Superplex

Screw it.

Picking her up in a bearhug, you march the dazed woman over to the nearest turnbuckle with evil intentions brewing in your mind.

Lifting her feet off the ground, you hoist her up against the top turnbuckle pad so that her waistline is now level with your slightly panting face.

“Uh oh, looks like the rookie is thinking about going high-risk here. Let’s see if it pays off,” the announcer observes, as you take a moment to center yourself.

Kayla’s body is noticeably slumped over as you brace one boot on the bottom rope in preparation to ascend.

“Not so tough now, huh?” you taunt her under your breath, simply focusing on the matter at hand: maximum impact for your opponent.

Sensing what you had in mind, the crowd (or at least those in the front rows) rise up in collective anticipation of the superplex.

Even the announcer is fully engrossed in the action as you’re standing on the bottom ropes, your dark-haired adversary sitting just inches away from your determined expression.

Taking a moment to look back over your shoulder at the canvas that awaits you both below, you crack your neck eagerly and with a newfound hunger in your eyes went back to work.

Keeping her propped up with your left hand on her throat, you dig your heels against the middle ropes and reared back with your free arm.

“Ugghh…” She gives a little grunt as you launch a fist into her midsection, and winces even louder as you ram a forearm in the same spot.

Bracing one boot now on the top rope where she’s currently sitting on, you start to pull Kayla into a front facelock when she suddenly responds with a fist of her own into your exposed midsection.

Coming back to life seemingly out of nowhere, she grabs you by the hair and jolts you back with a swift knee right underneath the chin.

Not deterred, you retaliate with a flurry of rapid-fire punches aimed at her sternum, each one more powerful than the last.

“Not so fast, bitch,” you snarl in your mind, refusing to let the so-called ‘Mistress of Submission’ weasel her way out of this one.

And with every hit that connects, you can sense her resistance dissipating, unable to hold her already weakened body together.

“Kayla’s not getting out of this one so easily, folks. If this goes like it’s supposed to, she’s going to be sky high, and not in a fun way,” the ring announcer notes.

And true to his word, Kayla finally slumps backwards after taking what felt like the sixth or seventh elbow straight to the gut.

Satisfied, you flash a thumbs up to the crowd before starting to climb up to the top rope.

Balancing yourself very gingerly on top, you start to seize one of her arms to drape over your shoulder only to swat at empty air.

The woman you had previously been grappling with suddenly dropped down to the mat still holding on to your left arm.

Landing like a cat with you still standing on the turnbuckle, Kayla somehow had the wherewithal to yank downwards on your forearm, bringing you down to her level but on much harsher situations.

Oh wait a-

“Uggghhhh…” Knocked down square on the top turnbuckle pad, you immediate taste the bitter vinyl with your vision briefly going awry as a result.

“Welp, I stand corrected,” the announcer quips, amending his previous declaration.

Groaning loudly, you stagger backwards right into her next maneuver.

Still holding on to your arm, Kayla somehow manages to lift you up over her shoulder and then judo flip you to the canvas in an impressive arc of athleticism and upper body strength.

The world went sideways, then completely black as your sides first hit the ground, followed by the rest of your body.

But, she wasn’t quite done yet.

“Maybe next time, don’t spend so much time posing for the crowd. But I appreciate you letting me get my wind back,” she sneers down on you, still holding on your arm.

Without another second’s hesitation, she braces her knee against your neck, and with your left wrist now tucked firmly underneath her armpit, went right back to the armbar.

Now applying a sitting variation of the dreaded maneuver, the pain is still the same as she wrenched back cruelly, her knee against the base of your skull just adding even more leverage.

“Spoilers: you’re not getting out of it this time,” she snarls, her firm tone implying that she’s more than willing to pop your shoulder out.

Closer to the middle of the ring than any of the ropes, you reluctantly concede to her taunting words.

With your free hand, you tap out on the mat before she could inflict any serious damage on the already weakened joint.

“Attaboy.” Leering down on you with a gloating glint in her dark eyes, she lets your left arm flop down bonelessly to the mat and saunters back to her corner triumphantly.

You’ve lost a point for submission.