Piledrive her!

You look down at her for a single moment.

There is a cool, collected confidence in your eyes.

And as she stares back up at you, you see that she is at the stark opposite end of the emotional spectrum.

She is not confident, nor is she even pretending to be.

Rather, my wife is anxious. Frantic. Fearful.

As she should be.

With one free hand, you slash your thumb across your throat in a gesture that requires no verbal translation.

Kelsey is quivering at the lip, starting to shake her head, and it was too late.

Yanking her by the hair, you tuck your head under her left arm, grabbing now around her opposite shoulder and under the leg.

Gripping onto the smooth, soft material of her thigh high, you bend your knees slightly, just enough to fully solidify your hold over her.

Then, you lift.

You lift Kelsey up with pure strength, mostly concentrated through your core muscles.

She goes up and stays up as you flip her over on your right shoulder.

My wife is facing in the downwards direction, her legs kicking fruitlessly into the air as it seemingly all becomes clearer what you’re attempting to do.

And really not just attempting to do.

With another hefting effort, you stand up straight, still holding her weight near effortlessly in your arms.

Her struggling does not subsist.

You wrap your arms around her midsection and begin to lower her in an inverted position facing your tors-

“Nngghh!” Then the point of her elbow catches you in the mouth.

You absorb the blow, and continue on with the setup.

Both hands still interlocked, you continue lowering her head down between your-

“Nnnggghh!” She does it again, hitting you with a second elbow. And a third one.

A fourth and fifth, so on.

You stagger back, now visibly rocked.

Her legs kick with renewed vigor.

Fuck, fuck.

You try to recover, reestablishing your footing but not before she gives a **** escape effort with her hips wriggling and writhing like there’s no tomorrow.

And maybe there’s a bit of truth there.

If you can just land this damn tombstone, it’s a good chance her career might not live tomorrow.

So you give it one last college try to salvage it, but Kelsey’s determination overcomes yours.

The brunette woman escapes with a cry, wriggling out of your grip and landing on her feet- directly behind you!

“Shit.” You go to turn, but her hands are already shoving against the small of your back with frantic ****.

In that one push, she sends you catapulting in the forward direction- right into the near corner turnbuckle.

Hitting the padding chestfirst with no time to alter your trajectory, you grunt sharply as the ring itself is used against you.

Staggering backwards, then, you’re too stunned from the slamming impact to the sternum to even begin to register her sprinting footsteps until it’s too late.

Until she’s already jumped on you from behind, her arm looping under your chin and then pulling tight like a hangman’s noose.

My wife’s legs wrap around your lower midsection as she locks in some kind of a rear naked ****.

Not bad for a rook-

“-iieeee.” You’re **** to grunt the rest of the thought aloud as she squeezes at your carotid artery with her forearm muscles.

The silky fabric of her thigh highs threaten to lull you into a false sense of comfort, but the constricting pulses of her actual thighs underneath them also remind you of the serious threat that this bitch still possesses.

“Down, boy,” she hisses into your ear, **** you on two fronts now.

Cutting off your oxygen levels both in your neck, and also in your diaphragm.

The effects are immediate.

Black spots in your visual field. Trouble getting a single coherent breath out.

The crowd noise is coming in and out as your arms reach for the ropes, only to find them just out of range.

She is squeezing you harder by the second, rapidly reducing your timetable.

Making the ultimatum now clear as glass.

You have to escape.

But it shouldn't be hard to throw the wannabe wrestler off of you... right?