No. She’s got you trapped.

You’re unable to keep La Diabla from retaliating as she twists her body to trap your head between her thick thighs in a reverse headscissors. You groan as she puts her powerful lower body to work squeezing your head and neck, trying to **** a submission out of you just like you’ve been doing to her. But there is a bright side: even as she locks you in her own hold, she still hasn’t made you release yours. Your arm is still clamped firmly around her neck.

“La Diabla turns the tables and proves there’s still some fight left in her after all!” the commentator shouts. “But is there enough to win this battle of endurance? Which fighter will outlast the other? Who will tap out first?”

You and Angelica each strain mightily to prove that the answer will be the other, pouring on the pressure of your respective holds in a valiant effort to overpower each other and claim the point. Her face is twisted into a snarl of effort that doesn’t detract from her beauty at all, while your jaw is clenched tightly to keep from crying out in pain as you struggle to free your head from in between her powerhouse legs.

The crowd is loving it, their eyes transfixed on the ring or the JumboTron that magnifies your struggle tenfold for all to see. You hear, as if from very far away, large groups in the audience chanting both La Diabla Roja’s name and yours, urging you on toward victory. The cheers would be deafening if you were paying attention to them at all.

Your contest at this point is less a test of strength and more a battle of wills, as each of you strives to break the other and **** them to admit their opponent’s superiority. There’s far more than a simple point on the line here. But only one of you can claim it all.