Post by bigfan on Apr 3, 2018 18:35:17 GMT
With Ringworkers Union 365 having dutifully set up the padded pit, a bevy of bikini-clad attendants got to work covering the entirety of the blue plastic-covered, 15-by-15 foot square with buckets of baby oil. The crowd hooted and hollered as the eye candy completed their slippery task, the assembled roaring when one auburn-haired lass accidentally fell into the translucent goo and emerged with a shiny polish. Grinning from ear to ear, it’s hard to tell if the freckled ‘groundskeeper’ made a purposeful splash to have eyes turned in her direction.
Either way, when "Exotic” by Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull reverberates through the arena’s speakers, that particular piece of cheesecake and her helpers had the good sense to head for the hills, not wanting to raise the ire of an Empress. The FAWNatics turned as one to the upper stage and let loose with a deafening round of jeers and catcalls.
EXOTIC:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU
The curtains part and conspicuous by its absence were the cadre of musclebound men who usually carried the Bollywood Bombshell to her battles. Instead, the ‘exotic’ grappler’s bare feet provided her own locomotion.
AMARA SINGH:
The Indian grappler’s bronzed skin was set off in perfect contrast to the white bikini Singh decided would be perfect for the pit and from the relative slackjawed silence, it seems many in the audience agreed with her verdict.
As Amara heads down the ramp, the Announcer officially heralded the arrival of the subcontinent’s greatest export.
"Our next match is one fall with a twenty minute time limit and is an Oil Pit Extravaganza. Coming down the aisle, hailing from Cawnpore, India, she stands at five feet six inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty-three pounds. She is the Golden Empress… AMARA SINGH!”
Reaching pit-side, Singh climbed the steps to the slightly elevated battlefield, no ropes to slide between to reach the combat zone. She walked the rim of hardwood stage surrounding the spongy pit as the remainder of PeeCee and the feat’ing Pitbull faded to leave only the boos of the crowd. Singh sneered and stepped into the greasy shallow crater, the feel of oil coursing between her toes eliciting a look of concern. Amara could seemingly feel the weight, knowing every person in the crowd had by now found through their social media the gruesome truth; the Raven had humbled her in her own oily backyard.
The hesitance was but a moment and Singh set her opposite foot into the warzone, gliding to the corner opposite from where she’d entered. With no point in waiting to familiarize herself with the environment, this ‘arena pit’ on a much grander scale than those she’d entered previously, Singh lowered to her haunches to cover her legs in the slippery substance then scooped some off the floor in each cupped hand and rubbed it across her breasts then her coppery, toned tummy.
The crowd’s anger subsided with the eye-catching show, the throng of unworthy peasants distracted by the shimmering, bronzed curves of the Bombshell.
An echoing shout from Amara, “Get that pale-ass peasant out here…at once,” helped the FAWNatics regain their focus, jeering at the despised Empress louder than ever.
Singh’s challenge was still fresh in the air when the speakers kicked into Kula Shaker’s cover of ‘Hush’ The cheers in Orlando were almost unanimous. Emily’s longtime lieutenant wasn’t anyone’s idea of a traditional babyface, but she’d apparently ascended to that level where she was just too damned good not to cheer. Those in attendance provided more evidence for this hypothesis when the woman in question strolled through the curtain to another round of raucous cheers, not to mention several thousand examples of her trademark sigil.
LENORE LEMARCHAND:
Allowing herself the smallest of smiles, the limber brunette hooked her thumbs together but didn’t raise her own raven to the rafters until the Announcer bellowed, “And introducing her opponent! Representing the Black Court, she hails from Glen Echo Michigan, stands at five feet seven inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and twenty three pounds. She is the Fair and Radiant Maiden known as LENORE LEMARCHAND!”
Pleased with the emphatic reception, Lemarchand offered the crowd a nod, then turned her attention to the woman glaring at her from the far side of the oil pit. Where her opponent had come through the curtain with her togs on full display, Emily’s Lady in Waiting chose to draw out the mystery by sheathing herself in a black silk robe that stopped a few inches above the knee. Still perched atop the stage, she reached for the knotted sash, then drew back and waggled her finger ‘no, no, no!’. Smirking in the face of the good natured disappointment from those closest, the limber brunette stunner quickly made her way down the ramp and up the steps leading to the edge of the oversized pit.
Once there she met Amara’s gaze for a moment, then pointedly turned her back to face the crowd. No feint the second time ‘round, Lemarchand undid her sash with a single nimble tug and shrugged the robe off her shoulders. Beneath was sporty fightin’ two piece in a deep, royal purple that accentuated her ivory complexion so well it seemed to glow.
Finally turning her attention to the Empress once the latest round of whistles died down, Lenore stepped down into the pit, sank to her haunches and quickly applied oil to her arms, shoulders, tummy and thighs. Then she stood up, trailed shiny fingers across the trim plane of her midsection and ‘flicked’ a mist of oil in the other brunette’s direction.
“Look at all those cameras, Amara.” FAWN production alone has nearly a dozen trained on the pit from every conceivable angle and then, THEN there’s the hundreds, no, thousands of cameras in the audience. They’re all honed in on you, princess. They people finally know what happened in Mumbai. And tonight they’re going to get a much better view of the action.”
Amara sneered and flipped the Courtier off, but she stayed in her corner, seemingly content to plot her rival’s destruction for a few more seconds.
The tension between the brunettes was palpable, almost unbearable in fact. And yet when the bell sounded there were no snarled curses, no catty oaths, no inarticulate banshee screams. Instead Amara and Lenore approached one another in silence, Empress and Raven closing to a distance that would’ve seen them touching if either had taken a deep breath.
Regarding the American with a cold confidence that was miles from her usual haughty disdain, the Bollywood Bombshell murmured, “You’re going to regret posting that footage, peasant. And by the time our contest is through whatever victory you savored in Mumbai will taste of nothing but ash.” She strode forward, chesting into the Courtier so forcefully that Lemarchand ceded half a step.
“Contrary to what you believe, I didn’t post that footage.” Lenore replied. “In fact, I didn’t even know it existed before it appeared on the FAWN messageboard. But I’m glad it does. And I’m delighted that one of your fans saw fit to share, what did they call it? Oh yes, ‘Amara’s Oily Shame’ with the rest of the wor--”
Proximity didn’t allow Singh full extension on her delivery, but the Bytch Slap still connected solidly enough to twist Lemarchand’s head to one side. “Tonight I teach you about shame.” Amara purred it into Lenore’s ear to ensure she was heard over the ‘ooooohhhhhh’ of the crowd. “Tonight you renounce Emily West as your queen and proclaim Amara Singh your one true Empr--”
Lenore dipped down, thrust a shoulder into Singh’s belly and braced splayed hands against those bronzed thighs. In the span between heartbeats she straightened up and PUSHED, sending the former Eurasian Champion flipping up, over and down in an oil-shined Back Body Drop that planted Singh on her tush with damp plop!
Such a landing in the squared circle would’ve sent a jolt of pain up Amara’s spine, in the Pit it resulted in an expression of surprise that curdled into volcanic fury when Emily’s Lady in Waiting spun around in front of her and thrust that damned Raven sigil mere inches from her nose. “You’re no Empress, Amara.” Lemarchand taunted. “You’re just a washed up actress with delusions of OOOFFFHH!”
Now it was Singh that slammed a shoulder into Lemarchand’s navel, but instead of a Backdrop she hooked the other brunette behind the knees and put her on her back with a swift Double Leg Takedown. Incensed in a way she hadn’t felt since that disgusting English trollop stole her Championship, Amara put one hand on Lenore’s hip to hold her in place while she pak-pak-PAAAKED a trio of punches into her navel. It probably would’ve been a lot more than three if Lemarchand hadn’t abruptly brought her legs up and closed them around Amara’s waist with an audible ‘smeck’!
Amara’s dark eyes went wide before the first squeeze, then narrowed to agonized slots as the Courtier applied gut-churning pressure. Acting with the frantic alacrity of a woman evading a well known threat, Singh put both hands on Lenore’s knees and shoved down while simultaneously exploding up off her knees. The force of her response combined with the newness of the Scissors allowed the Empress what looked like an effortless escape, though the tension in her shoulders and thighs said otherwise. On her feet for all of a second before she went down on one knee, Amara steadied her breathing and shook her head ‘no’. “Never again, little bird.” she promised. “Tonight it is you who will plead for mercy in the vise of my legs.”
Lenore shifted from her butt to her knees, the Courtier letting her hands rest on the smooth planes of her thighs. “Oh, so you DID plead in Mumbai? I wasn’t sure you had the guts to admit it.”
Singh’s upper lip curled in a hateful snarl. “You’ll learn to address me with respect, you skinny bytch.”
Lemarchand patted her thighs, then raised her hands and invited the Bombshell forward. “Not at that distance, I won’t. You want respect, Amara? Come over here and earn it.”
“An Empress does not rise to the challenge of peas--”
A resounding CRAAACK swallowed by the cheers of the FAWNatics when Lenore delivered a scintillating overhand slap to the curve of Amara’s right breast. “Come and get me, EMPRESS.” Lenore put hateful, dismissive emphasis on the last word. “Or I’ll slap those overrated tits right out of your EERRRHH!”
Singh caught the Raven by the hair, wrenched her head backward and would’ve slapped her face into the upper deck if the brunette hadn’t caught her wrist at the last second. The impromptu Wristlock soon gave way to a spirited Knucklelock, each woman making a concentrated effort to gouge her nails into the soft skin between her opponent’s fingers. Knowing full well there was no official to complain about her tactics, Singh shifted her grip on Lenore’s hair, digging her claw in just above the nape of the other woman’s neck. “Your humiliation will know no end, peasant.” Amara promised as Lemarchand hissed through the forceful scalp stimulation. “I’ll break your body with my Scissors and your spirit with my Camel Clutch. And when the time comes to take your pride, that will disappear into my NGH!”
Lemarchand silenced her with a single snappy Backhand, then caught Amara’s cheeks between thumb and forefinger and pressed them together in an entirely undignified fish-face. “I’ve got a thousand different ways to make you suffer tonight.” Lenore hissed. “But if it’s humiliation you’re interested in I’ll be happy to show you how a true queen breaks in a new thro--”
Singh wrenched her hand free of the Knucklelock, pinked Lemarchand’s cheek with another stiff slap, then curled that hand into a claw, which she affixed to the slim curve of her opponent’s left breast. “You will beg.” Amara promised as her nails did their wicked work. “In front of the whole world, you will beg for the mercy of the Golden EmpNGH! NGH! NGH!”
Lenore abandoned her own claw, balled both hands into fists and pounded Bollywood belly with a machinegun quick left-right-left flurry! After that she got right back into the claw game, or rather the pincer game, as she honed in on the former Eurasian champ’s nipples through the slick material of her bikini top. “Begging’s more your area of expertise, Amara.” the Raven snapped. “Or did you forget all that whining right before I buried your nose in my UUUNNNNNNGGGHHH!”
Amara hit the other brunette with a hard slap across the mouth, then swatted the pincers away and scooted in close. Cinching her arms around Lemarchand’s waist while the Courtier was still recovering, Amara knotted her hands in the hollow of opposing back and drew her close with a rib-crushing Bear Hug. “Yield to me, peasant.” Singh taunted after the first warm groan puffed against her ear. “Yield and I may let leave you with just enough strength to crawl from this pit on your miserable bellMMMMPPPPHHH!”
Lenore coiled her arms around the back of Singh’s head and pulled her face-first into the slopes of her cleavage! Even gripping her elbows for extra leverage (which she did immediately, Em’s tutorials had been quite clear on that) the Raven simply wasn’t built to deliver the sort of Front Sleeper that ended fights, but the unexpected application loosened the pressure on her ribs, especially when she scrubbed the Bombshell’s mug back n’ forth a few times. Sensing her grip was at least momentarily stronger, Lemarchand twisted to one side and managed to roll Singh onto one hip. From there she slung a leg over and pulled Amara close. It wasn’t a Scissors, she just wanted to make sure Singh knew the squeeze was never far away.
Sensing Lenore was attempting to mount her, Amara’s forced to give up her embrace and pushed away from the Raven. The slick sheen on her coppery frame let Singh slip free from Lemarchand’s grip above while she pushed off the glistening, ivory abs of her foe. Separating by a few feet, both women scrambled to kneeling positions, facing each other, the Indian flagpole straight, Lenore comfortable on her haunches, looking every bit the contented Oil Baroness the FAWNatics named her.
A frustrated Singh slapped the cushioned pit floor, a loud THWACK and a spray of baby oil sent flying.
“You’ve made an awful mistake, Empress,” Lenore purred. “But apparently you were always condemned to do so out of ignorance and arrogance.”
Amara fumed, sweeping oily, ebony locks off her forehead and over an ear. Until she paid the Raven back for the debacle in Mumbai, there wasn’t much point in arguing her case. She needed to leave Lemarchand a sopping rag-doll to win any debate. The Bollywood Bombshell knee-walked toward her pit mate, the Black Courtier rising off her haunches to meet in a straight-up tie-up.
There’s nothing fancy as the women snatched each other’s shoulders, trying to topple the other to a side and leap on top. About the same height, Amara had ten to fifteen pounds of extra ballast and she dropped her backside to her calves when she felt she was losing her balance. Dipping and driving forward, Singh secured another tight hug around the midriff of the Raven, cinching tight, drawing a gasp.
Singh’s lowered head allowed Lenore to collect a Front Facelock, but Amara was already showing her strength and dexterity by rising to her feet with Lemarchand in her grasp. Lenore’s dark eyes showed more than a hint of concern, particularly when Amara reached vertical. Singh gave the Raven’s body a rattle, Lenore working to stabilize her position by grapevining her legs around the derriere and thighs of the Empress.
Singh tried to throw Lenore to the pit floor but Lemarchand was attached like a bulldog on a soup bone. Seeing no alternative, Singh dove forward to splash Lenore under her weight and indeed a bursting exhale was driven from Lenore when she’s sandwiched back to the oily plastic surface, but the Raven’s grip on Singh’s skull also acted as a crudely fashioned DDT, the crown of Amara’s cranium spiked into the pit floor.
The somewhat spongy surface saved Singh to a degree. But her neck still wasn’t the ideal shock absorber and she flopped to her side in a dazed and wide spreadeagle, an inviting sight.
However, Lemarchand was in a breathless starfish herself, both women desperate to attack but momentarily unable. Long seconds passed as the nervous crowd looked on. There were precious few ways out of the pit and a double count out was thankfully not one. One woman would have to emerge from the oil with her foe surrendering or being delivered to unconsciousness.
Recovering almost simultaneously, they spun their legs toward each other, sharing the same thought of securing a Bodyscissors to squeeze the fight out of their foe. But now with soles touching, the combatants used their glistening legs to parry; each lower limb used like a staff, trying to break through defenses.
Soles met again and they pressed against each other in an unusual but eye-catching test of strength. Amara slowly but surely extended her legs, forcing the alabaster stems of Lenore to fold, knees quickly pressed tight to her chest. A flustered Raven huffed as she tried to press her way out of the tight tuck. There wasn’t anything particularly dangerous about the position, but Lenore would be damned if she’d be made to look weaker than the subcontinental starlet in any fashion.
For that very reason, Lemarchand grit her teeth and tried to extend her currently crumpled gams. The Raven gained ground as it appeared Amara may have shot her wad. After Lenore reached all the way back to a stalemate, both grapplers’ legs high, meeting in a 90-degree angle above and in front, Singh slipped one of her soles off Lenore’s, ending the ‘foot fight’ when her right heel descended between the legs of the Black Courtier, DRIVING into Lenore’s kitty.
An agonized howl emanated from the previously pursed lips of the Raven. There was no denying the atomic blast of a connection it seemed Amara may have suckered Lemarchand into. The Bombshell grooooound her heel into Lenore’s tenderized flesh, Lemarchand yelping as her hands surrounded the ankle of the invading appendage, trying to thrust it out.
Unable to do so, she started to pull Amara’s right leg toward her instead, thankfully removing the heel from the throbbing juncture of her thighs. Scissoring the limb as well as she’s able, Lenore began to violently twist the ankle outward. It’s Amara’s turn to wail like a banshee. She thrashed about, trying to pull her limb from the Raven’s possession. With the Courtier’s center still pumping pain in waves, Lenore’s Scissors was far from her strongest and a barrage of fists administered to her ivory inner thighs loosened Amara’s predicament all the more.
Pushing Lenore’s gleaming alabaster legs wider, Amara shifting her captured leg as far to the right between those of Lenore as she could, Singh opened an alley and sank a set of ruby-tipped nails into the thinly-sheathed privates of the Raven, Lenore crying out in unison with Amara when Lemarchand again tried to unscrew the Bombshell’s foot from the rest of her leg.
Amara’s vengeful, clenching left hand overwhelmed the Raven’s ability to process and she released the leg of the Empress in order to crunch her abs to reach a seated position and pry at the left wrist of her foe instead of the right ankle.
“They’re going to have to surgically remove me from your nethers, peasant,” Amara shouted, flashing her perfect pearlies in a growl. The Bombshell rotated her body to bring her leg out from between Lenore’s, all the while keeping her claw buried in the crotch of the evil wench.
Singh faced forward toward Lenore, left hand deeply ensconced, right palm pressing into the oily surface beside Lemarchand’s bum, Amara’s knees on the pit floor to keep herself elevated.
“Surrender to your better,” the oily Empress demanded.
Lenore’s right hand trailed away from its prying on Amara’s wrist and cracked a slap across the coppery cheek of the Indian. A raging Singh ignores the taste being removed from her mouth by the Raven.
“I said surrender, peasant!”
Lenore ignored the command with little more than a shake of her head. The anguish radiating from her center however, was nigh impossible to dismiss. Hunching forward to get that much closer to her tormentor, the Courtier continued to worry and rake at Singh’s clawin’ wrist, while her other hand plunged deep into the former Eurasian Champion’s slick hair.
Amara hissed with displeasure when Lemarchand tried to remove a great patch of her scalp, but she refused to relent on her underhanded grip. Twisting her head so one cheek was nestled on the other woman’s shoulder, Singh bore down and purred, “When I’m done tonight no one will remember the freak accident that was Mumbai. All they’ll remember is that hot afternoon on the beach and that cold night in March when the haughty Raven was reduced to a whimpering plaything in the hands of the Golden EmpOOOFFFFHHH!”
Lenore released her hold on Singh’s wrist and stuffed a short, mean punch into Amara’s slick belly. The claw loosened somewhat, so Lemarchand landed two more punches, each hitting their target with a wet PWAK! After the third Lenore spread her hand wide for a claw of her own, though she didn’t affix hers to the Bombshell’s center. Instead she jammed her index finger into Singh’s navel and proceeded to clamp down on a whole lot of Empress tummy! “You’re confident now.” Emily’s Lady in Waiting growled through clenched teeth. “But don’t forget I’ve seen panic in your eyes, Amara. I heard the despair in your voice when you begged me not to smother you in front of AAAAWWWWWWW BYTCH!”
Amara pulled her other hand off the floor of the pit, grabbed hold of Lemarchand’s waistband and tried to split her in half with a wedgie! The shock of it caused Lenore to lose her grip on Singh’s midsection, which in turn allowed the Indian stunner to knock her onto her back with a truncated Shoulderblock. Infuriated by the mere mention of her ignominious showing back home, Amara lifted one leg and slung it over Lenore’s waist, twisting around as she did so to maintain her hold on opposing trunks while also settling into a heavy seat on her prey’s stomach. Redoubling her efforts with the Crotch Claw, Singh ignored the growing cramp in her hand by hooking her free arm around Lemarchand’s right leg and stuffing it under her armpit in a Half Matchbook.
“Beg for my mercy, peasant!” Amara bellowed over Lenore’s shrieks and the FAWNatics repeated plea of ‘PLEASE DON’T TAP!’ Granted unfettered access to the brunette’s trunks thanks to the compromising position, Singh narrowed her focus to the outlines of Lemarchand’s womanhood, clearly limned against the lycra of her trunks. “Shriek your folly to the world and perhaps I’ll make you my palanquin instead of my throUUUUUNNNNNNNNGGGGGGHHHHHH!”
Lenore didn’t have the leverage to throw her opponent off, but she made the Bollywood Brat’s perch infinitely more uncomfortable when she kicked her other leg up and slipped it under Amara’s arms. Ankles locked, she SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZED down on a Bodyscissors that ended Singh’s tawdry assault in mere seconds.
Hands braced against the floor of the pit to keep Lemarchand from forcing her down any farther, Amara shook her head ‘no’ and huffed. “You’re not getting away so easily, peasEERRRRRHHH!”
Lenore bore down again, the pressure of her calves forcing the point of Singh’s chest into the top of her own décolletage. “Nothing easy about this, Empress.” the Raven grunted as she continued to pour on the power. “Hope you’re ready to kiss that NNNNNNGGGHH!”
Amara let out a roar as she pushed up and slid backward, the powerful exotique settling down with her backside squarely on Lemarchand’s chest. This new arrangement didn’t end the Scissors, but it did give Singh the vantage point to flatten her hands into paddles and thus spankity-spankity-spank-spank-SPANK the bendyback’s rock-hard glutes. “YOU BELONG TO ME!” Amara roared even as the welts began to rise on Lenore’s haunches. “ADMIT IT OR BE DESTROYNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHHH!”
Lemarchand answered with an equally hateful scream and her strongest constriction yet, one that also came with a thrust from her hips. Unprepared for the power her adversary could muster from even this disadvantageous position, Singh was thrown forward and down, the Empress landing on her chest and belly with a heavy THWHAP! Almost sobbing with relief in the aftermath of that prolonged trunk mugging, Lenore fought off the urge to disengage and instead made sure her ankles were crossed snug against the base of the other woman’s neck. Keenly aware that Singh’s legs were dangerous weapons in their own right, the Raven slid out from under the encroaching stems and snuggled in against Amara’s left hip and thigh, all the better to cinch her arms around the Indian’s knees.
Patient despite her burning desire to make Amara Singh wail at the top of her lungs, Lenore alternately tensed and relaxed the Scissors, occasionally changing her tempo to ensure the Bombshell could never quite prepare for the next round of punishment. Not only that, she diligently shifted her knotted feet in time with Singh’s wriggling head, the Courtier doing her damndest to keep Amara’s proud features snug against the floor of the pit. “Mumbai wasn’t a fluke, no matter how much you wish it was, Empress.” Lenore only spoke once the pain in her nethers faded to a tolerable degree. “The fact is you came in expecting a repeat of the beach and I made you pay for it. Been a long time since anyone punished you like that, am I right?” Singh didn’t answer at once, so Lemarchand halved her grip on the Empress’s stems and delivered a stinging swat to those coppery cheeks. “I asked you a question, princess!”
Amara cursed, tried to set her knees, but Lenore’d already reapplied the Bear Hug around her thighs. “If anything bested me that day,” she muttered after several more seconds of pained wriggling. “It was my own hubris, not any skill on your GGGUUUUUUHHHH!”
Lenore relinquished the leg control to sit up and bear down, the extra leverage allowing her to force Amara’s face against the slick floor of the pit. “What was that, Amara? Maybe you should take your lips off the mat before you try to answer!” Eager to dish out a little more punishment, the Raven lifted her right hand out of the oil and set to work on Singh’s bottom with a fusillade of slaps that had the Bollywood Bombshell cringing and twisting with every CRAACKING delivery.
Galled by the spindly little brat’s control, Amara fought every the indignity every step of the way, but it wasn’t until she managed a hold of Lemarchand’s left foot that she managed to loosen the Scissors even a little bit. Fully committed to twisting Lenore’s toes clean off, Singh earned a single angry yowl before Emily’s Lady in Waiting brought her right heel up and THWHONKED it against the base of her skull. Amara’s world went woozy but her breathing improved immediately because Lemarchand abandoned the Scissors in favor of a seat on the pits of the Indian’s knees. Safe for the moment, Lenore carefully adjusted her distended briefs, then crossed her wrists to craft a careful ’X’. With the thumb and index finger of each hand curved into a wicked ’C’ she worked those narrow hooks into the deep crease between Amara’s thighs and buttocks.
Eyes going wide as she felt the rest of Lenore’s fingers settle against her inner thighs, Amara pushed up on one hand and reached backward with the other. “Don’t you dare, peasAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHH!” Singh howled in pain, her hands flying to her own hair as Lemarchand set about destroying her thighs with a white-knuckled Hammy Clamp!
“The oil is mine, Empress.” Lenore purred to her wriggling victim. “You can cede it to me, or I can take it by force.”
Her legs pinioned to the oily surface by Lenore’s mass, Amara shook her upper body from side to side, trying to work some slack under the Raven’s form, but the claw into the nerve bundle of her left thigh made it nigh impossible.
Hands leaving her oily, ebony mop, Amara dug them into the slimy plastic of the pit and, unsurprisingly, there’s little to gain. In a standard ring, she might’ve been able to pull her way to a set of ropes and plead for a break, but in the pit there was no such escape hatch.
Lenore leaned forward, forcing her weight into the delving digits, increasing the pressure and pain from the clamp. Amara’s left leg felt strangely petrified and yet somehow pain radiated from it.
Stifling sobs as best she could, Singh resorted to what she had left.
“You’re trying to win a match with Sanders’ move?!” she yelped. “A knockoff of the woman who owns Emily?! I don’t think Em will be hapAHHHHGAWWWD.”
Lenore dug in deeper whether for punishment or simply to continue her convincing.
“If you want to be Kylie…”
A sob interrupted the Bombshell’s follow-up then a sigh of relief when the Raven retracted her claws.
As Lenore rose off Singh’s trapped stems, Amara’s able to slither forward on her bronzed belly, dragging her left leg like deadweight, imprints of Lenore’s fingers still in place in the Empress’ thigh, just below the curve of her glute.
Dark eyes flitting from side to side, Amara gave into the fear of not being able to see her foe and rolled to her back. The sinewy brunette was vertical and only a couple steps from her toes. Singh folded her still functioning right foot and pressed into the oily plastic to create more space, but the sole of her foot glided over and she barely moved an inch.
“Don’t think your little jibe about the feckless farm girl made a difference,” Lenore assured. “I just want to see your face when you surrender your claim to the pit.”
Amara raised and extended her palms. ‘washing windows’ with the extended, flattened hands.
“I’m sorry, Baroness,” Amara pleaded, her husky voice quivering.
Closing the space between them in two strides, Lenore found Singh had fight remaining. Singh thrust her folded right leg forward, slamming her foot into the Raven’s left shin, forcing Lenore to genuflect.
Just as quickly, she swung the right foot up in a sidewinding arc and CLAPPED it into the left temple of the Black Courtier, sending the sinewy, ivory-skinned grappler flopping to her side. Dark eyes glassy, Lenore shook some cobwebs while failing to realize Amara was butt-scooting forward, slipping her left leg under the Raven’s body while bracketing her right leg atop.
Locking the Scissors around each set of ribs, Amara hooked her feet at the ankles and pressed up on her left palm to squeeze every bit of pressure into the cinching limbs. The maneuver drew a yip and a wince from Lemarchand, but then a more forceful response as she pounded a fist into the upper leg.
Her left (lower) leg, already shuddering, not fully recovered from Lenore’s Hammy Clamp, Singh seemed to realize her Scissors would not hold for long and, indeed, Lemarchand started to push her way out with the help of the oily sheen on her alabaster frame.
The Bollywood Bombshell gave up her noose, lifting her right leg and SLAMMING it down in guillotine fashion into the left side of her foe. Grunting as she flopped to her back, Lenore left herself open for a follow-up, this time Amara’s coppery limb dropping like a blunted blade into the abdomen of the Courtier.
Lenore went bug-eyed, jackknifing around the impact point, her taut tummy giving way under the collision, enough so that she gasped for breath. Lemarchand shoved Amara’s leg up successfully, only to realize Singh was assisting in the ascendance. The Empress tried to cut her foe in half, SLAMMING the limb down into the Raven’s gulping greasy belly.
“GUUUUUPFFF!”
Another pained ‘V’ formation from Lenore before she settled back to the glistening surface, gutted and groaning.
Amara grimaced as she tugs her still ‘sleepy’ left leg out from under Lenore’s body and rose to her knees. She massaged her left thigh, bringing the limb back to life as Lenore drew in some deep breaths and started to roll away from her rival.
With Lemarchand on her chest after a half-turn, Amara leapt on the Raven’s back. She sank her nails into Lemarchand slickened mane and RAMMED her forehead into the padded plastic. It’s a cushioned and lessened impact but it still scrambled a few brain cells of the Courtier; enough the Bombshell was able to move from a full body-on-body position to a forward straddling, crouching mount.
It wasn’t only clear to the FAWNatics what the Empress has planned. Even in her rattled state, Lenore knew to extend her arms in front of her, desperate to prevent the Indian from posting each limb over a bended knee and test the flexibility of her backbone like only Amara could.
This proved an effective, albeit inelegant defense, at least until Singh helped herself to the other woman’s hair instead. Wrenching Lemarchand’s head back at a savage angle, Amara halved her grip and raaaaaaaaaaaaked her opponent’s face over and over again. “Give me your wings, little bird.” the Bombshell sneered. “Or I’ll take your beak instead.”
Reduced to inarticulate wailing in the face (no pun intended) of Amara’s sadistic scoring, the Courtier did everything she could to wrest herself away from Singh’s nails without giving up her arms but eventually the former Eurasian Champ hooked two fingers into her prey’s nostrils and Lenore’s hands flew to Amara’s wrist. That was all the opening Singh needed. Abandoning her mauling in favor of a white-knuckle grip on Lemarchand’s left bicep, she forced that arm over her posted knee, then mirrored the tactic on the opposite side.
“Aaaaaaaahhhh yes, that’s more like it.”
Amara was all smiles as she swatted Lenore’s cheeks and collected her hair in an oily vertical ponytail. Lenore grimaced and tried to squirm free, so Singh bounced her rump against the small of the bendyback’s curved spine half a dozen times. “You have lost, peasant.” Singh proclaimed with all the haughtiness she could muster. “Even if you can’t quite bring yourself to believe it. I assure you, the impending humiliation will be more than you can bear, and yet because I am a magnanimous ruler, there may be hope yet.” She released Lenore’s hair without warning, cupped both hands beneath her chin and sloooooooooowly pulled back until the ivory-skinned battler was looking up into the Empress’s smiling face. “In lieu of a traditional submission, I will accept your renunciation of Emily West and the Black Court, but ONLY if you swear fealty to me. Rest assured, as the first woman bestowed with the honor of carrying my palanquin, you will hold a special place in my--”
“Kiss my ass, princess.” Lemarchand sneered through gritted teeth. “You’ll never be Emily, not even on her worst day. F*ck, you’re not even PortNNNNNGGGGGHHH!”
Singh thrust her butt down, pushed onto her tiptoes and REEFED back on the Camel Clutch so violently she bent Lenore’s usually limber frame into a tipped over ‘L’. “SUBMIT!” Amara bellowed at the top of her lungs. “SCREAM MY NAME, PEASANT!”
The hands knotted over her mouth made it impossible for Lemarchand to utter anything other than a long garbled shriek that didn’t sound nearly enough like surrender for Singh’s liking.
Setting her feet flat after perhaps twenty seconds of the spine-snapping torture, she adjusted her hands and pulled them back n’ forth, all the better to drag her knuckles across the Raven’s nose and mouth. “I am a Queen in the Oil.” Amara purred in Lemarchand’s ear. “I am an Empress in the wrestling ring. And I am a GODDESS of all I survey. Admit it, peasant. Or I’ll snap your spine and send you to Emily in pieceEEERRRRHHH BYTCH!”
Lenore finally got her teeth around Singh’s right index finger and bit down like she meant to take it as a snack! The Bombshell yanked her hands away from Lemarchand’s maw without thinking about it which proved a costly error when Emily’s Lady in Waiting popped her arms loose and slid out from under the startled grappler. Dropped to her hands and knees in the wake of Lenore’s slippery escape, Singh didn’t realize Lenore was right behind her until the Courtier raised both hands high overhead and THWHUMPED a Double Axehandle into the base of her rival’s neck!
Amara jolted hard and crumpled onto her forearms, but managed to return to all fours shortly thereafter. Only problem was Lemarchand, who’d stood up and quickly threaded her legs around the Indian’s head. Cursing aloud when Lemarchand began to squeeze, Singh reached up and managed one strong raaaaaake of opposing thighs before Lenore grabbed her wrists. “Here, let me get those for you.” she cooed in the midst of yanking Amara’s arms out at her sides.
“You’re going to wish I’d broken your back when I’m done with you, peasEEERRRRRRHHHH!”
Lenore hopped up and dropped to her knees for an improvised Facebuster that THWHUMPED Singh’s forehead off the floor of the pit.
SCISSORED FACEBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJlzoMSSYfg
Still holding the Empress’s wrists, Lemarchand rolled onto her butt, thus forcing Amara to her back. Tossing the woozy warrior’s hands aside in favor of a hair-hold, Lenore snugged the nape of Singh’s neck against the fork of her crotch and quickly crooked her left leg under Amara’s chin. With that shin tucked into the pit of her right knee, Lemarchand grabbed her left ankle and pulled back while simultaneously putting every ounce of remaining strength into the Figure Four Headscissors.
Amara bucked like she’d been hit with a defibrillator, the powerful exotique jolting and writhing as Lenore poured it on. It didn’t take long for Singh to rake her nails down the Courtier’s stems, unfortunately Lemarchand was just as quick to seize her attacker’s wrists.
“What are fighting for, princess?” Lenore huffed once she’d tugged the other brunette’s arms out to her sides. “Just sit back and enjoy the squeeze.” She punctuated with another long constriction that had the Empress’s blood pounding in her ears.
Barely able to comprehend the reality of her current predicament, Amara planted her heels on the floor and pushed up, but she lost her purchase the instant she tried to shift one way or the other. “Ruuuhhh… release me, peasant!” she gurgled against the ever tightening coil of her opponent’s gams.
Lenore shook her head and pulled back on her ankle, happily wedging the bony ridge of her shin up under Amara’s chin. “I’ll be happy to let you go, Amara.” she huffed. “Just as soon as you confirm me as, what have these people started to call me? Oh yes, the Oil Baroness. Let’s hear you say it.”
Singh hissed in disgust at the thought of such debasement. “Never, you petulant chiUUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHH!”
Lemarchand let loose of her leg, braced both hands against the floor and hoisted her butt out of the oil, all the better to defuse the threat of the Bollywood Bombshell. Free to use her hands again, Amara clawed the Raven’s legs over and over again, but the pressure in her skull was getting worse and worse and she couldn’t seem to bring her nails to bare against that vise of alabaster muscle.
Smirk dropping away as she did her best to remove Amara’s head from her shoulders, Lenore spat, “It’s Mumbai all over again, princess. Only this time the whole world gets to see. How’s that feel?” Singh shot a hand up in search of Lemarchand’s hair, so the brunette slapped her mouth, then twisted a nipple for good measure. “Tap out.” she ordered. “Unless you want to be my personal palanquin.”
“Yuuuuhhhh…. you wouldn’t darEERROOOOOOWWWWWWWW!” Lenore extracted a little revenge for earlier rough treatment by curling her fingers into hooks which she then swiped across the Indian stunner’s eyes! Sensing her rival’s vulnerability, Lemarchand loosened the Headscissors only to straighten one leg and jab that heel down into Singh’s crotch! Amara wailed and started to curl up, meaning she wasn’t thinking about escape even when the Raven shifted her position into a north-south mount atop the former Eurasian’s champ’s gulping belly. Sliding her legs around Amara’s noggin once again, Lenore fitted her right calf behind Singh’s head and nocked that ankle in behind her left knee. Then she folded her left leg up, took possession of her own ankle and squeezed until the point of Amara’s chin was wedged deep in the southern slope of her glutes.
“Uuuuuuggggghhhhhhh….. staaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhp.” Singh rasped over the slim curve of those damned glutes. “You can’t doMMMMMMPPPHHHH!”
Technically it wasn’t a smother, but another pull on Lenore’s ankle forced the Bombshell’s mug against the lycra of her opponent’s togs. “Tap out, bytch.” Lemarchand groaned over the growing ache in her legs. “Or your nose’ll go so deep you’ll never get it back.”
Amara heard this, however she couldn’t answer with anything more than a wet, buzzing groan. Her hands rose and curled into hooks, presumably to rake or grip Lenore’s bunched buns, yet nothing came of it because one more prolonged squeeze got her slapping at the oil, then at the Raven’s crushing cheeks. “SUHBMID!” she mumbled. “AYESUHBMID!”
Lenore looked over at the official, who’d already signaled the Timekeeper. Sure enough, there was a CLANG followed by confirmation from the Announcer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission… LENORE LEMARCHAND!”
Groaning with relief, Lenore broke the Headscissors, then pushed to her knees and settled back so that her butt was effectively snuggled against Amara’s neck. With the Empress’s chin wedged in place, Lemarchand put both hands on her hips and gave ‘em a waggle, much to the delight of the Gladiatrix photogs at ringside. Looking over one shoulder to smile for the camera, she said, “Lady in Waiting. Raven. Oil Baroness. Doesn’t matter what you call me as long as you remember who I deposed to get there. The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.”
With that she raised the Raven sigil high overhead and held it there, forcing the deposed Empress to stare up at that stately bird of yore until long after the feed cut away to a video package for tonight’s clash between two other dangerous Blackbirds.
Either way, when "Exotic” by Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull reverberates through the arena’s speakers, that particular piece of cheesecake and her helpers had the good sense to head for the hills, not wanting to raise the ire of an Empress. The FAWNatics turned as one to the upper stage and let loose with a deafening round of jeers and catcalls.
EXOTIC:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU
The curtains part and conspicuous by its absence were the cadre of musclebound men who usually carried the Bollywood Bombshell to her battles. Instead, the ‘exotic’ grappler’s bare feet provided her own locomotion.
AMARA SINGH:
The Indian grappler’s bronzed skin was set off in perfect contrast to the white bikini Singh decided would be perfect for the pit and from the relative slackjawed silence, it seems many in the audience agreed with her verdict.
As Amara heads down the ramp, the Announcer officially heralded the arrival of the subcontinent’s greatest export.
"Our next match is one fall with a twenty minute time limit and is an Oil Pit Extravaganza. Coming down the aisle, hailing from Cawnpore, India, she stands at five feet six inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty-three pounds. She is the Golden Empress… AMARA SINGH!”
Reaching pit-side, Singh climbed the steps to the slightly elevated battlefield, no ropes to slide between to reach the combat zone. She walked the rim of hardwood stage surrounding the spongy pit as the remainder of PeeCee and the feat’ing Pitbull faded to leave only the boos of the crowd. Singh sneered and stepped into the greasy shallow crater, the feel of oil coursing between her toes eliciting a look of concern. Amara could seemingly feel the weight, knowing every person in the crowd had by now found through their social media the gruesome truth; the Raven had humbled her in her own oily backyard.
The hesitance was but a moment and Singh set her opposite foot into the warzone, gliding to the corner opposite from where she’d entered. With no point in waiting to familiarize herself with the environment, this ‘arena pit’ on a much grander scale than those she’d entered previously, Singh lowered to her haunches to cover her legs in the slippery substance then scooped some off the floor in each cupped hand and rubbed it across her breasts then her coppery, toned tummy.
The crowd’s anger subsided with the eye-catching show, the throng of unworthy peasants distracted by the shimmering, bronzed curves of the Bombshell.
An echoing shout from Amara, “Get that pale-ass peasant out here…at once,” helped the FAWNatics regain their focus, jeering at the despised Empress louder than ever.
Singh’s challenge was still fresh in the air when the speakers kicked into Kula Shaker’s cover of ‘Hush’ The cheers in Orlando were almost unanimous. Emily’s longtime lieutenant wasn’t anyone’s idea of a traditional babyface, but she’d apparently ascended to that level where she was just too damned good not to cheer. Those in attendance provided more evidence for this hypothesis when the woman in question strolled through the curtain to another round of raucous cheers, not to mention several thousand examples of her trademark sigil.
LENORE LEMARCHAND:
Allowing herself the smallest of smiles, the limber brunette hooked her thumbs together but didn’t raise her own raven to the rafters until the Announcer bellowed, “And introducing her opponent! Representing the Black Court, she hails from Glen Echo Michigan, stands at five feet seven inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and twenty three pounds. She is the Fair and Radiant Maiden known as LENORE LEMARCHAND!”
Pleased with the emphatic reception, Lemarchand offered the crowd a nod, then turned her attention to the woman glaring at her from the far side of the oil pit. Where her opponent had come through the curtain with her togs on full display, Emily’s Lady in Waiting chose to draw out the mystery by sheathing herself in a black silk robe that stopped a few inches above the knee. Still perched atop the stage, she reached for the knotted sash, then drew back and waggled her finger ‘no, no, no!’. Smirking in the face of the good natured disappointment from those closest, the limber brunette stunner quickly made her way down the ramp and up the steps leading to the edge of the oversized pit.
Once there she met Amara’s gaze for a moment, then pointedly turned her back to face the crowd. No feint the second time ‘round, Lemarchand undid her sash with a single nimble tug and shrugged the robe off her shoulders. Beneath was sporty fightin’ two piece in a deep, royal purple that accentuated her ivory complexion so well it seemed to glow.
Finally turning her attention to the Empress once the latest round of whistles died down, Lenore stepped down into the pit, sank to her haunches and quickly applied oil to her arms, shoulders, tummy and thighs. Then she stood up, trailed shiny fingers across the trim plane of her midsection and ‘flicked’ a mist of oil in the other brunette’s direction.
“Look at all those cameras, Amara.” FAWN production alone has nearly a dozen trained on the pit from every conceivable angle and then, THEN there’s the hundreds, no, thousands of cameras in the audience. They’re all honed in on you, princess. They people finally know what happened in Mumbai. And tonight they’re going to get a much better view of the action.”
Amara sneered and flipped the Courtier off, but she stayed in her corner, seemingly content to plot her rival’s destruction for a few more seconds.
The tension between the brunettes was palpable, almost unbearable in fact. And yet when the bell sounded there were no snarled curses, no catty oaths, no inarticulate banshee screams. Instead Amara and Lenore approached one another in silence, Empress and Raven closing to a distance that would’ve seen them touching if either had taken a deep breath.
Regarding the American with a cold confidence that was miles from her usual haughty disdain, the Bollywood Bombshell murmured, “You’re going to regret posting that footage, peasant. And by the time our contest is through whatever victory you savored in Mumbai will taste of nothing but ash.” She strode forward, chesting into the Courtier so forcefully that Lemarchand ceded half a step.
“Contrary to what you believe, I didn’t post that footage.” Lenore replied. “In fact, I didn’t even know it existed before it appeared on the FAWN messageboard. But I’m glad it does. And I’m delighted that one of your fans saw fit to share, what did they call it? Oh yes, ‘Amara’s Oily Shame’ with the rest of the wor--”
Proximity didn’t allow Singh full extension on her delivery, but the Bytch Slap still connected solidly enough to twist Lemarchand’s head to one side. “Tonight I teach you about shame.” Amara purred it into Lenore’s ear to ensure she was heard over the ‘ooooohhhhhh’ of the crowd. “Tonight you renounce Emily West as your queen and proclaim Amara Singh your one true Empr--”
Lenore dipped down, thrust a shoulder into Singh’s belly and braced splayed hands against those bronzed thighs. In the span between heartbeats she straightened up and PUSHED, sending the former Eurasian Champion flipping up, over and down in an oil-shined Back Body Drop that planted Singh on her tush with damp plop!
Such a landing in the squared circle would’ve sent a jolt of pain up Amara’s spine, in the Pit it resulted in an expression of surprise that curdled into volcanic fury when Emily’s Lady in Waiting spun around in front of her and thrust that damned Raven sigil mere inches from her nose. “You’re no Empress, Amara.” Lemarchand taunted. “You’re just a washed up actress with delusions of OOOFFFHH!”
Now it was Singh that slammed a shoulder into Lemarchand’s navel, but instead of a Backdrop she hooked the other brunette behind the knees and put her on her back with a swift Double Leg Takedown. Incensed in a way she hadn’t felt since that disgusting English trollop stole her Championship, Amara put one hand on Lenore’s hip to hold her in place while she pak-pak-PAAAKED a trio of punches into her navel. It probably would’ve been a lot more than three if Lemarchand hadn’t abruptly brought her legs up and closed them around Amara’s waist with an audible ‘smeck’!
Amara’s dark eyes went wide before the first squeeze, then narrowed to agonized slots as the Courtier applied gut-churning pressure. Acting with the frantic alacrity of a woman evading a well known threat, Singh put both hands on Lenore’s knees and shoved down while simultaneously exploding up off her knees. The force of her response combined with the newness of the Scissors allowed the Empress what looked like an effortless escape, though the tension in her shoulders and thighs said otherwise. On her feet for all of a second before she went down on one knee, Amara steadied her breathing and shook her head ‘no’. “Never again, little bird.” she promised. “Tonight it is you who will plead for mercy in the vise of my legs.”
Lenore shifted from her butt to her knees, the Courtier letting her hands rest on the smooth planes of her thighs. “Oh, so you DID plead in Mumbai? I wasn’t sure you had the guts to admit it.”
Singh’s upper lip curled in a hateful snarl. “You’ll learn to address me with respect, you skinny bytch.”
Lemarchand patted her thighs, then raised her hands and invited the Bombshell forward. “Not at that distance, I won’t. You want respect, Amara? Come over here and earn it.”
“An Empress does not rise to the challenge of peas--”
A resounding CRAAACK swallowed by the cheers of the FAWNatics when Lenore delivered a scintillating overhand slap to the curve of Amara’s right breast. “Come and get me, EMPRESS.” Lenore put hateful, dismissive emphasis on the last word. “Or I’ll slap those overrated tits right out of your EERRRHH!”
Singh caught the Raven by the hair, wrenched her head backward and would’ve slapped her face into the upper deck if the brunette hadn’t caught her wrist at the last second. The impromptu Wristlock soon gave way to a spirited Knucklelock, each woman making a concentrated effort to gouge her nails into the soft skin between her opponent’s fingers. Knowing full well there was no official to complain about her tactics, Singh shifted her grip on Lenore’s hair, digging her claw in just above the nape of the other woman’s neck. “Your humiliation will know no end, peasant.” Amara promised as Lemarchand hissed through the forceful scalp stimulation. “I’ll break your body with my Scissors and your spirit with my Camel Clutch. And when the time comes to take your pride, that will disappear into my NGH!”
Lemarchand silenced her with a single snappy Backhand, then caught Amara’s cheeks between thumb and forefinger and pressed them together in an entirely undignified fish-face. “I’ve got a thousand different ways to make you suffer tonight.” Lenore hissed. “But if it’s humiliation you’re interested in I’ll be happy to show you how a true queen breaks in a new thro--”
Singh wrenched her hand free of the Knucklelock, pinked Lemarchand’s cheek with another stiff slap, then curled that hand into a claw, which she affixed to the slim curve of her opponent’s left breast. “You will beg.” Amara promised as her nails did their wicked work. “In front of the whole world, you will beg for the mercy of the Golden EmpNGH! NGH! NGH!”
Lenore abandoned her own claw, balled both hands into fists and pounded Bollywood belly with a machinegun quick left-right-left flurry! After that she got right back into the claw game, or rather the pincer game, as she honed in on the former Eurasian champ’s nipples through the slick material of her bikini top. “Begging’s more your area of expertise, Amara.” the Raven snapped. “Or did you forget all that whining right before I buried your nose in my UUUNNNNNNGGGHHH!”
Amara hit the other brunette with a hard slap across the mouth, then swatted the pincers away and scooted in close. Cinching her arms around Lemarchand’s waist while the Courtier was still recovering, Amara knotted her hands in the hollow of opposing back and drew her close with a rib-crushing Bear Hug. “Yield to me, peasant.” Singh taunted after the first warm groan puffed against her ear. “Yield and I may let leave you with just enough strength to crawl from this pit on your miserable bellMMMMPPPPHHH!”
Lenore coiled her arms around the back of Singh’s head and pulled her face-first into the slopes of her cleavage! Even gripping her elbows for extra leverage (which she did immediately, Em’s tutorials had been quite clear on that) the Raven simply wasn’t built to deliver the sort of Front Sleeper that ended fights, but the unexpected application loosened the pressure on her ribs, especially when she scrubbed the Bombshell’s mug back n’ forth a few times. Sensing her grip was at least momentarily stronger, Lemarchand twisted to one side and managed to roll Singh onto one hip. From there she slung a leg over and pulled Amara close. It wasn’t a Scissors, she just wanted to make sure Singh knew the squeeze was never far away.
Sensing Lenore was attempting to mount her, Amara’s forced to give up her embrace and pushed away from the Raven. The slick sheen on her coppery frame let Singh slip free from Lemarchand’s grip above while she pushed off the glistening, ivory abs of her foe. Separating by a few feet, both women scrambled to kneeling positions, facing each other, the Indian flagpole straight, Lenore comfortable on her haunches, looking every bit the contented Oil Baroness the FAWNatics named her.
A frustrated Singh slapped the cushioned pit floor, a loud THWACK and a spray of baby oil sent flying.
“You’ve made an awful mistake, Empress,” Lenore purred. “But apparently you were always condemned to do so out of ignorance and arrogance.”
Amara fumed, sweeping oily, ebony locks off her forehead and over an ear. Until she paid the Raven back for the debacle in Mumbai, there wasn’t much point in arguing her case. She needed to leave Lemarchand a sopping rag-doll to win any debate. The Bollywood Bombshell knee-walked toward her pit mate, the Black Courtier rising off her haunches to meet in a straight-up tie-up.
There’s nothing fancy as the women snatched each other’s shoulders, trying to topple the other to a side and leap on top. About the same height, Amara had ten to fifteen pounds of extra ballast and she dropped her backside to her calves when she felt she was losing her balance. Dipping and driving forward, Singh secured another tight hug around the midriff of the Raven, cinching tight, drawing a gasp.
Singh’s lowered head allowed Lenore to collect a Front Facelock, but Amara was already showing her strength and dexterity by rising to her feet with Lemarchand in her grasp. Lenore’s dark eyes showed more than a hint of concern, particularly when Amara reached vertical. Singh gave the Raven’s body a rattle, Lenore working to stabilize her position by grapevining her legs around the derriere and thighs of the Empress.
Singh tried to throw Lenore to the pit floor but Lemarchand was attached like a bulldog on a soup bone. Seeing no alternative, Singh dove forward to splash Lenore under her weight and indeed a bursting exhale was driven from Lenore when she’s sandwiched back to the oily plastic surface, but the Raven’s grip on Singh’s skull also acted as a crudely fashioned DDT, the crown of Amara’s cranium spiked into the pit floor.
The somewhat spongy surface saved Singh to a degree. But her neck still wasn’t the ideal shock absorber and she flopped to her side in a dazed and wide spreadeagle, an inviting sight.
However, Lemarchand was in a breathless starfish herself, both women desperate to attack but momentarily unable. Long seconds passed as the nervous crowd looked on. There were precious few ways out of the pit and a double count out was thankfully not one. One woman would have to emerge from the oil with her foe surrendering or being delivered to unconsciousness.
Recovering almost simultaneously, they spun their legs toward each other, sharing the same thought of securing a Bodyscissors to squeeze the fight out of their foe. But now with soles touching, the combatants used their glistening legs to parry; each lower limb used like a staff, trying to break through defenses.
Soles met again and they pressed against each other in an unusual but eye-catching test of strength. Amara slowly but surely extended her legs, forcing the alabaster stems of Lenore to fold, knees quickly pressed tight to her chest. A flustered Raven huffed as she tried to press her way out of the tight tuck. There wasn’t anything particularly dangerous about the position, but Lenore would be damned if she’d be made to look weaker than the subcontinental starlet in any fashion.
For that very reason, Lemarchand grit her teeth and tried to extend her currently crumpled gams. The Raven gained ground as it appeared Amara may have shot her wad. After Lenore reached all the way back to a stalemate, both grapplers’ legs high, meeting in a 90-degree angle above and in front, Singh slipped one of her soles off Lenore’s, ending the ‘foot fight’ when her right heel descended between the legs of the Black Courtier, DRIVING into Lenore’s kitty.
An agonized howl emanated from the previously pursed lips of the Raven. There was no denying the atomic blast of a connection it seemed Amara may have suckered Lemarchand into. The Bombshell grooooound her heel into Lenore’s tenderized flesh, Lemarchand yelping as her hands surrounded the ankle of the invading appendage, trying to thrust it out.
Unable to do so, she started to pull Amara’s right leg toward her instead, thankfully removing the heel from the throbbing juncture of her thighs. Scissoring the limb as well as she’s able, Lenore began to violently twist the ankle outward. It’s Amara’s turn to wail like a banshee. She thrashed about, trying to pull her limb from the Raven’s possession. With the Courtier’s center still pumping pain in waves, Lenore’s Scissors was far from her strongest and a barrage of fists administered to her ivory inner thighs loosened Amara’s predicament all the more.
Pushing Lenore’s gleaming alabaster legs wider, Amara shifting her captured leg as far to the right between those of Lenore as she could, Singh opened an alley and sank a set of ruby-tipped nails into the thinly-sheathed privates of the Raven, Lenore crying out in unison with Amara when Lemarchand again tried to unscrew the Bombshell’s foot from the rest of her leg.
Amara’s vengeful, clenching left hand overwhelmed the Raven’s ability to process and she released the leg of the Empress in order to crunch her abs to reach a seated position and pry at the left wrist of her foe instead of the right ankle.
“They’re going to have to surgically remove me from your nethers, peasant,” Amara shouted, flashing her perfect pearlies in a growl. The Bombshell rotated her body to bring her leg out from between Lenore’s, all the while keeping her claw buried in the crotch of the evil wench.
Singh faced forward toward Lenore, left hand deeply ensconced, right palm pressing into the oily surface beside Lemarchand’s bum, Amara’s knees on the pit floor to keep herself elevated.
“Surrender to your better,” the oily Empress demanded.
Lenore’s right hand trailed away from its prying on Amara’s wrist and cracked a slap across the coppery cheek of the Indian. A raging Singh ignores the taste being removed from her mouth by the Raven.
“I said surrender, peasant!”
Lenore ignored the command with little more than a shake of her head. The anguish radiating from her center however, was nigh impossible to dismiss. Hunching forward to get that much closer to her tormentor, the Courtier continued to worry and rake at Singh’s clawin’ wrist, while her other hand plunged deep into the former Eurasian Champion’s slick hair.
Amara hissed with displeasure when Lemarchand tried to remove a great patch of her scalp, but she refused to relent on her underhanded grip. Twisting her head so one cheek was nestled on the other woman’s shoulder, Singh bore down and purred, “When I’m done tonight no one will remember the freak accident that was Mumbai. All they’ll remember is that hot afternoon on the beach and that cold night in March when the haughty Raven was reduced to a whimpering plaything in the hands of the Golden EmpOOOFFFFHHH!”
Lenore released her hold on Singh’s wrist and stuffed a short, mean punch into Amara’s slick belly. The claw loosened somewhat, so Lemarchand landed two more punches, each hitting their target with a wet PWAK! After the third Lenore spread her hand wide for a claw of her own, though she didn’t affix hers to the Bombshell’s center. Instead she jammed her index finger into Singh’s navel and proceeded to clamp down on a whole lot of Empress tummy! “You’re confident now.” Emily’s Lady in Waiting growled through clenched teeth. “But don’t forget I’ve seen panic in your eyes, Amara. I heard the despair in your voice when you begged me not to smother you in front of AAAAWWWWWWW BYTCH!”
Amara pulled her other hand off the floor of the pit, grabbed hold of Lemarchand’s waistband and tried to split her in half with a wedgie! The shock of it caused Lenore to lose her grip on Singh’s midsection, which in turn allowed the Indian stunner to knock her onto her back with a truncated Shoulderblock. Infuriated by the mere mention of her ignominious showing back home, Amara lifted one leg and slung it over Lenore’s waist, twisting around as she did so to maintain her hold on opposing trunks while also settling into a heavy seat on her prey’s stomach. Redoubling her efforts with the Crotch Claw, Singh ignored the growing cramp in her hand by hooking her free arm around Lemarchand’s right leg and stuffing it under her armpit in a Half Matchbook.
“Beg for my mercy, peasant!” Amara bellowed over Lenore’s shrieks and the FAWNatics repeated plea of ‘PLEASE DON’T TAP!’ Granted unfettered access to the brunette’s trunks thanks to the compromising position, Singh narrowed her focus to the outlines of Lemarchand’s womanhood, clearly limned against the lycra of her trunks. “Shriek your folly to the world and perhaps I’ll make you my palanquin instead of my throUUUUUNNNNNNNNGGGGGGHHHHHH!”
Lenore didn’t have the leverage to throw her opponent off, but she made the Bollywood Brat’s perch infinitely more uncomfortable when she kicked her other leg up and slipped it under Amara’s arms. Ankles locked, she SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZED down on a Bodyscissors that ended Singh’s tawdry assault in mere seconds.
Hands braced against the floor of the pit to keep Lemarchand from forcing her down any farther, Amara shook her head ‘no’ and huffed. “You’re not getting away so easily, peasEERRRRRHHH!”
Lenore bore down again, the pressure of her calves forcing the point of Singh’s chest into the top of her own décolletage. “Nothing easy about this, Empress.” the Raven grunted as she continued to pour on the power. “Hope you’re ready to kiss that NNNNNNGGGHH!”
Amara let out a roar as she pushed up and slid backward, the powerful exotique settling down with her backside squarely on Lemarchand’s chest. This new arrangement didn’t end the Scissors, but it did give Singh the vantage point to flatten her hands into paddles and thus spankity-spankity-spank-spank-SPANK the bendyback’s rock-hard glutes. “YOU BELONG TO ME!” Amara roared even as the welts began to rise on Lenore’s haunches. “ADMIT IT OR BE DESTROYNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGHHHH!”
Lemarchand answered with an equally hateful scream and her strongest constriction yet, one that also came with a thrust from her hips. Unprepared for the power her adversary could muster from even this disadvantageous position, Singh was thrown forward and down, the Empress landing on her chest and belly with a heavy THWHAP! Almost sobbing with relief in the aftermath of that prolonged trunk mugging, Lenore fought off the urge to disengage and instead made sure her ankles were crossed snug against the base of the other woman’s neck. Keenly aware that Singh’s legs were dangerous weapons in their own right, the Raven slid out from under the encroaching stems and snuggled in against Amara’s left hip and thigh, all the better to cinch her arms around the Indian’s knees.
Patient despite her burning desire to make Amara Singh wail at the top of her lungs, Lenore alternately tensed and relaxed the Scissors, occasionally changing her tempo to ensure the Bombshell could never quite prepare for the next round of punishment. Not only that, she diligently shifted her knotted feet in time with Singh’s wriggling head, the Courtier doing her damndest to keep Amara’s proud features snug against the floor of the pit. “Mumbai wasn’t a fluke, no matter how much you wish it was, Empress.” Lenore only spoke once the pain in her nethers faded to a tolerable degree. “The fact is you came in expecting a repeat of the beach and I made you pay for it. Been a long time since anyone punished you like that, am I right?” Singh didn’t answer at once, so Lemarchand halved her grip on the Empress’s stems and delivered a stinging swat to those coppery cheeks. “I asked you a question, princess!”
Amara cursed, tried to set her knees, but Lenore’d already reapplied the Bear Hug around her thighs. “If anything bested me that day,” she muttered after several more seconds of pained wriggling. “It was my own hubris, not any skill on your GGGUUUUUUHHHH!”
Lenore relinquished the leg control to sit up and bear down, the extra leverage allowing her to force Amara’s face against the slick floor of the pit. “What was that, Amara? Maybe you should take your lips off the mat before you try to answer!” Eager to dish out a little more punishment, the Raven lifted her right hand out of the oil and set to work on Singh’s bottom with a fusillade of slaps that had the Bollywood Bombshell cringing and twisting with every CRAACKING delivery.
Galled by the spindly little brat’s control, Amara fought every the indignity every step of the way, but it wasn’t until she managed a hold of Lemarchand’s left foot that she managed to loosen the Scissors even a little bit. Fully committed to twisting Lenore’s toes clean off, Singh earned a single angry yowl before Emily’s Lady in Waiting brought her right heel up and THWHONKED it against the base of her skull. Amara’s world went woozy but her breathing improved immediately because Lemarchand abandoned the Scissors in favor of a seat on the pits of the Indian’s knees. Safe for the moment, Lenore carefully adjusted her distended briefs, then crossed her wrists to craft a careful ’X’. With the thumb and index finger of each hand curved into a wicked ’C’ she worked those narrow hooks into the deep crease between Amara’s thighs and buttocks.
Eyes going wide as she felt the rest of Lenore’s fingers settle against her inner thighs, Amara pushed up on one hand and reached backward with the other. “Don’t you dare, peasAAAAAARRRRRRHHHHHHHHHHH!” Singh howled in pain, her hands flying to her own hair as Lemarchand set about destroying her thighs with a white-knuckled Hammy Clamp!
“The oil is mine, Empress.” Lenore purred to her wriggling victim. “You can cede it to me, or I can take it by force.”
Her legs pinioned to the oily surface by Lenore’s mass, Amara shook her upper body from side to side, trying to work some slack under the Raven’s form, but the claw into the nerve bundle of her left thigh made it nigh impossible.
Hands leaving her oily, ebony mop, Amara dug them into the slimy plastic of the pit and, unsurprisingly, there’s little to gain. In a standard ring, she might’ve been able to pull her way to a set of ropes and plead for a break, but in the pit there was no such escape hatch.
Lenore leaned forward, forcing her weight into the delving digits, increasing the pressure and pain from the clamp. Amara’s left leg felt strangely petrified and yet somehow pain radiated from it.
Stifling sobs as best she could, Singh resorted to what she had left.
“You’re trying to win a match with Sanders’ move?!” she yelped. “A knockoff of the woman who owns Emily?! I don’t think Em will be hapAHHHHGAWWWD.”
Lenore dug in deeper whether for punishment or simply to continue her convincing.
“If you want to be Kylie…”
A sob interrupted the Bombshell’s follow-up then a sigh of relief when the Raven retracted her claws.
As Lenore rose off Singh’s trapped stems, Amara’s able to slither forward on her bronzed belly, dragging her left leg like deadweight, imprints of Lenore’s fingers still in place in the Empress’ thigh, just below the curve of her glute.
Dark eyes flitting from side to side, Amara gave into the fear of not being able to see her foe and rolled to her back. The sinewy brunette was vertical and only a couple steps from her toes. Singh folded her still functioning right foot and pressed into the oily plastic to create more space, but the sole of her foot glided over and she barely moved an inch.
“Don’t think your little jibe about the feckless farm girl made a difference,” Lenore assured. “I just want to see your face when you surrender your claim to the pit.”
Amara raised and extended her palms. ‘washing windows’ with the extended, flattened hands.
“I’m sorry, Baroness,” Amara pleaded, her husky voice quivering.
Closing the space between them in two strides, Lenore found Singh had fight remaining. Singh thrust her folded right leg forward, slamming her foot into the Raven’s left shin, forcing Lenore to genuflect.
Just as quickly, she swung the right foot up in a sidewinding arc and CLAPPED it into the left temple of the Black Courtier, sending the sinewy, ivory-skinned grappler flopping to her side. Dark eyes glassy, Lenore shook some cobwebs while failing to realize Amara was butt-scooting forward, slipping her left leg under the Raven’s body while bracketing her right leg atop.
Locking the Scissors around each set of ribs, Amara hooked her feet at the ankles and pressed up on her left palm to squeeze every bit of pressure into the cinching limbs. The maneuver drew a yip and a wince from Lemarchand, but then a more forceful response as she pounded a fist into the upper leg.
Her left (lower) leg, already shuddering, not fully recovered from Lenore’s Hammy Clamp, Singh seemed to realize her Scissors would not hold for long and, indeed, Lemarchand started to push her way out with the help of the oily sheen on her alabaster frame.
The Bollywood Bombshell gave up her noose, lifting her right leg and SLAMMING it down in guillotine fashion into the left side of her foe. Grunting as she flopped to her back, Lenore left herself open for a follow-up, this time Amara’s coppery limb dropping like a blunted blade into the abdomen of the Courtier.
Lenore went bug-eyed, jackknifing around the impact point, her taut tummy giving way under the collision, enough so that she gasped for breath. Lemarchand shoved Amara’s leg up successfully, only to realize Singh was assisting in the ascendance. The Empress tried to cut her foe in half, SLAMMING the limb down into the Raven’s gulping greasy belly.
“GUUUUUPFFF!”
Another pained ‘V’ formation from Lenore before she settled back to the glistening surface, gutted and groaning.
Amara grimaced as she tugs her still ‘sleepy’ left leg out from under Lenore’s body and rose to her knees. She massaged her left thigh, bringing the limb back to life as Lenore drew in some deep breaths and started to roll away from her rival.
With Lemarchand on her chest after a half-turn, Amara leapt on the Raven’s back. She sank her nails into Lemarchand slickened mane and RAMMED her forehead into the padded plastic. It’s a cushioned and lessened impact but it still scrambled a few brain cells of the Courtier; enough the Bombshell was able to move from a full body-on-body position to a forward straddling, crouching mount.
It wasn’t only clear to the FAWNatics what the Empress has planned. Even in her rattled state, Lenore knew to extend her arms in front of her, desperate to prevent the Indian from posting each limb over a bended knee and test the flexibility of her backbone like only Amara could.
This proved an effective, albeit inelegant defense, at least until Singh helped herself to the other woman’s hair instead. Wrenching Lemarchand’s head back at a savage angle, Amara halved her grip and raaaaaaaaaaaaked her opponent’s face over and over again. “Give me your wings, little bird.” the Bombshell sneered. “Or I’ll take your beak instead.”
Reduced to inarticulate wailing in the face (no pun intended) of Amara’s sadistic scoring, the Courtier did everything she could to wrest herself away from Singh’s nails without giving up her arms but eventually the former Eurasian Champ hooked two fingers into her prey’s nostrils and Lenore’s hands flew to Amara’s wrist. That was all the opening Singh needed. Abandoning her mauling in favor of a white-knuckle grip on Lemarchand’s left bicep, she forced that arm over her posted knee, then mirrored the tactic on the opposite side.
“Aaaaaaaahhhh yes, that’s more like it.”
Amara was all smiles as she swatted Lenore’s cheeks and collected her hair in an oily vertical ponytail. Lenore grimaced and tried to squirm free, so Singh bounced her rump against the small of the bendyback’s curved spine half a dozen times. “You have lost, peasant.” Singh proclaimed with all the haughtiness she could muster. “Even if you can’t quite bring yourself to believe it. I assure you, the impending humiliation will be more than you can bear, and yet because I am a magnanimous ruler, there may be hope yet.” She released Lenore’s hair without warning, cupped both hands beneath her chin and sloooooooooowly pulled back until the ivory-skinned battler was looking up into the Empress’s smiling face. “In lieu of a traditional submission, I will accept your renunciation of Emily West and the Black Court, but ONLY if you swear fealty to me. Rest assured, as the first woman bestowed with the honor of carrying my palanquin, you will hold a special place in my--”
“Kiss my ass, princess.” Lemarchand sneered through gritted teeth. “You’ll never be Emily, not even on her worst day. F*ck, you’re not even PortNNNNNGGGGGHHH!”
Singh thrust her butt down, pushed onto her tiptoes and REEFED back on the Camel Clutch so violently she bent Lenore’s usually limber frame into a tipped over ‘L’. “SUBMIT!” Amara bellowed at the top of her lungs. “SCREAM MY NAME, PEASANT!”
The hands knotted over her mouth made it impossible for Lemarchand to utter anything other than a long garbled shriek that didn’t sound nearly enough like surrender for Singh’s liking.
Setting her feet flat after perhaps twenty seconds of the spine-snapping torture, she adjusted her hands and pulled them back n’ forth, all the better to drag her knuckles across the Raven’s nose and mouth. “I am a Queen in the Oil.” Amara purred in Lemarchand’s ear. “I am an Empress in the wrestling ring. And I am a GODDESS of all I survey. Admit it, peasant. Or I’ll snap your spine and send you to Emily in pieceEEERRRRHHH BYTCH!”
Lenore finally got her teeth around Singh’s right index finger and bit down like she meant to take it as a snack! The Bombshell yanked her hands away from Lemarchand’s maw without thinking about it which proved a costly error when Emily’s Lady in Waiting popped her arms loose and slid out from under the startled grappler. Dropped to her hands and knees in the wake of Lenore’s slippery escape, Singh didn’t realize Lenore was right behind her until the Courtier raised both hands high overhead and THWHUMPED a Double Axehandle into the base of her rival’s neck!
Amara jolted hard and crumpled onto her forearms, but managed to return to all fours shortly thereafter. Only problem was Lemarchand, who’d stood up and quickly threaded her legs around the Indian’s head. Cursing aloud when Lemarchand began to squeeze, Singh reached up and managed one strong raaaaaake of opposing thighs before Lenore grabbed her wrists. “Here, let me get those for you.” she cooed in the midst of yanking Amara’s arms out at her sides.
“You’re going to wish I’d broken your back when I’m done with you, peasEEERRRRRRHHHH!”
Lenore hopped up and dropped to her knees for an improvised Facebuster that THWHUMPED Singh’s forehead off the floor of the pit.
SCISSORED FACEBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=rJlzoMSSYfg
Still holding the Empress’s wrists, Lemarchand rolled onto her butt, thus forcing Amara to her back. Tossing the woozy warrior’s hands aside in favor of a hair-hold, Lenore snugged the nape of Singh’s neck against the fork of her crotch and quickly crooked her left leg under Amara’s chin. With that shin tucked into the pit of her right knee, Lemarchand grabbed her left ankle and pulled back while simultaneously putting every ounce of remaining strength into the Figure Four Headscissors.
Amara bucked like she’d been hit with a defibrillator, the powerful exotique jolting and writhing as Lenore poured it on. It didn’t take long for Singh to rake her nails down the Courtier’s stems, unfortunately Lemarchand was just as quick to seize her attacker’s wrists.
“What are fighting for, princess?” Lenore huffed once she’d tugged the other brunette’s arms out to her sides. “Just sit back and enjoy the squeeze.” She punctuated with another long constriction that had the Empress’s blood pounding in her ears.
Barely able to comprehend the reality of her current predicament, Amara planted her heels on the floor and pushed up, but she lost her purchase the instant she tried to shift one way or the other. “Ruuuhhh… release me, peasant!” she gurgled against the ever tightening coil of her opponent’s gams.
Lenore shook her head and pulled back on her ankle, happily wedging the bony ridge of her shin up under Amara’s chin. “I’ll be happy to let you go, Amara.” she huffed. “Just as soon as you confirm me as, what have these people started to call me? Oh yes, the Oil Baroness. Let’s hear you say it.”
Singh hissed in disgust at the thought of such debasement. “Never, you petulant chiUUUUUGGGGHHHHHHHH!”
Lemarchand let loose of her leg, braced both hands against the floor and hoisted her butt out of the oil, all the better to defuse the threat of the Bollywood Bombshell. Free to use her hands again, Amara clawed the Raven’s legs over and over again, but the pressure in her skull was getting worse and worse and she couldn’t seem to bring her nails to bare against that vise of alabaster muscle.
Smirk dropping away as she did her best to remove Amara’s head from her shoulders, Lenore spat, “It’s Mumbai all over again, princess. Only this time the whole world gets to see. How’s that feel?” Singh shot a hand up in search of Lemarchand’s hair, so the brunette slapped her mouth, then twisted a nipple for good measure. “Tap out.” she ordered. “Unless you want to be my personal palanquin.”
“Yuuuuhhhh…. you wouldn’t darEERROOOOOOWWWWWWWW!” Lenore extracted a little revenge for earlier rough treatment by curling her fingers into hooks which she then swiped across the Indian stunner’s eyes! Sensing her rival’s vulnerability, Lemarchand loosened the Headscissors only to straighten one leg and jab that heel down into Singh’s crotch! Amara wailed and started to curl up, meaning she wasn’t thinking about escape even when the Raven shifted her position into a north-south mount atop the former Eurasian’s champ’s gulping belly. Sliding her legs around Amara’s noggin once again, Lenore fitted her right calf behind Singh’s head and nocked that ankle in behind her left knee. Then she folded her left leg up, took possession of her own ankle and squeezed until the point of Amara’s chin was wedged deep in the southern slope of her glutes.
“Uuuuuuggggghhhhhhh….. staaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhp.” Singh rasped over the slim curve of those damned glutes. “You can’t doMMMMMMPPPHHHH!”
Technically it wasn’t a smother, but another pull on Lenore’s ankle forced the Bombshell’s mug against the lycra of her opponent’s togs. “Tap out, bytch.” Lemarchand groaned over the growing ache in her legs. “Or your nose’ll go so deep you’ll never get it back.”
Amara heard this, however she couldn’t answer with anything more than a wet, buzzing groan. Her hands rose and curled into hooks, presumably to rake or grip Lenore’s bunched buns, yet nothing came of it because one more prolonged squeeze got her slapping at the oil, then at the Raven’s crushing cheeks. “SUHBMID!” she mumbled. “AYESUHBMID!”
Lenore looked over at the official, who’d already signaled the Timekeeper. Sure enough, there was a CLANG followed by confirmation from the Announcer.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission… LENORE LEMARCHAND!”
Groaning with relief, Lenore broke the Headscissors, then pushed to her knees and settled back so that her butt was effectively snuggled against Amara’s neck. With the Empress’s chin wedged in place, Lemarchand put both hands on her hips and gave ‘em a waggle, much to the delight of the Gladiatrix photogs at ringside. Looking over one shoulder to smile for the camera, she said, “Lady in Waiting. Raven. Oil Baroness. Doesn’t matter what you call me as long as you remember who I deposed to get there. The Queen is dead. Long live the Queen.”
With that she raised the Raven sigil high overhead and held it there, forcing the deposed Empress to stare up at that stately bird of yore until long after the feed cut away to a video package for tonight’s clash between two other dangerous Blackbirds.