Post by hawkeye on Apr 9, 2019 0:20:03 GMT
When ‘Fancy’ by Iggy Azalea and Charli XCX pumps through the arena, the crowd is immediately energized, unleashing a heavy artillery of boos from a Corps still feeling betrayed despite all the intervening traitorous years.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
Behind the first chords of the hip-hop anthem and the ear-numbing jeers, the Pleasant Valley Pariah strides to center stage, confident smirk back in place after emerging atop last month’s free-for-all with seemingly half the roster.
KYLIE SANDERS
Vanilla is flanked by her partner J-Dogg but without the rest of Hot&Bothered, former tag teamers cousin Kristy and ‘Huggable’ Cosette LeBlanc, banned from ringside. In tonight’s tag contest, only the two teammates would be allowed, Christian not wanting a less than instant replay of the Heartbroken mayhem at March to War.
JASMINE WASHINGTON
The FAWNatics unleash their hatred on the duo at earsplitting levels, the arena air reverberating with the decibels.
Drawing on echoes of her original gear, Sanders sports a unique, multi-strapped yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
On the FAWNtron behind her, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Jasmine shows off her legendary FAWN original partner as if presenting her with a grander flourish will melt the icy hearts of the fans. No such luck.
After an embrace, J-Dogg flashes signs and shakes dat ass as she leads the team in a march to the squared circle.
Dressed in a tiny black hoodie, (black version of the following: i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/Jasmine-clothing.jpg~original ) the rookie snaps her head back to clear the hood and her shoulder-length ebony locks behind.
Beneath the woman wears camo boy-cut trunks (http://s2.photobucket.com/user/biggerb/media/Jasmine-clothing%20below.jpg.html ) which accentuate her bootylicious backside. Below are black pads and boots.
Reaching the ring, she waggles her way around as if she owns the place, her face only turning sour when shying away from the extended hands of the crowd.
Neither does Vanilla Chill bother with the lowlifes on the rail as the women take a lap around the empty ring.
Meeting at the steps, Jas leads the Platinum Pixie up. Washington sits on the middle strand, pushing up the top to make plenty of room and Sanders steps through, extending her record of most FAWN matches in company history by one more.
J-Dogg joins her partner in crime, both women moving to the middle when Kylie is distracted by a growing ‘TROLL’ chant breaking through the crowd.
Ky covers her ears, screaming at the FAWNatics to shut their mouths. Needless to say, the voices grow louder as Sanders and Jasmine demand silence. Thankfully for them, the ring announcer cuts through the mockery.
“Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From Da Space where Da Man ain’t got no place…weighing in at a combined 237 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders; J-Dogg…Jasmine Washington…HOT & BOTHERED!”
Sanders, stick acquired while the blowhard did his job, waves at the crowd to get quiet. They only turn up the volume of their hatred, Sanders forced to shout over them with her amplifier.
“You all saw how Mitchell did whatever she could to avoid her destined beating,” Kylie shouts. “The mob’s not going to save you tonight, loser. Not you or the redheaded stepchild. The Dogg and I are going to bite until you both run your asses out of our yard.”
Sanders hands the stick over to the ref and together H&B back to their corner, waiting for the arrival of Belle’s bytches.
Hot & Bothered's sole dominance of the moment comes to an end with the very first tolling of AC/DC's "Hell's Bells", which results in an eruption of cheers from the thousands-strong audience that very nearly drowns out the song that blasts through the arena's PA system.
"And introducing their opponents," a voice battles to be heard above the din. "They are from Charlotte, North Carolina and Uriah, Alabama respectively...tipping the scales at a collective 240 pounds...they are FAWN's second generation sensations...Cynthia Mitchell and Ivy Armstrong...BELLLLLLLSSS HELLLLLLIONNNNSSS!"
The curtains tear open, and out stalk Ivy Armstrong and Cynthia Mitchell. 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, although her feet, as always, are bare. Her fiery hair, which usually hangs wild and loose, is now teased up in a manner that suggests both sophistication and tempestuousness.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
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 has discarded her boots, opting just as her partner does to wrestle barefoot. 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.
IVY ARMSTRONG
The second generation sirens advance steadily down the aisle, their fingers brushing against the many outstretched hands which greet them. They both break out into smiles and blow kisses to one fan who holds aloft a sign reading, HOT & BOTHERED ARE GONNA GET BELLE'D & BEATEN!
Arriving at last at the ring, the pair ascends the steps to the apron. Each Hellion enters the ring in her own inimitable style. For Cynthia, this means bending over and stepping between the ropes slooooooowly, so as to give the appreciative crowd behind her a healthy display of her fabled backside. As for Ivy, she leans back against the ropes, then does a backward flip over them, one of the best pairs of legs in the sport on full outstretched display as she slowly does a 360 degree arc into the ring.
With both teammates in the ring, they each dash for corners, bounding up the turnbuckles to the middle ropes, and raising their arms over their heads as the cheers cascade over them. Alighting back to the canvas, Cynthia requests a microphone from the announcer, who swiftly complies. Bringing the mic to her lips, the Charlotte Princess turns to look directly at Kylie, who silently glares daggers at the brunette. "Sanders," Cyn says with undisguised scorn dripping from her words, "just so you're clear, this is OUR ring."
Standing alongside her partner, Ivy smirks, nods and taps the tip of her index finger to her chest, as Mitchell continues. "You two have been squatting on our property long enough, and tonight you're going to pay the rent. Or, more precisely, we're going to take the price out of your hides."
A roar of approval rises from the spectators as the brunette hands the mic back to the announcer and the Hellions strut...with more than a little extra sashay in their hips, to their corner.
Kylie looks ready to bolt across the canvas and attack the Hellions from behind, but Jasmine catches her by an elbow and spins Vanilla Chill to face her.
“Good partner you have there,” Cynthia shouts over her shoulder, seemingly having been ready for Sanders’ attack. “She just saved your ass from a butt whuppin’.”
Washington calms Kylie to a degree but not so much the Platinum Pixie allows Jas to start the match. J-Dogg accedes to her partner’s wishes, slipping through the ropes and taking her station.
In the opposite corner, it’s no surprise the Hellions respond with Cynthia, the two alpha females of the feud not wasting any time in getting after each other. As both women step to the center, Nick Castle calls for the bell and the two longtime rivals tie up in a collar-and-elbow, blonde and brunette shifting for leverage.
Unlike at Heartbroken, the rivals seem to have enough control over their emotions that tonight’s conflagration will be a wrestling match rather than the riot of last month. Mitchell uses her superior strength to walk her foe back into a neutral corner, Ky’s back pressed against the buckles. Instantly, FAWN’s most hated demands a break and Nick calls for the same. Mitchell raises her hands high and backs away.
Sanders reaches toward the second generation superstar’s eye sockets, but Mitchell shoots a toe kick into Kylie’s ivory-skinned tummy before she can reach the baby blues located within. With the silvery bob of Sanders lowered, Mitchell corrals Kylie’s cranium in a front facelock and grinds on the noggin of the Pleasant Valley Pariah.
The already bent Chill tries for a single-leg pick-up but suffers a clubbing right forearm to her spine that disabuses the FAWN original of her counter. Cynthia launches an arched Ky heavenward, stalling Sanders out with the blonde’s boot soles pointed toward the rafters.
Showing off her skills, Mitchell slowly pirouettes with the Hawkeye in her possession before letting Kylie’s shins drop across the top rope. The rubber-coated steel springboards Sanders’ stems from whence they came, Mitchell allowing the limbs to follow through past high noon, SLAMMING Kylie’s vertebrae into the deck with a slingshot suplex.
Ky’s back curves in pain, Chill’s elfin features twisting as she reaches for the base of her spine. Cynthia, the consummate professional, spins into a kneeling, side headlock on a seated Kylie, wrenching away on Sanders’ head and neck.
“I could outwrestle you all night,” the Cynful One growls in her rival’s ear. “We both know that.”
Mitchell twists Ky’s cranium again and forces Sanders up.
“You’ve been relying on others to keep your career alive for a decade,” the Carolinian continues. “But Ivy and I know how to keep the focus on you and watch you wilt.”
Cynthia leverages her blonde, hiptossing Sanders to a tailbone-bruising landing on her diminutive derriere. The brunette follows with a soccer kick to the spine, forcing a yelp from the Hawkeye, back arching again.
Cynthia grabs Kylie’s wrists, pulling them back. She inserts a knee directly between Sanders’ shoulderblades and bears down, still working Ky’s backbone while also threatening to remove the blonde’s arms from their sockets.
Castle lowers to a knee in front of Vanilla Chill.
“Whaddya say?”
“I say get the f*** out of my face,” Sanders hisses at the zebra. Kylie leans against Mitchell to work her way to vertical, Cynthia giving up her impaling knee, changing her grips on Sanders’ arms into a full nelson. She gives Ky’s head a rattle, tossing the smaller woman from side to side in her possession.
From the H&B corner, Jasmine shouts some encouragement and Sanders gets a couple steps toward her partner before Cynthia rips her in the opposite direction, pointing the Platinum Pixie toward the Bama Slamma, the redhead waving cheekily at the grimacing Kylie.
Cynthia walks her captive toward the Hellion corner and when Ky’s within range, Ivy whips a wicked slap across Sanders’ cheek, flushing the blonde’s jowl.
“No, silly goose,” Mitchell chuckles. “You tag ME. How long you been doin’ this?”
“Sorry, sweetie,” Ivy apologizes. “I plum forget some times.”
Armstrong NAILS Sanders’ chest with a backhand chop that echoes through the arena, bringing a ‘WOOOO’ from the FAWNatics.
“Damn. Did it again, didn’ I?”
Mitchell nods accusingly. She turns her back to her BFF and the redhead lightly taps Cynthia’s shoulder.
Not surprisingly, Mitchell doesn’t exit. She releases her nelson but keeps Kylie’s left wrist under her control while Ivy snatches Sanders’ right. Together, they look like they’re going to double Irish whip the Platinum Pixie to her own corner but that’s quickly proven inaccurate, the twosome instead heaving her backward, RAMMING Kylie’s increasingly tender spinal column into the nearby buckles.
After releasing, Armstrong is immediately on a sprint toward J-Dogg. She turns while just out of Jasmine’s reach and heads toward the dazed Hawkeye. Cynthia’s dropped to hands and knees a few feet out from her rival and the Slamma needs no other cue. The auburn-haired grappler sprints toward her target. Using her partner as a launching pad, Ivy leaps into a nasty, avalanche splash of the increasingly docile and flaccid blonde.
Armstrong remains tight, pressed chest to chest with the weakening Chill as the Cynful One scrambles to her feet under the increasingly loud and insistent complaint of Castle. She too takes a ‘drive-by’ on a flustered and irritable Dogg and spins to race toward friend and foe alike.
Cynthia goes skyward from several feet out and SPLASHES atop both Ivy and Kylie, the redhead taking one for the team to apply the double-decker sandwich to the flagging Hawkeye, Ky flattened beneath both Hellions.
As Mitchell finally exits the confines and Armstrong steps aside, a slight grimace on her lips, Kylie staggers toward the beckoning Jasmine, but a few steps out from the Hellion corner, FAWN’s most hated takes a header, delighting the sold-out arena.
Ivy trails, walking atop Kylie’s spine a couple steps as she strolls to Washington.
“You REALLY need to find someone else, darlin’. Anyone.”
“And you REALLY need to shut ya damn mouth before I shut it for ya,” the loyal Dogg barks.
Ivy shrugs and turns to a slowly rising Sanders. She widens the arc of her return to slip into Sanders’ six and when Kylie reaches a stooped vertical, the Slamma pounces. Ivy steps her right leg over Ky’s then crosses her torso behind Sanders’ back, emerging under Chill’s left arm and reefing back once she has the trapped limb, working Kylie with an abdominal stretch that quickly has the Platinum Pixie howling in pain.
Abdominal Stretch (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNMDIdxCb8U )
The Dirtiest Player sinks a claw into Kylie’s exposed flank for good measure, Sanders sobbing but shaking her head emphatically when Castle asks if she wants to surrender.
A moan of pain accompanies every pant from the Iowan. But as she grits her teeth and tenses her body, she suddenly emits a grumble that grows into a roar, and in a spectacular show of raw power, she manages to hip toss her redheaded tormentor, breaking the hold. Sanders stumbles away, propelled more by sheer force of will than by physical ability, until she makes it to the ropes, collapsing over the top strand as she struggles to rally her reserves.
Lips pursed in displeasure at having been defied, Ivy kips back up to her feet and moves quickly over to her opponent, anxious to resume her punishment of Chill. But even as she grabs for Kylie's pixie mane, the FAWN Original whirls around and jabs a pair of knuckles into her adversary's green eyes. The Southern belle shrieks and stumbles backward, momentarily blinded...a condition which worsens as the enraged Sanders grabs Armstrong by the hair and forces her head down to the ropes, allowing her to drag the redhead's face across the cable.
And unfortunately for the 'Bama Slamma, that brings her straight to Hot & Bothered's corner. The blonde shoves her opponent's back up against the turnbuckles, then immediately whirls around and stalks right up to the ref, getting in his face and jabbing at his chest with her index finger.
"AND YOU!" she barks. "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE CONTROL OF THIS MATCH AND REIN IN THE CHEATING OF THOSE SOUTHERN TRAMPS? WHAT'S THE MATTER, YOU DON'T HAVE THE BALLS TO STAND UP TO THEM? YOU CAN BORROW MINE!"
Flustered by the verbal onslaught, the zebra stumbles backward, but Sanders stays right on him...which serves to neatly distract his attention from what's occurring behind her.
Jasmine deftly unties the shoelace string of the top turnbuckle, pulling enough free of the eyelets to give her a healthy length to wrap around the alabaster throat of Ivy, whose legs kick wildly her fingers clawing at that garrote that now strangles her.
"You had yourself a big mouth before, red...what's the matter, cat got your tongue now?" Washington purrs.
From the opposite corner, Cynthia realizes what is happening and she darts through the ropes, determined to save her partner. But Kylie places her hands upon the official's striped shoulders and spins him around, allowing him to bodily block the Hellion and muscle her back to her corner.
Quite satisfied with her handiwork, Chill turns and saunters back toward her team's piece of ring real estate, drawing close enough to throw a kick into the taut belly of the embattled Hellion, drawing a gurgled grunt from Armstrong. As the referee has succeeded in getting Mitchell to exit the ring and he turns his attention back to the legal action, Jasmine pulls the string free of the redhead's throat, allowing Ivy to gulp in precious oxygen. However, a sizeable amount of that is expelled as the Iowan cracks a chop across her adversary's chest, the fair skin of the Alabaman instantly turning an ugly bright red from the impact.
With the zebra now squawking about corners and tags and other boring topics, Hot & Bothered high five one another and exchange places, J-Dogg looking like the proverbial cat who's about to dine on canary under glass. Grabbing the stunned Slamma by her fiery locks, Washington leans in close and hisses, "I've been wanting to get my hands on you a long time, Alabama. You're about to see the kind of whuppin' a Georgia girl can bring down on y'all."
Converting into a side headlock, Jasmine suddenly rushes forward, pulling her unwilling sidecar passenger along with her until they reach mid-ring and Washington brings Armstrong horizontal with a bulldog.
But the Slamma doesn't remain planked for long, as she's peeled up from the canvas by a handful of hair and bought to unsteady feet. She then finds her head shoved down between the thighs of her opponent, while Washington hooks Ivy's arms. Suddenly dropping to the mat, Jasmine nails the redhead with a Wings of Icarus facebuster, further stupefying the harried Hellion.
Grabbing Armstrong's left ankle, the Georgian says, "I keep hearing about how strong your legs are. Let's give that a test, what do you say, sugar?"
She then locks on a Hiza-Juji-Gatame kneebar, snapping Ivy out of her stupor with a yowl of electric pain to her fabled gam. The redhead squirms in her tormentor's gasp, her hands reaching out for the ropes, but they are too far away to provide any relief. The ref crouches down before the embattled battler and asks, "How about it Ivy, ready to submit? Say the word and it's over."
With a growl that chokes back sobs, Armstrong snarls, "NO! NOT...TO...HER!"
She lets out a piercing shriek as Jasmine has taken advantage of the fact her victim's foot is so close to the Hot & Bothered beauty's mouth, and maybe this piece of country trash ought to learn the value of wearing a pair of boots in a match. She sinks her incisors down on peach pale skin, and of course the zebra is positioned so as to not see it.
From her vantage point on the apron, Kylie calls across the ring to her opposite number: "Take a good look, unwanted middle child...my girl J-Dogg is gonna cripple your partner, and there's nothing you can do about it!"
Kneebar (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIMz3IuzIN0 )
Mitchell snarls at Sanders, but refuses to give Kylie the attention she so desperately wants. Instead, Cynthia starts a rhythmic clap the FAWNatics quickly pick up, stirring the Slamma into action. Ivy adds to rhythm, ignoring the anguish in one leg as best she can and stomping at Jasmine’s chest with her free stem.
The pounding of Armstrong’s bare sole against her finally convinces Washington the attempt to force the redhead’s surrender is premature. She gives up her grip, butt-scooting away from the piston-like precision of Ivy’s thrusts.
Rubbing her battered gurls, the Badass from Hotlanta pushes to vertical and is instantly on the move. She races over her still splayed foe, popping into a handstand as she reaches the ropes, not far from her target. Using the cables as a springboard, J-Dogg drops to her boot leather and uses the momentum to rotate into a moonsault, the strength of Hot&Bothered landing in a ab-crushing splash of Ivy’s ivory midriff.
Handsrping Moonsault (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YO90f9scLZw )
Jasmine hooks Armstrong’s far leg after pushing every bit of breath from Armstrong’s lungs, rolling her up for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The redheaded Hellion breaks free with a thrust of her pelvis and a fling of her legs. A frustrated Wash slaps the canvas then does likewise to Armstrong’s aching abs, raising a rosy welt on the alabaster abdomen.
“DOGG!”
The familiar shout of her partner turns Jasmine’s attention to the H&B corner.
“Let me show that hillbilly how quickly I can put someone in the Chill Zone.”
J-Dogg’s lips crease with a smirk and she nods to her partner, yanking Ivy up by a handful of fire-engine-hued locks. The Nubian beauty draws the stumbling, doubled Armstrong to within arm’s length of the Platinum Pixie and she hands over control to Ivy’s fellow FAWN original.
Jasmine starts to take Ky’s place on the outside, but Sanders catches her by a shoulder and turns her.
“Naw Dogg. This country-fried has-been needs to know her place.”
Sanders and Washington each take a wrist and lean Ivy’s back into the cables. Bouncing out of the strands, they send Armstrong racing to the far ropes and rebounding. Kylie shoots out in front of her Dogg and leaps into a flying crossbody of the Bama Slamma. The stubborn, red-maned mule from Ukiah catches Ky across her chest but fails to play along, holding a wriggling Sanders in her grip while maintaining her balance.
But before Ivy can turn the advantage in her direction, Washington leaps into a perfect dropkick of Kylie’s back and it flattens the Dirtiest Player to the canvas, the Pleasant Valley Pariah sandwiching her underneath. Air again driven from her, Ivy’s a pale starfish under the Hawkeye. Kylie hooks a leg in her manufactured lateral press and gets the…
ONE…
TWO…
Again Ivy kicks out of trouble, Ky pushed up to her haunches. A red-faced Sanders pulls at her silvery bob.
“Gawd damn it. Stay down, stepchild!”
As the ref guides Jasmine out of the legal playing field, a flustered Kylie pushes to her feet and angrily stomps the chest and tummy of the auburn-haired grappler, subduing any possible turnaround before taking a stroll to the Hellion part of town.
Sanders does a ‘walk by’ on her old rival, keeping just out of range of Mitchell’s attempt to smack the taste from the Iowan’s mouth.
“Scared to face me?” Cyn asks.
Ky snorts and turns her attention back to Ivy, who’s reached her knees. Sanders motions Armstrong to get up and the redhead obliges. Closing in, Sanders dips and swings an arm between the Hellion’s legs. She ‘hups’ Ivy across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, the fans instantly worrying about a Chilly Valley Driver that might end Armstrong’s slamming for the night. But instead, Kylie starts to pirouette, gathering speed and centrifugal force, Sanders going totally old school with an Airplane Spin, Ivy made into her propeller.
After a half dozen rotations, the wobbling Hawkeyes shrugs and shoves Armstrong off her shoulders, the Slamma spinning another half turn before gravity comes to bear on the tag legend, the Hellion CRASHING to the canvas, face and chest down. A staggering Kylie fights to keep her balance and mistakenly comes within range of Mitchell. Cynthia clocks the Platinum Pixie, putting the blonde’s head on a serious swivel with a balled fist to the jaw.
Thankfully for Chill, she stumbles out of range, massaging her mandible and grumbling under her breath at a beaming, waving Cynful One. Ignoring the throbbing as much as she’s able, Kylie drops into a reverse straddle of the base of Ivy’s spine. She lifts a clenched right hand high and reflexively the former Kylie Corps membership scream out “FARM…HAND” before they can stop themselves.
Sanders digs the hammy clamp into the back of her foe’s right thigh, digging her digits into the nerve bundle just where the hamstring attaches to the alabaster curve of Armstrong’s gluteus. ‘Chewing’ with her right hand, Ky presses her left hand on top to drive the talons deeper with her signature submission.
“You ever want to walk the back forty again,” Sanders threatens, “I’d suggest tapping before I rip your hammy to shreds.”
But Kylie is working with no ordinary stems and, while Armstrong grimaces in pain, the Farm Hand can’t break down the infamous, steel-like lower limb of the Confederate. Instead of quitting, Ivy uses her unanchored left to pound a sole into Ky’s chest with enough force, the blonde flops to her back, ending shoulderblades to shoulderblades with the Hellion.
Reaching over her back with laced fingers, Ivy finds the curve of Sanders’ chin and starts to curl the backbone of the Hawkeye as she pulls her arms forward and down, the overturned features of the Platinum Pixie next to the teeth-gritting mug of the suddenly rejuvenated Slamma.
Working an ingeniously innovative inverted Clutch, it’s quickly Kylie the ref asks for surrender as the arc of Chill’s stretched backbone continues to grow, Kylie yipping in pain through her clenched jaw but grunting out a ‘no’ while her arms flail in the air above her.
Having placed quite a crick in Ky’s neck and a crease in her vertebrae, Ivy barrel rolls both women 180 degrees, ending atop Sanders with her makeshift clutch still in place.
“TAP…TAP…TAP” the chants come from the FAWNatics but again Chill refuses until the Slamma can hold the position no longer, releasing and uncoiling, shaking out her knotted arms between crawling strides to the Hellion corner.
As the Crimson Calamity slowly makes her way to the outstretched arm of Mitchell, Kylie spins on her spandex and begins to slither along the canvas in the other direction, grimacing with every movement, a hand reaching back to her lower spine.
Diving the last few feet, Ivy tickles fingers with the Cynful One and the brunette is through like a shot, trying to stop Vanilla Chill from reaching her partner. Ky’s wide hazel eyes can see salvation only a few feet away when Cynthia arrives with a big elbow drop to base of Kylie’s backbone, the Hawkeye twisting and yelping in agony, her back knotted in a half dozen sheepshanks.
A beaming Cynthia rises and looks down at the pain-racked Sanders as a noticeably nervous Kylie returns her gaze to Mitchell’s.
“Remember me, loser?” Cynthia inquires.
Even if by some chance her recollection of the second generation sensation had somehow grown hazy, there's no way she's forgotten the feeling of Mitchell putting a boot heel to her belly, as the Carolinian does now, drawing a WHOOSH from the battered blonde. That makes Chill suitably compliant as Cynthia grabs her opponent's legs and slingshots her to center ring. Kylie face plants hard, her corn-bred bosom taking the impact as she grunts in discomfort.
Discomfort then turns to outright pain as Mitchell drops a knee to the small of the Iowan's tender back, grinding it into the spine, while one hand yanks the blonde's right leg up and back, and the other digits tighten amid a tangled mop of flaxen mane, jerking up Kylie's head, and bending the Hawkeye honey in a direction which nature most definitely never intended. Sanders shrieks, her finger clawing fruitlessly at the canvas in a vain effort to somehow try and crawl away. Escape seems impossible, and defeat looms as possibly inevitable.
But it is then that a small miracle occurs, as the referee orders the Hellion to break the hold, because she's pulling her victim's hair. A look of shock registers on Cyn's face as she sputters incredulously, "Are you kidding me?!?" As far as transgressions go in FAWN, a hairpull is definitely small change. But the zebra...perhaps sensing that things are bound to grow ever-more out of control...has decided at this juncture to try and impose his authority and remind the four women that he is indeed the law within the confines of the ring. Realizing that the official is dead serious, Mitchell grumbles, "Fine." Releasing her handholds on both Kylie's leg and hair, Cynthia rises up to her feet...but then gives a quick stomp to the blonde's back, just to remind her that her defeat is only delayed a tiny bit, not deferred.
The brunette then peels her adversary up from the mat with another handful of hair, followed by an Irish Whip. Kylie manages to turn her body 180 degrees so that she doesn't crash chest-first into the turnbuckles, but somewhere around the 150th degree it dawns on her that this might be an error. That hypothesis is proven true an instant later, as the Iowan's much-maligned back takes yet another impact, twisting her elfin face into a grimace of anguish. That visage is altered by a pair of bulging brown peepers several moments later, as Mitchell charges the ring and leaps forward, her lithe body going horizontal as she spears her shoulder into her target's tummy. From her vantage point, partner Jasmine can only flinch in sympathy pain and turn away, unable to watch for the moment. Across the ring, a recovering Ivy leads the cheers for the hellraising Hellion.
Another Irish whip, another trip across the expanse of canvas, and Chill finds her spine again introduced rudely to the turnbuckle...and feeling every bit of the steel beneath the padding. Mitchell rushes toward her, turning herself around at the last moment so that her backside smashes into Kylie's belly, and the brunette follows with a trio of elbows to the blonde's jaw.
Really feeling her oats now, Cyn steps up on the middle ropes and stands straddling over her opponent. Filling her left hand with golden tresses, she balls her right fist and draws her arm back. And then she unloads a succession of punches to the side of Kylie's head as the crowd gleefully counts along to ten. Beaming a triumphant smile, the Hellion lifts her head and looks out upon the cheering throng, as Armstrong overhand claps for her partner's dominance.
But this moment of seeming total control is shattered as Sanders suddenly wraps her arms around her tormentor's midriff and, with a bellow of defiance, picks her up. The blonde suddenly pushes out of the corner and dashes several steps toward the middle of the ring. An instant later the blonde suddenly brings her unwilling passenger down, the delta of Cynthia's thighs drilling squarely down upon Chill's bent right knee.
The Hellion lets out an ear-piercing shriek from the impact, which is with such force that she bounces up into the air, only to crash with a heavy thud to the mat a moment later. From her corner, a shocked Ivy puts her hands to her head and mantras "No no no no no no!", while opposite her, Washington at last has something to celebrate.
Cynthia lies on her back, eyes shut tight against the pain, her hands cupping her throbbing womanhood. Her adrenaline seemingly evaporating, Kyle drops to her hands and knees, panting hard for breath as her unfocused eyes blink repeatedly. Tilting her head toward her splayed rival, the Iowan rasps hoarsely, "You were never a match for me, junior...NEVER!"
Common sense instructs Sanders to use this opportunity to traverse the remaining distance to her team's corner and make the tag. And Kylie fully intends to heed that advice...right after she dishes out a little revenge on this purple-clad bitch.
Kylie decides to open Mitchell’s baby blues. She hops above the splayed Cynthia and double stomps the Carolinian’s gut. Mitchell jackknifes around the impaling boots, Cyn’s eyes bulging as oxygen bursts from her lungs. A smile draws wide on Kylie’s elfin features and she bounds off the Cynful One, a boot sole landing on either side of the brunette’s ribs. Up the Hawkeye launches again, thrusting her feet into her foe’s ivory tummy. She repeats the harsh landing a third, fourth and fifth time, working Mitchell like a bellows. Finally relenting, she drops off and takes a stroll around the coughing Cynthia.
“Chill,” Jasmine plaintively calls from the Hot&Bothered corner, arm outstretched.
“I got this,” Sanders insists. “She needs to know, Dogg.”
Washington reels her arm back in, nodding but noticeably disappointed she’s not getting her piece of Hellion flesh.
With Mitchell sitting up, the Platinum Pixie sinks a set of nails into Cynthia’s scalp and rips her rival to vertical.
“I left you in the dust, Bytchell,” Ky insists to a breathless Cynthia. “I’ll put you back there.”
From out of nowhere, Cyn paintbrushes Kylie’s cheeks with a wicked echoing slap that sends Sanders’ head on a swivel. But Ky responds with a forearm shiver right back into Mitchell’s jaw. And though it doesn’t have the same sound, it’s heavy artillery when placed right on the button.
Mitchell staggers and seems ready to go down until Kylie steadies her foe. The Hawkeye dips her head and slips it in between Cynthia’s thighs, tempting fate and a Drop Out, Jasmine wincing at the boldness of her partner’s placement. But Kylie manages to vault the second generation superstar off the deck before any harm can come.
With Mitchell draped over a shoulder, Kylie drops to her backside and PLANTS Cynthia’s face into the canvas with her Iowa Waterwheel.
Iowa Waterwheel (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L78bbjcEtWw )
The thud draws some groans of sympathy from the FAWNatics and jeers follow when a rising Kylie lifts her arms high and wide.
“You morons starting to get it?” Sanders shouts to an increasingly irate crowd.
The Platinum Pixie returns her attention to the brunette, forcing her foe up from all fours, controlling her with a front facelock. Sanders flings a limp Mitchell arm behind her neck and brings her strength to bear, vaulting the Cynful One high, Mitchell’s boot soles pointing to the rafters, Ky stalling her suplex. Pivoting, Sanders walks Cynthia within a couple feet of the cables and lets Mitchell’s shins drop across the top rope.
The strand springs Cynthia in the opposite direction and Kylie completes her slingshot suplex in ring-rattling fashion.
Slingshot Suplex (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFXDFv8a7XE )
Kylie spins and throws her alabaster frame across Cyn, desperate to show the new normal puts her on top of Cynthia’s deflated form. Kylie presses tight in a crossbody pin, hooking the brunette’s far leg for good measure for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Cynthia forces a shoulder up, sending Ky into hysterics, shouting at Castle in a fury, convinced she had the pin and the win. Nick can only hold up two fingers with a shrug.
“Fine!” Kylie growls.
She snatches her foe’s left wrist and shoulder and tugs the faltering Hellion to her feet. Sanders bullies Cynthia into a backpedal, pushing her deep into the ropes before both women bounce out, Chill heaving Mitchell across the canvas with an Irish Whip that has the Carolina Cutthroat racing to the far ropes.
Sanders follows to mid-ring where she dips toward the returning Mitchell. Seamlessly, Vanilla Chill slips an arm between the legs of the charging brunette and vaults her into a fireman’s carry, Cynthia strapped across Kylie’s shoulders. The most casual FAWN fan knows where this is going, straight into Chilly Valley, with Ky putting an end to the debate on who’s better.
Chilly Valley Driver (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIRSL_p7klg )
But before the Hawkeye can deliver Cynthia to the deck for the grande finale, the legal member of the Hellions throws a chop block into the pit of Kylie’s left knee. Having escaped Kylie’s notice but not Castle’s, Armstrong tagged Cynthia’s right shoulder when she’d hit the ropes, leaving the redhead the lawful Hellion.
Ky collapses to the deck, screeching in pain from the attack to her blindside. She flops to the canvas, grasping at her throbbing knee while Cynthia tumbles away with a much less painful landing than what FAWN’s Most Hated planned.
As a nervous Jasmine slides fingers through her ebony locks, a beaming Ivy is a cat ready to eat her canary. The Bama Slamma slides into Ky’s six as the stubborn Iowan struggles to her feet limping noticeably as she tries to determine what the hell happened. Cynthia is in recovery mode in front of her, which left? Kylie spins to find the Dirtiest Player and she does indeed. But Armstrong is ready with a toe kick to Kylie’s alabaster abdomen.
With Sanders frozen and doubled from the blow to her belly, Ivy pivots away from her fellow FAWN original. She snatches Kylie’s noggin over her right shoulder in a ¾ facelock and drops to her derriere. The force of Ivy’s SoCo Stunner sends Sanders airborne, the blonde ROCKED to her core, landing several feet away, apparently out cold.
SoCo Stunner (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysvpoIjCs9I )
It’s a convincing enough result for Jasmine to immediately enter the field of battle, realizing Chill will need a save even before Ivy tries to cover. She races toward her teammate, eyes glued on Ivy so intensely, she doesn’t see Mitchell launch a superkick from the side, boot CRACKING into J-Dogg’s temple.
Washington spins in a violent pirouette from the force of the blast then gets gutted by Cynthia’s toe kick to the tummy after the 360. As the crowd roars its approval, Mitchell tugs Jasmine’s head between her thighs and clamps down in a standing head scissors. The brunette skillfully collects a pair of underhooks, locking her fingers in the small of Dogg’s dipped back.
Cynthia leaps and descends to her knee, SPIKING Jasmine’s flawless features into the deck with her inimitable Drop Out, Kylie’s partner knocked into next week.
Drop Out (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YnX2GRPtmk )
Washington snoozes, face down, head between the legs of a kneeling and supremely satisfied Mitchell. Cynthia shovels the Nubian beauty to her back as Ivy slides down next to Sanders. While seated, she uses Chill’s wrists as handles to tug the head and shoulders of the Platinum Pixie into her lap.
With Kylie’s chin nestled into the front juncture of her renowned thighs, the redhead BAMA SLAMS the door on any escape or indeed any survival, Armstrong strapping her lethal legs tight around Sanders’ buried braincase in a figure-four head scissors, the silvery bob of FAWN’s biggest traitor barely popping out from between Ivy’s alabaster stems , Chill’s face is submerged in the Hellion’s crotch.
Southern Charm (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E53mzsiSPbc ) @ 00:16
Lack of air and overabundance of Ivy’s kitty bring the Platinum Pixie back to life within the Southern Charm, Ky flailing wildly. Armstrong latches onto Kylie’s wrists to halt her from hitting anything tender and it’s only the squirming of Sanders’ stems that remains. A half dozen seconds pass before the writhing begins to slow and, knowing full well Ivy can have her way unless she surrenders, Kylie gets to tappin’, lips tasting too much of Ivy’s warm spandex to do more than offer muffled pleas along with her drumbeat of submission.
Nick turns to the timekeeper, waving his arm enthusiastically, calling for the bell. As it tolls, the ring announcer chimes in, making the emphatic result official.
“Your winners, by submission, Ivy Armstrong, Cynthia Mitchell, Belle’s Hellions.”
Ivy drops off her supporting forearms, falling to horizontal with no further need to keep her own shoulders from touching canvas. But what she doesn’t do is release the scissors, Kylie’s head remaining trapped, the green-eyed redhead clearly reveling in the weakening taps of the Platinum Pixie.
Castle ups his requests to threats, Armstrong ignoring him until Kylie’s body shudders before going slack, the Hawkeye insensate. Arms leaden at her side and head loose on a relaxed neck, Kylie’s nothing more than a prop, the Slamma finally unknotting her legs and letting Chill’s greasy face emerge, drool dribbling over Kylie’s lower lip and collecting on an ivory-skinned thigh of the victor.
“Pretty as a picture,” a risen Cynthia comments, having left Jasmine in a wide and motionless spreadeagle, Washington still knocked out from the Drop Out. Mitchell offers her partner a hand and Ivy uses it to slide out from under Ky’s head, letting it drop to the canvas meekly as she’s hauled up.
The Hellions showboat over the unconscious Hot&Bothered, each taking a turn placing a domineering boot atop one foe then the other, the FAWNatics testing the capacity of their lungs as they cheer long and loud.
Cynthia looks down at the oblivious Kylie.
“I’m not going to let Ivy have all the fun. This isn’t done until I get my chance to put you down.”
The redhead hovers over the blasted Badass from Hotlanta.
“Bama always was better than sweet ole Georgia,” Ivy informs the comatose Jasmine. “And any ole time you wanna find out personally, you have the boss let me know.”
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
Behind the first chords of the hip-hop anthem and the ear-numbing jeers, the Pleasant Valley Pariah strides to center stage, confident smirk back in place after emerging atop last month’s free-for-all with seemingly half the roster.
KYLIE SANDERS
Vanilla is flanked by her partner J-Dogg but without the rest of Hot&Bothered, former tag teamers cousin Kristy and ‘Huggable’ Cosette LeBlanc, banned from ringside. In tonight’s tag contest, only the two teammates would be allowed, Christian not wanting a less than instant replay of the Heartbroken mayhem at March to War.
JASMINE WASHINGTON
The FAWNatics unleash their hatred on the duo at earsplitting levels, the arena air reverberating with the decibels.
Drawing on echoes of her original gear, Sanders sports a unique, multi-strapped yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
On the FAWNtron behind her, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters. Jasmine shows off her legendary FAWN original partner as if presenting her with a grander flourish will melt the icy hearts of the fans. No such luck.
After an embrace, J-Dogg flashes signs and shakes dat ass as she leads the team in a march to the squared circle.
Dressed in a tiny black hoodie, (black version of the following: i2.photobucket.com/albums/y32/biggerb/Jasmine-clothing.jpg~original ) the rookie snaps her head back to clear the hood and her shoulder-length ebony locks behind.
Beneath the woman wears camo boy-cut trunks (http://s2.photobucket.com/user/biggerb/media/Jasmine-clothing%20below.jpg.html ) which accentuate her bootylicious backside. Below are black pads and boots.
Reaching the ring, she waggles her way around as if she owns the place, her face only turning sour when shying away from the extended hands of the crowd.
Neither does Vanilla Chill bother with the lowlifes on the rail as the women take a lap around the empty ring.
Meeting at the steps, Jas leads the Platinum Pixie up. Washington sits on the middle strand, pushing up the top to make plenty of room and Sanders steps through, extending her record of most FAWN matches in company history by one more.
J-Dogg joins her partner in crime, both women moving to the middle when Kylie is distracted by a growing ‘TROLL’ chant breaking through the crowd.
Ky covers her ears, screaming at the FAWNatics to shut their mouths. Needless to say, the voices grow louder as Sanders and Jasmine demand silence. Thankfully for them, the ring announcer cuts through the mockery.
“Tonight’s next match is scheduled for one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From Da Space where Da Man ain’t got no place…weighing in at a combined 237 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders; J-Dogg…Jasmine Washington…HOT & BOTHERED!”
Sanders, stick acquired while the blowhard did his job, waves at the crowd to get quiet. They only turn up the volume of their hatred, Sanders forced to shout over them with her amplifier.
“You all saw how Mitchell did whatever she could to avoid her destined beating,” Kylie shouts. “The mob’s not going to save you tonight, loser. Not you or the redheaded stepchild. The Dogg and I are going to bite until you both run your asses out of our yard.”
Sanders hands the stick over to the ref and together H&B back to their corner, waiting for the arrival of Belle’s bytches.
Hot & Bothered's sole dominance of the moment comes to an end with the very first tolling of AC/DC's "Hell's Bells", which results in an eruption of cheers from the thousands-strong audience that very nearly drowns out the song that blasts through the arena's PA system.
"And introducing their opponents," a voice battles to be heard above the din. "They are from Charlotte, North Carolina and Uriah, Alabama respectively...tipping the scales at a collective 240 pounds...they are FAWN's second generation sensations...Cynthia Mitchell and Ivy Armstrong...BELLLLLLLSSS HELLLLLLIONNNNSSS!"
The curtains tear open, and out stalk Ivy Armstrong and Cynthia Mitchell. 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, although her feet, as always, are bare. Her fiery hair, which usually hangs wild and loose, is now teased up in a manner that suggests both sophistication and tempestuousness.
CYNTHIA MITCHELL
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 has discarded her boots, opting just as her partner does to wrestle barefoot. 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.
IVY ARMSTRONG
The second generation sirens advance steadily down the aisle, their fingers brushing against the many outstretched hands which greet them. They both break out into smiles and blow kisses to one fan who holds aloft a sign reading, HOT & BOTHERED ARE GONNA GET BELLE'D & BEATEN!
Arriving at last at the ring, the pair ascends the steps to the apron. Each Hellion enters the ring in her own inimitable style. For Cynthia, this means bending over and stepping between the ropes slooooooowly, so as to give the appreciative crowd behind her a healthy display of her fabled backside. As for Ivy, she leans back against the ropes, then does a backward flip over them, one of the best pairs of legs in the sport on full outstretched display as she slowly does a 360 degree arc into the ring.
With both teammates in the ring, they each dash for corners, bounding up the turnbuckles to the middle ropes, and raising their arms over their heads as the cheers cascade over them. Alighting back to the canvas, Cynthia requests a microphone from the announcer, who swiftly complies. Bringing the mic to her lips, the Charlotte Princess turns to look directly at Kylie, who silently glares daggers at the brunette. "Sanders," Cyn says with undisguised scorn dripping from her words, "just so you're clear, this is OUR ring."
Standing alongside her partner, Ivy smirks, nods and taps the tip of her index finger to her chest, as Mitchell continues. "You two have been squatting on our property long enough, and tonight you're going to pay the rent. Or, more precisely, we're going to take the price out of your hides."
A roar of approval rises from the spectators as the brunette hands the mic back to the announcer and the Hellions strut...with more than a little extra sashay in their hips, to their corner.
Kylie looks ready to bolt across the canvas and attack the Hellions from behind, but Jasmine catches her by an elbow and spins Vanilla Chill to face her.
“Good partner you have there,” Cynthia shouts over her shoulder, seemingly having been ready for Sanders’ attack. “She just saved your ass from a butt whuppin’.”
Washington calms Kylie to a degree but not so much the Platinum Pixie allows Jas to start the match. J-Dogg accedes to her partner’s wishes, slipping through the ropes and taking her station.
In the opposite corner, it’s no surprise the Hellions respond with Cynthia, the two alpha females of the feud not wasting any time in getting after each other. As both women step to the center, Nick Castle calls for the bell and the two longtime rivals tie up in a collar-and-elbow, blonde and brunette shifting for leverage.
Unlike at Heartbroken, the rivals seem to have enough control over their emotions that tonight’s conflagration will be a wrestling match rather than the riot of last month. Mitchell uses her superior strength to walk her foe back into a neutral corner, Ky’s back pressed against the buckles. Instantly, FAWN’s most hated demands a break and Nick calls for the same. Mitchell raises her hands high and backs away.
Sanders reaches toward the second generation superstar’s eye sockets, but Mitchell shoots a toe kick into Kylie’s ivory-skinned tummy before she can reach the baby blues located within. With the silvery bob of Sanders lowered, Mitchell corrals Kylie’s cranium in a front facelock and grinds on the noggin of the Pleasant Valley Pariah.
The already bent Chill tries for a single-leg pick-up but suffers a clubbing right forearm to her spine that disabuses the FAWN original of her counter. Cynthia launches an arched Ky heavenward, stalling Sanders out with the blonde’s boot soles pointed toward the rafters.
Showing off her skills, Mitchell slowly pirouettes with the Hawkeye in her possession before letting Kylie’s shins drop across the top rope. The rubber-coated steel springboards Sanders’ stems from whence they came, Mitchell allowing the limbs to follow through past high noon, SLAMMING Kylie’s vertebrae into the deck with a slingshot suplex.
Ky’s back curves in pain, Chill’s elfin features twisting as she reaches for the base of her spine. Cynthia, the consummate professional, spins into a kneeling, side headlock on a seated Kylie, wrenching away on Sanders’ head and neck.
“I could outwrestle you all night,” the Cynful One growls in her rival’s ear. “We both know that.”
Mitchell twists Ky’s cranium again and forces Sanders up.
“You’ve been relying on others to keep your career alive for a decade,” the Carolinian continues. “But Ivy and I know how to keep the focus on you and watch you wilt.”
Cynthia leverages her blonde, hiptossing Sanders to a tailbone-bruising landing on her diminutive derriere. The brunette follows with a soccer kick to the spine, forcing a yelp from the Hawkeye, back arching again.
Cynthia grabs Kylie’s wrists, pulling them back. She inserts a knee directly between Sanders’ shoulderblades and bears down, still working Ky’s backbone while also threatening to remove the blonde’s arms from their sockets.
Castle lowers to a knee in front of Vanilla Chill.
“Whaddya say?”
“I say get the f*** out of my face,” Sanders hisses at the zebra. Kylie leans against Mitchell to work her way to vertical, Cynthia giving up her impaling knee, changing her grips on Sanders’ arms into a full nelson. She gives Ky’s head a rattle, tossing the smaller woman from side to side in her possession.
From the H&B corner, Jasmine shouts some encouragement and Sanders gets a couple steps toward her partner before Cynthia rips her in the opposite direction, pointing the Platinum Pixie toward the Bama Slamma, the redhead waving cheekily at the grimacing Kylie.
Cynthia walks her captive toward the Hellion corner and when Ky’s within range, Ivy whips a wicked slap across Sanders’ cheek, flushing the blonde’s jowl.
“No, silly goose,” Mitchell chuckles. “You tag ME. How long you been doin’ this?”
“Sorry, sweetie,” Ivy apologizes. “I plum forget some times.”
Armstrong NAILS Sanders’ chest with a backhand chop that echoes through the arena, bringing a ‘WOOOO’ from the FAWNatics.
“Damn. Did it again, didn’ I?”
Mitchell nods accusingly. She turns her back to her BFF and the redhead lightly taps Cynthia’s shoulder.
Not surprisingly, Mitchell doesn’t exit. She releases her nelson but keeps Kylie’s left wrist under her control while Ivy snatches Sanders’ right. Together, they look like they’re going to double Irish whip the Platinum Pixie to her own corner but that’s quickly proven inaccurate, the twosome instead heaving her backward, RAMMING Kylie’s increasingly tender spinal column into the nearby buckles.
After releasing, Armstrong is immediately on a sprint toward J-Dogg. She turns while just out of Jasmine’s reach and heads toward the dazed Hawkeye. Cynthia’s dropped to hands and knees a few feet out from her rival and the Slamma needs no other cue. The auburn-haired grappler sprints toward her target. Using her partner as a launching pad, Ivy leaps into a nasty, avalanche splash of the increasingly docile and flaccid blonde.
Armstrong remains tight, pressed chest to chest with the weakening Chill as the Cynful One scrambles to her feet under the increasingly loud and insistent complaint of Castle. She too takes a ‘drive-by’ on a flustered and irritable Dogg and spins to race toward friend and foe alike.
Cynthia goes skyward from several feet out and SPLASHES atop both Ivy and Kylie, the redhead taking one for the team to apply the double-decker sandwich to the flagging Hawkeye, Ky flattened beneath both Hellions.
As Mitchell finally exits the confines and Armstrong steps aside, a slight grimace on her lips, Kylie staggers toward the beckoning Jasmine, but a few steps out from the Hellion corner, FAWN’s most hated takes a header, delighting the sold-out arena.
Ivy trails, walking atop Kylie’s spine a couple steps as she strolls to Washington.
“You REALLY need to find someone else, darlin’. Anyone.”
“And you REALLY need to shut ya damn mouth before I shut it for ya,” the loyal Dogg barks.
Ivy shrugs and turns to a slowly rising Sanders. She widens the arc of her return to slip into Sanders’ six and when Kylie reaches a stooped vertical, the Slamma pounces. Ivy steps her right leg over Ky’s then crosses her torso behind Sanders’ back, emerging under Chill’s left arm and reefing back once she has the trapped limb, working Kylie with an abdominal stretch that quickly has the Platinum Pixie howling in pain.
Abdominal Stretch (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wNMDIdxCb8U )
The Dirtiest Player sinks a claw into Kylie’s exposed flank for good measure, Sanders sobbing but shaking her head emphatically when Castle asks if she wants to surrender.
A moan of pain accompanies every pant from the Iowan. But as she grits her teeth and tenses her body, she suddenly emits a grumble that grows into a roar, and in a spectacular show of raw power, she manages to hip toss her redheaded tormentor, breaking the hold. Sanders stumbles away, propelled more by sheer force of will than by physical ability, until she makes it to the ropes, collapsing over the top strand as she struggles to rally her reserves.
Lips pursed in displeasure at having been defied, Ivy kips back up to her feet and moves quickly over to her opponent, anxious to resume her punishment of Chill. But even as she grabs for Kylie's pixie mane, the FAWN Original whirls around and jabs a pair of knuckles into her adversary's green eyes. The Southern belle shrieks and stumbles backward, momentarily blinded...a condition which worsens as the enraged Sanders grabs Armstrong by the hair and forces her head down to the ropes, allowing her to drag the redhead's face across the cable.
And unfortunately for the 'Bama Slamma, that brings her straight to Hot & Bothered's corner. The blonde shoves her opponent's back up against the turnbuckles, then immediately whirls around and stalks right up to the ref, getting in his face and jabbing at his chest with her index finger.
"AND YOU!" she barks. "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE CONTROL OF THIS MATCH AND REIN IN THE CHEATING OF THOSE SOUTHERN TRAMPS? WHAT'S THE MATTER, YOU DON'T HAVE THE BALLS TO STAND UP TO THEM? YOU CAN BORROW MINE!"
Flustered by the verbal onslaught, the zebra stumbles backward, but Sanders stays right on him...which serves to neatly distract his attention from what's occurring behind her.
Jasmine deftly unties the shoelace string of the top turnbuckle, pulling enough free of the eyelets to give her a healthy length to wrap around the alabaster throat of Ivy, whose legs kick wildly her fingers clawing at that garrote that now strangles her.
"You had yourself a big mouth before, red...what's the matter, cat got your tongue now?" Washington purrs.
From the opposite corner, Cynthia realizes what is happening and she darts through the ropes, determined to save her partner. But Kylie places her hands upon the official's striped shoulders and spins him around, allowing him to bodily block the Hellion and muscle her back to her corner.
Quite satisfied with her handiwork, Chill turns and saunters back toward her team's piece of ring real estate, drawing close enough to throw a kick into the taut belly of the embattled Hellion, drawing a gurgled grunt from Armstrong. As the referee has succeeded in getting Mitchell to exit the ring and he turns his attention back to the legal action, Jasmine pulls the string free of the redhead's throat, allowing Ivy to gulp in precious oxygen. However, a sizeable amount of that is expelled as the Iowan cracks a chop across her adversary's chest, the fair skin of the Alabaman instantly turning an ugly bright red from the impact.
With the zebra now squawking about corners and tags and other boring topics, Hot & Bothered high five one another and exchange places, J-Dogg looking like the proverbial cat who's about to dine on canary under glass. Grabbing the stunned Slamma by her fiery locks, Washington leans in close and hisses, "I've been wanting to get my hands on you a long time, Alabama. You're about to see the kind of whuppin' a Georgia girl can bring down on y'all."
Converting into a side headlock, Jasmine suddenly rushes forward, pulling her unwilling sidecar passenger along with her until they reach mid-ring and Washington brings Armstrong horizontal with a bulldog.
But the Slamma doesn't remain planked for long, as she's peeled up from the canvas by a handful of hair and bought to unsteady feet. She then finds her head shoved down between the thighs of her opponent, while Washington hooks Ivy's arms. Suddenly dropping to the mat, Jasmine nails the redhead with a Wings of Icarus facebuster, further stupefying the harried Hellion.
Grabbing Armstrong's left ankle, the Georgian says, "I keep hearing about how strong your legs are. Let's give that a test, what do you say, sugar?"
She then locks on a Hiza-Juji-Gatame kneebar, snapping Ivy out of her stupor with a yowl of electric pain to her fabled gam. The redhead squirms in her tormentor's gasp, her hands reaching out for the ropes, but they are too far away to provide any relief. The ref crouches down before the embattled battler and asks, "How about it Ivy, ready to submit? Say the word and it's over."
With a growl that chokes back sobs, Armstrong snarls, "NO! NOT...TO...HER!"
She lets out a piercing shriek as Jasmine has taken advantage of the fact her victim's foot is so close to the Hot & Bothered beauty's mouth, and maybe this piece of country trash ought to learn the value of wearing a pair of boots in a match. She sinks her incisors down on peach pale skin, and of course the zebra is positioned so as to not see it.
From her vantage point on the apron, Kylie calls across the ring to her opposite number: "Take a good look, unwanted middle child...my girl J-Dogg is gonna cripple your partner, and there's nothing you can do about it!"
Kneebar (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIMz3IuzIN0 )
Mitchell snarls at Sanders, but refuses to give Kylie the attention she so desperately wants. Instead, Cynthia starts a rhythmic clap the FAWNatics quickly pick up, stirring the Slamma into action. Ivy adds to rhythm, ignoring the anguish in one leg as best she can and stomping at Jasmine’s chest with her free stem.
The pounding of Armstrong’s bare sole against her finally convinces Washington the attempt to force the redhead’s surrender is premature. She gives up her grip, butt-scooting away from the piston-like precision of Ivy’s thrusts.
Rubbing her battered gurls, the Badass from Hotlanta pushes to vertical and is instantly on the move. She races over her still splayed foe, popping into a handstand as she reaches the ropes, not far from her target. Using the cables as a springboard, J-Dogg drops to her boot leather and uses the momentum to rotate into a moonsault, the strength of Hot&Bothered landing in a ab-crushing splash of Ivy’s ivory midriff.
Handsrping Moonsault (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YO90f9scLZw )
Jasmine hooks Armstrong’s far leg after pushing every bit of breath from Armstrong’s lungs, rolling her up for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The redheaded Hellion breaks free with a thrust of her pelvis and a fling of her legs. A frustrated Wash slaps the canvas then does likewise to Armstrong’s aching abs, raising a rosy welt on the alabaster abdomen.
“DOGG!”
The familiar shout of her partner turns Jasmine’s attention to the H&B corner.
“Let me show that hillbilly how quickly I can put someone in the Chill Zone.”
J-Dogg’s lips crease with a smirk and she nods to her partner, yanking Ivy up by a handful of fire-engine-hued locks. The Nubian beauty draws the stumbling, doubled Armstrong to within arm’s length of the Platinum Pixie and she hands over control to Ivy’s fellow FAWN original.
Jasmine starts to take Ky’s place on the outside, but Sanders catches her by a shoulder and turns her.
“Naw Dogg. This country-fried has-been needs to know her place.”
Sanders and Washington each take a wrist and lean Ivy’s back into the cables. Bouncing out of the strands, they send Armstrong racing to the far ropes and rebounding. Kylie shoots out in front of her Dogg and leaps into a flying crossbody of the Bama Slamma. The stubborn, red-maned mule from Ukiah catches Ky across her chest but fails to play along, holding a wriggling Sanders in her grip while maintaining her balance.
But before Ivy can turn the advantage in her direction, Washington leaps into a perfect dropkick of Kylie’s back and it flattens the Dirtiest Player to the canvas, the Pleasant Valley Pariah sandwiching her underneath. Air again driven from her, Ivy’s a pale starfish under the Hawkeye. Kylie hooks a leg in her manufactured lateral press and gets the…
ONE…
TWO…
Again Ivy kicks out of trouble, Ky pushed up to her haunches. A red-faced Sanders pulls at her silvery bob.
“Gawd damn it. Stay down, stepchild!”
As the ref guides Jasmine out of the legal playing field, a flustered Kylie pushes to her feet and angrily stomps the chest and tummy of the auburn-haired grappler, subduing any possible turnaround before taking a stroll to the Hellion part of town.
Sanders does a ‘walk by’ on her old rival, keeping just out of range of Mitchell’s attempt to smack the taste from the Iowan’s mouth.
“Scared to face me?” Cyn asks.
Ky snorts and turns her attention back to Ivy, who’s reached her knees. Sanders motions Armstrong to get up and the redhead obliges. Closing in, Sanders dips and swings an arm between the Hellion’s legs. She ‘hups’ Ivy across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, the fans instantly worrying about a Chilly Valley Driver that might end Armstrong’s slamming for the night. But instead, Kylie starts to pirouette, gathering speed and centrifugal force, Sanders going totally old school with an Airplane Spin, Ivy made into her propeller.
After a half dozen rotations, the wobbling Hawkeyes shrugs and shoves Armstrong off her shoulders, the Slamma spinning another half turn before gravity comes to bear on the tag legend, the Hellion CRASHING to the canvas, face and chest down. A staggering Kylie fights to keep her balance and mistakenly comes within range of Mitchell. Cynthia clocks the Platinum Pixie, putting the blonde’s head on a serious swivel with a balled fist to the jaw.
Thankfully for Chill, she stumbles out of range, massaging her mandible and grumbling under her breath at a beaming, waving Cynful One. Ignoring the throbbing as much as she’s able, Kylie drops into a reverse straddle of the base of Ivy’s spine. She lifts a clenched right hand high and reflexively the former Kylie Corps membership scream out “FARM…HAND” before they can stop themselves.
Sanders digs the hammy clamp into the back of her foe’s right thigh, digging her digits into the nerve bundle just where the hamstring attaches to the alabaster curve of Armstrong’s gluteus. ‘Chewing’ with her right hand, Ky presses her left hand on top to drive the talons deeper with her signature submission.
“You ever want to walk the back forty again,” Sanders threatens, “I’d suggest tapping before I rip your hammy to shreds.”
But Kylie is working with no ordinary stems and, while Armstrong grimaces in pain, the Farm Hand can’t break down the infamous, steel-like lower limb of the Confederate. Instead of quitting, Ivy uses her unanchored left to pound a sole into Ky’s chest with enough force, the blonde flops to her back, ending shoulderblades to shoulderblades with the Hellion.
Reaching over her back with laced fingers, Ivy finds the curve of Sanders’ chin and starts to curl the backbone of the Hawkeye as she pulls her arms forward and down, the overturned features of the Platinum Pixie next to the teeth-gritting mug of the suddenly rejuvenated Slamma.
Working an ingeniously innovative inverted Clutch, it’s quickly Kylie the ref asks for surrender as the arc of Chill’s stretched backbone continues to grow, Kylie yipping in pain through her clenched jaw but grunting out a ‘no’ while her arms flail in the air above her.
Having placed quite a crick in Ky’s neck and a crease in her vertebrae, Ivy barrel rolls both women 180 degrees, ending atop Sanders with her makeshift clutch still in place.
“TAP…TAP…TAP” the chants come from the FAWNatics but again Chill refuses until the Slamma can hold the position no longer, releasing and uncoiling, shaking out her knotted arms between crawling strides to the Hellion corner.
As the Crimson Calamity slowly makes her way to the outstretched arm of Mitchell, Kylie spins on her spandex and begins to slither along the canvas in the other direction, grimacing with every movement, a hand reaching back to her lower spine.
Diving the last few feet, Ivy tickles fingers with the Cynful One and the brunette is through like a shot, trying to stop Vanilla Chill from reaching her partner. Ky’s wide hazel eyes can see salvation only a few feet away when Cynthia arrives with a big elbow drop to base of Kylie’s backbone, the Hawkeye twisting and yelping in agony, her back knotted in a half dozen sheepshanks.
A beaming Cynthia rises and looks down at the pain-racked Sanders as a noticeably nervous Kylie returns her gaze to Mitchell’s.
“Remember me, loser?” Cynthia inquires.
Even if by some chance her recollection of the second generation sensation had somehow grown hazy, there's no way she's forgotten the feeling of Mitchell putting a boot heel to her belly, as the Carolinian does now, drawing a WHOOSH from the battered blonde. That makes Chill suitably compliant as Cynthia grabs her opponent's legs and slingshots her to center ring. Kylie face plants hard, her corn-bred bosom taking the impact as she grunts in discomfort.
Discomfort then turns to outright pain as Mitchell drops a knee to the small of the Iowan's tender back, grinding it into the spine, while one hand yanks the blonde's right leg up and back, and the other digits tighten amid a tangled mop of flaxen mane, jerking up Kylie's head, and bending the Hawkeye honey in a direction which nature most definitely never intended. Sanders shrieks, her finger clawing fruitlessly at the canvas in a vain effort to somehow try and crawl away. Escape seems impossible, and defeat looms as possibly inevitable.
But it is then that a small miracle occurs, as the referee orders the Hellion to break the hold, because she's pulling her victim's hair. A look of shock registers on Cyn's face as she sputters incredulously, "Are you kidding me?!?" As far as transgressions go in FAWN, a hairpull is definitely small change. But the zebra...perhaps sensing that things are bound to grow ever-more out of control...has decided at this juncture to try and impose his authority and remind the four women that he is indeed the law within the confines of the ring. Realizing that the official is dead serious, Mitchell grumbles, "Fine." Releasing her handholds on both Kylie's leg and hair, Cynthia rises up to her feet...but then gives a quick stomp to the blonde's back, just to remind her that her defeat is only delayed a tiny bit, not deferred.
The brunette then peels her adversary up from the mat with another handful of hair, followed by an Irish Whip. Kylie manages to turn her body 180 degrees so that she doesn't crash chest-first into the turnbuckles, but somewhere around the 150th degree it dawns on her that this might be an error. That hypothesis is proven true an instant later, as the Iowan's much-maligned back takes yet another impact, twisting her elfin face into a grimace of anguish. That visage is altered by a pair of bulging brown peepers several moments later, as Mitchell charges the ring and leaps forward, her lithe body going horizontal as she spears her shoulder into her target's tummy. From her vantage point, partner Jasmine can only flinch in sympathy pain and turn away, unable to watch for the moment. Across the ring, a recovering Ivy leads the cheers for the hellraising Hellion.
Another Irish whip, another trip across the expanse of canvas, and Chill finds her spine again introduced rudely to the turnbuckle...and feeling every bit of the steel beneath the padding. Mitchell rushes toward her, turning herself around at the last moment so that her backside smashes into Kylie's belly, and the brunette follows with a trio of elbows to the blonde's jaw.
Really feeling her oats now, Cyn steps up on the middle ropes and stands straddling over her opponent. Filling her left hand with golden tresses, she balls her right fist and draws her arm back. And then she unloads a succession of punches to the side of Kylie's head as the crowd gleefully counts along to ten. Beaming a triumphant smile, the Hellion lifts her head and looks out upon the cheering throng, as Armstrong overhand claps for her partner's dominance.
But this moment of seeming total control is shattered as Sanders suddenly wraps her arms around her tormentor's midriff and, with a bellow of defiance, picks her up. The blonde suddenly pushes out of the corner and dashes several steps toward the middle of the ring. An instant later the blonde suddenly brings her unwilling passenger down, the delta of Cynthia's thighs drilling squarely down upon Chill's bent right knee.
The Hellion lets out an ear-piercing shriek from the impact, which is with such force that she bounces up into the air, only to crash with a heavy thud to the mat a moment later. From her corner, a shocked Ivy puts her hands to her head and mantras "No no no no no no!", while opposite her, Washington at last has something to celebrate.
Cynthia lies on her back, eyes shut tight against the pain, her hands cupping her throbbing womanhood. Her adrenaline seemingly evaporating, Kyle drops to her hands and knees, panting hard for breath as her unfocused eyes blink repeatedly. Tilting her head toward her splayed rival, the Iowan rasps hoarsely, "You were never a match for me, junior...NEVER!"
Common sense instructs Sanders to use this opportunity to traverse the remaining distance to her team's corner and make the tag. And Kylie fully intends to heed that advice...right after she dishes out a little revenge on this purple-clad bitch.
Kylie decides to open Mitchell’s baby blues. She hops above the splayed Cynthia and double stomps the Carolinian’s gut. Mitchell jackknifes around the impaling boots, Cyn’s eyes bulging as oxygen bursts from her lungs. A smile draws wide on Kylie’s elfin features and she bounds off the Cynful One, a boot sole landing on either side of the brunette’s ribs. Up the Hawkeye launches again, thrusting her feet into her foe’s ivory tummy. She repeats the harsh landing a third, fourth and fifth time, working Mitchell like a bellows. Finally relenting, she drops off and takes a stroll around the coughing Cynthia.
“Chill,” Jasmine plaintively calls from the Hot&Bothered corner, arm outstretched.
“I got this,” Sanders insists. “She needs to know, Dogg.”
Washington reels her arm back in, nodding but noticeably disappointed she’s not getting her piece of Hellion flesh.
With Mitchell sitting up, the Platinum Pixie sinks a set of nails into Cynthia’s scalp and rips her rival to vertical.
“I left you in the dust, Bytchell,” Ky insists to a breathless Cynthia. “I’ll put you back there.”
From out of nowhere, Cyn paintbrushes Kylie’s cheeks with a wicked echoing slap that sends Sanders’ head on a swivel. But Ky responds with a forearm shiver right back into Mitchell’s jaw. And though it doesn’t have the same sound, it’s heavy artillery when placed right on the button.
Mitchell staggers and seems ready to go down until Kylie steadies her foe. The Hawkeye dips her head and slips it in between Cynthia’s thighs, tempting fate and a Drop Out, Jasmine wincing at the boldness of her partner’s placement. But Kylie manages to vault the second generation superstar off the deck before any harm can come.
With Mitchell draped over a shoulder, Kylie drops to her backside and PLANTS Cynthia’s face into the canvas with her Iowa Waterwheel.
Iowa Waterwheel (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L78bbjcEtWw )
The thud draws some groans of sympathy from the FAWNatics and jeers follow when a rising Kylie lifts her arms high and wide.
“You morons starting to get it?” Sanders shouts to an increasingly irate crowd.
The Platinum Pixie returns her attention to the brunette, forcing her foe up from all fours, controlling her with a front facelock. Sanders flings a limp Mitchell arm behind her neck and brings her strength to bear, vaulting the Cynful One high, Mitchell’s boot soles pointing to the rafters, Ky stalling her suplex. Pivoting, Sanders walks Cynthia within a couple feet of the cables and lets Mitchell’s shins drop across the top rope.
The strand springs Cynthia in the opposite direction and Kylie completes her slingshot suplex in ring-rattling fashion.
Slingshot Suplex (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UFXDFv8a7XE )
Kylie spins and throws her alabaster frame across Cyn, desperate to show the new normal puts her on top of Cynthia’s deflated form. Kylie presses tight in a crossbody pin, hooking the brunette’s far leg for good measure for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Cynthia forces a shoulder up, sending Ky into hysterics, shouting at Castle in a fury, convinced she had the pin and the win. Nick can only hold up two fingers with a shrug.
“Fine!” Kylie growls.
She snatches her foe’s left wrist and shoulder and tugs the faltering Hellion to her feet. Sanders bullies Cynthia into a backpedal, pushing her deep into the ropes before both women bounce out, Chill heaving Mitchell across the canvas with an Irish Whip that has the Carolina Cutthroat racing to the far ropes.
Sanders follows to mid-ring where she dips toward the returning Mitchell. Seamlessly, Vanilla Chill slips an arm between the legs of the charging brunette and vaults her into a fireman’s carry, Cynthia strapped across Kylie’s shoulders. The most casual FAWN fan knows where this is going, straight into Chilly Valley, with Ky putting an end to the debate on who’s better.
Chilly Valley Driver (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cIRSL_p7klg )
But before the Hawkeye can deliver Cynthia to the deck for the grande finale, the legal member of the Hellions throws a chop block into the pit of Kylie’s left knee. Having escaped Kylie’s notice but not Castle’s, Armstrong tagged Cynthia’s right shoulder when she’d hit the ropes, leaving the redhead the lawful Hellion.
Ky collapses to the deck, screeching in pain from the attack to her blindside. She flops to the canvas, grasping at her throbbing knee while Cynthia tumbles away with a much less painful landing than what FAWN’s Most Hated planned.
As a nervous Jasmine slides fingers through her ebony locks, a beaming Ivy is a cat ready to eat her canary. The Bama Slamma slides into Ky’s six as the stubborn Iowan struggles to her feet limping noticeably as she tries to determine what the hell happened. Cynthia is in recovery mode in front of her, which left? Kylie spins to find the Dirtiest Player and she does indeed. But Armstrong is ready with a toe kick to Kylie’s alabaster abdomen.
With Sanders frozen and doubled from the blow to her belly, Ivy pivots away from her fellow FAWN original. She snatches Kylie’s noggin over her right shoulder in a ¾ facelock and drops to her derriere. The force of Ivy’s SoCo Stunner sends Sanders airborne, the blonde ROCKED to her core, landing several feet away, apparently out cold.
SoCo Stunner (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysvpoIjCs9I )
It’s a convincing enough result for Jasmine to immediately enter the field of battle, realizing Chill will need a save even before Ivy tries to cover. She races toward her teammate, eyes glued on Ivy so intensely, she doesn’t see Mitchell launch a superkick from the side, boot CRACKING into J-Dogg’s temple.
Washington spins in a violent pirouette from the force of the blast then gets gutted by Cynthia’s toe kick to the tummy after the 360. As the crowd roars its approval, Mitchell tugs Jasmine’s head between her thighs and clamps down in a standing head scissors. The brunette skillfully collects a pair of underhooks, locking her fingers in the small of Dogg’s dipped back.
Cynthia leaps and descends to her knee, SPIKING Jasmine’s flawless features into the deck with her inimitable Drop Out, Kylie’s partner knocked into next week.
Drop Out (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YnX2GRPtmk )
Washington snoozes, face down, head between the legs of a kneeling and supremely satisfied Mitchell. Cynthia shovels the Nubian beauty to her back as Ivy slides down next to Sanders. While seated, she uses Chill’s wrists as handles to tug the head and shoulders of the Platinum Pixie into her lap.
With Kylie’s chin nestled into the front juncture of her renowned thighs, the redhead BAMA SLAMS the door on any escape or indeed any survival, Armstrong strapping her lethal legs tight around Sanders’ buried braincase in a figure-four head scissors, the silvery bob of FAWN’s biggest traitor barely popping out from between Ivy’s alabaster stems , Chill’s face is submerged in the Hellion’s crotch.
Southern Charm (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E53mzsiSPbc ) @ 00:16
Lack of air and overabundance of Ivy’s kitty bring the Platinum Pixie back to life within the Southern Charm, Ky flailing wildly. Armstrong latches onto Kylie’s wrists to halt her from hitting anything tender and it’s only the squirming of Sanders’ stems that remains. A half dozen seconds pass before the writhing begins to slow and, knowing full well Ivy can have her way unless she surrenders, Kylie gets to tappin’, lips tasting too much of Ivy’s warm spandex to do more than offer muffled pleas along with her drumbeat of submission.
Nick turns to the timekeeper, waving his arm enthusiastically, calling for the bell. As it tolls, the ring announcer chimes in, making the emphatic result official.
“Your winners, by submission, Ivy Armstrong, Cynthia Mitchell, Belle’s Hellions.”
Ivy drops off her supporting forearms, falling to horizontal with no further need to keep her own shoulders from touching canvas. But what she doesn’t do is release the scissors, Kylie’s head remaining trapped, the green-eyed redhead clearly reveling in the weakening taps of the Platinum Pixie.
Castle ups his requests to threats, Armstrong ignoring him until Kylie’s body shudders before going slack, the Hawkeye insensate. Arms leaden at her side and head loose on a relaxed neck, Kylie’s nothing more than a prop, the Slamma finally unknotting her legs and letting Chill’s greasy face emerge, drool dribbling over Kylie’s lower lip and collecting on an ivory-skinned thigh of the victor.
“Pretty as a picture,” a risen Cynthia comments, having left Jasmine in a wide and motionless spreadeagle, Washington still knocked out from the Drop Out. Mitchell offers her partner a hand and Ivy uses it to slide out from under Ky’s head, letting it drop to the canvas meekly as she’s hauled up.
The Hellions showboat over the unconscious Hot&Bothered, each taking a turn placing a domineering boot atop one foe then the other, the FAWNatics testing the capacity of their lungs as they cheer long and loud.
Cynthia looks down at the oblivious Kylie.
“I’m not going to let Ivy have all the fun. This isn’t done until I get my chance to put you down.”
The redhead hovers over the blasted Badass from Hotlanta.
“Bama always was better than sweet ole Georgia,” Ivy informs the comatose Jasmine. “And any ole time you wanna find out personally, you have the boss let me know.”