Punch your way out of it.

Not today, bitch!

With that defiant thought, you cock your fist back and bring it down harshly into her ribs, eliciting a satisfying smack of knuckles against flesh.

But, no give on her part. Yet.

Your brow scrunches up in frantic concentration as you rear back yet again and punch her, still in the same area.

She grunts much louder this time, but her legs are still like steel beams firmly fastened around your neck, compressing your air with every passing second.

Utilizing her grounded position to its full advantage, she arches her back slightly to only add to the near unbearable pressure mounting all around your neck, no doubt another one of her fancy judo techniques.

In response, you hammer her lower abdomen again.

And again.

Feeling her pained breath caress your chin, you’re even more encouraged to continue weakening her exposed torso as the announcer practically roots you on from the sidelines, “And he is still alive, ladies and gentlemen! The rookie’s hitting Kayla with everything he’s got. And with every punch he’s landing-”

The announcer’s words wash over you like a refreshing breeze in the suffocating heat of Kayla’s bodily triangle. “- He’s proving just how much heart he really has. But the million-dollar question, folks: is it enough?”

Out of sheer willpower, you’re determined to solve that question.

Fighting through the pain, you desperately grab the black woman by the hair, lifting her up off the now damp mat, before savagely slamming her right back down.

An audible yelp escapes her as you repeat the same desperation move again, this time with much better results.

You can feel her legs starting to loosen, the precious air starting to return back to your lungs.

Digging your fingers around her raven locks, you stare her dead in her eyes, your pupils blazing with a defiant fire that simply won’t be extinguished.

Then, you forcefully bring her head up and smash it back down against the canvas yet again.

Kayla finally slackens in her vice grip over you as the back of her head painfully cracks the mat, for the third and hopefully final time.

Letting out a throaty breath as you remain in her now partially locked in triangle, you groggily position your arms around her thighs to pry them of you.

But, Kayla, battered and bruised as she may be, is still not beaten yet.

With a cry, the judoka fighter suddenly snaps her legs around your neck yet again, this time with almost murderous intent.

Crossing her ankles and pulsing her calf muscles against your struggling neck, she is absolutely ruthless in applying the absolute maximum amount of pressure to your neck in the least amount of time.

“No-aarrgghh!” you can barely sputter together a semi-intelligible sound as your throat is almost crushed entirely by her crotch, leaving your frantic eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

Scratching and clawing, pawing and scraping against her toned legs, you try in vain to grab her face, rake her eyes- anything, but as those **** thoughts enter your mind, they’re just as quickly gone.

Instead, a familiar darkness overwhelms your senses, first consuming your visual field before muting the raucous nose of the audience.

Your vision rapidly fading, the last thing you can make out is Kayla mouthing something at you with those smug lips of hers, before….before...

***

…. you wake up to the distinct aroma of smelling salts being pressed underneath your nostrils.

Sitting straight up after what felt like an hours-long nap, you open your eyes to the referee springing up from her kneeling position and giving some kind of okay signal to the medical staff at ringside.

You then look up at the grinning visage of Kayla standing triumphantly over you, her hands on her hips and her hips cocked to the side.

“Enjoy your beauty sleep?” she teases you.

Still slightly discombobulated, you ask a question you probably already know the answer to, “What...what happened?”

“You lost, sweetie,” she smiles, as if there could be no other outcome.

“How long was I-?”

“About 10 minutes and 18 seconds,” she answers for you with an exaggerated yawn. “I got bored of watching you drool on my legs, so I kept myself busy.”

Crimson red burns visibly across your cheekbones, but nothing stings worse than looking up at the JumboTron and seeing a replay of her **** you out.

Well, shit.

You’ve lost 2 points for K.O.