Vlad doesn’t think much of American wrestlers. This lean lad lounges against the ropes, watching muscular Chace LaChance with an undercurrent of rage in his steely eyes. Vlad attacks Chace, mint green speedos against red, shiny new wrestling boots circling fast. Within seconds Chace is sleepered and scissored, struggling against Vlad’s forearm. His sexy accent adds to his mystique, as he pulls a struggling Chace into his thighs and locks him up in a figure four, the entire sequence so close to the camera you can practically feel Chace’s every twinge of pain.
“You are under my control,” says Vlad. “You still want to fight?”
“Screw you, man!” gasps Chace, before feeling the pain of Vlad’s chest on top of his. Chace begs to stand back up again, but Vlad’s enjoying Chace’s straining, groaning, and bargaining. Chace submits. Vlad refuses to stop.
“You think you are wrestler. So prove it!” Hair pulling. Flexing. Tons of humiliation. Can Chace beat the impaler?
