Video doesn't perfectly track with the fight, but should help visualize some moves:
Mila had pretty great legs. Long, slender, and powerful, they were the perfect tools for the young MMA fighter. Years of training meant legs that were able to land a devastating kick and look good doing it. Unfortunately, it was hard to admire those legs right now, because this was New York City. And that meant high rent, which meant long hours working, which demanded practical clothes. And for the part-time waitress that meant old, loose jeans with far more coffee stains than sex appeal.
Kokoro, meanwhile, had great legs, and anyone who looked at her knew it. Because, again, this was New York City. Which to the Japanese maiko was not a home with a high cost of living but an exotic vacation, one with a vibrant nightlife and clubs worthy of putting on a tight top and short skirt. So her legs were covered with thin, black, thigh-high stockings that let everyone know just how shapely they were, while her ass was just barely covered by something that really put the mini in miniskirt, and the gap between the two aforementioned articles of clothing let anyone take a look at her upper thighs, with maybe more if they were lucky. And with legs toned by practicing Ba Ji Quan yet still kept slender and feminine by youth, most people would want to take a good, long look.
Taking all that into account, it was clear that Kokoro had Mila beat when it came to aesthetics. But form was one thing. Function was another. And it certainly seemed as if the Spaniard was making better use of her legs than the Japanese girl. Because right now, Mila was mounted perpendicularly the person she was fighting, and her legs were rhythmically being driven into her foe's side. One would raise, the other would support the young fighter's weight, and the knee of the original would come down hard into her opponent's abdomen. And then the legs would switch and the cycle would repeat. It was brutal, efficient, and the honed by practice in and out of the ring.
Kokoro's legs were not as useful. Probably because she was Mila's opponent. So her legs were either futilely pressed against the ground, trying in vain to get enough leverage to push the larger woman off of her, or else flying wildly in the air as her body automatically jerked and spasmed in response to the painful blows landing on her side.
It didn't have to be this way, of course. Neither woman had woken up that morning planning on brawling in some dirty back alley. But when the traveling geisha-in-training had visited the diner Mila worked at, she soon found herself in a quite literal collision course with waitress and the drinks she was serving. To Kokoro, suddenly a very stylish, very expensive, off-the-shoulder crop-top that managed to show off her figure while still supporting her sizable breasts was suddenly ruined by a clumsy fool. To Mila, a ditzy airhead was getting in the way of honest, hard-working folk and getting mad when she was the one who should have looked where she was going. Tempers flared and, well, was the motto of the Dead or Alive tournament "I'm an expert at peaceful mediation" or "I'm a fighter"?
So the two of them had taken it out back - no witnesses, no referee, no rules. Differences would be resolved through some very physical mediation.
The first point went to Kokoro. The Ba Ji Dancer was no stranger to combat, and her graceful and powerful moves caught The Hot-Blooded Champ off guard. In fact, a series of quick strikes to Mila's head were followed up by a throw that sent the redhead flying backwards into the brick wall behind her. As Mila recovered, Kokoro taunted her, striking a pose and giggling like a schoolgirl. The Spanish woman seemed to take the bait, letting out a cry and charging at the maiko with a her right hand raised and clearly ready to deliver a powerful blow. But Mila was a veteran MMA fighter. She wasn't going to let a bad start get under her skin. The rage was an act, and the right hook was a feint. One that Kokoro overreacted to. As the brunette moved to counter the obvious blow, the redhead shifted and brought her left knee into her opponent's stomach. The blow landed, the girl was stunned, and Mila followed up with a powerful uppercut that sent her fist into Kokoro's jaw. The young Japanese woman felt a sharp pain and was lucky that her tongue wasn't cut off by the sudden closing of her previously giggling mouth. As it was, her feet were launched a few inches off the ground, and her whole body fell backwards, causing her cute little butt to come into contact with the dirty alley floor.
This was a problem for her in two ways. In the short term, Kokoro had to deal with the fact that having your ass slapped against the ground is both painful and humiliating. In the long term, she had to deal with the fact that the fight was now effectively over. Ba Ji Quan was elegant and effective, but most fights its practitioner had been in were decided by sending her opponent to the ground. But for the MMA fighter, most fights were decided on the ground. Mila had the experience and the moveset to win, and she was willing to use it.
And the first move, or course, was to use those previously discussed legs. To mount her foe and to bring her knee into contact with Kokoro's side. Over. And over. And over. And each time, the Japanese girl would let out a wince or a high-pitched squeal, and would flail her legs, and would try to push the redhead off, but each time she would do little more than showcase how helpless she was. So the beating continued until she finally got lucky and managed to block a blow and shift her position a bit. But Mila moved with her and stopped swinging her legs, instead bringing both of them around the maiko, wrapping them tightly around her opponent's waist.
The denim of Mila's jeans pressed close to Kokoro's bare midriff, put the pressure here wasn't the main point of the attack. Mila was simply using her legs to anchor herself to her opponent while she grabbed Kokoro's arm with both of her hands. The girl tried to break free, but the waitress had a firm grasp - one that she used to suddenly pull back her hapless foe into a vicious arm bar. The move was accompanied by a noise that Mila found satisfying and Kokoro just found painful.
While the woman in the miniskirt lay on the ground, the one in the jeans moved to land one more attack, this time going for her opponent's legs. Flipping her over, Mila pinned one thigh-high-clad leg to the ground and then grabbed the other, pulling it away so the two spread wide. Which was humiliating, of course, because if anyone happened to be watching they would catch a very clear upskirt shot. But humiliation wasn't the main goal of this particular move. The goal here was to hold onto your foe's ankle and to twist until something suitably painful happens. Mila took the grinding coming from Kokoro's leg and the pathetic whimpering from her mouth to be a sign that something suitably painful had occurred and let go, getting back up and taking a moment to look over the prone girl she towered over.
The fight had not been kind to Kokoro's outfit. Her top still clung tightly to it's owner, still showcased the impressive swell of her breasts, but it was no longer the pristine white it used to be. Now, much like the person wearing it, it was covered in the dirt and grime of a New York back alley, used and filthy. There was still something pure and clean Mila could see, though. Kokoro's panties were pretty hard to miss, with her legs sprawled out and her modesty protected by such a short skirt. Soft and a solid white, they clung tightly to their owner and let anyone lucky enough to look get a clear outline of Kokoro's crotch. But they were also pretty plain. None of the lacy, fancy stuff that, for example, her half-sister Helena liked to galavant about in. Which meant she probably wasn't planning on showing them off. So Mila decided to get back at the girl for her earlier taunt.
"So, do you flash your panties at everyone you meet, or am I just special?" Mila said mockingly.
It worked. The geisha-to-be instinctively closed her legs as the blood rushed to her cheeks. The embarrassment superseded the pain and she rose to her feet, blushing, trying to make sure that the tight black leather around her waist was enough to cover the even tighter white cloth underneath. But, of course, that was the entire point of the taunt. Someone trying to protect their modesty isn't trying to protect their face. Which left Mila with a number of options.
The go-to move for the MMA fighter would be a quick one-two push, a jab and a hook that would stun and then punish the opponent. Her idol, Bass, would probably have some ridiculous wrestling move ready, like a clothesline or bearhug. But Mila was feeling a bit mischievous and perhaps a bit overconfident, so she walked up to Kokoro and swiftly brought her hand up, and struck the girl right on the cheek with her normally balled fists wide open. Kokoro stepped backwards, more from surprise than pain, because while the strike stung she was more overcome the the realization that she had just been bitch-slapped.
"Wha…? You…" She stammered.
"Trust me, I can do a lot worse to your face. You should apologize for picking this fight and then get out of here."
But it was too late for that now. The normally kind and gentle Kokoro was embarrassed and she was channeling that into one last angry outburst that she hoped would win her the day. Not that it would, of course. The additional power it brought her strikes also made them predictable, and after the Spanish woman blocked a series of punches she countered the obvious follow-up kick, catching the leg and throwing it upwards, causing the Japanese girl to again fall flat on her back. Which meant she was again vulnerable to whatever Mila decided she wanted to do next. And Mila decided she wanted to show that she was a woman of her word.
So she mounted Kokoro again, except now she was parallel to the girl instead of perpendicular, and that meant that her fists were in the perfect position to introduce themselves to Kokoro's face. Which they did. Forcefully. And repeatedly. Mila made sure to strike a perfect blow each time. After all, the bones in the hand are far more fragile than the skull, and throwing an unskilled punch has a good chance of breaking your fist instead of their face. Thus, Mila wanted to limit the number of strikes she made. Thus, she wanted to make the most of each. Which she did. Three blows later and her opponent would start tomorrow with at least one black eye and one loose tooth. A lot worse that a bitch-slap.
A good Teachable Moment, but now it was time to end the fight. Mila went down and grabbed the prone maiko by the neck, swinging her around so that Mila lay flat on her back while Kokoro lay on top of her, held in place by the powerful arms around her throat. It was a reverse choke hold. One that really emphasized the choking. Kokoro violently struggled to break free, but she simply couldn't get the leverage. And eventually, she realized she couldn't get the oxygen. By then, the embarrassment she had felt earlier had faded. With it's departure had gone her will to fight. Now, dirty, humiliated, and defeated, she finally gave up. She tapped out, letting Mila know the fight was over.
But, of course, in this New York back alley, there are no witnesses, no referee, and no rules. The fight was only over when the winner decided it was over, and right now Mila felt like teaching the girl that real fights aren't all about romantic cherry blossoms and warriors. When you get into real fights, people can suffer. So Mila kept up the pressure when she felt Kokoro tap out. She kept it up when her opponent realized what was happening and began a frantic renewed struggle. She kept it up as she heard a quiet plea for mercy come from her foe's lips. She kept it up as the girl's movement slowed and the rise and fall of Kokoro's chest seemed to come to a halt…
She let go right before the girl blacked out. No need to cause any permanent damage. Well, physical damage, anyway. Mila wanted this lesson to stay in Kokoro's brain for a long time. So she looked down at the dirty young woman and asked her if she was ready to apologize. The answer was apparently "no," since all Kokoro was ready to do right now was get as much air back into her lungs as possible. Which was understandable, but not acceptable. So Mila asked again, this time a bit louder and with more of an edge. And she was rewarded this time with a hastily exhaled "sorry" between breaths. Even if it wasn't sincere, back backed up by enough fear to seem as if it was.
"Good." Mila cheerfully replied, before bending down and giving one last kick to her foe. Kokoro let out one last cry and rolled over, the momentum of the blow transferred from Mila's foot to her helpless body. It was overkill, of course, but Mila wanted it send a message. An once of prevention is worth a pound of cure, after all.
Huddled on the floor, filthy and broken, Kokoro just looked at the woman who defeated her, afraid to move. Mila took a step forward and bent down so she was eye-level with the maiko.
"Also," Mila added, her voice suddenly becoming harsh, "don't let me catch you picking unnecessary fights again."
Kokoro just looked at her wide-eyed. So Mila asked her if she understood. To which Kokoro slowly nodded. And then Mila went back to work.
To Kokoro's credit, she did have one piece of dignity left. It wasn't until after Mila had left the alleyway and the back door of the diner had slammed closed and she was sure that that she was all alone and that no one could see her, it was't until then that Kokoro started to cry.
Mila had pretty great legs. Long, slender, and powerful, they were the perfect tools for the young MMA fighter. Years of training meant legs that were able to land a devastating kick and look good doing it. Unfortunately, it was hard to admire those legs right now, because this was New York City. And that meant high rent, which meant long hours working, which demanded practical clothes. And for the part-time waitress that meant old, loose jeans with far more coffee stains than sex appeal.
Kokoro, meanwhile, had great legs, and anyone who looked at her knew it. Because, again, this was New York City. Which to the Japanese maiko was not a home with a high cost of living but an exotic vacation, one with a vibrant nightlife and clubs worthy of putting on a tight top and short skirt. So her legs were covered with thin, black, thigh-high stockings that let everyone know just how shapely they were, while her ass was just barely covered by something that really put the mini in miniskirt, and the gap between the two aforementioned articles of clothing let anyone take a look at her upper thighs, with maybe more if they were lucky. And with legs toned by practicing Ba Ji Quan yet still kept slender and feminine by youth, most people would want to take a good, long look.
Taking all that into account, it was clear that Kokoro had Mila beat when it came to aesthetics. But form was one thing. Function was another. And it certainly seemed as if the Spaniard was making better use of her legs than the Japanese girl. Because right now, Mila was mounted perpendicularly the person she was fighting, and her legs were rhythmically being driven into her foe's side. One would raise, the other would support the young fighter's weight, and the knee of the original would come down hard into her opponent's abdomen. And then the legs would switch and the cycle would repeat. It was brutal, efficient, and the honed by practice in and out of the ring.
Kokoro's legs were not as useful. Probably because she was Mila's opponent. So her legs were either futilely pressed against the ground, trying in vain to get enough leverage to push the larger woman off of her, or else flying wildly in the air as her body automatically jerked and spasmed in response to the painful blows landing on her side.
It didn't have to be this way, of course. Neither woman had woken up that morning planning on brawling in some dirty back alley. But when the traveling geisha-in-training had visited the diner Mila worked at, she soon found herself in a quite literal collision course with waitress and the drinks she was serving. To Kokoro, suddenly a very stylish, very expensive, off-the-shoulder crop-top that managed to show off her figure while still supporting her sizable breasts was suddenly ruined by a clumsy fool. To Mila, a ditzy airhead was getting in the way of honest, hard-working folk and getting mad when she was the one who should have looked where she was going. Tempers flared and, well, was the motto of the Dead or Alive tournament "I'm an expert at peaceful mediation" or "I'm a fighter"?
So the two of them had taken it out back - no witnesses, no referee, no rules. Differences would be resolved through some very physical mediation.
The first point went to Kokoro. The Ba Ji Dancer was no stranger to combat, and her graceful and powerful moves caught The Hot-Blooded Champ off guard. In fact, a series of quick strikes to Mila's head were followed up by a throw that sent the redhead flying backwards into the brick wall behind her. As Mila recovered, Kokoro taunted her, striking a pose and giggling like a schoolgirl. The Spanish woman seemed to take the bait, letting out a cry and charging at the maiko with a her right hand raised and clearly ready to deliver a powerful blow. But Mila was a veteran MMA fighter. She wasn't going to let a bad start get under her skin. The rage was an act, and the right hook was a feint. One that Kokoro overreacted to. As the brunette moved to counter the obvious blow, the redhead shifted and brought her left knee into her opponent's stomach. The blow landed, the girl was stunned, and Mila followed up with a powerful uppercut that sent her fist into Kokoro's jaw. The young Japanese woman felt a sharp pain and was lucky that her tongue wasn't cut off by the sudden closing of her previously giggling mouth. As it was, her feet were launched a few inches off the ground, and her whole body fell backwards, causing her cute little butt to come into contact with the dirty alley floor.
This was a problem for her in two ways. In the short term, Kokoro had to deal with the fact that having your ass slapped against the ground is both painful and humiliating. In the long term, she had to deal with the fact that the fight was now effectively over. Ba Ji Quan was elegant and effective, but most fights its practitioner had been in were decided by sending her opponent to the ground. But for the MMA fighter, most fights were decided on the ground. Mila had the experience and the moveset to win, and she was willing to use it.
And the first move, or course, was to use those previously discussed legs. To mount her foe and to bring her knee into contact with Kokoro's side. Over. And over. And over. And each time, the Japanese girl would let out a wince or a high-pitched squeal, and would flail her legs, and would try to push the redhead off, but each time she would do little more than showcase how helpless she was. So the beating continued until she finally got lucky and managed to block a blow and shift her position a bit. But Mila moved with her and stopped swinging her legs, instead bringing both of them around the maiko, wrapping them tightly around her opponent's waist.
The denim of Mila's jeans pressed close to Kokoro's bare midriff, put the pressure here wasn't the main point of the attack. Mila was simply using her legs to anchor herself to her opponent while she grabbed Kokoro's arm with both of her hands. The girl tried to break free, but the waitress had a firm grasp - one that she used to suddenly pull back her hapless foe into a vicious arm bar. The move was accompanied by a noise that Mila found satisfying and Kokoro just found painful.
While the woman in the miniskirt lay on the ground, the one in the jeans moved to land one more attack, this time going for her opponent's legs. Flipping her over, Mila pinned one thigh-high-clad leg to the ground and then grabbed the other, pulling it away so the two spread wide. Which was humiliating, of course, because if anyone happened to be watching they would catch a very clear upskirt shot. But humiliation wasn't the main goal of this particular move. The goal here was to hold onto your foe's ankle and to twist until something suitably painful happens. Mila took the grinding coming from Kokoro's leg and the pathetic whimpering from her mouth to be a sign that something suitably painful had occurred and let go, getting back up and taking a moment to look over the prone girl she towered over.
The fight had not been kind to Kokoro's outfit. Her top still clung tightly to it's owner, still showcased the impressive swell of her breasts, but it was no longer the pristine white it used to be. Now, much like the person wearing it, it was covered in the dirt and grime of a New York back alley, used and filthy. There was still something pure and clean Mila could see, though. Kokoro's panties were pretty hard to miss, with her legs sprawled out and her modesty protected by such a short skirt. Soft and a solid white, they clung tightly to their owner and let anyone lucky enough to look get a clear outline of Kokoro's crotch. But they were also pretty plain. None of the lacy, fancy stuff that, for example, her half-sister Helena liked to galavant about in. Which meant she probably wasn't planning on showing them off. So Mila decided to get back at the girl for her earlier taunt.
"So, do you flash your panties at everyone you meet, or am I just special?" Mila said mockingly.
It worked. The geisha-to-be instinctively closed her legs as the blood rushed to her cheeks. The embarrassment superseded the pain and she rose to her feet, blushing, trying to make sure that the tight black leather around her waist was enough to cover the even tighter white cloth underneath. But, of course, that was the entire point of the taunt. Someone trying to protect their modesty isn't trying to protect their face. Which left Mila with a number of options.
The go-to move for the MMA fighter would be a quick one-two push, a jab and a hook that would stun and then punish the opponent. Her idol, Bass, would probably have some ridiculous wrestling move ready, like a clothesline or bearhug. But Mila was feeling a bit mischievous and perhaps a bit overconfident, so she walked up to Kokoro and swiftly brought her hand up, and struck the girl right on the cheek with her normally balled fists wide open. Kokoro stepped backwards, more from surprise than pain, because while the strike stung she was more overcome the the realization that she had just been bitch-slapped.
"Wha…? You…" She stammered.
"Trust me, I can do a lot worse to your face. You should apologize for picking this fight and then get out of here."
But it was too late for that now. The normally kind and gentle Kokoro was embarrassed and she was channeling that into one last angry outburst that she hoped would win her the day. Not that it would, of course. The additional power it brought her strikes also made them predictable, and after the Spanish woman blocked a series of punches she countered the obvious follow-up kick, catching the leg and throwing it upwards, causing the Japanese girl to again fall flat on her back. Which meant she was again vulnerable to whatever Mila decided she wanted to do next. And Mila decided she wanted to show that she was a woman of her word.
So she mounted Kokoro again, except now she was parallel to the girl instead of perpendicular, and that meant that her fists were in the perfect position to introduce themselves to Kokoro's face. Which they did. Forcefully. And repeatedly. Mila made sure to strike a perfect blow each time. After all, the bones in the hand are far more fragile than the skull, and throwing an unskilled punch has a good chance of breaking your fist instead of their face. Thus, Mila wanted to limit the number of strikes she made. Thus, she wanted to make the most of each. Which she did. Three blows later and her opponent would start tomorrow with at least one black eye and one loose tooth. A lot worse that a bitch-slap.
A good Teachable Moment, but now it was time to end the fight. Mila went down and grabbed the prone maiko by the neck, swinging her around so that Mila lay flat on her back while Kokoro lay on top of her, held in place by the powerful arms around her throat. It was a reverse choke hold. One that really emphasized the choking. Kokoro violently struggled to break free, but she simply couldn't get the leverage. And eventually, she realized she couldn't get the oxygen. By then, the embarrassment she had felt earlier had faded. With it's departure had gone her will to fight. Now, dirty, humiliated, and defeated, she finally gave up. She tapped out, letting Mila know the fight was over.
But, of course, in this New York back alley, there are no witnesses, no referee, and no rules. The fight was only over when the winner decided it was over, and right now Mila felt like teaching the girl that real fights aren't all about romantic cherry blossoms and warriors. When you get into real fights, people can suffer. So Mila kept up the pressure when she felt Kokoro tap out. She kept it up when her opponent realized what was happening and began a frantic renewed struggle. She kept it up as she heard a quiet plea for mercy come from her foe's lips. She kept it up as the girl's movement slowed and the rise and fall of Kokoro's chest seemed to come to a halt…
She let go right before the girl blacked out. No need to cause any permanent damage. Well, physical damage, anyway. Mila wanted this lesson to stay in Kokoro's brain for a long time. So she looked down at the dirty young woman and asked her if she was ready to apologize. The answer was apparently "no," since all Kokoro was ready to do right now was get as much air back into her lungs as possible. Which was understandable, but not acceptable. So Mila asked again, this time a bit louder and with more of an edge. And she was rewarded this time with a hastily exhaled "sorry" between breaths. Even if it wasn't sincere, back backed up by enough fear to seem as if it was.
"Good." Mila cheerfully replied, before bending down and giving one last kick to her foe. Kokoro let out one last cry and rolled over, the momentum of the blow transferred from Mila's foot to her helpless body. It was overkill, of course, but Mila wanted it send a message. An once of prevention is worth a pound of cure, after all.
Huddled on the floor, filthy and broken, Kokoro just looked at the woman who defeated her, afraid to move. Mila took a step forward and bent down so she was eye-level with the maiko.
"Also," Mila added, her voice suddenly becoming harsh, "don't let me catch you picking unnecessary fights again."
Kokoro just looked at her wide-eyed. So Mila asked her if she understood. To which Kokoro slowly nodded. And then Mila went back to work.
To Kokoro's credit, she did have one piece of dignity left. It wasn't until after Mila had left the alleyway and the back door of the diner had slammed closed and she was sure that that she was all alone and that no one could see her, it was't until then that Kokoro started to cry.
