Post by hawkeye on Feb 4, 2024 22:13:46 GMT
With T, C and S down to its final match, another chance for the FAWNatics to hope and pray somewhat gets the better of the infamous Beach Kat awaits.
Suddenly, a Richter scale rumble courses through the arena, the crowd confused by the sound, wondering why the Cali Quake would rattle FAWN Arena prior to the World Title challenger placing herself in the war zone.
An earthquake-sized round of boos from the sellout throng rises to a crescendo when the speakers transition to Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’.
Beautiful Girls (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ9h2m06sFQ )
A barrage of pyrotechnics explodes from the rafters in time with the chords, the fiery white sparks illuminating the cavernous space in a momentarily blinding light.
After the flash, in the light show’s place, the ill-mannered, ass-kicking blonde Brat who’d ruled the organization for over a year is center stage. Her usual shit-eating ‘I’m the biggest bytch in town’ grin is firmly in place, as is her flaxen-haired worker bee on her right shoulder.
Bianca Simpson, FAWN’s long-time Jobber Extraordinaire, having made the biggest mark of her unnoteworthy career over the past several months as Kat’s stooge, is back for another heaping helping of abuse.
Not that she’s competent as a combatant, but Bianca is dressed for battle in her simple red one-piece battle attire, white boots and pads completing the flop’s wardrobe.
BIANCA SIMPSON
The curvy Quake strides toward the battleground in her booty-blasting blue gear, the two-piece accentuating her curves both bottom and topside, the outfit including knee-high athletic socks, her boots traded in for sporty Chuck Taylors.
KAT BRADDOCK:
Kat’s gear (
and ( 
).
The once-upon-a-time beach fighter strides confidently down the ramp and aisle, ggld around her waist. Hovering behind is Simpson, Kat leaving her flunky to chatter at the mob on her behalf.
As the duo reach ringside, Kat directs Bianca to the announcer’s table where the golden-maned drone grabs the man’s stick.
Simpson returns and leads her boss up the steps, then sits on the middle cable, pushing up the top, leaving plenty of room for Kat to enter between, gaudy championship hardware strapped tightly around her plush midriff.
Braddock moves to the middle of the ring, Bianca follows her in, microphone still in hand.
As the champ’s music fades, Simpson lifts the amplifier to her lips and is immediately drowned out by the jealous throng.
“SHUT UP!” Bianca demands. “Show your leader and mine the proper respect!”
The flunky’s requirement isn’t met by the masses, the crowd booing even louder. Simpson shrugs at a sneering Braddock, who motions for Bianca to press on.
“Our next match,” the pawn pronounces, “is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN World Championship!”
Simpson motions toward her superior.
“First. From Newport Beach, California. Standing five feet two inches tall and weighing in at 123 pounds. The World Champion. The Brat. The Woman Who Sets the World Atremble…KAT BRADDOCK!”
The arena echoes with anger, the vocal distaste, no, downright hatred for the dominant champion reaching new heights with each passing month. Simpson hands the microphone to The Brat, Bianca puffing her chest, proudly standing beside the titleholder.
“And her opponent…” Kat continues, the crowd confused. “The Answer from Ithaca. The Battling Bookworm. 2024’s Most Improved FAWN Wrestler. Standing five six inches tall and weighing in at 120 pounds…BIANCA SIMPSON!”
The woman with ZERO FAWN victories to her name bows to the crowd. For a moment, the fans are too stunned to respond, but they soon regain their voice, registering their disappointment and disgust loudly.
“This worthy challenger is a symbol of spunk and spirit,” Braddock shouts. “She is truly the best representative of all the fans. Trying her best, using what little talent she’s got, and ultimately failing.”
Simpson fails to hide a hint of embarrassment in her blushing cheeks. Nevertheless, she hops and thrusts a dainty double bicep pose to show her bona fides.
“So let’s get it on!” Braddock bellows.
A serene Kat tosses the microphone toward the announcer’s table, unstraps her belt, and moves to her corner. Meanwhile, an enthusiastic Simpson proceeds to the opposite buckles, grabbing the top rope, ready for the performance of her life.
Lead official Nick Castle, paid to officiate, not book title matches, takes no mind of the absurdity of Bianca having a chance to be champ. He calls for the bell, the title tilt brought to order.
There’s no playing around. No circling. Unfortunately, as the two blondes meet in the middle and look ready to tie up, there’s no wrestling. Kat lifts her right hand, extends an index finger and ‘pushes’ Bianca lightly on the forehead.
Simpson drops like she’s been shot, ending in a starfish at the champ’s feet.
Braddock, making a face as if she’s survived a grueling contest, places a boot atop the chest of the Jobber Extraordinaire for the…
Well, nothing at first, as Castle stares at the sight in confusion.
“COUNT!” Kat demands.
Nick, looking like he’s eaten a bad oyster, drops to the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEEE!
As Braddock calls for her belt, a sheepish Nick pushes to his feet and motions to the perplexed announcer, nodding his head.
“Your winner…by pinfall…in a FAWN record seven seconds…AND STILL FAWN World Champion…Kat Braddock!”
The Brat wipes her brow exhaustedly, raising her trembling arms high and wide under a rain of boos, the bitter crowd cheated out of their title defense.
Bianca, playing possum, twitches and spasms, playing up her performance.
Braddock turns to Nick. “Belt and microphone, Castle.”
The ref moves to the ropes and gathers each, presenting them to the champion as she removes her foot from her flunky.
“Thank you,” she shouts over the jeers. “My most difficult defense yet. I want to thank Bianca for her stern challenge,”
Kat lowers her right hand and Simpson recovers instantly, snatching the proffered palm. Braddock hauls up her simp and gives the hand a hearty pump.
“Don’t feel bad, Bianca,” Kat continues. “You’ve convinced me you’ve got a stellar career ahead of you with what you showed tonight.”
“Thanks, boss. I mean Miss Braddock. That means a lot coming from the greatest World Champion in the history of history.”
With the crowd objecting vociferously, an unfamiliar voice booms through the public address.
“Hold on. Hold on.”
Walking down the aisle is an athletic brunette in a metallic blue one piece with a white sash around her waist. White gloves, pads and boots accompany the gear with a large brace supporting her right knee.
Only the most hardcore of FAWNatics recognize the woman as a former member of the organization, but they know full well Casey Newsome is a star in one of FAWN’s biggest rivals, the one-time virtuosa dancer turned wrestler, arguably the biggest fan favorite in that company.
CASEY NEWSOME
Murmurs become roaring support as the gatecrasher reaches the ring. With microphone in hand, she climbs the steps and halts, letting the confused blondes within marinate in their own juices.
“I didn’t sign with FAWN to have the organization embarrassed with a display like this,” Casey announces.
Newsome carefully slips through the ropes to join the startled Kat and Company, as ‘HOLY…SHIT’ chants echo through the arena. The destroyer-sized brunette holds up a palm to confirm she means no harm…yet.
“I’m sure Bethany Christian does not want the first Pay-Per-View of 2024 ending with this mockery. So I ask politely, if the real boss and the people of Orlando don’t mind, I volunteer to challenge for the freakin’ FAWN World Championship.”
The crowd explodes with excitement in a standing ovation.
Castle puts a hand to his earpiece and nods, grin emerging. He grabs the microphone from a gobsmacked Braddock.
“I’ve been informed there will be a special treat tonight…a SECOND World Title Championship match!”
The audience roars its approval as Casey shouts a “Hell yeah, Let’s go”.
Collecting the belt and Newsome’s stick in turn, then ushering a protesting Simpson out of the ring, Castle waves for the bell, even as Kat is mid temper tantrum, the pouting flaxen-haired fireplug stomping around the ring.
“No. This is NOT FAIR!”
Disregarding The Brat’s complaints, Casey pulls Kat down from behind, rolling Braddock into a tight cradle pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Cali Quake kicks out with Nick’s hand a few inches from a momentous change in power.
Each woman scrambles to their feet. Though bigger, Newsome is vertical a split-second before the titleholder. The newcomer THUMPS a toe kick into the blonde’s plush tummy, doubling a bug-eyed Braddock at the waist. Casey dips and swings a European Uppercut under Kat’s chin, snapping her opponent’s head and torso back in ferocious fashion.
The Brat staggers in a backpedal to the buckles. The flaxen-haired fireplug hits them and bounces toward the center from the impact, where the Prima Ballerina scoops the champ off her feet, lifting her into a Fireman’s Carry. Braddock doesn’t have time to squirm free. She’s launched off the shoulders of the new signee and PLANTED to the thinly-sheathed floorboards with a Sit-out Facebuster.
Sit-out Facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WcfIXQQnnA ) :03
Kat hits with enough oomph to bounce to her knees. There she wobbles, hazel eyes vacant. Set up like a blonde bowling pin, Newsome’s ready to knock her down, racing at the penitent Braddock, then flattening her foe with a Basement Meteora
Basement Meteora ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPYbxt25nWI )
The back of Kat’s skull BANGS against the deck as The Brat is folded, thighs atop calves. Casey remains in a modified schoolgirl pin, her powerful legs bracketing Braddock’s braincase, the brunette’s shins tight against Kat’s biceps for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Kat Kicks loose just enough to raise a shoulder off the canvas.
The FAWNatics, already adopting Casey as one of their own, chant her name as she snatches a handful of the Quake’s golden locks and lifts Braddock to her feet as she rises. Face to face, Newsome shoves Kat back a few steps, using the shove as momentum to track back to the cables behind her.
The former dancing prodigy shoots forward and shows her agility, launching into a bicycle kick to Kat’s mush that deposits Braddock to the canvas with a ring-rattling collision.
Bicycle Kick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySnLmICxhDA )
The Principal Dancer passes on a pin, instead playing to the appreciative crowd. The ivory-skinned grappler starts a rhythmic clap as she circuits around the splayed Kat, Casey motioning for a dazed Braddock to rise.
On the outside, an increasingly concerned Bianca reaches under the bottom rope, trying to trip Newsome as she moves by. Her sweeping arm misses its target, but a pirouetting Casey does not, stomping on Simpson’s hand before she can pull it back.
Braddock’s minion yelps in pain, hopping around the champ’s corner, cradling her aching hand close. The denizens of the front row share a laugh at the futile flunky, loudly making the Jobber Extraordinaire aware of her failings.
Inside, the former beach fighter struggles to her feet but only in time for Casey to take possession, collecting the shorter blonde around the noggin with a side headlock. Newsome roughly grinds Braddock’s head against her ribs until Braddock moves her palms to the hips of the dark-haired, destroyer-class, former free agent and pushes the challenger off.
Casey uses the thrust to race to the far ropes and rebound. With an ornery Brat waiting dead center, Newsome lowers a shoulder and PLOWS right through the Cali Quake, leaving Kat looking up in pain and dismay at the hovering Newsome.
Cheekily, the Prima Ballerina dusts off the joint with a flick of her hand, beaming down at the World Title holder. Casey grabs a wrist of The Brat and tugs the faltering Braddock to her feet. In a fluid transition, she pivots into an Irish Whip, sending Kat sprinting into a back-first collision with the far buckles.
Newsome follows her vertically-challenged adversary into the corner, dipping another shoulder and POUNDING it into Kat’s plush breadbasket while deftly shifting her frame between the top and middle ropes.
The Principal Dancer grabs the uppermost cable and hops into a kick to the cranium that sends Braddock stumbling toward the middle of the ring. As Kat catches her balance and turns to find her foe, the destroyer-class debutante shows some of her ‘dance moves’, hopping to the top rope and springboarding froggy-style into a Penthouse Meteora, Casey riding her opponent’s shoulders down to the mat, THUMPING Kat’s head and spine into the canvas-covered plywood.
Penthouse Meteora ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVBk_Nug0xI )
An energized Casey, having slid off her mount at the landing scrambles to the starfished Braddock, dropping tight across her foe’s abundant chest in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the company’s most shocking title change in history with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Braddock throws a shoulder off the canvas, rolling to her right side.
Beyond the ropes, on the arena floor, Bianca fashions her hands into a ‘T’, calling a time out for her boss. Castle seems distinctly uninterested in Simpson’s opinion. Meanwhile, FAWN’s new signing from New Jersey maneuvers The Brat into a seated position with a grip on both wrists. Standing behind the struggling Kat, pulling her foe’s arms high, Casey alternately steps over each shoulder of the California Quake and clamps on a standing head scissors.
The brunette’s long ivory stems flex as Newsome pours every bit of muscle power into compressing Kat’s skull around the temples. Braddock weakly pries at the lower limbs of another prodigal daughter of FAWN, Kat’s face turning rosier by the second as Casey increases the pressure.
Deciding the scissors isn’t enough for the World Champion, Newsome leans forward, capturing and crossing the blonde’s comparatively abbreviated legs in a figure four. Grabbing the extended stem like a handle, the Jersey girl hauls back on her Modified Stump Puller, trying to force a submission from the Left Coast beach badass.
Modified Stump Puller ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHGsk3CAUtU )
Caught in an agonizing knot, Braddock shrieks in pain, the Principal Dancer gritting her perfect pearlies as Castle asks Braddock if she wants to become Katrina No-Belts.
Braddock screams out an unconvincing ‘NO’ and that’s the magic word for Newsome to lay out, bringing Kat’s lower half with her, folding the Cali Quake in a one-legged matchbook pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The single-minded Kat breaks the brunette’s grasp of her ankle, fireplug frame springing open in time for a last-second escape.
Bianca leaps to the apron, pleading with Nick.
“The champ wasn’t prepared for a second match,” the Jobber Extraordinaire complains. “Give her a minute. Give her ten seconds for God’s sake.”
Castle demands Bianca drop to the floor, but as Simpson loiters, still complaining. Casey expedites the situation, turning and rushing Kat’s flaxen-haired flack, NAILING Bianca with a forearm shiver to the jaw that sends Bianca flying, her slender frame BANGING into the metal barricade after her cross-country flight.
While the grimacing toady puddles at the base, the FAWNatics are loving every second of Braddock’s demise.
Quickly winning hearts and minds, the Prima Ballerina dusts off her hands with a job well done in dispatching the preceding ‘challenger’ and turns back to the champ.
Kat’s on her knees in front of the new signing. The Brat swings an uppercut forearm, hoping to split Casey’s wickets, but Newsome clamps her legs shut before the blonde can pound her adversary’s crotch. Arm trapped between Newsome’s alabaster gams, Kat howls in agony when Casey sits out, twisting and thumping the captured limb into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Pulling her injured wing free from Newsome’s thighs, Braddock cradles it close, butt-scooting on her perpetually high-riding trunks, the blue spandex becoming more a thong from each skid of backside to canvas.
Reaching a corner behind her, Kat picks out a self-imposed wedgie with one set of fingers and flashes a plaintive palm with the opposite hand, pleading for Newsome to back off. The newcomer is on fire and has no intention of complying with the champ’s appeals.
As the destroyer-class Boardwalk Boss from Atlantic City closes, Kat goes to the well again, trying to find the shortest of shortcuts once more by sending a piston-like boot sole at Newsome’s kitty.
It doesn’t take much of a scouting report for Casey to presume the below-the-belt endeavor and again the free agent signing blocks the vile effort, snatching Beaddock’s leg before she can pound Newsome where it hurts.
A surly Casey lifts the ankle high, Kat squealing like a caught animal, writhing and shouting as she latches onto the bottom ropes with both hands.
“LEGGO YOU CHEATING BYTCH!” Braddock belts to the back row.
An unamused Prima Ballerina doesn’t. Instead, she grabs the other ankle and continues to lift each higher, prompting Kat to move her grip to the middle cable then the top, desperately trying to hold onto her saving strands while demanding Castle get the unexpected contender off her.
The lead referee does his best, but it isn’t good enough, at least not enough for Casey to yank Kat free, tossing The Brat high into the air, Braddock’s spine THUMPING to the deck when gravity has its way.
A wincing Kat curls in an anguished arch, reaching for the base of her spine.
Lingering above the splayed Brat, the former virtuosa dancer draws upon her days prior to wrestling, spinning in a beautiful pirouette, then leaping in a modern dance version of a leg drop. Casey’s long supple, ivory limb SLAMS across Kat’s throat. Braddock is sent into a set of spasms, grasping at her neck, eyes bulging as she tries to draw in raspy inhales.
With Braddock supremely occupied with opening her windpipe, the flaxen-haired fighter barely notices as the Jersey girl snakes her powerful lower limbs across the plush, tanned tummy of the California Quake. With her body scissors locking at the ankles on the opposite side, Newsome presses her palms to the canvas, lifting off and sending every ounce of energy through her glorious gams. As the scissors cinches tighter, compressing the abdomen of Braddock, Kat’s breathing becomes more labored, a panicky champ fruitlessly prying at the muscular dancer’s legs of her surprise and surprising challenger.
Giving up on wedging her hands between, a frustrated Kat pounds on her foe’s thighs, desperate to escape the grinding press. The champ finally convinces Casey she might have better options, the brunette giving up her scissors and shoving the blonde away with a boot sole.
A frowning Braddock tries to shrug off the sustained beating of her ‘second’ defense, slowly rising. Unfortunately for Kat, Newsome’s up first and waiting. The new signing surges toward her foe, wraps her hands around the top of The Brat’s head, lodging Kat’s chin tight to the crown of her cranium, and drops to an effortless pair of splits, landing a nasty split-legged jawbreaker.
Split-legged jawbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZ-7bU4X_88 )
As the Cali Quake whiplashes away from the collision and falls to hands and knees, a scruffy Bianca is back atop the apron’s edge, rattling her head to find the right words for her next complaint to Castle.
The Boardwalk Boss isn’t having it, charging and throwing a shoulderblock into Simpson’s chest that sends the blonde minion in a flailing flight to the arena floor, again ending crumpled in a heap.
Casey turns to find a wobbly Braddock reaching her feet and charges the reeling champion.
Closing in on the clueless Kat, the blonde’s leaden arms by her sides, Newsome gracefully launches and DESTROYS Braddock with a sensational Bicycle Kick that threatens to remove Kat’s head from her shoulders.
Bicycle Kick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySnLmICxhDA )
Instead, Casey settles for removing the Quake from her senses, Braddock bouncing up to a semiconscious seat, head bobbling. The brunette passes on pushing Kat flat and going for another pin.
The Prima Ballerina surrounds Braddock’s braincase with her hands and tugs the gobsmacked blonde to her feet. Switching her grip to a wrist, Casey heaves the face of FAWN to the far ropes. On Kat’s ragged return, the Jersey girl dips, collects The Brat under her thighs and vaults Kat HIGH into the air, then POP-UP POWERBOMBING Braddock, surely leaving a Kat-sized divot in the canvas-covered plywood.
With the champ folded beneath her, the Principal Dancer leans forward to hands and knees securing a Gator Clutch out of the massive impact.
Pop-up Powerbomb to Gator Clutch ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uc1CzcZvhDA )
With Kat’s head bracketed by her legs, ass cheeks pointed to the rafters, Castle slides down next to the battered blonde and slaps the mat for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The crowd is momentarily in a stunned silence, unsure of what they’ve seen, but indeed, when Castle leaps to his feet, he calls for the bell and the belt.
A jubilant Casey dismounts, allowing Braddock to unfold into a starfished, vanquished FORMER CHAMPION!
With the sight of the returning, conquering hero pumping her fist and leaping through a powerful pirouette, the crowd finally releases a standing ovation, roaring to its feet in celebration of being released from Braddock’s oppressive reign.
A sloppy Bianca pushes up to peer over the apron, head falling to the canvas when she sees her boss has been bested.
A softly stirring Kat is barely aware of her surroundings when Castle hands over the World Title belt to its new owner. The beaming Jersey girl moves to a standing straddle over the bleary-eyed Brat.
“Welcome back,” Casey purrs down at a blasted Braddock, Kat beginning to understand her prize possession is gone. “I’d say good match, but I kicked your ass. Have as much fun going down the ladder.”
A spent but fuming Braddock tries to rise but Newsome puts her foot down, literally, placing it on Kat’s chest and pinning the fireplug blonde to the mat to get her Gladiatrix money shot.
An historic tableau for an historic evening, proving 2024 would not be the Year of the Kat.
Suddenly, a Richter scale rumble courses through the arena, the crowd confused by the sound, wondering why the Cali Quake would rattle FAWN Arena prior to the World Title challenger placing herself in the war zone.
An earthquake-sized round of boos from the sellout throng rises to a crescendo when the speakers transition to Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’.
Beautiful Girls (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ9h2m06sFQ )
A barrage of pyrotechnics explodes from the rafters in time with the chords, the fiery white sparks illuminating the cavernous space in a momentarily blinding light.
After the flash, in the light show’s place, the ill-mannered, ass-kicking blonde Brat who’d ruled the organization for over a year is center stage. Her usual shit-eating ‘I’m the biggest bytch in town’ grin is firmly in place, as is her flaxen-haired worker bee on her right shoulder.
Bianca Simpson, FAWN’s long-time Jobber Extraordinaire, having made the biggest mark of her unnoteworthy career over the past several months as Kat’s stooge, is back for another heaping helping of abuse.
Not that she’s competent as a combatant, but Bianca is dressed for battle in her simple red one-piece battle attire, white boots and pads completing the flop’s wardrobe.
BIANCA SIMPSON
The curvy Quake strides toward the battleground in her booty-blasting blue gear, the two-piece accentuating her curves both bottom and topside, the outfit including knee-high athletic socks, her boots traded in for sporty Chuck Taylors.
KAT BRADDOCK:
Kat’s gear (
and ( ).The once-upon-a-time beach fighter strides confidently down the ramp and aisle, ggld around her waist. Hovering behind is Simpson, Kat leaving her flunky to chatter at the mob on her behalf.
As the duo reach ringside, Kat directs Bianca to the announcer’s table where the golden-maned drone grabs the man’s stick.
Simpson returns and leads her boss up the steps, then sits on the middle cable, pushing up the top, leaving plenty of room for Kat to enter between, gaudy championship hardware strapped tightly around her plush midriff.
Braddock moves to the middle of the ring, Bianca follows her in, microphone still in hand.
As the champ’s music fades, Simpson lifts the amplifier to her lips and is immediately drowned out by the jealous throng.
“SHUT UP!” Bianca demands. “Show your leader and mine the proper respect!”
The flunky’s requirement isn’t met by the masses, the crowd booing even louder. Simpson shrugs at a sneering Braddock, who motions for Bianca to press on.
“Our next match,” the pawn pronounces, “is scheduled for one fall with a 60-minute time limit and is for the FAWN World Championship!”
Simpson motions toward her superior.
“First. From Newport Beach, California. Standing five feet two inches tall and weighing in at 123 pounds. The World Champion. The Brat. The Woman Who Sets the World Atremble…KAT BRADDOCK!”
The arena echoes with anger, the vocal distaste, no, downright hatred for the dominant champion reaching new heights with each passing month. Simpson hands the microphone to The Brat, Bianca puffing her chest, proudly standing beside the titleholder.
“And her opponent…” Kat continues, the crowd confused. “The Answer from Ithaca. The Battling Bookworm. 2024’s Most Improved FAWN Wrestler. Standing five six inches tall and weighing in at 120 pounds…BIANCA SIMPSON!”
The woman with ZERO FAWN victories to her name bows to the crowd. For a moment, the fans are too stunned to respond, but they soon regain their voice, registering their disappointment and disgust loudly.
“This worthy challenger is a symbol of spunk and spirit,” Braddock shouts. “She is truly the best representative of all the fans. Trying her best, using what little talent she’s got, and ultimately failing.”
Simpson fails to hide a hint of embarrassment in her blushing cheeks. Nevertheless, she hops and thrusts a dainty double bicep pose to show her bona fides.
“So let’s get it on!” Braddock bellows.
A serene Kat tosses the microphone toward the announcer’s table, unstraps her belt, and moves to her corner. Meanwhile, an enthusiastic Simpson proceeds to the opposite buckles, grabbing the top rope, ready for the performance of her life.
Lead official Nick Castle, paid to officiate, not book title matches, takes no mind of the absurdity of Bianca having a chance to be champ. He calls for the bell, the title tilt brought to order.
There’s no playing around. No circling. Unfortunately, as the two blondes meet in the middle and look ready to tie up, there’s no wrestling. Kat lifts her right hand, extends an index finger and ‘pushes’ Bianca lightly on the forehead.
Simpson drops like she’s been shot, ending in a starfish at the champ’s feet.
Braddock, making a face as if she’s survived a grueling contest, places a boot atop the chest of the Jobber Extraordinaire for the…
Well, nothing at first, as Castle stares at the sight in confusion.
“COUNT!” Kat demands.
Nick, looking like he’s eaten a bad oyster, drops to the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEEE!
As Braddock calls for her belt, a sheepish Nick pushes to his feet and motions to the perplexed announcer, nodding his head.
“Your winner…by pinfall…in a FAWN record seven seconds…AND STILL FAWN World Champion…Kat Braddock!”
The Brat wipes her brow exhaustedly, raising her trembling arms high and wide under a rain of boos, the bitter crowd cheated out of their title defense.
Bianca, playing possum, twitches and spasms, playing up her performance.
Braddock turns to Nick. “Belt and microphone, Castle.”
The ref moves to the ropes and gathers each, presenting them to the champion as she removes her foot from her flunky.
“Thank you,” she shouts over the jeers. “My most difficult defense yet. I want to thank Bianca for her stern challenge,”
Kat lowers her right hand and Simpson recovers instantly, snatching the proffered palm. Braddock hauls up her simp and gives the hand a hearty pump.
“Don’t feel bad, Bianca,” Kat continues. “You’ve convinced me you’ve got a stellar career ahead of you with what you showed tonight.”
“Thanks, boss. I mean Miss Braddock. That means a lot coming from the greatest World Champion in the history of history.”
With the crowd objecting vociferously, an unfamiliar voice booms through the public address.
“Hold on. Hold on.”
Walking down the aisle is an athletic brunette in a metallic blue one piece with a white sash around her waist. White gloves, pads and boots accompany the gear with a large brace supporting her right knee.
Only the most hardcore of FAWNatics recognize the woman as a former member of the organization, but they know full well Casey Newsome is a star in one of FAWN’s biggest rivals, the one-time virtuosa dancer turned wrestler, arguably the biggest fan favorite in that company.
CASEY NEWSOME
Murmurs become roaring support as the gatecrasher reaches the ring. With microphone in hand, she climbs the steps and halts, letting the confused blondes within marinate in their own juices.
“I didn’t sign with FAWN to have the organization embarrassed with a display like this,” Casey announces.
Newsome carefully slips through the ropes to join the startled Kat and Company, as ‘HOLY…SHIT’ chants echo through the arena. The destroyer-sized brunette holds up a palm to confirm she means no harm…yet.
“I’m sure Bethany Christian does not want the first Pay-Per-View of 2024 ending with this mockery. So I ask politely, if the real boss and the people of Orlando don’t mind, I volunteer to challenge for the freakin’ FAWN World Championship.”
The crowd explodes with excitement in a standing ovation.
Castle puts a hand to his earpiece and nods, grin emerging. He grabs the microphone from a gobsmacked Braddock.
“I’ve been informed there will be a special treat tonight…a SECOND World Title Championship match!”
The audience roars its approval as Casey shouts a “Hell yeah, Let’s go”.
Collecting the belt and Newsome’s stick in turn, then ushering a protesting Simpson out of the ring, Castle waves for the bell, even as Kat is mid temper tantrum, the pouting flaxen-haired fireplug stomping around the ring.
“No. This is NOT FAIR!”
Disregarding The Brat’s complaints, Casey pulls Kat down from behind, rolling Braddock into a tight cradle pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The Cali Quake kicks out with Nick’s hand a few inches from a momentous change in power.
Each woman scrambles to their feet. Though bigger, Newsome is vertical a split-second before the titleholder. The newcomer THUMPS a toe kick into the blonde’s plush tummy, doubling a bug-eyed Braddock at the waist. Casey dips and swings a European Uppercut under Kat’s chin, snapping her opponent’s head and torso back in ferocious fashion.
The Brat staggers in a backpedal to the buckles. The flaxen-haired fireplug hits them and bounces toward the center from the impact, where the Prima Ballerina scoops the champ off her feet, lifting her into a Fireman’s Carry. Braddock doesn’t have time to squirm free. She’s launched off the shoulders of the new signee and PLANTED to the thinly-sheathed floorboards with a Sit-out Facebuster.
Sit-out Facebuster ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WcfIXQQnnA ) :03
Kat hits with enough oomph to bounce to her knees. There she wobbles, hazel eyes vacant. Set up like a blonde bowling pin, Newsome’s ready to knock her down, racing at the penitent Braddock, then flattening her foe with a Basement Meteora
Basement Meteora ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=jPYbxt25nWI )
The back of Kat’s skull BANGS against the deck as The Brat is folded, thighs atop calves. Casey remains in a modified schoolgirl pin, her powerful legs bracketing Braddock’s braincase, the brunette’s shins tight against Kat’s biceps for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Kat Kicks loose just enough to raise a shoulder off the canvas.
The FAWNatics, already adopting Casey as one of their own, chant her name as she snatches a handful of the Quake’s golden locks and lifts Braddock to her feet as she rises. Face to face, Newsome shoves Kat back a few steps, using the shove as momentum to track back to the cables behind her.
The former dancing prodigy shoots forward and shows her agility, launching into a bicycle kick to Kat’s mush that deposits Braddock to the canvas with a ring-rattling collision.
Bicycle Kick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySnLmICxhDA )
The Principal Dancer passes on a pin, instead playing to the appreciative crowd. The ivory-skinned grappler starts a rhythmic clap as she circuits around the splayed Kat, Casey motioning for a dazed Braddock to rise.
On the outside, an increasingly concerned Bianca reaches under the bottom rope, trying to trip Newsome as she moves by. Her sweeping arm misses its target, but a pirouetting Casey does not, stomping on Simpson’s hand before she can pull it back.
Braddock’s minion yelps in pain, hopping around the champ’s corner, cradling her aching hand close. The denizens of the front row share a laugh at the futile flunky, loudly making the Jobber Extraordinaire aware of her failings.
Inside, the former beach fighter struggles to her feet but only in time for Casey to take possession, collecting the shorter blonde around the noggin with a side headlock. Newsome roughly grinds Braddock’s head against her ribs until Braddock moves her palms to the hips of the dark-haired, destroyer-class, former free agent and pushes the challenger off.
Casey uses the thrust to race to the far ropes and rebound. With an ornery Brat waiting dead center, Newsome lowers a shoulder and PLOWS right through the Cali Quake, leaving Kat looking up in pain and dismay at the hovering Newsome.
Cheekily, the Prima Ballerina dusts off the joint with a flick of her hand, beaming down at the World Title holder. Casey grabs a wrist of The Brat and tugs the faltering Braddock to her feet. In a fluid transition, she pivots into an Irish Whip, sending Kat sprinting into a back-first collision with the far buckles.
Newsome follows her vertically-challenged adversary into the corner, dipping another shoulder and POUNDING it into Kat’s plush breadbasket while deftly shifting her frame between the top and middle ropes.
The Principal Dancer grabs the uppermost cable and hops into a kick to the cranium that sends Braddock stumbling toward the middle of the ring. As Kat catches her balance and turns to find her foe, the destroyer-class debutante shows some of her ‘dance moves’, hopping to the top rope and springboarding froggy-style into a Penthouse Meteora, Casey riding her opponent’s shoulders down to the mat, THUMPING Kat’s head and spine into the canvas-covered plywood.
Penthouse Meteora ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=PVBk_Nug0xI )
An energized Casey, having slid off her mount at the landing scrambles to the starfished Braddock, dropping tight across her foe’s abundant chest in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the company’s most shocking title change in history with the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Braddock throws a shoulder off the canvas, rolling to her right side.
Beyond the ropes, on the arena floor, Bianca fashions her hands into a ‘T’, calling a time out for her boss. Castle seems distinctly uninterested in Simpson’s opinion. Meanwhile, FAWN’s new signing from New Jersey maneuvers The Brat into a seated position with a grip on both wrists. Standing behind the struggling Kat, pulling her foe’s arms high, Casey alternately steps over each shoulder of the California Quake and clamps on a standing head scissors.
The brunette’s long ivory stems flex as Newsome pours every bit of muscle power into compressing Kat’s skull around the temples. Braddock weakly pries at the lower limbs of another prodigal daughter of FAWN, Kat’s face turning rosier by the second as Casey increases the pressure.
Deciding the scissors isn’t enough for the World Champion, Newsome leans forward, capturing and crossing the blonde’s comparatively abbreviated legs in a figure four. Grabbing the extended stem like a handle, the Jersey girl hauls back on her Modified Stump Puller, trying to force a submission from the Left Coast beach badass.
Modified Stump Puller ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=QHGsk3CAUtU )
Caught in an agonizing knot, Braddock shrieks in pain, the Principal Dancer gritting her perfect pearlies as Castle asks Braddock if she wants to become Katrina No-Belts.
Braddock screams out an unconvincing ‘NO’ and that’s the magic word for Newsome to lay out, bringing Kat’s lower half with her, folding the Cali Quake in a one-legged matchbook pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The single-minded Kat breaks the brunette’s grasp of her ankle, fireplug frame springing open in time for a last-second escape.
Bianca leaps to the apron, pleading with Nick.
“The champ wasn’t prepared for a second match,” the Jobber Extraordinaire complains. “Give her a minute. Give her ten seconds for God’s sake.”
Castle demands Bianca drop to the floor, but as Simpson loiters, still complaining. Casey expedites the situation, turning and rushing Kat’s flaxen-haired flack, NAILING Bianca with a forearm shiver to the jaw that sends Bianca flying, her slender frame BANGING into the metal barricade after her cross-country flight.
While the grimacing toady puddles at the base, the FAWNatics are loving every second of Braddock’s demise.
Quickly winning hearts and minds, the Prima Ballerina dusts off her hands with a job well done in dispatching the preceding ‘challenger’ and turns back to the champ.
Kat’s on her knees in front of the new signing. The Brat swings an uppercut forearm, hoping to split Casey’s wickets, but Newsome clamps her legs shut before the blonde can pound her adversary’s crotch. Arm trapped between Newsome’s alabaster gams, Kat howls in agony when Casey sits out, twisting and thumping the captured limb into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Pulling her injured wing free from Newsome’s thighs, Braddock cradles it close, butt-scooting on her perpetually high-riding trunks, the blue spandex becoming more a thong from each skid of backside to canvas.
Reaching a corner behind her, Kat picks out a self-imposed wedgie with one set of fingers and flashes a plaintive palm with the opposite hand, pleading for Newsome to back off. The newcomer is on fire and has no intention of complying with the champ’s appeals.
As the destroyer-class Boardwalk Boss from Atlantic City closes, Kat goes to the well again, trying to find the shortest of shortcuts once more by sending a piston-like boot sole at Newsome’s kitty.
It doesn’t take much of a scouting report for Casey to presume the below-the-belt endeavor and again the free agent signing blocks the vile effort, snatching Beaddock’s leg before she can pound Newsome where it hurts.
A surly Casey lifts the ankle high, Kat squealing like a caught animal, writhing and shouting as she latches onto the bottom ropes with both hands.
“LEGGO YOU CHEATING BYTCH!” Braddock belts to the back row.
An unamused Prima Ballerina doesn’t. Instead, she grabs the other ankle and continues to lift each higher, prompting Kat to move her grip to the middle cable then the top, desperately trying to hold onto her saving strands while demanding Castle get the unexpected contender off her.
The lead referee does his best, but it isn’t good enough, at least not enough for Casey to yank Kat free, tossing The Brat high into the air, Braddock’s spine THUMPING to the deck when gravity has its way.
A wincing Kat curls in an anguished arch, reaching for the base of her spine.
Lingering above the splayed Brat, the former virtuosa dancer draws upon her days prior to wrestling, spinning in a beautiful pirouette, then leaping in a modern dance version of a leg drop. Casey’s long supple, ivory limb SLAMS across Kat’s throat. Braddock is sent into a set of spasms, grasping at her neck, eyes bulging as she tries to draw in raspy inhales.
With Braddock supremely occupied with opening her windpipe, the flaxen-haired fighter barely notices as the Jersey girl snakes her powerful lower limbs across the plush, tanned tummy of the California Quake. With her body scissors locking at the ankles on the opposite side, Newsome presses her palms to the canvas, lifting off and sending every ounce of energy through her glorious gams. As the scissors cinches tighter, compressing the abdomen of Braddock, Kat’s breathing becomes more labored, a panicky champ fruitlessly prying at the muscular dancer’s legs of her surprise and surprising challenger.
Giving up on wedging her hands between, a frustrated Kat pounds on her foe’s thighs, desperate to escape the grinding press. The champ finally convinces Casey she might have better options, the brunette giving up her scissors and shoving the blonde away with a boot sole.
A frowning Braddock tries to shrug off the sustained beating of her ‘second’ defense, slowly rising. Unfortunately for Kat, Newsome’s up first and waiting. The new signing surges toward her foe, wraps her hands around the top of The Brat’s head, lodging Kat’s chin tight to the crown of her cranium, and drops to an effortless pair of splits, landing a nasty split-legged jawbreaker.
Split-legged jawbreaker ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZ-7bU4X_88 )
As the Cali Quake whiplashes away from the collision and falls to hands and knees, a scruffy Bianca is back atop the apron’s edge, rattling her head to find the right words for her next complaint to Castle.
The Boardwalk Boss isn’t having it, charging and throwing a shoulderblock into Simpson’s chest that sends the blonde minion in a flailing flight to the arena floor, again ending crumpled in a heap.
Casey turns to find a wobbly Braddock reaching her feet and charges the reeling champion.
Closing in on the clueless Kat, the blonde’s leaden arms by her sides, Newsome gracefully launches and DESTROYS Braddock with a sensational Bicycle Kick that threatens to remove Kat’s head from her shoulders.
Bicycle Kick ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySnLmICxhDA )
Instead, Casey settles for removing the Quake from her senses, Braddock bouncing up to a semiconscious seat, head bobbling. The brunette passes on pushing Kat flat and going for another pin.
The Prima Ballerina surrounds Braddock’s braincase with her hands and tugs the gobsmacked blonde to her feet. Switching her grip to a wrist, Casey heaves the face of FAWN to the far ropes. On Kat’s ragged return, the Jersey girl dips, collects The Brat under her thighs and vaults Kat HIGH into the air, then POP-UP POWERBOMBING Braddock, surely leaving a Kat-sized divot in the canvas-covered plywood.
With the champ folded beneath her, the Principal Dancer leans forward to hands and knees securing a Gator Clutch out of the massive impact.
Pop-up Powerbomb to Gator Clutch ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uc1CzcZvhDA )
With Kat’s head bracketed by her legs, ass cheeks pointed to the rafters, Castle slides down next to the battered blonde and slaps the mat for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
The crowd is momentarily in a stunned silence, unsure of what they’ve seen, but indeed, when Castle leaps to his feet, he calls for the bell and the belt.
A jubilant Casey dismounts, allowing Braddock to unfold into a starfished, vanquished FORMER CHAMPION!
With the sight of the returning, conquering hero pumping her fist and leaping through a powerful pirouette, the crowd finally releases a standing ovation, roaring to its feet in celebration of being released from Braddock’s oppressive reign.
A sloppy Bianca pushes up to peer over the apron, head falling to the canvas when she sees her boss has been bested.
A softly stirring Kat is barely aware of her surroundings when Castle hands over the World Title belt to its new owner. The beaming Jersey girl moves to a standing straddle over the bleary-eyed Brat.
“Welcome back,” Casey purrs down at a blasted Braddock, Kat beginning to understand her prize possession is gone. “I’d say good match, but I kicked your ass. Have as much fun going down the ladder.”
A spent but fuming Braddock tries to rise but Newsome puts her foot down, literally, placing it on Kat’s chest and pinning the fireplug blonde to the mat to get her Gladiatrix money shot.
An historic tableau for an historic evening, proving 2024 would not be the Year of the Kat.