2016 Welter Weight Championship Izamar vs Kara

This isn’t a match. It’s a title being ripped away in front of everyone watching. Kara walks in with the belt around her waist and leaves with it lying on the mat beside her. From the first lock, Izamar takes control. She pins Kara, plants her feet, and doesn’t let her breathe. Kara tries to fight back. Izamar answers with power that ends the argument. The ref watches, counts, and calls it. The belt changes hands without ceremony. Izamar drags the former champion to the center. She slaps Kara across the face, the sound sharp, the sting immediate. Kara’s mouth opens, eyes wet. Another slap. Then Izamar shoves Kara’s head between her arms and flexes, making her taste sweat and muscle. Kara licks the skin. Izamar pushes deeper, forces the tongue flat against her armpit until Kara’s jaw aches. The crowd sees the moment she gives in. Izamar strips her. Top first. Then bottoms. Kara stands bare under the lights while Izamar walks around her, slapping each cheek hard enough to leave red prints. She pulls Kara close, makes her kiss the biceps, then the abs, then lower. Kara’s lips shake. Izamar grins. She shoves Kara to her knees, spreads her own stance, and holds the former champion there until her legs tremble. The ref steps in. He sees the opening and takes it. Together they turn Kara over. Izamar pins her shoulders while the ref works her open. Two fingers first. Then more. Kara’s breath comes out in short, broken sounds. When the ref adds his fist, her body jerks but she stays down. Izamar keeps her face pressed to the mat, one hand gripping her hair. The double pressure fills her—ref’s fist from behind, Izamar’s grip everywhere else. Kara’s thighs shake. She stays open, used, marked by every slap and every inch taken from her. When it’s done, Izamar stands, belt back where it belongs. Kara lies on the mat, stripped, red, used. The crowd saw everything. They won’t forget who owns the title now.