Go methodical! Wear her down with a submission move!

Lunging forward, you feint a collar-and-elbow clench only to suddenly catch her in a single-leg takedown.

Ramming your shoulder into her lower abdomen before she could fully get out of the way, you knock her down to the mat with both arms grabbing hold of one leg.

Moving your ankles down to her calf, you then **** her over on her belly and rise to a standing position before interlacing your fingers around her ankle and-

“Oh fuck!” she cries out in alarm, as you press her foot against your chest and with relish begin twisting it into an ankle lock.

Kayla’s face immediately lights up with pain as you forcefully rotate the ankle with your forearms still anchored around it.

Remaining planted where you stand as she struggles and squirms towards the ropes, your eyes simply narrow in concentration.

“You’re not getting out of this one,” you tell her only in thought, continuing to hyperextend her ankle joint with every last ounce of strength still present in your forearms.

The maneuver isn’t exactly Olympic gold medalist caliber, but given her already fatigued and weakened state, it had to be enough.

Grunting out in frustration, she scratches and claws, but her hands are unable to find salvation from the excruciating leg lock.

“Tap!” you growl, punctuating your gruff command by applying even more pressure to her captive groan.

“Shit, shit!” she cries out again in agony, kicking at you futilely with her other foot as you continue to wrench and tug away at her ankle.

“It doesn’t have to be flashy, but it does have to be effective. The rookie is looking to make the ‘Mistress of Submission’ tap out right in the middle of the ring. Can he get it done? Well, that is the million-dollar question here, folks.”

Seemingly rousted by the ring announcer’s commentary, Kayla pushes herself to the limit and starts to crawl towards the rope, defying you.

You’re once again taken by surprise at her tenacity, but that feeling doesn’t last very long as she comes close to achieving her goal.

“Not today!” Forcing her back just as she is fingertips away, you decide to leverage your position by dropping down to the mat and wrapping your legs around her captive one in a **** grapevine.

Arching her back in visible misery, she is trapped in the center of the ring with your entire body weight resting on her leg.

Too weakened to overcome the weight discrepancy, she curses in frustration, tearing and thrashed her body around in just about every direction but you hold on to her ankle for dear life.

Not letting this opportunity slip through your fingers, you continue punishing the joint until finally…

Burying her head in the mat, she frantically pounds the canvas in surrender, tapping out to your ankle lock at long last.

“Yes!” you cry out in triumph, unable to contain your excitement as her body goes limp from the pain you’ve inflicted.

Relinquishing the hold, you wait patiently for the referee to call for the bell and raise your hand in victory, bringing this long and hard-fought match to its conclusion.

Only the bell never rings.

Frowning in confusion, you sit up and look over your shoulder.

The referee, instead of watching you two, is instead preoccupied with someone standing on the ring apron.

You squint your eyes to make out a slender woman dressed in all black with a sleek mask covering her facial features leaning forward over the ropes to converse- no flirt with the striped official!

Running her gloved hands up and down the female official’s shirt, she had the referee completely transfixed with her usually observant eyes no catching Kayla’s physical submission at all.

“Motherfucker.” Springing up with your fists balling in fury at this masked interloper, you shout at her, “Hey, I’m having a match here. You wanna talk, how about after I’m done with her?”

You then gesture towards the sprawled out Kayla, who has now crawled halfway through the ropes and to the outside following her unrecorded tapout.

The referee starts to turn to the direction of your voice, but the masked woman suddenly seizes her by the shoulder and begins whispering seductively into her ear.

“I apologize, folks. Evidently, this woman didn’t get the memo that the BDSM convention isn’t ‘til next month,” the announcer comments, intrigued by this new participant.

You start towards this mysterious woman, only to again be reminded of Kayla just out of your periphery.

Between groaning in pain and clutching her ankle, she is far from the threat she once was, at least for now.

With the masked woman still distracting the referee, you have to make a decision and fast.

Who do you confront: her or Kayla?