corners.
ROUND 4:
The bell rings, and Alyssa immediately adopts a nimble, evasive stance, slipping agilely left to right, back and forth. As Kyra moves in, Alyssa's footwork becomes the star of the round - she's sidestepping, ducking, and dodging with incredible precision, each movement fluid and calculated. Kyra tries to plant her feet and unleash her signature power punches, throwing massive hooks and haymakers into Alyssa’s space. However, Alyssa reads each one well, either ducking under them or allowing them to crash against her raised guard, the sound echoing around the intimate arena. Every time Kyra lunges, Alyssa slips to the side, delivering sharp counters that snap Kyra's head back or sink into her tummy. The arena fills with the rapid 'pat-pat' of Alyssa's gloves peppering into flesh. Another quick jab to the mouth makes Kyra taste blood, another stinging shot to the chin causes her to blink rapidly, and rapid-fire combinations to the breasts and belly force Kyra to grunt, the impacts visibly affecting her. Kyra's frustration is evident on her face. She's trying to trap Alyssa, to get her into a corner or against the ropes where she can unleash her true destructive power. But Alyssa refuses to be pinned down, dancing around Kyra, and continuously landing those short but snappy punches that are slowly but surely taking their toll. By the time the bell sounds, Kyra's face and body show the wear of the round. Red welts on her midsection and a slight swelling on her lips paint a picture of Alyssa's dominance. Kyra, breathing heavily, returns to her corner with a glare, while Alyssa, looking like she's found her groove, flashes a confident smile, fully aware of the round's success.
ROUND 5:
With a burst of energy as the bell sounds, Kyra explodes out of her corner. Her intent is clear - she’s out for blood. Alyssa tries to maintain her evasive rhythm from the last round, but Kyra's sheer ferocity makes it hard. The larger woman charges forward, cutting off the ring and leaving Alyssa with less room to dodge. Kyra’s gloves become a blur of motion, whistling through the air. When one heavy shot crashes against Alyssa's temple, it’s evident this isn't the same Kyra from the previous round. Alyssa, dazed, finds herself backed against the ropes, and that’s when the real punishment begins. Kyra uses her position to keep Alyssa trapped, throwing heavy hooks to the head and then mercilessly targeting her body. One particularly powerful punch thuds into Alyssa's stomach, its impact causing her abs to visibly ripple, folding her forward at the waist. Another sharp uppercut slams into the soft underside of Alyssa’s breasts, making her gasp and her eyes to water. And when Kyra throws a focused blow to the belly, you can almost see the indentation her glove leaves, forcing a loud groan from Alyssa’s lips. Each punch Kyra delivers seems calculated to make Alyssa hurt more than the last. "Come on, Lyssa!" Kyra taunts with a sneer, "Where’s that groove?" As Alyssa attempts to clinch up with arms wrapped over shoulders, trying to protect her already bruised body and perhaps gain a moment's respite, Kyra doesn’t allow it to lock. Instead, she uses the close quarters to dig her gloves even deeper into Alyssa’s tender flesh, targeting her body, her already reddening breasts, and jutting her glove sharply into the point of Alyssa's chin. Alyssa's breaths come ragged, her body heaving from the relentless barrage. The final seconds of the round see Alyssa in a purely defensive posture, trying her best to shield her body from Kyra's onslaught. When the bell rings, Kyra, having unleashed her fury, steps back with a triumphant smirk, while Alyssa, clearly worn out, stumbles to her corner, desperately trying to catch her breath and reset for the next round.
ROUND 6:
Both fighters take a moment to gauge the other at the sound of the bell. But Alyssa wastes no time in establishing her rhythm, knowing she needs to strike first and true if she wants to turn the tide. The first cross smacks Kyra square on the nose, eliciting a grunt from the brunette, Lynch having waited for the best moment to thrust that arm right through Santoro’s defences. Alyssa then doubles down on her strategy, the sound of leather smacking flesh punctuating the sports hall as she consistently beats Kyra to the punch. Kyra tries to raise her guard in anticipation, but the speed and accuracy of Alyssa’s punches find their mark time and again on her face. By the second minute, the damage is evident. Blood trickles down from Kyra’s nose, staining her lips and chin, and she’s forced to wipe it away repeatedly, breaking her rhythm. But the sight of her opponent's blood seems to invigorate Alyssa, urging her on. But Kyra isn't one to be dominated easily. With a frustrated roar, she attempts to mount a comeback. Lunging forward, she manages to land a couple of hooks to Alyssa's ribs and follows with an uppercut to the chin. Alyssa's head snaps back, but she recovers quickly, using her nimbleness to keep out of Kyra's clutches. The round continues with Alyssa predominantly targeting Kyra's bleeding face, though not without taking a few retaliatory blows from her heated opponent. As the round progresses, the two seem almost evenly matched, but Alyssa's early dominance and continuous focus on Kyra’s damaged face give her the edge. Then, the bell sounds, both fighters showing the wear and tear of the round. Alyssa, with a gleam in her eyes, heads back to her corner, confident in her performance. Meanwhile, Kyra touches her nose, assessing the damage, her eyes burning with determination to reclaim the next round.
ROUND 7:
The round begins with both fighters looking like they have something to prove. Kyra, desperate to reclaim the momentum, takes the initiative. Her punches come in fast and hard, each one designed to put Alyssa on the back foot. The first minute sees Kyra landing a series of jabs and hooks that make Alyssa's head rock backwards, her body absorbing more heavy, thudding blows. The crowd is on the edge of their seats, sensing that Kyra might just be on her way to dominate this round in turn. But fights, especially ones as closely matched as this, can turn on a dime. Midway through the round, as Kyra advances aggressively, Alyssa times a perfect counter, a hook that smacks Kyra flush on the jawline. The effect is immediate. Kyra’s eyes flash with surprise, her advance halted momentarily. Seeing her opportunity, Alyssa steps in, burying a powerful uppercut deep into Kyra’s exposed stomach. The sound is gut-wrenching, Kyra gasping as the air is forced out of her, her body folding over slightly from the impact, her knees dangerously buckling on the spot. AND HERE COMES ALYSSA, methodically returning fire! Each punch is precise, calculated to do the maximum damage, and with Kyra reeling and pressed up against the ropes, Alyssa targets her rival’s body. Glove after glove sinks into Santoro's tender midsection, each blow making Kyra wince and groan. Intermittently, Alyssa switches her target, landing shots on Kyra's breasts, making her yelp, then turning her focus back to the head, jolting it from side to side with vicious hooks. Kyra, desperately trying to hang on, feels the room spinning. Her arms, which started the round so aggressively, are now wavering over her face, easily brushed aside from Lynch’s attacks. Another crushing blow sinks into her belly, followed by a hook to her jaw, and finally, her legs give out! The proud brunette fighter CRUMPLES to the canvas, her body heaving from the accumulated damage! It’s the first KNOCKDOWN of this rubber match, and it goes to Alyssa Lynch! The referee starts the count, the entire arena holding its collective breath. But as the count nears its end, it becomes apparent to everyone that Kyra isn’t getting up! She’s stuck on all fours, her forehead to the canvas, eyes still shut and breathing hard! Finally, the bell rings, and it’s OVER!
Official Result: Alyssa Lynch defeats Kyra Santoro via KO7!
AFTER:
As the referee holds Alyssa's hand aloft, declaring her the winner, the atmosphere in the small sports hall is electric. However, her celebration is short-lived. The weight of the stipulation both girls agreed upon becomes immediately apparent, and Alyssa's joy is replaced by a deep concern for her friend and former opponent.
She hurries over to Kyra's side, crouching down next to her. The arena quiets, allowing their whispers to echo. Alyssa's voice is soft, filled with emotion. "You were amazing, K. I'm proud of you, always have been," she murmurs, brushing a stray strand of hair off Kyra's sweat-drenched face. Kyra, still trying to gather her bearings, nods weakly, appreciating the gesture.
Alyssa then leans closer, her voice a hushed secret meant only for Kyra's ears. "I'm so sorry for this next part. I truly am." Even with those sympathetic words, there is a slight smile on Lynch’s lips, at having proven herself the better woman, and now seiling the deal in front of the live audience.
The VIX saddle is brought into the ring next. Alyssa, her heart only semi-heavy, carefully begins strapping the leather straps around Kyra’s back and torso. Every movement is deliberate, every strap tightened with the utmost care. Kyra, despite her battered state, tries her best to make the process easier, adjusting her position slightly whenever Alyssa gestures for her to do so. The occasional gasp or groan from Kyra punctuates the air, and Alyssa's eyes frequently dart to Kyra's face, checking for any sign of excessive discomfort.
With the saddle secured, Alyssa takes a deep breath, each second seeming to stretch out. She gently, almost hesitantly, places herself onto Kyra's back, the weight of the situation bearing down more than her physical weight ever could. The flash of cameras illuminates the arena, capturing the poignant moment. Alyssa reaches down, her fingers intertwining with Kyra's hair, tugging it upwards just enough to raise Kyra's grimacing face, ensuring that the scene is immortalized from every angle. But she doesn't push Kyra forward, doesn't take a victory lap. This isn't about dominance; it's about a renewed demand for respect, at least for now.
After what feels like an eternity, but in reality is only a few heartbeats, Alyssa carefully dismounts. She immediately starts unbuckling the saddle, her fingers working with urgency. Once it's off, she casts it aside, her priority now firmly on her friend. With a few sharp gestures, she signals the medics, her eyes never leaving Kyra's prone form.
Kyra’s body paints a vivid story of the battle that has just unfolded. Her ribs and belly, the target of so many of Alyssa’s precise punches, are mottled with purplish-red bruises, each discoloration a testament to the ferocity of the bout. A nosebleed, the aftermath of Alyssa's powerful crosses, stains her face and drips onto her chest, while a swelling on her jawline hints at the devastating hook that precipitated her downfall. Despite the pain evident in her expression, Kyra’s eyes remain defiant, a burning spirit still present beneath the weariness.
“Anya, you saw what I did to my own stablemate back there,” Alyssa later speaks to the press in the ring, her cheeks flushed red and the rest of her body heaving with sweat and exhaustion, but also triumph. “You managed to defeat Fox, someone ten years your senior. What say you get ridden by someone your own size?”
The challenge issued, Alyssa turns to soak in the intimacy of the small sports hall, every spectator seeing the raw emotion playing out in the center of the ring. The victory, the saddle, the spectacle - all of it fades into the background. In the end, it's about two friends, two rivals, who've given it their all, and their mutual futures in this unforgiving sport.
Backstage, amidst the hustle and bustle of post-fight activity, the press swarm both fighters. Alyssa, hair slightly damp and skin still flushed from the exertion, faces the reporters with a confident smile. "Tonight just proved what I’ve been saying all along. I am the best Bantamweight in the locker room. Kyra's an incredible opponent, and tonight we showcased our skills, but I came out on top, as I knew I would."
Across the room, Kyra, a cold pack pressed to her jaw, takes a steadying breath before addressing the media. "I respect Alyssa and what she did tonight," she starts, pausing momentarily to wipe away the residual blood from her nose. "But let’s be clear: this isn’t over. I got careless tonight; I’ll admit that. Alyssa got the better of me in this one. But give me another shot, and I promise you, the result will be different."
The two fighters' statements, juxtaposed yet echoing the mutual respect, are a testament to the intricate dance of rivalry and friendship they share. The evening might be over, but it's clear: this saga is far from its conclusion.
*
AFTER AFTER:
In the dim, echoing solitude of the locker room, the earlier bout's electricity seems like a distant memory. Bare fluorescent lights flicker overhead, casting their stark, unflattering glow on the wooden benches and rows of lockers. The sounds of the venue's hustle and bustle have been replaced by the distant hum of cleaning machinery and muted voices.
Seated on a bench and slowly unlacing her shoes, Kyra looks up as Alyssa enters the room, her posture exuding an arrogant satisfaction. Alyssa has a smirk on her lips, observes, "You know, Kyra, it’s just a shame for you. Every time you think you've got me figured out, I come out on top."
Kyra's eyes flash, and she rises slowly, her bruised frame straightening to its full height. "You got lucky tonight, Lyssa. That’s all. Next time won't be the same."
Alyssa steps closer, eyes locked onto Kyra’s. "Lucky? I think the bruises on your belly would disagree." They're inches apart now, a tangible tension sizzling in the air. The two warriors are nose to nose, each breath warm against the other's face. Their hands, initially resting on their hips, now reach out with a purpose.
Kyra starts, her index finger lightly prodding a particularly dark bruise on Alyssa's abs, feeling the tender flesh give way beneath the slight pressure. "This one was a beauty," she murmurs sarcastically, pressing just a bit harder, relishing the slight wince that crosses Alyssa's face.
Alyssa, never one to be outdone, retaliates by poking Kyra's bruised midsection. "And what about this one?" Alyssa taunts, her finger digging deeper into the purpled skin, causing Kyra to bite her lower lip to stifle a gasp.
Neither willing to back down, they shift from fingers to knuckles, slowly pressing into each other's battered abdomens, exploring for the most tender areas. The soft, yielding flesh dimples under the pressure, each touch sending fresh waves of pain lancing through their bodies. They keep their gazes locked, every challenge met with a returned taunt, their expressions a mix of pain and defiance.
"You think this hurts?" Kyra whispers, her knuckle sinking deeper into Alyssa's belly button, the flesh enveloping her finger.
Alyssa clenches her jaw, refusing to give Kyra the satisfaction of a reaction. "Not as much as this will," she counters, plunging her own fist, gently but firmly, into the softest part of Kyra’s lower belly, causing her to grunt and take a step back.
As the brief confrontation dissipated, Alyssa’s confidence bloomed even larger. With a smirk, she leaned in close, her voice dripping with condescension. "You know, Kyra, next time, I won't just defeat you. I’ll break your body in half."
Kyra's eyes narrowed, the previous bout's humiliation and the subsequent taunting further stoking her anger. Without warning, she unleashed a powerful shot, her clenched fist sinking deep into Alyssa's midsection, crashing into the smooth plane of her abdominal muscles. For a split second, those previously taut muscles warped and contorted, caving inward from the sheer force of Kyra's strike. A visible ripple effect traveled across Alyssa’s midsection, her skin reddening immediately upon impact.
The force was so unexpected that the air rushed out of Alyssa’s lungs in a sharp gasp. Her eyes widened in surprise, and her legs buckled, causing her to drop to her knees, clutching her bruised abdomen.
Seeing Alyssa brought low, Kyra didn't miss her chance to further assert her dominance. With a triumphant smirk, she stepped closer, grabbing Alyssa's hair and gently pulling her face up to meet her gaze. "What did you just say, Lyssa? Couldn’t hear you," she sneered.
Kyra then pressed her battered abs forward, making Alyssa's still-open mouth connect with the bruised flesh. "You wanted to break my body?" Kyra taunted, her fingers lacing tighter through Alyssa's hair, guiding the stunned woman's face over the purpling landscape of her abdomen. "Well, here it is. Close and personal. Take a good look."
Alyssa, her pride wounded as much as her body, glared up at Kyra, seething, humiliated, but without the energy to retaliate further. Kyra held the moment just long enough to make her point, then released Alyssa, stepping back.
"One hit doesn't change the outcome of tonight," Alyssa managed to say, voice filled with pain and defiance, still on her knees and cradling her stomach.
Kyra smirked, looking down at her. "We’ll see about next time, then.”
And with that parting shot, she left Alyssa alone in the locker room, both women all too aware that their rivalry was far from over.
