Post by dsb on Jul 15, 2018 23:57:56 GMT
A mere glance at his notes told the Announcer he was safer delivering this latest round of introductions from outside the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Willow Grove Connecticut, she stands at five feet five inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and twenty seven pounds, she is the Fixer… RACHEL RAKER!”
BULLETPROOF:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=idM_ivEu1No
RACHEL RAKER:
The usual mixed reaction gave way to a murmur of surprise as the speakers burst forth with Godsmack rather than Switchfoot. Rachel stepped into view a moment thereafter, the Cutthroat Counselor accompanied by her new ‘Bulletproof’ anthem and the same air of analytical iciness that’d made her one of FAWN’S most dangerous brawlers. Unfazed as ever, Raker took the measure of the audience to assure they were suitable witnesses for what was to come. Her evaluation meant the FAWNatics had some time to take in her togs which consisted of a sleeveless black one piece featuring a plunging ‘V’ neckline, wide lapels, an exceptionally high military style collar and three shiny silver buttons descending in a straight line from the tip of the ‘V’ to just below her navel. The look was completed with glossy black pads and boots.
Deeming them satisfactory if only by the slimmest of margins, Raker made her way down the ramp to the ring without stopping to acknowledge any of those assembled not even one holding a sign that exclaimed, ‘ANNA’S NOT SHARP ENOUGH TO ESCAPE THIS LOCK UP!’ Reaching the steps shortly thereafter, Rachel stomped her way to the apron where she wiped off the soles of her boots and slipped through the middle rope. From there she made a beeline to the side facing the hard camera and put one foot on the bottom rope and the other on the second rope. Finally hoisting a fist to acknowledge those brave enough to cheer, she quickly lowered it to her throat and drew it across thumb-first to make sure everyone knew her opinion on tennis and the players thereof. Dropping to the canvas after another round of vitriol, Raker strolled over to the far corner and settled in against the buckles so Al Carpenter could at least attempt to inspect her pads and boots.
“And her opponent, from Islington, London, standing five feet seven inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and thirty pounds... ANNA SHARPE!”
ANNA SHARPE:
Reverend and the Makers ‘Heavyweight Champion of the World’ boomed out as the dirty blonde made her own walk down the ramp, the song’s mournful elements feeling more apposite than ever. Sharpe had been out of the ring since her first chance at gold had ended in failure and while this upcoming confrontation with Raker didn't offer a direct route to a second shot at a title, a bludgeoning of the formidable vet would at least get her back in the conversation.
In her usual dark tank and booty hugging shorts, Sharpe rolled under the bottom rope and headed to the corner opposite Rachel. Their one previous encounter had gone unrecorded, lost to posterity, and so hadn't figured in the promotion of the match, but there was enough jeering aimed Anna's way that she could at least be confident she hadn't been forgotten.
The crowd, unsure how to react to a pair of women that often made sport of pummeling their heroines, settled for a curious buzz that increased to a dull roar as the blondes exited their corners on a beeline for the center of the ring. Fists already up under her chin in anticipation of Sharpe’s heavy hands, Rachel scouted the Englishwoman with a few poking jabs, the last of which tagged Anna’s chin just hard enough to twitch her head back. “Made it out of my corner, Sharpe.” Raker noted as the other blonde started to circle. “Think you’re strong enough to put me back in--”
Anna feigned an uppercut to draw the Fixer’s guard high, then shot in low with half a dozen hooks aimed at Raker’s ribs. The first three hit home, then hunched forward and cinched an arm around Sharpe’s noggin to secure a Front Facelock. Snarling as Rachel’s forearm dug into her neck, Anna hooked one arm around opposing hips to snatch hold of her waistband, thus keeping the other blonde in place while she pwak-pwak-PWAAKED several more punches into those sturdy flanks.
Not about to cede ground while she had control over Sharpe’s head, Raker yoked up on the Facelock, then crooked her other arm into a ‘V’ and THWHACKED several heavy shots across her opponent’s shoulders and lower back. Anna soaked them up without complaint, switched over to a standard Waistlock and squeezed hard enough to draw a groan from the hardcase. Hands locked tight, Sharpe dipped her knees and started to lift only to find her efforts thwarted by a single stern Kneelift to the tits.
“Bull strength isn’t going to work on me, Sharpe.” Raker noted after administering two more Kneelifts to the Briton’s tummy. “I hope you brought more than brawl--”
Sharpe silenced her with a double handful of briefs, which she promptly raised as high as the tensile strength of the slick fabric would allow.
“Stick it up your ass, Raker.” Anna muttered as she yanked the wedgie from side to side, just like Mason had shown her. “You’re gonna find out all about what I brought long before you’re snuffling into my ar--”
Rachel’s rejoinder was a wedgie of her own, a vicious, sawing thing that earned a round of appreciative cheers from the FAWNatics. “You really think you can win this fight in my trunks, cupcake? This isn’t the slap and tickle shyt Caity ‘trained’ you WHOAH!”
Sharpe abandoned her trunk tugging in favor of a strong grip around the shorter woman’s knees. From there she muscled Raker off her feet and stormed forward until they were stopped by the bounce and twang of the ropes. More than willing to use the strands for leverage, Sharpe grabbed the middle in both hands and proceeded to pump her shoulder into Rachel’s gut until Carpenter hurried over and barked, “All right you two, give me a clean break and get out of those ropes!” To his surprise they both let loose without need of further prompting, though the official’s request for a clean break fell must’ve fallen on deaf ears because Sharpe CRAAACKED a Bytch Slap across her foe’s face as soon as she straightened up.
Raker swiveled Anna’s head with a slap of her own, caught the dirty blonde under the armpits and twisted in a half circle so Sharpe occupied her place on the ropes. Smeared in tummy to tummy, Rachel kept one hand braced against Anna’s chin, all the better to force her head back at a blatantly unpleasant angle. The other landed three hard slaps to British tits before curling in for a greedy hold on Sharpe’s sports bra.
Anna grimaced, stomped a foot against the mat but otherwise made no complaint, not that her silence stopped Carpenter from slipping both hands between their tummies so he could prize them apart. “You are damned well going to listen to my commands!” he snapped at the pair of blondes. “Or you can the double DQ and go finish this roadhouse crap out in the parking lot, understand?”
Both Anna and Rachel took a step back and gave their attire some quick adjustments. Carpenter nodded appreciatively at the pairs' responsiveness while Sharpe favored the other blonde with her rare grim smile.
“I like not having to worry about bitching and whining. Well, other than from you.” This last aimed at the ref, as Sharpe put her fists back up to show she was ready to re-engage.
Rachel had barely given her nod of acknowledgement when Sharpe came at her swinging for a fistful of ex-con ribmeat. Showing off some impressive hip movement, Raker got her body out of the way and brought her arm down to trap Anna's outstretched limb against her side. Face to face with the English woman and with two free hands to Sharpe's one, Rachel made good on that advantage, taking the one time WTA wannabe by the throat and slinging her into the corner.
Anna was still blinking the confusion out of her eyes when Raker followed her in with a raised knee driven deep into muscular belly. Blonde slumped against blonde as Sharpe fought for her breath. Rachel's follow through having taken her to a perch on the bottom rope, she snatched a rough handful of hair to jerk Anna's head back before driving her elbow down into the other blonde's forehead.
“Ooooohhhh!”
The crowd gasped as one, aghast at the violence of the shot. Anna sank down further, her ass coming to rest on the bottom buckle, knees up in front of her chest. Mindlessly, her eyes swimming, she slapped her palm against the throbbing impact point and then brought her hand up in front of her face to stare at. Somehow, Rachel's bony joint hadn't broken the skin.
“You've got a hard head, bitch. I'll give you that.” Raker hopped down from the ropes and pulled Sharpe into a rough, grinding headlock, leading her out of the corner. Anna followed along, bent over and still groggy as a hangover. When Rachel then took a knee, Sharpe was dragged right down with her, to an awkward sprawl on the canvas. The dirty blonde's mind was just beginning to form coherent thoughts again, which right then meant an awareness of just how thoroughly Raker was dominating her.
“Vicious cunt,” she groaned. Her hands started slapping at the ex-con's flank, wandering her attire looking for purchase.
“You made some real use of that 'Rookie of the Year' win, Sharpe.” Rachel grunted. “What did you get out of it? One match? Poisoned the concept so much they scrapped the damn thing.” She shifted her grip to better crush the English woman's skull when her fingers strayed too close to Anna's maw and the Brit bit down.
That got the headlock unwound sharpish, and Anna was happy to give up her snack and backpedal across the mat for some recovery time. Raker wiped her saliva smeared fingers on her thigh and glared at the other blonde. Sharpe glared back, her legs folded underneath her, arms splayed out behind for balance.
She blinked hard once again, relieved that when she opened her eyes the lights no longer swirled quite so trippily. Done with their brief break, the two women advanced on their knees and slapped palms with a sweaty sucking sound, their fingers quickly linking and arms just as quickly trembling with the effort they put into overpowering the other. “You think prison was tough,” Anna grunted. The Fixer's reminder of her fruitless RotY reign had soured the Brit just as much as the elbow. “I'd take a meth addict with string for biceps trying to jump my arse in the shower over a pissed off athlete looking to club me with a racquet. You wouldn't have lasted a week on the tour.”
Raker didn’t quite scoff, though it was clear from the tilt of her mouth that she didn’t agree with the other blonde’s assertion. Silent as the pair clambered back to their feet, Rachel abruptly twisted her hands out of the blonde’s grasp and created some separation with a rude shove. “I’ve seen how you fight in the shower, Sharpe. And I can see why you’d prefer tennis. Frankly I’m amazed you agreed to a match against opposition where you don’t possess an overwhelming advant--”
Anna lunged at her with both arms raised for a Lock-Up so the Fixer answered with a Kneelift aimed at English midsection, alas it proved a feint and Sharpe drew up just short enough to avoid the blow while simultaneously hooking her opponent under the knee. Anna didn’t smirk either, she immediately THUNKED a Headbutt into Rachel’s chin, then planted her free hand against the American’s chest and sent her to the canvas with a heavy shove. In the next instant she pushed up on tiptoes and went down on one knee, all the better to bury her fist in the former Associate’s belly.
TAKEDOWN AND GUT PUNCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gl6pzlWPpVc
Raker ‘unnnnnggggghed’ and sat up, so Sharpe caught a handful of hair and pasted her across the mouth with a heavy Forearm Smash. She followed up with a brisk slap, then stuck an index finger under the blonde’s nose. “I’m not a bully, Raker. No matter what you might think. But I do love to fight. If you don’t, you’re going to get your shyt pushed in tonight.”
With that Sharpe doubled down on the hair-hold and bounced the back of her foe’s head off the thinly-sheathed plywood. The force of it sat Rachel up in a woozy seat, so Anna got to her feet, wheeled around and set off for the ropes at a flat run. Returning even faster than she left, the powerhouse battler dropped to one knee, all the better to THWHUMP the other against Raker’s sternum! Rachel went down flat, so Sharpe twisted around and stretched out atop her in a snug Crossbody. Far leg hooked tight, Anna showed Rachel’s backside to the camera for…
LOW SLIDING KNEE SMASH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRM0dvBZTBg
ONE…
TWO…
Raker forced her off with a whole second to spare so Sharpe forced her down flat, then stretched out so she could work her arms under Raker’s torso for a grounded Bear Hug. Planted on splayed knees with one cheek flush against the American’s chest, Anna dug her knotted fists into the other woman’s lower back and huffed, “Tap out at your leisure, princess. You know I’ll pay you for the full houRRRHHHHH… that all you got?”
Raker had filled her hands with the Briton’s hair for several hard tugs, but Sharpe held her mount and made the Fixer’s that much worse with a short Headbutt to the tits. Rachel waggled a finger to keep Carpenter away before returning to the hair-pull, though this was more a single sustained tug as opposed to the previous frenetic shaking. “Not lettin’ go, Raker.” Anna huffed over the referee’s admonishment. “Gonna need something stronger than that to break my OOOOWWW YOU CUNT!”
Sharpe’s grip was instantly forgotten when Rachel pinched her attacker’s ear and twisted like she meant to rip it off! Snatching at the American’s wrist in hopes of dissuading the callous tactic, Anna left herself exposed to an awkward but heavy Kneelift to the belly that left her gasping for breath while Raker scrambled out from underneath.
Angry after the Brit’s round of domineering ground control, Rachel planted a leg on either side of the other blonde’s hips, then bent down and grabbed her biceps so she could thread them across her own thighs. With Sharpe’s defenses thusly neutralized, Raker pressed the insides of her forearms against Anna’s jaw, locked her hands tight and craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanked back on the Camel Clutch.
CAMEL CLUTCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWxBcsr9IHQ
Deigning to smile only when Sharpe voiced a low, angry moan, Rachel wrenched her hold back n’ forth and made sure to drive the curve of her ass into the small of the other woman’s back. After perhaps ten seconds or so, she leaned down and planted a taunting kiss on Anna’s forehead. “How’s that Ms. Badass? Strong enough for you? Or shall I touch your toes to the back of your head?”
Basic as the hold was, there weren’t a whole lot of outs for the former terror of the WTA. But Raker knew what she’d do herself in this position, and so when Sharpe turned and twisted her head enough to sink her teeth into Rachel’s forearm, the Fixer surprised the observing Carpenter with the briefest of nods to go along with her grimace. Raker hadn’t made a Gaiman-like conversion though, and she showed her dislike of the pain by hooking the fingers of her unencumbered hand into Anna’s nostrils and jerking back savagely.
The hovering official started his count then, over the verbal objections of Raker and the digital ones of Sharpe, who brandished her twin middle fingers with Maradona-like enthusiasm. Nevertheless, at the end of a loooong ‘four’ the two blondes relinquished their mutual torments, though Rachel gave her grounded foe a brisk slap on the back of the head before vacating her perch.
“What’s the problem, rat? You like being the only one who can gnaw your way out of trouble?” Back on her feet, Anna ignored the throbbing ache centered round her spine, wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist and beckoned Rachel in to continue the festivities.
“Next time you drool on me it’ll be because I choked you out, bitch.” Raker dragged her saliva slick forearm across her ass before swinging it at Sharpe’s head like a club. Wide-eyed, the one-time RotY ducked underneath the shot and caught Rachel with a digging liver punch that would've buckled her knees if Anna hadn’t caught her under the armpits.
Dragging her prey across the mat a couple steps, Sharpe shifted to a Waistlock, took a quick look over her shoulder and ripped Raker off her feet with a well aimed Corner German Suplex, the Fixer’s head slamming hard into the middle buckle.
“What do you think, Rach? Can you get out of there without asking for help?” Blowing some stray strands of hair out of her face, Anna watched Rachel haul herself back to her feet and saw the anger come into her face as her head cleared.
“You don’t get to dictate terms here, Sharpe,” Raker snapped. “Move, bitch.” And as if just saying it made it so she strode out of the corner. Only to step straight into a huge two-handed shove that had her butt back on the buckle in no time. There were anticipatory gasps from the crowd at the ring-rattling show of disrespect.
“Make me,” Sharpe answered flatly.
The Fixer fair exploded out of the corner at that. Anna turned her shoulder to absorb a slugging right hand on her bicep and, braced as she was, the impact of Raker’s weight knocked her off her stance, sent back-pedalling by the propulsive power in Rachel’s legs. Locked together, they hurtled across the ring, the Fixer’s buttocks bouncing in her one-piece, her head tucked under Anna’s arm as she built up a churning head of steam….
….only for Sharpe to grab a mean handful of that one-piece, lifting and spinning Rachel by her wedgie to SLAM heartbreakingly into the opposite corner, taking Anna’s weight chest-to-chest before the former terror of the WTA peeled herself away and once again took up her egress-denying position, arms folded across her chest.
“Ooooh, so close,” she teased.
“Fuck you, Anna,” Rachel panted. She had her right arm hooked over the top rope and her ass on her heels. Her sweaty tousle obscured her face. She regained her feet and tossed her head back, her face drained of color save a single red dot in the center of each cheek.
Sharpe uncrossed her arms and put her fists up, heart pounding with anticipation. The crowd noise revved up like a jet preparing for take-off. Wordlessly, Rachel began her assault.
They brawled in so tight that it was hard for those watching to see what was landing save when one butt or the other was sent jolting backward by a belly shot. Hungry for payback, Raker reached for the back of Anna’s shorts and tried to spin her into the corner but the English blonde fired a knee between Rachel’s legs that turned the strong limbs to water. A clubbing forearm across the chest put the Fixer back against that loathsomely familiar buckle yet again. “You ready to kiss my arse, prison rat,” Anna snarled.
She had her fist drawn back and aimed squarely at Rachel’s forehead, only for the other blonde to get her arm up and block the shot. Her left hand then shot forward, closing around Anna’s throat. Driving herself on, Rachel once again bulled her way out of her corner and this time the two women stumbled, grunting and groaning, along the ropes, this time it was Anna’s backside that hit the turnbuckle to an accompanying roar from every corner of the arena.
Raker didn’t stop pushing when Sharpe hit the buckles, in fact she stuffed her right hand against the Briton’s chin and shoved until the back of Anna’s head was almost touching the steel post. Left hand curled into a fist, she pwak-pwak-PWAAAKED half a dozen shots into Anna’s taut tummy before shifting over to a greedy, kneading handful of the other blonde’s sports-bra. Sharpe groaned, stamped her feet and answered the chin-push with one of her own, albeit with limited success. “Ready to call it quits, Anna?” Raker demanded after a particularly rough squeeze. “Or do I have to break a racquet over your head first?”
“F*ck you, Raker.” Sharpe abandoned her foe’s chin and went all in on her rack with a stereo nipple twister she’d seen Caity employ to great result.
Rachel grimaced and halted her own claw just long enough to CRAAACK Anna’s face with a cheek-welting Bytch Slap. Then she wormed that hand under the slick lyrca of Sharpe’s top and twisted like she was searching for a radio station at the other end of the dial. “That all you got, tough girl? Gonna tap out to a goddamned titty twis--”
“All right Rachel, that’s enough. Get her out of the corner.” Al Carpenter risked a great deal of harm to his person by stepping between the warring blondes, even going so far as to put a calming hand on their midsections.
Neither Raker or Sharpe took their eyes off the other, though Rachel did mutter, “She didn’t ask for a break, did you, Anna?”
Sharpe grunted, then answered Raker’s tweaking with more of her own. “If it’ll get your hands out of my bloody top, then yes, I want a goddamned breaWHOOOAANNNGGHH!”
The Fixer snatched Anna under the armpits, hauled her out of the corner and spun around in a looping half circle just to BWUUUNG her back into the thinly-sheathed steel! “There, she had a break. No pipe down and back the f*ck off.” The ref promptly reminded her that rope breaks didn’t work like that, not that his protestations stopped Raker from hooking her foe’s thigh and muscling it up just enough to drape over the middle rope.
Eyes wide, Sharpe plunged both hands into Rachel’s hair in hopes of distracting her from the task at hand, alas her attacker endured the claws long enough to THUMP the point of her knee into the exposed muscle. Two more identical strikes followed before Carpenter looped an arm around the blonde’s waist and hauled her out to the center of the squared circle. “C’mon Raker, this isn’t a freaking riot! You of all people should appreciate--”
“I appreciate your position, Carpenter.” she interrupted. “But if you keep me from that bytch one more time I’ll lay out and finish this my own way.” With that she juked around him, stormed toward the corner and THWHUMPED a stiff punt between her opponent’s thighs!
Anna wailed to wake the dead, but still managed to bog Raker down in a surprisingly sturdy clinch. “You spiteful cunt,” she half sobbed into the American’s ear. “I’m going to ruin your AAAAWWWWWWW BLOODY WHORE!”
`Rachel helped herself to the center of Sharpe’s trunks to remind the other blonde of how she’d taken ownership of the Crotch Claw since returning to FAWN. “Submit.” Rachel hissed into her prey’s ear. “Do it right now and I’ll finish you fast.”
“Puuuhhh… pucker up and kiss my arse you NNNGGHH!”
Rachel abandoned the Claw to power free of the clinch and deliver a heavy, HEAVY left hand to the point of Sharpe’s jaw. Anna’s head snapped to one side and she sagged against the corner but the leg trap kept her otherwise in place. Happy to correct that situation, Rachel unhooked the suspended stem and immediately shoved Sharpe through the gap between top and middle ropes. Anna made a grab for the second strand but Raker pulled it away and the Englishwoman hit the apron hard en route to an even rougher landing on the floor.
Anna started to stir faster than Rachel would’ve guessed, so the Fixer stepped out onto the apron and moved to the middle so she had a bit of a runway at her disposal. Taking off as soon as Sharpe reached boot-leather, Raker leapt off with both hands raised overhead only to be caught with a heavy Bear Hug around her ribs!
Knocked back a few steps by the force of her catch, Anna hupped her burden up a little higher then let loose with a furious roar and charged down the aisle to BWAAANG Rachel’s spine into the steel ring-post! Letting go on impact, Sharpe crumpled to all fours while Raker landed heavily on one side.
“Kuuuuuhhh… keep away from my trunks…. bytch.” Anna said to the floor. “Or next time I’ll snap you in half.”
Sharpe might have prided herself on her relentlessness but right then the former RotY would have welcomed a few seconds of rest time. Instead she got Raker lunging at her, albeit with less vim than would've been the case earlier. The two blondes grappled sloppily until Rachel untangled her arm sufficiently to go right back to the Crotch Claw.
“Couldn't keep me in the corner, couldn't keep me out of heruuuhhh.” The Fixer took Anna's knee flush on the jaw and lost her grip. Sharpe shoved her away and reared up to deliver a series of clubbing Axehandles that eventually flattened Raker to the floor.
“You know what I can do bitch? Stand up.” To demonstrate it, Sharpe used the other blonde as a base to push up from. “Try it. See how it goes.” She waited for Rachel to make it to all fours before circling round to deliver a reciprocal punt between Raker’s legs.
“AAAAWWWWW! FUCK!” The swinging boot near lifted Rachel’s knees off the floor. She rolled to her back, eyes squeezed shut and hands reaching instinctively for the pain. Sharpe was reaching for her ankles when Carpenter’s count registered, now well into the teens.
“Up you get, rat.” Two handfuls of hair brought the pliant Raker to wobbly legs. Anna rolled her under the bottom rope and slid in after her. Rachel had come to a halt on her side, with her sweat wet locks over her face and her right arm extended above her head. Confident she was finally wearing the Fixer down, Sharpe burrowed her arms round Rachel’s waist and scooped her up in a Waistlock. Raker’s mumbled moans and various protestations melted away as Anna punished her stomach with a brawny squeeze. “Too late to object now, Counselor,” the one time Terror of the WTA growled in Rachel’s ear, lifting her off the canvas with a grunt.
Whether it was the taunt that spurred her on or whether she had more left in the tank than Sharpe had judged, when her feet hit the floor Raker wasted no time launching herself up and back, forcing Anna into a split-second decision. Electing not to give up her grip, Sharpe lost her balance and the two women tumbled between the ropes and right back down to the floor.
An awkward descent that saw her foot briefly hook over the bottom rope meant that Sharpe got the worst of the tumble. She opened her eyes after a few blissful seconds of darkness to see Rachel Raker looking down fiercely.
“Come on, Sharpe. Had my ass kicked worse than this back in white collar boxing,” the Fixer said. Before Anna could respond to being thus traduced she was hauled up by the ears and clubbed with a Lariat that left her reeling against the ring’s edge. Raker followed up with a succession of big right hands, slapping aside Anna’s suddenly feeble defense and beating her the length of the squared circle.
As the crowd responded with boisterous cheers for each hard impact, Rachel caught her stumbling foe by the back of the neck, ready to drive her face into the steel steps. But Anna’s flailing feet kicked the metal structure apart and in the moment of hesitation that followed she clocked Raker in the jaw with her elbow.
Breathing hard, the two blondes slumped against the ring, side by side. Sharpe worked her numb jaw and blew some stray hair out of her face. The count was once again into double figures when she slapped her hand down on the sweaty fabric covering Rachel’s tit and squeezed hard. “You aren’t getting back up there,” Anna said, gritting her teeth and wringing a whimper from her suffering neighbor.
“Who said I wanted to,” Raker shot back. “I’ll send you back to Caity with a limp.” She put her own squeeze on Sharpe’s crotch and Anna doubled over slightly before redoubling her efforts. They staggered awkwardly out into the space between the ring and the barriers where Anna gave up her grip to pull Raker into a Headlock and drag her to the floor. Bullying her way to a mount Sharpe managed a pair of right hands before Rachel rolled them and fired back with three of her own. Somewhere around the third of these exchanges of position the bell finally rang to signal the sacrilegiously inconclusive end of the match. Sharpe stayed her hand for a moment, registering what had happened before popping the sleepy faced Rachel another jolting shot on the chin.
Several rolls later they were right up against the barrier with the Fixer on top when the backstage crew reached them to put an end to things, dragging Rachel off her mount and helping Anna to her feet once some distance had been created.
The crowd gave the stoppage their most full throated disapproval, abruptly changing key as the two blondes pushed through the sea of personnel to find each other again. But there was to be no resumption. Sharpe curled her arm round the back of Rachel’s neck to pull her in close. “You got lucky they stopped me, Rach,” she slurred, “but you were pretty good. For a lawyer. Keep away from Lenore and we won’t have to do this again.”
“Lucky my ass. You were pretty good too, Sharpe," the Fixer grunted back, the last words before they were once more pulled apart.
BULLETPROOF:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=idM_ivEu1No
RACHEL RAKER:
The usual mixed reaction gave way to a murmur of surprise as the speakers burst forth with Godsmack rather than Switchfoot. Rachel stepped into view a moment thereafter, the Cutthroat Counselor accompanied by her new ‘Bulletproof’ anthem and the same air of analytical iciness that’d made her one of FAWN’S most dangerous brawlers. Unfazed as ever, Raker took the measure of the audience to assure they were suitable witnesses for what was to come. Her evaluation meant the FAWNatics had some time to take in her togs which consisted of a sleeveless black one piece featuring a plunging ‘V’ neckline, wide lapels, an exceptionally high military style collar and three shiny silver buttons descending in a straight line from the tip of the ‘V’ to just below her navel. The look was completed with glossy black pads and boots.
Deeming them satisfactory if only by the slimmest of margins, Raker made her way down the ramp to the ring without stopping to acknowledge any of those assembled not even one holding a sign that exclaimed, ‘ANNA’S NOT SHARP ENOUGH TO ESCAPE THIS LOCK UP!’ Reaching the steps shortly thereafter, Rachel stomped her way to the apron where she wiped off the soles of her boots and slipped through the middle rope. From there she made a beeline to the side facing the hard camera and put one foot on the bottom rope and the other on the second rope. Finally hoisting a fist to acknowledge those brave enough to cheer, she quickly lowered it to her throat and drew it across thumb-first to make sure everyone knew her opinion on tennis and the players thereof. Dropping to the canvas after another round of vitriol, Raker strolled over to the far corner and settled in against the buckles so Al Carpenter could at least attempt to inspect her pads and boots.
“And her opponent, from Islington, London, standing five feet seven inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and thirty pounds... ANNA SHARPE!”
ANNA SHARPE:
Reverend and the Makers ‘Heavyweight Champion of the World’ boomed out as the dirty blonde made her own walk down the ramp, the song’s mournful elements feeling more apposite than ever. Sharpe had been out of the ring since her first chance at gold had ended in failure and while this upcoming confrontation with Raker didn't offer a direct route to a second shot at a title, a bludgeoning of the formidable vet would at least get her back in the conversation.
In her usual dark tank and booty hugging shorts, Sharpe rolled under the bottom rope and headed to the corner opposite Rachel. Their one previous encounter had gone unrecorded, lost to posterity, and so hadn't figured in the promotion of the match, but there was enough jeering aimed Anna's way that she could at least be confident she hadn't been forgotten.
The crowd, unsure how to react to a pair of women that often made sport of pummeling their heroines, settled for a curious buzz that increased to a dull roar as the blondes exited their corners on a beeline for the center of the ring. Fists already up under her chin in anticipation of Sharpe’s heavy hands, Rachel scouted the Englishwoman with a few poking jabs, the last of which tagged Anna’s chin just hard enough to twitch her head back. “Made it out of my corner, Sharpe.” Raker noted as the other blonde started to circle. “Think you’re strong enough to put me back in--”
Anna feigned an uppercut to draw the Fixer’s guard high, then shot in low with half a dozen hooks aimed at Raker’s ribs. The first three hit home, then hunched forward and cinched an arm around Sharpe’s noggin to secure a Front Facelock. Snarling as Rachel’s forearm dug into her neck, Anna hooked one arm around opposing hips to snatch hold of her waistband, thus keeping the other blonde in place while she pwak-pwak-PWAAKED several more punches into those sturdy flanks.
Not about to cede ground while she had control over Sharpe’s head, Raker yoked up on the Facelock, then crooked her other arm into a ‘V’ and THWHACKED several heavy shots across her opponent’s shoulders and lower back. Anna soaked them up without complaint, switched over to a standard Waistlock and squeezed hard enough to draw a groan from the hardcase. Hands locked tight, Sharpe dipped her knees and started to lift only to find her efforts thwarted by a single stern Kneelift to the tits.
“Bull strength isn’t going to work on me, Sharpe.” Raker noted after administering two more Kneelifts to the Briton’s tummy. “I hope you brought more than brawl--”
Sharpe silenced her with a double handful of briefs, which she promptly raised as high as the tensile strength of the slick fabric would allow.
“Stick it up your ass, Raker.” Anna muttered as she yanked the wedgie from side to side, just like Mason had shown her. “You’re gonna find out all about what I brought long before you’re snuffling into my ar--”
Rachel’s rejoinder was a wedgie of her own, a vicious, sawing thing that earned a round of appreciative cheers from the FAWNatics. “You really think you can win this fight in my trunks, cupcake? This isn’t the slap and tickle shyt Caity ‘trained’ you WHOAH!”
Sharpe abandoned her trunk tugging in favor of a strong grip around the shorter woman’s knees. From there she muscled Raker off her feet and stormed forward until they were stopped by the bounce and twang of the ropes. More than willing to use the strands for leverage, Sharpe grabbed the middle in both hands and proceeded to pump her shoulder into Rachel’s gut until Carpenter hurried over and barked, “All right you two, give me a clean break and get out of those ropes!” To his surprise they both let loose without need of further prompting, though the official’s request for a clean break fell must’ve fallen on deaf ears because Sharpe CRAAACKED a Bytch Slap across her foe’s face as soon as she straightened up.
Raker swiveled Anna’s head with a slap of her own, caught the dirty blonde under the armpits and twisted in a half circle so Sharpe occupied her place on the ropes. Smeared in tummy to tummy, Rachel kept one hand braced against Anna’s chin, all the better to force her head back at a blatantly unpleasant angle. The other landed three hard slaps to British tits before curling in for a greedy hold on Sharpe’s sports bra.
Anna grimaced, stomped a foot against the mat but otherwise made no complaint, not that her silence stopped Carpenter from slipping both hands between their tummies so he could prize them apart. “You are damned well going to listen to my commands!” he snapped at the pair of blondes. “Or you can the double DQ and go finish this roadhouse crap out in the parking lot, understand?”
Both Anna and Rachel took a step back and gave their attire some quick adjustments. Carpenter nodded appreciatively at the pairs' responsiveness while Sharpe favored the other blonde with her rare grim smile.
“I like not having to worry about bitching and whining. Well, other than from you.” This last aimed at the ref, as Sharpe put her fists back up to show she was ready to re-engage.
Rachel had barely given her nod of acknowledgement when Sharpe came at her swinging for a fistful of ex-con ribmeat. Showing off some impressive hip movement, Raker got her body out of the way and brought her arm down to trap Anna's outstretched limb against her side. Face to face with the English woman and with two free hands to Sharpe's one, Rachel made good on that advantage, taking the one time WTA wannabe by the throat and slinging her into the corner.
Anna was still blinking the confusion out of her eyes when Raker followed her in with a raised knee driven deep into muscular belly. Blonde slumped against blonde as Sharpe fought for her breath. Rachel's follow through having taken her to a perch on the bottom rope, she snatched a rough handful of hair to jerk Anna's head back before driving her elbow down into the other blonde's forehead.
“Ooooohhhh!”
The crowd gasped as one, aghast at the violence of the shot. Anna sank down further, her ass coming to rest on the bottom buckle, knees up in front of her chest. Mindlessly, her eyes swimming, she slapped her palm against the throbbing impact point and then brought her hand up in front of her face to stare at. Somehow, Rachel's bony joint hadn't broken the skin.
“You've got a hard head, bitch. I'll give you that.” Raker hopped down from the ropes and pulled Sharpe into a rough, grinding headlock, leading her out of the corner. Anna followed along, bent over and still groggy as a hangover. When Rachel then took a knee, Sharpe was dragged right down with her, to an awkward sprawl on the canvas. The dirty blonde's mind was just beginning to form coherent thoughts again, which right then meant an awareness of just how thoroughly Raker was dominating her.
“Vicious cunt,” she groaned. Her hands started slapping at the ex-con's flank, wandering her attire looking for purchase.
“You made some real use of that 'Rookie of the Year' win, Sharpe.” Rachel grunted. “What did you get out of it? One match? Poisoned the concept so much they scrapped the damn thing.” She shifted her grip to better crush the English woman's skull when her fingers strayed too close to Anna's maw and the Brit bit down.
That got the headlock unwound sharpish, and Anna was happy to give up her snack and backpedal across the mat for some recovery time. Raker wiped her saliva smeared fingers on her thigh and glared at the other blonde. Sharpe glared back, her legs folded underneath her, arms splayed out behind for balance.
She blinked hard once again, relieved that when she opened her eyes the lights no longer swirled quite so trippily. Done with their brief break, the two women advanced on their knees and slapped palms with a sweaty sucking sound, their fingers quickly linking and arms just as quickly trembling with the effort they put into overpowering the other. “You think prison was tough,” Anna grunted. The Fixer's reminder of her fruitless RotY reign had soured the Brit just as much as the elbow. “I'd take a meth addict with string for biceps trying to jump my arse in the shower over a pissed off athlete looking to club me with a racquet. You wouldn't have lasted a week on the tour.”
Raker didn’t quite scoff, though it was clear from the tilt of her mouth that she didn’t agree with the other blonde’s assertion. Silent as the pair clambered back to their feet, Rachel abruptly twisted her hands out of the blonde’s grasp and created some separation with a rude shove. “I’ve seen how you fight in the shower, Sharpe. And I can see why you’d prefer tennis. Frankly I’m amazed you agreed to a match against opposition where you don’t possess an overwhelming advant--”
Anna lunged at her with both arms raised for a Lock-Up so the Fixer answered with a Kneelift aimed at English midsection, alas it proved a feint and Sharpe drew up just short enough to avoid the blow while simultaneously hooking her opponent under the knee. Anna didn’t smirk either, she immediately THUNKED a Headbutt into Rachel’s chin, then planted her free hand against the American’s chest and sent her to the canvas with a heavy shove. In the next instant she pushed up on tiptoes and went down on one knee, all the better to bury her fist in the former Associate’s belly.
TAKEDOWN AND GUT PUNCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gl6pzlWPpVc
Raker ‘unnnnnggggghed’ and sat up, so Sharpe caught a handful of hair and pasted her across the mouth with a heavy Forearm Smash. She followed up with a brisk slap, then stuck an index finger under the blonde’s nose. “I’m not a bully, Raker. No matter what you might think. But I do love to fight. If you don’t, you’re going to get your shyt pushed in tonight.”
With that Sharpe doubled down on the hair-hold and bounced the back of her foe’s head off the thinly-sheathed plywood. The force of it sat Rachel up in a woozy seat, so Anna got to her feet, wheeled around and set off for the ropes at a flat run. Returning even faster than she left, the powerhouse battler dropped to one knee, all the better to THWHUMP the other against Raker’s sternum! Rachel went down flat, so Sharpe twisted around and stretched out atop her in a snug Crossbody. Far leg hooked tight, Anna showed Rachel’s backside to the camera for…
LOW SLIDING KNEE SMASH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=kRM0dvBZTBg
ONE…
TWO…
Raker forced her off with a whole second to spare so Sharpe forced her down flat, then stretched out so she could work her arms under Raker’s torso for a grounded Bear Hug. Planted on splayed knees with one cheek flush against the American’s chest, Anna dug her knotted fists into the other woman’s lower back and huffed, “Tap out at your leisure, princess. You know I’ll pay you for the full houRRRHHHHH… that all you got?”
Raker had filled her hands with the Briton’s hair for several hard tugs, but Sharpe held her mount and made the Fixer’s that much worse with a short Headbutt to the tits. Rachel waggled a finger to keep Carpenter away before returning to the hair-pull, though this was more a single sustained tug as opposed to the previous frenetic shaking. “Not lettin’ go, Raker.” Anna huffed over the referee’s admonishment. “Gonna need something stronger than that to break my OOOOWWW YOU CUNT!”
Sharpe’s grip was instantly forgotten when Rachel pinched her attacker’s ear and twisted like she meant to rip it off! Snatching at the American’s wrist in hopes of dissuading the callous tactic, Anna left herself exposed to an awkward but heavy Kneelift to the belly that left her gasping for breath while Raker scrambled out from underneath.
Angry after the Brit’s round of domineering ground control, Rachel planted a leg on either side of the other blonde’s hips, then bent down and grabbed her biceps so she could thread them across her own thighs. With Sharpe’s defenses thusly neutralized, Raker pressed the insides of her forearms against Anna’s jaw, locked her hands tight and craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanked back on the Camel Clutch.
CAMEL CLUTCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWxBcsr9IHQ
Deigning to smile only when Sharpe voiced a low, angry moan, Rachel wrenched her hold back n’ forth and made sure to drive the curve of her ass into the small of the other woman’s back. After perhaps ten seconds or so, she leaned down and planted a taunting kiss on Anna’s forehead. “How’s that Ms. Badass? Strong enough for you? Or shall I touch your toes to the back of your head?”
Basic as the hold was, there weren’t a whole lot of outs for the former terror of the WTA. But Raker knew what she’d do herself in this position, and so when Sharpe turned and twisted her head enough to sink her teeth into Rachel’s forearm, the Fixer surprised the observing Carpenter with the briefest of nods to go along with her grimace. Raker hadn’t made a Gaiman-like conversion though, and she showed her dislike of the pain by hooking the fingers of her unencumbered hand into Anna’s nostrils and jerking back savagely.
The hovering official started his count then, over the verbal objections of Raker and the digital ones of Sharpe, who brandished her twin middle fingers with Maradona-like enthusiasm. Nevertheless, at the end of a loooong ‘four’ the two blondes relinquished their mutual torments, though Rachel gave her grounded foe a brisk slap on the back of the head before vacating her perch.
“What’s the problem, rat? You like being the only one who can gnaw your way out of trouble?” Back on her feet, Anna ignored the throbbing ache centered round her spine, wiped her mouth on the back of her wrist and beckoned Rachel in to continue the festivities.
“Next time you drool on me it’ll be because I choked you out, bitch.” Raker dragged her saliva slick forearm across her ass before swinging it at Sharpe’s head like a club. Wide-eyed, the one-time RotY ducked underneath the shot and caught Rachel with a digging liver punch that would've buckled her knees if Anna hadn’t caught her under the armpits.
Dragging her prey across the mat a couple steps, Sharpe shifted to a Waistlock, took a quick look over her shoulder and ripped Raker off her feet with a well aimed Corner German Suplex, the Fixer’s head slamming hard into the middle buckle.
“What do you think, Rach? Can you get out of there without asking for help?” Blowing some stray strands of hair out of her face, Anna watched Rachel haul herself back to her feet and saw the anger come into her face as her head cleared.
“You don’t get to dictate terms here, Sharpe,” Raker snapped. “Move, bitch.” And as if just saying it made it so she strode out of the corner. Only to step straight into a huge two-handed shove that had her butt back on the buckle in no time. There were anticipatory gasps from the crowd at the ring-rattling show of disrespect.
“Make me,” Sharpe answered flatly.
The Fixer fair exploded out of the corner at that. Anna turned her shoulder to absorb a slugging right hand on her bicep and, braced as she was, the impact of Raker’s weight knocked her off her stance, sent back-pedalling by the propulsive power in Rachel’s legs. Locked together, they hurtled across the ring, the Fixer’s buttocks bouncing in her one-piece, her head tucked under Anna’s arm as she built up a churning head of steam….
….only for Sharpe to grab a mean handful of that one-piece, lifting and spinning Rachel by her wedgie to SLAM heartbreakingly into the opposite corner, taking Anna’s weight chest-to-chest before the former terror of the WTA peeled herself away and once again took up her egress-denying position, arms folded across her chest.
“Ooooh, so close,” she teased.
“Fuck you, Anna,” Rachel panted. She had her right arm hooked over the top rope and her ass on her heels. Her sweaty tousle obscured her face. She regained her feet and tossed her head back, her face drained of color save a single red dot in the center of each cheek.
Sharpe uncrossed her arms and put her fists up, heart pounding with anticipation. The crowd noise revved up like a jet preparing for take-off. Wordlessly, Rachel began her assault.
They brawled in so tight that it was hard for those watching to see what was landing save when one butt or the other was sent jolting backward by a belly shot. Hungry for payback, Raker reached for the back of Anna’s shorts and tried to spin her into the corner but the English blonde fired a knee between Rachel’s legs that turned the strong limbs to water. A clubbing forearm across the chest put the Fixer back against that loathsomely familiar buckle yet again. “You ready to kiss my arse, prison rat,” Anna snarled.
She had her fist drawn back and aimed squarely at Rachel’s forehead, only for the other blonde to get her arm up and block the shot. Her left hand then shot forward, closing around Anna’s throat. Driving herself on, Rachel once again bulled her way out of her corner and this time the two women stumbled, grunting and groaning, along the ropes, this time it was Anna’s backside that hit the turnbuckle to an accompanying roar from every corner of the arena.
Raker didn’t stop pushing when Sharpe hit the buckles, in fact she stuffed her right hand against the Briton’s chin and shoved until the back of Anna’s head was almost touching the steel post. Left hand curled into a fist, she pwak-pwak-PWAAAKED half a dozen shots into Anna’s taut tummy before shifting over to a greedy, kneading handful of the other blonde’s sports-bra. Sharpe groaned, stamped her feet and answered the chin-push with one of her own, albeit with limited success. “Ready to call it quits, Anna?” Raker demanded after a particularly rough squeeze. “Or do I have to break a racquet over your head first?”
“F*ck you, Raker.” Sharpe abandoned her foe’s chin and went all in on her rack with a stereo nipple twister she’d seen Caity employ to great result.
Rachel grimaced and halted her own claw just long enough to CRAAACK Anna’s face with a cheek-welting Bytch Slap. Then she wormed that hand under the slick lyrca of Sharpe’s top and twisted like she was searching for a radio station at the other end of the dial. “That all you got, tough girl? Gonna tap out to a goddamned titty twis--”
“All right Rachel, that’s enough. Get her out of the corner.” Al Carpenter risked a great deal of harm to his person by stepping between the warring blondes, even going so far as to put a calming hand on their midsections.
Neither Raker or Sharpe took their eyes off the other, though Rachel did mutter, “She didn’t ask for a break, did you, Anna?”
Sharpe grunted, then answered Raker’s tweaking with more of her own. “If it’ll get your hands out of my bloody top, then yes, I want a goddamned breaWHOOOAANNNGGHH!”
The Fixer snatched Anna under the armpits, hauled her out of the corner and spun around in a looping half circle just to BWUUUNG her back into the thinly-sheathed steel! “There, she had a break. No pipe down and back the f*ck off.” The ref promptly reminded her that rope breaks didn’t work like that, not that his protestations stopped Raker from hooking her foe’s thigh and muscling it up just enough to drape over the middle rope.
Eyes wide, Sharpe plunged both hands into Rachel’s hair in hopes of distracting her from the task at hand, alas her attacker endured the claws long enough to THUMP the point of her knee into the exposed muscle. Two more identical strikes followed before Carpenter looped an arm around the blonde’s waist and hauled her out to the center of the squared circle. “C’mon Raker, this isn’t a freaking riot! You of all people should appreciate--”
“I appreciate your position, Carpenter.” she interrupted. “But if you keep me from that bytch one more time I’ll lay out and finish this my own way.” With that she juked around him, stormed toward the corner and THWHUMPED a stiff punt between her opponent’s thighs!
Anna wailed to wake the dead, but still managed to bog Raker down in a surprisingly sturdy clinch. “You spiteful cunt,” she half sobbed into the American’s ear. “I’m going to ruin your AAAAWWWWWWW BLOODY WHORE!”
`Rachel helped herself to the center of Sharpe’s trunks to remind the other blonde of how she’d taken ownership of the Crotch Claw since returning to FAWN. “Submit.” Rachel hissed into her prey’s ear. “Do it right now and I’ll finish you fast.”
“Puuuhhh… pucker up and kiss my arse you NNNGGHH!”
Rachel abandoned the Claw to power free of the clinch and deliver a heavy, HEAVY left hand to the point of Sharpe’s jaw. Anna’s head snapped to one side and she sagged against the corner but the leg trap kept her otherwise in place. Happy to correct that situation, Rachel unhooked the suspended stem and immediately shoved Sharpe through the gap between top and middle ropes. Anna made a grab for the second strand but Raker pulled it away and the Englishwoman hit the apron hard en route to an even rougher landing on the floor.
Anna started to stir faster than Rachel would’ve guessed, so the Fixer stepped out onto the apron and moved to the middle so she had a bit of a runway at her disposal. Taking off as soon as Sharpe reached boot-leather, Raker leapt off with both hands raised overhead only to be caught with a heavy Bear Hug around her ribs!
Knocked back a few steps by the force of her catch, Anna hupped her burden up a little higher then let loose with a furious roar and charged down the aisle to BWAAANG Rachel’s spine into the steel ring-post! Letting go on impact, Sharpe crumpled to all fours while Raker landed heavily on one side.
“Kuuuuuhhh… keep away from my trunks…. bytch.” Anna said to the floor. “Or next time I’ll snap you in half.”
Sharpe might have prided herself on her relentlessness but right then the former RotY would have welcomed a few seconds of rest time. Instead she got Raker lunging at her, albeit with less vim than would've been the case earlier. The two blondes grappled sloppily until Rachel untangled her arm sufficiently to go right back to the Crotch Claw.
“Couldn't keep me in the corner, couldn't keep me out of heruuuhhh.” The Fixer took Anna's knee flush on the jaw and lost her grip. Sharpe shoved her away and reared up to deliver a series of clubbing Axehandles that eventually flattened Raker to the floor.
“You know what I can do bitch? Stand up.” To demonstrate it, Sharpe used the other blonde as a base to push up from. “Try it. See how it goes.” She waited for Rachel to make it to all fours before circling round to deliver a reciprocal punt between Raker’s legs.
“AAAAWWWWW! FUCK!” The swinging boot near lifted Rachel’s knees off the floor. She rolled to her back, eyes squeezed shut and hands reaching instinctively for the pain. Sharpe was reaching for her ankles when Carpenter’s count registered, now well into the teens.
“Up you get, rat.” Two handfuls of hair brought the pliant Raker to wobbly legs. Anna rolled her under the bottom rope and slid in after her. Rachel had come to a halt on her side, with her sweat wet locks over her face and her right arm extended above her head. Confident she was finally wearing the Fixer down, Sharpe burrowed her arms round Rachel’s waist and scooped her up in a Waistlock. Raker’s mumbled moans and various protestations melted away as Anna punished her stomach with a brawny squeeze. “Too late to object now, Counselor,” the one time Terror of the WTA growled in Rachel’s ear, lifting her off the canvas with a grunt.
Whether it was the taunt that spurred her on or whether she had more left in the tank than Sharpe had judged, when her feet hit the floor Raker wasted no time launching herself up and back, forcing Anna into a split-second decision. Electing not to give up her grip, Sharpe lost her balance and the two women tumbled between the ropes and right back down to the floor.
An awkward descent that saw her foot briefly hook over the bottom rope meant that Sharpe got the worst of the tumble. She opened her eyes after a few blissful seconds of darkness to see Rachel Raker looking down fiercely.
“Come on, Sharpe. Had my ass kicked worse than this back in white collar boxing,” the Fixer said. Before Anna could respond to being thus traduced she was hauled up by the ears and clubbed with a Lariat that left her reeling against the ring’s edge. Raker followed up with a succession of big right hands, slapping aside Anna’s suddenly feeble defense and beating her the length of the squared circle.
As the crowd responded with boisterous cheers for each hard impact, Rachel caught her stumbling foe by the back of the neck, ready to drive her face into the steel steps. But Anna’s flailing feet kicked the metal structure apart and in the moment of hesitation that followed she clocked Raker in the jaw with her elbow.
Breathing hard, the two blondes slumped against the ring, side by side. Sharpe worked her numb jaw and blew some stray hair out of her face. The count was once again into double figures when she slapped her hand down on the sweaty fabric covering Rachel’s tit and squeezed hard. “You aren’t getting back up there,” Anna said, gritting her teeth and wringing a whimper from her suffering neighbor.
“Who said I wanted to,” Raker shot back. “I’ll send you back to Caity with a limp.” She put her own squeeze on Sharpe’s crotch and Anna doubled over slightly before redoubling her efforts. They staggered awkwardly out into the space between the ring and the barriers where Anna gave up her grip to pull Raker into a Headlock and drag her to the floor. Bullying her way to a mount Sharpe managed a pair of right hands before Rachel rolled them and fired back with three of her own. Somewhere around the third of these exchanges of position the bell finally rang to signal the sacrilegiously inconclusive end of the match. Sharpe stayed her hand for a moment, registering what had happened before popping the sleepy faced Rachel another jolting shot on the chin.
Several rolls later they were right up against the barrier with the Fixer on top when the backstage crew reached them to put an end to things, dragging Rachel off her mount and helping Anna to her feet once some distance had been created.
The crowd gave the stoppage their most full throated disapproval, abruptly changing key as the two blondes pushed through the sea of personnel to find each other again. But there was to be no resumption. Sharpe curled her arm round the back of Rachel’s neck to pull her in close. “You got lucky they stopped me, Rach,” she slurred, “but you were pretty good. For a lawyer. Keep away from Lenore and we won’t have to do this again.”
“Lucky my ass. You were pretty good too, Sharpe," the Fixer grunted back, the last words before they were once more pulled apart.