Post by dsb on Nov 26, 2019 1:00:16 GMT
A successful invasion has been awfully scarce for FAWN’s most infamous manager over the past few years. Yuko and her crew, most especially the original Invaders Sayuki and Sayuri, bounce between Orlando and their homeland in an attempt to resuscitate AI’s once fearsome reputation.
Frustration boiling over, Miss Ogura jumped at the chance to eject an organizational legend from FAWN forever. With Sayuri, having already retired to motherhood in Osaka and relative latecomers Seah and Reiko declaring their independence from the Big Boss, Yuko is left with her most awesome weapon to fire at Ivy Armstrong.
The AHE crowd is already at a fever pitch, knowing the stakes of tonight’s next affair, when the plucking of a familiar set of Oriental strings courses through the arena. Immediately, the assembled explode in a thunderous round of cacophonous boos and catcalls.
The din only increases in volume when the tiniest, most shrill, and most successful manager in organization history, Yuko Ogura, appears on the upper stage. Ogura casts her gaze over the crowd with familiar sneering disdain, the devious businesswoman joined by Matsumoto-san on her right shoulder.
SAYUKI MATSUMOTO
YUKO OGURA
The curvy powerhouse of the Invasion and most prosperous singles grappler joins her general on a trip down the ramp and aisle for what could possibly be the last time. Reaching the ring, Matsumoto heads up the steps, Ogura shrieking over the cantankerous crowd, demanding they show her ultimate weapon the proper reverence.
The busty Asian is dressed for battle in her familiar blood red bikini, the scant cloth leaving precious little of her hourglass figure to the imagination. Complementing the curves are white pads and boots, the pads bearing the red discs of her nation’s flag. Her dark hair is arranged into two long ponytails on either side.
As Sayuki sits on the middle rope and pushes the top skyward, Ogura enters the ring. Yuko takes center stage with Sayuki quickly joining her, Ogura garbed in a white satin top in front, black-n-white stripes from side to back, familiar fedora firmly in place. Below is the gun metal gray with pinstripes but only in very daring proportions, the tiny ring of cloth held in place with a pair of jaunty suspenders. On her abbreviated but delectable stems are whalenet stockings leading to black pumps and atop, her long chestnut-colored locks are partially covered in a black fedora.
Yuko doffs her fedora and plucks a microphone from inside. The crowd seems less than pleased with the prospect of a monologue from the leader of the Invaders and makes Yuko aware. She waits for something approaching silence.
“Are you ready? ARE YOU?!”
The crowd lets loose with another loud set of boos.
“My Sayuki is about to end the career of your sad, little, ginger Judas. Matsumoto-san will make all of you weep into your grits, you bumpkin fools.”
The crowd explodes in a rebellious fury, angered by the businesswoman’s pointed barbs at the throng and their Bama Slamma.
“SAY-O-NARA. SAY-O-NARA” the multitudes begin to chant.
“Shut your mouths!” Ogura shrieks, Sayuki demonstrably waving her arms to try and keep the crowd quiet, unsuccessfully.
“Say good bye to that redheaded slut,” Yuko screeches before letting the microphone ‘THUNK’ to the canvas. She leads Matsumoto to the Invasion corner, leaving the ring announcer to pick up where the manager leaves off.
“Tonight’s next match is one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is a LOSER LEAVES FAWN MATCH! Introducing…accompanied by the leader of the Asian Invasion Yuko Ogura …standing five feet eight inches tall and weighing in at 130 pounds…from Kobe, Japan…Sayuki Matsumoto.”
Yuko shows off her weapon once more, ignoring the boos bouncing off the arena walls. She steps through the ropes when Sayuki opens them wide again, and takes her place on the outside, dropping to the floor. It would be from her usual haunt she would lead Matsumoto to victory and force Ivy’s expulsion to the Alabama indies.
"Child, are you out of your mind?!?"
"This is crazy! Why would you do this?"
"Ah'm calling Bethany right now and putting a stop to this foolishness!"
Even now, standing in the cool darkness backstage as she awaits her cue to emerge from behind the curtain, the conversation remains as vivid in Ivy's mind as if it had just taken place mere moments before, and not several weeks back. Actually, 'conversation' isn't quite descriptive; it was more precisely a dual verbal tongue lashing, delivered by both her mother, Belle Butler Armstrong, and her tag partner, Cynthia Mitchell, when they both learned at the same time that Ivy had agreed to a 'Loser Leaves FAWN' match. Worse still, the redhead hadn't told them...they learned about it when it was announced on SportsCenter. Ivy, sitting between them on the sofa, would swear she heard the break of the sound barrier as their heads snapped in her direction with blurs of motion.
When she was finally able to get a few words in edgewise, Ivy tried to explain her reasoning, but she found she couldn't put it into words. The best she could muster was, "Ah don't back down from a challenge."
Belle tried to scare her out of it: "Matsumoto is a beast. Your skill set isn't good for facing the likes of her. She's the wrong opponent at the wrong time in what is definitely the wrong match!"
Cyn's plea was more heartfelt. "You've never been able to beat her! Even though she's been stumbling lately, that just makes her more dangerous. There isn't anything she...or Ogura...won't do to make sure you lose! Driving you out of FAWN forever, that gives Sayuki a cosmic boost, probably right into a World title shot."
Despite their protestations, she finally managed to convince them that, at the very least, she was determined to go through with the match. That meant her Mama wouldn't be making any calls to Bethany...who would never let Ivy out of the contract anyway, at least not without exacting a price that the 'Bama Slamma would very quickly come to regret agreeing to. It also meant that Cynthia would not be there at ringside for the match. "That's crazy," the chestnut-haired Hellion sputtered. "Yuko's going to be there...you need me as an equalizer." But Armstrong reminded her partner that she was already booked during the PPV on a FAWN tour of Australia and New Zealand. "Don't fret none," Ivy reassured them. "Ah know just what Ah'm doing."
But what was she doing? She couldn't verbalize her reasons to Belle and Cyn, because she couldn't quite explain them to herself. The best she could reckon was that she'd felt in a bit of a rut lately. Recent loses to Jasmine Washington and Beth Jenkins were just symptoms of a certain malaise that had been lingering on the fringes of her mind and emotions these past few months. She was discussing it with her former tag partner, Miriam Gaiman, who offered this observation: "Too much, too soon. You're one of the best, sweetcheeks, and maybe that's the problem. You've held nearly as much gold in FAWN as Fort Knox, you're the daughter of a ring legend, making you the closest thing to royalty we have in the sport, and there's hardly anyone you haven't fought and probably beaten. Face it, cupcake...you're just bored."
That remark was a revelation. And when the 'Loser Leaves FAWN' challenge came that very same day, it seemed like providence. An unbeatable (for her) opponent in a potentially career-ending contest...just the thought of it rekindled a fire inside of her she hadn't felt much in far too long. She couldn't sign the contract fast enough.
Suddenly, she snaps out of her musings at the sound of the ring announcer.
“Introducing next her opponent...standing five feet eight inches tall, and tipping the scale at one-hundred and twenty pounds...from Uriah, Alabama...she is the 'Bama Slamma, IIIIVVVVVVYYYYYY ARMSTRONG!”
“Wild Eyed Southern Boys” by .38 Special comes blasting through the arena's PA. Grabbing the curtain with both hands and tearing it open, the redhead struts down the aisleway, her hips sashaying with silent temptation. She wears a red and black satin corset that evokes a sense of Antebellum grandeur, while her trademark denim cut-offs reveal a conspicuous degree of her backside, and instead of the discreet ankle which a saucy Southern belle might have once shown, the redhead has on display her full legs in all of their lithe splendor, perched lethally upon a pair of crimson stiletto heels.
IVY ARMSTRONG
As she confidently swaggers toward the ring, she pauses before one avid fan at the barrier, waving a sign that reads YOU CAN DO IT RED! WE LOVE YOU!!! Cupping his face with her hands, she plants a kiss on his forehead, then whispers something into his ear that causes his knees to buckle and his friends to whoop, holler and high five one another.
Never let it be said Ivy wasn’t willing to give her all for the fans.
Her fan outreach completed, Armstrong resumes her march to the ring, a contented smile on her ruby red lips, and her black eye-lined green eyes half-lidded like a jungle cat on the prowl. At ringside, she grabs the ropes and pulls herself up to the apron. Stepping over to the center of the ring apron, she turns to face the crowd even as her arms reach up on either side so that her hands can grasp the top cable. First, she kicks off one shoe into the scrambling throng, and then the other, leaving her barefooted. Then, with a gracefulness that would put Cirque du Soleil to shame, she flips up and over the strands in a graceful arc, alighting gently inside of the ring. The end result is an eruption of gratitude from the entranced crowd.
Now inside the squared circle, she saunters over to her assigned corner, casually draping her arms over the top ropes as she eyes her opponent across the expanse of canvas, betraying not a whit of concern.
Sayuki dips and bends her curvy frame through the ropes to get a final unusually quiet set of instructions from Miss Ogura, Yuko occasionally pointing at the fiery redhead. Finally, she brings two clenched palms together at the thumbs and forefingers and pantomimes breaking the Bama Slamma in half. Sayuki nods obediently and draws her body back in just as the official calls for the bell.
Never one for wasting time or energy, Matsumoto closes the gap between herself and Armstrong, not hurrying but neither playing coy. She grasps for the advancing Ivy and the FAWN original dips under Matsumoto-san’s attempt at a collar-and-elbow.
Yuko complains about the cowardly gai-jin as an annoyed Sayuki skids to a stop, turns after her miss, and tracks after the circling redhead. Again, she approaches bull-in-a-china-shop style toward Armstrong who seems ready to test her and AGAIN Ivy dips under Sayuki’s reach, leaving Matusmoto collecting air between her cinching arms. Not bothering to turn, the Invader stomps her boot in frustration as Yuko leaps to the apron, screeching at the Slamma.
“You fight my Weapon,” she demands.
Ivy pivots and flinches at the tiny businesswoman. Yuko throws herself off the canvas, backpedaling to the steel barrier several feet away, holding up her palms. Furious at the giggling around her, Ogura complains to the ref in a high-pitched squeal that Armstrong came after her and she should be disqualified for violent thoughts.
“Y’all wanna see me go after Lil Miss Demeanor,” Ivy drawls sweetly, leaning over the ropes, pointing at the cowering Yuko.
Every single FAWNatic replies in the affirmative. But it’ll have to wait, as when Ivy’s attention is diverted to the miniscule manager, Sayuki charges and lowers the boom with a double axhandle between the ivory shoulders of the legendary tag champion and one-time World Champ.
Armstrong heaves forward from the force of the blow, the rope tight against her chest. A couple clubbing forearms to the back of her foe’s skull allows Sayuki to guide the Dirtiest Player to the corner, the powerful Japanese grappler tossing the Hellion the last several feet with a violent shove. Ivy’s spinal column THUMPS into the light padding of the buckles. Sayuki pivots and DRIVES a pointed elbow into the sternum of the Slamma. She raises her sights with several more, alternating between the chest and chin of the beloved Southern belle.
Matsumoto pushes the redhead deep into the corner then sends her rocketing to the opposite vset with a forceful Irish Whip. Armstrong’s compelled to patter her bare feet across the squared circle. She turns into a body-rocking collision, Sayuki’s strength on full display as Ivy winces and throws her arms over the ropes to remain upright. The effort to stay vertical suits Matsumoto-san. She doesn’t wait for Yuko’s shrieks to crush the soon-to-be-departed Armstrong before surging across the same stretch of canvas. Sayuki launches from several feet out, her undulating Suns leading the way to BURY Ivy in a tsunami-like splash atop the wide-eyed Southern girl.
As Sayuki bounces off her target, Ivy staggers past the pivoting Invader, reaching center stage before losing her feet and taking a header to the deck. Yuko points to a face-down Ivy, Armstrong in a starfish, falling under the avalanche of Invading flesh.
“I hear crowds at Birmingham bingo hall love you,” Ogura shouts. “You have fun there.”
Sayuki grabs a wrist and tugs the blasted Armstrong to her feet, swallowing the rubbery redhead in a tight chest-to-chest bearhug. She squeezes the breath from a gasping bug-eyed Armstrong, the Slamma fruitlessly trying to pry her way free. By the time the Hellion lifts her arms to deliver an earringer, Sayuki’s already separating the balls of Ivy’s bare feet from the canvas, sending her foe over in a sky-high front flip, sailing over her shoulders with a belly-to-belly suplex that PLANTS Armstrong’s backbone to thinly-sheathed plywood.
Ivy arches in pain, a hand going to the small of her back to offer some attempt at relieving the ache there. Sayuki makes sure there will be no respite as she stomps the lower vertebrae of the redhead.
“You are so stupid,” Matsumoto says between another pair of stomps, keeping things simple and to the point both physically and verbally. “You pack bags.”
With Armstrong subdued, Matsumoto latches onto a shoulder and wrist and yanks the struggling Ivy to her feet. She scoops an arm behind a wobbling Ivy’s knees, the other behind her back, lifting her foe in front of her like a babe in her arms. But there’s no rock-a-bye here. Instead, Sayuki genuflects and THUMPS Ivy’s spine across the plank of her right femur and knee, threatening to break the Slamma’s back.
A gritting Sayuki pushes down with a palm on either side, pressing the top of Ivy’s left thigh on one side, her collarbone on the other, only increasing the agony as Ivy’s arc grows with every hateful push downward.
“YOU QUIT NOW!” Yuko screeches. “TAP…TAP…TAP.”
But for every ‘TAP’ from Ogura there is a resounding “DON’T” from the FAWNatics in between and indeed the Hellion refuses, shaking her head when the official asks if she wants to surrender and start looking for new employment.
Outlasting Sayuki’s patience, Ivy gets shoved to the canvas by the Japanese wrestler, Matsumoto rising and taking a glance at her wildly gesticulating manager. Yuko’s Weapon nods dutifully and moves to the splayed Slamma. As Ivy starts to push up, Matsumoto-san is above her in a forward-facing stance. She drops her pear-shaped backside into the midriff of the Hellion, flattening Armstrong back to the canvas.
Undercarriage tight to Ivy’s tummy, Yuko’s Weapon fashions both hands into claws and plunges them into the pert bosom of the Crimson Tide Crusader. Ivy shrieks like a sultry-pitched Yuko as Sayuki squeezes handfuls of alabaster teats, her double breast claws, also twisting Armstrong’s features in pain, Ivy reflexively tearing into her fiery mane to spread the pain.
Leaning over the wailing Hellion to put even more pressure behind her talons, Sayuki smirks as she works Ivy’s breasts between her clenching digits, Armstrong needing to ignore the agony enough to throw an occasional shoulder up when the zebra gets to two every few seconds.
“GIVE UP!” Sayuki demands, tensing her talons into Armstrong’s gurls.
Ivy has a different answer, pulling one set of fingers from her ruby-hued mane to JAB A THUMB into Sayuki’s left eye.
It’s Matsumoto’s turn to yelp in pain, releasing her grips and rising from her straddle to wander half-sightless around the ring, rubbing furiously at her injured eye. On the sidelines, Yuko frantically demands Ivy’s disqualification and immediate expulsion from the organization.
Left eye still red and watering, the Invader nevertheless returns to a rising Ivy, Armstrong on her haunches, head drooped, Sayuki’s dominance making her recovery slow. Standing next to the Slamma, Matsumoto sinks her nails into Ivy’s scalp peeling her to vertical for more of the Asian’s power game. But as the redhead reaches a stooped stance, her right leg swings out like a pendulum and PLOWS BETWEEN SAYUKI’S THIGHS, slamming into the Invader’s hello kitty.
Matsumoto’s jaw drops wide, hands burying in her crotch as Armstrong pulls her bare foot out from between the golden-skinned thighs of her foe.
Frozen and pigeon-toed, Sayuki squeaks pitifully as Yuko rants on the outside.
Standing in front of the teary-eyed Japanese grappler, Ivy gently lifts the lowered chin of the wincing Matsumoto with a cupped palm.
“Get ready to say sayonara, sugah.”
Dashing to the ropes, Ivy bounds off them and rushes back toward Matsumoto-san, delivering a shoulder block that...while not sending the powerhouse Japanese battler to the canvas...most definitely rocks her on her pins. Deciding that if one was good, two would be even better, the redhead charges back to the strands and starts to rush back toward her opponent like the Wabash Cannonball.
However, she only gets a step or two in that direction before Yuko, reaching under the ropes, grabs her foot to trip her up. Armstrong belly flops hard to the mat, the impact putting a halt to her adrenaline rush for a few long moments.
Furious, she rolls out of the ring and begins to stalk the interfering manager. Ogura backpedals, eyes wide with fear and open palms 'window washing' the air as she squeaks,
"No...no...!"
Finally the distance between them narrows enough for the Alabamian to grab a handful of the Asian's jet black hair. Balling her other fist, she looks to the crowd for encouragement, the crowd makes their wish clear: BELT HER!
But in a night of rookie-level mistakes on the part of the FAWN veteran, this proves to be another one. For she has forgotten that for all her craven pusillanimity, Yuko has proven on more than one occasion to be a fairly effective fighter in her own right. With Ivy's attention turned away from her, it takes no great act of genius for the She-Shogun of the Invasion to take advantage, courtesy of a viper-swift poke of her fingers to Armstrong's eyes.
With a shriek the 'Bama Slamma releases the hold on her target's hair and staggers backward, blinded. Pressing her sudden advantage, Ogura unleashes a string of judo chops to the redhead's chest, and by the tenth blow Ivy drops to one knee, her right hand clutching the ring barrier to keep from toppling over entirely.
"Maybe I don't need my Weapon," the manager jeers. "Maybe I finish you off myself!"
But the referee makes it clear that the only lawful opponent for the Hellion is the woman in the ring, and he orders Yuko to back off. He then begins his twenty count, but the redhead seems too blasted to have any hope of making it back into the squared circle before he reaches that final number. Since this would result in a disqualification, and that does not fit into the Asian Invasion's plan whatsoever, Ogura opts to help the American back into the battle. With a grunt, the diminutive manager throws one of Armstrong's arms over her shoulders and struggles to help her back to the apron. From there, at least, Sayuki can take over, and haul her opponent back in, which she obligingly does.
But once she's back within the confines of the ropes, Ivy's situation goes from bad to worse. From the outside, Yuko grabs Armstrong's ankles and drags her legs over toward the corner; she then yanks those same legs, pulling the 'Bama Slamma toward her. However, as there is a steel ring post now situated between her legs, the Hellion suffers some instant karma for her earlier blow to Matsumoto's delta. But the punishment doesn't end there. Grasping Ivy by her wrists, Sayuki yanks her away from the post...except that the She-Shogun still has her ankles, and she yanks her right back. Armstrong is caught in a vengeful game of tug or war, and it’s the region below her Mason-Dixon Line that suffers. By the third impact, she’s cross-eyed and mewling, and her sinewy body has all of the consistency of Jell-O. Ogura finally lets go of the redhead, allowing her Mt. Fuji to drag the limp grappler to center stage.
There, Matsumoto-san contemptuously steps a boot down upon the chest of her bedraggled rival, and the referee counts "One...two..."
Ivy shoves the arrogant pin off, preventing a particularly humiliating three-count by Sayuki. The Japanese powerhouse is far from upset, instead sauntering around the ring with a gait that, for her, might very nearly be called a strut.
From ringside Yuko cackles and says to Ivy, "We're not done with you! My Weapon is going to make you regret you were ever born and then she is going to send you crawling back to Hicktown, Alabama!"
As usual, Matsumoto is prepared to make her manager’s threats a reality. She returns to a slowly rising Armstrong, grabbing a wrist and ‘helping’ the reeling Ivy up the rest of the way. Using her handle, the Invader sends the Hellion off on a sprint to the ropes, setting up a roadblock for the Alabamian in the middle of the ring.
Rebounding at full speed, Ivy can’t slam on the brakes. Instead, she tries to take Sayuki down with a Thesz Press Matsumoto turns into a ring-rattling spinebuster, the Japanese grappler, pivoting after catching the airborne Slamma and depositing the shook Ivy to the canvas.
Armstrong’s carcass bounces a good inch off the deck and, after the redhead settles, a sneering Sayuki layers her curvy frame atop the splayed Armstrong for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Ivy throws a shoulder up, this time Yuko taking it personally.
She shrieks at her Weapon for not keeping the Hellion down. For a moment, Matsumoto-san appears as though she’s eaten an entire lemon, but she quickly nods and rises, pulling up the ragdolled Ivy with her via another wristlock.
Yuko’s powerhouse slips behind the wobbling Ivy, pulling the captured arm of the redhead between Armstrong’s legs. With her free hand, Sayuki reaches over a shoulder, turns Ivy halfway toward her, and effortlessly vaults Armstrong into the airspace in front of her.
Twisting her cargo, Matsumoto seamlessly lays Ivy across her right shoulder and sends Armstrong PLOWING into the thinly-sheathed plywood with the back end of her pumphandle slam.
Pumphandle Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=prCQXh2pSIk )
With Ivy spread-eagled before her, Sayuki genuflects on to the gulping tummy of the Bama Slamma, raising her right hand and lifting fingers along with the referee’s count for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Again, the Invader’s arrogance keeps Ivy alive as the redhead’s able to roll out from under the domineering knee placement, ending on her chest, huffing in deep breaths and blinking her emerald eyes wide in an effort to draw some sense back into her gray matter.
Sayuki scrambles to her feet and gets in the grill of the official, chesting him back several steps with her abundant Suns. As she bullies the man into a corner, barking at the zebra in her native tongue, Yuko slips under the bottom rope. Pulling a short length of chain from her trunks, Ogura wraps it around the throat of the Slamma and throttles Ivy, the Hellion gasping for air, eyes bulging as she fruitlessly tries to pry the link away from her reddening neck.
Knowing her time is limited, particularly with the FAWNatics screaming wildly at the ref to turn around, the malevolent mite unwraps and rolls out to the floor. On cue, Matsumoto heads for the breathless Armstrong, the striped-shirt none the wiser regarding the chicanery by Miss Ogura.
“You will plead for me to send you to Bama swamp,” Sayuki threatens, giving Ivy a stomp to the spine when Armstrong reaches all fours.
Undeterred, the Slamma keeps pushing upward and she pays with a toe kick to the tummy when turning to face the Invader. With Ivy bent and frozen, Matusumoto dips an arm through the quivering ivory legs of the Crimson Tide Crusader and ‘hups’ the redhead into a fireman’s carry, Sayuki ready to take Armstrong out for a Spin of the Airplane variety.
But before the Japanese grappler can make Ivy her propeller, the game Armstrong begins thumping elbows into Sayuki’s temple, Yuko’s complaints of hairpulling falling on deaf ears. The fifth sends the redhead sliding down the Invader’s back, landing tight behind Matsumoto.
As Yuko’s Weapon turns to face her foe, Ivy latches onto a wrist. Sayuki instantly pulls the still recovering Slamma toward her, but Armstrong nimbly do-si-dos past her foe, until both Sayuki’s and Ivy’s arms are extended to full length. Showing off her ability to maneuver into a set of splits, the Hellion jams her bare foot under Sayuki’s chin and lays out, force feeding Matsumoto-san a heaping helping of Sole Food.
Sole Food ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTdWpldVzmU )
The dazed Weapon spins to a heap on the canvas, Yuko at a rare loss for words as both her Invader and the gaijin shitkicker struggle to regain something approaching verticality.
“GET UP!” she finally squeals at her Weapon, piercing eardrums in the front rows.
The jawjacked Sayuki is doing her best but the irrepressible Ivy reaches her feet more quickly, much to Ogura’s chagrin. Yuko grasps for Ivy’s ankle and the ref stomps down at the invading digits, Yuko pulling the hand away just in time.
“You cheat for her,” Ogura wails. “You cheat.”
The manager’s outlook doesn’t improve with Ivy at the ready when Matsumoto fully reaches her feet. The veteran pops an unexpecting Sayuki into the air and delivers a version of the Mushmouth, Ivy’s knee strike CRACKING into the jaw of the Invader. Matsumoto shudders as she manages to remain upright. Her persistence is not rewarded when Ivy NAILS her target with a whipping backfist to the face and a forward clubbing blow to the same location.
With the Japanese grappler all but out on her feet, a recovering Armstrong heads for the ropes. She rebounds and NAILS Sayuki with a hip check to the skull of the now penitent Matsumoto, finally knocking the curvy Asian into a shellshocked starfish.
Pop-up-knee strike et al ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMRwKRuVz_g )
With the sellout AHE crowd roaring and Yuko shrieking bloody murder at the turn of events, Ivy passes on a pin. Instead, she rolls the insensate Sayuki to her Suns with the shovel of a bare foot under Matsumoto’s hip. The veteran moves to a reverse standing straddle, collecting an ankle of Sayuki as she does. With the lone leg in tow, Armstrong settles into a crouch and a torturous single-leg crab.
But Ivy’s Crimson Legion knows there’s much more to come from the Dirtiest Player in the Game. With her free hand, she puts on the finishing touch of her signature White Lightning, thrusting her digits into the thin layer of red spandex covering Matsumoto’s crotch, Ivy’s claw added to the already agonizing Half-Crab.
Caught amidst the agony of Ivy’s cruel invention, Sayuki pulls at her ponytails, trying to spread the pain. The official asks if the curvy grappler wants to surrender the match and her FAWN career.
When there’s no immediate response, Yuko screams, “NO. SHE WILL NOT QUIT. NOT MY WEAPON!”
Sayuki shakes her head in time with the “encouragement”, her flawless face etched in anguish. Matsumoto pleadingly reaches for Yuko’s outstretched hand but again the official intervenes with a kick toward Ogura.
“You will not interfere,” the man shouts.
“You are from this shithole called Bama,” Yuko shrieks. “New ref. We need new ref.”
Her attempt at an assisted escape gone, Sayuki squirms in agony as Ivy both ravages her hello kitty and threatens to break her back with the Lightning. Removing her nails from her own dark tails, Matsumoto digs them into the canvas. She creeps in excruciating pain to the ropes, finally wrapping a palm around the bottom and outshrieking Yuko for a break that Armstrong only gives after four VERY long seconds.
But the redhead isn't about to give her opponent any opportunity to recover. Before Sayuki can roll out of the ring to the relative safety of ringside, Armstrong jumps to her feet and grabs the Invader by her ankles and yanks. Matsumoto clings to the bottom rope, but finds her grip torn free as she elevates a foot or so above the mat, then crashes down with a heavy grunt. With deft speed, the redhead then flips her adversary over onto her back. Reaching down, she grasps Sayuki by the wrists and pulls her upper body upright to a seated position, then uses her feet to kick the Japanese powerhouse's legs wider.
Now, placing the balls of her feet against the insides of Matsumoto's knees, the 'Bama Slamma suddenly sits down on the canvas, spreading her shapely gams, which in turn push out Sayuki's legs far beyond their usual range of motion. Almond-shaped eyes go wide with the shock of sudden pain as a shriek is torn from the Invader's throat. She squirms in agonized distress, but with her wrists held tightly by her American tormentor, she is unable to roll free.
Ivy smirks as the Asian howls in frustration and pain, her might of no avail as she is deprived of the necessary leverage. Yuko slams her hands down repeatedly on the apron in near apoplexy as she screams alternately at the referee to disqualify Armstrong for some undefined "cheating" and commanding Matsumoto to stop playing around and break the hold.
Feeling playful now, Ivy starts to sing, "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands!", punctuating the lyric by pulling Sayuki's arms wide and then forcing her palms to slap together three times in quick succession. The raven-tressed beauty roars with a bellow of profanity in her native tongue that requires no translation for the Southern gal to understand. Armstrong merely smiles in reply.
Suddenly Ivy pulls Matsumoto's arms apart again and pulls her own right leg up tight to her chest. She then unleashes a kick, the sole of her foot smashing into the Asian's face as the redhead releases her foe’s wrists, allowing the dazed Invader to flop to her back. Kipping up to her feet, Armstrong dashes to the far ropes, bounds off them and charges across the ring.
But unexpectedly she rushes past Sayuki, instead going into a slide and skidding under the ropes, where she delivers a drop kick to the chest of the startled Ogura with enough impact to send the She-Shogun sailing backward.
Yuko crashes against the ring barrier and flips over it, landing at the feet of the ringside fans...several of whom are more than happy to "help" the saucy manager back over the railing with plenty of handsy assistance. That nuisance taken care of for the time being, Ivy scampers up the ropes and balances herself precariously atop the turnbuckles, crouched and ready as she waits for her adversary to groggily make her way back up to her feet.
A wincing Matsumoto hobbles as she gets to vertical, slowly turning to find Ivy. Armstrong’s already airborne and Yuko’s Ultimate Weapon can only try to get her hands up to deflect. It’s too late and the Hellion’s Missile Dropkick NAILS Sayuki in her abundant Suns.
The Invader is sent somersaulting backward, ending on her chest. Groggily, the battered Sayuki pushes to all fours and the redhead mounts her foe in a reverse straddle. Lifting her tush slightly, Armstrong pounds the pear-shaped backside into Matsumoto’s lower spine, causing Sayuki’s backbone to bow. Another THUMP sends her flat to the canvas, groaning as she tries to slither out from under the Slamma.
On the outside, Yuko finally flops back over the barrier, puddling at its base, looking more than a little disheveled. She straightens her trunks and suspenders and manages to take a leaning seat against the metal barricade.
Within, Ivy ‘helps’ the reeling Invader to her feet by a wrist and shoulder. She aims Sayuki toward the far buckles and heaves Matsumoto on her way. The Japanese grappler turns into a jarring collision. Her curvy, flaccid frame sags into the corner and, in a split-second, Armstrong is shot out of a cannon.
Racing toward the shellshocked Invader, Armstrong takes a trip down her signature Confederate Railroad, throwing herself in a crossbody dive toward the weakened Matsumoto. The impact is full and fleshy, BUT Sayuki somehow manages to catch Ivy across her chest, arms latching on over Ivy’s left (lower) shoulder and between her infamous stems.
A staggering Sayuki makes it only a few steps before dropping to one knee and THUMPING Armstrong’s left set of ribs across the plank of her femur, trying to break the veteran in two. The cry from the Bama Slamma sends a shiver down the spine of her supporters and their mood only darkens when Matsumoto-san, at the bidding of the newly returned and shrieking Yuko, lifts Ivy up once more and drops her in similar fashion, trying to crack Armstrong’s rib cage.
The yelping redhead is shoved off Matsumoto’s knee disdainfully. Sayuki rises unsteadily, nearly taking a tumble. The war is taking its toll, but the Invader is ready to send Armstrong back to Hicksville.
Closing the space between them as a stubborn Slamma rises, Sayuki punts the Dirtiest Player between the thighs, freezing the wide-eyed Alabamian in place, mouth agape, hands buried deep.
“You go Greyhound,” Matsumoto informs.
She ducks, sweeping an arm between Ivy’s pipes from behind and ‘hups’ the mewling Hellion across her shoulders in an inverted fireman’s carry. The Asian powerhouse wraps an arm around her prize on either side and tries to snap Ivy’s spine with an aptly-named Torture Rack.
A beaming Yuko, confidence returning, turns to the crowd, pointing and snickering.
“Say goodbye, you eediots.”
Sayuki flexes her shoulders, pulling down with her enveloping arms, and even does a couple semi-deep knee bends with her cargo captured, stressing Ivy’s vertebrae all the more.
“AHHHHGAHHHD” Ivy howls, emerald eyes half-lidded in anguish and trapped by the Invader’s power play.
However, tenacious as ever, Ivy’s questing fingers search for Sayuki’s eye sockets> Feeling them approaching, a panicky Matsumoto bails on the Rack, but only as Armstrong draaags her nails across the dark peepers of Matsumoto. So while Sayuki delivers Ivy to the canvas with a ring-rattling Samoan Drop, Armstrong BLASTED; a yipping Sayuki rolls away from the carnage, rubbing at her eyes, focused on regaining the sight in her burning, watering eyes rather than covering the demolished Hellion.
Speaking, or more accurately squealing at her Weapon in their native tongue, Ogura demands Matsumoto ignore her blindness and the considerable pain to splash the waylaid redhead then set her Suns atop Ivy’s features to end all doubt.
Sayuki scrubs at her sockets, trying to clear the eyes within. With some vision returning to her bloodshot peepers, she moves to the corner nearest the splayed Armstrong and rises to the middle ropes. The curvy grappler is poised above her prey, blinking wide. Finding enough sight to crush her target then bury her under the Suns, Sayuki launches from her perch to SPLASH the Slamma into a redheaded greasemark.
BUT Ivy is playing possum. She gets her knees up and the plummeting Matsumoto is GUTTED by Armstrong’s bony joints. A startled Yuko shrieks in terror, as Sayuki, on her back a few feet from Ivy, hugs her golden tummy like she’s trying to keep internal organs in place, moaning and rocking from side to side.
Running on fumes, the redhead slowly rolls over to her side, then onto her belly, struggling to get up to all fours. Her body shudders for a moment, suggesting it may collapse from the strain, but she takes a deep breath and forces herself up on her shapely stems through sheer willpower.
However during this period of effort, Sayuki had likewise managed to rise again, thanks to judicious use of the ropes to haul herself up. Also clearly physically spent, she lumbers awkwardly toward her opponent, hands raised for a lock-up. Realizing how foolhardy such a contest of raw power would be with the beast from the East, Armstrong opts for a different strategy: to wit, she balls her right fist, draws her arm back, and launches a haymaker at the Invader's kisser.
There is an audible gasp of surprise from the throng as Matsumoto, displaying a burst of speed none believed her capable of still possessing, manages to catch the oncoming fist with her left hand. A simple exertion of leverage with a bend of the redhead's wrist, and the Japanese girl's inscrutability gives way to a small but definite smirk, as Ivy winces loudly and slowly sinks to one knee. At ringside, Yuko claps and beams a leering smile as her weapon is clearly mere moments away from an historic victory. "You send hillbilly back to Bama on a stretcher!" she commands her wrestler.
It's difficult to predict what Sayuki has in mind. Perhaps a kneelift to the jaw, which would send her adversary splaying to the canvas. Or from her vantage point, an iron claw to the temples would quite probably squeeze the last of the fight out of Armstrong. Then again, converting her hold on the American's fist into a genuine wrist lock would make it remarkably simple to break Ivy's ulna or radius, and drive her to scream out her submission. So many delightful options to choose from.
Ivy had but one option, and she took it with a vengeance! With her free hand, she drove a punch straight up between Matsumoto-san's thighs, the thin layer of cloth offering zero protection as the blow WHUMPED into her womanhood. The Japanese powerhouse lets out a bloodcurdling scream and, releasing her hold on her opponent's hand, staggers backward, eyes shut tight against the pain as her hands gingerly cup her groin. Astonishingly however, she does not topple to the mat...a fact with the 'Bama Slamma intends to swiftly alter.
Shrieking like some ancient Japanese demon of folk lore, Ogura bays at the referee to stop the match, at Armstrong to just give up, and at Sayuki to gather her wits and regain control. Of course, all of it is bellowed so rapidly in a mixture of both Japanese and English, it sounds as if the She-Shogun is speaking in tongues. Ivy ignores her and focuses solely upon the swaying battler before her. The redhead knows she has little left in her exhausted and aching body, and she can only hope it's enough to finish off Matsumoto once and for all. To accomplish this, the first objective is to get her down on the mat. Reaching up and cupping her hands behind the head of her dazed adversary, the redhead suddenly jumps up, pulling her legs in tight and pressing her knees against the Asian's chest. Letting gravity do the work of pulling them both downward, when Armstrong's back hits the mat, the full impact from this modified Lungblower nails Sayuki doubly in her 'suns'; that impact is sufficient to send her sailing backward and crashing to the canvas in a moaning heap.
Mustering all of the speed she can, Ivy scampers on all fours to her sprawled foe, and in a blur of motion she deftly snakes her gams around Matsumoto-san's head and locks on a Code of Silence.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=H93FEnRLaQQ
Gasping for air, her neck and spine agonizingly twisted backward to an unnatural degree, the Invader blindly reaches for the ropes, but is too far to grasp that salvation. After a full ten seconds of this torment, the Japanese battler can endure it no longer, and she starts to slap her right palm to the mat.
"Don't tap...SAY IT!" Armstrong snarls, her legs squeezing just a little big harder. After a long moment, Sayuki burbles "TEISHUTSU SURU...I SUBMIT! I SUBMIT!" The referee instantly calls for the bell, and the capacity crowd roars its approval.
Having been too shocked by the turn of events of the past thirty seconds to act, Ogura stands dumbfounded at ringside. Then she scurries into the ring under the ropes and, even as Ivy is unlocking her legs around Matsumoto's head, the She-Shogun throws a stomp to the back of the redhead's skull.
"NO!" she bellows. "Match not over! You will still lose to my Weapon!"
Further denying the reality of the moment, Yuko grabs Ivy hair with one hand and begins slamming her other fist into the side of the Southern gal's head, drawing shrieks from the Slamma. Had she been allowed to continue her assault, the manager might well have rendered the already exhausted redhead senseless. However, the referee wraps his arms around Ogura's waist from behind and lifts her up bodily, pulling her off the victorious grappler. She squirms free, but instead of resuming her assault on Ivy, she drops to her knees next to Sayuki, who has rolled over groggily to her back. She starts to yell at her in Japanese, but whether her words are of concern for her charge or fury at her failure, those who do not speak that ancient tongue can only guess.
The referee goes to help Ivy up, and then to raise her hand, but she pulls her wrist free and says, "Ah've still got one tiny bit of business to settle." Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Yuko turns her head, and is met with a punch to the jaw that sends her collapsing to the mat. A nudge from the redhead's bare foot pushes the mewling manager over to her stomach, and Armstrong drops her backside to the canvas above the Asian woman's head. The spectators know just what's coming, and they roar their approval.
Quickly clamping her thighs around the She-Shogun's skull and locking her ankles, the 'Bama Slamma executes her fabled Southern Charm finisher. Her head being crushed, and her face pressed into the denim crotch of her tormentor, thus smothering her, Ogura's arms flail in pain. Ordinarily Ivy would grab her victim's wrists to immobilize her arms, but in this instance she leaves them free. She doesn't want to knock the manager out...she wants her to tap out.
And tap she does after just a scant few more seconds of this punishment. The official is flummoxed, not sure what to do.
"Ah'd say you ought to call for the bell, sugah," she purrs, and he consents. Once more the bell tolls, proclaiming another submission.
For the lithe lass from Uriah, Alabama had carefully read her contract; she knew that it was worded in such a way that if any member of the Asian Invasion submitted, they would be permanently relinquishing their spot in FAWN. And while Ogura was not the announced participant in the match, she is still contractually an Invader, and the contract never said this couldn't be a handicap match. Ivy is certain that this was no careless oversight on Bethany Christian's part. Bethany doesn't make mistakes like that, unless it's on purpose.
Rising glorious up to her feet, Armstrong now allows the zebra to raise her right arm in victory, as waves of cheers cascade down on her. Turning her gaze to her two still-stunned foes, she smiles and drawls, "Sayonara, sweeties, and bless your hearts!"
Frustration boiling over, Miss Ogura jumped at the chance to eject an organizational legend from FAWN forever. With Sayuri, having already retired to motherhood in Osaka and relative latecomers Seah and Reiko declaring their independence from the Big Boss, Yuko is left with her most awesome weapon to fire at Ivy Armstrong.
The AHE crowd is already at a fever pitch, knowing the stakes of tonight’s next affair, when the plucking of a familiar set of Oriental strings courses through the arena. Immediately, the assembled explode in a thunderous round of cacophonous boos and catcalls.
The din only increases in volume when the tiniest, most shrill, and most successful manager in organization history, Yuko Ogura, appears on the upper stage. Ogura casts her gaze over the crowd with familiar sneering disdain, the devious businesswoman joined by Matsumoto-san on her right shoulder.
SAYUKI MATSUMOTO
YUKO OGURA
The curvy powerhouse of the Invasion and most prosperous singles grappler joins her general on a trip down the ramp and aisle for what could possibly be the last time. Reaching the ring, Matsumoto heads up the steps, Ogura shrieking over the cantankerous crowd, demanding they show her ultimate weapon the proper reverence.
The busty Asian is dressed for battle in her familiar blood red bikini, the scant cloth leaving precious little of her hourglass figure to the imagination. Complementing the curves are white pads and boots, the pads bearing the red discs of her nation’s flag. Her dark hair is arranged into two long ponytails on either side.
As Sayuki sits on the middle rope and pushes the top skyward, Ogura enters the ring. Yuko takes center stage with Sayuki quickly joining her, Ogura garbed in a white satin top in front, black-n-white stripes from side to back, familiar fedora firmly in place. Below is the gun metal gray with pinstripes but only in very daring proportions, the tiny ring of cloth held in place with a pair of jaunty suspenders. On her abbreviated but delectable stems are whalenet stockings leading to black pumps and atop, her long chestnut-colored locks are partially covered in a black fedora.
Yuko doffs her fedora and plucks a microphone from inside. The crowd seems less than pleased with the prospect of a monologue from the leader of the Invaders and makes Yuko aware. She waits for something approaching silence.
“Are you ready? ARE YOU?!”
The crowd lets loose with another loud set of boos.
“My Sayuki is about to end the career of your sad, little, ginger Judas. Matsumoto-san will make all of you weep into your grits, you bumpkin fools.”
The crowd explodes in a rebellious fury, angered by the businesswoman’s pointed barbs at the throng and their Bama Slamma.
“SAY-O-NARA. SAY-O-NARA” the multitudes begin to chant.
“Shut your mouths!” Ogura shrieks, Sayuki demonstrably waving her arms to try and keep the crowd quiet, unsuccessfully.
“Say good bye to that redheaded slut,” Yuko screeches before letting the microphone ‘THUNK’ to the canvas. She leads Matsumoto to the Invasion corner, leaving the ring announcer to pick up where the manager leaves off.
“Tonight’s next match is one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is a LOSER LEAVES FAWN MATCH! Introducing…accompanied by the leader of the Asian Invasion Yuko Ogura …standing five feet eight inches tall and weighing in at 130 pounds…from Kobe, Japan…Sayuki Matsumoto.”
Yuko shows off her weapon once more, ignoring the boos bouncing off the arena walls. She steps through the ropes when Sayuki opens them wide again, and takes her place on the outside, dropping to the floor. It would be from her usual haunt she would lead Matsumoto to victory and force Ivy’s expulsion to the Alabama indies.
"Child, are you out of your mind?!?"
"This is crazy! Why would you do this?"
"Ah'm calling Bethany right now and putting a stop to this foolishness!"
Even now, standing in the cool darkness backstage as she awaits her cue to emerge from behind the curtain, the conversation remains as vivid in Ivy's mind as if it had just taken place mere moments before, and not several weeks back. Actually, 'conversation' isn't quite descriptive; it was more precisely a dual verbal tongue lashing, delivered by both her mother, Belle Butler Armstrong, and her tag partner, Cynthia Mitchell, when they both learned at the same time that Ivy had agreed to a 'Loser Leaves FAWN' match. Worse still, the redhead hadn't told them...they learned about it when it was announced on SportsCenter. Ivy, sitting between them on the sofa, would swear she heard the break of the sound barrier as their heads snapped in her direction with blurs of motion.
When she was finally able to get a few words in edgewise, Ivy tried to explain her reasoning, but she found she couldn't put it into words. The best she could muster was, "Ah don't back down from a challenge."
Belle tried to scare her out of it: "Matsumoto is a beast. Your skill set isn't good for facing the likes of her. She's the wrong opponent at the wrong time in what is definitely the wrong match!"
Cyn's plea was more heartfelt. "You've never been able to beat her! Even though she's been stumbling lately, that just makes her more dangerous. There isn't anything she...or Ogura...won't do to make sure you lose! Driving you out of FAWN forever, that gives Sayuki a cosmic boost, probably right into a World title shot."
Despite their protestations, she finally managed to convince them that, at the very least, she was determined to go through with the match. That meant her Mama wouldn't be making any calls to Bethany...who would never let Ivy out of the contract anyway, at least not without exacting a price that the 'Bama Slamma would very quickly come to regret agreeing to. It also meant that Cynthia would not be there at ringside for the match. "That's crazy," the chestnut-haired Hellion sputtered. "Yuko's going to be there...you need me as an equalizer." But Armstrong reminded her partner that she was already booked during the PPV on a FAWN tour of Australia and New Zealand. "Don't fret none," Ivy reassured them. "Ah know just what Ah'm doing."
But what was she doing? She couldn't verbalize her reasons to Belle and Cyn, because she couldn't quite explain them to herself. The best she could reckon was that she'd felt in a bit of a rut lately. Recent loses to Jasmine Washington and Beth Jenkins were just symptoms of a certain malaise that had been lingering on the fringes of her mind and emotions these past few months. She was discussing it with her former tag partner, Miriam Gaiman, who offered this observation: "Too much, too soon. You're one of the best, sweetcheeks, and maybe that's the problem. You've held nearly as much gold in FAWN as Fort Knox, you're the daughter of a ring legend, making you the closest thing to royalty we have in the sport, and there's hardly anyone you haven't fought and probably beaten. Face it, cupcake...you're just bored."
That remark was a revelation. And when the 'Loser Leaves FAWN' challenge came that very same day, it seemed like providence. An unbeatable (for her) opponent in a potentially career-ending contest...just the thought of it rekindled a fire inside of her she hadn't felt much in far too long. She couldn't sign the contract fast enough.
Suddenly, she snaps out of her musings at the sound of the ring announcer.
“Introducing next her opponent...standing five feet eight inches tall, and tipping the scale at one-hundred and twenty pounds...from Uriah, Alabama...she is the 'Bama Slamma, IIIIVVVVVVYYYYYY ARMSTRONG!”
“Wild Eyed Southern Boys” by .38 Special comes blasting through the arena's PA. Grabbing the curtain with both hands and tearing it open, the redhead struts down the aisleway, her hips sashaying with silent temptation. She wears a red and black satin corset that evokes a sense of Antebellum grandeur, while her trademark denim cut-offs reveal a conspicuous degree of her backside, and instead of the discreet ankle which a saucy Southern belle might have once shown, the redhead has on display her full legs in all of their lithe splendor, perched lethally upon a pair of crimson stiletto heels.
IVY ARMSTRONG
As she confidently swaggers toward the ring, she pauses before one avid fan at the barrier, waving a sign that reads YOU CAN DO IT RED! WE LOVE YOU!!! Cupping his face with her hands, she plants a kiss on his forehead, then whispers something into his ear that causes his knees to buckle and his friends to whoop, holler and high five one another.
Never let it be said Ivy wasn’t willing to give her all for the fans.
Her fan outreach completed, Armstrong resumes her march to the ring, a contented smile on her ruby red lips, and her black eye-lined green eyes half-lidded like a jungle cat on the prowl. At ringside, she grabs the ropes and pulls herself up to the apron. Stepping over to the center of the ring apron, she turns to face the crowd even as her arms reach up on either side so that her hands can grasp the top cable. First, she kicks off one shoe into the scrambling throng, and then the other, leaving her barefooted. Then, with a gracefulness that would put Cirque du Soleil to shame, she flips up and over the strands in a graceful arc, alighting gently inside of the ring. The end result is an eruption of gratitude from the entranced crowd.
Now inside the squared circle, she saunters over to her assigned corner, casually draping her arms over the top ropes as she eyes her opponent across the expanse of canvas, betraying not a whit of concern.
Sayuki dips and bends her curvy frame through the ropes to get a final unusually quiet set of instructions from Miss Ogura, Yuko occasionally pointing at the fiery redhead. Finally, she brings two clenched palms together at the thumbs and forefingers and pantomimes breaking the Bama Slamma in half. Sayuki nods obediently and draws her body back in just as the official calls for the bell.
Never one for wasting time or energy, Matsumoto closes the gap between herself and Armstrong, not hurrying but neither playing coy. She grasps for the advancing Ivy and the FAWN original dips under Matsumoto-san’s attempt at a collar-and-elbow.
Yuko complains about the cowardly gai-jin as an annoyed Sayuki skids to a stop, turns after her miss, and tracks after the circling redhead. Again, she approaches bull-in-a-china-shop style toward Armstrong who seems ready to test her and AGAIN Ivy dips under Sayuki’s reach, leaving Matusmoto collecting air between her cinching arms. Not bothering to turn, the Invader stomps her boot in frustration as Yuko leaps to the apron, screeching at the Slamma.
“You fight my Weapon,” she demands.
Ivy pivots and flinches at the tiny businesswoman. Yuko throws herself off the canvas, backpedaling to the steel barrier several feet away, holding up her palms. Furious at the giggling around her, Ogura complains to the ref in a high-pitched squeal that Armstrong came after her and she should be disqualified for violent thoughts.
“Y’all wanna see me go after Lil Miss Demeanor,” Ivy drawls sweetly, leaning over the ropes, pointing at the cowering Yuko.
Every single FAWNatic replies in the affirmative. But it’ll have to wait, as when Ivy’s attention is diverted to the miniscule manager, Sayuki charges and lowers the boom with a double axhandle between the ivory shoulders of the legendary tag champion and one-time World Champ.
Armstrong heaves forward from the force of the blow, the rope tight against her chest. A couple clubbing forearms to the back of her foe’s skull allows Sayuki to guide the Dirtiest Player to the corner, the powerful Japanese grappler tossing the Hellion the last several feet with a violent shove. Ivy’s spinal column THUMPS into the light padding of the buckles. Sayuki pivots and DRIVES a pointed elbow into the sternum of the Slamma. She raises her sights with several more, alternating between the chest and chin of the beloved Southern belle.
Matsumoto pushes the redhead deep into the corner then sends her rocketing to the opposite vset with a forceful Irish Whip. Armstrong’s compelled to patter her bare feet across the squared circle. She turns into a body-rocking collision, Sayuki’s strength on full display as Ivy winces and throws her arms over the ropes to remain upright. The effort to stay vertical suits Matsumoto-san. She doesn’t wait for Yuko’s shrieks to crush the soon-to-be-departed Armstrong before surging across the same stretch of canvas. Sayuki launches from several feet out, her undulating Suns leading the way to BURY Ivy in a tsunami-like splash atop the wide-eyed Southern girl.
As Sayuki bounces off her target, Ivy staggers past the pivoting Invader, reaching center stage before losing her feet and taking a header to the deck. Yuko points to a face-down Ivy, Armstrong in a starfish, falling under the avalanche of Invading flesh.
“I hear crowds at Birmingham bingo hall love you,” Ogura shouts. “You have fun there.”
Sayuki grabs a wrist and tugs the blasted Armstrong to her feet, swallowing the rubbery redhead in a tight chest-to-chest bearhug. She squeezes the breath from a gasping bug-eyed Armstrong, the Slamma fruitlessly trying to pry her way free. By the time the Hellion lifts her arms to deliver an earringer, Sayuki’s already separating the balls of Ivy’s bare feet from the canvas, sending her foe over in a sky-high front flip, sailing over her shoulders with a belly-to-belly suplex that PLANTS Armstrong’s backbone to thinly-sheathed plywood.
Ivy arches in pain, a hand going to the small of her back to offer some attempt at relieving the ache there. Sayuki makes sure there will be no respite as she stomps the lower vertebrae of the redhead.
“You are so stupid,” Matsumoto says between another pair of stomps, keeping things simple and to the point both physically and verbally. “You pack bags.”
With Armstrong subdued, Matsumoto latches onto a shoulder and wrist and yanks the struggling Ivy to her feet. She scoops an arm behind a wobbling Ivy’s knees, the other behind her back, lifting her foe in front of her like a babe in her arms. But there’s no rock-a-bye here. Instead, Sayuki genuflects and THUMPS Ivy’s spine across the plank of her right femur and knee, threatening to break the Slamma’s back.
A gritting Sayuki pushes down with a palm on either side, pressing the top of Ivy’s left thigh on one side, her collarbone on the other, only increasing the agony as Ivy’s arc grows with every hateful push downward.
“YOU QUIT NOW!” Yuko screeches. “TAP…TAP…TAP.”
But for every ‘TAP’ from Ogura there is a resounding “DON’T” from the FAWNatics in between and indeed the Hellion refuses, shaking her head when the official asks if she wants to surrender and start looking for new employment.
Outlasting Sayuki’s patience, Ivy gets shoved to the canvas by the Japanese wrestler, Matsumoto rising and taking a glance at her wildly gesticulating manager. Yuko’s Weapon nods dutifully and moves to the splayed Slamma. As Ivy starts to push up, Matsumoto-san is above her in a forward-facing stance. She drops her pear-shaped backside into the midriff of the Hellion, flattening Armstrong back to the canvas.
Undercarriage tight to Ivy’s tummy, Yuko’s Weapon fashions both hands into claws and plunges them into the pert bosom of the Crimson Tide Crusader. Ivy shrieks like a sultry-pitched Yuko as Sayuki squeezes handfuls of alabaster teats, her double breast claws, also twisting Armstrong’s features in pain, Ivy reflexively tearing into her fiery mane to spread the pain.
Leaning over the wailing Hellion to put even more pressure behind her talons, Sayuki smirks as she works Ivy’s breasts between her clenching digits, Armstrong needing to ignore the agony enough to throw an occasional shoulder up when the zebra gets to two every few seconds.
“GIVE UP!” Sayuki demands, tensing her talons into Armstrong’s gurls.
Ivy has a different answer, pulling one set of fingers from her ruby-hued mane to JAB A THUMB into Sayuki’s left eye.
It’s Matsumoto’s turn to yelp in pain, releasing her grips and rising from her straddle to wander half-sightless around the ring, rubbing furiously at her injured eye. On the sidelines, Yuko frantically demands Ivy’s disqualification and immediate expulsion from the organization.
Left eye still red and watering, the Invader nevertheless returns to a rising Ivy, Armstrong on her haunches, head drooped, Sayuki’s dominance making her recovery slow. Standing next to the Slamma, Matsumoto sinks her nails into Ivy’s scalp peeling her to vertical for more of the Asian’s power game. But as the redhead reaches a stooped stance, her right leg swings out like a pendulum and PLOWS BETWEEN SAYUKI’S THIGHS, slamming into the Invader’s hello kitty.
Matsumoto’s jaw drops wide, hands burying in her crotch as Armstrong pulls her bare foot out from between the golden-skinned thighs of her foe.
Frozen and pigeon-toed, Sayuki squeaks pitifully as Yuko rants on the outside.
Standing in front of the teary-eyed Japanese grappler, Ivy gently lifts the lowered chin of the wincing Matsumoto with a cupped palm.
“Get ready to say sayonara, sugah.”
Dashing to the ropes, Ivy bounds off them and rushes back toward Matsumoto-san, delivering a shoulder block that...while not sending the powerhouse Japanese battler to the canvas...most definitely rocks her on her pins. Deciding that if one was good, two would be even better, the redhead charges back to the strands and starts to rush back toward her opponent like the Wabash Cannonball.
However, she only gets a step or two in that direction before Yuko, reaching under the ropes, grabs her foot to trip her up. Armstrong belly flops hard to the mat, the impact putting a halt to her adrenaline rush for a few long moments.
Furious, she rolls out of the ring and begins to stalk the interfering manager. Ogura backpedals, eyes wide with fear and open palms 'window washing' the air as she squeaks,
"No...no...!"
Finally the distance between them narrows enough for the Alabamian to grab a handful of the Asian's jet black hair. Balling her other fist, she looks to the crowd for encouragement, the crowd makes their wish clear: BELT HER!
But in a night of rookie-level mistakes on the part of the FAWN veteran, this proves to be another one. For she has forgotten that for all her craven pusillanimity, Yuko has proven on more than one occasion to be a fairly effective fighter in her own right. With Ivy's attention turned away from her, it takes no great act of genius for the She-Shogun of the Invasion to take advantage, courtesy of a viper-swift poke of her fingers to Armstrong's eyes.
With a shriek the 'Bama Slamma releases the hold on her target's hair and staggers backward, blinded. Pressing her sudden advantage, Ogura unleashes a string of judo chops to the redhead's chest, and by the tenth blow Ivy drops to one knee, her right hand clutching the ring barrier to keep from toppling over entirely.
"Maybe I don't need my Weapon," the manager jeers. "Maybe I finish you off myself!"
But the referee makes it clear that the only lawful opponent for the Hellion is the woman in the ring, and he orders Yuko to back off. He then begins his twenty count, but the redhead seems too blasted to have any hope of making it back into the squared circle before he reaches that final number. Since this would result in a disqualification, and that does not fit into the Asian Invasion's plan whatsoever, Ogura opts to help the American back into the battle. With a grunt, the diminutive manager throws one of Armstrong's arms over her shoulders and struggles to help her back to the apron. From there, at least, Sayuki can take over, and haul her opponent back in, which she obligingly does.
But once she's back within the confines of the ropes, Ivy's situation goes from bad to worse. From the outside, Yuko grabs Armstrong's ankles and drags her legs over toward the corner; she then yanks those same legs, pulling the 'Bama Slamma toward her. However, as there is a steel ring post now situated between her legs, the Hellion suffers some instant karma for her earlier blow to Matsumoto's delta. But the punishment doesn't end there. Grasping Ivy by her wrists, Sayuki yanks her away from the post...except that the She-Shogun still has her ankles, and she yanks her right back. Armstrong is caught in a vengeful game of tug or war, and it’s the region below her Mason-Dixon Line that suffers. By the third impact, she’s cross-eyed and mewling, and her sinewy body has all of the consistency of Jell-O. Ogura finally lets go of the redhead, allowing her Mt. Fuji to drag the limp grappler to center stage.
There, Matsumoto-san contemptuously steps a boot down upon the chest of her bedraggled rival, and the referee counts "One...two..."
Ivy shoves the arrogant pin off, preventing a particularly humiliating three-count by Sayuki. The Japanese powerhouse is far from upset, instead sauntering around the ring with a gait that, for her, might very nearly be called a strut.
From ringside Yuko cackles and says to Ivy, "We're not done with you! My Weapon is going to make you regret you were ever born and then she is going to send you crawling back to Hicktown, Alabama!"
As usual, Matsumoto is prepared to make her manager’s threats a reality. She returns to a slowly rising Armstrong, grabbing a wrist and ‘helping’ the reeling Ivy up the rest of the way. Using her handle, the Invader sends the Hellion off on a sprint to the ropes, setting up a roadblock for the Alabamian in the middle of the ring.
Rebounding at full speed, Ivy can’t slam on the brakes. Instead, she tries to take Sayuki down with a Thesz Press Matsumoto turns into a ring-rattling spinebuster, the Japanese grappler, pivoting after catching the airborne Slamma and depositing the shook Ivy to the canvas.
Armstrong’s carcass bounces a good inch off the deck and, after the redhead settles, a sneering Sayuki layers her curvy frame atop the splayed Armstrong for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Ivy throws a shoulder up, this time Yuko taking it personally.
She shrieks at her Weapon for not keeping the Hellion down. For a moment, Matsumoto-san appears as though she’s eaten an entire lemon, but she quickly nods and rises, pulling up the ragdolled Ivy with her via another wristlock.
Yuko’s powerhouse slips behind the wobbling Ivy, pulling the captured arm of the redhead between Armstrong’s legs. With her free hand, Sayuki reaches over a shoulder, turns Ivy halfway toward her, and effortlessly vaults Armstrong into the airspace in front of her.
Twisting her cargo, Matsumoto seamlessly lays Ivy across her right shoulder and sends Armstrong PLOWING into the thinly-sheathed plywood with the back end of her pumphandle slam.
Pumphandle Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=prCQXh2pSIk )
With Ivy spread-eagled before her, Sayuki genuflects on to the gulping tummy of the Bama Slamma, raising her right hand and lifting fingers along with the referee’s count for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Again, the Invader’s arrogance keeps Ivy alive as the redhead’s able to roll out from under the domineering knee placement, ending on her chest, huffing in deep breaths and blinking her emerald eyes wide in an effort to draw some sense back into her gray matter.
Sayuki scrambles to her feet and gets in the grill of the official, chesting him back several steps with her abundant Suns. As she bullies the man into a corner, barking at the zebra in her native tongue, Yuko slips under the bottom rope. Pulling a short length of chain from her trunks, Ogura wraps it around the throat of the Slamma and throttles Ivy, the Hellion gasping for air, eyes bulging as she fruitlessly tries to pry the link away from her reddening neck.
Knowing her time is limited, particularly with the FAWNatics screaming wildly at the ref to turn around, the malevolent mite unwraps and rolls out to the floor. On cue, Matsumoto heads for the breathless Armstrong, the striped-shirt none the wiser regarding the chicanery by Miss Ogura.
“You will plead for me to send you to Bama swamp,” Sayuki threatens, giving Ivy a stomp to the spine when Armstrong reaches all fours.
Undeterred, the Slamma keeps pushing upward and she pays with a toe kick to the tummy when turning to face the Invader. With Ivy bent and frozen, Matusumoto dips an arm through the quivering ivory legs of the Crimson Tide Crusader and ‘hups’ the redhead into a fireman’s carry, Sayuki ready to take Armstrong out for a Spin of the Airplane variety.
But before the Japanese grappler can make Ivy her propeller, the game Armstrong begins thumping elbows into Sayuki’s temple, Yuko’s complaints of hairpulling falling on deaf ears. The fifth sends the redhead sliding down the Invader’s back, landing tight behind Matsumoto.
As Yuko’s Weapon turns to face her foe, Ivy latches onto a wrist. Sayuki instantly pulls the still recovering Slamma toward her, but Armstrong nimbly do-si-dos past her foe, until both Sayuki’s and Ivy’s arms are extended to full length. Showing off her ability to maneuver into a set of splits, the Hellion jams her bare foot under Sayuki’s chin and lays out, force feeding Matsumoto-san a heaping helping of Sole Food.
Sole Food ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTdWpldVzmU )
The dazed Weapon spins to a heap on the canvas, Yuko at a rare loss for words as both her Invader and the gaijin shitkicker struggle to regain something approaching verticality.
“GET UP!” she finally squeals at her Weapon, piercing eardrums in the front rows.
The jawjacked Sayuki is doing her best but the irrepressible Ivy reaches her feet more quickly, much to Ogura’s chagrin. Yuko grasps for Ivy’s ankle and the ref stomps down at the invading digits, Yuko pulling the hand away just in time.
“You cheat for her,” Ogura wails. “You cheat.”
The manager’s outlook doesn’t improve with Ivy at the ready when Matsumoto fully reaches her feet. The veteran pops an unexpecting Sayuki into the air and delivers a version of the Mushmouth, Ivy’s knee strike CRACKING into the jaw of the Invader. Matsumoto shudders as she manages to remain upright. Her persistence is not rewarded when Ivy NAILS her target with a whipping backfist to the face and a forward clubbing blow to the same location.
With the Japanese grappler all but out on her feet, a recovering Armstrong heads for the ropes. She rebounds and NAILS Sayuki with a hip check to the skull of the now penitent Matsumoto, finally knocking the curvy Asian into a shellshocked starfish.
Pop-up-knee strike et al ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=wMRwKRuVz_g )
With the sellout AHE crowd roaring and Yuko shrieking bloody murder at the turn of events, Ivy passes on a pin. Instead, she rolls the insensate Sayuki to her Suns with the shovel of a bare foot under Matsumoto’s hip. The veteran moves to a reverse standing straddle, collecting an ankle of Sayuki as she does. With the lone leg in tow, Armstrong settles into a crouch and a torturous single-leg crab.
But Ivy’s Crimson Legion knows there’s much more to come from the Dirtiest Player in the Game. With her free hand, she puts on the finishing touch of her signature White Lightning, thrusting her digits into the thin layer of red spandex covering Matsumoto’s crotch, Ivy’s claw added to the already agonizing Half-Crab.
Caught amidst the agony of Ivy’s cruel invention, Sayuki pulls at her ponytails, trying to spread the pain. The official asks if the curvy grappler wants to surrender the match and her FAWN career.
When there’s no immediate response, Yuko screams, “NO. SHE WILL NOT QUIT. NOT MY WEAPON!”
Sayuki shakes her head in time with the “encouragement”, her flawless face etched in anguish. Matsumoto pleadingly reaches for Yuko’s outstretched hand but again the official intervenes with a kick toward Ogura.
“You will not interfere,” the man shouts.
“You are from this shithole called Bama,” Yuko shrieks. “New ref. We need new ref.”
Her attempt at an assisted escape gone, Sayuki squirms in agony as Ivy both ravages her hello kitty and threatens to break her back with the Lightning. Removing her nails from her own dark tails, Matsumoto digs them into the canvas. She creeps in excruciating pain to the ropes, finally wrapping a palm around the bottom and outshrieking Yuko for a break that Armstrong only gives after four VERY long seconds.
But the redhead isn't about to give her opponent any opportunity to recover. Before Sayuki can roll out of the ring to the relative safety of ringside, Armstrong jumps to her feet and grabs the Invader by her ankles and yanks. Matsumoto clings to the bottom rope, but finds her grip torn free as she elevates a foot or so above the mat, then crashes down with a heavy grunt. With deft speed, the redhead then flips her adversary over onto her back. Reaching down, she grasps Sayuki by the wrists and pulls her upper body upright to a seated position, then uses her feet to kick the Japanese powerhouse's legs wider.
Now, placing the balls of her feet against the insides of Matsumoto's knees, the 'Bama Slamma suddenly sits down on the canvas, spreading her shapely gams, which in turn push out Sayuki's legs far beyond their usual range of motion. Almond-shaped eyes go wide with the shock of sudden pain as a shriek is torn from the Invader's throat. She squirms in agonized distress, but with her wrists held tightly by her American tormentor, she is unable to roll free.
Ivy smirks as the Asian howls in frustration and pain, her might of no avail as she is deprived of the necessary leverage. Yuko slams her hands down repeatedly on the apron in near apoplexy as she screams alternately at the referee to disqualify Armstrong for some undefined "cheating" and commanding Matsumoto to stop playing around and break the hold.
Feeling playful now, Ivy starts to sing, "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands!", punctuating the lyric by pulling Sayuki's arms wide and then forcing her palms to slap together three times in quick succession. The raven-tressed beauty roars with a bellow of profanity in her native tongue that requires no translation for the Southern gal to understand. Armstrong merely smiles in reply.
Suddenly Ivy pulls Matsumoto's arms apart again and pulls her own right leg up tight to her chest. She then unleashes a kick, the sole of her foot smashing into the Asian's face as the redhead releases her foe’s wrists, allowing the dazed Invader to flop to her back. Kipping up to her feet, Armstrong dashes to the far ropes, bounds off them and charges across the ring.
But unexpectedly she rushes past Sayuki, instead going into a slide and skidding under the ropes, where she delivers a drop kick to the chest of the startled Ogura with enough impact to send the She-Shogun sailing backward.
Yuko crashes against the ring barrier and flips over it, landing at the feet of the ringside fans...several of whom are more than happy to "help" the saucy manager back over the railing with plenty of handsy assistance. That nuisance taken care of for the time being, Ivy scampers up the ropes and balances herself precariously atop the turnbuckles, crouched and ready as she waits for her adversary to groggily make her way back up to her feet.
A wincing Matsumoto hobbles as she gets to vertical, slowly turning to find Ivy. Armstrong’s already airborne and Yuko’s Ultimate Weapon can only try to get her hands up to deflect. It’s too late and the Hellion’s Missile Dropkick NAILS Sayuki in her abundant Suns.
The Invader is sent somersaulting backward, ending on her chest. Groggily, the battered Sayuki pushes to all fours and the redhead mounts her foe in a reverse straddle. Lifting her tush slightly, Armstrong pounds the pear-shaped backside into Matsumoto’s lower spine, causing Sayuki’s backbone to bow. Another THUMP sends her flat to the canvas, groaning as she tries to slither out from under the Slamma.
On the outside, Yuko finally flops back over the barrier, puddling at its base, looking more than a little disheveled. She straightens her trunks and suspenders and manages to take a leaning seat against the metal barricade.
Within, Ivy ‘helps’ the reeling Invader to her feet by a wrist and shoulder. She aims Sayuki toward the far buckles and heaves Matsumoto on her way. The Japanese grappler turns into a jarring collision. Her curvy, flaccid frame sags into the corner and, in a split-second, Armstrong is shot out of a cannon.
Racing toward the shellshocked Invader, Armstrong takes a trip down her signature Confederate Railroad, throwing herself in a crossbody dive toward the weakened Matsumoto. The impact is full and fleshy, BUT Sayuki somehow manages to catch Ivy across her chest, arms latching on over Ivy’s left (lower) shoulder and between her infamous stems.
A staggering Sayuki makes it only a few steps before dropping to one knee and THUMPING Armstrong’s left set of ribs across the plank of her femur, trying to break the veteran in two. The cry from the Bama Slamma sends a shiver down the spine of her supporters and their mood only darkens when Matsumoto-san, at the bidding of the newly returned and shrieking Yuko, lifts Ivy up once more and drops her in similar fashion, trying to crack Armstrong’s rib cage.
The yelping redhead is shoved off Matsumoto’s knee disdainfully. Sayuki rises unsteadily, nearly taking a tumble. The war is taking its toll, but the Invader is ready to send Armstrong back to Hicksville.
Closing the space between them as a stubborn Slamma rises, Sayuki punts the Dirtiest Player between the thighs, freezing the wide-eyed Alabamian in place, mouth agape, hands buried deep.
“You go Greyhound,” Matsumoto informs.
She ducks, sweeping an arm between Ivy’s pipes from behind and ‘hups’ the mewling Hellion across her shoulders in an inverted fireman’s carry. The Asian powerhouse wraps an arm around her prize on either side and tries to snap Ivy’s spine with an aptly-named Torture Rack.
A beaming Yuko, confidence returning, turns to the crowd, pointing and snickering.
“Say goodbye, you eediots.”
Sayuki flexes her shoulders, pulling down with her enveloping arms, and even does a couple semi-deep knee bends with her cargo captured, stressing Ivy’s vertebrae all the more.
“AHHHHGAHHHD” Ivy howls, emerald eyes half-lidded in anguish and trapped by the Invader’s power play.
However, tenacious as ever, Ivy’s questing fingers search for Sayuki’s eye sockets> Feeling them approaching, a panicky Matsumoto bails on the Rack, but only as Armstrong draaags her nails across the dark peepers of Matsumoto. So while Sayuki delivers Ivy to the canvas with a ring-rattling Samoan Drop, Armstrong BLASTED; a yipping Sayuki rolls away from the carnage, rubbing at her eyes, focused on regaining the sight in her burning, watering eyes rather than covering the demolished Hellion.
Speaking, or more accurately squealing at her Weapon in their native tongue, Ogura demands Matsumoto ignore her blindness and the considerable pain to splash the waylaid redhead then set her Suns atop Ivy’s features to end all doubt.
Sayuki scrubs at her sockets, trying to clear the eyes within. With some vision returning to her bloodshot peepers, she moves to the corner nearest the splayed Armstrong and rises to the middle ropes. The curvy grappler is poised above her prey, blinking wide. Finding enough sight to crush her target then bury her under the Suns, Sayuki launches from her perch to SPLASH the Slamma into a redheaded greasemark.
BUT Ivy is playing possum. She gets her knees up and the plummeting Matsumoto is GUTTED by Armstrong’s bony joints. A startled Yuko shrieks in terror, as Sayuki, on her back a few feet from Ivy, hugs her golden tummy like she’s trying to keep internal organs in place, moaning and rocking from side to side.
Running on fumes, the redhead slowly rolls over to her side, then onto her belly, struggling to get up to all fours. Her body shudders for a moment, suggesting it may collapse from the strain, but she takes a deep breath and forces herself up on her shapely stems through sheer willpower.
However during this period of effort, Sayuki had likewise managed to rise again, thanks to judicious use of the ropes to haul herself up. Also clearly physically spent, she lumbers awkwardly toward her opponent, hands raised for a lock-up. Realizing how foolhardy such a contest of raw power would be with the beast from the East, Armstrong opts for a different strategy: to wit, she balls her right fist, draws her arm back, and launches a haymaker at the Invader's kisser.
There is an audible gasp of surprise from the throng as Matsumoto, displaying a burst of speed none believed her capable of still possessing, manages to catch the oncoming fist with her left hand. A simple exertion of leverage with a bend of the redhead's wrist, and the Japanese girl's inscrutability gives way to a small but definite smirk, as Ivy winces loudly and slowly sinks to one knee. At ringside, Yuko claps and beams a leering smile as her weapon is clearly mere moments away from an historic victory. "You send hillbilly back to Bama on a stretcher!" she commands her wrestler.
It's difficult to predict what Sayuki has in mind. Perhaps a kneelift to the jaw, which would send her adversary splaying to the canvas. Or from her vantage point, an iron claw to the temples would quite probably squeeze the last of the fight out of Armstrong. Then again, converting her hold on the American's fist into a genuine wrist lock would make it remarkably simple to break Ivy's ulna or radius, and drive her to scream out her submission. So many delightful options to choose from.
Ivy had but one option, and she took it with a vengeance! With her free hand, she drove a punch straight up between Matsumoto-san's thighs, the thin layer of cloth offering zero protection as the blow WHUMPED into her womanhood. The Japanese powerhouse lets out a bloodcurdling scream and, releasing her hold on her opponent's hand, staggers backward, eyes shut tight against the pain as her hands gingerly cup her groin. Astonishingly however, she does not topple to the mat...a fact with the 'Bama Slamma intends to swiftly alter.
Shrieking like some ancient Japanese demon of folk lore, Ogura bays at the referee to stop the match, at Armstrong to just give up, and at Sayuki to gather her wits and regain control. Of course, all of it is bellowed so rapidly in a mixture of both Japanese and English, it sounds as if the She-Shogun is speaking in tongues. Ivy ignores her and focuses solely upon the swaying battler before her. The redhead knows she has little left in her exhausted and aching body, and she can only hope it's enough to finish off Matsumoto once and for all. To accomplish this, the first objective is to get her down on the mat. Reaching up and cupping her hands behind the head of her dazed adversary, the redhead suddenly jumps up, pulling her legs in tight and pressing her knees against the Asian's chest. Letting gravity do the work of pulling them both downward, when Armstrong's back hits the mat, the full impact from this modified Lungblower nails Sayuki doubly in her 'suns'; that impact is sufficient to send her sailing backward and crashing to the canvas in a moaning heap.
Mustering all of the speed she can, Ivy scampers on all fours to her sprawled foe, and in a blur of motion she deftly snakes her gams around Matsumoto-san's head and locks on a Code of Silence.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=H93FEnRLaQQ
Gasping for air, her neck and spine agonizingly twisted backward to an unnatural degree, the Invader blindly reaches for the ropes, but is too far to grasp that salvation. After a full ten seconds of this torment, the Japanese battler can endure it no longer, and she starts to slap her right palm to the mat.
"Don't tap...SAY IT!" Armstrong snarls, her legs squeezing just a little big harder. After a long moment, Sayuki burbles "TEISHUTSU SURU...I SUBMIT! I SUBMIT!" The referee instantly calls for the bell, and the capacity crowd roars its approval.
Having been too shocked by the turn of events of the past thirty seconds to act, Ogura stands dumbfounded at ringside. Then she scurries into the ring under the ropes and, even as Ivy is unlocking her legs around Matsumoto's head, the She-Shogun throws a stomp to the back of the redhead's skull.
"NO!" she bellows. "Match not over! You will still lose to my Weapon!"
Further denying the reality of the moment, Yuko grabs Ivy hair with one hand and begins slamming her other fist into the side of the Southern gal's head, drawing shrieks from the Slamma. Had she been allowed to continue her assault, the manager might well have rendered the already exhausted redhead senseless. However, the referee wraps his arms around Ogura's waist from behind and lifts her up bodily, pulling her off the victorious grappler. She squirms free, but instead of resuming her assault on Ivy, she drops to her knees next to Sayuki, who has rolled over groggily to her back. She starts to yell at her in Japanese, but whether her words are of concern for her charge or fury at her failure, those who do not speak that ancient tongue can only guess.
The referee goes to help Ivy up, and then to raise her hand, but she pulls her wrist free and says, "Ah've still got one tiny bit of business to settle." Feeling a tap on her shoulder, Yuko turns her head, and is met with a punch to the jaw that sends her collapsing to the mat. A nudge from the redhead's bare foot pushes the mewling manager over to her stomach, and Armstrong drops her backside to the canvas above the Asian woman's head. The spectators know just what's coming, and they roar their approval.
Quickly clamping her thighs around the She-Shogun's skull and locking her ankles, the 'Bama Slamma executes her fabled Southern Charm finisher. Her head being crushed, and her face pressed into the denim crotch of her tormentor, thus smothering her, Ogura's arms flail in pain. Ordinarily Ivy would grab her victim's wrists to immobilize her arms, but in this instance she leaves them free. She doesn't want to knock the manager out...she wants her to tap out.
And tap she does after just a scant few more seconds of this punishment. The official is flummoxed, not sure what to do.
"Ah'd say you ought to call for the bell, sugah," she purrs, and he consents. Once more the bell tolls, proclaiming another submission.
For the lithe lass from Uriah, Alabama had carefully read her contract; she knew that it was worded in such a way that if any member of the Asian Invasion submitted, they would be permanently relinquishing their spot in FAWN. And while Ogura was not the announced participant in the match, she is still contractually an Invader, and the contract never said this couldn't be a handicap match. Ivy is certain that this was no careless oversight on Bethany Christian's part. Bethany doesn't make mistakes like that, unless it's on purpose.
Rising glorious up to her feet, Armstrong now allows the zebra to raise her right arm in victory, as waves of cheers cascade down on her. Turning her gaze to her two still-stunned foes, she smiles and drawls, "Sayonara, sweeties, and bless your hearts!"