Yes. You’ve fallen under her spell, at least for a few moments.

You close your eyes, losing yourself in La Diabla’s kiss. You can feel every inch of her body against yours, her warm skin against your own, her firm rack pressing against your chest, your legs entwining with hers...

And then she slams her fist right into your breadbox.

You gasp as the wind is knocked out of you, and would have doubled over were La Diabla not holding you up with her other hand. She smirks as she drives her fist home again, and then a third time, leaving you gasping for air and barely able to stand—and then she finishes with a staggering body-check that knocks you off your feet, sending you sprawling to the mat.

Diabla examines your prone form, which is laid out flat on the canvas—except your erection, which sticks straight up towards the ceiling, tenting your tight briefs. “At least one part of you can still get up,” she laughs in her lilting accent. “You should really learn to stay focused. If you drop your guard for every chica bonita who throws herself at you, you won’t last another month in this league.”

She plants her foot on your throat, pinning you down. “Not that you really have time to worry about that right now.”

You can do nothing but feebly squirm in place as the referee counts you out. The buzzer goes off as usual, and Angelica steps off you to let you get up.

It takes you a couple of seconds to struggle back to your feet, and you slowly turn to face her again. She crooks a finger at you, inviting you to face her once more.

You’ve lost a point for a pinfall.