Post by dsb on Oct 22, 2019 5:14:45 GMT
IVY ARMSTRONG
BETH JENKINS
There's a moment when you're in the chute, when the rampant beast your legs are wrapped around is almost gentle, and you don't hear anything but the sound of your own heartbeat. Then the gate flies open and the world erupts into joyous violence.
For Beth Jenkins, tonight is do or die. Ever since her arch-nemesis, Nyssa Bloodwind, had fled FAWN like a whipped dog with her tail between her legs (Beth's interpretation), Jenkins had found herself unexpectedly adrift. A string of lackluster house show matches...wins and loses in equal numbers...had seen her descend to the status of mid-carder...and the lower end of that as well. And her last shot at the big time saw her lose to Shea London.
Most ominous of all, her contract was up at year's end, and the front office had as yet made no noise whatsoever about re-upping the Arizonian.
She was facing oblivion, and she knew it.
What she needed to do was to re-energize her career, and remind the fans...and more importantly, Bethany Christian...that 'Bareback' Beth Jenkins was still a force to be reckoned with in the sport. The best way to do that, she reckoned, was to make a strong impression on the biggest card of the year. What's more, it had to be against a top caliber opponent. Oh, and Jenkins also had to win.
Ivy Armstrong hit all of the bells when it comes to top caliber. A FAWN original, former World Champion, and past holder of enough gold to qualify as a walking denim-clad Fort Knox, the second generation sensation is as formidable an opponent imaginable. Much to Beth's relief, Armstrong accepted her challenge for this PPV.
All of that was the easy part. Now comes the hard part.
The strains of “Wildflower” by JaneDear Girls reverberates through the arena.
Quickly behind the accompaniment, the organization’s infamous Arizonan appears and the cowgirl’s greeting is welcoming, if not overly exuberant. The freckled redhead is clad in her trademark attire, flag of the Grand Canyon State patterned on her vest—small enough to leave a sliver of midsection bare—blue thong bottoms and tan leather chaps. Her feet are adorned in a pair of battered old cowboy boots, spurs clicking against the floor as she saunters down the aisle. A coiled lasso is attached to her hip, and sitting atop her head is a black cowboy hat with a curved brim.
The Pale Rider strides directly and determinedly toward the squared circle. The redhead looks as though she’s headed down Main Street of old Tombstone at high noon, keeping out of the reach of those extending for a handshake or high-five as if the rabble are not worthy of her time.
“The following is a one fall, thirty minute time limit match…introducing first, hailing from Tombstone, Arizona, standing five feet six inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and twenty pounds… ‘BAREBACK’ BETTTHHH JENKIIINNNSSS!!!!!”
The redheaded Rodeo Queen climbed the steps and slipped through the ropes, her nearly bare cheeks earning Jenkins a round of lustful whistles as she swept her way into the ring. Her career of late may not have been enough to excite the masses, she muses, but at least her ass could still raise a cheer. While Beth goes to work removing her spurs and chaps, the announcer resumed his duties.
"And her opponent, hailing from Uriah, Alabama, she stands five feet eight tall and weighs one-hundred and twenty pounds...she is a former FAWN World Champion, and the very first Television Champ...she is...IIIIIVYYYYYYY AAAAAAAARMSTRONNNNG!!!” An instant later, the opening tones of .38 Special's "Wild Eyed Southern Boys" fills the atmosphere.
What had merely been a cacophony of sound erupts into a primordial roar of exultation from the thousands-strong crowd. Never one to be easily categorized as "good", "bad" or "in-between", the 'Bama Slamma has earned the respect and even adoration of the fans through dint of her talent and devotion to the sport of wrestling. Plus, there's no denying those legs are made for worshiping.
Stunning in a red and black satin corset and her trademark denim shorts, cut provocatively to show off, as the redhead refers with a smile, "the hamhocks', Ivy reached out to slap palms and brush fingertips with many of the outstretched hands, while her green eyes scanned the crowd for supportive signs. One neatly lettered posterboard reads: YEE-HAA!!! IVY'S GONNA BRAND THE RODEO GIRL TONIGHT!
Finally making her way to the ring, she climbed the steps and walked along the apron edge to the center of the ropes. There, facing the crowd, she grabbed the top rope with both hands extended for leverage, and then flipped backward, arcing as slowly as possible so that the fans could get a good long look at her sculpted gams.
Alighting to the mat, she kicked out of her ring slippers and handed them to a ringside attendant. Armstrong took a few gingerly steps to fully get the feel of the canvas under her now bare feet. Confident that the mat would suit her purposes tonight, she suddenly dashed to a far corner, leapt up to the middle rope, and held her arms outstretched.
“Y’all need to show me some love!” she called out in her most sugary tones, an impertinent grin upon her alabaster face. The mob burst forth with an even louder wall of sheer sound.
Her showboating done, Ivy jumps down to the mat and saunters over to the middle of the ring. There the two redheads stand face to face while the referee goes over the rules. Armstrong gives her adversary a saucy smirk and says, "It's harvest time back home, and ordinarily Ah'd be back on the farm to help. But word in the locker room is that you might not be long for FAWN, Bethy, and Ah couldn't pass up the chance to give you another big loss."
Eyes narrowing, Jenkins growls, "Don't worry, bumpkin...I'll send you crawling back to your dirt farm soon enough so you can go back to picking peas."
"Peas are in the springtime," Ivy says with a smile. "October's for apples, rhubarb and sweet potatoes. Ah'll send you a bushel. Where's your trailer parked in Arizona?"
"Alright ladies, enough jabber, let's see action," the ref says as he dispatches them both to opposite corners, and then calls for the bell.
Both redheads move out of their respective corners, cautiously circling one another. Finally the two grapplers surge forward, locking up in a collar and elbow. Boots finding better purchase on the canvas that bare skin, Ivy quickly finds herself forced into retreat, her lithe frame yielding against the force her opponent exerts, until at last the Southern hellcat finds her back pushed up against the buckles. “You know the drill, Beth,” the ref mutters. “Gimme a clean break, would ya?”
“Anything for you,” Jenkins replies with a nod, pulling back her arms. But an instant later her arms slam downward, her open palms CRACKING against the upper chest of her adversary, instantly turning Ivy's fair, flawless skin an angry shade of red as Armstrong grunts in pain and slumps a bit into the corner. Next, a grasp of a wrist signals the Alabamian being flung across the length of the ring to the opposite corner with an Irish Whip, her face twisting into a grimace as her back takes the impact to the turnbuckles. Swiftly dashing after her victim, Jenkins scores with a knee lift to Ivy's bread basket, eliciting a whoosh of expelled breath.
Two handfuls of fiery hair haul Armstrong from the corner and, with a flip, sends her crashing onto her tailbone. Dropping to one knee, Beth plants the other joint squarely into her opponent's back, and the rodeo queen cups her hands beneath Ivy's chin and yanks her head back. The embattled Alabamian groans as her hands clutch at her tormentor's wrists, trying to pry her grip loose. When that fails, Ivy shifts tactics, suddenly snapping her right leg up and back, landing a kick flush to Beth's forehead. Jenkins flies back like a shot, momentarily stunned, as Armstrong rolls over into a crouch.
Jenkins scrambles to get back up to her feet, but even as she starts to rise, the 'Bama Slamma lunges at her, clipping her with a shoulder slam that flips 'Bareback' up and over, sending her flat on her back. Ivy whirls around, bends at the knees, jumps up, and lands with both feet directly upon Beth's tummy, forcing air from her body with a loud whoosh.
Ivy steps off of her mewling doormat. Cocking her right elbow, the redheaded hellion drops back to the canvas, mashing the bony joint into the cleft of the rodeo queen’s bosom. Again, Armstrong rises quickly, and drops a SECOND elbow to Jenkin’s chest. She adds a third for good measure, the winded redhead rolling to her right hip as the smirking ‘Bama Slamma climbs back up to her feet. A handful of hair yanks the panting Beth back up on her stems as well, and then she is whipped into the nearest corner, her spine slamming into the padded turnbuckle. Arms draped over the top ropes, she is left wide open for a trio of kicks to her already tender tummy, leaving her gasping and momentarily dazed.
Stepping up to her opponent, Ivy unexpectedly turns her back to the corner-bound Arizona beauty; she cocks her elbows and starts to twist rapidly back and forth at the waist, launching them backwards, peppering rights and lefts into Beth's head. Finally bringing the barrage to a halt, Armstrong grabs hold of Jenkin’s scarlet mane, using it to deposit the Tombstone Tussler flat on her backside with a hairmare. Quickly, the ‘Bama Slamma turns back to the corner and climbs her way onto the middle rope, facing the ring...
... and as Beth groggily picks herself up and spins around, Armstrong takes flight, swinging her upraised right arm in a swift, downward motion to crown the Arizonian with an Atomic Elbow. Jenkins reels around drunkenly, then drops glassy-eyed and slack-jawed to her knees.
More than feeling her oats now, Armstrong struts in a circle around her adversary, encouraging the cheers of the crowd. When she finally returns her attention to Jenkins, she steps up to her and grabs at her hair...but is suddenly met with a fist fired into her belly, drawing a grunt. A second punch elicits a louder grunt, and a third actually doubles Ivy over a bit, setting her up for a palm thrust to the chin that snaps her whole body upright and causes her to stumble backward.
Rising to her feet, Beth wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and drawls, "Years of rodeo riding gives me a strong core, and tough abs. And I've been thrown enough from a bronc or brahman onto my skull to know how to get my wits back quick. Don't move fast enough, you get trampled. And this rodeo clown," she says derisively as she jerks a thumb in the direction of the referee, "ain't gonna save me." Moving with unexpected swiftness, Jenkins grasps Armstrong's left arm and whips her to the ropes; the Alabamian rebounds off of them and comes hurtling back toward her opponent, who charges at her with a clothesline to the throat, the impact enough to sweep Ivy's legs out from under her and deposit her with a thud to the mat.
Pulling the squealing 'Slamma back up by her hair, Jenkins now whips her into the corner and, grabbing a top rope for leverage, snaps five sharp kicks of her boot into Ivy's belly, the fusillade sufficient to cause the redhead to slide groggily down the turnbuckles until she's seated on her butt, legs splayed out before her. Dashing to the far side of the squared circle, Jenkins wheels about and charges full speed toward her opponent; at the last moment she leaps up, legs spread wide, and smashes her groin flush into Armstrong's face. Grasping the middle ropes on either side, 'Bareback' then delivers a Bronco Buster, grinding her womanhood into her adversary's face, smothering and humiliating her in equal measures. And for the first time in this match, the cheers from the fans for Beth are every bit as equal those which had been heard for Ivy, as the Arizonian gains their awe and respect.
Finally the ref decides that decorum declares that he has at last to begin administering the ten count, telling Jenkins to get her opponent out of the corner. Beth continues to ride Ivy for the full count of nine before rolling backward and kipping up to her feet. Taking the blasted and bewildered 'Slamma by her ankles, Jenkins drags her to center ring, then grabs her hair to haul her back up onto unsteady legs. Next comes an Abdominal Stretch, Armstrong's lithe body twisted around that of her rival, the sudden jolt of pain snapping her out of her stupor. The overhead arena lights cause the sweat which coats both of their bodies to glisten, as Ivy grits her teeth and moans in anguish as her figure is agonizing torqued, her efforts to reach for the ropes in vain as she is too far away for that salvation.
"Whadayasay, Ivy?" the zebra intones, looking for the submission. Armstrong squirms in her opponent's grasp, but to no avail. Still, she will not contemplate surrender. "NO!" she rasps. "NEVER!" Beth gives a smug chuckle and tightens the pressure even more, drawing a loud wail from the agonized Alabamian.
But then, just as all seems hopeless, Ivy shuts her eyes tight, steels her body, and with a sudden roar of defiance, flips Jenkins over her hip to the canvas! Free of the stretch, Ivy staggers backward, one hand clutching her strained side. Beth scrambles over to all fours intent on pushing herself up to arise, but before she can do so, she is met with a punted kick beneath her chin, the force of which flops her onto her back, leaving her glassy-eyed and staring up at the ceiling. Bent forward, hands on her knees, Armstrong takes a few moments to recover. That gives Beth the time she needs to also catch her second wind, and she struggles back up to her feet.
Facing one another, the two redheads begin to trade chops to the chest, each cracking blow drawing a sharp gasp of pain from the victim. It remains a stalemate for many long moments, until suddenly Armstrong begins to land two chops for every one that Jenkins delivers...and then three. Suddenly whirling about a full 180 degrees, Ivy slams her elbow across Beth's jaw, snapping her head violently to the side. Armstrong then turns away from her adversary and starts to dash to the ropes, intent on rebounding off of them for momentum. But she barely gets more than two steps before she finds hands in her hair roughly yanking her back. In a whiplash move, the Alabamian crashes to the mat, momentarily stunned. Shaking off the fog in her skull, Jenkins runs to the nearest corner and scales up the turnbuckles, perching precariously upon the top rope. As Ivy struggles back up to her feet, she turns around to try and locate her rival...and is met with a flying dropkick that sends her sailing almost to the other side of the ring, where she lands in a heap of limbs and with moans of anguish.
Truly for the first time tonight, fans can envision an Ivy Armstrong defeat. An uncanny quietness grips the arena as Beth moves to go in for the kill. She hauls Ivy up onto rubbery legs and walks her to the middle of the ring. Any other time, her go-to move would be her finisher, "Buried at Boot Hill". But tonight isn't just about winning, not even a win over a true FAWN legend. It's about re-establishing 'Bareback' Beth Jenkins as a force to be reckoned with, and it's about giving the fans a memory they'll carry with them forever. And of course, FAWN being FAWN, what comes next is virtually dictated to the Arizonian.
Stepping behind Armstrong, pressing her chest to the Alabamian's back, Beth reaches around and her fingers unbutton and unzip the vaunted denim togs. Her right hand then slips down inside the shorts, fingers finding smooth satin, the front triangle of the thong the only barrier between the hand and Armstrong's vulnerable womanhood.
And that very hand, which for years has been strong enough to clutch the saddle horn on a bucking bronc, now clamps a clawhold and squeezes. Armstrong's eyes go wide as saucers and her mouth falls open. At first she makes no sound, but then an ear-piercing yowl in ripped from her throat. Her body is very nearly paralyzed from the torrent of pain, able to do no more than feeble squirming. Jenkins grits her teeth and grunts as she pours on the pressure. From the audience in equal measure come chants of "TAP!" and "DON'T TAP!".
Although she knows she controls this whole moment, and she revels in it, she also knows full well that a veteran of Ivy's ability might well find a way to turn the tide and seize victory from the jaws of defeat. So, while the natural inclination would be to continue with this hold and wring every last whimpering of agony from Armstrong, Jenkins is canny enough to know when to loosen up on the lasso. Suddenly releasing her murderous grasp and pulling her hand free of Ivy's denim, Beth wraps her left arms across her opponent's throat as if going for a Dragon Sleeper. But instead with her other hand she grabs the Alabamian's shorts, dips her knees, and with a grunt hoists Armstrong up, then brings her crashing down to the canvas with her Inverted Implant DDT finisher.
Buried at Boot Hill
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAw8i0E_hkQ )
The back of Ivy's skull takes much of the brunt, leaving her sprawled upon the mat and barely conscious. 'Bareback" swiftly rolls atop her, hooking a leg just in case, and the referee slaps the canvas...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!
the crowd erupts with as much incredulity as enjoyment, a mixture of cheers and boos filling the air. Jenkins wearily clambers up to her boots and lets the ref raise her right arm in victory. But she isn't finished just yet. No, if she's going to truly maximize this win, she has to put a bow on it...so to speak.
Rolling out of the ring under the ropes, Beth limps over to the announcer's table and grabs her lariat. Usually it's just an accoutrement to her ring togs, but tonight it's going to be put into service. Sliding back into the ring on her belly like a viper, Jenkins crawls over to the still-stunned Ivy and she pushes her over onto her stomach. Then, displaying a young lifetime of calf roping, she swiftly and deftly hogties Armstrong's wrists and ankles behind her...making sure to tie it all off with a clove hitch knot, which is virtually impossible to untie if you don't know the trick. Which means that the vaunted Ivy Armstrong is going to have to be carried out of the ring and back to the locker room all trussed up. That's a visual that won't soon be forgotten, and which will make certain to make 'Bareback' Beth Jenkins one of the biggest sports show talking points over the next few days.
(Back in her dressing room and following a long, hot shower, Beth checks her phone and finds a text from Bethany Christian: "Drop by my office later this week to sign your new contract. And you'll find I'm feeling generous.")
BETH JENKINS
There's a moment when you're in the chute, when the rampant beast your legs are wrapped around is almost gentle, and you don't hear anything but the sound of your own heartbeat. Then the gate flies open and the world erupts into joyous violence.
For Beth Jenkins, tonight is do or die. Ever since her arch-nemesis, Nyssa Bloodwind, had fled FAWN like a whipped dog with her tail between her legs (Beth's interpretation), Jenkins had found herself unexpectedly adrift. A string of lackluster house show matches...wins and loses in equal numbers...had seen her descend to the status of mid-carder...and the lower end of that as well. And her last shot at the big time saw her lose to Shea London.
Most ominous of all, her contract was up at year's end, and the front office had as yet made no noise whatsoever about re-upping the Arizonian.
She was facing oblivion, and she knew it.
What she needed to do was to re-energize her career, and remind the fans...and more importantly, Bethany Christian...that 'Bareback' Beth Jenkins was still a force to be reckoned with in the sport. The best way to do that, she reckoned, was to make a strong impression on the biggest card of the year. What's more, it had to be against a top caliber opponent. Oh, and Jenkins also had to win.
Ivy Armstrong hit all of the bells when it comes to top caliber. A FAWN original, former World Champion, and past holder of enough gold to qualify as a walking denim-clad Fort Knox, the second generation sensation is as formidable an opponent imaginable. Much to Beth's relief, Armstrong accepted her challenge for this PPV.
All of that was the easy part. Now comes the hard part.
The strains of “Wildflower” by JaneDear Girls reverberates through the arena.
Quickly behind the accompaniment, the organization’s infamous Arizonan appears and the cowgirl’s greeting is welcoming, if not overly exuberant. The freckled redhead is clad in her trademark attire, flag of the Grand Canyon State patterned on her vest—small enough to leave a sliver of midsection bare—blue thong bottoms and tan leather chaps. Her feet are adorned in a pair of battered old cowboy boots, spurs clicking against the floor as she saunters down the aisle. A coiled lasso is attached to her hip, and sitting atop her head is a black cowboy hat with a curved brim.
The Pale Rider strides directly and determinedly toward the squared circle. The redhead looks as though she’s headed down Main Street of old Tombstone at high noon, keeping out of the reach of those extending for a handshake or high-five as if the rabble are not worthy of her time.
“The following is a one fall, thirty minute time limit match…introducing first, hailing from Tombstone, Arizona, standing five feet six inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and twenty pounds… ‘BAREBACK’ BETTTHHH JENKIIINNNSSS!!!!!”
The redheaded Rodeo Queen climbed the steps and slipped through the ropes, her nearly bare cheeks earning Jenkins a round of lustful whistles as she swept her way into the ring. Her career of late may not have been enough to excite the masses, she muses, but at least her ass could still raise a cheer. While Beth goes to work removing her spurs and chaps, the announcer resumed his duties.
"And her opponent, hailing from Uriah, Alabama, she stands five feet eight tall and weighs one-hundred and twenty pounds...she is a former FAWN World Champion, and the very first Television Champ...she is...IIIIIVYYYYYYY AAAAAAAARMSTRONNNNG!!!” An instant later, the opening tones of .38 Special's "Wild Eyed Southern Boys" fills the atmosphere.
What had merely been a cacophony of sound erupts into a primordial roar of exultation from the thousands-strong crowd. Never one to be easily categorized as "good", "bad" or "in-between", the 'Bama Slamma has earned the respect and even adoration of the fans through dint of her talent and devotion to the sport of wrestling. Plus, there's no denying those legs are made for worshiping.
Stunning in a red and black satin corset and her trademark denim shorts, cut provocatively to show off, as the redhead refers with a smile, "the hamhocks', Ivy reached out to slap palms and brush fingertips with many of the outstretched hands, while her green eyes scanned the crowd for supportive signs. One neatly lettered posterboard reads: YEE-HAA!!! IVY'S GONNA BRAND THE RODEO GIRL TONIGHT!
Finally making her way to the ring, she climbed the steps and walked along the apron edge to the center of the ropes. There, facing the crowd, she grabbed the top rope with both hands extended for leverage, and then flipped backward, arcing as slowly as possible so that the fans could get a good long look at her sculpted gams.
Alighting to the mat, she kicked out of her ring slippers and handed them to a ringside attendant. Armstrong took a few gingerly steps to fully get the feel of the canvas under her now bare feet. Confident that the mat would suit her purposes tonight, she suddenly dashed to a far corner, leapt up to the middle rope, and held her arms outstretched.
“Y’all need to show me some love!” she called out in her most sugary tones, an impertinent grin upon her alabaster face. The mob burst forth with an even louder wall of sheer sound.
Her showboating done, Ivy jumps down to the mat and saunters over to the middle of the ring. There the two redheads stand face to face while the referee goes over the rules. Armstrong gives her adversary a saucy smirk and says, "It's harvest time back home, and ordinarily Ah'd be back on the farm to help. But word in the locker room is that you might not be long for FAWN, Bethy, and Ah couldn't pass up the chance to give you another big loss."
Eyes narrowing, Jenkins growls, "Don't worry, bumpkin...I'll send you crawling back to your dirt farm soon enough so you can go back to picking peas."
"Peas are in the springtime," Ivy says with a smile. "October's for apples, rhubarb and sweet potatoes. Ah'll send you a bushel. Where's your trailer parked in Arizona?"
"Alright ladies, enough jabber, let's see action," the ref says as he dispatches them both to opposite corners, and then calls for the bell.
Both redheads move out of their respective corners, cautiously circling one another. Finally the two grapplers surge forward, locking up in a collar and elbow. Boots finding better purchase on the canvas that bare skin, Ivy quickly finds herself forced into retreat, her lithe frame yielding against the force her opponent exerts, until at last the Southern hellcat finds her back pushed up against the buckles. “You know the drill, Beth,” the ref mutters. “Gimme a clean break, would ya?”
“Anything for you,” Jenkins replies with a nod, pulling back her arms. But an instant later her arms slam downward, her open palms CRACKING against the upper chest of her adversary, instantly turning Ivy's fair, flawless skin an angry shade of red as Armstrong grunts in pain and slumps a bit into the corner. Next, a grasp of a wrist signals the Alabamian being flung across the length of the ring to the opposite corner with an Irish Whip, her face twisting into a grimace as her back takes the impact to the turnbuckles. Swiftly dashing after her victim, Jenkins scores with a knee lift to Ivy's bread basket, eliciting a whoosh of expelled breath.
Two handfuls of fiery hair haul Armstrong from the corner and, with a flip, sends her crashing onto her tailbone. Dropping to one knee, Beth plants the other joint squarely into her opponent's back, and the rodeo queen cups her hands beneath Ivy's chin and yanks her head back. The embattled Alabamian groans as her hands clutch at her tormentor's wrists, trying to pry her grip loose. When that fails, Ivy shifts tactics, suddenly snapping her right leg up and back, landing a kick flush to Beth's forehead. Jenkins flies back like a shot, momentarily stunned, as Armstrong rolls over into a crouch.
Jenkins scrambles to get back up to her feet, but even as she starts to rise, the 'Bama Slamma lunges at her, clipping her with a shoulder slam that flips 'Bareback' up and over, sending her flat on her back. Ivy whirls around, bends at the knees, jumps up, and lands with both feet directly upon Beth's tummy, forcing air from her body with a loud whoosh.
Ivy steps off of her mewling doormat. Cocking her right elbow, the redheaded hellion drops back to the canvas, mashing the bony joint into the cleft of the rodeo queen’s bosom. Again, Armstrong rises quickly, and drops a SECOND elbow to Jenkin’s chest. She adds a third for good measure, the winded redhead rolling to her right hip as the smirking ‘Bama Slamma climbs back up to her feet. A handful of hair yanks the panting Beth back up on her stems as well, and then she is whipped into the nearest corner, her spine slamming into the padded turnbuckle. Arms draped over the top ropes, she is left wide open for a trio of kicks to her already tender tummy, leaving her gasping and momentarily dazed.
Stepping up to her opponent, Ivy unexpectedly turns her back to the corner-bound Arizona beauty; she cocks her elbows and starts to twist rapidly back and forth at the waist, launching them backwards, peppering rights and lefts into Beth's head. Finally bringing the barrage to a halt, Armstrong grabs hold of Jenkin’s scarlet mane, using it to deposit the Tombstone Tussler flat on her backside with a hairmare. Quickly, the ‘Bama Slamma turns back to the corner and climbs her way onto the middle rope, facing the ring...
... and as Beth groggily picks herself up and spins around, Armstrong takes flight, swinging her upraised right arm in a swift, downward motion to crown the Arizonian with an Atomic Elbow. Jenkins reels around drunkenly, then drops glassy-eyed and slack-jawed to her knees.
More than feeling her oats now, Armstrong struts in a circle around her adversary, encouraging the cheers of the crowd. When she finally returns her attention to Jenkins, she steps up to her and grabs at her hair...but is suddenly met with a fist fired into her belly, drawing a grunt. A second punch elicits a louder grunt, and a third actually doubles Ivy over a bit, setting her up for a palm thrust to the chin that snaps her whole body upright and causes her to stumble backward.
Rising to her feet, Beth wipes sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and drawls, "Years of rodeo riding gives me a strong core, and tough abs. And I've been thrown enough from a bronc or brahman onto my skull to know how to get my wits back quick. Don't move fast enough, you get trampled. And this rodeo clown," she says derisively as she jerks a thumb in the direction of the referee, "ain't gonna save me." Moving with unexpected swiftness, Jenkins grasps Armstrong's left arm and whips her to the ropes; the Alabamian rebounds off of them and comes hurtling back toward her opponent, who charges at her with a clothesline to the throat, the impact enough to sweep Ivy's legs out from under her and deposit her with a thud to the mat.
Pulling the squealing 'Slamma back up by her hair, Jenkins now whips her into the corner and, grabbing a top rope for leverage, snaps five sharp kicks of her boot into Ivy's belly, the fusillade sufficient to cause the redhead to slide groggily down the turnbuckles until she's seated on her butt, legs splayed out before her. Dashing to the far side of the squared circle, Jenkins wheels about and charges full speed toward her opponent; at the last moment she leaps up, legs spread wide, and smashes her groin flush into Armstrong's face. Grasping the middle ropes on either side, 'Bareback' then delivers a Bronco Buster, grinding her womanhood into her adversary's face, smothering and humiliating her in equal measures. And for the first time in this match, the cheers from the fans for Beth are every bit as equal those which had been heard for Ivy, as the Arizonian gains their awe and respect.
Finally the ref decides that decorum declares that he has at last to begin administering the ten count, telling Jenkins to get her opponent out of the corner. Beth continues to ride Ivy for the full count of nine before rolling backward and kipping up to her feet. Taking the blasted and bewildered 'Slamma by her ankles, Jenkins drags her to center ring, then grabs her hair to haul her back up onto unsteady legs. Next comes an Abdominal Stretch, Armstrong's lithe body twisted around that of her rival, the sudden jolt of pain snapping her out of her stupor. The overhead arena lights cause the sweat which coats both of their bodies to glisten, as Ivy grits her teeth and moans in anguish as her figure is agonizing torqued, her efforts to reach for the ropes in vain as she is too far away for that salvation.
"Whadayasay, Ivy?" the zebra intones, looking for the submission. Armstrong squirms in her opponent's grasp, but to no avail. Still, she will not contemplate surrender. "NO!" she rasps. "NEVER!" Beth gives a smug chuckle and tightens the pressure even more, drawing a loud wail from the agonized Alabamian.
But then, just as all seems hopeless, Ivy shuts her eyes tight, steels her body, and with a sudden roar of defiance, flips Jenkins over her hip to the canvas! Free of the stretch, Ivy staggers backward, one hand clutching her strained side. Beth scrambles over to all fours intent on pushing herself up to arise, but before she can do so, she is met with a punted kick beneath her chin, the force of which flops her onto her back, leaving her glassy-eyed and staring up at the ceiling. Bent forward, hands on her knees, Armstrong takes a few moments to recover. That gives Beth the time she needs to also catch her second wind, and she struggles back up to her feet.
Facing one another, the two redheads begin to trade chops to the chest, each cracking blow drawing a sharp gasp of pain from the victim. It remains a stalemate for many long moments, until suddenly Armstrong begins to land two chops for every one that Jenkins delivers...and then three. Suddenly whirling about a full 180 degrees, Ivy slams her elbow across Beth's jaw, snapping her head violently to the side. Armstrong then turns away from her adversary and starts to dash to the ropes, intent on rebounding off of them for momentum. But she barely gets more than two steps before she finds hands in her hair roughly yanking her back. In a whiplash move, the Alabamian crashes to the mat, momentarily stunned. Shaking off the fog in her skull, Jenkins runs to the nearest corner and scales up the turnbuckles, perching precariously upon the top rope. As Ivy struggles back up to her feet, she turns around to try and locate her rival...and is met with a flying dropkick that sends her sailing almost to the other side of the ring, where she lands in a heap of limbs and with moans of anguish.
Truly for the first time tonight, fans can envision an Ivy Armstrong defeat. An uncanny quietness grips the arena as Beth moves to go in for the kill. She hauls Ivy up onto rubbery legs and walks her to the middle of the ring. Any other time, her go-to move would be her finisher, "Buried at Boot Hill". But tonight isn't just about winning, not even a win over a true FAWN legend. It's about re-establishing 'Bareback' Beth Jenkins as a force to be reckoned with, and it's about giving the fans a memory they'll carry with them forever. And of course, FAWN being FAWN, what comes next is virtually dictated to the Arizonian.
Stepping behind Armstrong, pressing her chest to the Alabamian's back, Beth reaches around and her fingers unbutton and unzip the vaunted denim togs. Her right hand then slips down inside the shorts, fingers finding smooth satin, the front triangle of the thong the only barrier between the hand and Armstrong's vulnerable womanhood.
And that very hand, which for years has been strong enough to clutch the saddle horn on a bucking bronc, now clamps a clawhold and squeezes. Armstrong's eyes go wide as saucers and her mouth falls open. At first she makes no sound, but then an ear-piercing yowl in ripped from her throat. Her body is very nearly paralyzed from the torrent of pain, able to do no more than feeble squirming. Jenkins grits her teeth and grunts as she pours on the pressure. From the audience in equal measure come chants of "TAP!" and "DON'T TAP!".
Although she knows she controls this whole moment, and she revels in it, she also knows full well that a veteran of Ivy's ability might well find a way to turn the tide and seize victory from the jaws of defeat. So, while the natural inclination would be to continue with this hold and wring every last whimpering of agony from Armstrong, Jenkins is canny enough to know when to loosen up on the lasso. Suddenly releasing her murderous grasp and pulling her hand free of Ivy's denim, Beth wraps her left arms across her opponent's throat as if going for a Dragon Sleeper. But instead with her other hand she grabs the Alabamian's shorts, dips her knees, and with a grunt hoists Armstrong up, then brings her crashing down to the canvas with her Inverted Implant DDT finisher.
Buried at Boot Hill
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pAw8i0E_hkQ )
The back of Ivy's skull takes much of the brunt, leaving her sprawled upon the mat and barely conscious. 'Bareback" swiftly rolls atop her, hooking a leg just in case, and the referee slaps the canvas...
ONE...
TWO...
THREE!
the crowd erupts with as much incredulity as enjoyment, a mixture of cheers and boos filling the air. Jenkins wearily clambers up to her boots and lets the ref raise her right arm in victory. But she isn't finished just yet. No, if she's going to truly maximize this win, she has to put a bow on it...so to speak.
Rolling out of the ring under the ropes, Beth limps over to the announcer's table and grabs her lariat. Usually it's just an accoutrement to her ring togs, but tonight it's going to be put into service. Sliding back into the ring on her belly like a viper, Jenkins crawls over to the still-stunned Ivy and she pushes her over onto her stomach. Then, displaying a young lifetime of calf roping, she swiftly and deftly hogties Armstrong's wrists and ankles behind her...making sure to tie it all off with a clove hitch knot, which is virtually impossible to untie if you don't know the trick. Which means that the vaunted Ivy Armstrong is going to have to be carried out of the ring and back to the locker room all trussed up. That's a visual that won't soon be forgotten, and which will make certain to make 'Bareback' Beth Jenkins one of the biggest sports show talking points over the next few days.
(Back in her dressing room and following a long, hot shower, Beth checks her phone and finds a text from Bethany Christian: "Drop by my office later this week to sign your new contract. And you'll find I'm feeling generous.")