Post by dsb on Nov 11, 2018 21:55:30 GMT
Every single person in the miniaturized arena of the Madhouse basement rises to their feet when Iggy and Charlie belt Hot&Bothered’s anthem ‘Fancy’, the comparatively close confines and the steel cage surrounding the ring bringing an extra air of excitement to their jeers.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
And the enthusiasm and volume only grows when Vanilla Chill strides fitfully through the chain-link tunnel leading to the fenced pen. The Platinum Princess’ usual entourage is trimmed to just J-Dogg, the Nubian beauty walking alongside her partner.
KYLIE SANDERS
JASMINE WASHINGTON
The fewer FAWNatics in this set-up make up for their smaller numbers with gusto, booing the Pleasant Valley Pariah relentlessly.
The annoyed Hawkeye sports her multi-strapped yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
Noticeably absent is the Intercontinental strap torn from her by Harley Jo Collins at Mania and the crowd lets her know she is no longer a FAWN champion every step of the way.
Quickly reaching the squared circle within the enclosure, Sanders and Washington rise up the steps and enter the ring. The women move to the middle and wait for Sanders’ introduction, Ky uneasily.
“Our next match is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…the FORMER Intercontinental Champion…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Kylie furiously stomps her feet and flails at the unnecessary emphasis of her lost gold and it only increases when the crowd chants “YOU…GOT…BEAT” and “HARLEY’S BETTER”.
Finally she can take it no longer and accepts a microphone through the steel links.
“Shut your damn mouths,” Kylie screams. “I shouldn’t even be out here. I got cheated at Mania and now they put me in this awful freak show of All Hallows’ Evil? I demanded Bethany NEVER put me in this shithole again and she throws me in the basement…IN A CAGE!”
The crowd roars its approval and starts a “TROLL” chant that enrages Sanders all the more.
“And that bytch won’t even tell me who I’m fighting? I’m a legend. I should be telling her who I’m facing. Da Man’s putting it to me again. But I got words for him. Bring it on!”
Sanders tosses the stick away with a ‘CLUNK’ and waits for her foe’s arrival.
Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’ erupts from the speakers, the unmistakable sound of Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tearing the air itself and a loud “WHOA” erupts from the FAWNatics, the assembled understanding it’s the intro for Kylie’s oldest and most bitter rival Chrissy Daniel.
Although Chrissy had been torturous to Kylie through the first half of Sanders’ career, Ky had gotten the last laugh in a HUGE way with a memorable No Holds Barred affair that saw Kylie go ‘FAWN old school’ on Daniel. Therefore, it’s not surprising Chill has a wide grin and swings her arms toward herself in welcome.
CHRISSY DANIEL
The Killer Imp strides toward the ring, the fireplug looking fit to go but dressed in a tight black t and jeans with black Air Jordans, hardly her or anyone else’s standard gear.
Already in possession of a microphone, Chrissy draws it to her lips, the crowd dropping to a murmur.
“As much as I would love to get in there and destroy you, and believe me I will in the near future, tonight isn’t about me. And it’s certainly not about that mutt you have in the ring with you.”
A furious Jasmine and a confused Kylie move to the corner nearest Chrissy, Daniel remaining a few steps beyond the ring post.
“So if the Dogg would join me outside the door, I wish to present my personal gift to Crushable and the FAWNatics.”
A couple zebras brush past the Imp and direct Jasmine to exit the cage. Washington puts up an argument but eventually is escorted out to the great pleasure of the Madhouse crowd. A flustered Ky shouts at the nearby Nick Castle.
“Keep her out…at all times!”
Chrissy ignores the interplay to make introductions.
“And her opponent, hailing from Newport Beach, California, standing five feet two inches tall and weighing in at 123 pounds, Kat ‘THE BRAT’ Braddock.”
Entering to curious murmurs, a busty blonde youngster who appears a combination of Chrissy’s frame and Kylie’s features from FAWN’s nascent days emerges in a green crocheted bikini. She also sports green pads and black ankle boots.
KAT BRADDOCK
A sneering Braddock passes her mentor, bounding up the steps and dipping into the ring.
“For the ill-informed,” Chrissy continues, “Miss Braddock is a beach prodigy never seen since the likes of, well, me. And Chill. You’re going to find, after working with me in the ring over the last several months, she is so much more than a sand siren. Meet the future and your impending end.”
Castle, with Chrissy’s help, shuts the door to the caged pathway, Daniel adding a final few words.
“Oh yes. This is a ‘knockouts only’ match.”
Chrissy doesn’t get the words out of her mouth before The Brat is charging. Kylie, still paying more attention to Chrissy, is essentially blindsided as Kat lowers a shoulder and nearly removes Kylie from her boots with a vicious spear.
Sanders is PLANTED into the canvas with extreme prejudice, making the raw rookie, at least for the moment, a fan favorite. Straddling the splayed Sanders, Braddock unleashes with a thunderstorm of fists, only some of which Chill is able to intercept with a raised guard.
As Jasmine bangs against the outside of the cage, Chrissy stands with smirking satisfaction, and Nick frantically calls for the tardy bell, the curvy teenager wails away on the battered FAWN original. Ky buttscoots half way out from under Kat but Braddock lassoes an ankle with her right hand and pulls the Platinum Pixie back toward her, Ky rising to a seat as she’s yanked.
Sanders loads a right but before she can throw it, The Brat blasts a forearm into Sanders’ jaw flattening Kylie to the canvas and leaving her foe in a wide-eyed daze.
“Chrissy told me you were a pussy,” Kat pronounces as she moves to a kneeling forward straddle over Chill’s ivory midriff. “She didn’t tell me you come from the same fossil deposit.”
Kat drops her considerable rump into Ky’s bruised belly and works the Hawkeye like a bellows, forcing exhale after exhale from Sanders until Kylie is gasping for air.
The Brat dismounts FAWN’s Most Hated and snatches what she can from the silvery pixie cut, pulling a wobbly Kylie to her feet. Grabbing Sanders’ left wrist and shoulder, Braddock bum rushes Kylie to the ropes and, more importantly, the steel mesh just beyond them. She sends Sanders FLYING into the chain link head first, Ky hitting with a nasty clatter.
With Jasmine already running her fingers through her ebony locks in worry, Kylie bounces away from the collision in a stupor, stumbling drunkenly through a u-turn and into the sights of the adrenaline-filled rookie. Kat accepts Kylie into her arms and shows off the power packed into her sturdy frame by lifting Ky HIGH off the deck, pivoting, and DRIVING her into the canvas with a ring-rattling spinebuster.
Chill writhes in agony, her vertebrae realigned in most unpleasant fashion, while The Brat sits on her haunches next to Kylie, sharing a mischievous grin with Chrissy. She quickly turns her attention back to the waylaid Sanders.
“The Imp’s cool and everything, but don’t get the idea I’m doing this for anyone but me. If she likes it, fine, but you’re MY bytch.”
Ky groans back to life, crunching her abs enough to rise and land a cracking slap across Kat’s cheek. When Braddock’s face returns, it’s twisted in anger and Braddock unleashes with a series of windmill-like slaps to Kylie’s bosom, smacking the shyt out of her foe’s gurls before fashioning her digits into claws and sinking a double-barrel set of stilettoes into Sanders’ breasts, shredding and squeezing the tenderized flesh, drawing mewls of pain from the overwhelmed Pleasant Valley Pariah.
Ignoring the feral attack as best she can, Kylie thrusts a palm heel strike into the rookie’s chin between the dual claws that backs Kat from leaning forward to her knees, Braddock’s fingers only lightly brushing the breasts of the future Famer. Kylie pushes them away and tries to slink from under The Brat until a swinging knee SPLITS the wickets of the retreating Sanders, the bony joint POUNDING into Ky’s kitty with agonizing strength. Sanders gurgles as she curls into a fetal ball in protection of her womanhood, those old enough to remember or have the VHS tapes, getting a healthy taste of how Chrissy treated Girl Scout Kylie in the early days.
Trying desperately to get a foothold back into the match, Kylie rolls in her ball to the cage’s edge to make space between her and the rampaging rookie. The fencing doesn’t allow any trip to the floor however and although she’s outside the ropes, it’s only by a step. She rises, face toward the chain link, only to have Kat grab her bob, draw back the frightened features of the former champ, and SLAM Kylie’s face into the steel.
The metallic CLANG draws an ‘OOOOOH’ from the crowd as their joy is becoming increasingly mixed with questions of who this teenager blasting away on a legend is.
Not knowing she would be in an All Hallows’ match, let alone in a cage against an unknown foe are mitigating factors for Chill, but the confidence bordering on arrogance of the curvy little blonde against a multi-time champion is fearsome.
Kat brutally RUBS Kylie’s elfin features against the chain link from side to side before pulling her foe’s noggin back again and CRASHING it into the cage. Kylie seeps down the edifice, pooling between the cage and ropes.
The fulsome Californian grabs a wrist and yanks the ragdolled Sanders through the cables, stuffing Ky into a corner. She wraps her foe’s arms over the top ropes on either side to keep Sanders upright. Using Kylie’s wrists as handles, Braddock pulls the Hawkeye forward while wedging a boot into Ky’s crotch, making one of Chrissy’s signatures her own, the Brat Attack only reigniting the throbbing pain in Kylie’s crotch.
When Nick reaches ‘FOUR’, Kat releases with a flourish and backs away several steps.
“C’mon Grandma,” Braddock growls. “Are you going to give me a match?”
Kylie, biting her bottom lip, waddles out of the corner and swings a clothesline at Kat’s clavicle, but Braddock dips beneath. Kylie spins in an off-balance 180 and Kat straps on from behind, lifting Sanders in front of her with a bearhug and AGAIN finding Ky’s sweetmeat with an inverted Atomic Drop that sends Kylie bouncing into the air, knock-kneed. The platinum blonde lands with hands buried between her thighs.
Grabbing a shoulder, Kat turns the wincing, watery-eyed Kylie to face her and delivers her Heart Butt, a head knocker straight to Ky’s ticker that sends a shimmy through the Iowan’s pins and her eyes from hazel to rolling white.
The crowd watches with increasing fascination at the Sanders trainwreck as the rookie swings her tanned arms around the back of the alabaster-skinned Chill and tugs her into a tight embrace. The bearhug quickly lifts Kylie’s boots off the canvas, her toes stretching fitfully toward the deck as Kat expels the remaining breath from the beleaguered blonde.
Sanders raises her arms to either side of Braddock’s noggin and claps her hands together, ear-ringing the rookie. Kylie drops to the canvas when the hug loosens but her rubbery legs cannot sustain her and she falls to one knee. While a snarling Braddock rubs away the pain, Kylie pushes to her feet at Jasmine’s insistent urging. There she wobbles, waiting for Kat to turn and find her. When the flaxen-haired rookie does, Ky fires and connects with a right fist that rocks Kat.
Sanders loads another and fires, snapping The Brat’s noggin to the side. But when she throws a third, Chrissy’s protégé intercepts with a raised arm, then lifts and folds the limb to PLANT an elbow into the crown of Kylie’s skull, sending the hapless legend to somewhere near square one.
The Platinum Princess wavers but remains vertical and Sanders’ infamous stubborn streak doesn’t serve her well as a peeved Kat dips and collects Ky’s ivory-skinned legs behind the pits of her knees. The power-packed fireplug vaults Sanders into the air and runs her to the corner behind, SMASHING her foe’s spine into the buckles.
With a smirk worthy of her Beach Cat trainer, The Brat lifts and places Kylie’s trembling stems one by one over the middle rope, Shattered Dreams style. Kat chugs to the opposite corner, spins, and charges the defenseless Kylie, Sanders only able to ‘wash windows’ with her hands, pleading for Kat to pull off.
She doesn’t, NAILING Kylie with a dropkick to the widened crotch rather than a punt, her signature and Imp-pilfered Sand Blaster leaving Kylie a steaming wreck.
The Brat hops to her feet and takes a victory lap to the cheers of the crowd than HAMMERS Kylie with ANOTHER Sand Blaster that has Ky’s hazel pools rolling back in her head.
Satisfied her blitzkrieg has left little of the FAWN original, Kat works what’s left of Sanders out of the corner and tosses her to a spreadeagle mid-ring.
To her credit, Vanilla Chill is able to sit up, but Braddock kicks Kylie’s alabaster stems wide then steams into a circuit bringing her sprinting toward the Hawkeye. Braddock leaps from a few feet out and dropkicks the inner thighs of the Iowan, widening a forced set of splits.
Fidgeting her way to a seat on the lap of the cringing Kylie, Braddock wraps her muscular, if abbreviated, legs around the waist of her overrun foe and clamps on a tight, debilitating scissors.
For the piece de resistance, Kat coils her arms around the back of Chill’s braincase and lovingly draws Kylie’s face into her abundant cleavage, securing a front sleeper, the Brat Pack encasing all but Ky’s forehead in the profuse pillowy bosom.
Kylie struggles fitfully for several seconds but her throes begin to slow after a dozen.
“It’s WAY past your bed time, Granny,” Kat whispers in the ear of the semiconscious Ky.
And a few seconds later Sanders is stilled in the breathtaking embrace, the surprising squash made complete as the rookie’s finisher is indeed just that, Nick signaling the necessary knockout seeing the limp limbs of the Hawkeye.
Kat allows Kylie’s greasy face to peel away and fall from the satiny hothouse of Braddock’s breasts. Ky flops lifelessly to her back and Kat disdainfully tosses Sanders’ legs aside like garbage.
Rising to her feet, Kat raises her arms high and wide.
“You’ll have to do better than that has-been to deal with me,” The Brat proclaims loudly and it’s hard to take issue with an unconscious legend laying under foot.
Chrissy bursts through the unlocked door and envelops Kat in an embrace. Braddock hardly seems happy to share her spotlight but accepts the hug with as much graciousness as she can muster. She allows Daniel to raise her left arm to confirm the claiming of Sanders’ scalp and her inaugural win.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
And the enthusiasm and volume only grows when Vanilla Chill strides fitfully through the chain-link tunnel leading to the fenced pen. The Platinum Princess’ usual entourage is trimmed to just J-Dogg, the Nubian beauty walking alongside her partner.
KYLIE SANDERS
JASMINE WASHINGTON
The fewer FAWNatics in this set-up make up for their smaller numbers with gusto, booing the Pleasant Valley Pariah relentlessly.
The annoyed Hawkeye sports her multi-strapped yellow-gold sports bra topside with black boy-cut shorts, black boots and pads.
(https://www.yandy.com/Multi-Strapped-Microfiber-Sports-Bra.php )
Noticeably absent is the Intercontinental strap torn from her by Harley Jo Collins at Mania and the crowd lets her know she is no longer a FAWN champion every step of the way.
Quickly reaching the squared circle within the enclosure, Sanders and Washington rise up the steps and enter the ring. The women move to the middle and wait for Sanders’ introduction, Ky uneasily.
“Our next match is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…the FORMER Intercontinental Champion…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Kylie furiously stomps her feet and flails at the unnecessary emphasis of her lost gold and it only increases when the crowd chants “YOU…GOT…BEAT” and “HARLEY’S BETTER”.
Finally she can take it no longer and accepts a microphone through the steel links.
“Shut your damn mouths,” Kylie screams. “I shouldn’t even be out here. I got cheated at Mania and now they put me in this awful freak show of All Hallows’ Evil? I demanded Bethany NEVER put me in this shithole again and she throws me in the basement…IN A CAGE!”
The crowd roars its approval and starts a “TROLL” chant that enrages Sanders all the more.
“And that bytch won’t even tell me who I’m fighting? I’m a legend. I should be telling her who I’m facing. Da Man’s putting it to me again. But I got words for him. Bring it on!”
Sanders tosses the stick away with a ‘CLUNK’ and waits for her foe’s arrival.
Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’ erupts from the speakers, the unmistakable sound of Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tearing the air itself and a loud “WHOA” erupts from the FAWNatics, the assembled understanding it’s the intro for Kylie’s oldest and most bitter rival Chrissy Daniel.
Although Chrissy had been torturous to Kylie through the first half of Sanders’ career, Ky had gotten the last laugh in a HUGE way with a memorable No Holds Barred affair that saw Kylie go ‘FAWN old school’ on Daniel. Therefore, it’s not surprising Chill has a wide grin and swings her arms toward herself in welcome.
CHRISSY DANIEL
The Killer Imp strides toward the ring, the fireplug looking fit to go but dressed in a tight black t and jeans with black Air Jordans, hardly her or anyone else’s standard gear.
Already in possession of a microphone, Chrissy draws it to her lips, the crowd dropping to a murmur.
“As much as I would love to get in there and destroy you, and believe me I will in the near future, tonight isn’t about me. And it’s certainly not about that mutt you have in the ring with you.”
A furious Jasmine and a confused Kylie move to the corner nearest Chrissy, Daniel remaining a few steps beyond the ring post.
“So if the Dogg would join me outside the door, I wish to present my personal gift to Crushable and the FAWNatics.”
A couple zebras brush past the Imp and direct Jasmine to exit the cage. Washington puts up an argument but eventually is escorted out to the great pleasure of the Madhouse crowd. A flustered Ky shouts at the nearby Nick Castle.
“Keep her out…at all times!”
Chrissy ignores the interplay to make introductions.
“And her opponent, hailing from Newport Beach, California, standing five feet two inches tall and weighing in at 123 pounds, Kat ‘THE BRAT’ Braddock.”
Entering to curious murmurs, a busty blonde youngster who appears a combination of Chrissy’s frame and Kylie’s features from FAWN’s nascent days emerges in a green crocheted bikini. She also sports green pads and black ankle boots.
KAT BRADDOCK
A sneering Braddock passes her mentor, bounding up the steps and dipping into the ring.
“For the ill-informed,” Chrissy continues, “Miss Braddock is a beach prodigy never seen since the likes of, well, me. And Chill. You’re going to find, after working with me in the ring over the last several months, she is so much more than a sand siren. Meet the future and your impending end.”
Castle, with Chrissy’s help, shuts the door to the caged pathway, Daniel adding a final few words.
“Oh yes. This is a ‘knockouts only’ match.”
Chrissy doesn’t get the words out of her mouth before The Brat is charging. Kylie, still paying more attention to Chrissy, is essentially blindsided as Kat lowers a shoulder and nearly removes Kylie from her boots with a vicious spear.
Sanders is PLANTED into the canvas with extreme prejudice, making the raw rookie, at least for the moment, a fan favorite. Straddling the splayed Sanders, Braddock unleashes with a thunderstorm of fists, only some of which Chill is able to intercept with a raised guard.
As Jasmine bangs against the outside of the cage, Chrissy stands with smirking satisfaction, and Nick frantically calls for the tardy bell, the curvy teenager wails away on the battered FAWN original. Ky buttscoots half way out from under Kat but Braddock lassoes an ankle with her right hand and pulls the Platinum Pixie back toward her, Ky rising to a seat as she’s yanked.
Sanders loads a right but before she can throw it, The Brat blasts a forearm into Sanders’ jaw flattening Kylie to the canvas and leaving her foe in a wide-eyed daze.
“Chrissy told me you were a pussy,” Kat pronounces as she moves to a kneeling forward straddle over Chill’s ivory midriff. “She didn’t tell me you come from the same fossil deposit.”
Kat drops her considerable rump into Ky’s bruised belly and works the Hawkeye like a bellows, forcing exhale after exhale from Sanders until Kylie is gasping for air.
The Brat dismounts FAWN’s Most Hated and snatches what she can from the silvery pixie cut, pulling a wobbly Kylie to her feet. Grabbing Sanders’ left wrist and shoulder, Braddock bum rushes Kylie to the ropes and, more importantly, the steel mesh just beyond them. She sends Sanders FLYING into the chain link head first, Ky hitting with a nasty clatter.
With Jasmine already running her fingers through her ebony locks in worry, Kylie bounces away from the collision in a stupor, stumbling drunkenly through a u-turn and into the sights of the adrenaline-filled rookie. Kat accepts Kylie into her arms and shows off the power packed into her sturdy frame by lifting Ky HIGH off the deck, pivoting, and DRIVING her into the canvas with a ring-rattling spinebuster.
Chill writhes in agony, her vertebrae realigned in most unpleasant fashion, while The Brat sits on her haunches next to Kylie, sharing a mischievous grin with Chrissy. She quickly turns her attention back to the waylaid Sanders.
“The Imp’s cool and everything, but don’t get the idea I’m doing this for anyone but me. If she likes it, fine, but you’re MY bytch.”
Ky groans back to life, crunching her abs enough to rise and land a cracking slap across Kat’s cheek. When Braddock’s face returns, it’s twisted in anger and Braddock unleashes with a series of windmill-like slaps to Kylie’s bosom, smacking the shyt out of her foe’s gurls before fashioning her digits into claws and sinking a double-barrel set of stilettoes into Sanders’ breasts, shredding and squeezing the tenderized flesh, drawing mewls of pain from the overwhelmed Pleasant Valley Pariah.
Ignoring the feral attack as best she can, Kylie thrusts a palm heel strike into the rookie’s chin between the dual claws that backs Kat from leaning forward to her knees, Braddock’s fingers only lightly brushing the breasts of the future Famer. Kylie pushes them away and tries to slink from under The Brat until a swinging knee SPLITS the wickets of the retreating Sanders, the bony joint POUNDING into Ky’s kitty with agonizing strength. Sanders gurgles as she curls into a fetal ball in protection of her womanhood, those old enough to remember or have the VHS tapes, getting a healthy taste of how Chrissy treated Girl Scout Kylie in the early days.
Trying desperately to get a foothold back into the match, Kylie rolls in her ball to the cage’s edge to make space between her and the rampaging rookie. The fencing doesn’t allow any trip to the floor however and although she’s outside the ropes, it’s only by a step. She rises, face toward the chain link, only to have Kat grab her bob, draw back the frightened features of the former champ, and SLAM Kylie’s face into the steel.
The metallic CLANG draws an ‘OOOOOH’ from the crowd as their joy is becoming increasingly mixed with questions of who this teenager blasting away on a legend is.
Not knowing she would be in an All Hallows’ match, let alone in a cage against an unknown foe are mitigating factors for Chill, but the confidence bordering on arrogance of the curvy little blonde against a multi-time champion is fearsome.
Kat brutally RUBS Kylie’s elfin features against the chain link from side to side before pulling her foe’s noggin back again and CRASHING it into the cage. Kylie seeps down the edifice, pooling between the cage and ropes.
The fulsome Californian grabs a wrist and yanks the ragdolled Sanders through the cables, stuffing Ky into a corner. She wraps her foe’s arms over the top ropes on either side to keep Sanders upright. Using Kylie’s wrists as handles, Braddock pulls the Hawkeye forward while wedging a boot into Ky’s crotch, making one of Chrissy’s signatures her own, the Brat Attack only reigniting the throbbing pain in Kylie’s crotch.
When Nick reaches ‘FOUR’, Kat releases with a flourish and backs away several steps.
“C’mon Grandma,” Braddock growls. “Are you going to give me a match?”
Kylie, biting her bottom lip, waddles out of the corner and swings a clothesline at Kat’s clavicle, but Braddock dips beneath. Kylie spins in an off-balance 180 and Kat straps on from behind, lifting Sanders in front of her with a bearhug and AGAIN finding Ky’s sweetmeat with an inverted Atomic Drop that sends Kylie bouncing into the air, knock-kneed. The platinum blonde lands with hands buried between her thighs.
Grabbing a shoulder, Kat turns the wincing, watery-eyed Kylie to face her and delivers her Heart Butt, a head knocker straight to Ky’s ticker that sends a shimmy through the Iowan’s pins and her eyes from hazel to rolling white.
The crowd watches with increasing fascination at the Sanders trainwreck as the rookie swings her tanned arms around the back of the alabaster-skinned Chill and tugs her into a tight embrace. The bearhug quickly lifts Kylie’s boots off the canvas, her toes stretching fitfully toward the deck as Kat expels the remaining breath from the beleaguered blonde.
Sanders raises her arms to either side of Braddock’s noggin and claps her hands together, ear-ringing the rookie. Kylie drops to the canvas when the hug loosens but her rubbery legs cannot sustain her and she falls to one knee. While a snarling Braddock rubs away the pain, Kylie pushes to her feet at Jasmine’s insistent urging. There she wobbles, waiting for Kat to turn and find her. When the flaxen-haired rookie does, Ky fires and connects with a right fist that rocks Kat.
Sanders loads another and fires, snapping The Brat’s noggin to the side. But when she throws a third, Chrissy’s protégé intercepts with a raised arm, then lifts and folds the limb to PLANT an elbow into the crown of Kylie’s skull, sending the hapless legend to somewhere near square one.
The Platinum Princess wavers but remains vertical and Sanders’ infamous stubborn streak doesn’t serve her well as a peeved Kat dips and collects Ky’s ivory-skinned legs behind the pits of her knees. The power-packed fireplug vaults Sanders into the air and runs her to the corner behind, SMASHING her foe’s spine into the buckles.
With a smirk worthy of her Beach Cat trainer, The Brat lifts and places Kylie’s trembling stems one by one over the middle rope, Shattered Dreams style. Kat chugs to the opposite corner, spins, and charges the defenseless Kylie, Sanders only able to ‘wash windows’ with her hands, pleading for Kat to pull off.
She doesn’t, NAILING Kylie with a dropkick to the widened crotch rather than a punt, her signature and Imp-pilfered Sand Blaster leaving Kylie a steaming wreck.
The Brat hops to her feet and takes a victory lap to the cheers of the crowd than HAMMERS Kylie with ANOTHER Sand Blaster that has Ky’s hazel pools rolling back in her head.
Satisfied her blitzkrieg has left little of the FAWN original, Kat works what’s left of Sanders out of the corner and tosses her to a spreadeagle mid-ring.
To her credit, Vanilla Chill is able to sit up, but Braddock kicks Kylie’s alabaster stems wide then steams into a circuit bringing her sprinting toward the Hawkeye. Braddock leaps from a few feet out and dropkicks the inner thighs of the Iowan, widening a forced set of splits.
Fidgeting her way to a seat on the lap of the cringing Kylie, Braddock wraps her muscular, if abbreviated, legs around the waist of her overrun foe and clamps on a tight, debilitating scissors.
For the piece de resistance, Kat coils her arms around the back of Chill’s braincase and lovingly draws Kylie’s face into her abundant cleavage, securing a front sleeper, the Brat Pack encasing all but Ky’s forehead in the profuse pillowy bosom.
Kylie struggles fitfully for several seconds but her throes begin to slow after a dozen.
“It’s WAY past your bed time, Granny,” Kat whispers in the ear of the semiconscious Ky.
And a few seconds later Sanders is stilled in the breathtaking embrace, the surprising squash made complete as the rookie’s finisher is indeed just that, Nick signaling the necessary knockout seeing the limp limbs of the Hawkeye.
Kat allows Kylie’s greasy face to peel away and fall from the satiny hothouse of Braddock’s breasts. Ky flops lifelessly to her back and Kat disdainfully tosses Sanders’ legs aside like garbage.
Rising to her feet, Kat raises her arms high and wide.
“You’ll have to do better than that has-been to deal with me,” The Brat proclaims loudly and it’s hard to take issue with an unconscious legend laying under foot.
Chrissy bursts through the unlocked door and envelops Kat in an embrace. Braddock hardly seems happy to share her spotlight but accepts the hug with as much graciousness as she can muster. She allows Daniel to raise her left arm to confirm the claiming of Sanders’ scalp and her inaugural win.