Post by EmmaWoods007 on Aug 5, 2018 21:09:06 GMT
A set of strings begins to play over the speakers with with a decidedly Latin tint. It’s a curiously familiar sound, though not one immediately recognized by much of the audience.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit,” the announcer intercedes. “First, from San Juan, Puerto Rico, standing five feet seven inches tall, Marisol Ayala… and her partner, from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, standing five feet four inches tall, Luisa Campos… at a combined weight of two hundred and fifty-seven pounds, together they are… DIIIAAAMMMOOONNNDDDSSS ANNNDDD PEEEAAARRRLLLSSS!!!!!”
The voice reverberates a few seconds before dissipating. A couple seconds after Marisol and Luisa, a team tearing up the Jungle for months, deigns grace the big leagues with its presence.
MARISOL AYALA
LUISA CAMPOS
Ayala takes the lead as the twosome march to the ring. The taller, curvier half of the duo is clad in a black velvet fightin’ one piece, the bottoms high waisted, the bikini top for the moment at least partially obscured by her unzipped, diamond studded black leather jacket—though Marisol’s impressive cleavage is in no way disguised. Around the Puerto Rican beauty’s neck is a narrow black choker, with white pads and boots completing the look.
Campos sports a one piece—also in black velvet, with a keyhole design that bears her own cleavage, certainly more modest than her partner’s, but no less eye catching. There are no shoulder straps with this design; instead, a string of pearls loops around her neck, connecting to the velvet just above that keyhole opening to hold the garment in place. Like her partner, she too sports white pads and boots. But Luisa also wears a pair of elbow length opera style gloves, and instead of a leather jacket, she wears an exceedingly long, black ring cape, its tail trailing behind her by a number of feet.
On one hand, Luisa pays the audience no attention as she strides toward the ring, nose ever so slightly upturned and a sneer on her lips. On the other, the deliberateness of the march and the swish of her hips illustrates how much she is aware and how much she enjoys being the center of attention, or at least sharing the spotlight with Marisol. Ayala not only acknowledges the crowd but has no issue jawing with them each step to the ring.
The Puerto Rican again takes the lead in heading up the stairs. She keeps climbing, claiming the near ringpost as the dominant Jungle team’s corner. Marisol steps to the second rope, raising a defiant fist into the air, those familiar with duo providing a smattering of boos for their often heinous tactics.
Luisa moves to the center of the apron before sweeping through the ropes, her cape catching and trailing over the middle cable as she moves toward the center of the ring. There, she brings her hands to her shoulders and slips off her cape, allowing it to gather in a puddle behind her.
Marisol drops into the confines and motions Luisa to join her. The usually disinterested Campos has no yawn to stifle tonight. With D&P on the express train to a FAWN title shot courtesy of an impressed Bethany Christian, she and Marisol are laser focused, turning as one when their music fades to take in the arrival of their veteran, title-bearing foes.
Save for the lights hung directly over the ring, the FAWN Arena was quite suddenly plunged into darkness. Then, a somber bell tolls.
BONG…
BONG…
BONG…
“HELL’S BELLS”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=etAIpkdhU9Q
A serpentine guitar riff fills the air, as three spotlights suddenly race around the vast arena, dancing upon the faces of the crowd until they suddenly converge at the top of the ramp. As AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells” battles for aural supremacy against the approving roar of the throng, the curtain tears open, and out step two lithe figures sporting straps of leather and gold, and exuding an aura of confidence.
“AND THEIR OPPONENTS…FROM URIAH, ALABAMA AND CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA, RESPECTIVELY…THEY ARE THE REIGNING FAWN TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS...IVY ARMSTRONG AND CYNTHIA MITCHELL…BELLLLLLLLLE’S HELLLLLLLLLIONS!”
Much to the spectators' delight, they are garbed in their traditional team wear: Armstrong wears a lycra and lace one-piece, black at the bottom, up the front, and on the trim, while the rest is scarlet satin. Her hands wear fingerless black lace gloves, and on her feet are stiletto heels. Her fiery hair, which usually hangs wild and loose, is now teased up in a manner that suggests both sophistication and tempestuousness.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
IVY ARMSTRONG
Alongside her, Mitchell is adorned with her own lycra and leather one piece, only rather than red and black, Mitchell's replaces the red with purple. Also, like Ivy, she wears fingerless black lace gloves. And, also like Ivy, Cynthia wear a pair of 'f@ck me' heels. Apart from the difference in color schemes, Cynthia also wears a black lace garter belt, the clasps left hanging empty down her thighs with no stockings to support. Her chestnut brown mane is styled similar to that of her partner's.
Always the more gregarious of the two, Armstrong merrily slaps at many of the outstretched hands. Mitchell exhibits more of a seeming aloofness from the crowd…but one look at the swivel of her hips makes it abundantly clear that she’s giving them a show they won’t soon forget.
Both women halt to blow kisses to a fan waving a sign over his head that reads, I’M HAPPILY ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL!
Accompanying them is their manager, Belle Butler Armstrong. Mother to both young women (biological to Ivy, spiritual to Cynthia), the former ring legend seems, to the discerning eye, a bit less satisfied to be here than her charges. But then, no one outside of the trio know how strongly Belle argued against the Hellions accepting this match. "You're the champions of the world," she cited. "They're a couple of scrappy nobodies from the farm league. If y'all win, no one will be impressed. And if y'all lose...hell, if they just give you a run for the grits...all the press will be talking about the for next few weeks will be how the Hellions are past their prime. It's a lose/lose situation for you girls."
But Cyn and Ivy saw it differently. Diamonds & Pearls were swiftly making a name for themselves in the Jungle, and there was a growing consensus among fans that not only would they soon be making the jump to FAWN, but they would quite likely be major contenders in very short order. By taking the team on now, the Hellions can demonstrate their willingness to take on all credible challengers, and also get in on the cutting edge of a potentially lucrative ongoing rivalry with a hot new team, which always translates into better PPV buy rates and more t-shirts and action figures sold (which makes Bethany Christian...who had herself proposed this match-up...very happy). Besides, as Cynthia succinctly put it, "Those two tarts have been going around saying some really nasty things about us, and they need to be put in their places." In the face of such unassailable logic, Belle acquiesced and the match was booked.
But while she may have accepted its inevitability, that doesn't mean she has to like it.
Reaching the steps, the Hellions scale them up to the ring apron. There, Cynthia bends forward at the waist and sloooooooowly steps between the ropes, giving many of the fans a good, long and much-appreciated gander at what is quite possibly the most celebrated derriere in FAWN. Then Ivy enters the ring in her typically flamboyant way; facing the audience, she grabs the top cable with both hands and flips backward, making a leisurely graceful arc, her magnificent gams on full display.
Now, both wrestlers step out of the heels and hand them to a ringside attendant. Spotting the photographers positioned on one side of the ring, the Hellions strike a pose: Cyn drops to one knee and flexes her arms, while Ivy slinks up behind her and seductively draws her hands across her partner’s shoulders, both giving smoldering ‘come hither’ gazes, and each with ten pounds of leather and gold strapped around their waists. The cameras flash for several seconds, and then the Hellions break the pose and Mitchell rises to her feet. Facing one another, they both raise their arms and slap their palms together, sharing cocky grins.
Removing the belts, they both hold them up over their heads, then turn them over to the referee, who in turn hands them between the ropes to the attendant, who will hold them for safekeeping at the timekeeper's table. The official then calls both teams to the center of the ring to deliver his last-minute instructions...perfunctory remarks that neither duo pay much heed to. Instead, all four lock eyes with one another, engaging in a silent...but very visible...contest, as both teams, hands on their hips, strike poses that are both taunting as well as seductive, the contours of their delectable bodies bringing the fans in observance to near-salivation. As the zebra finally brings his droning to an end and dispatches both sets of wrestlers to their corners, their pose-downs could perhaps be considered a draw.
After brief consultation, the Hellions decide that Cynthia will begin the match for them. At the opposite end of the ring, Diamond & Pearls will be represented in the opener by Luisa Campos. The bell clangs and the two beauties circle one another, the distance between them gradually growing less and less, until as last they go into a standard lock up. They strain against each other in stalemate for several long moments, until suddenly Mitchell is able to push her opponent back until they reach the ropes. The ref calls for a break and Cynthia complies raising her hands with the palms facing forward and taking a few steps back. Her face a mask of firm stoicism, Campos steps away from the ropes.
The two go for another lock up, with neither able to overwhelm the other for nearly ten full seconds, until once again the Hellion succeeds in driving her adversary back to the ropes. Once more the official orders a break, and as before Cynthia complies. But even as she begins to step back, Luisa's hands suddenly rise up in a blur of motion, her dark red painted nails raking across the North Carolinian's blue eyes. Mitchell shrieks as she is suddenly blinded, and the ref barks a stern warning to the Brazilian, while from the Hellion's side of the squared circle, Ivy and Belle both complain loudly to the zebra. But Campos ignores the chattering and presses her unexpected advantage; grabbing Mitchell's hair at the back of her head and close to the roots, she guides the blinded battler over to the nearest corner, and then slams her face into the top turnbuckle. Despite the padding, the steel buckle beneath is not so cushioned as to blunt all of the impact, and the brunette is momentarily dazed. And a long moment is all the Pearl needs to scramble up the turnbuckles, once more grab Cyn's hair, and with a leap from the top ropes, smash Mitchell face first into the mat with a Calf Branding.
Calf Branding
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDxV5kOQgS0
And while the turnbuckle had several inches of padding upon in, the plywood ring floor is buffered only by a sheet of canvas...which means it offers no protection at all.
With the stunned Hellion laying face down on the mat, Luisa squanders no time applying a Hair-Pull Rocking Horse, viciously tugging Cynthia's rapidly entangled tresses as she leans backward, bending the tag champ's spine to an agonizing arc, and drawing squeals of anguish from the embattled beauty. The ref makes some cursory complaint about the hair pulling, but not a soul in that building believes he's going to DQ the Brazilian over it...not given the greater transgressions which FAWN referees routinely abide. From her corner, Armstrong snarls threats at both challengers, promising to pay them back for this. While at ringside, Belle gets the sinking feeling that this is not going to be the cake walk they had hoped it would be.
And Luisa makes Butler’s premonition a reality when she places her right boot sole behind the skull of the second-generation superstar and curbstomps Cynthia’s face into the deck, drawing a sympathetic groan from the many fans of the Hellions.
Having released Cynthia’s locks on the stomp, Campos smiles endearingly at the FAWNatics, already taking a victory lap, arms raised high, fingers shuffling, looking for an ovation but finding a wall of boos, much of the crowd aware of the Jungle reputation of the Showstealer.
Denied her applause, Luisa returns to a rising Mitchell, Cyn’s hands still tightly pressed against either side of her proboscis. Despite Armstrong’s warnings to her partner, Luisa’s able to deliver a delving toe kick into Mitchell’s ivory abdomen, doubling the Hellion over at the waist.
Hands magnetically moving to Cynthia’s hair, the Brazilian catfighter’s digits rip downward on the locks as Campos sits out. Luisa DRIVES Mitchell’s features into the canvas with a facebuster, Cynthia yelping as she rolls to her back after the second such impact. A trickle of red leaks from the champ’s nose. Cyn scrunches her beak and wipes the blood aside, rising to a seated position.
Campos lines up a soccer kick to the chest of Mitchell but Cyn intercepts, snatching the challenger’s right leg just before it can hit paydirt. The veteran throws the lower limb backward and the leg swings like a violent pendulum, taking Luisa off her planted stem and sending her CRASHING to the canvas face-first, the brunette providing a similar taste of the canvas to the rookie as she’d been forced to enjoy.
Rolling from her seated position to atop the back of the Brazilian beauty, Cynthia ends in a forward straddle on her haunches, crossface grip slapped on the flawless features of the Showstealer from her foe’s placement across the middle of her back. Wrenching Luisa’s noggin to the side, Mitchell gives an unfriendly greeting to the noob, releasing her grip only to swing cranium-cracking forearm shots in from either side of Campos’ braincase before lacing her fingers once more and reestablishing the twisting hold.
“You’re playing with the big girls now sunshine,” Cyn growls, Campos’ face turning rosy from the abuse.
Having worn the rookie down, Mitchell gives up one grip for another, sinking her nails into Luisa’s raven locks. She pulls the challenger’s head back, drawing a squeaky “no…no…no” from Campos. Cynthia pays the sound no mind, THUMPING Luisa’s mug into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Plucking Campos off the deck as she rises, Cynthia draws the FAWN novice toward the Hellion corner and the outstretched arm of her redheaded partner.
Cyn tags Armstrong and Ivy heads through, but Mitchell isn’t about to leave. Reading each other’s minds as few could, Cynthia whips Luisa off to the far ropes, walking after her foe upon sending Campos on her way. With the Brazilian on the rebound at full speed, Mitchell dips and sends Campos flying over in a sort of forced leapfrog. Clarity emerges when Ivy leaps in from the side, snatching Luisa’s noggin with a ¾ facelock and NAILING the challenger with her IKO from OUTTA NOWHERE!
The stunner sends Campos halfway back to her feet before she spins through half a barrel roll and faints to the canvas, ending in a motionless starfish, the teamwork flawless in leaving the newbie close to unconsciousness. A smirking Armstrong hooks Campos’ far leg while tight across her foe in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Showstealer may not steal the show with her kickout, but she keeps it from closing. Campos rolls to her side, dark eyes cloudy, perhaps realizing how far D&P has stepped up in competition from the Jungle denizens they’d been blasting.
Luisa tries to crawl to her corner and unleash the rested and ready Diamonds, but Ivy’s already on her feet, trailing. The Bama Slamma flattens Luisa back to the canvas with a stomp to the base of the challenger’s spine. With Campos once again grounded, Armstrong steps on the pit of her foe’s knees and wraps Luisa’s shins around her own. Reaching down, the redhead SLAPS Luisa’s sides, drawing her foe’s arms back. Snatching each at the wrist, Ivy claims control of all four limbs.
But Armstrong is far from done. Leaning back, with a one and a two and a three, the self-proclaimed Dirtiest Player flops to her back and brings Luisa for the ride, vaulting the captured Campos high into the air above her in a beauteous Ceiling Hold. Campos’ face scrunches in pain and she begins to mewl from the pressure placed on her limbs and back.
But that’s not the worst of it, for the Brazilian doesn’t notice Cynthia dropping from the skies like a sexy paratrooper with a double axhandle to Luisa’s bared midriff. She slams her joined fists home in a brutal blow that seems to nearly blast a hole in the challenger’s tummy. Tossing Campos to the side after the double-team, a beaming Ivy rolls to her feet and shares a high-five with her longtime BFF.
As Cynthia exits, her task completed for the moment, Ivy takes a stroll to the D&P sidelines where the nearly forgotten Marisol curses in her native Spanish at the Bama Slamma.
“Show some guts, chica,” she adds for the Alabaman. “If you’ve got any.”
“Oh I do darlin’,” Ivy responds, “but I got just as much on the brains side.” Armstrong knowingly points to her right temple. “Which puts me WAY ahead of the two of you, sweetie.”
Ivy strides back to a rising Luisa who has more fight left in her than Armstrong concluded. From a few feet out, Campos, with her shoulders still lowered, stumbles forward with enough ‘ooomph’ to ram one into the tummy of the champ. It’s ungainly, but Luisa brings momentum and surprise and sends Ivy into a backpedal until the Slamma’s back SLAMS into the buckles in front of a snarling Marisol.
Keeping Ivy pinned, Campos reaches around the titleholder to find her partner’s touch. A forearm to the back from a suddenly frantic Ivy sends Luisa to her knees in a heap, but the scrappy Brazilian has enough to trip the redhead when she tries to go over the top, giving Ayala enough time to catch the retreating Ivy from behind.
Diamonds shows she has more power than Pearls instantly when she launches Ivy off the canvas like a babe in her arms. She spins her foe toward the ropes and uses the cables to slingshot Armstrong into a 180 and a matbound version of an Atomic Drop.
Slingshot Atomic Drop
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sy9PrZx3IhY
From behind, Marisol stomps the seated, leg-spread redhead. She keeps right on rolling to the ropes in front of her foe, rebounding into a dropkick that rockets Ivy to the deck.
Ayala. Fresh as a Puerto Rican daisy next to the veteran, roughly drives a forearm into Ivy’s jaw and presses her foe’s head and shoulders down for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Ivy thrusts a shoulder up to keep the champs from giving up their gold to the newcomers. Marisol shows a hint of anger and she rips Armstrong up by her cherry locks as she rises.
“Your time is done, chica,” Ayala informs, as Ivy manages to push herself out of the Puerto Rican’s grip, stumbling in a backpedal to a neutral corner.
Marisol follows menacingly, again grabbing Ivy by the irresistible red handle atop her head. She yanks the Slamma toward the middle, captures the champ’s near arm and leg and flips Ivy off the canvas, depositing her to the deck with a Waterwheel Drop.
Waterwheel Drop
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CK7hqYzTQ5Y
Ivy’s ring rattling landing sends her up to a seated position, Armstrong grasping at the base of her spine from the newbie’s power play. She rolls to her chest and pushes up to all fours so as to not invite another pin attempt.
Marisol uses the effort to help Armstrong up the rest of the way. But vertical isn’t enough for the Jungle transplant. She dips in from behind Ivy, swinging an arm between the infamous ivory stems of her foe. Lifting the second-generation superstar off the mat, she swings the squirming Ivy onto her shoulders, spine pressed tight, face and chest pointed to the rafters.
With Ivy captured in the Torture Rack, Ayala stomps around the ring in a wide circle, sending every possible anguish-inducing shockwave through her foe’s backbone. Armstrong’s face is etched with pain as a smirking Marisol shows her prey off to the Hellion corner.
Cynthia threatens painful retaliation and a swing and a miss. Belle bites her lower lip, furious at the predicament and seeing her baby bent, but also a little bit at her daughter for being caught. The Slamma wriggles for her freedom and is punished for it when Ayala drops to her knees, sending a forceful jolt through the redhead’s vertebrae. Ayala dumps Ivy off her shoulders behind her then falls backward, lounging atop the splayed Armstrong for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Alabaman kicks her way free from the pin and rolls to her side, staring longingly at her brunette compatriot. She makes it to her chest and starts crawling to Mitchell but Ayala quickly latches onto an ankle and drags the redhead to the D&P corner where she tags Pearls.
Marisol slides out under the bottom rope with Armstrong’s lower limb still in her possession. She lays it over the bottom cable, stretching it to its full length. On the outside herself, Campos has a white-knuckle grip on the top strand. She launches up and over and down in a knee drop across the inner portion of Ivy’s exposed knee joint.
The impact seems to put 10,000 volts into the Slamma. She flops like a fish out of water, thrashing and grasping at her leg. A grinning Luisa pops to her feet and hovers over the champ.
“Let’s see you use those pitiful sticks now, bytch,” the rookie shouts, drawing her hands down her more abbreviated, golden-brown gams. “These are world class straight out of Rio, redneck.”
To prove it, the Showstealer ‘guides’ a still shuddering Armstrong to her knees and mounts her from behind, stepping a stem over either of Ivy’s shoulders. Closing the trap, she flexes her sinewy legs in a standing version of a scissors, pressing the redhead’s noggin down with a palm so Ivy’s chin is in her cleavage.
Stubbornly, the champ’s arms circle around the thighs of the Brazilian and she starts to elevate both herself and the wide-eyed Campos. At the FAWNatics’ urging, she makes it all the way to vertical, a frantic Luisa in an electric chair.
But before Ivy can convert the expected Drop, Campos throws her body forward in a flip and draws Armstrong along for the ride. The maneuver ends in a hellacious butt bump for the redhead with Luisa’s legs still strapped on in a tight scissors around the back of the Slamma’s braincase. The Showstealer presses up on her palms to increase the force.
“All mine, Red,” Luisa purrs. “That’s what you are.”
Ivy tries to pry her way free, her face turning rosier by the second. It’s futile. But she does have veteran wiles enough to get her bare feet planted and shuffle in reverse; enough to roll Campos onto her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Luisa releases her scissors and rolls to a knee. She confirms she didn’t just let the champ steal from the Stealer and sighs with relief when she sees two fingers raised.
As she’s checking, the cagey Armstrong is up to one knee herself and, when Campos makes her feet and reaches for her cherry mop, Ivy somersaults forward and leaps to a tag with her fellow FAWN original.
Mitchell barrels through the ropes and is instantly GUTTED by a raised knee to the navel fro ‘Pearls’, Cyn doubled and groaning from being expertly impaled.
“Should’ve stayed clear,” Luisa informs, pounding Cynthia with a forearm across her back that sends Mitchell into a bowed stumble across the canvas.
Luisa follows deliberately, pounding a stomp into the back of Mitchell’s right knee, apparently trying to make the second Hellion a one-legged wrestler as well. She delivers a second boot to the opposite joint, sending Cyn to her haunches.
The snarling Campos slides to kneel next to her more accomplished foe and wraps a backhanded grip around Cynthia’s throat. Leaning back, the challenger draws Mitchell into a dragon sleeper position with no base from which to fight back. The ingenious Pearl Choker is added to when Luisa fashions her free right hand into a set of stilettoes and sinks a claw into the tummy of her rival, pressing the tines as best she can into Mitchell’s thin abdominal covering.
“I know you thought we had no chance,” ‘Pearls’ whispers in Mitchell’s ear. “What do you think now?”
“No…chance,” Cyn grunts as she writhes for some kind of escape. But the position Luisa has devised has no easy outlet and after a half dozen seconds in the predicament, Cynthia’s struggles show a lack of coordination and strength.
Belle directs her daughter and the cavalry arrives, Ivy driving a Big Foot into the back of Campos’ noggin despite the redhead’s remaining limp; breaking the hold instantly and sending the Brazilian flying forward, her flawless face SMASHED into the canvas.
As the official do-si-dos Armstrong back toward her corner, square-dance style, Cynthia shakes out the cobwebs while on her knees and, next to her, the Showstealer rolls to her back, cursing Ivy and the ref through her hands, which press against her aching face.
The crowd cheers on the most successful member of the Mitchell clan in a race to vertical with the newcomer and Cyn makes it there a second before Campos, who spins to find the champ. As she does, Mitchell loads up a boot and sends it like White Lightning into the Brazilian’s jaw with a head-snapping super kick.
Luisa spins through a violent pirouette from the impact but somehow remains on her feet. Moving beside her challenger, shoulder to shoulder, facing in the same direction, Cynthia captures her rival in a dragon sleeper grip. It initially looks like sleepy payback for the rookie, but the truth is something much more emphatic.
Cynthia lifts her near leg high and drapes it across the throat of the Brazilian. She forces Campos to the deck by dropping in a set of splits across Luisa, crushing her beneath the Cardinal Cyn.
Cardinal Cyn
www.youtube.com/watch?v=eu3bOHMtcDA&feature=player_embedded
Mitchell remains in the preset pinning position for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Not trusting her partner for an escape, Marisol shoots through the ropes and breaks up the count with a shove from behind with a split-second to spare. Both Mitchell and Ayala scramble to their feet to continue their disagreement. But the inexperienced Marisol brings a knife to a gunfight when she loads up a right cross to a charging Cynthia’s Carolina Blues.
The brunette leaps to her foe, wrapping the Puerto Rican’s cranium in a headlock. As she flies by, Mitchell RIPS the challenger off her feet and SPIKES Ayala’s skull into the canvas with her signature, drawing an enthusiastic roar from the crowd.
Carolina Blues
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tXjmTPxmUo
The force of the collision with canvas sends a demolished Marisol barrel rolling under the ropes, plopping to the thinly-padded cement floor outside.
A kneeling Cynthia waves ‘Diamonds’ buh-bye and turns to a stirring ‘Pearls’. Grabbing a handful of raven locks, she tugs Luisa to her feet, Campos leaning against the glistening Mitchell in order to stay there.
From the challenger’s right side, Cyn fashions a pumphandle out of Campos’ far arm, thumping it into Luisa’s crotch, drawing a yip of pain from the groggy grappler. Mitchell then swings an arm under the Showstealer’s near arm and across her foe’s shoulders.
Cynthia launches the Brazilian with the energy she has remaining into a front flip while also sitting out. She piledrives the back of Luisa’s skull into the unforgiving deck in sickening fashion with her Original Cyn.
Original Cyn
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxb0bwxjANM
Keeping an arm occupied and a soft scissors around the temples of what’s left of Luisa, Mitchell waits for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
But not three!
Marisol remains on the floor barely reviving and the Showstealer’s had her show stopped. This is all the Carolinian, Cyn releasing the rookie on her own with a smirk. She pushes to her feet and slowly strides to the Hellion corner, tagging a grinning Ivy.
“I believe she said you were all hers, Ives,” Cynthia purrs.
“That spicy Lil’ Dumplin did at that,” Armstrong replies.
She sashays to the wreckage and drops to the canvas near Campos’ head. Spinning the Brazilian like she’s on a BBQ spit, Armstrong rolls Luisa to her chest while also placing the dazed rookie’s chin on the lower portion of her crotch.
Slowly, she wraps her notorious lower limbs tight around and behind the challenger’s braincase, a forceful squeeze drawing Campos back to further consciousness while also snuggling her foe’s lips and nose into Ivy’s privates.
The emerald lasers that are Armstrong’s eyes drill into the anxious brown pools of her foe. What might be a muffled plea comes from Campos as Ivy grits her teeth and tightens her coils around the noggin of the South American.
The Southern Charm applied in all its glory quickly saps whatever’s left in Luisa, her effort to pry free failing as her leaden arms fall limp before she can escape or even tap.
As Luisa’s lids flutter, her eyes rolling white and burbling lips tickling Ivy’s center, the official dives into raise an arm. One deadened drop is all it takes for him to make his call.
The bell tolls the match to an end, but Armstrong moves like molasses in releasing the beaten brat from her Charm.
“Important lesson,” the redhead purrs. “Don’t piss us off.”
Under the threat of a reversal, Armstrong unhooks her limbs and allows Cynthia to pull her up. From the outside, Marisol, finally on her feet, slaps the apron in frustration, but isn’t interested in making a run to save her partner with both Hellions and Belle hovering over Luisa’s starfished frame.
Cynthia and Ivy plant a boot and bare foot respectively on chest and tummy of the dozing Stealer as the announcer makes things official.
“Your winners and STILL tag team champions…Belle’s Hellions!”
Mama Butler gets betwixt her charges and raises an arm high of each while the ref trundles in with both belts. Each is received by its owner and the Hellions raise their property high, going full Gladiatrix on the unfortunate “Pearls’.
It wasn’t clear if the fight bought D&P a permanent ticket to the bigs, but from the exhausted enjoyment on the face of the tag champions, both women had definitely made their presence known at Red, White & Bruised.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit,” the announcer intercedes. “First, from San Juan, Puerto Rico, standing five feet seven inches tall, Marisol Ayala… and her partner, from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, standing five feet four inches tall, Luisa Campos… at a combined weight of two hundred and fifty-seven pounds, together they are… DIIIAAAMMMOOONNNDDDSSS ANNNDDD PEEEAAARRRLLLSSS!!!!!”
The voice reverberates a few seconds before dissipating. A couple seconds after Marisol and Luisa, a team tearing up the Jungle for months, deigns grace the big leagues with its presence.
MARISOL AYALA
LUISA CAMPOS
Ayala takes the lead as the twosome march to the ring. The taller, curvier half of the duo is clad in a black velvet fightin’ one piece, the bottoms high waisted, the bikini top for the moment at least partially obscured by her unzipped, diamond studded black leather jacket—though Marisol’s impressive cleavage is in no way disguised. Around the Puerto Rican beauty’s neck is a narrow black choker, with white pads and boots completing the look.
Campos sports a one piece—also in black velvet, with a keyhole design that bears her own cleavage, certainly more modest than her partner’s, but no less eye catching. There are no shoulder straps with this design; instead, a string of pearls loops around her neck, connecting to the velvet just above that keyhole opening to hold the garment in place. Like her partner, she too sports white pads and boots. But Luisa also wears a pair of elbow length opera style gloves, and instead of a leather jacket, she wears an exceedingly long, black ring cape, its tail trailing behind her by a number of feet.
On one hand, Luisa pays the audience no attention as she strides toward the ring, nose ever so slightly upturned and a sneer on her lips. On the other, the deliberateness of the march and the swish of her hips illustrates how much she is aware and how much she enjoys being the center of attention, or at least sharing the spotlight with Marisol. Ayala not only acknowledges the crowd but has no issue jawing with them each step to the ring.
The Puerto Rican again takes the lead in heading up the stairs. She keeps climbing, claiming the near ringpost as the dominant Jungle team’s corner. Marisol steps to the second rope, raising a defiant fist into the air, those familiar with duo providing a smattering of boos for their often heinous tactics.
Luisa moves to the center of the apron before sweeping through the ropes, her cape catching and trailing over the middle cable as she moves toward the center of the ring. There, she brings her hands to her shoulders and slips off her cape, allowing it to gather in a puddle behind her.
Marisol drops into the confines and motions Luisa to join her. The usually disinterested Campos has no yawn to stifle tonight. With D&P on the express train to a FAWN title shot courtesy of an impressed Bethany Christian, she and Marisol are laser focused, turning as one when their music fades to take in the arrival of their veteran, title-bearing foes.
Save for the lights hung directly over the ring, the FAWN Arena was quite suddenly plunged into darkness. Then, a somber bell tolls.
BONG…
BONG…
BONG…
“HELL’S BELLS”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=etAIpkdhU9Q
A serpentine guitar riff fills the air, as three spotlights suddenly race around the vast arena, dancing upon the faces of the crowd until they suddenly converge at the top of the ramp. As AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells” battles for aural supremacy against the approving roar of the throng, the curtain tears open, and out step two lithe figures sporting straps of leather and gold, and exuding an aura of confidence.
“AND THEIR OPPONENTS…FROM URIAH, ALABAMA AND CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA, RESPECTIVELY…THEY ARE THE REIGNING FAWN TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS...IVY ARMSTRONG AND CYNTHIA MITCHELL…BELLLLLLLLLE’S HELLLLLLLLLIONS!”
Much to the spectators' delight, they are garbed in their traditional team wear: Armstrong wears a lycra and lace one-piece, black at the bottom, up the front, and on the trim, while the rest is scarlet satin. Her hands wear fingerless black lace gloves, and on her feet are stiletto heels. Her fiery hair, which usually hangs wild and loose, is now teased up in a manner that suggests both sophistication and tempestuousness.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
IVY ARMSTRONG
Alongside her, Mitchell is adorned with her own lycra and leather one piece, only rather than red and black, Mitchell's replaces the red with purple. Also, like Ivy, she wears fingerless black lace gloves. And, also like Ivy, Cynthia wear a pair of 'f@ck me' heels. Apart from the difference in color schemes, Cynthia also wears a black lace garter belt, the clasps left hanging empty down her thighs with no stockings to support. Her chestnut brown mane is styled similar to that of her partner's.
Always the more gregarious of the two, Armstrong merrily slaps at many of the outstretched hands. Mitchell exhibits more of a seeming aloofness from the crowd…but one look at the swivel of her hips makes it abundantly clear that she’s giving them a show they won’t soon forget.
Both women halt to blow kisses to a fan waving a sign over his head that reads, I’M HAPPILY ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL!
Accompanying them is their manager, Belle Butler Armstrong. Mother to both young women (biological to Ivy, spiritual to Cynthia), the former ring legend seems, to the discerning eye, a bit less satisfied to be here than her charges. But then, no one outside of the trio know how strongly Belle argued against the Hellions accepting this match. "You're the champions of the world," she cited. "They're a couple of scrappy nobodies from the farm league. If y'all win, no one will be impressed. And if y'all lose...hell, if they just give you a run for the grits...all the press will be talking about the for next few weeks will be how the Hellions are past their prime. It's a lose/lose situation for you girls."
But Cyn and Ivy saw it differently. Diamonds & Pearls were swiftly making a name for themselves in the Jungle, and there was a growing consensus among fans that not only would they soon be making the jump to FAWN, but they would quite likely be major contenders in very short order. By taking the team on now, the Hellions can demonstrate their willingness to take on all credible challengers, and also get in on the cutting edge of a potentially lucrative ongoing rivalry with a hot new team, which always translates into better PPV buy rates and more t-shirts and action figures sold (which makes Bethany Christian...who had herself proposed this match-up...very happy). Besides, as Cynthia succinctly put it, "Those two tarts have been going around saying some really nasty things about us, and they need to be put in their places." In the face of such unassailable logic, Belle acquiesced and the match was booked.
But while she may have accepted its inevitability, that doesn't mean she has to like it.
Reaching the steps, the Hellions scale them up to the ring apron. There, Cynthia bends forward at the waist and sloooooooowly steps between the ropes, giving many of the fans a good, long and much-appreciated gander at what is quite possibly the most celebrated derriere in FAWN. Then Ivy enters the ring in her typically flamboyant way; facing the audience, she grabs the top cable with both hands and flips backward, making a leisurely graceful arc, her magnificent gams on full display.
Now, both wrestlers step out of the heels and hand them to a ringside attendant. Spotting the photographers positioned on one side of the ring, the Hellions strike a pose: Cyn drops to one knee and flexes her arms, while Ivy slinks up behind her and seductively draws her hands across her partner’s shoulders, both giving smoldering ‘come hither’ gazes, and each with ten pounds of leather and gold strapped around their waists. The cameras flash for several seconds, and then the Hellions break the pose and Mitchell rises to her feet. Facing one another, they both raise their arms and slap their palms together, sharing cocky grins.
Removing the belts, they both hold them up over their heads, then turn them over to the referee, who in turn hands them between the ropes to the attendant, who will hold them for safekeeping at the timekeeper's table. The official then calls both teams to the center of the ring to deliver his last-minute instructions...perfunctory remarks that neither duo pay much heed to. Instead, all four lock eyes with one another, engaging in a silent...but very visible...contest, as both teams, hands on their hips, strike poses that are both taunting as well as seductive, the contours of their delectable bodies bringing the fans in observance to near-salivation. As the zebra finally brings his droning to an end and dispatches both sets of wrestlers to their corners, their pose-downs could perhaps be considered a draw.
After brief consultation, the Hellions decide that Cynthia will begin the match for them. At the opposite end of the ring, Diamond & Pearls will be represented in the opener by Luisa Campos. The bell clangs and the two beauties circle one another, the distance between them gradually growing less and less, until as last they go into a standard lock up. They strain against each other in stalemate for several long moments, until suddenly Mitchell is able to push her opponent back until they reach the ropes. The ref calls for a break and Cynthia complies raising her hands with the palms facing forward and taking a few steps back. Her face a mask of firm stoicism, Campos steps away from the ropes.
The two go for another lock up, with neither able to overwhelm the other for nearly ten full seconds, until once again the Hellion succeeds in driving her adversary back to the ropes. Once more the official orders a break, and as before Cynthia complies. But even as she begins to step back, Luisa's hands suddenly rise up in a blur of motion, her dark red painted nails raking across the North Carolinian's blue eyes. Mitchell shrieks as she is suddenly blinded, and the ref barks a stern warning to the Brazilian, while from the Hellion's side of the squared circle, Ivy and Belle both complain loudly to the zebra. But Campos ignores the chattering and presses her unexpected advantage; grabbing Mitchell's hair at the back of her head and close to the roots, she guides the blinded battler over to the nearest corner, and then slams her face into the top turnbuckle. Despite the padding, the steel buckle beneath is not so cushioned as to blunt all of the impact, and the brunette is momentarily dazed. And a long moment is all the Pearl needs to scramble up the turnbuckles, once more grab Cyn's hair, and with a leap from the top ropes, smash Mitchell face first into the mat with a Calf Branding.
Calf Branding
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDxV5kOQgS0
And while the turnbuckle had several inches of padding upon in, the plywood ring floor is buffered only by a sheet of canvas...which means it offers no protection at all.
With the stunned Hellion laying face down on the mat, Luisa squanders no time applying a Hair-Pull Rocking Horse, viciously tugging Cynthia's rapidly entangled tresses as she leans backward, bending the tag champ's spine to an agonizing arc, and drawing squeals of anguish from the embattled beauty. The ref makes some cursory complaint about the hair pulling, but not a soul in that building believes he's going to DQ the Brazilian over it...not given the greater transgressions which FAWN referees routinely abide. From her corner, Armstrong snarls threats at both challengers, promising to pay them back for this. While at ringside, Belle gets the sinking feeling that this is not going to be the cake walk they had hoped it would be.
And Luisa makes Butler’s premonition a reality when she places her right boot sole behind the skull of the second-generation superstar and curbstomps Cynthia’s face into the deck, drawing a sympathetic groan from the many fans of the Hellions.
Having released Cynthia’s locks on the stomp, Campos smiles endearingly at the FAWNatics, already taking a victory lap, arms raised high, fingers shuffling, looking for an ovation but finding a wall of boos, much of the crowd aware of the Jungle reputation of the Showstealer.
Denied her applause, Luisa returns to a rising Mitchell, Cyn’s hands still tightly pressed against either side of her proboscis. Despite Armstrong’s warnings to her partner, Luisa’s able to deliver a delving toe kick into Mitchell’s ivory abdomen, doubling the Hellion over at the waist.
Hands magnetically moving to Cynthia’s hair, the Brazilian catfighter’s digits rip downward on the locks as Campos sits out. Luisa DRIVES Mitchell’s features into the canvas with a facebuster, Cynthia yelping as she rolls to her back after the second such impact. A trickle of red leaks from the champ’s nose. Cyn scrunches her beak and wipes the blood aside, rising to a seated position.
Campos lines up a soccer kick to the chest of Mitchell but Cyn intercepts, snatching the challenger’s right leg just before it can hit paydirt. The veteran throws the lower limb backward and the leg swings like a violent pendulum, taking Luisa off her planted stem and sending her CRASHING to the canvas face-first, the brunette providing a similar taste of the canvas to the rookie as she’d been forced to enjoy.
Rolling from her seated position to atop the back of the Brazilian beauty, Cynthia ends in a forward straddle on her haunches, crossface grip slapped on the flawless features of the Showstealer from her foe’s placement across the middle of her back. Wrenching Luisa’s noggin to the side, Mitchell gives an unfriendly greeting to the noob, releasing her grip only to swing cranium-cracking forearm shots in from either side of Campos’ braincase before lacing her fingers once more and reestablishing the twisting hold.
“You’re playing with the big girls now sunshine,” Cyn growls, Campos’ face turning rosy from the abuse.
Having worn the rookie down, Mitchell gives up one grip for another, sinking her nails into Luisa’s raven locks. She pulls the challenger’s head back, drawing a squeaky “no…no…no” from Campos. Cynthia pays the sound no mind, THUMPING Luisa’s mug into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Plucking Campos off the deck as she rises, Cynthia draws the FAWN novice toward the Hellion corner and the outstretched arm of her redheaded partner.
Cyn tags Armstrong and Ivy heads through, but Mitchell isn’t about to leave. Reading each other’s minds as few could, Cynthia whips Luisa off to the far ropes, walking after her foe upon sending Campos on her way. With the Brazilian on the rebound at full speed, Mitchell dips and sends Campos flying over in a sort of forced leapfrog. Clarity emerges when Ivy leaps in from the side, snatching Luisa’s noggin with a ¾ facelock and NAILING the challenger with her IKO from OUTTA NOWHERE!
The stunner sends Campos halfway back to her feet before she spins through half a barrel roll and faints to the canvas, ending in a motionless starfish, the teamwork flawless in leaving the newbie close to unconsciousness. A smirking Armstrong hooks Campos’ far leg while tight across her foe in a lateral press for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The Showstealer may not steal the show with her kickout, but she keeps it from closing. Campos rolls to her side, dark eyes cloudy, perhaps realizing how far D&P has stepped up in competition from the Jungle denizens they’d been blasting.
Luisa tries to crawl to her corner and unleash the rested and ready Diamonds, but Ivy’s already on her feet, trailing. The Bama Slamma flattens Luisa back to the canvas with a stomp to the base of the challenger’s spine. With Campos once again grounded, Armstrong steps on the pit of her foe’s knees and wraps Luisa’s shins around her own. Reaching down, the redhead SLAPS Luisa’s sides, drawing her foe’s arms back. Snatching each at the wrist, Ivy claims control of all four limbs.
But Armstrong is far from done. Leaning back, with a one and a two and a three, the self-proclaimed Dirtiest Player flops to her back and brings Luisa for the ride, vaulting the captured Campos high into the air above her in a beauteous Ceiling Hold. Campos’ face scrunches in pain and she begins to mewl from the pressure placed on her limbs and back.
But that’s not the worst of it, for the Brazilian doesn’t notice Cynthia dropping from the skies like a sexy paratrooper with a double axhandle to Luisa’s bared midriff. She slams her joined fists home in a brutal blow that seems to nearly blast a hole in the challenger’s tummy. Tossing Campos to the side after the double-team, a beaming Ivy rolls to her feet and shares a high-five with her longtime BFF.
As Cynthia exits, her task completed for the moment, Ivy takes a stroll to the D&P sidelines where the nearly forgotten Marisol curses in her native Spanish at the Bama Slamma.
“Show some guts, chica,” she adds for the Alabaman. “If you’ve got any.”
“Oh I do darlin’,” Ivy responds, “but I got just as much on the brains side.” Armstrong knowingly points to her right temple. “Which puts me WAY ahead of the two of you, sweetie.”
Ivy strides back to a rising Luisa who has more fight left in her than Armstrong concluded. From a few feet out, Campos, with her shoulders still lowered, stumbles forward with enough ‘ooomph’ to ram one into the tummy of the champ. It’s ungainly, but Luisa brings momentum and surprise and sends Ivy into a backpedal until the Slamma’s back SLAMS into the buckles in front of a snarling Marisol.
Keeping Ivy pinned, Campos reaches around the titleholder to find her partner’s touch. A forearm to the back from a suddenly frantic Ivy sends Luisa to her knees in a heap, but the scrappy Brazilian has enough to trip the redhead when she tries to go over the top, giving Ayala enough time to catch the retreating Ivy from behind.
Diamonds shows she has more power than Pearls instantly when she launches Ivy off the canvas like a babe in her arms. She spins her foe toward the ropes and uses the cables to slingshot Armstrong into a 180 and a matbound version of an Atomic Drop.
Slingshot Atomic Drop
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sy9PrZx3IhY
From behind, Marisol stomps the seated, leg-spread redhead. She keeps right on rolling to the ropes in front of her foe, rebounding into a dropkick that rockets Ivy to the deck.
Ayala. Fresh as a Puerto Rican daisy next to the veteran, roughly drives a forearm into Ivy’s jaw and presses her foe’s head and shoulders down for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Ivy thrusts a shoulder up to keep the champs from giving up their gold to the newcomers. Marisol shows a hint of anger and she rips Armstrong up by her cherry locks as she rises.
“Your time is done, chica,” Ayala informs, as Ivy manages to push herself out of the Puerto Rican’s grip, stumbling in a backpedal to a neutral corner.
Marisol follows menacingly, again grabbing Ivy by the irresistible red handle atop her head. She yanks the Slamma toward the middle, captures the champ’s near arm and leg and flips Ivy off the canvas, depositing her to the deck with a Waterwheel Drop.
Waterwheel Drop
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CK7hqYzTQ5Y
Ivy’s ring rattling landing sends her up to a seated position, Armstrong grasping at the base of her spine from the newbie’s power play. She rolls to her chest and pushes up to all fours so as to not invite another pin attempt.
Marisol uses the effort to help Armstrong up the rest of the way. But vertical isn’t enough for the Jungle transplant. She dips in from behind Ivy, swinging an arm between the infamous ivory stems of her foe. Lifting the second-generation superstar off the mat, she swings the squirming Ivy onto her shoulders, spine pressed tight, face and chest pointed to the rafters.
With Ivy captured in the Torture Rack, Ayala stomps around the ring in a wide circle, sending every possible anguish-inducing shockwave through her foe’s backbone. Armstrong’s face is etched with pain as a smirking Marisol shows her prey off to the Hellion corner.
Cynthia threatens painful retaliation and a swing and a miss. Belle bites her lower lip, furious at the predicament and seeing her baby bent, but also a little bit at her daughter for being caught. The Slamma wriggles for her freedom and is punished for it when Ayala drops to her knees, sending a forceful jolt through the redhead’s vertebrae. Ayala dumps Ivy off her shoulders behind her then falls backward, lounging atop the splayed Armstrong for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Alabaman kicks her way free from the pin and rolls to her side, staring longingly at her brunette compatriot. She makes it to her chest and starts crawling to Mitchell but Ayala quickly latches onto an ankle and drags the redhead to the D&P corner where she tags Pearls.
Marisol slides out under the bottom rope with Armstrong’s lower limb still in her possession. She lays it over the bottom cable, stretching it to its full length. On the outside herself, Campos has a white-knuckle grip on the top strand. She launches up and over and down in a knee drop across the inner portion of Ivy’s exposed knee joint.
The impact seems to put 10,000 volts into the Slamma. She flops like a fish out of water, thrashing and grasping at her leg. A grinning Luisa pops to her feet and hovers over the champ.
“Let’s see you use those pitiful sticks now, bytch,” the rookie shouts, drawing her hands down her more abbreviated, golden-brown gams. “These are world class straight out of Rio, redneck.”
To prove it, the Showstealer ‘guides’ a still shuddering Armstrong to her knees and mounts her from behind, stepping a stem over either of Ivy’s shoulders. Closing the trap, she flexes her sinewy legs in a standing version of a scissors, pressing the redhead’s noggin down with a palm so Ivy’s chin is in her cleavage.
Stubbornly, the champ’s arms circle around the thighs of the Brazilian and she starts to elevate both herself and the wide-eyed Campos. At the FAWNatics’ urging, she makes it all the way to vertical, a frantic Luisa in an electric chair.
But before Ivy can convert the expected Drop, Campos throws her body forward in a flip and draws Armstrong along for the ride. The maneuver ends in a hellacious butt bump for the redhead with Luisa’s legs still strapped on in a tight scissors around the back of the Slamma’s braincase. The Showstealer presses up on her palms to increase the force.
“All mine, Red,” Luisa purrs. “That’s what you are.”
Ivy tries to pry her way free, her face turning rosier by the second. It’s futile. But she does have veteran wiles enough to get her bare feet planted and shuffle in reverse; enough to roll Campos onto her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Luisa releases her scissors and rolls to a knee. She confirms she didn’t just let the champ steal from the Stealer and sighs with relief when she sees two fingers raised.
As she’s checking, the cagey Armstrong is up to one knee herself and, when Campos makes her feet and reaches for her cherry mop, Ivy somersaults forward and leaps to a tag with her fellow FAWN original.
Mitchell barrels through the ropes and is instantly GUTTED by a raised knee to the navel fro ‘Pearls’, Cyn doubled and groaning from being expertly impaled.
“Should’ve stayed clear,” Luisa informs, pounding Cynthia with a forearm across her back that sends Mitchell into a bowed stumble across the canvas.
Luisa follows deliberately, pounding a stomp into the back of Mitchell’s right knee, apparently trying to make the second Hellion a one-legged wrestler as well. She delivers a second boot to the opposite joint, sending Cyn to her haunches.
The snarling Campos slides to kneel next to her more accomplished foe and wraps a backhanded grip around Cynthia’s throat. Leaning back, the challenger draws Mitchell into a dragon sleeper position with no base from which to fight back. The ingenious Pearl Choker is added to when Luisa fashions her free right hand into a set of stilettoes and sinks a claw into the tummy of her rival, pressing the tines as best she can into Mitchell’s thin abdominal covering.
“I know you thought we had no chance,” ‘Pearls’ whispers in Mitchell’s ear. “What do you think now?”
“No…chance,” Cyn grunts as she writhes for some kind of escape. But the position Luisa has devised has no easy outlet and after a half dozen seconds in the predicament, Cynthia’s struggles show a lack of coordination and strength.
Belle directs her daughter and the cavalry arrives, Ivy driving a Big Foot into the back of Campos’ noggin despite the redhead’s remaining limp; breaking the hold instantly and sending the Brazilian flying forward, her flawless face SMASHED into the canvas.
As the official do-si-dos Armstrong back toward her corner, square-dance style, Cynthia shakes out the cobwebs while on her knees and, next to her, the Showstealer rolls to her back, cursing Ivy and the ref through her hands, which press against her aching face.
The crowd cheers on the most successful member of the Mitchell clan in a race to vertical with the newcomer and Cyn makes it there a second before Campos, who spins to find the champ. As she does, Mitchell loads up a boot and sends it like White Lightning into the Brazilian’s jaw with a head-snapping super kick.
Luisa spins through a violent pirouette from the impact but somehow remains on her feet. Moving beside her challenger, shoulder to shoulder, facing in the same direction, Cynthia captures her rival in a dragon sleeper grip. It initially looks like sleepy payback for the rookie, but the truth is something much more emphatic.
Cynthia lifts her near leg high and drapes it across the throat of the Brazilian. She forces Campos to the deck by dropping in a set of splits across Luisa, crushing her beneath the Cardinal Cyn.
Cardinal Cyn
www.youtube.com/watch?v=eu3bOHMtcDA&feature=player_embedded
Mitchell remains in the preset pinning position for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Not trusting her partner for an escape, Marisol shoots through the ropes and breaks up the count with a shove from behind with a split-second to spare. Both Mitchell and Ayala scramble to their feet to continue their disagreement. But the inexperienced Marisol brings a knife to a gunfight when she loads up a right cross to a charging Cynthia’s Carolina Blues.
The brunette leaps to her foe, wrapping the Puerto Rican’s cranium in a headlock. As she flies by, Mitchell RIPS the challenger off her feet and SPIKES Ayala’s skull into the canvas with her signature, drawing an enthusiastic roar from the crowd.
Carolina Blues
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tXjmTPxmUo
The force of the collision with canvas sends a demolished Marisol barrel rolling under the ropes, plopping to the thinly-padded cement floor outside.
A kneeling Cynthia waves ‘Diamonds’ buh-bye and turns to a stirring ‘Pearls’. Grabbing a handful of raven locks, she tugs Luisa to her feet, Campos leaning against the glistening Mitchell in order to stay there.
From the challenger’s right side, Cyn fashions a pumphandle out of Campos’ far arm, thumping it into Luisa’s crotch, drawing a yip of pain from the groggy grappler. Mitchell then swings an arm under the Showstealer’s near arm and across her foe’s shoulders.
Cynthia launches the Brazilian with the energy she has remaining into a front flip while also sitting out. She piledrives the back of Luisa’s skull into the unforgiving deck in sickening fashion with her Original Cyn.
Original Cyn
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxb0bwxjANM
Keeping an arm occupied and a soft scissors around the temples of what’s left of Luisa, Mitchell waits for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
But not three!
Marisol remains on the floor barely reviving and the Showstealer’s had her show stopped. This is all the Carolinian, Cyn releasing the rookie on her own with a smirk. She pushes to her feet and slowly strides to the Hellion corner, tagging a grinning Ivy.
“I believe she said you were all hers, Ives,” Cynthia purrs.
“That spicy Lil’ Dumplin did at that,” Armstrong replies.
She sashays to the wreckage and drops to the canvas near Campos’ head. Spinning the Brazilian like she’s on a BBQ spit, Armstrong rolls Luisa to her chest while also placing the dazed rookie’s chin on the lower portion of her crotch.
Slowly, she wraps her notorious lower limbs tight around and behind the challenger’s braincase, a forceful squeeze drawing Campos back to further consciousness while also snuggling her foe’s lips and nose into Ivy’s privates.
The emerald lasers that are Armstrong’s eyes drill into the anxious brown pools of her foe. What might be a muffled plea comes from Campos as Ivy grits her teeth and tightens her coils around the noggin of the South American.
The Southern Charm applied in all its glory quickly saps whatever’s left in Luisa, her effort to pry free failing as her leaden arms fall limp before she can escape or even tap.
As Luisa’s lids flutter, her eyes rolling white and burbling lips tickling Ivy’s center, the official dives into raise an arm. One deadened drop is all it takes for him to make his call.
The bell tolls the match to an end, but Armstrong moves like molasses in releasing the beaten brat from her Charm.
“Important lesson,” the redhead purrs. “Don’t piss us off.”
Under the threat of a reversal, Armstrong unhooks her limbs and allows Cynthia to pull her up. From the outside, Marisol, finally on her feet, slaps the apron in frustration, but isn’t interested in making a run to save her partner with both Hellions and Belle hovering over Luisa’s starfished frame.
Cynthia and Ivy plant a boot and bare foot respectively on chest and tummy of the dozing Stealer as the announcer makes things official.
“Your winners and STILL tag team champions…Belle’s Hellions!”
Mama Butler gets betwixt her charges and raises an arm high of each while the ref trundles in with both belts. Each is received by its owner and the Hellions raise their property high, going full Gladiatrix on the unfortunate “Pearls’.
It wasn’t clear if the fight bought D&P a permanent ticket to the bigs, but from the exhausted enjoyment on the face of the tag champions, both women had definitely made their presence known at Red, White & Bruised.