Post by walkindude on Nov 7, 2018 0:02:46 GMT
NYSSA BLOODWIND:
DOMI DALY:
The growing popularity of the Pit forced FAWN to bring the edifice to Orlando itself, even if it remained a house show. And the place is packed, the FAWNatics cheering on two women who had taken to the slippery substance like ducks to water. Rolling around in oil for almost fifteen minutes, snatching and grabbing, Scissoring and splashing, would leave a lot of the roster on fumes, but Nyssa Bloodwind and Domi Daly don’t look like they’ve broken a sweat; though it’s hard to tell, each brunette coated in the translucent goo.
Domi, forgoing the usual swim attire most took to in the Pit, remains in her ripped white spandex leotard, the crowd happy the near sheer ivory is leaving little to the imagination. Nyssa fights in a deerskin two piece, ebony hair wet and wild compared to Domi’s oily pony.
With both women on their haunches, ready to throw their nubile frames at each other once again, Nyssa leans in to take the initiative when a circular thrust of Daly’s braincase sends her greasy tail whipping around and SNAPPING Bloodwind on the tip of the nose. The pony-lash discombobulates the Navajo warrior long enough for the former gymnast to surge forward and tackle Bloodwind to the deck.
While Domi had been up-and-down since losing the Lightweight Title to Bunny Cooper, her last successful defense had been a gymnastic show against none other than the Native beauty she had beneath her and Daly seems ready to take Nyssa in the oily environs as well.
Knowing damned well she can’t just keep Bloodwind pinned down like most other opponents, Daly pushes onto her knees, slides forward and drops down to THWHUMP her taut tush against Nyssa’s chest! The Arizonan ‘oooffffhed’ like she’d been hit with an oily medicine ball, her legs kicking straight up into the air. It was a perfect moment to secure a Matchbook and Domi considers the possibility for a moment before tacking on a second Butt Smash instead. That one didn’t produce nearly as theatrical a reaction, but the hot puff of Bloodwind’s breath was more than enough to convince the Mightiest Mite that she is on the right track. Snatching hold of Nyssa’s wrists in both hands, Daly pins them to the mat high overhead before continuing her northward slide all the way to the tip of Bloodwind’s chin.
“You’re finished now.” Dominique promised after she’d bundled the other brunette’s wrists together for more convenient punishment. “So why don’t you just submit and save yourself some humiliation for once in your NGH!”
Nyssa pops her hips to THUMP a knee into her attacker’s lower back, though it doesn’t disrupt Daly’s perch for more than a heartbeat. “That answer your question, DomMMMMPPPHHHH!”
It does indeed, so completely in fact that Dominique wastes no time covering Nyssa’s mouth and nose with her free hand. Taking special delight in pinching Bloodwind’s nostrils closed, Daly widens her knees a bit, forcing more of her weight down on the trapped wrestler’s throat. “Dumb choice, Nys. I’ve already used you as a throne, tonight I’ll use you as a towel!”
Daly barely gets the words out of her mouth when she squeals in pain. Having lost a bit of her concentration, Daly allows her pinkie to be gnawed by Nyssa. She rips her formerly covering hand away, cradling it close and checking if Bloodwind broke skin. As she does, Nyssa thrusts her pelvis and rocks Dominique forward. It's a dangerous gambit as it moves Daly's undercarriage toward her face, but it pays off when the raven-haired grappler slides out Domi's back door. Nyssa scrambles off her shoulders, swinging around to all fours when Daly jumps on her back, mounting her like an Appaloosa. This time Domi grabs her matted ponytail with her right hand, leans forward to get within range and lashes it into Nyssa's neck. "Giddyup, loser," Domi demands as she wraps her muscular legs around Bloodwind's ribs and squeezes for all she's worth, forcing a wincing groan from Nyssa's flawless features.
Bloodwind shakes her head ‘no’ at Daly’s demand, which earned her another snappy swat from her opponent’s hair. “I said move, bytch.” Domi reinforces the non-negotiability of her demand by squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezing her foe’s ribs.
“Nuuuhhhh…. not a chance, Domi.” Nyssa grunted. “The only thing you get to ride is pineNNNNGGGGHHHH!”
Daly raises her left arm high, crooked it into a ‘V’ and THUMPS the bony dagger between Bloodwind’s shoulders. The Nubile Navajo’s arms tremble ominously but they don’t give way so Domi tests her mettle with two more gouging shots. When Bloodwind still doesn’t collapse she helps herself to a massive handful of oil-soaked hair and wrenched her head back far enough to make Nyssa whine. “What was that, Nyssa?”
“Guuuhhh… go suck a Participation Trophy, DomEEERRRRRRRRRRRHHH!” Daly thrusts her prey’s head forward and presses down with all her weight, thus collapsing Bloodwind’s supports and THUMPING her forehead into the oil-slicked floor. To make matters worse, Domi maintains the Scissors and reaches across Nyssa’s defenseless noggin, her hands drawing close for an agonizing S-Grip secured just under the other brunette’s nose.
The Pac Rim Destroyer, having ground Nyssa into the oily plastic covering the cushioned confines. rides her Pummel Horse, twisting Bloodwind's head with her Crossface grip and draining her foe with the tightening Scissors. A lot of Daly's acrobatic offense didn't transfer to the Pit but her Horse was a huge exception, Nyssa's face growing rosy, her lids starting to flutter over dark eyes. Desperate, the Navajo grappler manages to roll, putting Daly on her back, below her. Still, it didn't extricate her from Domi's trap and there was no three count coming to save her. But being on top does leave some freedom for her arms and she swings elbows frantically behind her, the last couple of a half-dozen THUNKING into a cheek then a temple, Daly's grip loosening perceptibly after the connections. Giving up the Crossface to use her forearms for protection, Domi cedes her offense and tries sliding out from under the thrashing Bloodwind to regroup.
Twisting onto her back the moment Daly relinquishes the Scissors, Nyssa sits up and tries to hug the hurt from her aching midsection. It didn’t work quite as well as she would’ve liked, but the sight of Domi’s exposed back did wonders. Lips curving up in cold smile, Bloodwind splooshed her way across the floor of the pit and CRAAACKS her adversary across the nape of the neck with a huge Knife-Edge Chop!
Domi shrieks and reels back on her knees only to find herself curved into a near bridge when Nyssa seizes hold of her ponytail and bends the former gymnast over one encroaching knee! “Pretty strong legs for a chick that could never even place.” Nyssa admitted to the snarling battler. “I wonder if you’re chest is just as strong?” Daly reaches for Bloodwind’s throat and earns a quick tummy punch for her troubles, not to mention a brisk slap on the mouth.
“You’re done, Bloodwind. Tonight’s the night I finish you off for--”
Nyssa can’t deliver effective Chops from this position, so she settles for a vicious series of overhand Slaps, each windmilling blow CRAAACKING against Dominique’s décolletage hard enough to make the beaded oil sizzle and jump.
After the fifth in succession, Domi is yelping as she desperately tries to manufacture cover, lifting her arms to provide some. But Nyssa's wicked open hands drop to create a maneuver akin to Lisa Dream's Bittersweet Symphony on Daly's rock hard abdomen. No matter the strength of Domi's tummy, the echoing cracks sting and Daly seems unsure how to protect herself and where. The decision is made moot when Nyssa dumps Domi from her knee, the Mite landing on her chest. Daly tries to slither away across the slippery blue surface, but Bloodwind drops a knee into Daly's tailbone, eliciting another howl and also keeping the Portland native stuck in place while Bloodwind draws back her ebony hair off her face and sucks in a couple huge lungfuls of air. Nyssa slips her knees between Domi's upper thighs and starts to widen her legs, forcing Daly's even further. But the preternaturally bendy Mite laughs off the efforts at a leg stretch submission, at least until Nyssa curls each leg under an arm and leans forward with an ingenious forward facing Boston Crab that also stresses Daly's spinal column, Nyssa testing just how limber the grimacing Daly can be, the crowd watching in astonishment.
Teeth bare as Nyssa tries to bend her in a spine-wrenching circle, Dominique Daly hooks her fingers into talons and raaaaaaaaaaked them over Bloodwind’s flanks as fast and as often as she can. “GET THE HELL OFFA ME!” she demands of the Nubile Navajo.
Nyssa just shakes her head and beams, apparently trying to touch Domi’s toes to the back of her head was worth playing Mitey Scratching Post. “Whatsa matter, Domi? You not as bendy as you thought you were? If you need me to let you go you could always tap!” Bloodwind emphasizes the point by driving her backside into the hollow of Daly’s back.
“Oh yeah, like I’m going to submit to notorious quitter Nyssa Bloodwind!” Domi rages. “You’re gonna get frustrated and let this go long before I even get a kink in my AAAAAAAAARRRRRHHHHH FAAAAAAAAHHHHHK!”
Not about to let Daly run her mouth from such a disadvantageous position, Nyssa sinks into an even deeper crouch, one that allows her to snatch hold of the other brunette’s wrists. “I’m not sure of the exact medical definition of what this hold does.” Bloodwind chides. “But something tells me it’ll be a helluva lot worse than just a kink!” With that she stands up and hoists Domi along for the ride, the mewling Mite bundled up in a vicious Rocking Horse Crab that only got worse as Nyssa begins to swing her back ‘n forth, back ‘n forth!
Showing determination, power and incredible balance considering the oily surface she's on, Nyssa rocks Domi forward and back in a torturous pendulum, Bloodwind appearing close to pulling Daly's arms from her sockets while only intensifying the pressure on Domi's back and legs. No amount of limber could best the Nubile Navajo's punishment. Nyssa grunts out "Quit Daly!" Domi doesn't respond verbally, but she manages a soft shake of her head, ponytail swishing from side to side as she mewls in anguish. Bloodwind holds on for five and ten seconds, Domi bleating out a pleading 'STAHP', but again shaking her head when Nyssa demands a more obvious surrender. Arms giving out finally, Nyssa drops Domi with an oily SPLAT on the plastic, Daly getting a faceful of the goo, her white spandex becoming increasingly sheer. She crawls along the plastic "pit"ifully, one hand barely pulling her forward across the slippery sheen, the other reaching for the small of her back.
Nyssa doesn’t let her breathe for long, indeed the mistreated Mite hasn’t even managed full stock of her aches when the Arizonan grabs her ankles and draaaaaaaaaaags her back to the center of the slippery proving ground. “You want to talk about frustration? About embarrassment?” Bloodwind flips Daly onto her back, then twists around so she can walk backward to the other brunette’s head, effectively stacking the gymnast on her shoulders, though she doesn’t call for a cover. “You’re about to feel a whole lot more of both than you ever bargained for!”
Domi offers up a breathless curse that got considerably louder when Nyssa drops to a seat just above her foe’s head. Careful to maintain control over Daly’s ankles, Bloodwind stretches those slippery limbs wide, then brought her own legs over so that her calves were snugged into the pits of Dominique’s knees. The result was a combination Grapevine and Wishbone that spreads Daly’s legs at a rather tawdry angle while offering the crowd an excellent view of her tush, tummy and chest. As for Nyssa, she waggles her hips against the back of Domi’s noggin, then hunches forward and earns a thunderous roar from the crowd when she affixed a claw directly between the other brunette’s staining thighs. “How you like this, baby?” she teases. “I call it the Wildcat Trap!”
Displaying Domi's spread undercarriage in flashy fashion was one thing and the flagging Daly shows the strain, her unnaturally lissome legs starting to fail her as they feel the strain of hammies and groin pulled to the smapping point. But the Nubile Navajo adds a catty grip of her foe's kitty soon enough and leaves Daly a whimpering wreck, Bloodwind clenching and unclenching her perfectly positioned palm, showing she could get badass when the oil called for it. "QUIT...NOW" Nyssa demands, tightening her grasp into a white-knuckler.
As if on command, the Mite shrieks out her capitulation, sobbing a loud "I QUIT. I QUIT!' that draws a roar from the FAWNatics and a beaming grin from the glossy, golden-skinned Nyssa. Bloodwind ends her claw hold, lifting her hand to show Domi has a few more immodest holes in her spandex. Nyssa keeps the whimpering Daly stuck with lower limbs spread, a sordid spectacle, Domi crying out to let her go.
Nyssa nods sympathetically, but there’s little compassion in what happens next. Planting her hands on the floor of the pit, the victorious brunette lifts up and slides forward, all the better to bury the exhausted Mite beneath the full weight of her oil-slicked rump! Daly cries out in immediate protest, trying to squirm her head from side to side, but she’s too tired and Bloodwind’s mount too oppressive. In no time at all the brunette’s succumbed to unconsciousness in this unenviable position and there she stays while a grinning Nyssa celebrated with bicep flexes and the occasional swat to her rival’s devastated trunks.
*********
GABBY MENDOZA:
KYLIE SANDERS:
Titleless after her Mania dismantling at the hands of Harley Jo Collins, it seems Kylie Sanders was willing to step out of her comfort zone to put the bad taste behind her. Perhaps a little too far thought some as the platinum pixie joins the trendy trip to the Oil Pit several had chosen with accumulating success.
One of those already with a couple big notches on her belt courtesy wins over Chloe Fields and Lily Burlingame in the slippery substance, Gabby Mendoza, surely knew catching FAWN’s most hated while vulnerable was a huge opportunity.
An “upset” by the Babyfaced Killer seems anything according to the smarties, as many a bettor laid prime money on the Terrible Texan teaching Sanders an embarrassing lesson.
But when the time comes, the Pleasant Valley Pariah, apparently having “sparred” with Pit vet Jasmine Washington, is more than holding her own through the first ten minutes of action.
Relying on her long past amateur background, Kylie proves strong enough to stay with the younger, yet more experienced Mendoza. And as the grinding, thrusting, glistening frames continue to ‘SMACK’ and jostle for leverage and position, it’s the Hawkeye tight to Gabby’s back, twisting and folding Mendoza’s left arm in a hammerlock while forcing her chin into the golden brown nape of Mendoza’s neck.
“Bytch,” she whispers in the Babyfaced Killer’s ear. “I own every fighting medium, especially when it’s with a skinny little Latina like you, chica. Chloe? Lily? Come on.”
Mendoza doesn’t respond with words, but a furious chomping of her beloved gum that brings an amused smile to Sanders’s face. “Oh, what’s wrong? Got nothing to say when you’ve finally met your maERRRHHH!”
Gabby reaches back with her free hand and slaps Kylie’s ear before catching the vulnerable lobe between thumb and forefinger in a nasty pinch. “You’re no match for me, Hag-Face.” the brunette growled. “And I’ll chew you up and spit you out just like I did those other bytcOOOOWWW!”
Sanders swats Mendoza’s claw away from her ear so she can sit up without relinquishing the Hammerlock. Knees dug in tight against the younger woman’s ribs, Ky craaaaaaaaaanked up on Gabby’s wrist with one hand and repays the thwarted hair-pull with the other. “You don’t have the experience or the guts to hang with me.” the FAWN original explains in the midst of wrenching Mendoza’s head back at an unpleasant angle. “I’d suggest you take notes if you weren’t too busy squealing like an Upstart.”
“Oh, go kiss my ass you washed up old NGH! NGH! NGH!”
Sanders ends the sass by bouncing Gabby’s forehead off the floor of the pit once, twice, three times! Once the Big League Beeyotch was suitably pacified, Kylie releases both grips and slides backward to better settle down atop the Texan’s south slope. “Time I taught you a lesson in respect, brat.” With that she works her hands under Mendoza’s biceps and laces her fingers across the back of opposing neck, the Platinum Pixie off in search of her Full Nelson Camel Clutch.
Sanders slips her limbs under and around those of Gabby, lacing her fingers behind Mendoza's neck. She rattles the noggin of the Latina from side to side, Gabby's dark, dripping mop swinging to and fro. With her foe's gray matter properly scrambled, Ky leeeeans back, drawing the Texan's spine with her. The glistening, black bikinied body of the Hawkeye reaches a bridge while forcing Mendoza's top ultra-tight to her modest rack, Gabby's dark eyes pointed to the blazing lights that made the oil in the pit warm to the touch and, if anything, more slick. Still, Sanders keeps her digits laced as Mendoza mewls in pain, her spine aching from the wicked arc.
"You're a footnote, gum-chewer. They hate us both. But they damn well respect me." Kylie demands a surrender from the lithe Latina but Mendoza shakes her noggin the best she's able. "Fine," Ky responds, transferring her nelson to a dual grip of raven locks. She SLAMS Gabby's face into the padded blue plastic floor of the pit, the cushion not enough to stop a grunt of pain from Mendoza.
Settled in a comfortable perch on the flattened fighter’s upturned glutes, Sanders bounces in place a little and gets nothing but a woozy groan from Mendoza. “Pathetic.” she sniffs. “I can’t believe you’re what passes for a bad-ass these days.”
Back on her feet a moment thereafter, Kylie contemplates one of her trademark Double Stomps before deciding in favor of an Elbow Drop that THWUMPS into the hollow of her opponent’s back. Gabby wails and starts to roll over only for Ky to grrrrrrrrrrind the bony dagger in that much deeper. “You’re not going anywhere, punk. Not until I’m satisfied you’ve learned your place.” Gabby curses something under her breath so Sanders gouges her one more time, then gets to her feet, sidles a little ways north and continues the punishment with a quick, heavy Leg Drop THWHWAPPED across the nape of Mendoza’s neck!
“Eat your heart out, London.” Kylie snickers as Gabby flops onto her back, both arms swaddled tight against the back of her skull. Far from finished, the Pleasant Valley Pariah got to her feet and makes a point of flicking some excess oil into the brunette’s upturned features just before she springs up and comes down with every bit of her hundred and twenty so pounds SMECKING atop Mendoza’s chest! Gabby’s legs kick up on impact but Sanders didn’t try for a cover. Instead she plunges her hands into the Terrible Texan’s hair and peels her off the floor just long enough to muscle her across opposing shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry. The ruins of the Corps murmur in anticipation, they simply couldn’t help themselves even as their former heroine favored them with a decidedly scornful smirk.
Drawn to deliver the Chilly Valley Driver, even in these unusual circumstances, the alabaster-skinned Sanders, plants her bare soles into the slick plastic, sliding then catching her balance, ready to toss the wriggling Mendoza for the ride. "When I end this. Wanna guess where that gum is going?" Ky growls. The thought seems to awaken the Latina and she rattles a swinging elbow into the Hawkeye's temple. Another brings a shimmy to Sanders' stems and a third convinces Kylie to let the Texan slide down her back.
The Platinum Pixie rattles her senses back into place and turns to reacquire Gabby. Her jaw is met with a wicked snapping forearm that staggers Sanders. Kylie fires back but Mendoza deftly blocks. She fakes a follow-up punch, instead ducking in tight for a single leg pick-up, Ky left hopping on her remaining planted lower limb. "Pretty good balance for a has-been," Mendoza hisses before sweeping out the remaining ivory stem from under her foe, Kylie crashing to her back. Gabby hovers above the recent former World Champ with the leg still in her possession. She raises it and plants her bare foot into Vanilla Chill's derriere, Ky yelping in both pain and surprise.
The yelp proves so entertaining that Mendoza seeks to replicate it with half a dozen more stinging kicks delivered in short order. More angry than hurt (though the growing burn in her butt was cause for concern) Kylie plants her elbows for extra leverage and thrashes her leg in an attempt to prize it free from the brunette’s clutches. But Gabby holds tight and makes Sanders’s predicament noticeably worse by grabbing hold of two toes and twisting hard! “Cheap bytch!” Ky wails as she pounds her fists against the floor. “Leggo of my fooTTEEERRRAAAHHHHHH!”
Mendoza wedges a heel against the Iowan’s crotch, then catches hold of Kylie’s other foot when she brings it up for kick. “What’s the matter, Bytch-Face?” Gabby teased as she grinds away on Kylie’s briefs. “Starting to run out of gas? Let’s see if I can rev that tired old engine of yours!”
Teeth bare in a wicked snarl, Sanders sits up and raaaaaaaaked her nails down the other woman’s calf. “Watch your godddamned mouth, little girl. Otherwise I might wash it out with AAAAAAAAWWWWWWW GAAAAAAAHD!” Gabby pulls up on Kylie’s ankles and stamps down on her crotch, the vengeful battler making vicious use of her heel to get the most out of the painfully simple maneuver.
A wincing Sanders' hands immediately drop from Mendoza's legs and are thrust into her own privates, trying to pry the grinding sole of Mendoza from the front of her shiny bikini bottoms. Gabby, chomping away on her pink wad, pulls the foot free and raises it high over Chill's already throbbing womanhood. Kylie raises her hands plaintively, 'washing windows. "You better not..." is all the Platinum Pixie can get out before Gabby stomps her foe's crotch AGAIN. Sanders sits up squealing in agony and it only reaches a higher pitch when Gabby drops to a seat on the Pit floor and pushes her soles into the inner ankles of the blonde. With her gum snapping, Gabby delights in widening her legs and forcing Kylie's to spread even further until Sanders is left in an agonizing set of splits. Chill tears at the little hair she can find in the greasy pixie cut as she sobs in anguish, her groin muscles stretched to the snapping point.
“How’s that for respect?” Gabby taunts as she continues to pour it on with her wicked Wishbone. “Seems like it’s a little rough on those old joints of yours!”
“SHUT UP!” Kylie bawls, one hand SMACKING the pit for emphasis. “JUST SHUT UP OR I’LL OOOOOOWWWWWW!”
Mendoza set both hands behind her and stretches the hold a little wider. “You’ll what, Bytch-Face? Tap out so you can make it to the early bird special? Go ahead, try it and see if I let you goEEERRRRHHHH!”
Sanders lurches to a seat, crooks her hands into claws and leans forward far enough to raaaaaaaake the brunette’s inner thighs. “Keep that mouth shut, brat.” Ky threatens after two more rough passes down those tawny stems. “Unless you want to chew on your smutty bottoms before the match is ovHEY! NO! OOOOOOOHHHH STAAAAAAAAAAAHP!”
Gabby catches the blonde’s wrists in both hands and draws back until she was looking up at the lights and was effectively facedown and stretched into a hellacious splay-legged toe touch by Mendoza’s cruel creativity.
From the side of the Pit, Nick yells into Chill. "Is that a surrender?"
"Shut the FUAAHHHH" Kylie's F-Bomb is interrupted by the ever increasing, torturous pain her legs are under. "Are you made of fuckin' rubber?" Ky squeaks.
Mendoza giggles in response. "I'm where the rubber meets the road, bytch." Gabby tugs Chill forward even further then gives up her wrist grips for a Front Facelock, finding another way to turn a fairly simple maneuver into something special as both women sit in the warm, oil-covered plastic. Sanders mewls into the Latina's armpit. She bleats out an unconvincing 'no' when Gabby demands the veteran give in. Frustration growing, the Babyfaced Killer finally releases her hold and pulls in her golden stems only to piston them out into Kylie's chest, flattening Sanders to the slick floor of the Pit. Gabby pushes to her feet and gives her stems a little shake to get the blood flowing while Kylie curls into a fetal ball, grasping at her aching groin. As Gabby stalks like a gum-popping tiger, Chill rolls up to her knees and tries to stand, but her alabaster gams give way and she lands on her haunches, legs taken away from her. She tries to rotate as Mendoza circles in predatory fashion but has a difficult time keeping up.
“Stand up!” Gabby slaps her thighs for emphasis, then darts in and swats Kylie’s feet for good measure. “I said get up, hag! Do you need Nick to get your walker? Better yet, where’s your medic alert brace--”
Sanders scrambles to her feet and lunges for Mendoza, catching her in a greasy Collar & Elbow that sends both ladies skittering around the perimeter of the pit. Shifting one hand to Mendoza’s throat just because it felt so damned good, Ky bears down on the Stranglehold and growled, “You’re going to wish you’d never crossed me, braGROSSNNNNNNGGGGGGHHHH!”
Gabby purses her lips and spits her wad of Double Bubble at Sanders’s face, forcing her to twist her head to the side to avoid getting an eyeful of well-chewed flavor. In this she was successful, alas the distraction allowed the Big League Beeyotch to wrench free of the blonde’s grasp. Cinching both hands behind Ky’s head in the blink of an eye, Gabby hops up, wedges her right shin against the curve of Sanders’s cheek and lays out on her back to burst the blonde’s Hot & Bothered bubble with an emphatic THWHUMP! Kylie snaps backwards and lands flat in a stunned sprawl that would’ve been good for a three in any other FAWN venue. As it was, she simply looks up at the lights until Gabby scrambled into a Schoolgirl Pin and began to bounce in place, all the better to thum-thum-thum-THUMP the curve of her glutes against Kylie’s hapless chest.
“SUBMIT!” she commands in a high, giddy sing-song. “SUBMIT! SUBMIT! SUBMIT!”
Working Kylie's gurls like a bellows, Mendoza pumps her cheeks into Sanders' spandex top and the bosom beneath. Chill's hazel eyes pop wide with each THUMP the Babyfaced Killer gleeful in her dominance. "Now I'm gonna be the Legend Killer!" Gabby shouts. "Or as close as you get to being one," she adds cheekily. Having pounded Kylie into a breathless stupor, Mendoza takes a moment to dismount from her forward straddle and retrieve her gum. Unafraid of any cooties, she tosses it back in her mouth and lowers into a reverse seat atop Ky's ivory midriff.
Trying to buck the Latina off, Sanders kicks up her slender stems but only serves them to Mendoza on platter, Gabby snatching around the pit of each knee when the opportunity strikes. She scoots back to take a seat on Chill's aching breasts, the sliding of the Texan's undercarriage displacing Sanders' top upward, revealing the oily, alabaster bosom of the former title holder. The raven-haired vixen slides over them and settles her glutes just beneath Kylie's chin. She rises and thrusts into Sanders' throat, leaving Kylie a gasping choking hot & oily mess and unable to break her legs free when Gabby gathers both with one sweeping arm while using her free hand to sink her nails into the tender flesh between Chill's legs. Kylie howls in alarm and anguish as Gabby's crotch claw instantly strikes pay dirt.
"That's what I want to her from you, Granny." Mendoza clenches again, Ky shrieking, unable to extend her legendary stubborn streak a second longer.
"I QUIT. PLEEEEASE. GAWD. I QUIT!"
The bell sounds and Gabby is declared the winner, not that you’d know it by the way she continued to clench and claw at Kylie’s defenseless trunks. “Who’s the baddest?” Mendoza asks of her mewling opposition. “Who’s the baddest, you hag? Go ahead, say her name!”
Sanders puuuuushes on Mendoza’s glutes, but the Terrible Texan only bobbled her butt against the point of her foe’s chin. “Yuuuuhhhh…. you are!” she moans. “You’re the baddest!”
Gabz flashes a grin, though she still didn’t relinquish her grasp on Sanders’s undercarriage. “I know I am! But WHAT’S. MY. NAME?” She punctuates each word with a hellacious white-knuckled squeeze that would’ve impressed the current Intercontinental Champion.
“GABBY! GABBY MENDOZA!” Kylie bawls. “GABBY’S THE BADDEST!” Mendoza snaps her gum, tosses away the devastated blonde’s legs and scoots backward to finally engulf Sanders’s nose in those candy apple red briefs. Hands on her hips as she listens to Kylie snuffling her way to unconsciousness, the Babyfaced Killer treats her throne’s nubs to a quick, jostling pinch before she pulls out her gum and sticks it to Sanders’s sternum. “And don’t you forget it.” she purrs.
********
LISA DREAM:
LENORE LEMARCHAND:
“Dammit Lisa, come on!” Sierra Mist almost pounded a fist against the shiny blue side of the oil pit but settles for raking a hand through her hair instead. It simply wouldn’t do to let the Dream see her concern, especially when Lisa herself was currently--
“Unnghhhh!” The Personification of Perfection groans a fresh round of breathy distress when Lenore Lemarchand straightens up out of her backward facing mount and deftly hooks her left leg beneath Dream’s right bicep. Leaning forward in the next instant, the Oil Barroness plants on her hands and stretches her legs to full extension, all the better to lock her calves around Lisa’s shiny pate. Ankles crossed, Lemarchand worked her way through a few solid pulses before she reaches forward, cups Lisa’s chin in one hand and pulls up, thus adding a painful neck wrench to the former World Champion’s predicament.
“Fight it, Lisa!” Sierra calls as calmly as she could. “Remember, she might be a Baroness, but you’re--”
Lenore trains her dark eyes on the Dream’s handler and Mist fell silent. “I hope you’re a better doctor than you are a trainer, Mist.” the Raven notes. “Because this woman right here?” she puuuuuuuullls on the other brunette’s chin until she was almost looking into the overhead lights. “She looks like Lisa Dream. And occasionally she sounds like Lisa Dream. But I assure you doctor, she does not FIGHT like Lisa Dream. And I think you’re to blame.”
"I'm right here," Lisa grunts angrily as she struggles to free herself from the predicament the Raven presented.
Increasingly considered the Alpha Female of the Pit throughout every corner of the roster, Lemarchand responds with a haughty, "But are you?"
Sierra understands the point made and can't help but wonder if Lenore really does or if she's guessing. The battering the long, lithe brunette has been laying on the topic of her thesis is approaching embarrassing, Lisa rarely on even terms let alone in control, Lenore treating a future Hall of Famer like a greasy, glistening toy to be stretched and pulled and yes, trifled with at every turn. Sierra's nose scrunches knowing what she could do but refusing to give in. Lisa needed to do this on her own. Instead, a seemingly bored Lenore releases her Scissors, rises to a full kneeling straddle then drops her behind into the ivory midriff of Lisa, Dream in a black leather bikini, the cow-skin showing a hint of old Lisa while the copious amounts of bare alabaster skin revealing the changes Mist instituted in order to make her project more fan-friendly.
Lisa groans, breath expelled by Lemarchand once more when she DRIVES derriere into Lisa's diaphragm again, The Dream jackknifing under the Pit Mistress then fading back to the oily plastic gasping.
Not content with simply pulverizing her opponent’s tummy, Lemarchand repeats the Butt Bomb twice, then slides north a little ways and drops some more gluteal ordinance on the Dream’s modest assets. Lisa ‘oooffffhed’ reaches for Lenore’s hips and muttered dispiritedly when the Courtier grabs her wrists. “I know you can’t stand this.” Lenore said of the butt on boob grind that has Dream’s girls mashed against her sternum. “Susan went into great detail about what pisses you off the most and even Olivia offered up a few corroborating insights after I brought her a case of breakfast tea back from my latest tour of the U.K. Both of them confirmed that Lisa Dream cannot stand any form of jugg mugging, in fact she usually responds to with immediate violence and the most outlandish threats imaginable. Yet here I am, using your tits like a bar stool with barely a squirm of protest.” The Raven trailed off so she could bring Lisa’s wrists together and thus control them with one hand. Twisted around to look over her shoulder, she asks, “So if you’re not Lisa Dream, who the hell are you?” Rather than wait for an answer Lemarchand seeks to dig one out of the Dream’s leather briefs with nothing but a jostling white-knuckled claw and plenty of time.
Lisa howls in anguish as the slippery digits of Lemarchand easily slide under the black covering and tear into the Dream's privates, effectively working around the leather that would have provided her more protection than most bikini bottoms. The direct fingers-to-kitty connection and the clenching by the heartless Raven draws squeals of anguish from the increasingly fight-free responses of the drained Dream. It had taken thirty minutes for some opponents to fully succumb to the Oil Baroness but Lisa is falling apart inside ten.
The FAWNatics, who'd come to enjoy Lisa's comeback story both in the organization and her matches watch with squeamishness as Lenore stretches her advantage, RIPPING into Lisa's tender squishy center, the former involuntary committal to Orlando General's psych ward turning into putty in a new puppetmaster's hands. "I AM the Dream," Lisa snivels. And I'm a legendAHHGAWWWD."
Lenore's clenching claw brings any mock courage to an end as Lisa yelps and sobs, twisting and flailing under the seat of the glistening Raven. "If you are," Lenore huffs, "then you've got the best publicist of all time."
Several more seconds bring fresh yowls but no capitulation, so Lemarchand extracts her claw and punctuates the performance with a single hard SLAP to the Dream’s tenderized nethers. Swinging off her struggling mount, she positioned herself between Lisa’s shiny stems and drew them around her waist. Outside Sierra *almost* blurted the trigger, but held her tongue in hopes that Dream would use the seemingly arrogant display as an opportunity to seize control. Alas, it was not to be as the Fair & Radiant Maiden rolls Lisa onto her belly and in doing so took a seat between her splayed legs. Hooking her ankles beneath the other brunette’s biceps, Lenore traps Dream’s shins in the crook of her elbows, then leans forward to clamp down on those defenseless wrists. “Come on, where are you, Lisa!?” Lemarchand snaps as she tries to bend her opponent in half with the hellish Surfboard. “Eliza hung with me for twenty minutes, Amara went more than half an hour! You were supposed to be my most dangerous challenge yet and here you are moaning like a defenseless slab of bikini meat!” Angered by lack of what she considered ‘Dreamy’ response, Lemarchand crosses her ankles beneath the other woman’s chin and rocked backward to subject the panicky Personification with another callous neck-wrench.
Lenore heartlessly puts a few extra kinks in either of Lisa's glistening traps, continuing to use the greasy Dream as a chew toy, Sierra's insistence being put to the ultimate test. "Come on," Mist pleads, her eyes locking with Lisa's and Dream does, squirming her way to a slight rocking of the Raven, but Lenore only sneers at the lack of fire. She unlocks her ankles, puts one sole behind Lisa's head and releases her foe's wrists, STUFFING The Dream's flawless features into the shimmering blue plastic that covers the more forgiving cushions that make up the Pit floor.
Even without the unforgiving plywood, the modified Curbstomp and Lisa's already haggard state combine to leave her stunned and without a hint of resistance when Lenore simultaneously dismounts and rolls the former Personification of Perfection to her back. "Now Lisa. Now," Sierra pleads and The Dream is able to push to a seated position, shaking out cobwebs as she sends a spray of oil from her dark, matted mop. "You can do this," Mist insists and indeed Lisa starts to rise in front of a an already standing Raven, Lenore playing a waiting game as Dream slowly rises in front of her.
Indeed, the Oil Baroness let Lisa rise to her full height before she flicked out a hand to casually SLAP the Dream’s mouth. “Fight me, dammit.” she demands. “You put Rooney through the ringer and you made Chrissy do her best Shea impression, so what the hell is wrong with you ton--”
The Dream swings for the fences with a retaliatory Bytch Slap, unfortunately she telegraphs it from miles out and Lenore dips beneath like a cool breeze. Ready and waiting on Lisa’s six long before the other brunette turned around, the Courtier greets her with a CRAAACKING left-right slap combo and follows it with a dual titty twister that had Dream stamping in place.
“I KNOW you’re in there.” Lenore hisses amidst trying to adjust Lisa’s dials to K-D-R-E-A-M. “I saw you when you posed over Chrissy and before that when you choked Claudia with her own top. Where’d you go, Lisa? Why won’t you come play with me?”
Pretty face crimped in anguish, Dream actually reaches for Lenore’s chest only to catch a Kneelift to the belly for her troubles. Relinquishing the pincers so she could wedge Lisa’s head between her thighs, Lemarchand pointedly turns so her back is to Mist when she raises the Raven sigil overhead. “It seems Lisa decided not to join us tonight!” she told the crowd. “But I refuse to send any of you home disappointed, so I’ll just have to attempt the Symphony in her stead.” Her tone is somber but Lenore’s smile is anything but, especially as she cracks her knuckles in anticipation of tonight’s performance.
Reaching down the be-moled beauty's back, Lemarchand fashions her hands into paddles and swats Dreamy backside in an a Bittersweet Symphony-like performance the crowd can't help but enjoy in the deepest, darkest corners of their hearts. The usual conductor winces and flinches with each stinging CRACK to mostly bare backside, Lenore pinking up the perfect posterior, her butt bongos a sight to see and one that has Sierra chewing on her lower lip.
"I can't," she mutters to herself before pleading with Lisa to respond to the humiliation.
Perhaps the mock Symphony being a step too far, The Dream wraps her arms around Lenore's thighs and catches Lemarchand by surprise. Lisa straightens, lifting the Raven's feet off the slippery surface. But as she tries to send Lenore over in a Back Body Drop, the oily Pit floor claims The Dream as a victim as well, her feet sliding out from under her during the middle of the effort. Lisa's back plops to the slick plastic with Lenore CRASHING down atop her in a self-inflicted SPLASH, the Oil Baroness landing in a full body pin of the flattened Dream. Sierra spins in frustration from the sandwiched Lisa, The Dream mistakenly creating offense for her already domineering foe.
Hands planted beside Lisa’s shoulders, Lenore raises herself up just high enough to keep an eye on things as she once again rolls the Dream to her belly. “That’s the most fight you’ve shown all night.” Lemarchand says as she threads her ankles over Lisa’s and stretched them wide with a sort of facedown Double Leg Grapevine. “A shame it’s far too little, far too late.”
“No it’s not, Lisa! Don’t you listen to her!” Sierra shouts from the outside. “You’re Lisa Freaking Dream! No way you lose to this diet rite version of Olivia Da--OH COME ON!”
Lenore seized the Dream’s wrists once more (right in left and vice versa) then crossed them beneath the former World Champion’s chin in a snug Straightjacket. Bracing on her elbows allowed her to reeeeeeeeeeeef back on the breath-stealing clutch, but that wasn’t what made Sierra throw up her hands in frustrated outrage. It was that damned Grapevine that stretches The Dream’s legs to the limit while simultaneously allowing the Raven to smeck-smeck-smeck her hips into Lisa’s bunched buttocks like some sort of tawdry battering ram. “You’re finished.” Lenore huffs even as she did her damndest to demolish Dream’s defenseless derriere. “Are you woman enough to admit it, or is Sierra going to throw in the towel for you?”
Lenore pumps her pelvis into Lisa's already savaged, blistered booty, moving the taste of this oily recipe to extra hot. With the crowd slack-jawed at the sight of Lisa literally taking it in the ass, the humiliation and butt bruising doesn't compare to her increasingly stretched groin muscles from the Grapevine and the ferocious straightjacket that not only closes Lisa's windpipe but mocks her stay in the loony bin, the real deal having tied her up and locked her down in the past.
As Lisa's lids flutter over glassy dark eyes, Sierra can take it no longer. "Lisa. Stop this. Show her YOU'RE PERFECT!"
The Dream's eyes gain a razor focus and her body tenses. Lisa starts to unwrap the 'jacket' inch by inch'. But a quickening thrust of Lenore's crashing crotch into Lisa's rump halts the progress and the growling sneer of Lisa's perfect pearlies fades to pursed lips. In moments, the burbling resumes, tongue poking from between as Lisa's trigger is firing a dud, her face growing rosier.
"PERFECT," Sierra screams. "YOU'RE PERFECT!"
This time there's nary a hint of tightening of The Dream's muscles, the firing of Lisa's cartridge too late. In fact, the oily, alabaster skinned frame and glistening black leather turn dishrag limp in Lemarchand's cruel Clutch, Lenore finishing Lisa PERFECTLY. yt
Noting the Dream’s slack-bodied slumber, referee Craig Long calls for the bell, which CLANGS immediately thereafter. This brought plenty of cheers for the Raven but Lenore didn’t even notice them, she was far too intent on Sierra Mist. “What the hell did you do to her?” the brunette asks Lisa’s abruptly stone-faced handler.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mist says blandly. “Please be so kind as to get off my patient.”
Lenore releases the Straightjacket, but not the Grapevine. Balancing on one hand, she cups the other beneath Lisa’s chin and pulls her head back, forcing Sierra to look at her demolished charge. “You’ve brainwashed her.” the Raven says softly. “I don’t know if you hijacked Blassenville’s protocol or just overrode everything with pills and therapy, but you locked Dream up so tight she can only come out when say it’s ok, isn’t that right, doctor?”
“You won the match.” Sierra replies. “Just take your smutty prize and go.” Lemarchand actually did reach for the knot of Lisa’s top, but decides against it after a moment of hesitation. Standing up, she put a foot on the slim curve of Lisa’s glutes and pushed down. “Information is the only trophy I’ll take tonight, Mist. I just hope you’ve got a tight grip on those reins. Because when the REAL Lisa Dream finally realizes you’ve turned her into a piss-poor marionette…. sweetie, I wouldn’t want to be you.”
With that the victorious Raven turns around and exit’s the Pit. Sierra watches her for a good ten seconds, making sure Lemarchand is really leaving before she climbs over the low barrier and begins tending to the smoldering wreckage of her patient.
DOMI DALY:
The growing popularity of the Pit forced FAWN to bring the edifice to Orlando itself, even if it remained a house show. And the place is packed, the FAWNatics cheering on two women who had taken to the slippery substance like ducks to water. Rolling around in oil for almost fifteen minutes, snatching and grabbing, Scissoring and splashing, would leave a lot of the roster on fumes, but Nyssa Bloodwind and Domi Daly don’t look like they’ve broken a sweat; though it’s hard to tell, each brunette coated in the translucent goo.
Domi, forgoing the usual swim attire most took to in the Pit, remains in her ripped white spandex leotard, the crowd happy the near sheer ivory is leaving little to the imagination. Nyssa fights in a deerskin two piece, ebony hair wet and wild compared to Domi’s oily pony.
With both women on their haunches, ready to throw their nubile frames at each other once again, Nyssa leans in to take the initiative when a circular thrust of Daly’s braincase sends her greasy tail whipping around and SNAPPING Bloodwind on the tip of the nose. The pony-lash discombobulates the Navajo warrior long enough for the former gymnast to surge forward and tackle Bloodwind to the deck.
While Domi had been up-and-down since losing the Lightweight Title to Bunny Cooper, her last successful defense had been a gymnastic show against none other than the Native beauty she had beneath her and Daly seems ready to take Nyssa in the oily environs as well.
Knowing damned well she can’t just keep Bloodwind pinned down like most other opponents, Daly pushes onto her knees, slides forward and drops down to THWHUMP her taut tush against Nyssa’s chest! The Arizonan ‘oooffffhed’ like she’d been hit with an oily medicine ball, her legs kicking straight up into the air. It was a perfect moment to secure a Matchbook and Domi considers the possibility for a moment before tacking on a second Butt Smash instead. That one didn’t produce nearly as theatrical a reaction, but the hot puff of Bloodwind’s breath was more than enough to convince the Mightiest Mite that she is on the right track. Snatching hold of Nyssa’s wrists in both hands, Daly pins them to the mat high overhead before continuing her northward slide all the way to the tip of Bloodwind’s chin.
“You’re finished now.” Dominique promised after she’d bundled the other brunette’s wrists together for more convenient punishment. “So why don’t you just submit and save yourself some humiliation for once in your NGH!”
Nyssa pops her hips to THUMP a knee into her attacker’s lower back, though it doesn’t disrupt Daly’s perch for more than a heartbeat. “That answer your question, DomMMMMPPPHHHH!”
It does indeed, so completely in fact that Dominique wastes no time covering Nyssa’s mouth and nose with her free hand. Taking special delight in pinching Bloodwind’s nostrils closed, Daly widens her knees a bit, forcing more of her weight down on the trapped wrestler’s throat. “Dumb choice, Nys. I’ve already used you as a throne, tonight I’ll use you as a towel!”
Daly barely gets the words out of her mouth when she squeals in pain. Having lost a bit of her concentration, Daly allows her pinkie to be gnawed by Nyssa. She rips her formerly covering hand away, cradling it close and checking if Bloodwind broke skin. As she does, Nyssa thrusts her pelvis and rocks Dominique forward. It's a dangerous gambit as it moves Daly's undercarriage toward her face, but it pays off when the raven-haired grappler slides out Domi's back door. Nyssa scrambles off her shoulders, swinging around to all fours when Daly jumps on her back, mounting her like an Appaloosa. This time Domi grabs her matted ponytail with her right hand, leans forward to get within range and lashes it into Nyssa's neck. "Giddyup, loser," Domi demands as she wraps her muscular legs around Bloodwind's ribs and squeezes for all she's worth, forcing a wincing groan from Nyssa's flawless features.
Bloodwind shakes her head ‘no’ at Daly’s demand, which earned her another snappy swat from her opponent’s hair. “I said move, bytch.” Domi reinforces the non-negotiability of her demand by squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeezing her foe’s ribs.
“Nuuuhhhh…. not a chance, Domi.” Nyssa grunted. “The only thing you get to ride is pineNNNNGGGGHHHH!”
Daly raises her left arm high, crooked it into a ‘V’ and THUMPS the bony dagger between Bloodwind’s shoulders. The Nubile Navajo’s arms tremble ominously but they don’t give way so Domi tests her mettle with two more gouging shots. When Bloodwind still doesn’t collapse she helps herself to a massive handful of oil-soaked hair and wrenched her head back far enough to make Nyssa whine. “What was that, Nyssa?”
“Guuuhhh… go suck a Participation Trophy, DomEEERRRRRRRRRRRHHH!” Daly thrusts her prey’s head forward and presses down with all her weight, thus collapsing Bloodwind’s supports and THUMPING her forehead into the oil-slicked floor. To make matters worse, Domi maintains the Scissors and reaches across Nyssa’s defenseless noggin, her hands drawing close for an agonizing S-Grip secured just under the other brunette’s nose.
The Pac Rim Destroyer, having ground Nyssa into the oily plastic covering the cushioned confines. rides her Pummel Horse, twisting Bloodwind's head with her Crossface grip and draining her foe with the tightening Scissors. A lot of Daly's acrobatic offense didn't transfer to the Pit but her Horse was a huge exception, Nyssa's face growing rosy, her lids starting to flutter over dark eyes. Desperate, the Navajo grappler manages to roll, putting Daly on her back, below her. Still, it didn't extricate her from Domi's trap and there was no three count coming to save her. But being on top does leave some freedom for her arms and she swings elbows frantically behind her, the last couple of a half-dozen THUNKING into a cheek then a temple, Daly's grip loosening perceptibly after the connections. Giving up the Crossface to use her forearms for protection, Domi cedes her offense and tries sliding out from under the thrashing Bloodwind to regroup.
Twisting onto her back the moment Daly relinquishes the Scissors, Nyssa sits up and tries to hug the hurt from her aching midsection. It didn’t work quite as well as she would’ve liked, but the sight of Domi’s exposed back did wonders. Lips curving up in cold smile, Bloodwind splooshed her way across the floor of the pit and CRAAACKS her adversary across the nape of the neck with a huge Knife-Edge Chop!
Domi shrieks and reels back on her knees only to find herself curved into a near bridge when Nyssa seizes hold of her ponytail and bends the former gymnast over one encroaching knee! “Pretty strong legs for a chick that could never even place.” Nyssa admitted to the snarling battler. “I wonder if you’re chest is just as strong?” Daly reaches for Bloodwind’s throat and earns a quick tummy punch for her troubles, not to mention a brisk slap on the mouth.
“You’re done, Bloodwind. Tonight’s the night I finish you off for--”
Nyssa can’t deliver effective Chops from this position, so she settles for a vicious series of overhand Slaps, each windmilling blow CRAAACKING against Dominique’s décolletage hard enough to make the beaded oil sizzle and jump.
After the fifth in succession, Domi is yelping as she desperately tries to manufacture cover, lifting her arms to provide some. But Nyssa's wicked open hands drop to create a maneuver akin to Lisa Dream's Bittersweet Symphony on Daly's rock hard abdomen. No matter the strength of Domi's tummy, the echoing cracks sting and Daly seems unsure how to protect herself and where. The decision is made moot when Nyssa dumps Domi from her knee, the Mite landing on her chest. Daly tries to slither away across the slippery blue surface, but Bloodwind drops a knee into Daly's tailbone, eliciting another howl and also keeping the Portland native stuck in place while Bloodwind draws back her ebony hair off her face and sucks in a couple huge lungfuls of air. Nyssa slips her knees between Domi's upper thighs and starts to widen her legs, forcing Daly's even further. But the preternaturally bendy Mite laughs off the efforts at a leg stretch submission, at least until Nyssa curls each leg under an arm and leans forward with an ingenious forward facing Boston Crab that also stresses Daly's spinal column, Nyssa testing just how limber the grimacing Daly can be, the crowd watching in astonishment.
Teeth bare as Nyssa tries to bend her in a spine-wrenching circle, Dominique Daly hooks her fingers into talons and raaaaaaaaaaked them over Bloodwind’s flanks as fast and as often as she can. “GET THE HELL OFFA ME!” she demands of the Nubile Navajo.
Nyssa just shakes her head and beams, apparently trying to touch Domi’s toes to the back of her head was worth playing Mitey Scratching Post. “Whatsa matter, Domi? You not as bendy as you thought you were? If you need me to let you go you could always tap!” Bloodwind emphasizes the point by driving her backside into the hollow of Daly’s back.
“Oh yeah, like I’m going to submit to notorious quitter Nyssa Bloodwind!” Domi rages. “You’re gonna get frustrated and let this go long before I even get a kink in my AAAAAAAAARRRRRHHHHH FAAAAAAAAHHHHHK!”
Not about to let Daly run her mouth from such a disadvantageous position, Nyssa sinks into an even deeper crouch, one that allows her to snatch hold of the other brunette’s wrists. “I’m not sure of the exact medical definition of what this hold does.” Bloodwind chides. “But something tells me it’ll be a helluva lot worse than just a kink!” With that she stands up and hoists Domi along for the ride, the mewling Mite bundled up in a vicious Rocking Horse Crab that only got worse as Nyssa begins to swing her back ‘n forth, back ‘n forth!
Showing determination, power and incredible balance considering the oily surface she's on, Nyssa rocks Domi forward and back in a torturous pendulum, Bloodwind appearing close to pulling Daly's arms from her sockets while only intensifying the pressure on Domi's back and legs. No amount of limber could best the Nubile Navajo's punishment. Nyssa grunts out "Quit Daly!" Domi doesn't respond verbally, but she manages a soft shake of her head, ponytail swishing from side to side as she mewls in anguish. Bloodwind holds on for five and ten seconds, Domi bleating out a pleading 'STAHP', but again shaking her head when Nyssa demands a more obvious surrender. Arms giving out finally, Nyssa drops Domi with an oily SPLAT on the plastic, Daly getting a faceful of the goo, her white spandex becoming increasingly sheer. She crawls along the plastic "pit"ifully, one hand barely pulling her forward across the slippery sheen, the other reaching for the small of her back.
Nyssa doesn’t let her breathe for long, indeed the mistreated Mite hasn’t even managed full stock of her aches when the Arizonan grabs her ankles and draaaaaaaaaaags her back to the center of the slippery proving ground. “You want to talk about frustration? About embarrassment?” Bloodwind flips Daly onto her back, then twists around so she can walk backward to the other brunette’s head, effectively stacking the gymnast on her shoulders, though she doesn’t call for a cover. “You’re about to feel a whole lot more of both than you ever bargained for!”
Domi offers up a breathless curse that got considerably louder when Nyssa drops to a seat just above her foe’s head. Careful to maintain control over Daly’s ankles, Bloodwind stretches those slippery limbs wide, then brought her own legs over so that her calves were snugged into the pits of Dominique’s knees. The result was a combination Grapevine and Wishbone that spreads Daly’s legs at a rather tawdry angle while offering the crowd an excellent view of her tush, tummy and chest. As for Nyssa, she waggles her hips against the back of Domi’s noggin, then hunches forward and earns a thunderous roar from the crowd when she affixed a claw directly between the other brunette’s staining thighs. “How you like this, baby?” she teases. “I call it the Wildcat Trap!”
Displaying Domi's spread undercarriage in flashy fashion was one thing and the flagging Daly shows the strain, her unnaturally lissome legs starting to fail her as they feel the strain of hammies and groin pulled to the smapping point. But the Nubile Navajo adds a catty grip of her foe's kitty soon enough and leaves Daly a whimpering wreck, Bloodwind clenching and unclenching her perfectly positioned palm, showing she could get badass when the oil called for it. "QUIT...NOW" Nyssa demands, tightening her grasp into a white-knuckler.
As if on command, the Mite shrieks out her capitulation, sobbing a loud "I QUIT. I QUIT!' that draws a roar from the FAWNatics and a beaming grin from the glossy, golden-skinned Nyssa. Bloodwind ends her claw hold, lifting her hand to show Domi has a few more immodest holes in her spandex. Nyssa keeps the whimpering Daly stuck with lower limbs spread, a sordid spectacle, Domi crying out to let her go.
Nyssa nods sympathetically, but there’s little compassion in what happens next. Planting her hands on the floor of the pit, the victorious brunette lifts up and slides forward, all the better to bury the exhausted Mite beneath the full weight of her oil-slicked rump! Daly cries out in immediate protest, trying to squirm her head from side to side, but she’s too tired and Bloodwind’s mount too oppressive. In no time at all the brunette’s succumbed to unconsciousness in this unenviable position and there she stays while a grinning Nyssa celebrated with bicep flexes and the occasional swat to her rival’s devastated trunks.
*********
GABBY MENDOZA:
KYLIE SANDERS:
Titleless after her Mania dismantling at the hands of Harley Jo Collins, it seems Kylie Sanders was willing to step out of her comfort zone to put the bad taste behind her. Perhaps a little too far thought some as the platinum pixie joins the trendy trip to the Oil Pit several had chosen with accumulating success.
One of those already with a couple big notches on her belt courtesy wins over Chloe Fields and Lily Burlingame in the slippery substance, Gabby Mendoza, surely knew catching FAWN’s most hated while vulnerable was a huge opportunity.
An “upset” by the Babyfaced Killer seems anything according to the smarties, as many a bettor laid prime money on the Terrible Texan teaching Sanders an embarrassing lesson.
But when the time comes, the Pleasant Valley Pariah, apparently having “sparred” with Pit vet Jasmine Washington, is more than holding her own through the first ten minutes of action.
Relying on her long past amateur background, Kylie proves strong enough to stay with the younger, yet more experienced Mendoza. And as the grinding, thrusting, glistening frames continue to ‘SMACK’ and jostle for leverage and position, it’s the Hawkeye tight to Gabby’s back, twisting and folding Mendoza’s left arm in a hammerlock while forcing her chin into the golden brown nape of Mendoza’s neck.
“Bytch,” she whispers in the Babyfaced Killer’s ear. “I own every fighting medium, especially when it’s with a skinny little Latina like you, chica. Chloe? Lily? Come on.”
Mendoza doesn’t respond with words, but a furious chomping of her beloved gum that brings an amused smile to Sanders’s face. “Oh, what’s wrong? Got nothing to say when you’ve finally met your maERRRHHH!”
Gabby reaches back with her free hand and slaps Kylie’s ear before catching the vulnerable lobe between thumb and forefinger in a nasty pinch. “You’re no match for me, Hag-Face.” the brunette growled. “And I’ll chew you up and spit you out just like I did those other bytcOOOOWWW!”
Sanders swats Mendoza’s claw away from her ear so she can sit up without relinquishing the Hammerlock. Knees dug in tight against the younger woman’s ribs, Ky craaaaaaaaaanked up on Gabby’s wrist with one hand and repays the thwarted hair-pull with the other. “You don’t have the experience or the guts to hang with me.” the FAWN original explains in the midst of wrenching Mendoza’s head back at an unpleasant angle. “I’d suggest you take notes if you weren’t too busy squealing like an Upstart.”
“Oh, go kiss my ass you washed up old NGH! NGH! NGH!”
Sanders ends the sass by bouncing Gabby’s forehead off the floor of the pit once, twice, three times! Once the Big League Beeyotch was suitably pacified, Kylie releases both grips and slides backward to better settle down atop the Texan’s south slope. “Time I taught you a lesson in respect, brat.” With that she works her hands under Mendoza’s biceps and laces her fingers across the back of opposing neck, the Platinum Pixie off in search of her Full Nelson Camel Clutch.
Sanders slips her limbs under and around those of Gabby, lacing her fingers behind Mendoza's neck. She rattles the noggin of the Latina from side to side, Gabby's dark, dripping mop swinging to and fro. With her foe's gray matter properly scrambled, Ky leeeeans back, drawing the Texan's spine with her. The glistening, black bikinied body of the Hawkeye reaches a bridge while forcing Mendoza's top ultra-tight to her modest rack, Gabby's dark eyes pointed to the blazing lights that made the oil in the pit warm to the touch and, if anything, more slick. Still, Sanders keeps her digits laced as Mendoza mewls in pain, her spine aching from the wicked arc.
"You're a footnote, gum-chewer. They hate us both. But they damn well respect me." Kylie demands a surrender from the lithe Latina but Mendoza shakes her noggin the best she's able. "Fine," Ky responds, transferring her nelson to a dual grip of raven locks. She SLAMS Gabby's face into the padded blue plastic floor of the pit, the cushion not enough to stop a grunt of pain from Mendoza.
Settled in a comfortable perch on the flattened fighter’s upturned glutes, Sanders bounces in place a little and gets nothing but a woozy groan from Mendoza. “Pathetic.” she sniffs. “I can’t believe you’re what passes for a bad-ass these days.”
Back on her feet a moment thereafter, Kylie contemplates one of her trademark Double Stomps before deciding in favor of an Elbow Drop that THWUMPS into the hollow of her opponent’s back. Gabby wails and starts to roll over only for Ky to grrrrrrrrrrind the bony dagger in that much deeper. “You’re not going anywhere, punk. Not until I’m satisfied you’ve learned your place.” Gabby curses something under her breath so Sanders gouges her one more time, then gets to her feet, sidles a little ways north and continues the punishment with a quick, heavy Leg Drop THWHWAPPED across the nape of Mendoza’s neck!
“Eat your heart out, London.” Kylie snickers as Gabby flops onto her back, both arms swaddled tight against the back of her skull. Far from finished, the Pleasant Valley Pariah got to her feet and makes a point of flicking some excess oil into the brunette’s upturned features just before she springs up and comes down with every bit of her hundred and twenty so pounds SMECKING atop Mendoza’s chest! Gabby’s legs kick up on impact but Sanders didn’t try for a cover. Instead she plunges her hands into the Terrible Texan’s hair and peels her off the floor just long enough to muscle her across opposing shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry. The ruins of the Corps murmur in anticipation, they simply couldn’t help themselves even as their former heroine favored them with a decidedly scornful smirk.
Drawn to deliver the Chilly Valley Driver, even in these unusual circumstances, the alabaster-skinned Sanders, plants her bare soles into the slick plastic, sliding then catching her balance, ready to toss the wriggling Mendoza for the ride. "When I end this. Wanna guess where that gum is going?" Ky growls. The thought seems to awaken the Latina and she rattles a swinging elbow into the Hawkeye's temple. Another brings a shimmy to Sanders' stems and a third convinces Kylie to let the Texan slide down her back.
The Platinum Pixie rattles her senses back into place and turns to reacquire Gabby. Her jaw is met with a wicked snapping forearm that staggers Sanders. Kylie fires back but Mendoza deftly blocks. She fakes a follow-up punch, instead ducking in tight for a single leg pick-up, Ky left hopping on her remaining planted lower limb. "Pretty good balance for a has-been," Mendoza hisses before sweeping out the remaining ivory stem from under her foe, Kylie crashing to her back. Gabby hovers above the recent former World Champ with the leg still in her possession. She raises it and plants her bare foot into Vanilla Chill's derriere, Ky yelping in both pain and surprise.
The yelp proves so entertaining that Mendoza seeks to replicate it with half a dozen more stinging kicks delivered in short order. More angry than hurt (though the growing burn in her butt was cause for concern) Kylie plants her elbows for extra leverage and thrashes her leg in an attempt to prize it free from the brunette’s clutches. But Gabby holds tight and makes Sanders’s predicament noticeably worse by grabbing hold of two toes and twisting hard! “Cheap bytch!” Ky wails as she pounds her fists against the floor. “Leggo of my fooTTEEERRRAAAHHHHHH!”
Mendoza wedges a heel against the Iowan’s crotch, then catches hold of Kylie’s other foot when she brings it up for kick. “What’s the matter, Bytch-Face?” Gabby teased as she grinds away on Kylie’s briefs. “Starting to run out of gas? Let’s see if I can rev that tired old engine of yours!”
Teeth bare in a wicked snarl, Sanders sits up and raaaaaaaaked her nails down the other woman’s calf. “Watch your godddamned mouth, little girl. Otherwise I might wash it out with AAAAAAAAWWWWWWW GAAAAAAAHD!” Gabby pulls up on Kylie’s ankles and stamps down on her crotch, the vengeful battler making vicious use of her heel to get the most out of the painfully simple maneuver.
A wincing Sanders' hands immediately drop from Mendoza's legs and are thrust into her own privates, trying to pry the grinding sole of Mendoza from the front of her shiny bikini bottoms. Gabby, chomping away on her pink wad, pulls the foot free and raises it high over Chill's already throbbing womanhood. Kylie raises her hands plaintively, 'washing windows. "You better not..." is all the Platinum Pixie can get out before Gabby stomps her foe's crotch AGAIN. Sanders sits up squealing in agony and it only reaches a higher pitch when Gabby drops to a seat on the Pit floor and pushes her soles into the inner ankles of the blonde. With her gum snapping, Gabby delights in widening her legs and forcing Kylie's to spread even further until Sanders is left in an agonizing set of splits. Chill tears at the little hair she can find in the greasy pixie cut as she sobs in anguish, her groin muscles stretched to the snapping point.
“How’s that for respect?” Gabby taunts as she continues to pour it on with her wicked Wishbone. “Seems like it’s a little rough on those old joints of yours!”
“SHUT UP!” Kylie bawls, one hand SMACKING the pit for emphasis. “JUST SHUT UP OR I’LL OOOOOOWWWWWW!”
Mendoza set both hands behind her and stretches the hold a little wider. “You’ll what, Bytch-Face? Tap out so you can make it to the early bird special? Go ahead, try it and see if I let you goEEERRRRHHHH!”
Sanders lurches to a seat, crooks her hands into claws and leans forward far enough to raaaaaaaake the brunette’s inner thighs. “Keep that mouth shut, brat.” Ky threatens after two more rough passes down those tawny stems. “Unless you want to chew on your smutty bottoms before the match is ovHEY! NO! OOOOOOOHHHH STAAAAAAAAAAAHP!”
Gabby catches the blonde’s wrists in both hands and draws back until she was looking up at the lights and was effectively facedown and stretched into a hellacious splay-legged toe touch by Mendoza’s cruel creativity.
From the side of the Pit, Nick yells into Chill. "Is that a surrender?"
"Shut the FUAAHHHH" Kylie's F-Bomb is interrupted by the ever increasing, torturous pain her legs are under. "Are you made of fuckin' rubber?" Ky squeaks.
Mendoza giggles in response. "I'm where the rubber meets the road, bytch." Gabby tugs Chill forward even further then gives up her wrist grips for a Front Facelock, finding another way to turn a fairly simple maneuver into something special as both women sit in the warm, oil-covered plastic. Sanders mewls into the Latina's armpit. She bleats out an unconvincing 'no' when Gabby demands the veteran give in. Frustration growing, the Babyfaced Killer finally releases her hold and pulls in her golden stems only to piston them out into Kylie's chest, flattening Sanders to the slick floor of the Pit. Gabby pushes to her feet and gives her stems a little shake to get the blood flowing while Kylie curls into a fetal ball, grasping at her aching groin. As Gabby stalks like a gum-popping tiger, Chill rolls up to her knees and tries to stand, but her alabaster gams give way and she lands on her haunches, legs taken away from her. She tries to rotate as Mendoza circles in predatory fashion but has a difficult time keeping up.
“Stand up!” Gabby slaps her thighs for emphasis, then darts in and swats Kylie’s feet for good measure. “I said get up, hag! Do you need Nick to get your walker? Better yet, where’s your medic alert brace--”
Sanders scrambles to her feet and lunges for Mendoza, catching her in a greasy Collar & Elbow that sends both ladies skittering around the perimeter of the pit. Shifting one hand to Mendoza’s throat just because it felt so damned good, Ky bears down on the Stranglehold and growled, “You’re going to wish you’d never crossed me, braGROSSNNNNNNGGGGGGHHHH!”
Gabby purses her lips and spits her wad of Double Bubble at Sanders’s face, forcing her to twist her head to the side to avoid getting an eyeful of well-chewed flavor. In this she was successful, alas the distraction allowed the Big League Beeyotch to wrench free of the blonde’s grasp. Cinching both hands behind Ky’s head in the blink of an eye, Gabby hops up, wedges her right shin against the curve of Sanders’s cheek and lays out on her back to burst the blonde’s Hot & Bothered bubble with an emphatic THWHUMP! Kylie snaps backwards and lands flat in a stunned sprawl that would’ve been good for a three in any other FAWN venue. As it was, she simply looks up at the lights until Gabby scrambled into a Schoolgirl Pin and began to bounce in place, all the better to thum-thum-thum-THUMP the curve of her glutes against Kylie’s hapless chest.
“SUBMIT!” she commands in a high, giddy sing-song. “SUBMIT! SUBMIT! SUBMIT!”
Working Kylie's gurls like a bellows, Mendoza pumps her cheeks into Sanders' spandex top and the bosom beneath. Chill's hazel eyes pop wide with each THUMP the Babyfaced Killer gleeful in her dominance. "Now I'm gonna be the Legend Killer!" Gabby shouts. "Or as close as you get to being one," she adds cheekily. Having pounded Kylie into a breathless stupor, Mendoza takes a moment to dismount from her forward straddle and retrieve her gum. Unafraid of any cooties, she tosses it back in her mouth and lowers into a reverse seat atop Ky's ivory midriff.
Trying to buck the Latina off, Sanders kicks up her slender stems but only serves them to Mendoza on platter, Gabby snatching around the pit of each knee when the opportunity strikes. She scoots back to take a seat on Chill's aching breasts, the sliding of the Texan's undercarriage displacing Sanders' top upward, revealing the oily, alabaster bosom of the former title holder. The raven-haired vixen slides over them and settles her glutes just beneath Kylie's chin. She rises and thrusts into Sanders' throat, leaving Kylie a gasping choking hot & oily mess and unable to break her legs free when Gabby gathers both with one sweeping arm while using her free hand to sink her nails into the tender flesh between Chill's legs. Kylie howls in alarm and anguish as Gabby's crotch claw instantly strikes pay dirt.
"That's what I want to her from you, Granny." Mendoza clenches again, Ky shrieking, unable to extend her legendary stubborn streak a second longer.
"I QUIT. PLEEEEASE. GAWD. I QUIT!"
The bell sounds and Gabby is declared the winner, not that you’d know it by the way she continued to clench and claw at Kylie’s defenseless trunks. “Who’s the baddest?” Mendoza asks of her mewling opposition. “Who’s the baddest, you hag? Go ahead, say her name!”
Sanders puuuuushes on Mendoza’s glutes, but the Terrible Texan only bobbled her butt against the point of her foe’s chin. “Yuuuuhhhh…. you are!” she moans. “You’re the baddest!”
Gabz flashes a grin, though she still didn’t relinquish her grasp on Sanders’s undercarriage. “I know I am! But WHAT’S. MY. NAME?” She punctuates each word with a hellacious white-knuckled squeeze that would’ve impressed the current Intercontinental Champion.
“GABBY! GABBY MENDOZA!” Kylie bawls. “GABBY’S THE BADDEST!” Mendoza snaps her gum, tosses away the devastated blonde’s legs and scoots backward to finally engulf Sanders’s nose in those candy apple red briefs. Hands on her hips as she listens to Kylie snuffling her way to unconsciousness, the Babyfaced Killer treats her throne’s nubs to a quick, jostling pinch before she pulls out her gum and sticks it to Sanders’s sternum. “And don’t you forget it.” she purrs.
********
LISA DREAM:
LENORE LEMARCHAND:
“Dammit Lisa, come on!” Sierra Mist almost pounded a fist against the shiny blue side of the oil pit but settles for raking a hand through her hair instead. It simply wouldn’t do to let the Dream see her concern, especially when Lisa herself was currently--
“Unnghhhh!” The Personification of Perfection groans a fresh round of breathy distress when Lenore Lemarchand straightens up out of her backward facing mount and deftly hooks her left leg beneath Dream’s right bicep. Leaning forward in the next instant, the Oil Barroness plants on her hands and stretches her legs to full extension, all the better to lock her calves around Lisa’s shiny pate. Ankles crossed, Lemarchand worked her way through a few solid pulses before she reaches forward, cups Lisa’s chin in one hand and pulls up, thus adding a painful neck wrench to the former World Champion’s predicament.
“Fight it, Lisa!” Sierra calls as calmly as she could. “Remember, she might be a Baroness, but you’re--”
Lenore trains her dark eyes on the Dream’s handler and Mist fell silent. “I hope you’re a better doctor than you are a trainer, Mist.” the Raven notes. “Because this woman right here?” she puuuuuuuullls on the other brunette’s chin until she was almost looking into the overhead lights. “She looks like Lisa Dream. And occasionally she sounds like Lisa Dream. But I assure you doctor, she does not FIGHT like Lisa Dream. And I think you’re to blame.”
"I'm right here," Lisa grunts angrily as she struggles to free herself from the predicament the Raven presented.
Increasingly considered the Alpha Female of the Pit throughout every corner of the roster, Lemarchand responds with a haughty, "But are you?"
Sierra understands the point made and can't help but wonder if Lenore really does or if she's guessing. The battering the long, lithe brunette has been laying on the topic of her thesis is approaching embarrassing, Lisa rarely on even terms let alone in control, Lenore treating a future Hall of Famer like a greasy, glistening toy to be stretched and pulled and yes, trifled with at every turn. Sierra's nose scrunches knowing what she could do but refusing to give in. Lisa needed to do this on her own. Instead, a seemingly bored Lenore releases her Scissors, rises to a full kneeling straddle then drops her behind into the ivory midriff of Lisa, Dream in a black leather bikini, the cow-skin showing a hint of old Lisa while the copious amounts of bare alabaster skin revealing the changes Mist instituted in order to make her project more fan-friendly.
Lisa groans, breath expelled by Lemarchand once more when she DRIVES derriere into Lisa's diaphragm again, The Dream jackknifing under the Pit Mistress then fading back to the oily plastic gasping.
Not content with simply pulverizing her opponent’s tummy, Lemarchand repeats the Butt Bomb twice, then slides north a little ways and drops some more gluteal ordinance on the Dream’s modest assets. Lisa ‘oooffffhed’ reaches for Lenore’s hips and muttered dispiritedly when the Courtier grabs her wrists. “I know you can’t stand this.” Lenore said of the butt on boob grind that has Dream’s girls mashed against her sternum. “Susan went into great detail about what pisses you off the most and even Olivia offered up a few corroborating insights after I brought her a case of breakfast tea back from my latest tour of the U.K. Both of them confirmed that Lisa Dream cannot stand any form of jugg mugging, in fact she usually responds to with immediate violence and the most outlandish threats imaginable. Yet here I am, using your tits like a bar stool with barely a squirm of protest.” The Raven trailed off so she could bring Lisa’s wrists together and thus control them with one hand. Twisted around to look over her shoulder, she asks, “So if you’re not Lisa Dream, who the hell are you?” Rather than wait for an answer Lemarchand seeks to dig one out of the Dream’s leather briefs with nothing but a jostling white-knuckled claw and plenty of time.
Lisa howls in anguish as the slippery digits of Lemarchand easily slide under the black covering and tear into the Dream's privates, effectively working around the leather that would have provided her more protection than most bikini bottoms. The direct fingers-to-kitty connection and the clenching by the heartless Raven draws squeals of anguish from the increasingly fight-free responses of the drained Dream. It had taken thirty minutes for some opponents to fully succumb to the Oil Baroness but Lisa is falling apart inside ten.
The FAWNatics, who'd come to enjoy Lisa's comeback story both in the organization and her matches watch with squeamishness as Lenore stretches her advantage, RIPPING into Lisa's tender squishy center, the former involuntary committal to Orlando General's psych ward turning into putty in a new puppetmaster's hands. "I AM the Dream," Lisa snivels. And I'm a legendAHHGAWWWD."
Lenore's clenching claw brings any mock courage to an end as Lisa yelps and sobs, twisting and flailing under the seat of the glistening Raven. "If you are," Lenore huffs, "then you've got the best publicist of all time."
Several more seconds bring fresh yowls but no capitulation, so Lemarchand extracts her claw and punctuates the performance with a single hard SLAP to the Dream’s tenderized nethers. Swinging off her struggling mount, she positioned herself between Lisa’s shiny stems and drew them around her waist. Outside Sierra *almost* blurted the trigger, but held her tongue in hopes that Dream would use the seemingly arrogant display as an opportunity to seize control. Alas, it was not to be as the Fair & Radiant Maiden rolls Lisa onto her belly and in doing so took a seat between her splayed legs. Hooking her ankles beneath the other brunette’s biceps, Lenore traps Dream’s shins in the crook of her elbows, then leans forward to clamp down on those defenseless wrists. “Come on, where are you, Lisa!?” Lemarchand snaps as she tries to bend her opponent in half with the hellish Surfboard. “Eliza hung with me for twenty minutes, Amara went more than half an hour! You were supposed to be my most dangerous challenge yet and here you are moaning like a defenseless slab of bikini meat!” Angered by lack of what she considered ‘Dreamy’ response, Lemarchand crosses her ankles beneath the other woman’s chin and rocked backward to subject the panicky Personification with another callous neck-wrench.
Lenore heartlessly puts a few extra kinks in either of Lisa's glistening traps, continuing to use the greasy Dream as a chew toy, Sierra's insistence being put to the ultimate test. "Come on," Mist pleads, her eyes locking with Lisa's and Dream does, squirming her way to a slight rocking of the Raven, but Lenore only sneers at the lack of fire. She unlocks her ankles, puts one sole behind Lisa's head and releases her foe's wrists, STUFFING The Dream's flawless features into the shimmering blue plastic that covers the more forgiving cushions that make up the Pit floor.
Even without the unforgiving plywood, the modified Curbstomp and Lisa's already haggard state combine to leave her stunned and without a hint of resistance when Lenore simultaneously dismounts and rolls the former Personification of Perfection to her back. "Now Lisa. Now," Sierra pleads and The Dream is able to push to a seated position, shaking out cobwebs as she sends a spray of oil from her dark, matted mop. "You can do this," Mist insists and indeed Lisa starts to rise in front of a an already standing Raven, Lenore playing a waiting game as Dream slowly rises in front of her.
Indeed, the Oil Baroness let Lisa rise to her full height before she flicked out a hand to casually SLAP the Dream’s mouth. “Fight me, dammit.” she demands. “You put Rooney through the ringer and you made Chrissy do her best Shea impression, so what the hell is wrong with you ton--”
The Dream swings for the fences with a retaliatory Bytch Slap, unfortunately she telegraphs it from miles out and Lenore dips beneath like a cool breeze. Ready and waiting on Lisa’s six long before the other brunette turned around, the Courtier greets her with a CRAAACKING left-right slap combo and follows it with a dual titty twister that had Dream stamping in place.
“I KNOW you’re in there.” Lenore hisses amidst trying to adjust Lisa’s dials to K-D-R-E-A-M. “I saw you when you posed over Chrissy and before that when you choked Claudia with her own top. Where’d you go, Lisa? Why won’t you come play with me?”
Pretty face crimped in anguish, Dream actually reaches for Lenore’s chest only to catch a Kneelift to the belly for her troubles. Relinquishing the pincers so she could wedge Lisa’s head between her thighs, Lemarchand pointedly turns so her back is to Mist when she raises the Raven sigil overhead. “It seems Lisa decided not to join us tonight!” she told the crowd. “But I refuse to send any of you home disappointed, so I’ll just have to attempt the Symphony in her stead.” Her tone is somber but Lenore’s smile is anything but, especially as she cracks her knuckles in anticipation of tonight’s performance.
Reaching down the be-moled beauty's back, Lemarchand fashions her hands into paddles and swats Dreamy backside in an a Bittersweet Symphony-like performance the crowd can't help but enjoy in the deepest, darkest corners of their hearts. The usual conductor winces and flinches with each stinging CRACK to mostly bare backside, Lenore pinking up the perfect posterior, her butt bongos a sight to see and one that has Sierra chewing on her lower lip.
"I can't," she mutters to herself before pleading with Lisa to respond to the humiliation.
Perhaps the mock Symphony being a step too far, The Dream wraps her arms around Lenore's thighs and catches Lemarchand by surprise. Lisa straightens, lifting the Raven's feet off the slippery surface. But as she tries to send Lenore over in a Back Body Drop, the oily Pit floor claims The Dream as a victim as well, her feet sliding out from under her during the middle of the effort. Lisa's back plops to the slick plastic with Lenore CRASHING down atop her in a self-inflicted SPLASH, the Oil Baroness landing in a full body pin of the flattened Dream. Sierra spins in frustration from the sandwiched Lisa, The Dream mistakenly creating offense for her already domineering foe.
Hands planted beside Lisa’s shoulders, Lenore raises herself up just high enough to keep an eye on things as she once again rolls the Dream to her belly. “That’s the most fight you’ve shown all night.” Lemarchand says as she threads her ankles over Lisa’s and stretched them wide with a sort of facedown Double Leg Grapevine. “A shame it’s far too little, far too late.”
“No it’s not, Lisa! Don’t you listen to her!” Sierra shouts from the outside. “You’re Lisa Freaking Dream! No way you lose to this diet rite version of Olivia Da--OH COME ON!”
Lenore seized the Dream’s wrists once more (right in left and vice versa) then crossed them beneath the former World Champion’s chin in a snug Straightjacket. Bracing on her elbows allowed her to reeeeeeeeeeeef back on the breath-stealing clutch, but that wasn’t what made Sierra throw up her hands in frustrated outrage. It was that damned Grapevine that stretches The Dream’s legs to the limit while simultaneously allowing the Raven to smeck-smeck-smeck her hips into Lisa’s bunched buttocks like some sort of tawdry battering ram. “You’re finished.” Lenore huffs even as she did her damndest to demolish Dream’s defenseless derriere. “Are you woman enough to admit it, or is Sierra going to throw in the towel for you?”
Lenore pumps her pelvis into Lisa's already savaged, blistered booty, moving the taste of this oily recipe to extra hot. With the crowd slack-jawed at the sight of Lisa literally taking it in the ass, the humiliation and butt bruising doesn't compare to her increasingly stretched groin muscles from the Grapevine and the ferocious straightjacket that not only closes Lisa's windpipe but mocks her stay in the loony bin, the real deal having tied her up and locked her down in the past.
As Lisa's lids flutter over glassy dark eyes, Sierra can take it no longer. "Lisa. Stop this. Show her YOU'RE PERFECT!"
The Dream's eyes gain a razor focus and her body tenses. Lisa starts to unwrap the 'jacket' inch by inch'. But a quickening thrust of Lenore's crashing crotch into Lisa's rump halts the progress and the growling sneer of Lisa's perfect pearlies fades to pursed lips. In moments, the burbling resumes, tongue poking from between as Lisa's trigger is firing a dud, her face growing rosier.
"PERFECT," Sierra screams. "YOU'RE PERFECT!"
This time there's nary a hint of tightening of The Dream's muscles, the firing of Lisa's cartridge too late. In fact, the oily, alabaster skinned frame and glistening black leather turn dishrag limp in Lemarchand's cruel Clutch, Lenore finishing Lisa PERFECTLY. yt
Noting the Dream’s slack-bodied slumber, referee Craig Long calls for the bell, which CLANGS immediately thereafter. This brought plenty of cheers for the Raven but Lenore didn’t even notice them, she was far too intent on Sierra Mist. “What the hell did you do to her?” the brunette asks Lisa’s abruptly stone-faced handler.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Mist says blandly. “Please be so kind as to get off my patient.”
Lenore releases the Straightjacket, but not the Grapevine. Balancing on one hand, she cups the other beneath Lisa’s chin and pulls her head back, forcing Sierra to look at her demolished charge. “You’ve brainwashed her.” the Raven says softly. “I don’t know if you hijacked Blassenville’s protocol or just overrode everything with pills and therapy, but you locked Dream up so tight she can only come out when say it’s ok, isn’t that right, doctor?”
“You won the match.” Sierra replies. “Just take your smutty prize and go.” Lemarchand actually did reach for the knot of Lisa’s top, but decides against it after a moment of hesitation. Standing up, she put a foot on the slim curve of Lisa’s glutes and pushed down. “Information is the only trophy I’ll take tonight, Mist. I just hope you’ve got a tight grip on those reins. Because when the REAL Lisa Dream finally realizes you’ve turned her into a piss-poor marionette…. sweetie, I wouldn’t want to be you.”
With that the victorious Raven turns around and exit’s the Pit. Sierra watches her for a good ten seconds, making sure Lemarchand is really leaving before she climbs over the low barrier and begins tending to the smoldering wreckage of her patient.
