Post by hawkeye on Apr 8, 2019 23:24:44 GMT
The self-proclaimed Best Brit Ever is often accused of talking a better game than she produces in the ring. As ‘God Save The Queen’ begins to reverberate through the arena speakers, it’s clear that idea will be put to the test tonight in front of the March to War crowd, as Cromwell gets a shot at the lightweight title holder.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN9EC3Gy6Nk
Realizing the Boarding School Princess is on the way, the FAWNatics rise to their feet as one and give Lizzie the welcome they feel she deserves, a rousing chorus of boos. As Space’s ‘The Female of the Species’ rolls over the top of England’s anthem ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1NBpVKWh_c&ob=av2e ), the auburn-haired combatant from the northwest of the mother country strides to center stage, sneering at the jeering masses.
The freckled fighter lights up the Orlando faithful with a raised middle finger before traipsing down the ramp and aisle. Cromwell ignores the throngs, clearly focusing on any lens she can find, preening and acting the part of the well-earned challenger even after coming up on the losing end in a recent war with the Celestial Stunner, Estrina Starfire.
ELIZABETH CROMWELL
Elizabeth’s blue, boy-cut spandex trunks barely reach below the soft curve of her glutes. The initials ‘BSP’ are emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above is the familiar sports bra, containing a twisting blend of the colors of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast. Black boots and pads finish the attire.
Cromwell avoids the stretching arms of the crowd as she circles the ring before heading up the steel steps.
The Englishwoman slides through the ropes, moving to the center of the squared circle. She casts a hateful gaze over the sea of paying customers, their dollars currently providing them the chance to roundly boo the Liverpool native.
The ring announcer does his best to send his amplified voice above the torrent.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Lightweight Championship. From Liverpool, England, standing five feet five inches tall and weighing in at 54 and half kilos, she is the Boarding School Princess, Elizabeth Cromwell.”
Microphone already in hand, Elizabeth lifts it to parted lips.
“To those of you who believe I shouldn’t be here,” Lizzie shouts. “I’m going to show Zoe, her big blonde stooge, that Singaporean slouch, and every one of you, I am the woman to bring the light title back to its former glory and send Scott back to her daddy’s pathetic patch of sand.”
Elizabeth dips and trails her free hand up her freckled frame.
“So gather your wits and your guts, Zoe. Enjoy your last few moments with my belt.”
Lizzie tosses the microphone aside, the stick landing with a ga-lunk on the canvas. The mic drop is quickly followed by a loud, synthesized shout of ALL OF THE LIGHTS! The Lightweight Champion’s anthem seemed appropriate, every light actually turning off except for five spotlights which resolves into a single beam at the top of the ramp. Into that pool of light steps a dark figure, her waist glittering with gold while both hands spread out to the sides.
youtu.be/HAfFfqiYLp0?t=65
‘Popping’ her flashbulb sigil, FAWN’s Lightweight Champion begins a swagger down the ramp just as every light in the building strobes back on. For tonight’s sixth defence of her title the Diva is wearing her customary grey Calvin Klein-style sports bra and briefs, monogrammed with her own name instead of the more famous designer. Her pads are all gold, echoed by the ten pounds of leather and gold strapped around her waist. The Oil Baroness’ customary shades are in place, with prominent Chanel logos, while her sneakers bear telltale design touches and branding from Off White.
ZOE SCOTT
Scaling the ring steps, Scott removes her shades and holds them out behind her. Usually this would be the point when the Champion’s ‘assistant’ might appear to take the accessories away. But tonight there seems to be no sign, Zoe looking behind her in annoyance before selecting a nearby ring technician and clicking her fingers at him. “Take these,” she snapped. “I won’t require them until the end of the match, but if I find even a speck of damage I’ll make sure you’re fired by the end of the night.”
Dismissing the worried looking man, Scott turns back to the task at hand, slipping through the ropes and making her way to her corner. But her eyes never leave those of Lizzie in the other corner, her expression showing barely controlled fury.
Neither woman seems quite ready to start tonight’s match, even with the opening bell ringing in their ears. That may have been because said chime was immediately drowned out by a chorus of boos from the audience, who seemed unanimous in their hatred of both champion and challenger. Zoe was just as oblivious to this as usual, picking some imaginary piece of lint from her cleavage and preening at her hair while studiously ignoring everything around her. Across the ring Cromwell seemed to be actively enjoying the crowd’s opprobrium, her grin widening with every jeer.
Eventually even the Oil baroness couldn’t pretend to ignore just how happy Cromwell seemed to be in the situation. After giving her a highly suspicious glare for a few seconds Scott saunters forwards and asks “Why are you grinning like an idiot, loser? Smiling at me isn’t nearly enough to make me go easy on you.”
Somehow Lizzie’s grin gets even wider as she steps out, circling lightly to one side with the champ’s eyes following. “I’m just looking forward to when they announce that I’m a two-time lightweight champion. It really has a lovely ring to it.”
Now it’s Zoe’s turn to smile, although her scoffing laugh contains absolutely no humour whatsoever. “You won’t ever be a two-time anything, moron. All you are is a multi-time loser who hasn’t been relevant since…well, since forever. I guess it’s lucky you get to share a ring with me because at least now someone might remember your naWHOOA!.”
Darting towards the champ, Cromwell raises one hand up, swings out and then stops again all in one smooth movement. The fake-out was bought wholesale by Zoe, who allows the end of her sentence to turn into a scared screech as she slips and staggers hurriedly back away from the veteran brunette’s advances. The overreaction sets plenty of the ringside fans to chuckling, and even Isobel Lamont shows a brief and extremely fleeting sign of unintended amusement, but their laughs pale into insignificance at the guffaws emerging from the Boarding School Princess.
“Did you really call yourself the best lightweight in the world earlier?” the Liverpudlian chuckles. “Sweetheart, I’ve been terrorising this division since before you even heard of wrestling and I’ll still be here ruling over it when your overrated ass gets kicked enough to lose interest. Now get over here and take your beating, I’ve got a coronation to attenTOO SLOW!”
Furious already, Zoe dashes forward with one arm outstretched. Unlike the challenger she clearly only has one thing on her mind, swinging in for a big and very well telegraphed slap which Cromwell ducks smoothly. The follow-through on the Oil Baroness’ whiffed strike spins her round, turning a full 360 to end up a little dizzy and facing her opponent.
Still looking pleased with herself, Lizzie is quick to make the champ pay for her miss, swinging out a short but far more accurate Chop which THUMPS into the Oil Baroness’ well padded sports bra. Scott glances down at her décolletage for a second, presumably checking for any spillage, then looks up with grimace on her lips. “You even hit like a loser,” she sneers, “Let me show you how a champion does it!”
Raising her right hand up high, the Diva flattens her hand into a paddle and slaps down, cracking into Cromwell’s modest cleavage. The slap earns a hiss from the Best Brit, but she’s quick to retaliate, bringing that blade-hand up again and chopping down hard into Dubai décolletage. This time it’s Zoe’s turn to grunt in pain but again she returns fore, the pair of lightweight standouts trading increasingly spicy blows until both are showing a noticeable redness around the collarbone.
Perhaps unsurprisingly it’s the champion who decides to change the game, switching the focus of her slaps from chest to face. Her swing CRACKs into Cromwell’s unsuspecting jaw, turning the brunette’s head and earning an oh-no-she-didn’t ‘oooo’ from the rowdy audience. The Boarding School Princess turns back swiftly with murder in her eyes, but Scott was already on the move, sweeping in with a short, piston-like Kneelift which lands somewhere between the Brit’s navel and her waistband.
Unprepared for the blow, Lizzie buckles forward at the waist, the Diva slipping around to one side and clubbing a big forearm into the pale expanse of her back. A second smash to the spine makes sure that the Liverpool lass isn’t going anywhere, Scott stepping around to the front again and grabbing two big handfuls of brunette tresses. She uses these as a lever, lifting up a little and then dropping to her butt . Cromwell’s noggin is dragged along for the ride, her face smashing into the canvas between the crowing champion’s legs.
Sitout Facebuster
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sll-3Pm7RqM
Lizzie was quick to push up, leaning on one elbow while the other hand checked at her nose. “You stole that move from me, trollop!” she shouted, “how dare you try to use BLEURGH!” Snatching hold of the former champion’s hair again, Zoe used the grip to shove her face back down into the mat, rubbing at the back of the brunette’s head to give her features a good scrubbing. “You might have used it, but I’m the one who does it best,” she told the penitent Brit. Cromwell was too busy trying to get her head back up to answer, but her task became all the harder when the Diva leaned forwards and used the back of her head as a post to push up to standing.
Stepping around to one side, the Oil baroness finally releases her challenger’s hair and instead reaches down to snatch one wrist, tugging the arm out to one side. Not liking this turn of events one bit, Lizzie tries to reel her wing back in, but she’s prevented when the champion places one expensive sneaker down onto the inside of her wrist, pining the limb in place. Zoe steps her other foot onto the arm too, then suddenly bends both knees up, the bony joints slamming down with bruising impact into Cromwell’s outstretched arm.
Unable to prevent a gasp of pain from escaping her lips, the Boarding School Princess tugs her hurting arm back in and massages at it with the other hand, rolling over and over again as she does so in an attempt to get away from the vicious Diva. But she’s out of luck, Zoe knee-walking after her and ending up in a mount over the prone brunette. Taking a seat on the small of her back, Scott slides her legs forwards, hooking her shins up under Lizzie’s shoulders and then rolling her bodyweight backwards and sideways.
The end result is to drag Cromwell up to an enforced seat with her arms pulled backwards by the Dubai girl’s brawny legs. Crunching up her tanned stomach, Zoe reaches out to snatch those arms and then folds her legs further upwards. The Liverpudlian fights her every step of the way, trying to wriggle her arms free, slide her body forwards, and generally just buy herself some space. But it’s no use, Scott’s leverage is too strong, and it’s only a matter of seconds before she’s got her preys arms and shoulders all bound up in a tight and extremely awkward looking position.
Lotus Lock
www.youtube.com/watch?v=308SXP5A-OE
“Your time is long over, miss so-called Princess,” the Diva snarls at her wriggling captive. “Give up right now or I’ll make you beg later.” The auburn-haired grappler grimaces, teeth gnashing as the champ pushes her legs forward. Ankles crossed, Scott leans her lower limbs, forcing Cromwell’s chin toward her cleavage.
Craig Long drops next to the grunting Liverpudlian.
“Just say the word, Elizabeth. I’ll get you out of this mess.”
“What you can do,” Lizzie chokes between heavy breaths, “is shut the hell up.”
Perhaps inspired by the zebra, the BSP gets her boot soles under her and pushes her body back into Zoe. It’s enough to end lying atop the Dubai Diva’s raised hammies and, more importantly, enough to roll Scott onto her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Zoe releases her lock to escape the pinfall. She boots Elizabeth in the back of the skull before scrambling into a brief retreat, providing enough room to push to vertical and charge the rising Cromwell.
Perhaps playing possum, Lizzie pivots at the last moment, avoiding a double axhandle to her cranium from behind. She scoops the brunette up along her hip then drops Scott to the thinly-covered plywood with a simple but vertebrae-bruising side slam.
Seated next to her fellow Englishwoman, Lizzie works the kinks out of the upper end of her spine while Zoe does likewise with her lower. The freckled fighter reaches her feet behind a seated Zoe and sinks her digits into the long dark locks of the title holder.
“You’re gonna be taught a lesson tonight, aren’t ya?” Cromwell informs the Oil Baroness.
Elizabeth proceeds with her catty syllabus by RIPPING Scott up by her roots then SLAMMING her back down with authority.
Hairpull Mat Slam
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7NM1qOUILA
The nastiness of the Boarding School Princess in full bloom, Elizabeth kneels, making sure one shin is laid across the Dubai Diva’s throat. Cromwell holds her hands high in all innocence, even as Zoe flails wildly, unable to breathe, Elizabeth expertly shutting her foe’s windpipe while declaring her guiltlessness to Craig. Only when Long starts his count does the BSP take him seriously, rising from her throttling genuflection, pleading for the ref’s forgiveness.
The challenger offers the man a cheeky wink before returning her full attention to the top of the lightweight division. Again using one of her favorite tactics, Cromwell sinks her nails into Zoe’s scalp and HAULS a yelping Scott to her feet, the Baroness complaining bitterly about her hair, unaccustomed to a foe blatantly breaking the rules she often disregards.
Lizzie shifts the Diva’s noggin to a tight side headlock then bullies her foe to the ropes, forcing Scott’s flawless features down, Zoe’s eyes pressed tight against the top cable. As the self-proclaimed Best Brit chuckles, she draaaags Scott down the length of the ring as part of her Saturday Evening Constitutional, the busty brunette squealing all the way. Reaching the corner, Lizzie draws Zoe’s head back, Scott’s eyes watering, her face blotchy, and THRUSTS the champ’s forehead into the top buckle a half dozen times before compelling the Emirati to take another agonizing trip to the next corner, again dragging her rival’s peepers across the abrasive rubber-coated steel.
Upon Elizabeth reaching the second corner of her Constitutional, Long’s had enough and starts a count. Lizzie lifts her hands high to break it but just as quickly presses Zoe’s throat over the rope, leaping to the middle cable and leaning her body on top to shut her foe’s trachea again. Cromwell gleefully bounces both grapplers up and down until the count of ‘FOUR’ brings her fun to a stop.
Lizzie backs away, raising her hands heavenward in mock innocence, the crowd cutting her some slack since her shenanigans are preventing someone they hate even more from getting her oxygen. Elizabeth takes a well-earned victory lap around the ring, demanding an ovation but getting few takers.
A red-faced Zoe draws in deep breaths, her lungs sending her plentiful bosom heaving as she staggers away from the cables. Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, the redhead turns and races toward the gasping heiress, decking Zoe with impunity via a shoulderblock. Zoe scrambles to her feet but the freckled Brit drops the champ like a bad habit with another similar thrusting block.
Scott rolls to her chest in preparation of pushing up one more time. The rampaging Cromwell moves to a standing straddle of her foe and, when Scott pushes to all fours, the forward-facing challenger drops her pert backside into the base of Scott’s spine, flattening the desert brat.
Elizabeth drops to a crouch over the title holder, posting each of the brunette’s arms over a bent knee, one after the other. With the guns of the Baroness situated, Cromwell laces her fingers and drops the cupped hands under Zoe’s chin, securing a camel clutch.
The Boarding School Princess leeeans way back, stretching the spinal column of Scott cruelly, Zoe’s eyes pointed to the rafters. Mid-torture, Elizabeth turns her submission up a notch in the catty way she prefers, turning her cupped hands into dual fishhooks, index and middle fingers digging into Zoe’s inner cheeks from each side.
“You Aquaman?” Cromwell shouts at Long. “Cause this fish is ready to sing.”
Features distorted by the challenger’s maneuver and the pain caused by it, Scott grunts ‘no’ as best she can. Lizzie holds the agonizing station for as long as her folded legs are able. Finally, she pulls the hooks free, curls the fingers within the champ’s mane and PLANTS Zoe’s face into the unforgiving deck, the Dubai Diva’s noggin bouncing off the canvas in disturbing fashion.
The weakened Scott motions feebly toward the stage above, seemingly in desperation. The FAWNatics and Elizabeth cast their eyes in the same direction, waiting for her big blonde cohort to appear, but Isobel Lamont isn’t immediately at hand it seems.
“Forget to sign the paycheck this month, ya stupid cow,” Lizzie barks, piefacing the back of Zoe’s braincase.
Cromwell sneaks another look. Still no Isobel.
Tired of waiting for the champ to rise, she grabs a wrist and shoulder and tugs the Oil Baron-mess up, dragging the flagging Zoe to her feet. The auburn-haired Reds fan slides alongside, shoulder to shoulder, each woman facing the ropes.
Curling her free arm around the back of Zoe’s head and latching on, Cromwell leans Scott back then throws her forward SPIKING Zoe’s mug into the mat with her signature Silver Spoon Buster.
Silver Spoon Buster
www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9xJHZJyPIQ
Zoe absently flops to her back from the impact, limbs in a wide starfish as the smirking Cromwell climbs aboard the demolished Diva in a lateral press, hooking a leg for good measure and the…
ONE…
TWO…
Suddenly Zoe is moving but through no locomotion of her own. A wrist within reach, the tardy Texan tugs her boss out under the bottom ropes and into her protective arms.
Elizabeth screeches for a DQ but quickly realizes she won’t get the title that route and instead convinces Long to keep the match active.ONE…
TWO…
Suddenly Zoe is moving but through no locomotion of her own. A wrist within reach, the tardy Texan tugs her boss out under the bottom ropes and into her protective arms.
Elizabeth screeches for a DQ but quickly realizes she won’t get the title that route and instead convinces Long to keep the match active. And it’s lucky that she does, because even once the champion has recovered enough of her senses to realise her situations he seems far more concerned with the behaviour of her assistant than her situation in the match.
“P…put me down and get your stupid gorilla paws off me!” Scott’s ire seems to be directed entirely at her assistant, the surprised blonde, putting her neatly down and stepping back with her hands raised in supplication. The diva’s legs still look more than a little wobbly but she’s able to take a few steps towards Lamont, one finger wagging at her surprised face. “Where have you been!” she screeches loudly.
Taken aback, Isobel looks ready to explain her actions only to be cut off, her employer apparently not done talking. “I’m not interested in hearing any excuses,” she hisses at the cowed Fixer, “I don’t even need you, and if you can’t even turn up when I tell you to then I might as well not bother. Now get out of the way.” Dismissing Lamont, the now recovered champion stomps back to the ring and snaps her fingers at Craig Long.
“move the loser back!” she demands, waving a dismissive hand at Cromwell. The challenger’s response is a snort of derision. “Can you even get that fat arse of yours back in here or do you need your minder to help?” she asks, “Hurry up, I’m not nearly done rubbing your stupid face into the mat.”
In fact the Oil Baroness seems to have shaken off some of the hurts inflicted on her over the past few minutes, clambering up without too much difficulty and rolling under the bottom rope. She uses the strands to climb back to her feet, eyes locked on the challenger. And it looks like she was right to do so as Lizzie swoops forwards before the champion can regain a solid footing and reaches out to continue exactly where she’d left off. She’s thwarted in this plan though, Scott ducking her body down below the Brit’s claws and driving forwards to shove one shoulder into that pale stomach.
Thumped backwards by the gutshot, Cromwell reaches down to try to recapture her prey and gets foiled again when Zoe explodes upwards, one hand reaching up and raking right across those hazel eyes. Suddenly blinded, the Boarding School Princess reels back, and with both hands occupied by rubbing at those abused peepers she’s powerless to stop Zoe from grabbing two handfuls of Auburn locks. “How DARE you call the hottest woman in history fat?!” the vengeful Emirati screeches, spinning 180 and using that hair-hold to toss the taller woman up and over.
Hairmare
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXUsYN1bVaI
Cromwell is dragged hair-first into an involuntary flip which ends with her tush slamming hard intot he canvas-covered plywood. But despite the pain in both scalp and tailbone she’s up on her feet in an instant, Spinning around even as Zoe tries to brush a few strands of hair of her palms and swinging one hand out to deliver a big SLAPPP to the surprised champion’s cheek! Scott spins and staggers a few steps away, followed by the Liverpudlian’s chortles.
“That fat face of yours is just so good to slap!” the Boarding School Princess sniggers. Zoe’s only response is to dive forward with a big slap of her own, but she’s stopped in her tracks when the challenger flicks a boot up and buries it in that honey tanned tummy. Now it’s Lizzie turn to grab hair, swanning past the Diva and using her expensively coiffed tresses as a lever to drag her down backwards until the base of her spine clunks into Cromwell’s posted knee!
Hairpull Backbreaker
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBahEQeWuS4
Groaning from the impact one her spine, the champion slumps to the floor. Lizzie is far too experienced to pass the opportunity up, straddling her downed opponent and dropping to a seat. In fact she takes an instant longer to wriggle a little further up until she could take a domineering seat on the Diva’s well-padded chest, her thighs framing Zoe’s furious face as Craig Long drops to count
ONE
TWO
THNooo
It takes a lot of furious and extremely undignified wriggling and bucking but Zoe finally manages to extract herself from under the former champion’s derriere just in time to keep her reign alive. She’s looking both pained and flustered though, a fact which hasn’t escaped Cromwell’s notice. The former Upstart spins around and quickly reclaims her hair-hold before Scott can make it further than her knees. But she gets no further, the Oil Baroness swinging a low uppercut between Lizzie’s legs.
Suddenly it’s the challenger looking sketchy, those usually strong knees knocking together as Lizzie registers the pain in her center. And Zoe is only looking to add to that hurt, rising in front of the Liverpudlian and grabbing two handfuls of blue togs and dragging upwards to deliver a sharp and humiliating wedgie. In fact it looks like the vengeful champion is planning to go a step further, setting her feet and using her handfuls of trunks to lift the Best Brit skywards.
Wedgie Vertical Suplex
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPsDm77DePM
Scott’s deceptive strength allows her to keep her trophy held aloft for a good few seconds, parading the squealing Brit before dropping to the matt and SLAMMING Lizzie’s shoulders and back. The Auburn-haired battler lets out a groan and arches upwards as if the canvas was electrified, turning over as she does so to avoid any sort of pin attempt. But it seems that Zoe isn’t quite ready for that anyway, shuffling around to grab handfuls of top this time and using them to drag the Boarding School Princess up into a stumbling run to the nearest ropes.
Tucking Cromwell’s head up between the top and middle strands, the Oil Baroness snatches both arms and drags back, using them as a fulcrum to trap the Liverpool lass. One gold-padded knee pistons up and thumps into Lizzie’s bum, apparent payback for that pin attempt a few minutes before. But Scott seems to have something far more ingenious in mind, hopping up and wrapping her legs around those captive British arms. And then Zoe simply leans backwards, using her own weight to squeeze Cromwell’s shoulders and biceps against the unforgiving steel cable.
Hanging double arm stretch
www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4qhxux_cAg
The awkward position is actually enough to draw a small and grudging round of applause from the ringside fans, but with Lizzie caught in the strands it’s also enough to draw Craig Long’s ire. “Get her out of the ropes now Zoe!” he demands, starting a quick count. Scott gives it till well past ‘FOUR’ before releasing, hopping back to her feet with a look of satisfaction on her face. Cromwell looks a lot less happy, and her misery is heaped even higher when the Oil Baroness lifts up one expensive sneaker and jams it into her derriere, shoving Lizzie between the ropes and out of the ring face-first!
Spreading her arms wide, the champion pops twin ‘flashbulb’ sigils to either side. “I@M THE GREATEST” she roars. The crumpled Cromwell pools on the thinly padded cement, back to the floor. She draws her arms across her chest and massages her left shoulder with her right hand and vice versa, trying to rub away the pain of Scott’s ingenuity.
Thankfully for Lizzie, the Best Thing Ever is more interested in showing off than pressing her advantage. Zoe seems especially keen in giving Craig an eyeful, dipping her cleavage into the view of the distracted striped-shirt.
The peep show is not without a purpose as the champ’s employee, Isobel Lamont, eager to make good, presses a palm around Elizabeth’s throat, the auburn-haired grappler going bug-eyed as, with that grip and one on a shoulder, Isobel lifts Lizzie like a feather. Spinning with her cargo, the busty Texan heaves Cromwell into the steel barricade, the Brit’s back CLANKING into the metal.
Elizabeth arches in agony as she stumbles away from the divider and back into Bel’s less then loving arms, Dipping, Lamont collects the battered Englishwoman and shows her power, military pressing Cromwell overhead, Elizabeth’s head shaking in fear and disbelief.
The challenger is heaved back into the ring between the lower and middle ropes, rolling to a stop at the Dubai Diva’s boots.
“Sorry Greg,” Zoe apologizes. “Have to get back to work.”
Scott drops to Elizabeth’s side, capturing her foe’s left arm in a hammerlock tight to the redhead’s spine. The champ drops atop the BSP in a full body pin on Lizzie’s back, keeping the arm trapped as she laces her fingers in front of Cromwell’s freckled features. Securing her crossface grip, Zoe’s perfect pearlies grit with effort as the brunette tries to rip Elizabeth’s head from her shoulders.
“Give it up, loser,” Scott demands. “Or you’re going to walk around, looking to your right for the rest of your life.”
Zoe tries to make her words true, wrenching away on the ensnared challenger until Cromwell is forced to cast her eyes over her right shoulder.
“Whaddya say, Elizabeth?” Long asks worriedly.
Cromwell grunts out an unconvincing ‘no’.
It’s enough for an impatient Oil Baroness to release her crossface hold, sink her fingers into Cromwell’s auburn mop and SPIKE the brat’s freckled face into the thinly-sheathed plywood. Elizabeth’s head bangs off the deck and, in a daze, Cromwell is easily drawn to her feet, Zoe still maintaining her hammerlock on Lizzie’s left arm.
Snuggling up close, Scott keeps Elizabeth’s arm in place. She wraps her free limb around Cromwell’s tummy from her foe’s right hip and vaults the challenger into the air. Up and down Elizabeth travels, landing hard and heavy on her back, sandwiching the bent limb underneath.
Lizzie howls in pain, gingerly pulling the injured wing from beneath her body and cradling it close, only for Zoe to spitefully pound away with stomps on the limb after she’s risen.
Quite satisfied with herself, Scott takes a circuit of the ring, giving the crowd a queenly wave, the lightweight champion making sure everyone knows who’s the Greatest Thing Ever. As she makes her rounds, a wincing Cromwell staggers to her feet. The wobbling challenger catches Zoe’s eye and Scott spins into a charge of the Liverpudlian, absolutely ROCKING Cromwell to the deck with a Showstopper of a running palm heel strike that drops Elizabeth like she’s been shot, the back of the redhead’s skull THUMPING into the canvas.
Zoe skids to a stop and dives on the prone Lizzie. Craig lowers next to the Emirati and dutifully slaps the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
Cromwell shows her stubborn streak, kicking her way out of the pinning attempt and infuriating Zoe, who turns Lizzie’s midriff beet red with some echoing slaps to the Brit’s belly. Having tanned the challenger’s hide, Scott rises and points at the nearby corner with a devious smile. She strides to the buckles and nimbly climbs to the top. Looking out on the jeering crowd, the Dubai Diva gives the FAWNatics the middle finger then launches into her signature Gulfstream, a corkscrew moonsault that would surely put away the Boarding School Princess.
Unfortunately for the title holder, Cromwell rolls clear and the landing is a harsh and empty one for Scott. The brunette absently rolls to her back after the ring-rattling impact, hugging her abdomen as if she’s trying to hold her internal organs in place.
Next to her, a woozy Lizzie pushes to a seated position and rattles her braincase to knock some of her senses back into place.
When a grimacing Scott joins her in a seat, Elizabeth pivots and slaps the taste from the champ’s mouth then climbs aboard the re-flattened Zoe in a forward-facing straddle and gets to the fisticuffs, pounding away, the Oil Baroness getting her defenses up to block most but not all of the rainstorm of punches.
Hopping to her feet, Cromwell sinks a set of nails into Zoe’s scalp and tugs the champ up with a handful of her dark mane. Lizzie loads up a loogie and spits it into the champ’s mug, Scott freaking as she frantically wipes at her face. Cromwell uses the distraction to GUT the champ with a toe kick to the tummy.
With Scott bent in front of her, Elizabeth buries her fingers into Zoe’s locks again then drops to her backside, legs spread. The Baroness is forced to follow, ripped off her feet via a sitout facebuster, her flawless features buried into the canvas. Laid out between the extended stems of the Brit, Zoe’s easily rolled to her back by the Brit who lays her legs atop Scott’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The lightweight title holder shoves a shoulder up, keeping her reign intact and frustrating the Boarding School Princess to no end.
But it doesn’t prevent Lizzie from latching onto Zoe’s locks once more and ripping the rubbery champ to her feet. Cromwell bullies Scott to the nearest ropes and forces her foe’s peepers down on the top cable in a quickly crafted side headlock. Taking her infamous Saturday Evening Constitutional, the freckled fighter DRAGS Zoe’s eyes along the length of the ring, Scott squealing in pain until the salty challenger draws her foe’s head back and THUMPS it into the top buckle a half dozen times.
Releasing on the last, Elizabeth watches as Zoe drunkenly backpedals toward center stage. She’s quickly after and captures Scott before she can tumble to her ass. Pulling Zoe into a front facelock, Elizabeth throws a limp arm of the champ over a shoulder and moves a palm to Zoe’s navel, preparing to launch the Dubai Diva up for her Prep School Expulsion and her second lightweight reign.
Prep School Expulsion
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ttqciIH5dA @ 00:07
Dumped down onto the back of her head, Scott’s body folds up like a concertina around the impact point before springing back. The champion completes a sort of enforced kip-up, rolling to a seat before slumping forwards bonelessly. She looks all but finished, limbs lifeless, torso dead weight as Lizzie comes surging forwards and shoving her prey sideways onto her back. Energised despite the toll taken by a gruelling match the Best Brit pours herself on top, shoving both shoulders down with all her weight as Craig Lon drops to count…
ONE
TWO
For a few seconds Cromwell seems confused as to why she didn’t hear the final slap of the mat to confirm her as the new champ. She looks up at Long, confusion swiftly turning to anger in her face. But the referee only points to the other end of the current champion, where one still lifeless foot is now splayed to one side and resting juuuust on the bottom rope.
Standing just next to the scene of the miraculous escape is Isobel Lamont, the fixer not even bothering to look inconspicuous as she applauds her boss’ survival skills. Longs eyes narrow, but since he hasn’t actually seen anything untoward from the big blonde his only actions are to make a mental note and turn back to Cromwell. “She got to the ropes,” he informs the fuming Princess, “match is still live.”
“WHAT?!” Cromwell thumps a big swinging slap into the Diva’s defenceless cheek, slapping a little bit of the daze out of her eyes as she does so. But it’s Lamont who seems to be the focus of the challenger’s ire. “Are you proud of yourself, cow?” she asks, cracking another slap into the Oil Baroness’ jaw. “I don’t know who’s more pathetic, the ‘boss’ who can’t win a match by herself or the fat cow who does all the work for her.”
“Y’all think I saved her?,” the Texan drawls, “Don’t matter what you think. Only thing that matters is what’re you gonna do about it?” Lizzie’s answer is another big slap, this time into Scott’s overspilling chest. “Easy, I’m going to squash your boss’ stupid tits and slap her till she’s begging for mercy. And there’s no way you can save her fat arse from that.”
The Boarding School Princess is quick to carry out her threat, kneewalking upwards to take a seat right on Zoe’s chest, those vaunted boobs squashed under the Union Jack. She leans forward to deliver another slap and instead finds the champion rising up to meet her, Scott powering up and THUNKing her forehead into the bridge of Lizzie’s nose! The Best Brit is rocked backwards onto her haunches, but she’s not safe there for long either, Zoe pistoning one knee up to CLUNK into the bottom of her trunks.
Shellshocked by the twin pains in both noise and groin, Lizzi’s easy prey as the Oil Baroness reaches up and swipes a claw across her eyes, cupping under British chin once she’s done and shoving the mewling former champion off her. The grueling match has clearly taken it’s toll and she’s slow to rise, just about in time with Cromwell. But the hurt on the Brit’s face is in stark contrast to the fury lazing from Scott.
“HOW DARE YOU!” she screeches, pointing first at the challenger and then confusingly at Lamont at ringside. She reaches up to grab a handful of Lizzie's auburn locks, yanking violently sideways, but her ire still seems directed at her assistant. “I will NEVER need you to save me from anything!” she insists to her surprised Fixer, “and especially not a total loser like this EARRGH BYTCH!”
Upping the ante a little further, Cromwell grabs one handful of hair in return while the other reaches out and yanks hard at the Dubai girl’s ear. Scott is pulled sideways and immediately responds in kind, the pair of harridans screeching and jostling together until, almost inevitably, both end up staggering into the ropes and flopping out to ringside in a big tangled heap.
Immediately Craig Long is there, demanding that the two woman each get back in the ring. But neither seems to have the slightest interest in doing so, both current and former champion descended into full hair- ripping catfight at ringside. Such is the spectacle that there are clear boos when Isobel Lamont wades into the mess, grabbing her employer around the waist and hauling her up to standing while giving a short but meaningful kick to Lizzie’s ribs to send her the other way.
Back up on her feet in an instant, the Boarding School princess charges back in again and receives a hard shove to the chest, sending her back a few steps. For a second it looks like Lamont might be about to do more but Craig Long’s voice cuts her off. “You are not a part of this match, Lamont!” he warns, “I’ve already disqualified your boss once, don’t make me do it again!” The Texan seems to be heeding the warning, holding both hands up placatingly, but in doing so she unintentionally gives her boss a shield, Zoe darting round the side to take Lizzie by surprise and rake once again across her abused eyes!
Snatching another hair-hold Zoe spins 180 and shoves the discombobulated Brit’s face forwards into a sharp and brutal collusion with the steel ring post. Lizzie’s legs go jelly, the Dubai Diva scooping her up and depositing her back on the ring apron before turning once again to her assistant. “You heard the man, moron!” she hisses, “you aren’t a part of this match and I will not have you lying about saving me. Get the hell out of my sight!” Isobel looks confused for a second, her mouth quickly hardening into a line. And then with a curt nod she turns tail, stalking away from the ring and back up the ramp with jeers in her ears.
Behind her the Oil Baroness clambers back to the apron and roughly jostles Cromwell into a slightly different position, the Best Brit’s auburn head now propped on the ring post. The champion takes a few big steps back away from her and then dashes forwards, leaping off her feet to jam both knees right into Lizzie’s face! The double knee strike would be bad enough for the already dazed challenger, but the impact rattles her noggin against the unforgiving steel ringpost whilst also jarring her already abused neck!
Ringpost Meteora
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcAyRRGPSzA
With Cromwell looking dazed it’s the work of a few seconds for the champion to slip through the ropes and drag her back into the ring. Or at least the Liverpudlian’s torso; Scott leaves her hanging there for a second, half in and half out of the ring, to step back and pump a short and nasty Kneelift into the challenger’s sternum. Lizzie is lifted up and then slumps down, completing a damp and messy somersault back into the ring.
Scott is right there to meet her, reaching down to pull the woozy Boarding School Princess up to standing. One of the champion’s hands hooks around Cromwell’s neck while the other reaches down and tugs hard at the front of her briefs, hauling up to deliver a nasty wedgie. An ‘eep’ escapes Lizzie’s lips, but she’s given no time to do anything about it, the Oil Baroness lifting her up to suplex stall position and then dropping her forwards across one posted knee. The challenger’s neck whiplashes across that bony joint, and the challenger slops out onto her back in a sweaty starfish of hurt.
Envy Neckbreaker
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOEeobNF_Fc
She’s not left there for long though, Zoe shuffling over and threading her legs underneath he hurting Best Brit’s torso. She wraps those tanned stems around Cromwell’s arms, shifting a little and squeezing to pull her shoulders awkwardly backwards. With her infamous finisher all set, Scott leans forwards to grab two handfuls of auburn hair and yanks up and backwards, a hairy twist on her signature Spotlight.
The pain radiating from scalp, neck and shoulders is quick to burn away the fog in Cromwell’s eyes, but she doesn’t seem any the happier for it, gritting her teeth and letting out a low, bitten-back groan of complaint. Thankfully Craig Long is quick to step in and warn the champion get off the hair, Scott taking till he counts ‘FOUR’ before complying. But any release on Cromwell’s hair is quickly tempered by the increased leverage of two hands on her noggin, the champion leaning back to bring even more pressure to bear.
Spotlight
www.youtube.com/watch?v=St4Bz6WO0Qo
“GIVE UP!” Zoe screeches, reefing back all the time on her finisher. It looks like Cromwell’s teeth are glued shut, but she arches her back to alleviate what she can and gives a few shuffles, apparently trying to wriggle towards the ropes. She makes it all of three inches before Scott halves her grip and thumps three fast and undefendable elbow smashes right into British temple before reclaiming her death grip. And that final indignity is enough, One of Lizzie’s flailing arms reaching out to one side and tapping rapidly on the canvas.
Immediately Long sees the submission and turns away, gesturing to the timekeeper. Jeering rings out from the crowd, but Scott is paying no notice, her finisher still locked in, eyes boring a hole through Cromwell. “Tell me I‘m the greatest,” she hisses at the Liverpudlian. “Tell me I’m the best right now or you can take a nap right in here.” She gestures to her cavernous cleavage, one hand tugging her already low-cut top down a little further. Cromwell’s eyes are irresistibly drawn to that cavern of darkness, but when her mouth opens it’s only to aim another gob of spit, this time landing right in the Champion’s face.
Giving a roar of disgust and outrage, Scott swarms forwards, wrapping both arms around the back of Lizzie’s skull and just burying her face in flesh. The Boarding School Princess fights the smother with all she’s got left, but her resources are all but emptied, her movements dulled at frightening speed by Scott’s dominant décolletage. After a few last kicks and wriggles Lizzie goes still, the champion peeling her chest off her vanquished challenger’s face and kneeling over her while adjusting her top to recontain any spillage.
Without looking, Scott snaps her fingers in the direction of Craig Long. “Bring me a god damned microphone,” she hisses, holding one hand out expectantly. The referee looks first surprised and then as if he’s about to object. But after a shrug he steps over to the ropes and retrieves a mic from one of the techs, passing it carefully back to the Oil Baroness.
“I am the greatest champion this promotion has ever seen.” Scott’s voice is surprisingly matter-of-fact for someone who’s just knocked another woman out in her cleavage, but she seems keen to make her point. “Nobody can do what I can do, nobody gets the reactions I get, and nobody else has even half my talent, my ability, and my sheer greatness.”
Boos ring around even louder now, but as usual the champion doesn’t seem to notice them, rising to her feet. “Apparently some people disagree. They think I need ‘saving’, that I don’t deserve everything I’ve got. And those people are IDIOTS! LOSERS! And LIARS! Because EVERYone knows who I am. I’m the Best Thing that Ever Happened to FAWN, and I’m the Greatest Lightweight Wrestler in…”
ESTRINA STARFIRE
The crowd popped to their feet and switched into cheers as The Celestial Stunner's appearance interrupted Zoe's statement. Clad in white sports bra and navy yoga tights, completed with sneakers, her music dimmed as she began to speak while strutting down the ramp.
"I gotta stop you right there Zoe. You claim to be the greatest lightweight wrestler in the world. But let me pose you this question...How many of these challengers have you beat clean?"
The Dubai Diva’s face was already red after the evening’s exertions, but now it turned a few more shades brighter in sheer fury. “HOW DARE YOU INTERRRUPT ME!?” she screeched. Estrina simply smiled and continued her way up the ring steps and into the ring.
"You can continue to live in denial Zoe, but we all know that if not for your big dumb blonde Frankenstein, you couldn't beat ANYONE, let alone winning this title.”
"Bunny, Mercy, Chole, Katya...and MOST importantly... ME.", Estrina stared down into Zoe's eyes, coming nose-to-nose with the champion briefly, before breaking off to notice a beaten Lizzie sitting outside of the ring.
"Oh! And Elizabeth!", Estrina turned around and looked at the Boarding School Princess, "Hey, sorry for your loss. But you didn't deserve the title anyway."
"IN FACT!", Estrina turned to crowd, "The only place you deserve to be is...", Estrina raised her arm to flash her armpit, "...in here."
The crowd burst into cheers and catcalls as she taunted the defeated Brit.
"Still remember how it taste or smell?" Starfire sneered at Lizzie.
The erstwhile Best Brit was still recovering on the canvas, her face greasy and eyelids fluttering, the telltale signs of jugg shock. But apparently she was still hearing and processing what was going on around her, her face turning sour upon the memory of being buried in Estrina’s armpit.
"Which brings me to my next point!", Estrina snapped her head back at Zoe.
"The very fact that I beat Lizzie, not once, but TWICE, means I deserve a shot at that tile. More so than her!" Estrina pointed at the strap on Zoe's shoulders.
"And I swear, I will defend that title CLEAN against every worthy challenger and give every one of them a fair shot at the FAWN Lightweight title belt!"
"And THAT is what it meant to be the Greatest Wrestler!" Estrina lowered her mic and shook her head 'Not you' while waiting for Zoe's response.
It looked like she might be waiting some time though, the champion’s formerly stern face now creasing in amusement. And then, inevitably, the giggle came, a splutter of laughter loud enough to be picked up by the Celestial Stunner’s mic. Scott was pretty quickly into full-blown guffawing, leaning forward to brace her hands on her knees as she gasped in apparent mirth.
“O…obviously…”, Zoe couldn’t quite stop herself from bursting into another apparently involuntary fit of giggles, but a few over-exaggerated deep breaths were enough to get her back to coherence. Obviously I’m going to have to make you pay for interrupting my victory speech. But babe, you are just the funniest. I haven’t laughed that hard in weeks. You look so serious too!”
It takes a few more seconds for the champion’s face to switch from overly-exaggerated hilarity to deadly serious. “I already knocked your sweaty ass out, loser. But I understand why a nobody like you would want just a few more seconds in my spotlight. And since I’m the most generous champion this company has ever seen, I suppose I’ll let you have one last match before you slip back into obscurity. Just remember how lucky you are when you’re drooling into my tits.”
Her demands met, The Celestial Stunner dropped her mic and raised an arm up. Running her finger down her expose armpit, "I hope you are ready to sweat.", Estrina 'flicked' in the direction of the champion before making her exit with the Diva’s furious eyes following her every step of the way.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tN9EC3Gy6Nk
Realizing the Boarding School Princess is on the way, the FAWNatics rise to their feet as one and give Lizzie the welcome they feel she deserves, a rousing chorus of boos. As Space’s ‘The Female of the Species’ rolls over the top of England’s anthem ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=F1NBpVKWh_c&ob=av2e ), the auburn-haired combatant from the northwest of the mother country strides to center stage, sneering at the jeering masses.
The freckled fighter lights up the Orlando faithful with a raised middle finger before traipsing down the ramp and aisle. Cromwell ignores the throngs, clearly focusing on any lens she can find, preening and acting the part of the well-earned challenger even after coming up on the losing end in a recent war with the Celestial Stunner, Estrina Starfire.
ELIZABETH CROMWELL
Elizabeth’s blue, boy-cut spandex trunks barely reach below the soft curve of her glutes. The initials ‘BSP’ are emblazoned in bold white strokes across her backside. Above is the familiar sports bra, containing a twisting blend of the colors of her UK with a black outline of the British flag on her right breast. Black boots and pads finish the attire.
Cromwell avoids the stretching arms of the crowd as she circles the ring before heading up the steel steps.
The Englishwoman slides through the ropes, moving to the center of the squared circle. She casts a hateful gaze over the sea of paying customers, their dollars currently providing them the chance to roundly boo the Liverpool native.
The ring announcer does his best to send his amplified voice above the torrent.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Lightweight Championship. From Liverpool, England, standing five feet five inches tall and weighing in at 54 and half kilos, she is the Boarding School Princess, Elizabeth Cromwell.”
Microphone already in hand, Elizabeth lifts it to parted lips.
“To those of you who believe I shouldn’t be here,” Lizzie shouts. “I’m going to show Zoe, her big blonde stooge, that Singaporean slouch, and every one of you, I am the woman to bring the light title back to its former glory and send Scott back to her daddy’s pathetic patch of sand.”
Elizabeth dips and trails her free hand up her freckled frame.
“So gather your wits and your guts, Zoe. Enjoy your last few moments with my belt.”
Lizzie tosses the microphone aside, the stick landing with a ga-lunk on the canvas. The mic drop is quickly followed by a loud, synthesized shout of ALL OF THE LIGHTS! The Lightweight Champion’s anthem seemed appropriate, every light actually turning off except for five spotlights which resolves into a single beam at the top of the ramp. Into that pool of light steps a dark figure, her waist glittering with gold while both hands spread out to the sides.
youtu.be/HAfFfqiYLp0?t=65
‘Popping’ her flashbulb sigil, FAWN’s Lightweight Champion begins a swagger down the ramp just as every light in the building strobes back on. For tonight’s sixth defence of her title the Diva is wearing her customary grey Calvin Klein-style sports bra and briefs, monogrammed with her own name instead of the more famous designer. Her pads are all gold, echoed by the ten pounds of leather and gold strapped around her waist. The Oil Baroness’ customary shades are in place, with prominent Chanel logos, while her sneakers bear telltale design touches and branding from Off White.
ZOE SCOTT
Scaling the ring steps, Scott removes her shades and holds them out behind her. Usually this would be the point when the Champion’s ‘assistant’ might appear to take the accessories away. But tonight there seems to be no sign, Zoe looking behind her in annoyance before selecting a nearby ring technician and clicking her fingers at him. “Take these,” she snapped. “I won’t require them until the end of the match, but if I find even a speck of damage I’ll make sure you’re fired by the end of the night.”
Dismissing the worried looking man, Scott turns back to the task at hand, slipping through the ropes and making her way to her corner. But her eyes never leave those of Lizzie in the other corner, her expression showing barely controlled fury.
Neither woman seems quite ready to start tonight’s match, even with the opening bell ringing in their ears. That may have been because said chime was immediately drowned out by a chorus of boos from the audience, who seemed unanimous in their hatred of both champion and challenger. Zoe was just as oblivious to this as usual, picking some imaginary piece of lint from her cleavage and preening at her hair while studiously ignoring everything around her. Across the ring Cromwell seemed to be actively enjoying the crowd’s opprobrium, her grin widening with every jeer.
Eventually even the Oil baroness couldn’t pretend to ignore just how happy Cromwell seemed to be in the situation. After giving her a highly suspicious glare for a few seconds Scott saunters forwards and asks “Why are you grinning like an idiot, loser? Smiling at me isn’t nearly enough to make me go easy on you.”
Somehow Lizzie’s grin gets even wider as she steps out, circling lightly to one side with the champ’s eyes following. “I’m just looking forward to when they announce that I’m a two-time lightweight champion. It really has a lovely ring to it.”
Now it’s Zoe’s turn to smile, although her scoffing laugh contains absolutely no humour whatsoever. “You won’t ever be a two-time anything, moron. All you are is a multi-time loser who hasn’t been relevant since…well, since forever. I guess it’s lucky you get to share a ring with me because at least now someone might remember your naWHOOA!.”
Darting towards the champ, Cromwell raises one hand up, swings out and then stops again all in one smooth movement. The fake-out was bought wholesale by Zoe, who allows the end of her sentence to turn into a scared screech as she slips and staggers hurriedly back away from the veteran brunette’s advances. The overreaction sets plenty of the ringside fans to chuckling, and even Isobel Lamont shows a brief and extremely fleeting sign of unintended amusement, but their laughs pale into insignificance at the guffaws emerging from the Boarding School Princess.
“Did you really call yourself the best lightweight in the world earlier?” the Liverpudlian chuckles. “Sweetheart, I’ve been terrorising this division since before you even heard of wrestling and I’ll still be here ruling over it when your overrated ass gets kicked enough to lose interest. Now get over here and take your beating, I’ve got a coronation to attenTOO SLOW!”
Furious already, Zoe dashes forward with one arm outstretched. Unlike the challenger she clearly only has one thing on her mind, swinging in for a big and very well telegraphed slap which Cromwell ducks smoothly. The follow-through on the Oil Baroness’ whiffed strike spins her round, turning a full 360 to end up a little dizzy and facing her opponent.
Still looking pleased with herself, Lizzie is quick to make the champ pay for her miss, swinging out a short but far more accurate Chop which THUMPS into the Oil Baroness’ well padded sports bra. Scott glances down at her décolletage for a second, presumably checking for any spillage, then looks up with grimace on her lips. “You even hit like a loser,” she sneers, “Let me show you how a champion does it!”
Raising her right hand up high, the Diva flattens her hand into a paddle and slaps down, cracking into Cromwell’s modest cleavage. The slap earns a hiss from the Best Brit, but she’s quick to retaliate, bringing that blade-hand up again and chopping down hard into Dubai décolletage. This time it’s Zoe’s turn to grunt in pain but again she returns fore, the pair of lightweight standouts trading increasingly spicy blows until both are showing a noticeable redness around the collarbone.
Perhaps unsurprisingly it’s the champion who decides to change the game, switching the focus of her slaps from chest to face. Her swing CRACKs into Cromwell’s unsuspecting jaw, turning the brunette’s head and earning an oh-no-she-didn’t ‘oooo’ from the rowdy audience. The Boarding School Princess turns back swiftly with murder in her eyes, but Scott was already on the move, sweeping in with a short, piston-like Kneelift which lands somewhere between the Brit’s navel and her waistband.
Unprepared for the blow, Lizzie buckles forward at the waist, the Diva slipping around to one side and clubbing a big forearm into the pale expanse of her back. A second smash to the spine makes sure that the Liverpool lass isn’t going anywhere, Scott stepping around to the front again and grabbing two big handfuls of brunette tresses. She uses these as a lever, lifting up a little and then dropping to her butt . Cromwell’s noggin is dragged along for the ride, her face smashing into the canvas between the crowing champion’s legs.
Sitout Facebuster
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sll-3Pm7RqM
Lizzie was quick to push up, leaning on one elbow while the other hand checked at her nose. “You stole that move from me, trollop!” she shouted, “how dare you try to use BLEURGH!” Snatching hold of the former champion’s hair again, Zoe used the grip to shove her face back down into the mat, rubbing at the back of the brunette’s head to give her features a good scrubbing. “You might have used it, but I’m the one who does it best,” she told the penitent Brit. Cromwell was too busy trying to get her head back up to answer, but her task became all the harder when the Diva leaned forwards and used the back of her head as a post to push up to standing.
Stepping around to one side, the Oil baroness finally releases her challenger’s hair and instead reaches down to snatch one wrist, tugging the arm out to one side. Not liking this turn of events one bit, Lizzie tries to reel her wing back in, but she’s prevented when the champion places one expensive sneaker down onto the inside of her wrist, pining the limb in place. Zoe steps her other foot onto the arm too, then suddenly bends both knees up, the bony joints slamming down with bruising impact into Cromwell’s outstretched arm.
Unable to prevent a gasp of pain from escaping her lips, the Boarding School Princess tugs her hurting arm back in and massages at it with the other hand, rolling over and over again as she does so in an attempt to get away from the vicious Diva. But she’s out of luck, Zoe knee-walking after her and ending up in a mount over the prone brunette. Taking a seat on the small of her back, Scott slides her legs forwards, hooking her shins up under Lizzie’s shoulders and then rolling her bodyweight backwards and sideways.
The end result is to drag Cromwell up to an enforced seat with her arms pulled backwards by the Dubai girl’s brawny legs. Crunching up her tanned stomach, Zoe reaches out to snatch those arms and then folds her legs further upwards. The Liverpudlian fights her every step of the way, trying to wriggle her arms free, slide her body forwards, and generally just buy herself some space. But it’s no use, Scott’s leverage is too strong, and it’s only a matter of seconds before she’s got her preys arms and shoulders all bound up in a tight and extremely awkward looking position.
Lotus Lock
www.youtube.com/watch?v=308SXP5A-OE
“Your time is long over, miss so-called Princess,” the Diva snarls at her wriggling captive. “Give up right now or I’ll make you beg later.” The auburn-haired grappler grimaces, teeth gnashing as the champ pushes her legs forward. Ankles crossed, Scott leans her lower limbs, forcing Cromwell’s chin toward her cleavage.
Craig Long drops next to the grunting Liverpudlian.
“Just say the word, Elizabeth. I’ll get you out of this mess.”
“What you can do,” Lizzie chokes between heavy breaths, “is shut the hell up.”
Perhaps inspired by the zebra, the BSP gets her boot soles under her and pushes her body back into Zoe. It’s enough to end lying atop the Dubai Diva’s raised hammies and, more importantly, enough to roll Scott onto her shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Zoe releases her lock to escape the pinfall. She boots Elizabeth in the back of the skull before scrambling into a brief retreat, providing enough room to push to vertical and charge the rising Cromwell.
Perhaps playing possum, Lizzie pivots at the last moment, avoiding a double axhandle to her cranium from behind. She scoops the brunette up along her hip then drops Scott to the thinly-covered plywood with a simple but vertebrae-bruising side slam.
Seated next to her fellow Englishwoman, Lizzie works the kinks out of the upper end of her spine while Zoe does likewise with her lower. The freckled fighter reaches her feet behind a seated Zoe and sinks her digits into the long dark locks of the title holder.
“You’re gonna be taught a lesson tonight, aren’t ya?” Cromwell informs the Oil Baroness.
Elizabeth proceeds with her catty syllabus by RIPPING Scott up by her roots then SLAMMING her back down with authority.
Hairpull Mat Slam
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7NM1qOUILA
The nastiness of the Boarding School Princess in full bloom, Elizabeth kneels, making sure one shin is laid across the Dubai Diva’s throat. Cromwell holds her hands high in all innocence, even as Zoe flails wildly, unable to breathe, Elizabeth expertly shutting her foe’s windpipe while declaring her guiltlessness to Craig. Only when Long starts his count does the BSP take him seriously, rising from her throttling genuflection, pleading for the ref’s forgiveness.
The challenger offers the man a cheeky wink before returning her full attention to the top of the lightweight division. Again using one of her favorite tactics, Cromwell sinks her nails into Zoe’s scalp and HAULS a yelping Scott to her feet, the Baroness complaining bitterly about her hair, unaccustomed to a foe blatantly breaking the rules she often disregards.
Lizzie shifts the Diva’s noggin to a tight side headlock then bullies her foe to the ropes, forcing Scott’s flawless features down, Zoe’s eyes pressed tight against the top cable. As the self-proclaimed Best Brit chuckles, she draaaags Scott down the length of the ring as part of her Saturday Evening Constitutional, the busty brunette squealing all the way. Reaching the corner, Lizzie draws Zoe’s head back, Scott’s eyes watering, her face blotchy, and THRUSTS the champ’s forehead into the top buckle a half dozen times before compelling the Emirati to take another agonizing trip to the next corner, again dragging her rival’s peepers across the abrasive rubber-coated steel.
Upon Elizabeth reaching the second corner of her Constitutional, Long’s had enough and starts a count. Lizzie lifts her hands high to break it but just as quickly presses Zoe’s throat over the rope, leaping to the middle cable and leaning her body on top to shut her foe’s trachea again. Cromwell gleefully bounces both grapplers up and down until the count of ‘FOUR’ brings her fun to a stop.
Lizzie backs away, raising her hands heavenward in mock innocence, the crowd cutting her some slack since her shenanigans are preventing someone they hate even more from getting her oxygen. Elizabeth takes a well-earned victory lap around the ring, demanding an ovation but getting few takers.
A red-faced Zoe draws in deep breaths, her lungs sending her plentiful bosom heaving as she staggers away from the cables. Noticing movement out of the corner of her eye, the redhead turns and races toward the gasping heiress, decking Zoe with impunity via a shoulderblock. Zoe scrambles to her feet but the freckled Brit drops the champ like a bad habit with another similar thrusting block.
Scott rolls to her chest in preparation of pushing up one more time. The rampaging Cromwell moves to a standing straddle of her foe and, when Scott pushes to all fours, the forward-facing challenger drops her pert backside into the base of Scott’s spine, flattening the desert brat.
Elizabeth drops to a crouch over the title holder, posting each of the brunette’s arms over a bent knee, one after the other. With the guns of the Baroness situated, Cromwell laces her fingers and drops the cupped hands under Zoe’s chin, securing a camel clutch.
The Boarding School Princess leeeans way back, stretching the spinal column of Scott cruelly, Zoe’s eyes pointed to the rafters. Mid-torture, Elizabeth turns her submission up a notch in the catty way she prefers, turning her cupped hands into dual fishhooks, index and middle fingers digging into Zoe’s inner cheeks from each side.
“You Aquaman?” Cromwell shouts at Long. “Cause this fish is ready to sing.”
Features distorted by the challenger’s maneuver and the pain caused by it, Scott grunts ‘no’ as best she can. Lizzie holds the agonizing station for as long as her folded legs are able. Finally, she pulls the hooks free, curls the fingers within the champ’s mane and PLANTS Zoe’s face into the unforgiving deck, the Dubai Diva’s noggin bouncing off the canvas in disturbing fashion.
The weakened Scott motions feebly toward the stage above, seemingly in desperation. The FAWNatics and Elizabeth cast their eyes in the same direction, waiting for her big blonde cohort to appear, but Isobel Lamont isn’t immediately at hand it seems.
“Forget to sign the paycheck this month, ya stupid cow,” Lizzie barks, piefacing the back of Zoe’s braincase.
Cromwell sneaks another look. Still no Isobel.
Tired of waiting for the champ to rise, she grabs a wrist and shoulder and tugs the Oil Baron-mess up, dragging the flagging Zoe to her feet. The auburn-haired Reds fan slides alongside, shoulder to shoulder, each woman facing the ropes.
Curling her free arm around the back of Zoe’s head and latching on, Cromwell leans Scott back then throws her forward SPIKING Zoe’s mug into the mat with her signature Silver Spoon Buster.
Silver Spoon Buster
www.youtube.com/watch?v=K9xJHZJyPIQ
Zoe absently flops to her back from the impact, limbs in a wide starfish as the smirking Cromwell climbs aboard the demolished Diva in a lateral press, hooking a leg for good measure and the…
ONE…
TWO…
Suddenly Zoe is moving but through no locomotion of her own. A wrist within reach, the tardy Texan tugs her boss out under the bottom ropes and into her protective arms.
Elizabeth screeches for a DQ but quickly realizes she won’t get the title that route and instead convinces Long to keep the match active.ONE…
TWO…
Suddenly Zoe is moving but through no locomotion of her own. A wrist within reach, the tardy Texan tugs her boss out under the bottom ropes and into her protective arms.
Elizabeth screeches for a DQ but quickly realizes she won’t get the title that route and instead convinces Long to keep the match active. And it’s lucky that she does, because even once the champion has recovered enough of her senses to realise her situations he seems far more concerned with the behaviour of her assistant than her situation in the match.
“P…put me down and get your stupid gorilla paws off me!” Scott’s ire seems to be directed entirely at her assistant, the surprised blonde, putting her neatly down and stepping back with her hands raised in supplication. The diva’s legs still look more than a little wobbly but she’s able to take a few steps towards Lamont, one finger wagging at her surprised face. “Where have you been!” she screeches loudly.
Taken aback, Isobel looks ready to explain her actions only to be cut off, her employer apparently not done talking. “I’m not interested in hearing any excuses,” she hisses at the cowed Fixer, “I don’t even need you, and if you can’t even turn up when I tell you to then I might as well not bother. Now get out of the way.” Dismissing Lamont, the now recovered champion stomps back to the ring and snaps her fingers at Craig Long.
“move the loser back!” she demands, waving a dismissive hand at Cromwell. The challenger’s response is a snort of derision. “Can you even get that fat arse of yours back in here or do you need your minder to help?” she asks, “Hurry up, I’m not nearly done rubbing your stupid face into the mat.”
In fact the Oil Baroness seems to have shaken off some of the hurts inflicted on her over the past few minutes, clambering up without too much difficulty and rolling under the bottom rope. She uses the strands to climb back to her feet, eyes locked on the challenger. And it looks like she was right to do so as Lizzie swoops forwards before the champion can regain a solid footing and reaches out to continue exactly where she’d left off. She’s thwarted in this plan though, Scott ducking her body down below the Brit’s claws and driving forwards to shove one shoulder into that pale stomach.
Thumped backwards by the gutshot, Cromwell reaches down to try to recapture her prey and gets foiled again when Zoe explodes upwards, one hand reaching up and raking right across those hazel eyes. Suddenly blinded, the Boarding School Princess reels back, and with both hands occupied by rubbing at those abused peepers she’s powerless to stop Zoe from grabbing two handfuls of Auburn locks. “How DARE you call the hottest woman in history fat?!” the vengeful Emirati screeches, spinning 180 and using that hair-hold to toss the taller woman up and over.
Hairmare
www.youtube.com/watch?v=gXUsYN1bVaI
Cromwell is dragged hair-first into an involuntary flip which ends with her tush slamming hard intot he canvas-covered plywood. But despite the pain in both scalp and tailbone she’s up on her feet in an instant, Spinning around even as Zoe tries to brush a few strands of hair of her palms and swinging one hand out to deliver a big SLAPPP to the surprised champion’s cheek! Scott spins and staggers a few steps away, followed by the Liverpudlian’s chortles.
“That fat face of yours is just so good to slap!” the Boarding School Princess sniggers. Zoe’s only response is to dive forward with a big slap of her own, but she’s stopped in her tracks when the challenger flicks a boot up and buries it in that honey tanned tummy. Now it’s Lizzie turn to grab hair, swanning past the Diva and using her expensively coiffed tresses as a lever to drag her down backwards until the base of her spine clunks into Cromwell’s posted knee!
Hairpull Backbreaker
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBahEQeWuS4
Groaning from the impact one her spine, the champion slumps to the floor. Lizzie is far too experienced to pass the opportunity up, straddling her downed opponent and dropping to a seat. In fact she takes an instant longer to wriggle a little further up until she could take a domineering seat on the Diva’s well-padded chest, her thighs framing Zoe’s furious face as Craig Long drops to count
ONE
TWO
THNooo
It takes a lot of furious and extremely undignified wriggling and bucking but Zoe finally manages to extract herself from under the former champion’s derriere just in time to keep her reign alive. She’s looking both pained and flustered though, a fact which hasn’t escaped Cromwell’s notice. The former Upstart spins around and quickly reclaims her hair-hold before Scott can make it further than her knees. But she gets no further, the Oil Baroness swinging a low uppercut between Lizzie’s legs.
Suddenly it’s the challenger looking sketchy, those usually strong knees knocking together as Lizzie registers the pain in her center. And Zoe is only looking to add to that hurt, rising in front of the Liverpudlian and grabbing two handfuls of blue togs and dragging upwards to deliver a sharp and humiliating wedgie. In fact it looks like the vengeful champion is planning to go a step further, setting her feet and using her handfuls of trunks to lift the Best Brit skywards.
Wedgie Vertical Suplex
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPsDm77DePM
Scott’s deceptive strength allows her to keep her trophy held aloft for a good few seconds, parading the squealing Brit before dropping to the matt and SLAMMING Lizzie’s shoulders and back. The Auburn-haired battler lets out a groan and arches upwards as if the canvas was electrified, turning over as she does so to avoid any sort of pin attempt. But it seems that Zoe isn’t quite ready for that anyway, shuffling around to grab handfuls of top this time and using them to drag the Boarding School Princess up into a stumbling run to the nearest ropes.
Tucking Cromwell’s head up between the top and middle strands, the Oil Baroness snatches both arms and drags back, using them as a fulcrum to trap the Liverpool lass. One gold-padded knee pistons up and thumps into Lizzie’s bum, apparent payback for that pin attempt a few minutes before. But Scott seems to have something far more ingenious in mind, hopping up and wrapping her legs around those captive British arms. And then Zoe simply leans backwards, using her own weight to squeeze Cromwell’s shoulders and biceps against the unforgiving steel cable.
Hanging double arm stretch
www.youtube.com/watch?v=W4qhxux_cAg
The awkward position is actually enough to draw a small and grudging round of applause from the ringside fans, but with Lizzie caught in the strands it’s also enough to draw Craig Long’s ire. “Get her out of the ropes now Zoe!” he demands, starting a quick count. Scott gives it till well past ‘FOUR’ before releasing, hopping back to her feet with a look of satisfaction on her face. Cromwell looks a lot less happy, and her misery is heaped even higher when the Oil Baroness lifts up one expensive sneaker and jams it into her derriere, shoving Lizzie between the ropes and out of the ring face-first!
Spreading her arms wide, the champion pops twin ‘flashbulb’ sigils to either side. “I@M THE GREATEST” she roars. The crumpled Cromwell pools on the thinly padded cement, back to the floor. She draws her arms across her chest and massages her left shoulder with her right hand and vice versa, trying to rub away the pain of Scott’s ingenuity.
Thankfully for Lizzie, the Best Thing Ever is more interested in showing off than pressing her advantage. Zoe seems especially keen in giving Craig an eyeful, dipping her cleavage into the view of the distracted striped-shirt.
The peep show is not without a purpose as the champ’s employee, Isobel Lamont, eager to make good, presses a palm around Elizabeth’s throat, the auburn-haired grappler going bug-eyed as, with that grip and one on a shoulder, Isobel lifts Lizzie like a feather. Spinning with her cargo, the busty Texan heaves Cromwell into the steel barricade, the Brit’s back CLANKING into the metal.
Elizabeth arches in agony as she stumbles away from the divider and back into Bel’s less then loving arms, Dipping, Lamont collects the battered Englishwoman and shows her power, military pressing Cromwell overhead, Elizabeth’s head shaking in fear and disbelief.
The challenger is heaved back into the ring between the lower and middle ropes, rolling to a stop at the Dubai Diva’s boots.
“Sorry Greg,” Zoe apologizes. “Have to get back to work.”
Scott drops to Elizabeth’s side, capturing her foe’s left arm in a hammerlock tight to the redhead’s spine. The champ drops atop the BSP in a full body pin on Lizzie’s back, keeping the arm trapped as she laces her fingers in front of Cromwell’s freckled features. Securing her crossface grip, Zoe’s perfect pearlies grit with effort as the brunette tries to rip Elizabeth’s head from her shoulders.
“Give it up, loser,” Scott demands. “Or you’re going to walk around, looking to your right for the rest of your life.”
Zoe tries to make her words true, wrenching away on the ensnared challenger until Cromwell is forced to cast her eyes over her right shoulder.
“Whaddya say, Elizabeth?” Long asks worriedly.
Cromwell grunts out an unconvincing ‘no’.
It’s enough for an impatient Oil Baroness to release her crossface hold, sink her fingers into Cromwell’s auburn mop and SPIKE the brat’s freckled face into the thinly-sheathed plywood. Elizabeth’s head bangs off the deck and, in a daze, Cromwell is easily drawn to her feet, Zoe still maintaining her hammerlock on Lizzie’s left arm.
Snuggling up close, Scott keeps Elizabeth’s arm in place. She wraps her free limb around Cromwell’s tummy from her foe’s right hip and vaults the challenger into the air. Up and down Elizabeth travels, landing hard and heavy on her back, sandwiching the bent limb underneath.
Lizzie howls in pain, gingerly pulling the injured wing from beneath her body and cradling it close, only for Zoe to spitefully pound away with stomps on the limb after she’s risen.
Quite satisfied with herself, Scott takes a circuit of the ring, giving the crowd a queenly wave, the lightweight champion making sure everyone knows who’s the Greatest Thing Ever. As she makes her rounds, a wincing Cromwell staggers to her feet. The wobbling challenger catches Zoe’s eye and Scott spins into a charge of the Liverpudlian, absolutely ROCKING Cromwell to the deck with a Showstopper of a running palm heel strike that drops Elizabeth like she’s been shot, the back of the redhead’s skull THUMPING into the canvas.
Zoe skids to a stop and dives on the prone Lizzie. Craig lowers next to the Emirati and dutifully slaps the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
Cromwell shows her stubborn streak, kicking her way out of the pinning attempt and infuriating Zoe, who turns Lizzie’s midriff beet red with some echoing slaps to the Brit’s belly. Having tanned the challenger’s hide, Scott rises and points at the nearby corner with a devious smile. She strides to the buckles and nimbly climbs to the top. Looking out on the jeering crowd, the Dubai Diva gives the FAWNatics the middle finger then launches into her signature Gulfstream, a corkscrew moonsault that would surely put away the Boarding School Princess.
Unfortunately for the title holder, Cromwell rolls clear and the landing is a harsh and empty one for Scott. The brunette absently rolls to her back after the ring-rattling impact, hugging her abdomen as if she’s trying to hold her internal organs in place.
Next to her, a woozy Lizzie pushes to a seated position and rattles her braincase to knock some of her senses back into place.
When a grimacing Scott joins her in a seat, Elizabeth pivots and slaps the taste from the champ’s mouth then climbs aboard the re-flattened Zoe in a forward-facing straddle and gets to the fisticuffs, pounding away, the Oil Baroness getting her defenses up to block most but not all of the rainstorm of punches.
Hopping to her feet, Cromwell sinks a set of nails into Zoe’s scalp and tugs the champ up with a handful of her dark mane. Lizzie loads up a loogie and spits it into the champ’s mug, Scott freaking as she frantically wipes at her face. Cromwell uses the distraction to GUT the champ with a toe kick to the tummy.
With Scott bent in front of her, Elizabeth buries her fingers into Zoe’s locks again then drops to her backside, legs spread. The Baroness is forced to follow, ripped off her feet via a sitout facebuster, her flawless features buried into the canvas. Laid out between the extended stems of the Brit, Zoe’s easily rolled to her back by the Brit who lays her legs atop Scott’s shoulders for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The lightweight title holder shoves a shoulder up, keeping her reign intact and frustrating the Boarding School Princess to no end.
But it doesn’t prevent Lizzie from latching onto Zoe’s locks once more and ripping the rubbery champ to her feet. Cromwell bullies Scott to the nearest ropes and forces her foe’s peepers down on the top cable in a quickly crafted side headlock. Taking her infamous Saturday Evening Constitutional, the freckled fighter DRAGS Zoe’s eyes along the length of the ring, Scott squealing in pain until the salty challenger draws her foe’s head back and THUMPS it into the top buckle a half dozen times.
Releasing on the last, Elizabeth watches as Zoe drunkenly backpedals toward center stage. She’s quickly after and captures Scott before she can tumble to her ass. Pulling Zoe into a front facelock, Elizabeth throws a limp arm of the champ over a shoulder and moves a palm to Zoe’s navel, preparing to launch the Dubai Diva up for her Prep School Expulsion and her second lightweight reign.
Prep School Expulsion
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ttqciIH5dA @ 00:07
Dumped down onto the back of her head, Scott’s body folds up like a concertina around the impact point before springing back. The champion completes a sort of enforced kip-up, rolling to a seat before slumping forwards bonelessly. She looks all but finished, limbs lifeless, torso dead weight as Lizzie comes surging forwards and shoving her prey sideways onto her back. Energised despite the toll taken by a gruelling match the Best Brit pours herself on top, shoving both shoulders down with all her weight as Craig Lon drops to count…
ONE
TWO
For a few seconds Cromwell seems confused as to why she didn’t hear the final slap of the mat to confirm her as the new champ. She looks up at Long, confusion swiftly turning to anger in her face. But the referee only points to the other end of the current champion, where one still lifeless foot is now splayed to one side and resting juuuust on the bottom rope.
Standing just next to the scene of the miraculous escape is Isobel Lamont, the fixer not even bothering to look inconspicuous as she applauds her boss’ survival skills. Longs eyes narrow, but since he hasn’t actually seen anything untoward from the big blonde his only actions are to make a mental note and turn back to Cromwell. “She got to the ropes,” he informs the fuming Princess, “match is still live.”
“WHAT?!” Cromwell thumps a big swinging slap into the Diva’s defenceless cheek, slapping a little bit of the daze out of her eyes as she does so. But it’s Lamont who seems to be the focus of the challenger’s ire. “Are you proud of yourself, cow?” she asks, cracking another slap into the Oil Baroness’ jaw. “I don’t know who’s more pathetic, the ‘boss’ who can’t win a match by herself or the fat cow who does all the work for her.”
“Y’all think I saved her?,” the Texan drawls, “Don’t matter what you think. Only thing that matters is what’re you gonna do about it?” Lizzie’s answer is another big slap, this time into Scott’s overspilling chest. “Easy, I’m going to squash your boss’ stupid tits and slap her till she’s begging for mercy. And there’s no way you can save her fat arse from that.”
The Boarding School Princess is quick to carry out her threat, kneewalking upwards to take a seat right on Zoe’s chest, those vaunted boobs squashed under the Union Jack. She leans forward to deliver another slap and instead finds the champion rising up to meet her, Scott powering up and THUNKing her forehead into the bridge of Lizzie’s nose! The Best Brit is rocked backwards onto her haunches, but she’s not safe there for long either, Zoe pistoning one knee up to CLUNK into the bottom of her trunks.
Shellshocked by the twin pains in both noise and groin, Lizzi’s easy prey as the Oil Baroness reaches up and swipes a claw across her eyes, cupping under British chin once she’s done and shoving the mewling former champion off her. The grueling match has clearly taken it’s toll and she’s slow to rise, just about in time with Cromwell. But the hurt on the Brit’s face is in stark contrast to the fury lazing from Scott.
“HOW DARE YOU!” she screeches, pointing first at the challenger and then confusingly at Lamont at ringside. She reaches up to grab a handful of Lizzie's auburn locks, yanking violently sideways, but her ire still seems directed at her assistant. “I will NEVER need you to save me from anything!” she insists to her surprised Fixer, “and especially not a total loser like this EARRGH BYTCH!”
Upping the ante a little further, Cromwell grabs one handful of hair in return while the other reaches out and yanks hard at the Dubai girl’s ear. Scott is pulled sideways and immediately responds in kind, the pair of harridans screeching and jostling together until, almost inevitably, both end up staggering into the ropes and flopping out to ringside in a big tangled heap.
Immediately Craig Long is there, demanding that the two woman each get back in the ring. But neither seems to have the slightest interest in doing so, both current and former champion descended into full hair- ripping catfight at ringside. Such is the spectacle that there are clear boos when Isobel Lamont wades into the mess, grabbing her employer around the waist and hauling her up to standing while giving a short but meaningful kick to Lizzie’s ribs to send her the other way.
Back up on her feet in an instant, the Boarding School princess charges back in again and receives a hard shove to the chest, sending her back a few steps. For a second it looks like Lamont might be about to do more but Craig Long’s voice cuts her off. “You are not a part of this match, Lamont!” he warns, “I’ve already disqualified your boss once, don’t make me do it again!” The Texan seems to be heeding the warning, holding both hands up placatingly, but in doing so she unintentionally gives her boss a shield, Zoe darting round the side to take Lizzie by surprise and rake once again across her abused eyes!
Snatching another hair-hold Zoe spins 180 and shoves the discombobulated Brit’s face forwards into a sharp and brutal collusion with the steel ring post. Lizzie’s legs go jelly, the Dubai Diva scooping her up and depositing her back on the ring apron before turning once again to her assistant. “You heard the man, moron!” she hisses, “you aren’t a part of this match and I will not have you lying about saving me. Get the hell out of my sight!” Isobel looks confused for a second, her mouth quickly hardening into a line. And then with a curt nod she turns tail, stalking away from the ring and back up the ramp with jeers in her ears.
Behind her the Oil Baroness clambers back to the apron and roughly jostles Cromwell into a slightly different position, the Best Brit’s auburn head now propped on the ring post. The champion takes a few big steps back away from her and then dashes forwards, leaping off her feet to jam both knees right into Lizzie’s face! The double knee strike would be bad enough for the already dazed challenger, but the impact rattles her noggin against the unforgiving steel ringpost whilst also jarring her already abused neck!
Ringpost Meteora
www.youtube.com/watch?v=PcAyRRGPSzA
With Cromwell looking dazed it’s the work of a few seconds for the champion to slip through the ropes and drag her back into the ring. Or at least the Liverpudlian’s torso; Scott leaves her hanging there for a second, half in and half out of the ring, to step back and pump a short and nasty Kneelift into the challenger’s sternum. Lizzie is lifted up and then slumps down, completing a damp and messy somersault back into the ring.
Scott is right there to meet her, reaching down to pull the woozy Boarding School Princess up to standing. One of the champion’s hands hooks around Cromwell’s neck while the other reaches down and tugs hard at the front of her briefs, hauling up to deliver a nasty wedgie. An ‘eep’ escapes Lizzie’s lips, but she’s given no time to do anything about it, the Oil Baroness lifting her up to suplex stall position and then dropping her forwards across one posted knee. The challenger’s neck whiplashes across that bony joint, and the challenger slops out onto her back in a sweaty starfish of hurt.
Envy Neckbreaker
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOEeobNF_Fc
She’s not left there for long though, Zoe shuffling over and threading her legs underneath he hurting Best Brit’s torso. She wraps those tanned stems around Cromwell’s arms, shifting a little and squeezing to pull her shoulders awkwardly backwards. With her infamous finisher all set, Scott leans forwards to grab two handfuls of auburn hair and yanks up and backwards, a hairy twist on her signature Spotlight.
The pain radiating from scalp, neck and shoulders is quick to burn away the fog in Cromwell’s eyes, but she doesn’t seem any the happier for it, gritting her teeth and letting out a low, bitten-back groan of complaint. Thankfully Craig Long is quick to step in and warn the champion get off the hair, Scott taking till he counts ‘FOUR’ before complying. But any release on Cromwell’s hair is quickly tempered by the increased leverage of two hands on her noggin, the champion leaning back to bring even more pressure to bear.
Spotlight
www.youtube.com/watch?v=St4Bz6WO0Qo
“GIVE UP!” Zoe screeches, reefing back all the time on her finisher. It looks like Cromwell’s teeth are glued shut, but she arches her back to alleviate what she can and gives a few shuffles, apparently trying to wriggle towards the ropes. She makes it all of three inches before Scott halves her grip and thumps three fast and undefendable elbow smashes right into British temple before reclaiming her death grip. And that final indignity is enough, One of Lizzie’s flailing arms reaching out to one side and tapping rapidly on the canvas.
Immediately Long sees the submission and turns away, gesturing to the timekeeper. Jeering rings out from the crowd, but Scott is paying no notice, her finisher still locked in, eyes boring a hole through Cromwell. “Tell me I‘m the greatest,” she hisses at the Liverpudlian. “Tell me I’m the best right now or you can take a nap right in here.” She gestures to her cavernous cleavage, one hand tugging her already low-cut top down a little further. Cromwell’s eyes are irresistibly drawn to that cavern of darkness, but when her mouth opens it’s only to aim another gob of spit, this time landing right in the Champion’s face.
Giving a roar of disgust and outrage, Scott swarms forwards, wrapping both arms around the back of Lizzie’s skull and just burying her face in flesh. The Boarding School Princess fights the smother with all she’s got left, but her resources are all but emptied, her movements dulled at frightening speed by Scott’s dominant décolletage. After a few last kicks and wriggles Lizzie goes still, the champion peeling her chest off her vanquished challenger’s face and kneeling over her while adjusting her top to recontain any spillage.
Without looking, Scott snaps her fingers in the direction of Craig Long. “Bring me a god damned microphone,” she hisses, holding one hand out expectantly. The referee looks first surprised and then as if he’s about to object. But after a shrug he steps over to the ropes and retrieves a mic from one of the techs, passing it carefully back to the Oil Baroness.
“I am the greatest champion this promotion has ever seen.” Scott’s voice is surprisingly matter-of-fact for someone who’s just knocked another woman out in her cleavage, but she seems keen to make her point. “Nobody can do what I can do, nobody gets the reactions I get, and nobody else has even half my talent, my ability, and my sheer greatness.”
Boos ring around even louder now, but as usual the champion doesn’t seem to notice them, rising to her feet. “Apparently some people disagree. They think I need ‘saving’, that I don’t deserve everything I’ve got. And those people are IDIOTS! LOSERS! And LIARS! Because EVERYone knows who I am. I’m the Best Thing that Ever Happened to FAWN, and I’m the Greatest Lightweight Wrestler in…”
ESTRINA STARFIRE
The crowd popped to their feet and switched into cheers as The Celestial Stunner's appearance interrupted Zoe's statement. Clad in white sports bra and navy yoga tights, completed with sneakers, her music dimmed as she began to speak while strutting down the ramp.
"I gotta stop you right there Zoe. You claim to be the greatest lightweight wrestler in the world. But let me pose you this question...How many of these challengers have you beat clean?"
The Dubai Diva’s face was already red after the evening’s exertions, but now it turned a few more shades brighter in sheer fury. “HOW DARE YOU INTERRRUPT ME!?” she screeched. Estrina simply smiled and continued her way up the ring steps and into the ring.
"You can continue to live in denial Zoe, but we all know that if not for your big dumb blonde Frankenstein, you couldn't beat ANYONE, let alone winning this title.”
"Bunny, Mercy, Chole, Katya...and MOST importantly... ME.", Estrina stared down into Zoe's eyes, coming nose-to-nose with the champion briefly, before breaking off to notice a beaten Lizzie sitting outside of the ring.
"Oh! And Elizabeth!", Estrina turned around and looked at the Boarding School Princess, "Hey, sorry for your loss. But you didn't deserve the title anyway."
"IN FACT!", Estrina turned to crowd, "The only place you deserve to be is...", Estrina raised her arm to flash her armpit, "...in here."
The crowd burst into cheers and catcalls as she taunted the defeated Brit.
"Still remember how it taste or smell?" Starfire sneered at Lizzie.
The erstwhile Best Brit was still recovering on the canvas, her face greasy and eyelids fluttering, the telltale signs of jugg shock. But apparently she was still hearing and processing what was going on around her, her face turning sour upon the memory of being buried in Estrina’s armpit.
"Which brings me to my next point!", Estrina snapped her head back at Zoe.
"The very fact that I beat Lizzie, not once, but TWICE, means I deserve a shot at that tile. More so than her!" Estrina pointed at the strap on Zoe's shoulders.
"And I swear, I will defend that title CLEAN against every worthy challenger and give every one of them a fair shot at the FAWN Lightweight title belt!"
"And THAT is what it meant to be the Greatest Wrestler!" Estrina lowered her mic and shook her head 'Not you' while waiting for Zoe's response.
It looked like she might be waiting some time though, the champion’s formerly stern face now creasing in amusement. And then, inevitably, the giggle came, a splutter of laughter loud enough to be picked up by the Celestial Stunner’s mic. Scott was pretty quickly into full-blown guffawing, leaning forward to brace her hands on her knees as she gasped in apparent mirth.
“O…obviously…”, Zoe couldn’t quite stop herself from bursting into another apparently involuntary fit of giggles, but a few over-exaggerated deep breaths were enough to get her back to coherence. Obviously I’m going to have to make you pay for interrupting my victory speech. But babe, you are just the funniest. I haven’t laughed that hard in weeks. You look so serious too!”
It takes a few more seconds for the champion’s face to switch from overly-exaggerated hilarity to deadly serious. “I already knocked your sweaty ass out, loser. But I understand why a nobody like you would want just a few more seconds in my spotlight. And since I’m the most generous champion this company has ever seen, I suppose I’ll let you have one last match before you slip back into obscurity. Just remember how lucky you are when you’re drooling into my tits.”
Her demands met, The Celestial Stunner dropped her mic and raised an arm up. Running her finger down her expose armpit, "I hope you are ready to sweat.", Estrina 'flicked' in the direction of the champion before making her exit with the Diva’s furious eyes following her every step of the way.