Post by hawkeye on Sept 6, 2021 15:31:22 GMT
With the manner in which the Indian Empress is steamrolling the competition in maintaining her World Championship, particularly the way she perpetually ended Portia VanBuren’s career with a backbreaking Camel at Red, White and Bruised, the usual beat down of Bethany Christian’s door for title opportunities lessened to a trickle.
As the lights extinguish throughout the arena and the fans’ eyes adjust to the dark, their ears assaulted by a piercing guitar shriek from the speakers, it becomes clear the goddess of love (love mostly for herself) is willing to step into the breech.
The pounding of drums and a few more shrieks pierce the darkness before a spotlight kicks on in time with the first verse of Three Days Grace ‘Chalk Outline’. Anticipation grows among those assembled when they see the beam fall directly in front of the entryway.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePVErcAUzK8 )
Though the woman encompassed in light gazes at the floor, those in attendance are aware a deity is in their midst without seeing her face. The flaxen-haired beauty is indeed an Amazon, a gorgeous grappler not far from six feet, her legs seemingly a good two thirds of that total.
ASHLEY LOCKE
Said gams are exquisitely sculpted and obviously downright dangerous. Her chest is armored in an orangish-red leather bikini top decorated with an intricate pattern of small metal studs. Her bottoms match the top, as do her pads and boots, though the pads are basic lycra and lack any sort of adornment. A detail for the discerning eye, the outer edge of each boot is adorned with the stylized head and shoulders of a black horse.
Striding down the ramp, the lanky blonde shows not the slightest interest in the fans reaching out to her, those lengthy legs carrying her to ringside at a rapid rate. Climbing elegantly up the steps, the former, long-time tag champion as a member of The Three slips lithely through the ropes then saunters to the center of the ring. She raises her arms in an invitation for all present to admire her transcendent form. Admire they do, wolf whistles mingling with the roars as the former Aphrodite strides to her corner.
The statuesque Locke turns to the crowd and motions the assembled lower to their knees to worship the goddess of love. The FAWNatics, at least those directly in front of Ashley, usually unwilling to pray to the golden-maned idol, do as they are bid, so desperate are they to have the supremacy of the Bollywood Bombshell ended.
The ring announcer cuts in to officially welcome the divine creature to battle.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN World Championship. First, hailing from New York, New York, she stands five feet eleven inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and forty pounds. She is the Heartbreaker and the Love-taker, Aphrodite herself, this is… ASHLEY LOCKE!”
Locke climbs to the middle buckle, spreads her long arms and legs wide, demanding and receiving attention. Usually mixed, the Black Courtier receives what she clearly believes is her rightful adulation on this evening.
The FAWNatics aren’t held in suspense for long for the arrival of their champion, the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaking through the buzz, heralding the imminent arrival of the gilded Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Materializing is a set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals. They carry the regal Subcontinental Siren. Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh draws the enmity of nearly every arena occupant.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths haul the ornate bed where upon the Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics batter her with boos.
Singh wears her gaudy, golden belt over a shoulder, no longer any faux co-champion in existence to sully the title with her peasant’s paws.
As the men reach their destination, the announcer greets the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"And her opponent! Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore, India…the Empress…the Bollywood Bombshell…AND THE FAWN WORLD CHAMPION…AMARA SINGH!"
The greased behemoths lower the palanquin until it is even with the apron. Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside, Amara slipping from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moves through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara is clad in her iconic and lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fall just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raises a microphone to her full rosy lips.
“Do we all understand who your Empress is now? Be certain the woman formerly blessed to be my assistant, Portia VanBuren, knows.”
Singh turns her attention to the hard cam.
“That peasant has been forever broken. And what she suffered awaits you all.”
Amara turns to Aphrodite.
“You will be shattered, so-called goddess.”
Singh tosses the stick aside and moves to her corner where she hands over FAWN’s top prize to an attendant and stretches until the tolling of the bell brings the match to order.
Ashley’s out of her corner, circling clockwise with arms extended,
Singh, having left a legend in the dust at RW&B, moves directly for her more cautious challenger. As she steps to the long-legged blonde, Locke strikes first, shooting a toe kick toward the golden-brown tummy of the titleholder. But Singh’s ready for the thrust, catching the limb around the ankle with both hands.
A chuckling Amara raises the leg high, a concerned Aphrodite hopping on her grounded stem, at least until Amara sweeps the opposite leg out from underneath the flaxen-haired deity. Ashley tumbles to the canvas, her ankle still possessed by the Subcontinental Siren. Amara pivots to a standing, backward-facing straddle on Locke’s back, Ashley clawing at the canvas for an escape. But it becomes exponentially more difficult when the accomplished submission specialist settles into a crouching, single-leg Boston Crab.
The Bollywood Bombshell, using the long lower limb of her foe as a weapon, curls it and Ashley’s back in a grueling arch that has Locke grimacing in pain, then biting her lower lip to contain a chirp.
Nick drops to a knee in front of the Goddess of Love, asking if she wants to surrender. The golden-maned goddess takes a swing at the insolent mortal. But when Amara dips her ass to touch the back of Ashley’s noggin, bringing the captured gam with her, Locke seems ready to reconsider the offer.
Single-leg Boston Crab ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgoK3cNgHDI )
Singh remains silent, allowing Castle to make the close for her while the Empress increases her sales pitch by forcing the blonde’s vertebrae into a more precarious position. Digging her nails into the canvas, Locke draws herself to the ropes slowly and wraps a palm around the bottom, quickly calling for release. A confident Singh lets the limb drop to the deck, walking away while dusting off her hands dramatically. She situates center stage and calls for Aphrodite to push through the pain and rise to join her.
A scowling Ashley obliges, using the cables to make her way to vertical, pushing at the base of her spine with a palm to shift her column back into place. Locke steps away from the ropes, again seemingly more timid than a divine personage should.
Finally, choosing her moment, she forces forward and joins the champion in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. The dark-haired beauty struggles for leverage with her taller, more slender counterpart. After a half-dozen seconds of wrangling, it’s Ashley backing Amara toward her corner. But as the duo move a couple steps from Singh’s spine pressed into the buckles, the Bombshell pivots and tosses the challenger into the corner in her stead.
Amara drops her head, pressing the crown into Locke’s chest and batters away with brutal combos to the long, tanned midriff of Aphrodite, gutting the goddess with closed hand after closed hand. After a dozen shots, a bug-eyed Locks is gulping for air, Singh’s fists digging in deeper each time as Ashley’s toned abdomen collapses, the Goddess of Love doubled, her chin on Amara’s right shoulder until the Empress backs off a step and shoots an uppercut into Locke’s chin, snapping the blonde’s braincase back in whiplash fashion.
Locke’s legs give a shimmy, but the pressing Indian grappler makes sure her foe remains upright long enough for Singh to snatch Ashley’s head. Pivoting, she pulls her foe’s noggin down into a tight side headlock. Amara races out of the corner with her cargo, leaping as she reaches the middle of the ring, planning on bulldogging the challenger’s cranium into the thinly-covered plywood.
Aphrodite has other ideas. The long-limbed blonde gets her palms to Singh’s hips and shoves out of the headlock as Amara goes airborne. The Empress adjusts, literally on the fly, landing on her bare soles. The Bollywood Bully uses the momentum to surge toward the opposite corner, Aphrodite on her tail.
As Amara reaches the buckles, she travels up the corner nimbly, spinning and leaping off the middle buckle toward the onrushing Ashley. Golden-brown stems leading the way, Singh clamps her gams around the head of Locke, Ashley’s startled baby blues bracketed by the Empress’ legs. Showing agility for which she rarely gets credit, the World Champion spins her fellow former Tag Champion in a 180 then sends her flipping through the air with a hurricarana, Locke THUDDING to the canvas on her already aching backbone.
Ashley’s momentum puts her in a seated position and the unfortunate ending leaves her vulnerable to a soccer kick to the base of her spine from the resplendent titleholder, Amara again looking at the top of her game, dominating the physical specimen that is Aphrodite.
Though without the pedigree of her two compatriots of the legendary tag troika, Pandora and Adrianna Papadopolous, the beating Amara is giving Ashley remains impressive. It becomes even more so when Singh, nary missing a beat, adds a spinning heel kick to the chin of Aphrodite, adding to her Messi-like prowess on the kick prior. Leaving Locke in a wide, shellshocked starfish below her straddling stance, the Empress raises her arms high and wide to an ear-splitting round of jeers.
“Follow the example of your Goddess of Love and prostrate yourselves before your Golden Empress!”
The FAWNatics decide to raise the volume of their hatred instead and a sneering Singh makes the blonde pay for the insolence of the peasant mob supporting her, gutting Ashley with a barefoot stomp to the flaxen-haired fighter’s navel. A wide-eyed Locke jackknifes around the impaling foot, her hands surrounding Amara’s ankle but unable to dislodge it.
Only the Bollywood Bombshell’s decision to remove it relieves the gasping Ashley for a moment. Amara folds the bronzed stem upward and THRUSTS it down, this time with a lower target in mind, aiming at the divine kitty of Aphrodite. Thankfully for the goddess and her worshippers, Locke rolls clear in time from the second debilitating stamp. Singh’s left wincing, lifting her bare foot high, cradling it close as she hops in pain from the miss. Amara stumbles in one-legged retreat to the corner behind her, massaging her bruised sole as the ragged deity pushes slowly to her feet, still hunched from the bruising her midriff’s taken from FAWN’s Queen of the Mountain.
Frustrated at the sight, Amara puts her discomfort aside and races as best she can at the wobbly Aphrodite, ready to spear her challenger through. But Ashley lurches toward Singh, raising her right knee. sending it CRASHING between the dark eyes of the lowered head of the Bombshell. Amara’s head snaps back and her upper body follows behind, Singh left windmilling her arms to keep herself upright.
But it’s only a brief vanity as Ashley heads to the ropes in front of the rubbery Singh and rebounds into a Big Boot to her foe’s cranium that nearly removes the head of the Empress from her body, the back of Amara’s skull bouncing with a sickening THUNK against the unforgiving deck.
Ashley slides to a stop, turns to face the golden-brown wreckage, and motions as if throwing a thunderbolt from the sky at the splayed and dazed Singh.
“Your Goddess has awoken!” she shouts to the assembled, and tonight it seems each man and woman in the house will gladly pay homage to Aphrodite if she can only end the cruel reign of the Subcontinental Siren.
Dropping to her knees next to the splayed champion, Ashley pulls Singh to a seated position and nuzzles close, her lips moving to the nape of Amara’s neck. Aphrodite offers a nibble. Seemingly liking the salty taste, she opens her mouth wide, chomping down with her signature and poorly-named Aphrodite’s Kiss.
The Empress shrieks at Castle, wailing “She’s biting me!”
It’s a rather obvious offense and Nick instantly starts his count while the blonde gnaws the titleholder, Singh in a state of panic, having become the challenger’s snack. Only at ‘FOUR’, does Locke loosen her jaw.
Somehow, she hasn’t broken skin but some obvious indentations remain in Amara’s neck. The Indian grappler rubs at the marks vigorously, cursing at the peasant. Ashley clearly couldn’t care less about the champ’s complaints. She licks her lips menacingly, as if she’s going in for another munch.
Instead, she grabs Singh by the ears and moves the Bollywood Bombshell to her knees, joining Locke there. Holding Amara’s noggin steady, the women face to face, Ashley delivers a head butt to Amara’s brow and only because the blonde holds on does the Subcontinental Siren not end on her back. Amara wobbles in the lanky blonde’s grip, looking half-drunk after the meeting of the minds. Ashley shakes some cobwebs herself. After doing so, she tugs the rubbery Singh to her feet as she rises.
The native of Olympus aims Amara at the far buckles and heaves the Empress across the ring with an Irish Whip. Singh sprints and turns into a ring-rattling collision with the corner. The Goddess of Love is not far behind, leaping into a scintillating splash of the faltering champion.
Ashley keeps her body pressed tight to her foe, not wanting Amara’s legs to fail her and put Singh’s ass to canvas. Instead, Ashley shows the power that nearly rivals her partners from The Three, scooping under Singh’s thighs and lifting her foe to a seat on the top buckle where the battered Bombshells slumps.
Ashley is quick to join her opponent, standing on the middle ropes, one boot on either side. She hauls the sagging Singh to her feet and then some, forcing Amara to a stance on the top cables. Hurriedly, the tall blonde joins her, the women chest to chest. The Empress throws a right hand toward Locke’s jaw, but Aphrodite deftly blocks the blow and responds in kind, her thunderbolt reaching the target, rocking Amara.
With Singh pacified, Locke tugs Amara’s braincase into a front facelock then shifts a limp arm of the Indian across the back of her neck. As the crowd grows more excited, Ashley secures her grip on a handful of Singh’s gear at the hip and LAUNCHES the exotic beauty UP AND OVER. Singh plummets to earth via the superplex, her spine BANGING on the mat with enough force her body bounces a few inches off the canvas.
Love From On High ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMPkPcVmWL4 )
With Love From On High delivered, the less than adoring Locke settles in a degrading schoolgirl pin, putting Amara on ice in style, Singh’s chin wedged into her foe’s crotch while Ashley’s shins press against the golden-brown biceps of the Empress for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
With Aphrodite high on her frame, the Bombshell calls on her remaining fight to buck her body and send Ashley lurching off, over her head. Locke’s baby blues squint in fury, the once upon a tag champion perturbed the mortal continues to fight destiny. The deity spins on her knees to face the crown of Amara’s noggin, then drops to a hip and shoulder.
She plucks the lolling head of the Empress off the canvas and places a cheek gently on the inside of a tanned thigh before closing the opposite number against the other and locking her lower limbs in a figure four.
With the slick, sinewy upper legs of the goddess cinching tight around Amara’s temples, Aphrodite increases the pressure of the scissors on her foe’s skull, shutting the door on her Venus Flytrap.
Venus Flytrap ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1Ttw6QGV5s&list=PLeig0h6lxzhr8gdLBo3gZJEtD_C9HaN8Y ) 1:22
Ashley flexes her stems, Singh’s face growing rosy, her dark eyes glassy. Determined not to be dethroned, the Empress pushes onto the soles of her bare feet and into a bridge that pushes Locke to her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Locke releases her scissors to escape the pinfall. A freed Singh rolls to hands and knees, crawling to the nearest set of ropes where the Goddess of Love catches her by an ankle. The Indian grappler shakes off her challenger and hightails it under the ropes, landing on her bare tootsies and staggering to the steel barricade behind her where she fashions her hands into a makeshift ‘T’, wanting a time out from Castle.
Nick shrugs and starts his count instead, a weary but angry Singh pushing away from the divider to argue with the official on his unfavorable call.
Behind the zebra, the immortal blonde races to the far ropes and rebounds. She sprints to the near cables and soars between the top and middle, driving a shoulder into the chest of the Empress, This time the backpedal of Singh SLAMS her spine into the steel. Amara arches in agony then slides to a puddled seat at the boots of a vertical Aphrodite.
The lanky blonde stares down at a woman who likely thought she’d cruise through tonight’s main event, only to find one does not underestimate a goddess. Ashley gazes on Singh.
“Do you understand now? Despite all your hype. All your limited success. You’ll never measure up to the divine.”
Locks stomps the chest of the Empress, one, two, three times, leaving the golden-brown warrior limp and leaden. Locke dips to latch her fingers into Singh’s ebony locks and pulls Amara to her feet. She positions the battered Bombshell at her side and shuffles Singh toward a ring post when the Empress jolts to life and pulls Ashley into the path of the unforgiving steel. Aphrodite’s forehead THUMPS off the metal, no divine status saving her from a whiplash-like swing from the debilitating collision, the blonde falling to hands and knees, azure eyes suddenly glazed.
Not far from the lowered goddess, Singh leans heavily against the apron’s edge, trying to pull herself back into contention. She pushes to the now kneeling Aphrodite and yanks Locke to her feet, spinning the blonde so her back is to the ring. Moving beside Ashley, Amara pivots and levels a backhand knife-edge at the chest of the goddess, lighting up the deity with a wicked Blazing Chop that has the FAWNatics ‘wooooing’ on command.
With Ashley’s eyes pinched in pain, Singh seems to feel the adrenaline rushing. Thankful for the slack Castle’s afforded both women with his count, Singh spins her foe into a rush to the ring, stuffing Ashley under the bottom rope at a VERY delayed ‘NINE’ and climbing in behind before she can be counted out.
Appearing eager to take out her frustration, the Empress watches with interest as Ashley staggers to her feet before the Indian grappler can corral her. Locke ducks another chop to the chest and sprints unevenly to the ropes in front of her. She rebounds raggedly toward the champion but accomplishes little when Amara hooks elbows and pivots, sending the blonde flying across the ring with an arm drag. Ashley uses the momentum to roll to vertical. Locke turns and takes another charge but ends on the canvas once more with a second similar heave from the Bollywood Bully.
Still, the Goddess of Love is not convinced. Her return toward a waiting Singh is drunken and it’s no surprise that when the women bang together center stage, it’s the buried shoulder of the Bombshell that leaves Aphrodite looking to the heavens.
With Ashley’s baby blues cloudy, Singh ‘helps’ Locke to her feet with a yank on her foe’s wrist, instantly turning the handle into a heave. Amara Irish whips Ashley to the far buckles, the lanky blonde’s back blasted by the connection. She’s instantly buried by an Empress with revenge on her mind, the Subcontinental Siren demolishing her challenger with an avalanche of epic proportions. The Goddess of Love’s legs turn to mush from the impact.
Ashley plops to her backside, head bobbling on a loosened neck. Instantly both Singh and the FAWNatics know what’s on the way.
The crowd isn’t disappointed when Amara turns from her reclining target, lowers into a crouch, her pear-shaped behind thrust forward, and backs Dat Ass up into a waggling, face scrubbing, breathtaking and deity-quaking Harem Shake.
Harem Shake ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQy-rx0XlTg ) 00:10
Ashley thrashes wildly under the humiliating sweeping thrusts of butt to beauty mark, the crowd, despite their hatred of the Empress, cheering every second of Aphrodite getting shown the busy back door.
Having scrubbed the blonde’s face, the World Champion draws her derriere away from Locke’s mug, Ashley looking greasy and bleary eyed, sputtering some of the butt sweat from her lips. A risen Singh turns to her challenger, dark eyes beaming.
“Is the goddess feeling mortal? Does she like the taste of The Empress?”
Ashley tells the Bollywood Bombshell where she can go, that being Hades’ territory. A sneering Amara grabs the blonde by her ears and pulls Aphrodite to her feet. She exchanges her grip for a wrist and shoulder and heaves Ashley across the ring with an Irish Whip. The long, lean Locke races across the mat, turning into another heavy, back-first collision.
Singh is racing in behind but instead of burying Ashley in an avalanche of golden-brown goodness, Amara leaps, her soles landing on the front of Locke’s upper legs. The champ’s laced fingers lock behind Ashley’s head before she throws her bodyweight backward. As the Empress lands on her back, the Goddess of Love is sent flying into a forward flip, Locke landing harshly on tailbone courtesy a monkey flip from Amara.
A grimacing Ashley reaches under her bum to massage away some of the pain while Singh clambers to her feet. The champ races past Ashley’s left shoulder and hits the ropes in front of her foe. Approaching, Amara plants and pivots into a low-rise superkick to the challenger’s chin. But Ashley drops flat to the canvas and Singh’s heel shoots overhead.
With the Empress off-balance, Locke rises to a seated position and snatches the planted leg of the teetering Singh. Locke pulls Amara off her feet, the Subcontinental Siren rolling onto her back. Ashley climbs aboard the folded stems of the Indian grappler, bridging across them in perpendicular fashion and waiting for the bell at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Locke’s attempt to steal the FAWN World Championship comes up short as Amara springs loose, sending Ashley bucking to vertical, the blonde catching her balance after a couple of awkward steps.
The FAWNatics jeer Nick’s ‘slow count’ and the Goddess of Love seems none too keen on his counting prowess. Still, she can’t hesitate as Singh is scrambling to her feet. The flustered Amara turns to her challenger and Ashley is there, grabbing a wrist and folding back the champ’s left arm clear to make a path toward Singh’s blood-pumper.
Aphrodite slings her arrow-like, heart punch and the blow strikes home, sending Amara into a quaking set of convulsions, her cardiac muscle sent into arrest by the precise strike from the deity.
But Locke isn’t done. She turns from the cross-eyed Singh, reaching over her shoulder to collect Amara’s noggin in a ¾ grip and tug the Bollywood Bully’s forehead into the canvas with a follow-up snap mare driver.
Heart Punch/Snap Mare Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqQ2ZCG_Wx0&t=35s ) 00:21
A shellshocked Singh ends on a shoulder and hip, dark eyes glazed, unaware of her surroundings. Ashley pulls the titleholder to her back and settles atop her foe in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The Empress won’t allow her reign ended by the peasant from Olympus, at least for three more seconds. She bucks from under out of instinct but instinct carries her no further as she seems dead to the world, looking lost, unaware of the rising goddess at her side.
Ashley complains bitterly to Castle, but Nick insists Singh’s survived. He directs the ire of the Olympian toward the softly stirring champion. The frustrated blonde tugs Amara off the deck by a wrist and bullies her toward the ropes. Lifting Amara from beside the Indian grappler, Locke tosses her foe toward the top cable, the dazed Singh dropping across the rubber-coated steel, caught flush across the throat with a Hotshot.
The faltering Amara whiplashes away from the impact and finds Ashley far too quickly, Locke gutting the golden-brown midriff of the Empress with a toe kick. Ashley grabs a wrist and pulls Singh’s right arm between the Indian’s legs, snatching the limb from the opposite side.
Aphrodite’s free arm wraps around the chest of Singh and, with both grips tight, the former member of The Three LAUNCHES Amara heavenward and THUMPS her to the canvas with a Pumphandle Slam.
Pumphandle Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEc8FMxQkVo ) 2:56.
The lanky blonde floats over the splattered Singh, ending in another crossbody pin, hooking the far leg to make sure to get the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Again, Singh spasms a shoulder off the canvas in the nick of time, the crowd’s groans at the mounting near falls becoming almost comical in their number, save for the barely conscious Amara and the increasingly irritated Ashley.
Kneeling next to Singh, Locke rears back with her right arm and throws an imaginary thunderbolt, the goddess striking with imaginary precision before hauling a demolished Amara to her feet.
Ashley slides alongside the Bollywood Bombshell, scooping an arm into the near leg of the World Champion. With the strength of a deity, Locke launches Amara across her shoulders, Ashley’s arms looping around Singh’s neck on one side and a leg on the other. Finally ready to dispatch the Empress with Love At First Sight, Aphrodite heaves Amara’s lower half off a shoulder, ready to end Singh’s reign.
Love at First Sight ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJHFjHiA23E )
But as she flips off Ashley’s shoulders, the Siren lands on her feet instead of her face and chest, leaving Locke wide-eyed in amazement. With both women remaining on their feet, the flabbergasted Goddess of Love is turned inside out by the adrenaline-fueled revenge wrought by a Clothesline from Calcutta by the preeminent female grappler on the face of the earth. The surging Singh’s scythe-like blow back flips the blonde, Ashley landing on her chest, knocked off Mount Olympus and into next week. She absently rolls to her back.
Falling upon the dispatched goddess, Amara leaps into a butt bomb to Ashley’s navel, gutting the goddess, Locke jackknifing beneath the suddenly surging Singh. As Locke melts back to horizontal, groaning beneath the seated Bombshell, Amara slides up Ashley’s frame, backing her way over Locke’s heaving chest until the Indian’s backside is poised at the chin of the glassy-eyed Goddess of Love.
Amara hesitates, teasing the FAWNatics who hope for a burst of energy from the challenger, but there’s none and Amara PLANTS her undercarriage atop the features of Aphrodite with her infamous Bollywood Ending reverse face sit.
A huffing, smirking Singh waggles her hips as she settles atop a squirming Ashley, sealing off all attempts of her foe to find oxygen. Locke weakly pushes at Amara’s thighs, trying to dislodge the champion but unable. Aphrodite bucks her legs, but Singh rides through the frantic efforts.
As the blonde’s struggles slow, the sneering Singh peels her ass off the sweat-soaked face of the challenger.
She gazes down upon the gasping, glazed contender.
“Every woman…and goddess…becomes a peasant before her Empress,” Amara informs.
Singh shoves against the near hip of the blonde to roll Ashley to her chest then knee-walks to her foe’s boot soles. Amara plucks the legs of Aphrodite off the deck, placing Locke’s ankles atop each shoulder. The Bollywood Bully leans forward, cupping her linked palms under Ashley’s chin.
Reeling back on Locke’s trapped noggin while thrusting her hips forward in an attempt to break the backbone of the goddess, the champion secures her BollyKnot, wickedly working over her foe’s legs, now tucked into her armpits. Simultaneously, she pressures the spine and neck of the captured goddess.
Bollyknot ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hJ1iW-D8Aw )
Then, showing ungodly strength, Singh raises to a crouch to increase the pressure exponentially on the sobbing Aphrodite.
“Submit peasant!” Amara demands and a blubbering Ashley can hold on no longer, screaming out her surrender.
“I QUIT. OH GAWWWD. I QUIT!”
With the submission stipulated and the burning in her golden-brown legs growing, the Bombshell drops Ashley to the canvas, the beaten blonde reaching for the base of her spine, the challenger just another to end a whimpering wreck from the clutch of the unstoppable Empress.
The bell tolls and the announcer makes his proclamation.
“Your winner and STILL FAWN World Champion. The Golden Empress. The Bollywood Bombshell. Amara Singh!”
But the words are not enough for the champ to immediately release, Amara torturing her broken blonde for several further seconds until Castle threatens to reverse his decision. Finally, Singh relents and rises, standing in a straddle over the ruined Ashley.
Amara calls for her belt and it is delivered post-haste. She raises the gold high over another annihilated challenger, making clear anyone foolish enough to confront her at FAWNAMANIA would meet the same agonizing result or, goddess forbid, WORSE!
As the lights extinguish throughout the arena and the fans’ eyes adjust to the dark, their ears assaulted by a piercing guitar shriek from the speakers, it becomes clear the goddess of love (love mostly for herself) is willing to step into the breech.
The pounding of drums and a few more shrieks pierce the darkness before a spotlight kicks on in time with the first verse of Three Days Grace ‘Chalk Outline’. Anticipation grows among those assembled when they see the beam fall directly in front of the entryway.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePVErcAUzK8 )
Though the woman encompassed in light gazes at the floor, those in attendance are aware a deity is in their midst without seeing her face. The flaxen-haired beauty is indeed an Amazon, a gorgeous grappler not far from six feet, her legs seemingly a good two thirds of that total.
ASHLEY LOCKE
Said gams are exquisitely sculpted and obviously downright dangerous. Her chest is armored in an orangish-red leather bikini top decorated with an intricate pattern of small metal studs. Her bottoms match the top, as do her pads and boots, though the pads are basic lycra and lack any sort of adornment. A detail for the discerning eye, the outer edge of each boot is adorned with the stylized head and shoulders of a black horse.
Striding down the ramp, the lanky blonde shows not the slightest interest in the fans reaching out to her, those lengthy legs carrying her to ringside at a rapid rate. Climbing elegantly up the steps, the former, long-time tag champion as a member of The Three slips lithely through the ropes then saunters to the center of the ring. She raises her arms in an invitation for all present to admire her transcendent form. Admire they do, wolf whistles mingling with the roars as the former Aphrodite strides to her corner.
The statuesque Locke turns to the crowd and motions the assembled lower to their knees to worship the goddess of love. The FAWNatics, at least those directly in front of Ashley, usually unwilling to pray to the golden-maned idol, do as they are bid, so desperate are they to have the supremacy of the Bollywood Bombshell ended.
The ring announcer cuts in to officially welcome the divine creature to battle.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN World Championship. First, hailing from New York, New York, she stands five feet eleven inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and forty pounds. She is the Heartbreaker and the Love-taker, Aphrodite herself, this is… ASHLEY LOCKE!”
Locke climbs to the middle buckle, spreads her long arms and legs wide, demanding and receiving attention. Usually mixed, the Black Courtier receives what she clearly believes is her rightful adulation on this evening.
The FAWNatics aren’t held in suspense for long for the arrival of their champion, the captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s "Exotic” breaking through the buzz, heralding the imminent arrival of the gilded Subcontinental Siren.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
Materializing is a set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals. They carry the regal Subcontinental Siren. Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh draws the enmity of nearly every arena occupant.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths haul the ornate bed where upon the Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics batter her with boos.
Singh wears her gaudy, golden belt over a shoulder, no longer any faux co-champion in existence to sully the title with her peasant’s paws.
As the men reach their destination, the announcer greets the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"And her opponent! Standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore, India…the Empress…the Bollywood Bombshell…AND THE FAWN WORLD CHAMPION…AMARA SINGH!"
The greased behemoths lower the palanquin until it is even with the apron. Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside, Amara slipping from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moves through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara is clad in her iconic and lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fall just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raises a microphone to her full rosy lips.
“Do we all understand who your Empress is now? Be certain the woman formerly blessed to be my assistant, Portia VanBuren, knows.”
Singh turns her attention to the hard cam.
“That peasant has been forever broken. And what she suffered awaits you all.”
Amara turns to Aphrodite.
“You will be shattered, so-called goddess.”
Singh tosses the stick aside and moves to her corner where she hands over FAWN’s top prize to an attendant and stretches until the tolling of the bell brings the match to order.
Ashley’s out of her corner, circling clockwise with arms extended,
Singh, having left a legend in the dust at RW&B, moves directly for her more cautious challenger. As she steps to the long-legged blonde, Locke strikes first, shooting a toe kick toward the golden-brown tummy of the titleholder. But Singh’s ready for the thrust, catching the limb around the ankle with both hands.
A chuckling Amara raises the leg high, a concerned Aphrodite hopping on her grounded stem, at least until Amara sweeps the opposite leg out from underneath the flaxen-haired deity. Ashley tumbles to the canvas, her ankle still possessed by the Subcontinental Siren. Amara pivots to a standing, backward-facing straddle on Locke’s back, Ashley clawing at the canvas for an escape. But it becomes exponentially more difficult when the accomplished submission specialist settles into a crouching, single-leg Boston Crab.
The Bollywood Bombshell, using the long lower limb of her foe as a weapon, curls it and Ashley’s back in a grueling arch that has Locke grimacing in pain, then biting her lower lip to contain a chirp.
Nick drops to a knee in front of the Goddess of Love, asking if she wants to surrender. The golden-maned goddess takes a swing at the insolent mortal. But when Amara dips her ass to touch the back of Ashley’s noggin, bringing the captured gam with her, Locke seems ready to reconsider the offer.
Single-leg Boston Crab ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgoK3cNgHDI )
Singh remains silent, allowing Castle to make the close for her while the Empress increases her sales pitch by forcing the blonde’s vertebrae into a more precarious position. Digging her nails into the canvas, Locke draws herself to the ropes slowly and wraps a palm around the bottom, quickly calling for release. A confident Singh lets the limb drop to the deck, walking away while dusting off her hands dramatically. She situates center stage and calls for Aphrodite to push through the pain and rise to join her.
A scowling Ashley obliges, using the cables to make her way to vertical, pushing at the base of her spine with a palm to shift her column back into place. Locke steps away from the ropes, again seemingly more timid than a divine personage should.
Finally, choosing her moment, she forces forward and joins the champion in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. The dark-haired beauty struggles for leverage with her taller, more slender counterpart. After a half-dozen seconds of wrangling, it’s Ashley backing Amara toward her corner. But as the duo move a couple steps from Singh’s spine pressed into the buckles, the Bombshell pivots and tosses the challenger into the corner in her stead.
Amara drops her head, pressing the crown into Locke’s chest and batters away with brutal combos to the long, tanned midriff of Aphrodite, gutting the goddess with closed hand after closed hand. After a dozen shots, a bug-eyed Locks is gulping for air, Singh’s fists digging in deeper each time as Ashley’s toned abdomen collapses, the Goddess of Love doubled, her chin on Amara’s right shoulder until the Empress backs off a step and shoots an uppercut into Locke’s chin, snapping the blonde’s braincase back in whiplash fashion.
Locke’s legs give a shimmy, but the pressing Indian grappler makes sure her foe remains upright long enough for Singh to snatch Ashley’s head. Pivoting, she pulls her foe’s noggin down into a tight side headlock. Amara races out of the corner with her cargo, leaping as she reaches the middle of the ring, planning on bulldogging the challenger’s cranium into the thinly-covered plywood.
Aphrodite has other ideas. The long-limbed blonde gets her palms to Singh’s hips and shoves out of the headlock as Amara goes airborne. The Empress adjusts, literally on the fly, landing on her bare soles. The Bollywood Bully uses the momentum to surge toward the opposite corner, Aphrodite on her tail.
As Amara reaches the buckles, she travels up the corner nimbly, spinning and leaping off the middle buckle toward the onrushing Ashley. Golden-brown stems leading the way, Singh clamps her gams around the head of Locke, Ashley’s startled baby blues bracketed by the Empress’ legs. Showing agility for which she rarely gets credit, the World Champion spins her fellow former Tag Champion in a 180 then sends her flipping through the air with a hurricarana, Locke THUDDING to the canvas on her already aching backbone.
Ashley’s momentum puts her in a seated position and the unfortunate ending leaves her vulnerable to a soccer kick to the base of her spine from the resplendent titleholder, Amara again looking at the top of her game, dominating the physical specimen that is Aphrodite.
Though without the pedigree of her two compatriots of the legendary tag troika, Pandora and Adrianna Papadopolous, the beating Amara is giving Ashley remains impressive. It becomes even more so when Singh, nary missing a beat, adds a spinning heel kick to the chin of Aphrodite, adding to her Messi-like prowess on the kick prior. Leaving Locke in a wide, shellshocked starfish below her straddling stance, the Empress raises her arms high and wide to an ear-splitting round of jeers.
“Follow the example of your Goddess of Love and prostrate yourselves before your Golden Empress!”
The FAWNatics decide to raise the volume of their hatred instead and a sneering Singh makes the blonde pay for the insolence of the peasant mob supporting her, gutting Ashley with a barefoot stomp to the flaxen-haired fighter’s navel. A wide-eyed Locke jackknifes around the impaling foot, her hands surrounding Amara’s ankle but unable to dislodge it.
Only the Bollywood Bombshell’s decision to remove it relieves the gasping Ashley for a moment. Amara folds the bronzed stem upward and THRUSTS it down, this time with a lower target in mind, aiming at the divine kitty of Aphrodite. Thankfully for the goddess and her worshippers, Locke rolls clear in time from the second debilitating stamp. Singh’s left wincing, lifting her bare foot high, cradling it close as she hops in pain from the miss. Amara stumbles in one-legged retreat to the corner behind her, massaging her bruised sole as the ragged deity pushes slowly to her feet, still hunched from the bruising her midriff’s taken from FAWN’s Queen of the Mountain.
Frustrated at the sight, Amara puts her discomfort aside and races as best she can at the wobbly Aphrodite, ready to spear her challenger through. But Ashley lurches toward Singh, raising her right knee. sending it CRASHING between the dark eyes of the lowered head of the Bombshell. Amara’s head snaps back and her upper body follows behind, Singh left windmilling her arms to keep herself upright.
But it’s only a brief vanity as Ashley heads to the ropes in front of the rubbery Singh and rebounds into a Big Boot to her foe’s cranium that nearly removes the head of the Empress from her body, the back of Amara’s skull bouncing with a sickening THUNK against the unforgiving deck.
Ashley slides to a stop, turns to face the golden-brown wreckage, and motions as if throwing a thunderbolt from the sky at the splayed and dazed Singh.
“Your Goddess has awoken!” she shouts to the assembled, and tonight it seems each man and woman in the house will gladly pay homage to Aphrodite if she can only end the cruel reign of the Subcontinental Siren.
Dropping to her knees next to the splayed champion, Ashley pulls Singh to a seated position and nuzzles close, her lips moving to the nape of Amara’s neck. Aphrodite offers a nibble. Seemingly liking the salty taste, she opens her mouth wide, chomping down with her signature and poorly-named Aphrodite’s Kiss.
The Empress shrieks at Castle, wailing “She’s biting me!”
It’s a rather obvious offense and Nick instantly starts his count while the blonde gnaws the titleholder, Singh in a state of panic, having become the challenger’s snack. Only at ‘FOUR’, does Locke loosen her jaw.
Somehow, she hasn’t broken skin but some obvious indentations remain in Amara’s neck. The Indian grappler rubs at the marks vigorously, cursing at the peasant. Ashley clearly couldn’t care less about the champ’s complaints. She licks her lips menacingly, as if she’s going in for another munch.
Instead, she grabs Singh by the ears and moves the Bollywood Bombshell to her knees, joining Locke there. Holding Amara’s noggin steady, the women face to face, Ashley delivers a head butt to Amara’s brow and only because the blonde holds on does the Subcontinental Siren not end on her back. Amara wobbles in the lanky blonde’s grip, looking half-drunk after the meeting of the minds. Ashley shakes some cobwebs herself. After doing so, she tugs the rubbery Singh to her feet as she rises.
The native of Olympus aims Amara at the far buckles and heaves the Empress across the ring with an Irish Whip. Singh sprints and turns into a ring-rattling collision with the corner. The Goddess of Love is not far behind, leaping into a scintillating splash of the faltering champion.
Ashley keeps her body pressed tight to her foe, not wanting Amara’s legs to fail her and put Singh’s ass to canvas. Instead, Ashley shows the power that nearly rivals her partners from The Three, scooping under Singh’s thighs and lifting her foe to a seat on the top buckle where the battered Bombshells slumps.
Ashley is quick to join her opponent, standing on the middle ropes, one boot on either side. She hauls the sagging Singh to her feet and then some, forcing Amara to a stance on the top cables. Hurriedly, the tall blonde joins her, the women chest to chest. The Empress throws a right hand toward Locke’s jaw, but Aphrodite deftly blocks the blow and responds in kind, her thunderbolt reaching the target, rocking Amara.
With Singh pacified, Locke tugs Amara’s braincase into a front facelock then shifts a limp arm of the Indian across the back of her neck. As the crowd grows more excited, Ashley secures her grip on a handful of Singh’s gear at the hip and LAUNCHES the exotic beauty UP AND OVER. Singh plummets to earth via the superplex, her spine BANGING on the mat with enough force her body bounces a few inches off the canvas.
Love From On High ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=QMPkPcVmWL4 )
With Love From On High delivered, the less than adoring Locke settles in a degrading schoolgirl pin, putting Amara on ice in style, Singh’s chin wedged into her foe’s crotch while Ashley’s shins press against the golden-brown biceps of the Empress for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
With Aphrodite high on her frame, the Bombshell calls on her remaining fight to buck her body and send Ashley lurching off, over her head. Locke’s baby blues squint in fury, the once upon a tag champion perturbed the mortal continues to fight destiny. The deity spins on her knees to face the crown of Amara’s noggin, then drops to a hip and shoulder.
She plucks the lolling head of the Empress off the canvas and places a cheek gently on the inside of a tanned thigh before closing the opposite number against the other and locking her lower limbs in a figure four.
With the slick, sinewy upper legs of the goddess cinching tight around Amara’s temples, Aphrodite increases the pressure of the scissors on her foe’s skull, shutting the door on her Venus Flytrap.
Venus Flytrap ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=P1Ttw6QGV5s&list=PLeig0h6lxzhr8gdLBo3gZJEtD_C9HaN8Y ) 1:22
Ashley flexes her stems, Singh’s face growing rosy, her dark eyes glassy. Determined not to be dethroned, the Empress pushes onto the soles of her bare feet and into a bridge that pushes Locke to her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Locke releases her scissors to escape the pinfall. A freed Singh rolls to hands and knees, crawling to the nearest set of ropes where the Goddess of Love catches her by an ankle. The Indian grappler shakes off her challenger and hightails it under the ropes, landing on her bare tootsies and staggering to the steel barricade behind her where she fashions her hands into a makeshift ‘T’, wanting a time out from Castle.
Nick shrugs and starts his count instead, a weary but angry Singh pushing away from the divider to argue with the official on his unfavorable call.
Behind the zebra, the immortal blonde races to the far ropes and rebounds. She sprints to the near cables and soars between the top and middle, driving a shoulder into the chest of the Empress, This time the backpedal of Singh SLAMS her spine into the steel. Amara arches in agony then slides to a puddled seat at the boots of a vertical Aphrodite.
The lanky blonde stares down at a woman who likely thought she’d cruise through tonight’s main event, only to find one does not underestimate a goddess. Ashley gazes on Singh.
“Do you understand now? Despite all your hype. All your limited success. You’ll never measure up to the divine.”
Locks stomps the chest of the Empress, one, two, three times, leaving the golden-brown warrior limp and leaden. Locke dips to latch her fingers into Singh’s ebony locks and pulls Amara to her feet. She positions the battered Bombshell at her side and shuffles Singh toward a ring post when the Empress jolts to life and pulls Ashley into the path of the unforgiving steel. Aphrodite’s forehead THUMPS off the metal, no divine status saving her from a whiplash-like swing from the debilitating collision, the blonde falling to hands and knees, azure eyes suddenly glazed.
Not far from the lowered goddess, Singh leans heavily against the apron’s edge, trying to pull herself back into contention. She pushes to the now kneeling Aphrodite and yanks Locke to her feet, spinning the blonde so her back is to the ring. Moving beside Ashley, Amara pivots and levels a backhand knife-edge at the chest of the goddess, lighting up the deity with a wicked Blazing Chop that has the FAWNatics ‘wooooing’ on command.
With Ashley’s eyes pinched in pain, Singh seems to feel the adrenaline rushing. Thankful for the slack Castle’s afforded both women with his count, Singh spins her foe into a rush to the ring, stuffing Ashley under the bottom rope at a VERY delayed ‘NINE’ and climbing in behind before she can be counted out.
Appearing eager to take out her frustration, the Empress watches with interest as Ashley staggers to her feet before the Indian grappler can corral her. Locke ducks another chop to the chest and sprints unevenly to the ropes in front of her. She rebounds raggedly toward the champion but accomplishes little when Amara hooks elbows and pivots, sending the blonde flying across the ring with an arm drag. Ashley uses the momentum to roll to vertical. Locke turns and takes another charge but ends on the canvas once more with a second similar heave from the Bollywood Bully.
Still, the Goddess of Love is not convinced. Her return toward a waiting Singh is drunken and it’s no surprise that when the women bang together center stage, it’s the buried shoulder of the Bombshell that leaves Aphrodite looking to the heavens.
With Ashley’s baby blues cloudy, Singh ‘helps’ Locke to her feet with a yank on her foe’s wrist, instantly turning the handle into a heave. Amara Irish whips Ashley to the far buckles, the lanky blonde’s back blasted by the connection. She’s instantly buried by an Empress with revenge on her mind, the Subcontinental Siren demolishing her challenger with an avalanche of epic proportions. The Goddess of Love’s legs turn to mush from the impact.
Ashley plops to her backside, head bobbling on a loosened neck. Instantly both Singh and the FAWNatics know what’s on the way.
The crowd isn’t disappointed when Amara turns from her reclining target, lowers into a crouch, her pear-shaped behind thrust forward, and backs Dat Ass up into a waggling, face scrubbing, breathtaking and deity-quaking Harem Shake.
Harem Shake ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=VQy-rx0XlTg ) 00:10
Ashley thrashes wildly under the humiliating sweeping thrusts of butt to beauty mark, the crowd, despite their hatred of the Empress, cheering every second of Aphrodite getting shown the busy back door.
Having scrubbed the blonde’s face, the World Champion draws her derriere away from Locke’s mug, Ashley looking greasy and bleary eyed, sputtering some of the butt sweat from her lips. A risen Singh turns to her challenger, dark eyes beaming.
“Is the goddess feeling mortal? Does she like the taste of The Empress?”
Ashley tells the Bollywood Bombshell where she can go, that being Hades’ territory. A sneering Amara grabs the blonde by her ears and pulls Aphrodite to her feet. She exchanges her grip for a wrist and shoulder and heaves Ashley across the ring with an Irish Whip. The long, lean Locke races across the mat, turning into another heavy, back-first collision.
Singh is racing in behind but instead of burying Ashley in an avalanche of golden-brown goodness, Amara leaps, her soles landing on the front of Locke’s upper legs. The champ’s laced fingers lock behind Ashley’s head before she throws her bodyweight backward. As the Empress lands on her back, the Goddess of Love is sent flying into a forward flip, Locke landing harshly on tailbone courtesy a monkey flip from Amara.
A grimacing Ashley reaches under her bum to massage away some of the pain while Singh clambers to her feet. The champ races past Ashley’s left shoulder and hits the ropes in front of her foe. Approaching, Amara plants and pivots into a low-rise superkick to the challenger’s chin. But Ashley drops flat to the canvas and Singh’s heel shoots overhead.
With the Empress off-balance, Locke rises to a seated position and snatches the planted leg of the teetering Singh. Locke pulls Amara off her feet, the Subcontinental Siren rolling onto her back. Ashley climbs aboard the folded stems of the Indian grappler, bridging across them in perpendicular fashion and waiting for the bell at…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Locke’s attempt to steal the FAWN World Championship comes up short as Amara springs loose, sending Ashley bucking to vertical, the blonde catching her balance after a couple of awkward steps.
The FAWNatics jeer Nick’s ‘slow count’ and the Goddess of Love seems none too keen on his counting prowess. Still, she can’t hesitate as Singh is scrambling to her feet. The flustered Amara turns to her challenger and Ashley is there, grabbing a wrist and folding back the champ’s left arm clear to make a path toward Singh’s blood-pumper.
Aphrodite slings her arrow-like, heart punch and the blow strikes home, sending Amara into a quaking set of convulsions, her cardiac muscle sent into arrest by the precise strike from the deity.
But Locke isn’t done. She turns from the cross-eyed Singh, reaching over her shoulder to collect Amara’s noggin in a ¾ grip and tug the Bollywood Bully’s forehead into the canvas with a follow-up snap mare driver.
Heart Punch/Snap Mare Driver ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=nqQ2ZCG_Wx0&t=35s ) 00:21
A shellshocked Singh ends on a shoulder and hip, dark eyes glazed, unaware of her surroundings. Ashley pulls the titleholder to her back and settles atop her foe in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The Empress won’t allow her reign ended by the peasant from Olympus, at least for three more seconds. She bucks from under out of instinct but instinct carries her no further as she seems dead to the world, looking lost, unaware of the rising goddess at her side.
Ashley complains bitterly to Castle, but Nick insists Singh’s survived. He directs the ire of the Olympian toward the softly stirring champion. The frustrated blonde tugs Amara off the deck by a wrist and bullies her toward the ropes. Lifting Amara from beside the Indian grappler, Locke tosses her foe toward the top cable, the dazed Singh dropping across the rubber-coated steel, caught flush across the throat with a Hotshot.
The faltering Amara whiplashes away from the impact and finds Ashley far too quickly, Locke gutting the golden-brown midriff of the Empress with a toe kick. Ashley grabs a wrist and pulls Singh’s right arm between the Indian’s legs, snatching the limb from the opposite side.
Aphrodite’s free arm wraps around the chest of Singh and, with both grips tight, the former member of The Three LAUNCHES Amara heavenward and THUMPS her to the canvas with a Pumphandle Slam.
Pumphandle Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=fEc8FMxQkVo ) 2:56.
The lanky blonde floats over the splattered Singh, ending in another crossbody pin, hooking the far leg to make sure to get the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Again, Singh spasms a shoulder off the canvas in the nick of time, the crowd’s groans at the mounting near falls becoming almost comical in their number, save for the barely conscious Amara and the increasingly irritated Ashley.
Kneeling next to Singh, Locke rears back with her right arm and throws an imaginary thunderbolt, the goddess striking with imaginary precision before hauling a demolished Amara to her feet.
Ashley slides alongside the Bollywood Bombshell, scooping an arm into the near leg of the World Champion. With the strength of a deity, Locke launches Amara across her shoulders, Ashley’s arms looping around Singh’s neck on one side and a leg on the other. Finally ready to dispatch the Empress with Love At First Sight, Aphrodite heaves Amara’s lower half off a shoulder, ready to end Singh’s reign.
Love at First Sight ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=oJHFjHiA23E )
But as she flips off Ashley’s shoulders, the Siren lands on her feet instead of her face and chest, leaving Locke wide-eyed in amazement. With both women remaining on their feet, the flabbergasted Goddess of Love is turned inside out by the adrenaline-fueled revenge wrought by a Clothesline from Calcutta by the preeminent female grappler on the face of the earth. The surging Singh’s scythe-like blow back flips the blonde, Ashley landing on her chest, knocked off Mount Olympus and into next week. She absently rolls to her back.
Falling upon the dispatched goddess, Amara leaps into a butt bomb to Ashley’s navel, gutting the goddess, Locke jackknifing beneath the suddenly surging Singh. As Locke melts back to horizontal, groaning beneath the seated Bombshell, Amara slides up Ashley’s frame, backing her way over Locke’s heaving chest until the Indian’s backside is poised at the chin of the glassy-eyed Goddess of Love.
Amara hesitates, teasing the FAWNatics who hope for a burst of energy from the challenger, but there’s none and Amara PLANTS her undercarriage atop the features of Aphrodite with her infamous Bollywood Ending reverse face sit.
A huffing, smirking Singh waggles her hips as she settles atop a squirming Ashley, sealing off all attempts of her foe to find oxygen. Locke weakly pushes at Amara’s thighs, trying to dislodge the champion but unable. Aphrodite bucks her legs, but Singh rides through the frantic efforts.
As the blonde’s struggles slow, the sneering Singh peels her ass off the sweat-soaked face of the challenger.
She gazes down upon the gasping, glazed contender.
“Every woman…and goddess…becomes a peasant before her Empress,” Amara informs.
Singh shoves against the near hip of the blonde to roll Ashley to her chest then knee-walks to her foe’s boot soles. Amara plucks the legs of Aphrodite off the deck, placing Locke’s ankles atop each shoulder. The Bollywood Bully leans forward, cupping her linked palms under Ashley’s chin.
Reeling back on Locke’s trapped noggin while thrusting her hips forward in an attempt to break the backbone of the goddess, the champion secures her BollyKnot, wickedly working over her foe’s legs, now tucked into her armpits. Simultaneously, she pressures the spine and neck of the captured goddess.
Bollyknot ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hJ1iW-D8Aw )
Then, showing ungodly strength, Singh raises to a crouch to increase the pressure exponentially on the sobbing Aphrodite.
“Submit peasant!” Amara demands and a blubbering Ashley can hold on no longer, screaming out her surrender.
“I QUIT. OH GAWWWD. I QUIT!”
With the submission stipulated and the burning in her golden-brown legs growing, the Bombshell drops Ashley to the canvas, the beaten blonde reaching for the base of her spine, the challenger just another to end a whimpering wreck from the clutch of the unstoppable Empress.
The bell tolls and the announcer makes his proclamation.
“Your winner and STILL FAWN World Champion. The Golden Empress. The Bollywood Bombshell. Amara Singh!”
But the words are not enough for the champ to immediately release, Amara torturing her broken blonde for several further seconds until Castle threatens to reverse his decision. Finally, Singh relents and rises, standing in a straddle over the ruined Ashley.
Amara calls for her belt and it is delivered post-haste. She raises the gold high over another annihilated challenger, making clear anyone foolish enough to confront her at FAWNAMANIA would meet the same agonizing result or, goddess forbid, WORSE!