Post by hawkeye on Apr 9, 2019 0:43:00 GMT
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer declares, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 15 minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Las Cruces, New Mexico… She stands five feet four inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-six pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome… MIIICCCHHHEEELLLLLLEEE DAAAWWWNNNSSSTTTAAARRR!!!!!”
MICHELLE DAWNSTAR:
”WAR CRY”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnXilOv8IZM
With that, the FAWN Arena sound system shifts into high gear… and into something of a time warp, judging by the opening of the XIT’s “War Cry”. Moments later, Michelle Dawnstar bursts out onto the stage—and the most junior member of Navajo Nation is every bit the knockout that her cousins are. Long, raven black hair cascades from under a full feathered headdress and flows past her shoulders, her curvaceous figure more than flattered by a brown, shoulderless one-piece, white, furry fringing lining the bust and the waist. Similar fringe adorns the tops of her light brown boots, with white elbow and knee pads rounding out the ensemble.
Dawnstar races down to the ring, slapping hands along the way and even pausing for the occasional hug.
Granted, it had been a considerable amount of time since she had last graced the ring of the FAWN Arena, but it’s still quite clear that the FAWNatics are ready to embrace the prodigal Navajo beauty pretty damn quick. The gorgeous Native American warrior all but skips up the ring steps, sliding through the ropes before marching to her corner. After giving one last fist pump to the masses, Michelle goes to work removing her headdress while the ring announcer steps back to center ring. But before he can utter even another syllable…
”LA MARSEILLAISES”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlEj_qjQ-Ks
If it had been some time since Michelle Dawnstar had stepped foot in the FAWN Arena to engage in combat, it had been a veritable era since the urgent strains of “La Marseillaises” had played over the venue’s sound system. Indeed, a handful of younger fans appear to be confused, though the old hands around them buzz in confused anticipation. Until, sure enough, one Anciline de Cyr steps onto the stage.
ANCILINE DE CYR:
It takes a moment for the crowd’s shock to fade enough to allow them to register that, unlike Dawnstar, the French aristocrat is not dressed for a battle this evening. Instead, de Cyr sports a white blouse underneath a smart black blazer and snug skirt, the hem of the skirt and the scope of the neckline both artfully straddling the line between “teasing and enticing” and “trashy and unbecoming.” She also carries a microphone, which Anciline raises to her lips.
“Bonsoir mesdames et messieurs,” the beautiful aristocrat greets her unwitting subjects, her tone somehow managing to be both breezy and contemptuous at the same time. “And good evening, Mademoiselle Dawnstar,” Anciline ads, allowing her attention to turn toward the ring. “It is… étrangement rassurant… to see that one of your tribe still entertains délires of being worthy of competing in a FAWN ring. Considering that, at last report, your Cousin plus âgé was negotiating with a startup in Los Angeles, while your younger cousin has finally elected to dedicate herself to fighting in the environnement where she truly belongs.” The French blonde pauses, allowing herself a petite, vengeful chuckle. “Little good it did her…”
By this point, a ringside staffer had provided Michelle with a stick of her own.
“Big words,” Dawnstar interjects, “particularly coming from someone who apparently forgot her bag at home. They do say the mind is the first thing to go…”
The Navajo beauty allows her gaze to drift lower than de Cyr’s eyes for a brief moment.
“… though judging from that neckline, perhaps it wasn’t the FIRST thing to go in your case.”
“Charmant, sauvage,” de Cyr replies dryly. “You are quite correct in noting that I am not here to… ravir les moûts non lavés. But I am here in a professional capacity. And while I do not ]doute that I could détruire you within dix secondes, I am feeling… généreuse… this evening. D’abord, in sparing you the embarras of kissing my boot. Mais deuxièmement, tonight I présenter to you all the Reine régnante of the French Riveria, and the soon to be Conquérant of FAWN…“
”LA GRENADE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=85m-Qgo9_nE
Over the pulse of a guitar and Clara Luciani’s “La Grenade”, the announcer makes a second attempt at introductions. “And her opponent,” he says, “hailing from Marseilles, France… She stands one point six eight meters tall, and weighs in this evening at sixty-one kilos… She is… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
KATHRYN de CHEVALIER:
As her music continues to play, the curtain parts, and one French blonde is joined on stage by another—the newcomer giving up about an inch in height to the more established woman. Judging by appearances, she is perhaps just north of 20 years of age, with wavy blonde locks spilling to her shoulders. Her flawless, porcelain skin stands in stark contrast to the black fighting two piece that hugs her curvaceous frame, the bottoms tied at her hips, and a web of lacing across her bust connecting one cup to the other, while still offering the most tantalizing view of the considerable cleavage behind those laces. From her fingertips to a little beyond each elbow stretch elegant, dark red, nylon opera gloves, while a set of stockings of the same material and color rise to mid thigh, garters connecting them to her briefs. To complete her look, she sports a pair of black leather ankle boots, not at all unlike the sort of footwear de Cyr herself would wear to the ring.
The duo spends a couple of moments exchanging words at the top of the stage, before Kathryn gives Anciline a small nod and begins to stride toward the aisle. De Cyr follows, never trailing more than a respectful stride behind her apparent new protégé. While the FAWNatics might not know much about de Chevalier, they know enough about Anciline to determine that any friend of de Cyr’s is anything but a friend of theirs, prompting them to give the youthful blonde an overwhelmingly disdainful reception.
However, if the FAWN Arena had a capacity of one million fans, a sellout audience would have failed to manage the collective contempt for Kathryn that de Chevalier’s haughty expression returns toward them, her green eyes perpetually threatening to start rolling as she turns a dismissive palm toward the jeering masses.
De Chevalier comes to a halt near the foot of the steps, the buxom blonde beginning to hop from right foot to her left, then back, and back again, her arms shuffling at her sides as she loosens her body for combat. Of course, the laws of physics require that, for each shift of her weight, her gurls similarly jostle within their confines—a development that does not go unnoticed by the front row fans, many of whom whistle in appreciation. Kathryn fails to acknowledge them, and neither does Anciline as the blonde aristocrat ascends the stairs. On the apron, the older Frenchwoman takes a seat on the middle cable, opening the ropes for de Chevalier as she climbs the steps.
Once within the ropes, Kathryn settles onto the middle strand herself, affording her fellow countrywoman the opportunity to enter the ring as well.
After giving Dawnstar a proper once over examination for foreign objects, referee Craig Long moves to the other side of the ring. He begins to lean forward, his hands moving toward Kathryn’s waist… until the drawing back of the young blonde’s hand for what promised to be a resounding slap causes the official to straighten back up and backpedal, hands raised. “You know I have to check you out,” he tells her.
De Chevalier’s offended expression remains in place.
Anciline turns toward her pupil. “Il veut vous examiner pour des objets étrangers,” she says, which only somehow seems to increase the younger woman’s irritation.
“Tout ce dont j'ai besoin pour vaincre ce sauvage, ce sont mes mains et mes seins,” Kathryn replies, pointedly to de Cyr rather than to Long.
Anciline then turns back toward Craig. “She says a woman of her standing and talents would need no help in defeating the young lady across the ring.”
“Please don’t tell me she doesn’t understand English,” the official sighs.
“As you wish,” de Cyr responds, the faintest hint of a sly smirk creasing her lips.
“Pourquoi devrais-je jamais déshonorer ma langue en apprenant votre langue dégoûtante?“ the young blonde suddenly asks, apparently able to infer the subject of the referee’s from that final word. Craig’s brow furrows, and he glances to de Cyr for an explanation.
“She asks, ‘Why would I disgrace my tongue by learning your disgusting language?’”
“Can you please impress upon her the need for me to check her out, before we start the match?” Craig pleads.
“I make no promises,” de Cyr says, but she turns back to her charge and makes an honest effort. Craig Long, meanwhile, finds himself longing for having an Asian Invasion match to officiate, as that might prove a less challenging evening than this one might be. To his relief, though, Kathryn at last acquiesces. She raises first her left boot, followed by the right, then she turns to face the corner, leaning forward to afford Long’s hands better access to her hips.
Satisfied, Craig takes a step back… only Kathryn appears now OVERLY cooperative. Spinning around, de Chevalier rises on to her tiptoes and draws back her shoulders, thrusting her ample bosom toward the official. Craig Long, a mere mortal, finds his eyes momentarily drawn to that deep valley behind those laces, but he soon finds enough of his composure to lift his head—if not enough to stop himself from stammering.
“Tu voulais m'examiner,“ Kathryn says, one eyebrow arched. “Ce serait ma meilleure cachette.“
The bewitched, bothered, and bewildered ref turns a plaintive glance toward Anciline.
“She says you wanted to see if she had any weapons,” de Cyr responds. “Where better might she hide them?”
“I… I… I didn’t see anything,” Long finally announces, then calls for the opening bell.
Both women move out of their respective corners, each a mirror opposite of the other: Dawnstar a bronzed, raven haired bundle of passionate energy that practically radiates from her skin and ripples through the air; de Chevalier an ivory skinned, blonde haired, voluptuous iceberg, her movements precise and measured, her expression one of almost disinterest as the combatants circle ever closer. Within seconds, rookie and veteran tie up in a collar and elbow… and within seconds after that, Michelle finds herself being walked back into the near corner. True, Kathryn came into this match enjoying a mild size advantage, but even so, the ease with which de Chevalier walks her back comes as a bit of a surprise to the Navajo warrior.
Finally, Michelle’s back presses against the buckles. “Okay, Kathryn,” Craig says, stepping in. “You might not understand me, but I’m guessing you’ve been in a ring enough to know what you need to do now.”
No doubt, she did. But that doesn’t stop the curvy blonde from continuing to press Dawnstar back into the corner.
“You’ll understand this, then,” Craig sighs, raising a hand into the air.
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!”
At last, Kathryn relents, drawing back her hands from Michelle’s shoulders. Dawnstar, in kind, lifts her hands into the air, signaling her acceptance of the clean break… when suddenly, the French ingenue flicks her right wrist, the back her hand striking the Native American’s right cheek in a backhanded slap. The force of the blow might be light and the sound faint, but the sheer disrespect echoes throughout the FAWN Arena.
Dawnstar’s dark brown eyes narrow, fury turning her cheeks a deeper shade of crimson as she surges out of the corner. However, Craig had no intention of completely losing control of this contest so quickly, and he steps in front of the raging Navajo before she can vent her frustrations. “Come on, Michelle,” he tells her. “Keep your head!”
And, in her head, Michelle understands that to be the best course of action. But that haughty, smirking mug of the French newcomer’s, visible over the referee’s shoulder, makes listening to that advice a challenging task.
Though not an impossible one.
Following a deep breath, Dawnstar gives Craig a small nod, which prompts the official to step aside. Blonde and brunette tie up for a second time… and though the proud Native American makes a better fight of it this time, she again finds herself walked back into the near corner. This time, the ref doesn’t bother with calling for a break, but rather heads straight into a count. Again, de Chevalier waits until the count of three to disengage. And again, Kathryn flicks her wrist, aiming to add a left-handed backhand to the right she had landed moments ago…
However, as the saying goes, “fool me once.” Michelle’s arm sweeps upward, her forearm blocking the slap before that Navajo beauty grabs Kathryn by the shoulders and pivots, pushing the buxom blonde’s back into the buckles. Dawnstar then lands a blistering chop to the Frenchwoman’s décolletage, the ‘THWAAAK!’ of palm against exposed flesh filling the air, eliciting a loud yelp from de Chevalier, and an even louder ovation from the capacity crowd.
About a half dozen chops follow suit, perhaps not flying with the frequency or crispness of the Tempe Temptress’ Knife Edge Massacre, but still landing loudly and harshly enough to leave a mass of overlapping reddened handprints marring the French blonde’s impressive chest. Snatching a wrist, Michelle sets her feet and whips de Chevalier toward the opposite corner, the blonde haired rookie sent racing across the ring before she manages to turn her back into the collision. Dawnstar follows her in almost immediately, raising an arm to land a running clothesline to Kathryn’s battered clavicle.
Alas, the rookie proves no wilting little flower. Before Michelle can arrive at her destination, Kathryn pivots away along the ropes, leaving the Native American warrior to crash chest and stomach first into the corner. The brunette staggers back with a soft groan, but de Chevalier steps in behind her swiftly. Grabbing a handful of hair at the back of Dawnstar’s noggin, she smashes Michelle’s face into the leather padding of the top turnbuckle une fois, deux fois et trois fois.
Just as the ref starts to interject, Kathryn relents, at least enough to spin Michelle so that the Navajo’s back is to the turnbuckles. The French blonde then pivots away from her opponent, her right hand grabbing the top rope for balance as she presses the sole of her right boot against Dawnstar’s windpipe. Michelle’s hands fly to de Chevalier’s ankle, grabbing it and pushing, but failing to dislodge the foot from its choke. The Navajo’s boots kick and stomp at the canvas, the FAWNatics divided between jeering the rookie’s tactics and heaping scorn on Craig Long not doing enough to bring this situation to a close. To his credit, however, the referee soon begins his count…
Kathryn’s initial response to his efforts proves NOT to be to cease and desist her efforts. Instead, with her boot still wedged underneath Michelle’s chin and crushing her throat, the curvaceous Frenchwoman absently brings her left hand to her lips as she gives what must be described as a rather theatrical yawn.
The crowd’s boos grow louder, now almost universally directed at the newcomer, Kathryn showing mercy only once Craig’s count hits four. Dawnstar, her features consumed in a reddish-purple hue from de Chevalier’s assault, sucks down a ragged gasp of fresh, clean air as she sags against the buckles. The official attempts to instruct the young blonde to step away from the corner, but Kathryn has other ideas. She begins landing stomp after stomp to Michelle’s chest and stomach, each strike forcing a grunt or a groan out of the Navajo warrior, as well as forcing her down deeper into the corner, until Dawnstar is dropped to her backside. As Anciline gives her protégé a polite round of applause on the outside, de Chevalier plants the sole of her right boot against Michelle’s left cheek and thrusts her foot downward, a process she completes no less than five times, giving the brunette a vicious face wash.
FACE WASH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9eOGfaqy98
Kathryn saunters out of the corner, allowing herself a moment to adjust her bottoms—which allows Craig a moment to check the condition of Michelle Dawnstar. But no more than that, as the French ingenue marches back toward her prey and pulls the reeling Navajo up onto rubbery legs. Claiming one of the brunette’s wrists with each hand, de Chevalier drops to her taut tush, bringing her left foot up to rest against the Native American’s belly as she falls backward. Dawnstar is sent flipping over her foe, landing hard on her back, the impact knocking what little wind remaining in the wounded brunette clean out of her. Kathryn rolls through her touchdown, landing in a straddle of Michelle’s waists, her opponent’s wrists still under her control…
Leaning forward, de Chevalier forces Dawnstar’s arms down above her head, the voluptuous blonde’s full breasts drooping into perilous proximity with the Navajo’s dazed features---but not enough to actually beginning smothering the brunette toward oblivion. Even so, Michelle’s shoulders ARE flat against the canvas, and so Craig slides into position to count the…
TOMOE-NAGE INTO MOUNTED PIN:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AwbS1qQGWs
ONE…
NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Winded though she might be, Dawnstar manages to buck her opponent off of her. Michelle wills herself over to her stomach, pushing her way up to all fours as Kathryn gets to her knees. Alas, before the Native American beauty can make any further progress towards verticality, de Chevalier grabs a handful of her raven tresses, tugging back on Michelle until the brunette as on her butt, Dawnstar’s back resting against the Frenchwoman’s thighs. Kathryn deftly slips her left arm underneath Michelle’s matching wing, trapping her opponent in a half nelson as de Chevalier’s left hand clutches her own right bicep. Her right arm, meanwhile, reaches over Michelle’s left shoulder, her hand cupping the brunette’s jaw and cranking backward.
BASEMENT HALF NELSON CHINLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=poByScE5AiU
“What do you say, Michelle?” the official asks. “Had enough?”
Dawnstar grunts out a barely intelligible refusal, Kathryn’s chinlock nearly but not quite managing to keep the Navajo’s mouth forced shut. Whether she recognizes that as a willingness to continue or not, de Chevalier does not wait for any signal from the official, instead leaning back and ramping up the pressure on both the nelson and the chinlock. Gritting her teeth, Dawnstar struggles to roll to her left hip, her progress slow but determined. At last, she manages to twist her body enough to allow herself to land a few quick jabs to de Chevalier’s midsection, until the rookie is forced to relinquish the hold.
Both women scramble to their feet, but unfortunately as far as the FAWNatics are concerned, it’s de Chevalier who reaches hers first. The nascent Navajo uprising is promptly quelled by a swift kneelift to the midsection the doubles Dawnstar over, the brunette’s legs buckling for a moment. Straightening Michelle up, Kathryn takes a wrist and launches her opponent toward the ropes with an Irish whip. Taking a quick step toward center ring, the young blonde dips to launch Dawnstar with a backdrop…
… but a bit of rookie inexperience rears its ugly head. Kathryn unwittingly tips her hand by ducking a little early, allowing Michelle to adjust by leapfrogging the doubled blonde. “Reste concentrée! “
Anciline shouts from the floor, and de Chevalier quickly rises and turns…
… but not quickly enough. Rebounding off the cables, a charging Michelle leaps at her prey, the Navajo warrior connecting with, if you’ll forgive the expression, a savage running high knee !
RUNNING HIGH KNEE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhQxq1URjhk
The strike of knee to condescending mug sends a roar of approval running through the FAWNatics, and Michelle stays on the attack. Tucking de Chevalier’s boots under her arms, the Navajo warrior clasps her arms together underneath Kathryn’s calves. With a determined grunt, Dawnstar muscles the voluptuous blonde off her back and into the air as Michelle’s boots shuffle to set her into rotation, de Chevalier finding herself welcomed to FAWN via the Native American’s Whirling Dervish.
WHIRLING DERVISH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fy-PSBbvR4
The crowd counts off a full ten rotations before Michelle lets go, tossing Kathryn out of her final spin and sending her crashing to the canvas. Dizzied herself, Dawnstar manages a step toward her foe before dropping to her knees, but she then tosses herself across the Frenchwoman’s torso and hooks a leg.
ONE…
TWO…
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn kicks out.
Michelle might be disappointed, but she doesn’t belabor the point. Getting to her feet, she snatches a handful of flaxen tresses and hairhauls de Chevalier to hers as well. Then, threading an arm between the buxom Frenchwoman’s thighs, Dawnstar scoops her foe up across her chest. In the next instant, the brunette throws her weight into reverse—and throws de Chevalier overhead, tossing the rookie hard to the mat with a fallaway slam. As de Chevalier is sent rolling toward the ropes, mewling softly in pain, Michelle earns another round of passionate cheers by kipping back to her feet.
FALLAWAY SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVp3jvceGvk
A frustrated de Cyr slaps the ring apron with both hands. “Rappelle-toi qui tu es,” the older blonde snaps at her charge. “Tu es MEILLEUR que ce sauvage!”
Stalking her fallen foe, Dawnstar spares a fleeting moment to address the fuming Frenchwoman at ringside. “I don’t know a whole lot of French, Anci,” she says, “but Jules DID teach me one phrase once…”
Michelle gives de Cyr a second to respond, but the aristocrat merely glares up at her in impatience. So, Dawnstar follows up by offering this simple wish:
“Manger de la merde!”
Anciline’s eyes bulge in her outrage, the veteran’s jaw falling slack, de Cyr left SEETHING as Dawnstar peels Kathryn off the deck and whips her into the ropes. The Native American beauty advances on her rebounding foe, but whatever Michelle might have had in mind flies out the window when de Chevalier dives toward Dawnstar’s feet, forcing the brunette to widen her stride lest she take an improvised dropkick to her shins.
All of which is exactly as Kathryn had hoped.
On her knees now behind an off-balance Dawnstar, but facing the same direction as the Navajo warrior, Kathryn’s slips her arms behind the brunette’s knees. Slinging her upper body between her own legs, the French ingenue gives Michelle’s stems a sharp tug, cutting them out from underneath her and sending the Native American CRASHING face and chest first to the canvas. Kathryn is left lying on her back, her feet straddling Dawnstar’s flanks… but only temporarily. Sitting up, de Chevalier slips her boots underneath Michelle’s arms, extending those limbs out to the brunette’s sides—and leaving them exposed, for the rookie to capture and yank back on. In an instant, the momentum had turned, and Dawnstar now finds herself thoroughly trussed up.
ROLLING MODIFIED SURFBOARD STRETCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ol5s_usymDk
“YAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” Michelle howls, closing her eyes against the pain, Kathryn rocking back enough to lift the brunette’s upper body off the canvas. Her boots rest against de Chevalier’s underarms, her legs forced to bend at the knees, her shoulder sockets enflamed by the strain of this stunning reversal.
“How about it, Michelle?” a sympathetic Craig Long asks. “I can ring the bell. Just say the word.”
“AGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” the Navajo beauty wails, her eyes still sealed shut. But, emphatically, she shakes her head. Somehow, she would find a way out of this torturous hold. Somehow, she would find her way back into this match. And that would start with her willing her eyes open…
… and the first sight to greet Dawnstar as she did so is Anciline de Cyr’s face, perfectly on level with hers outside the ring, the French aristocrat’s lips curled into the most chilling smile that she had ever seen.
“Mademoiselle Dawnstar?” Anciline grins maliciously.
Michelle’s eyes lock on the older blonde’s, but her gritted teeth don’t allow her to offer a response. But her silence is answer enough for de Cyr.
“ Bon appétit.”
Kathryn, apparently growing bored with this particular form of punishment, lets go of Michelle’s wrists, and gravity pulls Dawnstar down before the reeling brunette’s mind can register her newfound freedom enough to have her hands break her fall. As de Chevalier rises over her opponent, Anciline imparts one final instruction to her protégé:
“Faites d’elle un exemple.”
The younger blonde nods, before shoveling a stunned Michelle over to her back. Stooping down, Kathryn again grabs hold of the Navajo’s wrists and pulls up on those arms, lifting Dawnstar’s back a few inches off the canvas. Then, de Chevalier begins administering stomp after stomp after vicious stomp to the helpless brunette, Michelle unable to block or dodge the deluge that slams into her chest and, eventually, her face.
ARM TRAP FOOT STOMPS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFu28MmS1YU
Once satisfied that her withering barrage has properly pacified this ignorant savage, de Chevalier finally gets both of her boots back underneath her. Giving Michelle’s limp arms a tug, the voluptuous Frenchwoman hups Dawnstar up onto rubbery legs. However long they might have been able to support the Navajo would never be known, as Kathryn then slips both her hands behind the brunette’s noggin and genuflects, YANKING Michelle into a vicious collision of the bridge of her nose into Kathryn’s posted knee.
BEND THE KNEE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_aG24rCjQM
The impact launches the near cross-eyed Navajo back onto the balls of her feet, but she doesn’t go down. She sways unsteadily in the breeze, drunkenly stumbling forward, and then backward, but she remains upright. Rising behind her, Kathryn slips her arms underneath Michelle’s, lacing her fingers together behind the Native American’s skull to secure the full nelson. Then she shuffles to Dawnstar’s left flank, and takes a couple of running strides forward, her opponent along in tow. She then kicks her legs out in front of her, dropping to a seat on the mat, SLAMMING the Navajo warrior’s face into the canvas via her French Bulldog. Rolling Dawnstar to her back, de Chevalier casually slips her right leg over the brunette’s belly, pressing her forearm down against Michelle’s jaw in an arrogant cover.
FRENCH BULLDOG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFVB_SyjcNU
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dawnstar gets a shoulder up.
Whether outraged by the Native American’s defiance or just eager to dish out more abuse, de Chevalier wastes no time in snatching a handful of hair and climbing to her feet, jerking Michelle up as far as her knees, in front of her. Stepping inside the brunette’s parted calves, the buxom French ingenue leans forward, claiming Michelle’s left wrist with her right hand and the Navajo’s right wrist with her left. Kathryn then pulls back on those captive arms, drawing them across Dawnstar’s own throat as she applies the straightjacket choke.
And that, on its own, would have been bad enough.
Unfortunately for the FAWNatics and their favorites, de Chevalier is not done. Shifting her feet underneath Dawnstar’s shins, the rookie rocks to her back, which not only removes Michelle’s feet from the canvas, but also leaves the small of the Navajo’s back forced down onto Kathryn’s bent knees as the French blonde continues to work her straightjacket choke. Again, referee Craig Long asks Michelle if she wants to submit…
MADAME GUILLOTINE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGnJD7N0i6k
… and again, the answer comes as a gurgled refusal.
Lifting her head to whisper into Dawnstar’s ear, Kathryn hisses, “Pensez-vous pouvoir profiter de ma générosité?”
The newcomer’s so-called generosity comes in a most unusual form: with no further warning than a question posed in a language Michelle didn’t understand, de Chevalier suddenly CRANKS down on the straightjacket as hard as she can! While the result is an even greater strain on Dawnstar’s spine and further constriction of her windpipe, there IS one thing about the current situation that works in the brunette’s favor: by pulling back as hard as she possibly can, Kathryn’s shoulders are flat against the mat. And with Michelle atop her, technically this counts as a pin. And so, the official slides into position, checks the Frenchwoman’s shoulders, and slaps off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn eases up on the straightjacket, lifting her shoulders up in the process. Once more, she moves her lips close to Dawnstar’s ear.
“Le moment est passé,” she whispers. “VOTRE moment est passé.”
Releasing Michelle’s wrists, de Chevalier gives the brunette’s shoulders a shove, sending the gasping Navajo flopping out of her signature submission. Climbing back to her feet with a leisurely nonchalance, the French ingenue pulls Dawnstar to her feet before stuffing the brunette’s head between her thighs. The standing headscissors secured, Kathryn then gathers up the Native American warrior’s leaden arms, pulling them behind Michelle’s back before de Chevalier’s hands move scoop up Dawnstar’s thighs. With but the tiniest grunt of exertion, Kathryn hoists the sweat-soaked Navajo off her feet until she upside down, the crown of her skull pointed ominously toward the canvas, and her rump pointed to the rafters, her captured legs bent at the knees—Kathryn almost transforming the Native American’s body into the ‘W’ that de Chevalier appears moments away from collecting.
The curvaceous blonde then falls to her own backside, SPIKING Dawnstar’s cranium with a package piledriver!
PACKAGE PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4STU9glZDl8
Michelle tumbles out of the devastating impact to land on her ass, in what bears at least a passing resemblance to a seated position, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, her eyes glazed and half-lidded. Alas, it’s also only a passing fraction of a second that the demolished Navajo can hold the position before she tumbles backward, landing in a sprawled and shuddering heap, the package piledriver having knocked Dawnstar into next year. As the insensate Native American’s body settles on the canvas, Kathryn swings a leg over her stomach, landing in a straddle of the brunette’s belly. Ready to put an end to this public execution, referee Craig Long slides into position. He doesn’t even bother to check Michelle’s shoulders before drawing back his hand…
… only for de Chevalier to catch his wrist on its descent.
“Non,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Pas de compte. Pas encore.”
Remaining atop her perch, and without the slightest acknowledgment of this coming from the vanquished Navajo, Kathryn’s fingers move to the lacing that has been straining to keep the cups of her top in place. And, with no sense of urgency whatsoever, de Chevalier works that lacing undone, until at last those cups fall aside. The baring of flesh, particularly in such abundance, can always compel the FAWNatics to cheer even the most despicable of heel, but the young Frenchwoman pays the baying masses no mind. As she leans forward, her feet slip inside Dawnstar’s ankles, securing a grapevine. And, once more gathering up Michelle’s wrists, Kathryn pushes her opponent’s limp arms above her head as Dawnstar’s slumbering features vanish within the Frenchwoman’s cavernous cleavage.
Anciline de Cyr, in her career, had finished off countless opponents in exactly this same manner: by way of a grapevined breast smother, although hers followed a powerbomb. De Cyr’s finish had been known as the Maginot Line. It would soon become known that de Chevalier called her package piledriver and grapevined breast smother Français par le Sang Versé:
French by Spilled Blood.
To de Chevalier, falling to her in combat made one her subject, and subject to her will. Certainly, Dawnstar currently offers very little protest. So far into oblivion as she had been driven by the package piledriver, the restriction of her airways manages to elicit little more than some feeble squirming underneath Kathryn’s curvaceous, conquering frame—and nowhere near strong enough to dislodge the blonde.
It had long been convention in FAWN that, when an outcome had been rendered academic, the victorious party had the choice of whether a breast smother or reverse facesit be counted as a pinfall, submission, or knockout. And Kathryn had already prevented Craig from counting a pin. But with Dawnstar’s legs ensnared in de Chevalier’s grapevine and her wrists held firm in the buxom blonde’s clutches, there is nothing left as a means for him to determine Michelle’s continued consciousness.
Counting the pinfall is his ONLY option.
Surely she HAD to realize that?
No wanting to subject Dawnstar’s brain to further oxygen starvation, Craig doesn’t bother arguing his case. Deciding it better to seek forgiveness than ask permission, his hand again descends toward the canvas.
ONE…
Thankfully, mercifully, de Chevalier offers no objections.
TWO…
Anciline de Cyr climbs the ringsteps, certain of tonight’s outcome.
THREE!!!!
DING! DING! DING!
As de Cyr slips through the ropes, Kathryn sits up atop Michelle’s tummy, remaining in her conquering mount as the official raises her hand. Over a cacophony of jeers, the ring announcer drives the point home. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he declares, “your winner, via pinfall… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
Anciline approaches the ropes, near where the announcer stands. And as Kathryn pushes up to her feet, her mentor accepts the microphone offered to her by the ring announcer. Now on her feet, de Chevalier shares a fleeting smile with de Cyr… but then, she turns back toward the defeated Dawnstar, driving stomp after stomp down against the Navajo’s gulping belly. A renewed chorus of jeers comes from the FAWNatics, while the French ingenue’s boots eventually succeed in compelling Michelle back into the land of the living. Coughing and retching, the sweat soaked, greasy faced Native American rolls away from the onslaught. Luckily for the battered brunette, Kathryn doesn’t follow her. At last clear of that abuse, Dawnstar comes to a rest on her stomach, her hands moving to the mat, her biceps straining to push her upper body off the canvas…
… when Anciline approaches the fallen Navajo.
“I know that, plus tôt I said that I would spare you la honta of having to kiss my boot,” de Cyr muses. “Toutefois…”
The gorgeous aristocrat allows her right foot to drift underneath Michelle’s bowed noggin.
“It is the prérogative of a de Cyr to change her mind.”
Too exhausted to lift her head, Michelle barely manages to rasp, “You… you’re out… of your f*cking mind…”
Suddenly, a hand plunges into Dawnstar’s raven locks, fingers coiling tight. Michelle lets out an anguished hiss as Kathryn pulls back on her hair, forcing the Navajo to meet Anciline’s gaze.
“You seem to be under the idée fausse that you have un choix in the matter,” de Cyr says, simply.
Michelle’s head slumps forward the moment de Chevalier releases her locks, but in the next instant, the voluptuous blonde plants the sole of her boot against the back of Dawnstar’s noggin, pressing downward until the Native American’s lips are indeed mashed against the laces of Anciline’s boot. Almost absently, de Chevalier griiiinds the toe of her boot into Michelle’s tresses, smirking as Dawnstar’s arms prove unequal to the task of pushing up against her weight and raising her head.
“Mesdames et Messiuers,” de Cyr declares, “I assurer you, this is merely le début.”
The FAWNatics unload with one more round of thunderous boos. But it could not be denied that Kathryn de Chevalier had just established herself as a force in the ring. With her skills, and the wisdom of Anciline de Cyr behind her?
She might very well prove right.
MICHELLE DAWNSTAR:
”WAR CRY”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=MnXilOv8IZM
With that, the FAWN Arena sound system shifts into high gear… and into something of a time warp, judging by the opening of the XIT’s “War Cry”. Moments later, Michelle Dawnstar bursts out onto the stage—and the most junior member of Navajo Nation is every bit the knockout that her cousins are. Long, raven black hair cascades from under a full feathered headdress and flows past her shoulders, her curvaceous figure more than flattered by a brown, shoulderless one-piece, white, furry fringing lining the bust and the waist. Similar fringe adorns the tops of her light brown boots, with white elbow and knee pads rounding out the ensemble.
Dawnstar races down to the ring, slapping hands along the way and even pausing for the occasional hug.
Granted, it had been a considerable amount of time since she had last graced the ring of the FAWN Arena, but it’s still quite clear that the FAWNatics are ready to embrace the prodigal Navajo beauty pretty damn quick. The gorgeous Native American warrior all but skips up the ring steps, sliding through the ropes before marching to her corner. After giving one last fist pump to the masses, Michelle goes to work removing her headdress while the ring announcer steps back to center ring. But before he can utter even another syllable…
”LA MARSEILLAISES”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlEj_qjQ-Ks
If it had been some time since Michelle Dawnstar had stepped foot in the FAWN Arena to engage in combat, it had been a veritable era since the urgent strains of “La Marseillaises” had played over the venue’s sound system. Indeed, a handful of younger fans appear to be confused, though the old hands around them buzz in confused anticipation. Until, sure enough, one Anciline de Cyr steps onto the stage.
ANCILINE DE CYR:
It takes a moment for the crowd’s shock to fade enough to allow them to register that, unlike Dawnstar, the French aristocrat is not dressed for a battle this evening. Instead, de Cyr sports a white blouse underneath a smart black blazer and snug skirt, the hem of the skirt and the scope of the neckline both artfully straddling the line between “teasing and enticing” and “trashy and unbecoming.” She also carries a microphone, which Anciline raises to her lips.
“Bonsoir mesdames et messieurs,” the beautiful aristocrat greets her unwitting subjects, her tone somehow managing to be both breezy and contemptuous at the same time. “And good evening, Mademoiselle Dawnstar,” Anciline ads, allowing her attention to turn toward the ring. “It is… étrangement rassurant… to see that one of your tribe still entertains délires of being worthy of competing in a FAWN ring. Considering that, at last report, your Cousin plus âgé was negotiating with a startup in Los Angeles, while your younger cousin has finally elected to dedicate herself to fighting in the environnement where she truly belongs.” The French blonde pauses, allowing herself a petite, vengeful chuckle. “Little good it did her…”
By this point, a ringside staffer had provided Michelle with a stick of her own.
“Big words,” Dawnstar interjects, “particularly coming from someone who apparently forgot her bag at home. They do say the mind is the first thing to go…”
The Navajo beauty allows her gaze to drift lower than de Cyr’s eyes for a brief moment.
“… though judging from that neckline, perhaps it wasn’t the FIRST thing to go in your case.”
“Charmant, sauvage,” de Cyr replies dryly. “You are quite correct in noting that I am not here to… ravir les moûts non lavés. But I am here in a professional capacity. And while I do not ]doute that I could détruire you within dix secondes, I am feeling… généreuse… this evening. D’abord, in sparing you the embarras of kissing my boot. Mais deuxièmement, tonight I présenter to you all the Reine régnante of the French Riveria, and the soon to be Conquérant of FAWN…“
”LA GRENADE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=85m-Qgo9_nE
Over the pulse of a guitar and Clara Luciani’s “La Grenade”, the announcer makes a second attempt at introductions. “And her opponent,” he says, “hailing from Marseilles, France… She stands one point six eight meters tall, and weighs in this evening at sixty-one kilos… She is… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
KATHRYN de CHEVALIER:
As her music continues to play, the curtain parts, and one French blonde is joined on stage by another—the newcomer giving up about an inch in height to the more established woman. Judging by appearances, she is perhaps just north of 20 years of age, with wavy blonde locks spilling to her shoulders. Her flawless, porcelain skin stands in stark contrast to the black fighting two piece that hugs her curvaceous frame, the bottoms tied at her hips, and a web of lacing across her bust connecting one cup to the other, while still offering the most tantalizing view of the considerable cleavage behind those laces. From her fingertips to a little beyond each elbow stretch elegant, dark red, nylon opera gloves, while a set of stockings of the same material and color rise to mid thigh, garters connecting them to her briefs. To complete her look, she sports a pair of black leather ankle boots, not at all unlike the sort of footwear de Cyr herself would wear to the ring.
The duo spends a couple of moments exchanging words at the top of the stage, before Kathryn gives Anciline a small nod and begins to stride toward the aisle. De Cyr follows, never trailing more than a respectful stride behind her apparent new protégé. While the FAWNatics might not know much about de Chevalier, they know enough about Anciline to determine that any friend of de Cyr’s is anything but a friend of theirs, prompting them to give the youthful blonde an overwhelmingly disdainful reception.
However, if the FAWN Arena had a capacity of one million fans, a sellout audience would have failed to manage the collective contempt for Kathryn that de Chevalier’s haughty expression returns toward them, her green eyes perpetually threatening to start rolling as she turns a dismissive palm toward the jeering masses.
De Chevalier comes to a halt near the foot of the steps, the buxom blonde beginning to hop from right foot to her left, then back, and back again, her arms shuffling at her sides as she loosens her body for combat. Of course, the laws of physics require that, for each shift of her weight, her gurls similarly jostle within their confines—a development that does not go unnoticed by the front row fans, many of whom whistle in appreciation. Kathryn fails to acknowledge them, and neither does Anciline as the blonde aristocrat ascends the stairs. On the apron, the older Frenchwoman takes a seat on the middle cable, opening the ropes for de Chevalier as she climbs the steps.
Once within the ropes, Kathryn settles onto the middle strand herself, affording her fellow countrywoman the opportunity to enter the ring as well.
After giving Dawnstar a proper once over examination for foreign objects, referee Craig Long moves to the other side of the ring. He begins to lean forward, his hands moving toward Kathryn’s waist… until the drawing back of the young blonde’s hand for what promised to be a resounding slap causes the official to straighten back up and backpedal, hands raised. “You know I have to check you out,” he tells her.
De Chevalier’s offended expression remains in place.
Anciline turns toward her pupil. “Il veut vous examiner pour des objets étrangers,” she says, which only somehow seems to increase the younger woman’s irritation.
“Tout ce dont j'ai besoin pour vaincre ce sauvage, ce sont mes mains et mes seins,” Kathryn replies, pointedly to de Cyr rather than to Long.
Anciline then turns back toward Craig. “She says a woman of her standing and talents would need no help in defeating the young lady across the ring.”
“Please don’t tell me she doesn’t understand English,” the official sighs.
“As you wish,” de Cyr responds, the faintest hint of a sly smirk creasing her lips.
“Pourquoi devrais-je jamais déshonorer ma langue en apprenant votre langue dégoûtante?“ the young blonde suddenly asks, apparently able to infer the subject of the referee’s from that final word. Craig’s brow furrows, and he glances to de Cyr for an explanation.
“She asks, ‘Why would I disgrace my tongue by learning your disgusting language?’”
“Can you please impress upon her the need for me to check her out, before we start the match?” Craig pleads.
“I make no promises,” de Cyr says, but she turns back to her charge and makes an honest effort. Craig Long, meanwhile, finds himself longing for having an Asian Invasion match to officiate, as that might prove a less challenging evening than this one might be. To his relief, though, Kathryn at last acquiesces. She raises first her left boot, followed by the right, then she turns to face the corner, leaning forward to afford Long’s hands better access to her hips.
Satisfied, Craig takes a step back… only Kathryn appears now OVERLY cooperative. Spinning around, de Chevalier rises on to her tiptoes and draws back her shoulders, thrusting her ample bosom toward the official. Craig Long, a mere mortal, finds his eyes momentarily drawn to that deep valley behind those laces, but he soon finds enough of his composure to lift his head—if not enough to stop himself from stammering.
“Tu voulais m'examiner,“ Kathryn says, one eyebrow arched. “Ce serait ma meilleure cachette.“
The bewitched, bothered, and bewildered ref turns a plaintive glance toward Anciline.
“She says you wanted to see if she had any weapons,” de Cyr responds. “Where better might she hide them?”
“I… I… I didn’t see anything,” Long finally announces, then calls for the opening bell.
Both women move out of their respective corners, each a mirror opposite of the other: Dawnstar a bronzed, raven haired bundle of passionate energy that practically radiates from her skin and ripples through the air; de Chevalier an ivory skinned, blonde haired, voluptuous iceberg, her movements precise and measured, her expression one of almost disinterest as the combatants circle ever closer. Within seconds, rookie and veteran tie up in a collar and elbow… and within seconds after that, Michelle finds herself being walked back into the near corner. True, Kathryn came into this match enjoying a mild size advantage, but even so, the ease with which de Chevalier walks her back comes as a bit of a surprise to the Navajo warrior.
Finally, Michelle’s back presses against the buckles. “Okay, Kathryn,” Craig says, stepping in. “You might not understand me, but I’m guessing you’ve been in a ring enough to know what you need to do now.”
No doubt, she did. But that doesn’t stop the curvy blonde from continuing to press Dawnstar back into the corner.
“You’ll understand this, then,” Craig sighs, raising a hand into the air.
“ONE!
TWO!
THREE!”
At last, Kathryn relents, drawing back her hands from Michelle’s shoulders. Dawnstar, in kind, lifts her hands into the air, signaling her acceptance of the clean break… when suddenly, the French ingenue flicks her right wrist, the back her hand striking the Native American’s right cheek in a backhanded slap. The force of the blow might be light and the sound faint, but the sheer disrespect echoes throughout the FAWN Arena.
Dawnstar’s dark brown eyes narrow, fury turning her cheeks a deeper shade of crimson as she surges out of the corner. However, Craig had no intention of completely losing control of this contest so quickly, and he steps in front of the raging Navajo before she can vent her frustrations. “Come on, Michelle,” he tells her. “Keep your head!”
And, in her head, Michelle understands that to be the best course of action. But that haughty, smirking mug of the French newcomer’s, visible over the referee’s shoulder, makes listening to that advice a challenging task.
Though not an impossible one.
Following a deep breath, Dawnstar gives Craig a small nod, which prompts the official to step aside. Blonde and brunette tie up for a second time… and though the proud Native American makes a better fight of it this time, she again finds herself walked back into the near corner. This time, the ref doesn’t bother with calling for a break, but rather heads straight into a count. Again, de Chevalier waits until the count of three to disengage. And again, Kathryn flicks her wrist, aiming to add a left-handed backhand to the right she had landed moments ago…
However, as the saying goes, “fool me once.” Michelle’s arm sweeps upward, her forearm blocking the slap before that Navajo beauty grabs Kathryn by the shoulders and pivots, pushing the buxom blonde’s back into the buckles. Dawnstar then lands a blistering chop to the Frenchwoman’s décolletage, the ‘THWAAAK!’ of palm against exposed flesh filling the air, eliciting a loud yelp from de Chevalier, and an even louder ovation from the capacity crowd.
About a half dozen chops follow suit, perhaps not flying with the frequency or crispness of the Tempe Temptress’ Knife Edge Massacre, but still landing loudly and harshly enough to leave a mass of overlapping reddened handprints marring the French blonde’s impressive chest. Snatching a wrist, Michelle sets her feet and whips de Chevalier toward the opposite corner, the blonde haired rookie sent racing across the ring before she manages to turn her back into the collision. Dawnstar follows her in almost immediately, raising an arm to land a running clothesline to Kathryn’s battered clavicle.
Alas, the rookie proves no wilting little flower. Before Michelle can arrive at her destination, Kathryn pivots away along the ropes, leaving the Native American warrior to crash chest and stomach first into the corner. The brunette staggers back with a soft groan, but de Chevalier steps in behind her swiftly. Grabbing a handful of hair at the back of Dawnstar’s noggin, she smashes Michelle’s face into the leather padding of the top turnbuckle une fois, deux fois et trois fois.
Just as the ref starts to interject, Kathryn relents, at least enough to spin Michelle so that the Navajo’s back is to the turnbuckles. The French blonde then pivots away from her opponent, her right hand grabbing the top rope for balance as she presses the sole of her right boot against Dawnstar’s windpipe. Michelle’s hands fly to de Chevalier’s ankle, grabbing it and pushing, but failing to dislodge the foot from its choke. The Navajo’s boots kick and stomp at the canvas, the FAWNatics divided between jeering the rookie’s tactics and heaping scorn on Craig Long not doing enough to bring this situation to a close. To his credit, however, the referee soon begins his count…
Kathryn’s initial response to his efforts proves NOT to be to cease and desist her efforts. Instead, with her boot still wedged underneath Michelle’s chin and crushing her throat, the curvaceous Frenchwoman absently brings her left hand to her lips as she gives what must be described as a rather theatrical yawn.
The crowd’s boos grow louder, now almost universally directed at the newcomer, Kathryn showing mercy only once Craig’s count hits four. Dawnstar, her features consumed in a reddish-purple hue from de Chevalier’s assault, sucks down a ragged gasp of fresh, clean air as she sags against the buckles. The official attempts to instruct the young blonde to step away from the corner, but Kathryn has other ideas. She begins landing stomp after stomp to Michelle’s chest and stomach, each strike forcing a grunt or a groan out of the Navajo warrior, as well as forcing her down deeper into the corner, until Dawnstar is dropped to her backside. As Anciline gives her protégé a polite round of applause on the outside, de Chevalier plants the sole of her right boot against Michelle’s left cheek and thrusts her foot downward, a process she completes no less than five times, giving the brunette a vicious face wash.
FACE WASH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=o9eOGfaqy98
Kathryn saunters out of the corner, allowing herself a moment to adjust her bottoms—which allows Craig a moment to check the condition of Michelle Dawnstar. But no more than that, as the French ingenue marches back toward her prey and pulls the reeling Navajo up onto rubbery legs. Claiming one of the brunette’s wrists with each hand, de Chevalier drops to her taut tush, bringing her left foot up to rest against the Native American’s belly as she falls backward. Dawnstar is sent flipping over her foe, landing hard on her back, the impact knocking what little wind remaining in the wounded brunette clean out of her. Kathryn rolls through her touchdown, landing in a straddle of Michelle’s waists, her opponent’s wrists still under her control…
Leaning forward, de Chevalier forces Dawnstar’s arms down above her head, the voluptuous blonde’s full breasts drooping into perilous proximity with the Navajo’s dazed features---but not enough to actually beginning smothering the brunette toward oblivion. Even so, Michelle’s shoulders ARE flat against the canvas, and so Craig slides into position to count the…
TOMOE-NAGE INTO MOUNTED PIN:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AwbS1qQGWs
ONE…
NOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!
Winded though she might be, Dawnstar manages to buck her opponent off of her. Michelle wills herself over to her stomach, pushing her way up to all fours as Kathryn gets to her knees. Alas, before the Native American beauty can make any further progress towards verticality, de Chevalier grabs a handful of her raven tresses, tugging back on Michelle until the brunette as on her butt, Dawnstar’s back resting against the Frenchwoman’s thighs. Kathryn deftly slips her left arm underneath Michelle’s matching wing, trapping her opponent in a half nelson as de Chevalier’s left hand clutches her own right bicep. Her right arm, meanwhile, reaches over Michelle’s left shoulder, her hand cupping the brunette’s jaw and cranking backward.
BASEMENT HALF NELSON CHINLOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=poByScE5AiU
“What do you say, Michelle?” the official asks. “Had enough?”
Dawnstar grunts out a barely intelligible refusal, Kathryn’s chinlock nearly but not quite managing to keep the Navajo’s mouth forced shut. Whether she recognizes that as a willingness to continue or not, de Chevalier does not wait for any signal from the official, instead leaning back and ramping up the pressure on both the nelson and the chinlock. Gritting her teeth, Dawnstar struggles to roll to her left hip, her progress slow but determined. At last, she manages to twist her body enough to allow herself to land a few quick jabs to de Chevalier’s midsection, until the rookie is forced to relinquish the hold.
Both women scramble to their feet, but unfortunately as far as the FAWNatics are concerned, it’s de Chevalier who reaches hers first. The nascent Navajo uprising is promptly quelled by a swift kneelift to the midsection the doubles Dawnstar over, the brunette’s legs buckling for a moment. Straightening Michelle up, Kathryn takes a wrist and launches her opponent toward the ropes with an Irish whip. Taking a quick step toward center ring, the young blonde dips to launch Dawnstar with a backdrop…
… but a bit of rookie inexperience rears its ugly head. Kathryn unwittingly tips her hand by ducking a little early, allowing Michelle to adjust by leapfrogging the doubled blonde. “Reste concentrée! “
Anciline shouts from the floor, and de Chevalier quickly rises and turns…
… but not quickly enough. Rebounding off the cables, a charging Michelle leaps at her prey, the Navajo warrior connecting with, if you’ll forgive the expression, a savage running high knee !
RUNNING HIGH KNEE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhQxq1URjhk
The strike of knee to condescending mug sends a roar of approval running through the FAWNatics, and Michelle stays on the attack. Tucking de Chevalier’s boots under her arms, the Navajo warrior clasps her arms together underneath Kathryn’s calves. With a determined grunt, Dawnstar muscles the voluptuous blonde off her back and into the air as Michelle’s boots shuffle to set her into rotation, de Chevalier finding herself welcomed to FAWN via the Native American’s Whirling Dervish.
WHIRLING DERVISH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8fy-PSBbvR4
The crowd counts off a full ten rotations before Michelle lets go, tossing Kathryn out of her final spin and sending her crashing to the canvas. Dizzied herself, Dawnstar manages a step toward her foe before dropping to her knees, but she then tosses herself across the Frenchwoman’s torso and hooks a leg.
ONE…
TWO…
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn kicks out.
Michelle might be disappointed, but she doesn’t belabor the point. Getting to her feet, she snatches a handful of flaxen tresses and hairhauls de Chevalier to hers as well. Then, threading an arm between the buxom Frenchwoman’s thighs, Dawnstar scoops her foe up across her chest. In the next instant, the brunette throws her weight into reverse—and throws de Chevalier overhead, tossing the rookie hard to the mat with a fallaway slam. As de Chevalier is sent rolling toward the ropes, mewling softly in pain, Michelle earns another round of passionate cheers by kipping back to her feet.
FALLAWAY SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=aVp3jvceGvk
A frustrated de Cyr slaps the ring apron with both hands. “Rappelle-toi qui tu es,” the older blonde snaps at her charge. “Tu es MEILLEUR que ce sauvage!”
Stalking her fallen foe, Dawnstar spares a fleeting moment to address the fuming Frenchwoman at ringside. “I don’t know a whole lot of French, Anci,” she says, “but Jules DID teach me one phrase once…”
Michelle gives de Cyr a second to respond, but the aristocrat merely glares up at her in impatience. So, Dawnstar follows up by offering this simple wish:
“Manger de la merde!”
Anciline’s eyes bulge in her outrage, the veteran’s jaw falling slack, de Cyr left SEETHING as Dawnstar peels Kathryn off the deck and whips her into the ropes. The Native American beauty advances on her rebounding foe, but whatever Michelle might have had in mind flies out the window when de Chevalier dives toward Dawnstar’s feet, forcing the brunette to widen her stride lest she take an improvised dropkick to her shins.
All of which is exactly as Kathryn had hoped.
On her knees now behind an off-balance Dawnstar, but facing the same direction as the Navajo warrior, Kathryn’s slips her arms behind the brunette’s knees. Slinging her upper body between her own legs, the French ingenue gives Michelle’s stems a sharp tug, cutting them out from underneath her and sending the Native American CRASHING face and chest first to the canvas. Kathryn is left lying on her back, her feet straddling Dawnstar’s flanks… but only temporarily. Sitting up, de Chevalier slips her boots underneath Michelle’s arms, extending those limbs out to the brunette’s sides—and leaving them exposed, for the rookie to capture and yank back on. In an instant, the momentum had turned, and Dawnstar now finds herself thoroughly trussed up.
ROLLING MODIFIED SURFBOARD STRETCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ol5s_usymDk
“YAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” Michelle howls, closing her eyes against the pain, Kathryn rocking back enough to lift the brunette’s upper body off the canvas. Her boots rest against de Chevalier’s underarms, her legs forced to bend at the knees, her shoulder sockets enflamed by the strain of this stunning reversal.
“How about it, Michelle?” a sympathetic Craig Long asks. “I can ring the bell. Just say the word.”
“AGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” the Navajo beauty wails, her eyes still sealed shut. But, emphatically, she shakes her head. Somehow, she would find a way out of this torturous hold. Somehow, she would find her way back into this match. And that would start with her willing her eyes open…
… and the first sight to greet Dawnstar as she did so is Anciline de Cyr’s face, perfectly on level with hers outside the ring, the French aristocrat’s lips curled into the most chilling smile that she had ever seen.
“Mademoiselle Dawnstar?” Anciline grins maliciously.
Michelle’s eyes lock on the older blonde’s, but her gritted teeth don’t allow her to offer a response. But her silence is answer enough for de Cyr.
“ Bon appétit.”
Kathryn, apparently growing bored with this particular form of punishment, lets go of Michelle’s wrists, and gravity pulls Dawnstar down before the reeling brunette’s mind can register her newfound freedom enough to have her hands break her fall. As de Chevalier rises over her opponent, Anciline imparts one final instruction to her protégé:
“Faites d’elle un exemple.”
The younger blonde nods, before shoveling a stunned Michelle over to her back. Stooping down, Kathryn again grabs hold of the Navajo’s wrists and pulls up on those arms, lifting Dawnstar’s back a few inches off the canvas. Then, de Chevalier begins administering stomp after stomp after vicious stomp to the helpless brunette, Michelle unable to block or dodge the deluge that slams into her chest and, eventually, her face.
ARM TRAP FOOT STOMPS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFu28MmS1YU
Once satisfied that her withering barrage has properly pacified this ignorant savage, de Chevalier finally gets both of her boots back underneath her. Giving Michelle’s limp arms a tug, the voluptuous Frenchwoman hups Dawnstar up onto rubbery legs. However long they might have been able to support the Navajo would never be known, as Kathryn then slips both her hands behind the brunette’s noggin and genuflects, YANKING Michelle into a vicious collision of the bridge of her nose into Kathryn’s posted knee.
BEND THE KNEE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_aG24rCjQM
The impact launches the near cross-eyed Navajo back onto the balls of her feet, but she doesn’t go down. She sways unsteadily in the breeze, drunkenly stumbling forward, and then backward, but she remains upright. Rising behind her, Kathryn slips her arms underneath Michelle’s, lacing her fingers together behind the Native American’s skull to secure the full nelson. Then she shuffles to Dawnstar’s left flank, and takes a couple of running strides forward, her opponent along in tow. She then kicks her legs out in front of her, dropping to a seat on the mat, SLAMMING the Navajo warrior’s face into the canvas via her French Bulldog. Rolling Dawnstar to her back, de Chevalier casually slips her right leg over the brunette’s belly, pressing her forearm down against Michelle’s jaw in an arrogant cover.
FRENCH BULLDOG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hFVB_SyjcNU
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Dawnstar gets a shoulder up.
Whether outraged by the Native American’s defiance or just eager to dish out more abuse, de Chevalier wastes no time in snatching a handful of hair and climbing to her feet, jerking Michelle up as far as her knees, in front of her. Stepping inside the brunette’s parted calves, the buxom French ingenue leans forward, claiming Michelle’s left wrist with her right hand and the Navajo’s right wrist with her left. Kathryn then pulls back on those captive arms, drawing them across Dawnstar’s own throat as she applies the straightjacket choke.
And that, on its own, would have been bad enough.
Unfortunately for the FAWNatics and their favorites, de Chevalier is not done. Shifting her feet underneath Dawnstar’s shins, the rookie rocks to her back, which not only removes Michelle’s feet from the canvas, but also leaves the small of the Navajo’s back forced down onto Kathryn’s bent knees as the French blonde continues to work her straightjacket choke. Again, referee Craig Long asks Michelle if she wants to submit…
MADAME GUILLOTINE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=uGnJD7N0i6k
… and again, the answer comes as a gurgled refusal.
Lifting her head to whisper into Dawnstar’s ear, Kathryn hisses, “Pensez-vous pouvoir profiter de ma générosité?”
The newcomer’s so-called generosity comes in a most unusual form: with no further warning than a question posed in a language Michelle didn’t understand, de Chevalier suddenly CRANKS down on the straightjacket as hard as she can! While the result is an even greater strain on Dawnstar’s spine and further constriction of her windpipe, there IS one thing about the current situation that works in the brunette’s favor: by pulling back as hard as she possibly can, Kathryn’s shoulders are flat against the mat. And with Michelle atop her, technically this counts as a pin. And so, the official slides into position, checks the Frenchwoman’s shoulders, and slaps off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn eases up on the straightjacket, lifting her shoulders up in the process. Once more, she moves her lips close to Dawnstar’s ear.
“Le moment est passé,” she whispers. “VOTRE moment est passé.”
Releasing Michelle’s wrists, de Chevalier gives the brunette’s shoulders a shove, sending the gasping Navajo flopping out of her signature submission. Climbing back to her feet with a leisurely nonchalance, the French ingenue pulls Dawnstar to her feet before stuffing the brunette’s head between her thighs. The standing headscissors secured, Kathryn then gathers up the Native American warrior’s leaden arms, pulling them behind Michelle’s back before de Chevalier’s hands move scoop up Dawnstar’s thighs. With but the tiniest grunt of exertion, Kathryn hoists the sweat-soaked Navajo off her feet until she upside down, the crown of her skull pointed ominously toward the canvas, and her rump pointed to the rafters, her captured legs bent at the knees—Kathryn almost transforming the Native American’s body into the ‘W’ that de Chevalier appears moments away from collecting.
The curvaceous blonde then falls to her own backside, SPIKING Dawnstar’s cranium with a package piledriver!
PACKAGE PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4STU9glZDl8
Michelle tumbles out of the devastating impact to land on her ass, in what bears at least a passing resemblance to a seated position, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed, her eyes glazed and half-lidded. Alas, it’s also only a passing fraction of a second that the demolished Navajo can hold the position before she tumbles backward, landing in a sprawled and shuddering heap, the package piledriver having knocked Dawnstar into next year. As the insensate Native American’s body settles on the canvas, Kathryn swings a leg over her stomach, landing in a straddle of the brunette’s belly. Ready to put an end to this public execution, referee Craig Long slides into position. He doesn’t even bother to check Michelle’s shoulders before drawing back his hand…
… only for de Chevalier to catch his wrist on its descent.
“Non,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Pas de compte. Pas encore.”
Remaining atop her perch, and without the slightest acknowledgment of this coming from the vanquished Navajo, Kathryn’s fingers move to the lacing that has been straining to keep the cups of her top in place. And, with no sense of urgency whatsoever, de Chevalier works that lacing undone, until at last those cups fall aside. The baring of flesh, particularly in such abundance, can always compel the FAWNatics to cheer even the most despicable of heel, but the young Frenchwoman pays the baying masses no mind. As she leans forward, her feet slip inside Dawnstar’s ankles, securing a grapevine. And, once more gathering up Michelle’s wrists, Kathryn pushes her opponent’s limp arms above her head as Dawnstar’s slumbering features vanish within the Frenchwoman’s cavernous cleavage.
Anciline de Cyr, in her career, had finished off countless opponents in exactly this same manner: by way of a grapevined breast smother, although hers followed a powerbomb. De Cyr’s finish had been known as the Maginot Line. It would soon become known that de Chevalier called her package piledriver and grapevined breast smother Français par le Sang Versé:
French by Spilled Blood.
To de Chevalier, falling to her in combat made one her subject, and subject to her will. Certainly, Dawnstar currently offers very little protest. So far into oblivion as she had been driven by the package piledriver, the restriction of her airways manages to elicit little more than some feeble squirming underneath Kathryn’s curvaceous, conquering frame—and nowhere near strong enough to dislodge the blonde.
It had long been convention in FAWN that, when an outcome had been rendered academic, the victorious party had the choice of whether a breast smother or reverse facesit be counted as a pinfall, submission, or knockout. And Kathryn had already prevented Craig from counting a pin. But with Dawnstar’s legs ensnared in de Chevalier’s grapevine and her wrists held firm in the buxom blonde’s clutches, there is nothing left as a means for him to determine Michelle’s continued consciousness.
Counting the pinfall is his ONLY option.
Surely she HAD to realize that?
No wanting to subject Dawnstar’s brain to further oxygen starvation, Craig doesn’t bother arguing his case. Deciding it better to seek forgiveness than ask permission, his hand again descends toward the canvas.
ONE…
Thankfully, mercifully, de Chevalier offers no objections.
TWO…
Anciline de Cyr climbs the ringsteps, certain of tonight’s outcome.
THREE!!!!
DING! DING! DING!
As de Cyr slips through the ropes, Kathryn sits up atop Michelle’s tummy, remaining in her conquering mount as the official raises her hand. Over a cacophony of jeers, the ring announcer drives the point home. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he declares, “your winner, via pinfall… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
Anciline approaches the ropes, near where the announcer stands. And as Kathryn pushes up to her feet, her mentor accepts the microphone offered to her by the ring announcer. Now on her feet, de Chevalier shares a fleeting smile with de Cyr… but then, she turns back toward the defeated Dawnstar, driving stomp after stomp down against the Navajo’s gulping belly. A renewed chorus of jeers comes from the FAWNatics, while the French ingenue’s boots eventually succeed in compelling Michelle back into the land of the living. Coughing and retching, the sweat soaked, greasy faced Native American rolls away from the onslaught. Luckily for the battered brunette, Kathryn doesn’t follow her. At last clear of that abuse, Dawnstar comes to a rest on her stomach, her hands moving to the mat, her biceps straining to push her upper body off the canvas…
… when Anciline approaches the fallen Navajo.
“I know that, plus tôt I said that I would spare you la honta of having to kiss my boot,” de Cyr muses. “Toutefois…”
The gorgeous aristocrat allows her right foot to drift underneath Michelle’s bowed noggin.
“It is the prérogative of a de Cyr to change her mind.”
Too exhausted to lift her head, Michelle barely manages to rasp, “You… you’re out… of your f*cking mind…”
Suddenly, a hand plunges into Dawnstar’s raven locks, fingers coiling tight. Michelle lets out an anguished hiss as Kathryn pulls back on her hair, forcing the Navajo to meet Anciline’s gaze.
“You seem to be under the idée fausse that you have un choix in the matter,” de Cyr says, simply.
Michelle’s head slumps forward the moment de Chevalier releases her locks, but in the next instant, the voluptuous blonde plants the sole of her boot against the back of Dawnstar’s noggin, pressing downward until the Native American’s lips are indeed mashed against the laces of Anciline’s boot. Almost absently, de Chevalier griiiinds the toe of her boot into Michelle’s tresses, smirking as Dawnstar’s arms prove unequal to the task of pushing up against her weight and raising her head.
“Mesdames et Messiuers,” de Cyr declares, “I assurer you, this is merely le début.”
The FAWNatics unload with one more round of thunderous boos. But it could not be denied that Kathryn de Chevalier had just established herself as a force in the ring. With her skills, and the wisdom of Anciline de Cyr behind her?
She might very well prove right.