Post by hawkeye on Dec 7, 2017 0:25:22 GMT
As the All Hallows’ Evil matches dwindle to a precious few, the sound of ‘God Save The Queen’ erupts from the sound system and the assembled lower the BOOOOOm on the woman they know it represents.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN9EC3Gy6Nk )
Knowing the Boarding School Princess is on the way, her former fans rise to their feet and give Cromwell the welcome they feel she deserves after callously and coldly betraying her bestie, Golden Girl Sammie Sinclair, to get tonight’s title shot. As Space’s ‘The Female of the Species’ rolls over the top of England’s anthem ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1NBpVKWh_c&ob=av2e ), the auburn-haired grappler from the northwest of England strides to center stage sneering at the jeering masses.
Lizzie lights up the throngs with a raised middle finger before heading down the ramp and aisle. Cromwell is ready to make Her Ladyship regret taking up her offer, Lizzie having saved Fiona from her former partner to acquire the coveted title challenge at AHE.
Elizabeth’s blue bikini bottoms are replaced with a thin strip of similarly hued spandex, the boy-cut trunks barely reaching below the curve of her glutes. The initials ‘BSP’ are emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above is the familiar sports bra, containing a twisting blend of the colors of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast. Black boots and pads finish the attire.
Cromwell avoids the stretching arms of the FAWNatics, carefully keeping to the middle as legions of Sammie’s supporters let Lizzie know she’s made a career-altering mistake. The ring announcer does his best to send his amplified voice above them with a proper introduction.
“Our next match is one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for FAWN’s Eurasian Championship. First…from Liverpool, England, standing five feet five inches tall and weighing in at 54 and half kilos, the Upstart Destroyer, the Boarding School Princess, Elizabeth Cromwell.”
Elizabeth Cromwell
The Englishwoman walks slowly up the ring steps, slides through the ropes, and moves to the center of the squared circle. Cromwell calls for a microphone and snatches one out of the air, lifting it to parted lips. The crowd tries to cut her off, raising its volume all the higher.
“Boo me all you want, losers,” Lizzie shouts.
The FAWNatics do their level best to oblige.
“None of you have ever, in your pitiful lives, had a chance to grab the brass ring. And none of you should bark at me until you get that chance then stupidly shove it away. Until then, keep your gobs shut. All you cared about when I was with Sinclair was Sammie this and Sammie that.”
The assembled roar their approval.
“And sure enough, she got the title shot against Waterford. Guess who would have fought Sinclair for the title if she’d won? Not me. I have to admit Sammie would have been too smart for that. I wouldn’t have gotten a sniff of a title match for god knows how long. Then that stupid crone I face tonight offers me one on a silver platter. And I’m supposed to ignore it for Sinclair?”
The crowd ignites in a loud, arena-shaking ‘YES’ chant.
“Well, I didn’t you morons. And look where I am now. Three seconds away from not only being the best Brit ever, but the best Eurasian champ ever.”
Elizabeth tosses the microphone back to the FAWN flunky who’d provided it. She shadowboxes and stretches her way to the corner, casting a glance up to the stage in anticipation.
With the anger of the masses still bubbling, the booming orchestral chords of the champion’s entrance music spreads through the arena ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDI9HuVduDI&feature=related ) heralding the former Intercontinental and Lightweight champion and now Eurasian title holder.
Looking simultaneously threatening and glorious, gaudy gold belt around her waist, Her Ladyship strides to center stage under a decidedly mixed response, the FAWNatics seemingly unable to decide who they want to lose more.
Fiona Waterford
Fiona is resplendent, the long-time veteran of wars inside and outside FAWN ready to push back against a freckled brat silly enough to think she could displace royalty. Cromwell’s battles against the Duchess had always been losing campaigns and tonight would be no different.
The Englishwoman reviews the boisterous crowd with disdain and imperial arrogance. She starts down the ramp as the ring announcer makes her arrival an official one.
“And her opponent, from Finsbury Park, London, England, standing 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing in at 8 stone 13… the Duchess of East Anglia…the Eurasian Champion…Lady Fiona Waterford.”
The athletic build of the Englishwoman remains very much appreciated, a deal with the devil having been struck to keep Waterford in such fine fettle, women half her age green with envy. Her regal beauty is accentuated by a striking midnight blue lace set of bra and panties with red bows on either hip and a royal coat of arms on her taut bum ( en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_coat_of_arms_of_the_United_Kingdom ). The attire leaves just the right amount to the imagination, which in this case is little. As a perfect bit of flair, red fishnet stockings reach up from midnight blue boots, red garters ending the stockings at mid-thigh.
Reaching the ring, Fiona rises up the ring steps but stops and casts her gaze up the aisle where two men in Royal Guard uniforms wheel a set of stocks down the ramp. The throng roars its approval at Cromwell’s old standby being brought into play.
A grinning Fee turns back to a growling Elizabeth and slides through the cables. She moves to the center and raises a microphone to her ruby lips, both eyes planted on her fellow Brit.
“You seem to think I needed you to beat Sinclair,” Fiona announces. “Nothing could be further from the truth, dearheart. I simply wanted to make sure I’d have a pushover at the ready for AHE and, lo and behold, I got my wish. My title is safe.”
Fiona unstraps her belt and raises it overhead then pushes it toward her foe for a better look.
“You’re a stooge and a joke. At least Sinclair proved herself half the woman I am. You?”
Waterford chuckles as the stocks are put in place just in front of the announcer’s table.
“I wanted to make this night special and what better way than to make this a ‘Stocks Market Crash Match’. The first woman to get the three-count or submission, put her opponent in those stocks, and lock her down gets the win and the gold. And in case you were wondering, every man, woman and child wants that to be you.”
The FAWNatics couldn’t agree more and a cheery Waterford nods knowingly as she hands off both the microphone and her belt to a FAWN flunky before making her way to the opposite corner from the BSP.
The bell brings the match to order and brings Cromwell sprinting toward the crafty veteran, who’s ready with a toe kick to Lizzie’s tummy. One problem. The redhead pulls up short and grabs Fiona’s ankle. She tugs the hopping Duchess out toward the middle of the squared circle where she whips the champ to the canvas with a dragon screw.
Dragon Screw (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mS6tOwGa2A4 )
A yipping Duchess rolls across the canvas, coming to a stop against the ropes, reaching for her aching lower limb. The brunette tries to sneak out beneath the bottom cable, but Cromwell snatches her by the ankle and drags the squirming royal to dead center.
Lifting the leg high, the freckled grappler lets loose with a series of kicks to Fiona’s hammy, the sound of shoe leather slapping against meat echoing through the front rows.
“I’m kicking your regal ass tonight, Fee,” Elizabeth assures. “In fact, I might just kick you out of FAWN if the mood suits me.”
Lizzie slaps another half-dozen boots into the back of Waterford’s right thigh before whipping her foe’s leg to the canvas and stomping away on the champ’s knee for good measure.
Walking around the cursing Duchess, Fiona grasping at her wounded stem, Cromwell sinks her nails into Fiona’s scalp with both hands. She tugs Waterford’s noggin from side to side in violent fashion to shake up the belt-holder then lifts Fiona off the canvas and THUMPS her back down with a nasty mat slam that has Waterford reaching for the base of her spine with one hand and her dark locks with the other.
Hairpull Mat Slam (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7NM1qOUILA )
Elizabeth raises her arms and brushes her hands together as if she’s removing some of Her Ladyship’s strands from between her fingers. The self-proclaimed Best Brit Ever takes a stroll around the ring to rev up the hatred in Sammie’s legions, screaming at the assembled that Selfish Sammie deserved what she got.
The auburn-haired grappler returns to Waterford, the Londoner kneeling on her haunches, head droopy. But when Cromwell gets close enough, Lady Fiona springs to life, sending an uppercut into the tummy of the Boarding School Princess. Elizabeth folds slightly, a ‘gouuuf’ escaping her lips, then another when Fiona doubles up with another closed fist into Cromwell’s navel.
Lizzie puts it to a stop with a double-axhandle between the shoulderblades of her foe and Waterford is sent to all fours. Elizabeth sidles beside the champ and stomps her flat. Quickly grabbing Fiona’s dark locks with her left hand, Cromwell straddles her foe and draws Waterford’s head back, placing her right boot sole on the back of the Duchess’ neck. Releasing her foe’s locks, Lizzie curbstomps Fiona’s face into the deck, the titleholder’s features crashing into the canvas.
Hairpull Curbstomp (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4Wzo9j5w1I )
Waterford bounces back to all fours from the force of impact and the redhead grabs Fiona’s noggin with both hands to tug her up the rest of the way. Reaching vertical, a flustered Fee sends an elbow point into Lizzie’s midriff, doubling her over. She repeats and repeats, Cromwell’s dark eyes bugging. Freed, Fiona heads toward the ropes for some momentum but gets only a step before the Scouser snatches the end of Fiona’s strands and RIPS her down, the back of Waterford’s skull ‘thunking’ against the deck.
“Yeah,” Lizzie screams, pumping her first at Waterford then the FAWNatics. “I’m not anyone’s bestie anymore, I’m damn well a champ in the making.”
The crowd seems to disagree from the loud set of jeers aimed in the Brit’s direction, but Waterford has precious little to say on the topic as she struggles to sit up at Cromwell’s feet.
Again going for Fiona’s hair, Lizzie pulls Waterford’s head back to force the champ to look her in the eyes and drops a right into Her Ladyship’s forehead. Once isn’t nearly enough though, as Cromwell pops another couple in before the ref calls her on it. The BSP relents only to tug Waterford up and wrap her midriff in a bearhug from behind. Cromwell leans into the reeling Duchess, making the brunette carry her weight as she takes a bit of a break.
The freckled grappler forces a loud exhale with a Heimlich then spins the breathless brunette to face her, swinging an overhand right between the eyes of the royal. Fiona gets a left arm up to block the blow and rocks Cromwell with a righthanded response to Lizzie’s jaw. Cromwell is staggered for a moment, but returns fire, only to have Waterford block again and NAIL the auburn-haired Liverpool native, nearly spinning her in a 180. By the time Lizzie’s wobbly head returns, Waterford has another lined up and CRASHES it into Cromwell’s chin, putting the BSP on her backside.
Elizabeth manages to prop up on her palms, but her peepers are cloudy as Fiona shakes off her tough start. The FAWNatics cheer their lungs out at the fallen Lizzie. Waterford dips and wraps her hands on either side of Elizabeth’s braincase.
“Time to take your beating, dearheart,” Lady Waterford informs, tugging a somewhat shellshocked Cromwell to her feet before putting the Boarding School Princess on her heels with a European Uppercut. Staggering in a backpedal, Cromwell ends in a corner, arms flopping over the top ropes on either side, as the challenger fights to remain upright.
Her Ladyship quickly joins the redhead, scooping Elizabeth up under her thighs and planting her in a seated position atop the uppermost buckle. Turning toward the inside of the ring, Fiona climbs to the middle ropes and turns, reaching behind her to collect the dazed Lizzie onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Finally securing the squirming former friend of the Upstart Supreme, Waterford reclaims a straight and true stance and dives off her perch, PLANTING Lizzie into the canvas with her signature Channel Plunge.
Channel Plunge (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NR9RH1sORmU )
The delighted fans roar as Cromwell ends in a gobsmacked seat then melts to a spreadeagle in front of a kneeling Duchess. Not giving away any chance to dispense with a challenger, Fiona ignores the urge to make Cromwell pay for early success and simply drives her body into Lizzie’s with a full body pin, Fee trapping Elizabeth’s arms over her head at the wrists and ensuring Cromwell’s shoulders are down for…
ONE…
TWO…
But not THREE! Lizzie shows the fight that had made her a phenom before tough times followed and she rolls to her chest, slithering slowly toward the ropes.
Having quickly pushed to her feet, Fiona strides confidently behind, stomping the left hand of the BSP as Lizzie tries to crawl her way to a timeout. Cromwell howls in pain, drawing the digits close to her chest. Above her, the arrogance of the Eurasian champion is returned in full bloom, the ageless wonder a sight to behold for young and old alike.
“Remember when I took your lightweight title? When you were relevant?”
Fiona stomps the base of a mewling Lizzie’s spine and grinds her boot like she’s putting out a stale Pall Mall on Cromwell’s back.
“Some things don’t change.”
Fiona lifts her foot and stomps away a half-dozen times, trying to splinter Cromwell’s lower spinal column. Lady Waterford relents only to rip an aching Lizzie off the deck and snap suplex her once, twice and thrice, the redhead skidding to a stop after the third, yelping as she reaches for the base of her backbone.
Sanp suplexes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_4XqYidBUQ )
As Her Ladyship approaches, Cromwell butt scoots in reverse and throws out a plaintive palm, begging off from any more bullying from the champ. But the Duchess only uses the extended arm as a handle, wrapping a palm around the BSP’s wrist and tugging her clean off the deck. The dipping Fiona accepts her cargo across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
A desperately wriggling Elizabeth tries to sneak down the backside but the now domineering royal sends Lizzie tumbling off to the left and into a Waking Nightmare, Waterford’s neckbreaker across the knee leaving Cromwell a shell, seated but with no one home upstairs.
Waking Nightmare (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OCCuWlEcvU )
Fiona grabs both shoulders of her shellshocked foe and rips her from seated to flat on the canvas then dives atop her in a crossbody pin, collecting the…
ONE…
TWO…
Lizzie weakly kicks her way free, barely nudging the champion enough to stay alive. Lady Waterford is unconvinced the pin could have come up a slap short, moving to her knees, and staring a laser through the official, who apologetically holding up two fingers.
“Do you really want me to make an example out of you the way I am with this whelp?”
The man throws up his palms, begging off. Her Ladyship sinks her nails into Cromwell’s scalp and tugs the reeling BSP to her haunches in front of the champion. Fiona puts Lizzie’s noggin on a swivel with a nasty slap to her foe’s cheek. The sting seems to bring Cromwell around and she returns a forearm smash.
The crowd boos as Elizabeth connects and, when Waterford responds with one of her own, they boo again. Cromwell cracks back with another and Fiona returns fire. The crowd responds with each successive blow.
“BOOO…BOOO…BOOO…BOOO”
The Duchess finally puts an end to the chant, loading up an elbow and CRASHING it into the crown of Cromwell’s cranium. The auburn-haired grappler is ready to pool, but Waterford keeps her foe kneeling with a handful of her locks.
“I’m going to run you ragged, dearheart. Use you as a trophy. After beating Sharpe, Sinclair and you, no one will ever have a doubt I’ve supplanted London as the preeminent Englishwoman this organization has ever seen.”
Cromwell’s hands shoot forward and grab clumps of Fiona’s dark mane on either side of her head. Elizabeth’s braincase shoots forward, butting into Waterford’s nose. A cursing Duchess spins away from the BSP, hopping to her feet. Fee’s hands fly to her beak, checking to make sure her patrician features haven’t been altered.
Below, a fuming Elizabeth uses her shot of adrenaline to make it to vertical and chase after the ageless wonder. Showing she’s willing to use any means, Lizzie throws a clip into the back of Waterford’s left knee, trying to take out a wheel of the regal brunette. Fiona shrieks as she falls to the knee.
Cromwell lowers into a crouch as she spins to claim Fiona’s head in a front facelock. In a flash, she lays out, sending Waterford’s face CRASHING into the deck with a DDT. The force of the impact sends the champ barrel rolling to her back and the ginger dives atop for the…
ONE…
TWO…
And it’s not enough, the stubborn legend from East Anglia shoving Cromwell off, Elizabeth spilling to her back.
The Brits lie next to each other, huffing in deep breaths as they stare blankly at the rafters. Both turn toward each other and slam forearm shots into chests as they meet on their sides, both women knocked to their backs once more from the connections. Unwilling to be bested, they shift back to their sides, Fiona her right, Elizabeth her left, to come within range, and this time they tag each other with echoing chops that knock each other flat on their back again.
The FAWNatics, swept up in the appreciation of the savage will to win by both women, give both despised grapplers a well-earned round of applause.
Instead of rolling toward each other another time, brunette and redhead head in the opposite directions and slowly push to their feet. The younger Lizzie gets a jump on the ageless Duchess and sends a boot crashing into the left kneecap of the champion. Dropping Fiona to that knee, Cromwell slides alongside the royal and lifts a knee to the side of Fiona’s face, her hands gripping the opposite side of her foe’s noggin. Lizzie lays out and lands a vicious facebuster to the legendary Waterford, sending the Eurasian titleholder sprawling.
Facebreaker (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKYGLhSKNqU )
Lizzie scrambles atop her rival, cradling one leg while grapevining the other for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Lizzie has a fit when Fiona gets a shoulder off the canvas with a split-second to spare. But instead of slapping the canvas, Cromwell lays her open hands to Waterford’s taut tummy, turning it from ivory-colored to rosy in the course of a half-dozen seconds.
Lifting Waterford by a wrist and shoulder as she rises, the energized Elizabeth drags the Duchess to the ropes and forces her foe’s face down on the rubber-coated steel. The redhead draaaags Her Ladyship’s peepers down the length of the rope to the nearest buckle, where she draws back Fiona’s head and slams the champ’s face into the buckle.
Unsatisfied, Lizzie continues her Saturday Evening Constitutional, drawing Fiona’s features along on a second trip, Her Ladyship shrieking all the way to the next buckle. The head of the blinded titleholder is yanked back and SLAMMED into buckle with even more force, a second wind fully catching Elizabeth’s sails.
The Boarding School Princess even has the energy back to give the crowd the bird, renewing the hatred Sammie’s legions feel for the turncoat. Cromwell bites her thumb at the great unwashed, determined to show Sinclair has been an anchor.
Pulling Waterford a step or two from the corner, Elizabeth slides alongside the reeling brunette. Lizzie wraps an arm around her foe’s head and neck then grapevines her near leg with that of the royal. Lizzie leans backward a tick, then throws her weight forward, violently delivering Fiona’s forehead into the thinly-covered plywood with her Silver Spoon Buster.
Silver Spoon Buster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9xJHZJyPIQ )
Her braincase bouncing off the mat, the crafty veteran rolls under the ropes and plops to the cement arena floor while Sammie’s former partner crawls after, failing to prevent Waterford’s escape.
Deciding the next best thing is to follow her out, Lizzie slides under and, unlike Lady Fiona, lands on her boot soles. Snatching Fiona by her long dark locks, she tugs the champion to her feet and buggywhips the veteran down the length of the ring, Waterford spinning into a clattering back-first collision with the steel barricade.
A demented smile creases Lizzie’s lips as she can feel and see the fortysomething fading. The redhead strides to the wincing Waterford, Her Ladyship leaning heavily against the metal. Grabbing another handful of hair, Cromwell leads Fiona to the stocks. Pushing her face close, she grabs Fee’s cheeks between thumb and forefinger and forces a fishface from the Duchess.
“You are SO going to regret trying to make a fool out of me with my own stocks, you old hag.”
The freckled beauty draws Fiona’s head back with the almost omnipresent hairpull Lizzie employs to control her foes and THUMPS Waterford’s forehead into the solid oak of which Cromwell had her device constructed. Fiona whips away from the impact, collapsing to her haunches. She groggily knee-walks to the apron’s edge and leans wearily against it while a delighted Elizabeth, smelling her first gold in a long while, taunts the FAWNatics.
“How’s bailing on Sammie look now? I’m doing what she couldn’t. Beat this old barn owl.”
Cromwell turns to find her foe, pulls her up to vertical, and stuffs her back into the ring before the tardy official can get to a disqualification. Lizzie follows her battered adversary back in and pops to her feet, trailing behind a crawling Waterford.
Lizzie shoves a boot into Fiona’s backside and the champion lurches forward but remains on all fours. Cromwell sticks another between Waterford’s cheeks and shoves. This time the Duchess splays to her chest, face down on the canvas. The redhead moves to a standing straddle of her foe and dips to collect both wrists. She tugs back on the limbs as she places her right sole behind the noggin of the brunette.
“Who’s the Best Brit?” Elizabeth asks.
“I AM,” Fiona grunts in return and pays for it with a curbstomp, her regal features THUMPING against the canvas, head bouncing off the thinly-covered plywood before Fee settles in a semiconscious starfish.
Elizabeth drops to her knees next to the titleholder and pushes Her Ladyship to her back, Fiona spreading wide. Lizzie leaps on top, pressing her body into Waterford’s in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Fiona maintains her reign for the time being by throwing a shoulder up and Cromwell, on all fours next to her foe, throws a fit.
“I beat her,” she insists. “I did what Sammie couldn’t.”
The nearby crowd picks up on the insult and jeers the Boarding School Princess all the louder, which doesn’t do Her Ladyship much good when Cromwell fashions her right hand into a set of talons and sinks an underhand claw into Fiona’s crotch, driving it as far into the tender tissue as she can manage.
Fiona comes shrieking back to life, lifting to a seated position as her flower is squeezed by the rambunctious challenger.
“I am taking that title,” Lizzie screams. And she bears down on Waterford’s privates all the harder, tensing her digits and squeezing for all she’s worth. “QUIT. YOU OLD GOAT!”
Fiona, her dark eyes welling, lands a blistering slap to Lizzie’s face that disrupts Cromwell’s concentration enough the power in her claw lessens, but she reapplies and has Fiona squirming and mewling.
This time Waterford balls her fingers and lands a punch to the BSP’s jaw that swivels the head of the auburn-haired grappler. A follow-up, two-handed shove to Lizzie sends her sprawling and Fiona is freed from the challenger’s torment. She’s unable, however, to do much but curl into a fetal ball and massage below. Meanwhile, Cromwell pushes to her feet and staggers to a corner to find her bearings.
She shakes off the impact of Waterford’s blow and strides purposefully to the champion. Lizzie draws back a boot and sends it toward the center of the turtled Fiona, but the hands of the Duchess shoot out and wrap around the ankle of the redhead. Tugging, Fiona sends Elizabeth tumbling to the deck.
Her ladyship emerges from her ball and dives on top of Cromwell. The duo rolls wildly from side to side, a catfight breaking out in the middle of a championship match. The women tear at each other’s hair and nails are bared as they begin to barrel roll around the canvas. It’s the long-time veteran whose knee finds its way between Elizabeth’s legs for some nasty payback, Fiona thrusting it into Lizzie’s sex.
A loud groan emerges from the melee and the BSP is frozen in place, hands buried between her thighs. Waterford separates and rises to her feet.
“How dare you bring this match down to your level?” Fiona roars, landing a kick to Cromwell’s ribs that sends the redhead’s body into a spasm.
“You will show me the respect I’m due and lose without bringing me into your gutter.”
Fiona grabs the ankles of Cromwell and twists the challenger to her back. There, she knots Lizzie’s legs in a figure four, steps over the BSP and rolls Cromwell to her chest with a sharpshooter. But Waterford isn’t done. She drops into a full Tower Bridge, the signature that had made many a woman tap through the years.
Tower Bridge (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEMADIUmPzU )
Elizabeth howls in agony as her spine is stretched to the breaking point, her boots tapping against the crown of her noggin. The freckled warrior digs her nails into the canvas and starts to drag her hopes and prayers, along with her body, the long stretch of canvas to the ropes. It’s a torturous process but after a dozen grueling seconds, she reaches the cable and wraps a palm around it.
Elizabeth squeals for her release and after another four seconds of agony, a frustrated Fiona releases her grip. There’s a look of the barest amount of respect from the brunette as she seems impressed Lizzie could survive one of her favorite excruciating maneuvers. Still, it doesn’t prevent her from landing a farewell boot to Lizzie’s backbone before the champion backs away and raises her arms high and wide to a few cheers.
Waterford immediately pops her right arm upward, catching her bicep in her left palm to let the crowd know their support is not necessary or wanted. Cromwell is a bytch who deserves everything she’s about to get. But not for backstabbing Sammie. No. This would be for thinking she could claim Fiona’s moniker and title.
Waterford heads for the nearest set of buckles and climbs to a location that usually means only one thing, a maneuver that put Shea London’s Sensational Leg drop to shame. Reaching the top, Her Ladyship surveys a recovering Lizzie, the redhead slowly making her way up. Reaching her feet, the battered BSP is bent at the waist and it leaves herself open for a Flawless response.
Fiona skies from her perch, legs extended, and the left SLAMS into the back of Lizzie’s neck sending her plummeting to the canvas, Cromwell landing face first into the deck, knocked into next week.
Flawless Leg Drop (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VItGRzK2YKA )
Fiona shoves the remnants of the challenger to her back and spreads her weary body across in a lateral press, not bothering to hook the leg of the demolished Scouser for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOO!
Elizabeth shoves a shoulder up, weakly perhaps, but an inch or two off the mat nonetheless. The torn crowd both groans and revels in the match continuing, the assembled wanting to see the two despised women tear at each other longer.
On her haunches next to the splayed BSP, Fiona sweeps her fingers through her long dark locks. She looks to the rafters in disbelief that Elizabeth survives. And there’s a hint of ‘what do I do to beat this girl’ in her dark peepers.
Slowly, Lizzie is reviving and Fiona gives the younger woman a bytch slap for her pigheadedness.
“Who are you going to get to save you for THIS match?” Elizabeth asks groggily.
Face turning red, Fiona’s hands encircle Lizzie’s throat and the champ starts to throttle the redhead. Cromwell convulses in the grip as the ref first counts then pulls Waterford off the bug-eyed Boarding School Princess. On her feet, Her Ladyship shoves the striped-shirt away, berating him for touching her royal personage.
A coughing Lizzie is on her backside, having managed to reach a seat on the deck and Fiona uses that as her cue to resume the assault. She approaches with both hands leading the way, when Cromwell shots a boot out and catches Waterford in the left knee cap. A yelping Duchess drops to the bony joint, genuflecting in front of the challenger. Cromwell boots the right for good measure, sending the brunette to a kneel and the next salvo goes straight between the breasts of the champion, knocking Fiona over, Waterford folding atop herself, thighs on calves.
Elizabeth struggles to her feet, wincing from the abuse she’s suffered. She limps alongside the folded Fiona and lifts off with a more modest leg drop that finds Waterford’s throat and sends a shudder through the champion’s frame.
Elizabeth leaves her left leg draped across the neck and shoulders of her foe and the official is obliged to count for…
ONE…
TWO…
Her Ladyship shoves the limb off and protects her regal reign once more. Before a recovering Lizzie can take full advantage, Waterford unfolds her legs out from beneath her. The weary women push up, cloudy gazes set in opposite directions.
Each turns seeking the other and it’s the younger legs that flash first, Cromwell digging a toe kick into the flat tummy of the ageless wonder. Waterford doubles over with a loud, bursting exhale. Lizzie follows up with a raised knee to Fiona’s forehead. The freckled warrior grabs Waterford’s hair with both hands and genuflects behind her. She pulls the champ down as she drops and DRIVES Fee’s spine into bended knee with a hairpull backbreaker.
Hairpull backbreaker (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLjm9anYvbE )
Fiona crumples in a heap and Cromwell spreads her foe out on the mat like butter on toast, covering her for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Now it’s Lizzie’s turn to wonder how she can put away the Grande Dame of FAWN. Cromwell stares down at Waterford in wonder and sinks her nails into the favorite part of her foe’s anatomy, her foe’s long mane. She draws a dilapidated Fiona to her feet and favors her with a head-rattling European Uppercut.
“Time for retirement, Your Ladyship. Before someone less polite than me takes you somewhere you don’t want to end. Me? I just want my title.”
Elizabeth batters Fiona with a right cross that spins the champ in a 180 and she falls to her knees, leaning against the ropes. Cromwell sinks her nails into Waterford’s scalp and tugs her upper half through the rubber-coated steel cables, yanking Lady Fiona to her feet. With a pair of handfuls of hair, she wrenches Fiona’s head backwards, trying to displace a few vertebrae while removing some follicles.
Rope-trapped Hair Pull (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLjm9anYvbE )
After a delayed four-count, Lizzie releases her grip and Fiona melts to the mat, the ferocity of the match showing on the long-time veteran. She puddles at Cromwell’s feet and Elizabeth raises her arms, making a signal this match is at an end with a sweep of those limbs outwardly.
Elizabeth dips and collects Fiona’s head in her hands and ‘helps’ the thrashed champion to her feet for a Prep School Expulsion. Securing a front facelock on Fiona, Lizzie slips under the champ’s opposite arm and vaults Waterford in the air toward her doom.
Prep School Expulsion (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLjm9anYvbE )
But as Her Ladyship reaches her peak, she slips over the right shoulder of the Boarding School Princess and lands behind the startled redhead. Lizzie spins to face her foe and gets a delving toe kick to the tummy for her trouble.
A grunting Lizzie bends at the waist and Fiona collects her in a front facelock. Slipping her head under Cromwell’s opposite arm, it’s Fiona’s turn to vault her rival into the air, but the younger competitor has no response when Her Ladyship sends Cromwell skyward and pirouettes into a violent, skull-crushing brainbuster.
Spinning Brainbuster (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYl3kwAM4fc )
A flaccid Elizabeth flops into a motionless heap and Waterford spread her out into a semiconscious starfish. But instead of going for the pin, Waterford grabs both ankles and maneuvers them into a familiar figure four. With the legs knotted, the champion turns in a 180, mounting Cromwell in a reverse standing straddle while maintaining the knotted limbs of the BSP.
As earlier in the match, the crowd roars at the sight of Elizabeth howling in pain, and when Fiona drops into her torturous arch, the Tower Bridge is fully locked. This time, Waterford doesn’t just bring Cromwell’s boot soles to her braincase but over them and they touch the canvas in front of the redhead’s face, Cromwell in an ungodly position
Tower Bridge (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEMADIUmPzU )
It takes but a few seconds for the ginger challenger to howl her surrender, tapping the canvas furiously to make additionally clear she’s had more than enough.
The overturned grin of Fiona emerges as she maintains the submission as long as she’s able before the threat of disqualification arises. Releasing the limbs of the sobbing Cromwell, Her Ladyship rolls to her feet and offers her wrist to the official for him to raise, but the man reminds Fiona there is a task yet to accomplish.
The brunette sinks her nails into Cromwell’s auburn locks with one hand and presses into a shoulder with the other. The champ runs Lizzie to the ropes and bum-rushes her through, Cromwell spilling all the way to the thinly-padded cement floor, not a stone’s throw from Elizabeth’s own calling card, the set of wooden stocks.
Waterford steps through and drops her boot soles next to the demolished challenger. She plucks Cromwell off the floor and leads the wobbly Brit to the oaken device. Popping the top, Lady Fiona pushes the stocks open and drops the freckled challenger’s head and arms inside, then traps the would-be usurper in place.
Snapping and locking Elizabeth in a completely vulnerable stance, Waterford lashes Cromwell’s cheek with an echoing slap that brings some life back to Lizzie. Eyes wide and flashing, the BSP struggles within the grasp of the device, the FAWNatics loving every second as Cromwell gets hers, the backstabbing of her friend Sammie gaining her nothing in the end but a disgrace she’d never forget.
The zebra waves to the announcer and he makes it official.
“Your winner…and STILL Eurasian Champion….the Duchess of East Anglia…Lady Fiona Waterford!”
The official raises Fiona’s right arm high and just as quickly Her Ladyship rips it down and goes nose to nose with the beaten Lizzie.
“Never, child,” she taunts, “Never will you reach my level. But at least now you won’t have to waste your time dreaming of ever doing so.”
Fiona slides behind Cromwell and pulls down her foe’s trunks to expose Elizabeth’s bared backside. She cracks an open palm across boarding school booty and Lizzie yips from the sting and the humiliation. Waterford follows with another half-dozen, Cromwell’s bum turning rosy under the abuse, until Her Ladyship seems satisfied.
“Never trouble me again or I won’t be so lenient.”
One final smack brings a pained yelp from the blubbering Cromwell and, with that, Lady Fiona heads for the exit, champion still. She collects her gold from the timekeeper and strides on her exhausted but merry way, leaving the FAWNatics to ridicule Elizabeth mercilessly and for the crew to lead Cromwell up the ramp still trapped where, only behind the curtain, would she hand over the key to let loose the humbled urchin.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN9EC3Gy6Nk )
Knowing the Boarding School Princess is on the way, her former fans rise to their feet and give Cromwell the welcome they feel she deserves after callously and coldly betraying her bestie, Golden Girl Sammie Sinclair, to get tonight’s title shot. As Space’s ‘The Female of the Species’ rolls over the top of England’s anthem ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1NBpVKWh_c&ob=av2e ), the auburn-haired grappler from the northwest of England strides to center stage sneering at the jeering masses.
Lizzie lights up the throngs with a raised middle finger before heading down the ramp and aisle. Cromwell is ready to make Her Ladyship regret taking up her offer, Lizzie having saved Fiona from her former partner to acquire the coveted title challenge at AHE.
Elizabeth’s blue bikini bottoms are replaced with a thin strip of similarly hued spandex, the boy-cut trunks barely reaching below the curve of her glutes. The initials ‘BSP’ are emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above is the familiar sports bra, containing a twisting blend of the colors of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast. Black boots and pads finish the attire.
Cromwell avoids the stretching arms of the FAWNatics, carefully keeping to the middle as legions of Sammie’s supporters let Lizzie know she’s made a career-altering mistake. The ring announcer does his best to send his amplified voice above them with a proper introduction.
“Our next match is one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for FAWN’s Eurasian Championship. First…from Liverpool, England, standing five feet five inches tall and weighing in at 54 and half kilos, the Upstart Destroyer, the Boarding School Princess, Elizabeth Cromwell.”
Elizabeth Cromwell
The Englishwoman walks slowly up the ring steps, slides through the ropes, and moves to the center of the squared circle. Cromwell calls for a microphone and snatches one out of the air, lifting it to parted lips. The crowd tries to cut her off, raising its volume all the higher.
“Boo me all you want, losers,” Lizzie shouts.
The FAWNatics do their level best to oblige.
“None of you have ever, in your pitiful lives, had a chance to grab the brass ring. And none of you should bark at me until you get that chance then stupidly shove it away. Until then, keep your gobs shut. All you cared about when I was with Sinclair was Sammie this and Sammie that.”
The assembled roar their approval.
“And sure enough, she got the title shot against Waterford. Guess who would have fought Sinclair for the title if she’d won? Not me. I have to admit Sammie would have been too smart for that. I wouldn’t have gotten a sniff of a title match for god knows how long. Then that stupid crone I face tonight offers me one on a silver platter. And I’m supposed to ignore it for Sinclair?”
The crowd ignites in a loud, arena-shaking ‘YES’ chant.
“Well, I didn’t you morons. And look where I am now. Three seconds away from not only being the best Brit ever, but the best Eurasian champ ever.”
Elizabeth tosses the microphone back to the FAWN flunky who’d provided it. She shadowboxes and stretches her way to the corner, casting a glance up to the stage in anticipation.
With the anger of the masses still bubbling, the booming orchestral chords of the champion’s entrance music spreads through the arena ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDI9HuVduDI&feature=related ) heralding the former Intercontinental and Lightweight champion and now Eurasian title holder.
Looking simultaneously threatening and glorious, gaudy gold belt around her waist, Her Ladyship strides to center stage under a decidedly mixed response, the FAWNatics seemingly unable to decide who they want to lose more.
Fiona Waterford
Fiona is resplendent, the long-time veteran of wars inside and outside FAWN ready to push back against a freckled brat silly enough to think she could displace royalty. Cromwell’s battles against the Duchess had always been losing campaigns and tonight would be no different.
The Englishwoman reviews the boisterous crowd with disdain and imperial arrogance. She starts down the ramp as the ring announcer makes her arrival an official one.
“And her opponent, from Finsbury Park, London, England, standing 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing in at 8 stone 13… the Duchess of East Anglia…the Eurasian Champion…Lady Fiona Waterford.”
The athletic build of the Englishwoman remains very much appreciated, a deal with the devil having been struck to keep Waterford in such fine fettle, women half her age green with envy. Her regal beauty is accentuated by a striking midnight blue lace set of bra and panties with red bows on either hip and a royal coat of arms on her taut bum ( en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_coat_of_arms_of_the_United_Kingdom ). The attire leaves just the right amount to the imagination, which in this case is little. As a perfect bit of flair, red fishnet stockings reach up from midnight blue boots, red garters ending the stockings at mid-thigh.
Reaching the ring, Fiona rises up the ring steps but stops and casts her gaze up the aisle where two men in Royal Guard uniforms wheel a set of stocks down the ramp. The throng roars its approval at Cromwell’s old standby being brought into play.
A grinning Fee turns back to a growling Elizabeth and slides through the cables. She moves to the center and raises a microphone to her ruby lips, both eyes planted on her fellow Brit.
“You seem to think I needed you to beat Sinclair,” Fiona announces. “Nothing could be further from the truth, dearheart. I simply wanted to make sure I’d have a pushover at the ready for AHE and, lo and behold, I got my wish. My title is safe.”
Fiona unstraps her belt and raises it overhead then pushes it toward her foe for a better look.
“You’re a stooge and a joke. At least Sinclair proved herself half the woman I am. You?”
Waterford chuckles as the stocks are put in place just in front of the announcer’s table.
“I wanted to make this night special and what better way than to make this a ‘Stocks Market Crash Match’. The first woman to get the three-count or submission, put her opponent in those stocks, and lock her down gets the win and the gold. And in case you were wondering, every man, woman and child wants that to be you.”
The FAWNatics couldn’t agree more and a cheery Waterford nods knowingly as she hands off both the microphone and her belt to a FAWN flunky before making her way to the opposite corner from the BSP.
The bell brings the match to order and brings Cromwell sprinting toward the crafty veteran, who’s ready with a toe kick to Lizzie’s tummy. One problem. The redhead pulls up short and grabs Fiona’s ankle. She tugs the hopping Duchess out toward the middle of the squared circle where she whips the champ to the canvas with a dragon screw.
Dragon Screw (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mS6tOwGa2A4 )
A yipping Duchess rolls across the canvas, coming to a stop against the ropes, reaching for her aching lower limb. The brunette tries to sneak out beneath the bottom cable, but Cromwell snatches her by the ankle and drags the squirming royal to dead center.
Lifting the leg high, the freckled grappler lets loose with a series of kicks to Fiona’s hammy, the sound of shoe leather slapping against meat echoing through the front rows.
“I’m kicking your regal ass tonight, Fee,” Elizabeth assures. “In fact, I might just kick you out of FAWN if the mood suits me.”
Lizzie slaps another half-dozen boots into the back of Waterford’s right thigh before whipping her foe’s leg to the canvas and stomping away on the champ’s knee for good measure.
Walking around the cursing Duchess, Fiona grasping at her wounded stem, Cromwell sinks her nails into Fiona’s scalp with both hands. She tugs Waterford’s noggin from side to side in violent fashion to shake up the belt-holder then lifts Fiona off the canvas and THUMPS her back down with a nasty mat slam that has Waterford reaching for the base of her spine with one hand and her dark locks with the other.
Hairpull Mat Slam (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7NM1qOUILA )
Elizabeth raises her arms and brushes her hands together as if she’s removing some of Her Ladyship’s strands from between her fingers. The self-proclaimed Best Brit Ever takes a stroll around the ring to rev up the hatred in Sammie’s legions, screaming at the assembled that Selfish Sammie deserved what she got.
The auburn-haired grappler returns to Waterford, the Londoner kneeling on her haunches, head droopy. But when Cromwell gets close enough, Lady Fiona springs to life, sending an uppercut into the tummy of the Boarding School Princess. Elizabeth folds slightly, a ‘gouuuf’ escaping her lips, then another when Fiona doubles up with another closed fist into Cromwell’s navel.
Lizzie puts it to a stop with a double-axhandle between the shoulderblades of her foe and Waterford is sent to all fours. Elizabeth sidles beside the champ and stomps her flat. Quickly grabbing Fiona’s dark locks with her left hand, Cromwell straddles her foe and draws Waterford’s head back, placing her right boot sole on the back of the Duchess’ neck. Releasing her foe’s locks, Lizzie curbstomps Fiona’s face into the deck, the titleholder’s features crashing into the canvas.
Hairpull Curbstomp (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4Wzo9j5w1I )
Waterford bounces back to all fours from the force of impact and the redhead grabs Fiona’s noggin with both hands to tug her up the rest of the way. Reaching vertical, a flustered Fee sends an elbow point into Lizzie’s midriff, doubling her over. She repeats and repeats, Cromwell’s dark eyes bugging. Freed, Fiona heads toward the ropes for some momentum but gets only a step before the Scouser snatches the end of Fiona’s strands and RIPS her down, the back of Waterford’s skull ‘thunking’ against the deck.
“Yeah,” Lizzie screams, pumping her first at Waterford then the FAWNatics. “I’m not anyone’s bestie anymore, I’m damn well a champ in the making.”
The crowd seems to disagree from the loud set of jeers aimed in the Brit’s direction, but Waterford has precious little to say on the topic as she struggles to sit up at Cromwell’s feet.
Again going for Fiona’s hair, Lizzie pulls Waterford’s head back to force the champ to look her in the eyes and drops a right into Her Ladyship’s forehead. Once isn’t nearly enough though, as Cromwell pops another couple in before the ref calls her on it. The BSP relents only to tug Waterford up and wrap her midriff in a bearhug from behind. Cromwell leans into the reeling Duchess, making the brunette carry her weight as she takes a bit of a break.
The freckled grappler forces a loud exhale with a Heimlich then spins the breathless brunette to face her, swinging an overhand right between the eyes of the royal. Fiona gets a left arm up to block the blow and rocks Cromwell with a righthanded response to Lizzie’s jaw. Cromwell is staggered for a moment, but returns fire, only to have Waterford block again and NAIL the auburn-haired Liverpool native, nearly spinning her in a 180. By the time Lizzie’s wobbly head returns, Waterford has another lined up and CRASHES it into Cromwell’s chin, putting the BSP on her backside.
Elizabeth manages to prop up on her palms, but her peepers are cloudy as Fiona shakes off her tough start. The FAWNatics cheer their lungs out at the fallen Lizzie. Waterford dips and wraps her hands on either side of Elizabeth’s braincase.
“Time to take your beating, dearheart,” Lady Waterford informs, tugging a somewhat shellshocked Cromwell to her feet before putting the Boarding School Princess on her heels with a European Uppercut. Staggering in a backpedal, Cromwell ends in a corner, arms flopping over the top ropes on either side, as the challenger fights to remain upright.
Her Ladyship quickly joins the redhead, scooping Elizabeth up under her thighs and planting her in a seated position atop the uppermost buckle. Turning toward the inside of the ring, Fiona climbs to the middle ropes and turns, reaching behind her to collect the dazed Lizzie onto her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Finally securing the squirming former friend of the Upstart Supreme, Waterford reclaims a straight and true stance and dives off her perch, PLANTING Lizzie into the canvas with her signature Channel Plunge.
Channel Plunge (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NR9RH1sORmU )
The delighted fans roar as Cromwell ends in a gobsmacked seat then melts to a spreadeagle in front of a kneeling Duchess. Not giving away any chance to dispense with a challenger, Fiona ignores the urge to make Cromwell pay for early success and simply drives her body into Lizzie’s with a full body pin, Fee trapping Elizabeth’s arms over her head at the wrists and ensuring Cromwell’s shoulders are down for…
ONE…
TWO…
But not THREE! Lizzie shows the fight that had made her a phenom before tough times followed and she rolls to her chest, slithering slowly toward the ropes.
Having quickly pushed to her feet, Fiona strides confidently behind, stomping the left hand of the BSP as Lizzie tries to crawl her way to a timeout. Cromwell howls in pain, drawing the digits close to her chest. Above her, the arrogance of the Eurasian champion is returned in full bloom, the ageless wonder a sight to behold for young and old alike.
“Remember when I took your lightweight title? When you were relevant?”
Fiona stomps the base of a mewling Lizzie’s spine and grinds her boot like she’s putting out a stale Pall Mall on Cromwell’s back.
“Some things don’t change.”
Fiona lifts her foot and stomps away a half-dozen times, trying to splinter Cromwell’s lower spinal column. Lady Waterford relents only to rip an aching Lizzie off the deck and snap suplex her once, twice and thrice, the redhead skidding to a stop after the third, yelping as she reaches for the base of her backbone.
Sanp suplexes (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w_4XqYidBUQ )
As Her Ladyship approaches, Cromwell butt scoots in reverse and throws out a plaintive palm, begging off from any more bullying from the champ. But the Duchess only uses the extended arm as a handle, wrapping a palm around the BSP’s wrist and tugging her clean off the deck. The dipping Fiona accepts her cargo across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry.
A desperately wriggling Elizabeth tries to sneak down the backside but the now domineering royal sends Lizzie tumbling off to the left and into a Waking Nightmare, Waterford’s neckbreaker across the knee leaving Cromwell a shell, seated but with no one home upstairs.
Waking Nightmare (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OCCuWlEcvU )
Fiona grabs both shoulders of her shellshocked foe and rips her from seated to flat on the canvas then dives atop her in a crossbody pin, collecting the…
ONE…
TWO…
Lizzie weakly kicks her way free, barely nudging the champion enough to stay alive. Lady Waterford is unconvinced the pin could have come up a slap short, moving to her knees, and staring a laser through the official, who apologetically holding up two fingers.
“Do you really want me to make an example out of you the way I am with this whelp?”
The man throws up his palms, begging off. Her Ladyship sinks her nails into Cromwell’s scalp and tugs the reeling BSP to her haunches in front of the champion. Fiona puts Lizzie’s noggin on a swivel with a nasty slap to her foe’s cheek. The sting seems to bring Cromwell around and she returns a forearm smash.
The crowd boos as Elizabeth connects and, when Waterford responds with one of her own, they boo again. Cromwell cracks back with another and Fiona returns fire. The crowd responds with each successive blow.
“BOOO…BOOO…BOOO…BOOO”
The Duchess finally puts an end to the chant, loading up an elbow and CRASHING it into the crown of Cromwell’s cranium. The auburn-haired grappler is ready to pool, but Waterford keeps her foe kneeling with a handful of her locks.
“I’m going to run you ragged, dearheart. Use you as a trophy. After beating Sharpe, Sinclair and you, no one will ever have a doubt I’ve supplanted London as the preeminent Englishwoman this organization has ever seen.”
Cromwell’s hands shoot forward and grab clumps of Fiona’s dark mane on either side of her head. Elizabeth’s braincase shoots forward, butting into Waterford’s nose. A cursing Duchess spins away from the BSP, hopping to her feet. Fee’s hands fly to her beak, checking to make sure her patrician features haven’t been altered.
Below, a fuming Elizabeth uses her shot of adrenaline to make it to vertical and chase after the ageless wonder. Showing she’s willing to use any means, Lizzie throws a clip into the back of Waterford’s left knee, trying to take out a wheel of the regal brunette. Fiona shrieks as she falls to the knee.
Cromwell lowers into a crouch as she spins to claim Fiona’s head in a front facelock. In a flash, she lays out, sending Waterford’s face CRASHING into the deck with a DDT. The force of the impact sends the champ barrel rolling to her back and the ginger dives atop for the…
ONE…
TWO…
And it’s not enough, the stubborn legend from East Anglia shoving Cromwell off, Elizabeth spilling to her back.
The Brits lie next to each other, huffing in deep breaths as they stare blankly at the rafters. Both turn toward each other and slam forearm shots into chests as they meet on their sides, both women knocked to their backs once more from the connections. Unwilling to be bested, they shift back to their sides, Fiona her right, Elizabeth her left, to come within range, and this time they tag each other with echoing chops that knock each other flat on their back again.
The FAWNatics, swept up in the appreciation of the savage will to win by both women, give both despised grapplers a well-earned round of applause.
Instead of rolling toward each other another time, brunette and redhead head in the opposite directions and slowly push to their feet. The younger Lizzie gets a jump on the ageless Duchess and sends a boot crashing into the left kneecap of the champion. Dropping Fiona to that knee, Cromwell slides alongside the royal and lifts a knee to the side of Fiona’s face, her hands gripping the opposite side of her foe’s noggin. Lizzie lays out and lands a vicious facebuster to the legendary Waterford, sending the Eurasian titleholder sprawling.
Facebreaker (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NKYGLhSKNqU )
Lizzie scrambles atop her rival, cradling one leg while grapevining the other for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Lizzie has a fit when Fiona gets a shoulder off the canvas with a split-second to spare. But instead of slapping the canvas, Cromwell lays her open hands to Waterford’s taut tummy, turning it from ivory-colored to rosy in the course of a half-dozen seconds.
Lifting Waterford by a wrist and shoulder as she rises, the energized Elizabeth drags the Duchess to the ropes and forces her foe’s face down on the rubber-coated steel. The redhead draaaags Her Ladyship’s peepers down the length of the rope to the nearest buckle, where she draws back Fiona’s head and slams the champ’s face into the buckle.
Unsatisfied, Lizzie continues her Saturday Evening Constitutional, drawing Fiona’s features along on a second trip, Her Ladyship shrieking all the way to the next buckle. The head of the blinded titleholder is yanked back and SLAMMED into buckle with even more force, a second wind fully catching Elizabeth’s sails.
The Boarding School Princess even has the energy back to give the crowd the bird, renewing the hatred Sammie’s legions feel for the turncoat. Cromwell bites her thumb at the great unwashed, determined to show Sinclair has been an anchor.
Pulling Waterford a step or two from the corner, Elizabeth slides alongside the reeling brunette. Lizzie wraps an arm around her foe’s head and neck then grapevines her near leg with that of the royal. Lizzie leans backward a tick, then throws her weight forward, violently delivering Fiona’s forehead into the thinly-covered plywood with her Silver Spoon Buster.
Silver Spoon Buster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9xJHZJyPIQ )
Her braincase bouncing off the mat, the crafty veteran rolls under the ropes and plops to the cement arena floor while Sammie’s former partner crawls after, failing to prevent Waterford’s escape.
Deciding the next best thing is to follow her out, Lizzie slides under and, unlike Lady Fiona, lands on her boot soles. Snatching Fiona by her long dark locks, she tugs the champion to her feet and buggywhips the veteran down the length of the ring, Waterford spinning into a clattering back-first collision with the steel barricade.
A demented smile creases Lizzie’s lips as she can feel and see the fortysomething fading. The redhead strides to the wincing Waterford, Her Ladyship leaning heavily against the metal. Grabbing another handful of hair, Cromwell leads Fiona to the stocks. Pushing her face close, she grabs Fee’s cheeks between thumb and forefinger and forces a fishface from the Duchess.
“You are SO going to regret trying to make a fool out of me with my own stocks, you old hag.”
The freckled beauty draws Fiona’s head back with the almost omnipresent hairpull Lizzie employs to control her foes and THUMPS Waterford’s forehead into the solid oak of which Cromwell had her device constructed. Fiona whips away from the impact, collapsing to her haunches. She groggily knee-walks to the apron’s edge and leans wearily against it while a delighted Elizabeth, smelling her first gold in a long while, taunts the FAWNatics.
“How’s bailing on Sammie look now? I’m doing what she couldn’t. Beat this old barn owl.”
Cromwell turns to find her foe, pulls her up to vertical, and stuffs her back into the ring before the tardy official can get to a disqualification. Lizzie follows her battered adversary back in and pops to her feet, trailing behind a crawling Waterford.
Lizzie shoves a boot into Fiona’s backside and the champion lurches forward but remains on all fours. Cromwell sticks another between Waterford’s cheeks and shoves. This time the Duchess splays to her chest, face down on the canvas. The redhead moves to a standing straddle of her foe and dips to collect both wrists. She tugs back on the limbs as she places her right sole behind the noggin of the brunette.
“Who’s the Best Brit?” Elizabeth asks.
“I AM,” Fiona grunts in return and pays for it with a curbstomp, her regal features THUMPING against the canvas, head bouncing off the thinly-covered plywood before Fee settles in a semiconscious starfish.
Elizabeth drops to her knees next to the titleholder and pushes Her Ladyship to her back, Fiona spreading wide. Lizzie leaps on top, pressing her body into Waterford’s in a lateral press, hooking a leg for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Fiona maintains her reign for the time being by throwing a shoulder up and Cromwell, on all fours next to her foe, throws a fit.
“I beat her,” she insists. “I did what Sammie couldn’t.”
The nearby crowd picks up on the insult and jeers the Boarding School Princess all the louder, which doesn’t do Her Ladyship much good when Cromwell fashions her right hand into a set of talons and sinks an underhand claw into Fiona’s crotch, driving it as far into the tender tissue as she can manage.
Fiona comes shrieking back to life, lifting to a seated position as her flower is squeezed by the rambunctious challenger.
“I am taking that title,” Lizzie screams. And she bears down on Waterford’s privates all the harder, tensing her digits and squeezing for all she’s worth. “QUIT. YOU OLD GOAT!”
Fiona, her dark eyes welling, lands a blistering slap to Lizzie’s face that disrupts Cromwell’s concentration enough the power in her claw lessens, but she reapplies and has Fiona squirming and mewling.
This time Waterford balls her fingers and lands a punch to the BSP’s jaw that swivels the head of the auburn-haired grappler. A follow-up, two-handed shove to Lizzie sends her sprawling and Fiona is freed from the challenger’s torment. She’s unable, however, to do much but curl into a fetal ball and massage below. Meanwhile, Cromwell pushes to her feet and staggers to a corner to find her bearings.
She shakes off the impact of Waterford’s blow and strides purposefully to the champion. Lizzie draws back a boot and sends it toward the center of the turtled Fiona, but the hands of the Duchess shoot out and wrap around the ankle of the redhead. Tugging, Fiona sends Elizabeth tumbling to the deck.
Her ladyship emerges from her ball and dives on top of Cromwell. The duo rolls wildly from side to side, a catfight breaking out in the middle of a championship match. The women tear at each other’s hair and nails are bared as they begin to barrel roll around the canvas. It’s the long-time veteran whose knee finds its way between Elizabeth’s legs for some nasty payback, Fiona thrusting it into Lizzie’s sex.
A loud groan emerges from the melee and the BSP is frozen in place, hands buried between her thighs. Waterford separates and rises to her feet.
“How dare you bring this match down to your level?” Fiona roars, landing a kick to Cromwell’s ribs that sends the redhead’s body into a spasm.
“You will show me the respect I’m due and lose without bringing me into your gutter.”
Fiona grabs the ankles of Cromwell and twists the challenger to her back. There, she knots Lizzie’s legs in a figure four, steps over the BSP and rolls Cromwell to her chest with a sharpshooter. But Waterford isn’t done. She drops into a full Tower Bridge, the signature that had made many a woman tap through the years.
Tower Bridge (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEMADIUmPzU )
Elizabeth howls in agony as her spine is stretched to the breaking point, her boots tapping against the crown of her noggin. The freckled warrior digs her nails into the canvas and starts to drag her hopes and prayers, along with her body, the long stretch of canvas to the ropes. It’s a torturous process but after a dozen grueling seconds, she reaches the cable and wraps a palm around it.
Elizabeth squeals for her release and after another four seconds of agony, a frustrated Fiona releases her grip. There’s a look of the barest amount of respect from the brunette as she seems impressed Lizzie could survive one of her favorite excruciating maneuvers. Still, it doesn’t prevent her from landing a farewell boot to Lizzie’s backbone before the champion backs away and raises her arms high and wide to a few cheers.
Waterford immediately pops her right arm upward, catching her bicep in her left palm to let the crowd know their support is not necessary or wanted. Cromwell is a bytch who deserves everything she’s about to get. But not for backstabbing Sammie. No. This would be for thinking she could claim Fiona’s moniker and title.
Waterford heads for the nearest set of buckles and climbs to a location that usually means only one thing, a maneuver that put Shea London’s Sensational Leg drop to shame. Reaching the top, Her Ladyship surveys a recovering Lizzie, the redhead slowly making her way up. Reaching her feet, the battered BSP is bent at the waist and it leaves herself open for a Flawless response.
Fiona skies from her perch, legs extended, and the left SLAMS into the back of Lizzie’s neck sending her plummeting to the canvas, Cromwell landing face first into the deck, knocked into next week.
Flawless Leg Drop (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VItGRzK2YKA )
Fiona shoves the remnants of the challenger to her back and spreads her weary body across in a lateral press, not bothering to hook the leg of the demolished Scouser for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOO!
Elizabeth shoves a shoulder up, weakly perhaps, but an inch or two off the mat nonetheless. The torn crowd both groans and revels in the match continuing, the assembled wanting to see the two despised women tear at each other longer.
On her haunches next to the splayed BSP, Fiona sweeps her fingers through her long dark locks. She looks to the rafters in disbelief that Elizabeth survives. And there’s a hint of ‘what do I do to beat this girl’ in her dark peepers.
Slowly, Lizzie is reviving and Fiona gives the younger woman a bytch slap for her pigheadedness.
“Who are you going to get to save you for THIS match?” Elizabeth asks groggily.
Face turning red, Fiona’s hands encircle Lizzie’s throat and the champ starts to throttle the redhead. Cromwell convulses in the grip as the ref first counts then pulls Waterford off the bug-eyed Boarding School Princess. On her feet, Her Ladyship shoves the striped-shirt away, berating him for touching her royal personage.
A coughing Lizzie is on her backside, having managed to reach a seat on the deck and Fiona uses that as her cue to resume the assault. She approaches with both hands leading the way, when Cromwell shots a boot out and catches Waterford in the left knee cap. A yelping Duchess drops to the bony joint, genuflecting in front of the challenger. Cromwell boots the right for good measure, sending the brunette to a kneel and the next salvo goes straight between the breasts of the champion, knocking Fiona over, Waterford folding atop herself, thighs on calves.
Elizabeth struggles to her feet, wincing from the abuse she’s suffered. She limps alongside the folded Fiona and lifts off with a more modest leg drop that finds Waterford’s throat and sends a shudder through the champion’s frame.
Elizabeth leaves her left leg draped across the neck and shoulders of her foe and the official is obliged to count for…
ONE…
TWO…
Her Ladyship shoves the limb off and protects her regal reign once more. Before a recovering Lizzie can take full advantage, Waterford unfolds her legs out from beneath her. The weary women push up, cloudy gazes set in opposite directions.
Each turns seeking the other and it’s the younger legs that flash first, Cromwell digging a toe kick into the flat tummy of the ageless wonder. Waterford doubles over with a loud, bursting exhale. Lizzie follows up with a raised knee to Fiona’s forehead. The freckled warrior grabs Waterford’s hair with both hands and genuflects behind her. She pulls the champ down as she drops and DRIVES Fee’s spine into bended knee with a hairpull backbreaker.
Hairpull backbreaker (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLjm9anYvbE )
Fiona crumples in a heap and Cromwell spreads her foe out on the mat like butter on toast, covering her for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
Now it’s Lizzie’s turn to wonder how she can put away the Grande Dame of FAWN. Cromwell stares down at Waterford in wonder and sinks her nails into the favorite part of her foe’s anatomy, her foe’s long mane. She draws a dilapidated Fiona to her feet and favors her with a head-rattling European Uppercut.
“Time for retirement, Your Ladyship. Before someone less polite than me takes you somewhere you don’t want to end. Me? I just want my title.”
Elizabeth batters Fiona with a right cross that spins the champ in a 180 and she falls to her knees, leaning against the ropes. Cromwell sinks her nails into Waterford’s scalp and tugs her upper half through the rubber-coated steel cables, yanking Lady Fiona to her feet. With a pair of handfuls of hair, she wrenches Fiona’s head backwards, trying to displace a few vertebrae while removing some follicles.
Rope-trapped Hair Pull (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLjm9anYvbE )
After a delayed four-count, Lizzie releases her grip and Fiona melts to the mat, the ferocity of the match showing on the long-time veteran. She puddles at Cromwell’s feet and Elizabeth raises her arms, making a signal this match is at an end with a sweep of those limbs outwardly.
Elizabeth dips and collects Fiona’s head in her hands and ‘helps’ the thrashed champion to her feet for a Prep School Expulsion. Securing a front facelock on Fiona, Lizzie slips under the champ’s opposite arm and vaults Waterford in the air toward her doom.
Prep School Expulsion (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OLjm9anYvbE )
But as Her Ladyship reaches her peak, she slips over the right shoulder of the Boarding School Princess and lands behind the startled redhead. Lizzie spins to face her foe and gets a delving toe kick to the tummy for her trouble.
A grunting Lizzie bends at the waist and Fiona collects her in a front facelock. Slipping her head under Cromwell’s opposite arm, it’s Fiona’s turn to vault her rival into the air, but the younger competitor has no response when Her Ladyship sends Cromwell skyward and pirouettes into a violent, skull-crushing brainbuster.
Spinning Brainbuster (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYl3kwAM4fc )
A flaccid Elizabeth flops into a motionless heap and Waterford spread her out into a semiconscious starfish. But instead of going for the pin, Waterford grabs both ankles and maneuvers them into a familiar figure four. With the legs knotted, the champion turns in a 180, mounting Cromwell in a reverse standing straddle while maintaining the knotted limbs of the BSP.
As earlier in the match, the crowd roars at the sight of Elizabeth howling in pain, and when Fiona drops into her torturous arch, the Tower Bridge is fully locked. This time, Waterford doesn’t just bring Cromwell’s boot soles to her braincase but over them and they touch the canvas in front of the redhead’s face, Cromwell in an ungodly position
Tower Bridge (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rEMADIUmPzU )
It takes but a few seconds for the ginger challenger to howl her surrender, tapping the canvas furiously to make additionally clear she’s had more than enough.
The overturned grin of Fiona emerges as she maintains the submission as long as she’s able before the threat of disqualification arises. Releasing the limbs of the sobbing Cromwell, Her Ladyship rolls to her feet and offers her wrist to the official for him to raise, but the man reminds Fiona there is a task yet to accomplish.
The brunette sinks her nails into Cromwell’s auburn locks with one hand and presses into a shoulder with the other. The champ runs Lizzie to the ropes and bum-rushes her through, Cromwell spilling all the way to the thinly-padded cement floor, not a stone’s throw from Elizabeth’s own calling card, the set of wooden stocks.
Waterford steps through and drops her boot soles next to the demolished challenger. She plucks Cromwell off the floor and leads the wobbly Brit to the oaken device. Popping the top, Lady Fiona pushes the stocks open and drops the freckled challenger’s head and arms inside, then traps the would-be usurper in place.
Snapping and locking Elizabeth in a completely vulnerable stance, Waterford lashes Cromwell’s cheek with an echoing slap that brings some life back to Lizzie. Eyes wide and flashing, the BSP struggles within the grasp of the device, the FAWNatics loving every second as Cromwell gets hers, the backstabbing of her friend Sammie gaining her nothing in the end but a disgrace she’d never forget.
The zebra waves to the announcer and he makes it official.
“Your winner…and STILL Eurasian Champion….the Duchess of East Anglia…Lady Fiona Waterford!”
The official raises Fiona’s right arm high and just as quickly Her Ladyship rips it down and goes nose to nose with the beaten Lizzie.
“Never, child,” she taunts, “Never will you reach my level. But at least now you won’t have to waste your time dreaming of ever doing so.”
Fiona slides behind Cromwell and pulls down her foe’s trunks to expose Elizabeth’s bared backside. She cracks an open palm across boarding school booty and Lizzie yips from the sting and the humiliation. Waterford follows with another half-dozen, Cromwell’s bum turning rosy under the abuse, until Her Ladyship seems satisfied.
“Never trouble me again or I won’t be so lenient.”
One final smack brings a pained yelp from the blubbering Cromwell and, with that, Lady Fiona heads for the exit, champion still. She collects her gold from the timekeeper and strides on her exhausted but merry way, leaving the FAWNatics to ridicule Elizabeth mercilessly and for the crew to lead Cromwell up the ramp still trapped where, only behind the curtain, would she hand over the key to let loose the humbled urchin.