Post by dsb on May 13, 2019 18:15:05 GMT
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer remarks, “at this time, would you please welcome… ANNNCCCIIILLLIIINNNEEE de CYYYRRR!!!!!”
”LA MARSEILLAISES”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlEj_qjQ-Ks
The crowd responds with a chorus of jeers and boos. For some, it’s due to the announcer’s introduction of a personality rather than a competitor, which suggested that the audience would soon find themselves witnessing a promo rather than an actual wrestling match. For others, all the reason necessary to express their displeasure is the mere mention of the haughty French aristocrat’s name. But, needless to say, if this constitutes a welcome, it proves to be anything but a warm one, even before the curvaceous blonde parts the curtain.
ANCILINE DE CYR:
Of course, someone possessing the impeccable physical charms of de Cyr can transform a portion of that condemnation into appreciation, especially when those charms are accentuated by a snug, long sleeved, grey, lightweight slim fit blouse and an equally curve hugging navy blue pencil skirt that ends about two to three inches above the new, along with a pair of red, open-toe ankle strap six inch heels.
Anciline strides down the aisle, her nose almost but not quite imperceptibly upturned. Ascending the ringsteps, de Cyr slips through the ropes and approaches the announcer. Without a single syllable spoken, she extends a hand toward him, wordlessly commanding possession of the microphone. And, dutifully, he complies. “Merci mon ami,” the Frenchwoman says, before at last acknowledging the existence of the paying audience.
“Mesdames et Messieurs,” de Cyr addresses the FAWNatics, “they do say l’absence rend la coeur plus affecteur… or, put in simple terms that your cerveaux plus simple can comprehend, absence makes the heart grow fonder. And I can attest to the véracité of that sentiment, for I have never been more fond of you paysans than I was during the time I was away from you.”
The crowd wastes no time in assuring de Cyr that, whatever the hell she had just said, the sentiment is entirely mutual.
Anciline remains nonplussed.
“Therefore, I needn’t tell you le caliber of competitor it took for me to encore une fois grace you scélérats indignes with my presence. Effectivement, I needn’t tell you because, at March to War, you were all witness to her somptuosité. Mesdames et Messieurs, I present to you your new reina de la bague… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
KATHRYN de CHEVALIER
”LA GRENADE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=85m-Qgo9_nE
Over the pulse of a guitar and Clara Luciani’s “La Grenade”, the curtain parts, and the French blonde in the ring is joined by another atop the ramp—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.
Kathryn surveys her new queendom for a moment, but then begins her march toward her personal throne room: the ring. The audience, with memories of Michelle Dawnstar’s annihilation still fresh in their minds, unleash… well, a smattering of cheers and whistles from Section 1408, unsurprisingly. But the overwhelming response from the FAWNatics is one of utter contempt. 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 moves to the ropes. The older Frenchwoman takes a seat on the middle cable, opening the ropes for de Chevalier as she climbs the steps, and then slips into the ring.
While the younger, curvier blonde claims possession of one corner and continues to stretch, a referee emerges from backstage, a development that picks up the crowd’s interest considerably. For her part, de Cyr strides back toward the center of the ring. “Ours is hardly un règne de terreur, however. While it is true that poor Mademoiselle Dawnstar had la malchance of being the first to taste Kathryn’s supériorité, we are généreuse. And, rather than force one spécifique woman to come to this ring, we instead extend une invitation to ANY putain eager to be conquis and humilié.”
The prospect of an open challenge succeeds in injecting a little more energy into an already excited mass of fans.
“If there is one certitude in FAWN,” de Cyr notes, “it is that there is no shortage of salopes backstage possessing of more bravoure than intelligence. Kindly do not déçois-moi…”
Anciline passes the microphone back to the announcer, then departs the ring, leaving both him, the referee, and her charge to stare back up the aisle. The two men in the ring sport expressions of mildly anxious curiosity, while the crowd buzzes in eager anticipation. For her part, however, de Chevalier almost seems bored that her time is being wasted…
Speaking of time, for a number of seconds, the only answer to the open challenge proves to be the energized murmur of the capacity crowd. But eventually, their rumblings are interrupted by the rolling bass of Michelle Branch’s “Best You Ever”.
”BEST YOU EVER”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN_Lxfeed9A
With the answer moments away from appearing onstage, the announcer raises his mic. “And introducing her opponent… Hailing from Reading, Berkshire in the United Kingdom. She stands five feet five inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-three pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to… HOOONNNEEEYYY HAAARRRRRRIIISSS!!!!!”
HONEY HARRIS:
Honey grabs the edges of the curtain on both sides and BURSTS through onto the stage, making her return to the FAWN Arena. The young, blonde British spitfire skips to a halt on one foot, her left knee raised as she pumps her right fist to the crowd. “C’MON, LET’S GO!!!!!” Harris bellows, a bright smile gracing her youthful features—and the crowd happily obliges, rising and roaring in support of the youthful Brit.
Honey makes her way toward the ring at a brisk pace, but not going so fast that she bypasses slapping any offered hand or occasionally pausing for an embrace. The closer she gets to the ring, the louder it seems that the crowd cheers, as they gain more of an opportunity to take her in. The FAWN rookie’s well-shaped legs are bared, a hint of gold bikini style bottoms (with black trim) just visible beneath the hem a gold tee. Upon the front read the words “SWEET AS” in black type, directly above an illustration of a pot of honey. On the back, below the words “BUT WITH A” is a cartoon bee abdomen—complete with stinger.
Harris practically skips up the ring steps, that smile never leaving her features as she wipes her boots on the skirt of the apron. Honey slips through the ropes and mounts the second rope, tapping her fist to her heart twice before blowing a kiss to the full house. Maintaining her perch, the blonde’s hands move to the hem of her shirt, which she peels overhead to reveal a bikini top with matches her black trimmed gold shorts. Balling the garment in her right hand, the Brit cocks her arm and scans the crowd—a gesture which brings a few FAWNatics hands rising in anticipation. Choosing a lucky fan, Harris sends the shirt flying into the crowd.
As Honey hops back to the canvas, a few wise ass fans launch a chant of, “HON-EY’S GON-NA KILL YOU!” Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, that chant starts to catch on, increasing in volume—and the shade of crimson of Honey’s cheeks also inches up with each decibel. With a sheepish smile, she waves a hand to (admittedly half-heartedly) hush the FAWNatics. “Now, now,” she chides them. “There will be no homicides in this ring this evening.”
For one of the few times in her career to date, Harris earns a chorus of boos. Playful boos, but boos nonetheless.
“I won’t, however, rule out a spanking for a naughty Dottie,” Honey adds, cheekily.
And, just like that, the audience is back on her side.
Kathryn, however, appears singularly unimpressed with the lovefest being held for her opponent. “Ils vous encouragent maintenant,” she notes, almost casually. “Ils encourageront votre humiliation plus fort.”
Honey merely shakes her head. “J'ai été menacé par mieux que toi.”
Kathryn’s eyes narrow, her features clouding in fury. “Votre langue anglaise ne mérite pas de parler français.”
The bell sounds, and de Chevalier surges forward, Honey moving out to meet her in kind. But as Kathryn reaches to tie up, Honey ducks underneath, slipping behind the voluptuous Frenchwoman and applying a tight waistlock. Shifting her feet to secure her grip drops the British beauty a little more than the single inch that truly is the difference in their height, Honey’s 34B breasts pressing into Kathryn’s back…
… and de Chevalier’s 34DD likely possess the majority of the approximately ten pounds difference in their weight.
The French blonde’s hands move to Honey’s wrists and, slowly but surely, demonstrates her strength by working her way free of that embrace. Keeping possession of the British spitfire’s left wing, de Chevalier now slips around behind her, applying a hammerlock. Harris grimaces, lifted up onto her tiptoes for a moment, but she too manages to work her way free. Reaching over her shoulder, the smaller blonde secures a grip on the back of Kathryn’s head, her shorter frame actually coming to her assistance this time as she puts Chevalier on her backside with a snapmare.
Her height (or lack thereof) having already served her well, Harris now turns to her wheels, sprinting into the near ropes and rebounding off those strands to deliver a swift and crisp penalty kick. The French beauty’s vaunted gurls serve as an almost unmissable target, and the ‘THWACK!’ of bootleather to jugg mingles with the howl of the curvy blonde as Kathryn is sent tumbling to her back. Honey is forced to jump over her opponent’s stems as de Chevalier settles into a loose matchbook, but Harris doesn’t let her spill out of it, instead dropping to land her belly against Kathryn’s upturned backside as her hands reach for the novice’s ankles…
PENALTY KICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yy44TWMlbq4
ONE…
TWO…
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn bucks free.
Both women are up quickly, Kathryn actually making it to her feet first. But le Tueur Voluptueux, rather than directing her ire at Honey, instead angrily turns toward the referee. “Comment osez-vous lui donner un compte rapide?” de Chevalier demands to know, the official (with only three years of high school German under his belt) able only to raise his hands in bewilderment at the charge of a fast count. But Kathryn would soon have bigger problems when Harris takes advantage of the curvier blonde’s turned back, coming up from behind and again locking her arms around de Chevalier’s waist. This time, however, the blonde Briton’s legs drive her foe toward the ropes, and when Kathryn’s belly and bosom meet the rubber coated steel, Honey drops to her butt and into an O’Connor roll…
… only without any cargo. Rather than be pulled down and stacked up on her shoulders, de Chevalier had instead captured the ropes with her arms, and thus kept her moorings. To her credit, Honey scrambles back to her feet quickly, but this time she is the full recipient of Kathryn’s fury, taking a massive running clothesline that almost turns her inside out before leaving her in a face down, crumpled heap on the canvas.
Kathryn promptly takes a seat atop her prone opponent, Harris letting out a small groan as the Frenchwoman’s taut derriere settles onto the small of her back. She then lets out a louder groan, albeit a strangled when, when de Chevalier draws Honey’s arms across her own throat, leaning back to really work her grounded straightjacket choke.
GROUNDED STRAIGHTJACKET CHOKE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji95yPYb-4A
“What do you say, Honey?” the official asks. “Do you want to quit?”
“Elle ne peut rien dire en ce moment, crétin,” de Chevalier snarls at him.
Harris’ boots drum at the mat, but despite how difficult the straightjacket choke make speaking, she still manages to rasp out something that sounded passably like, “Not… this… time…”
As much as her demeanor might suggest otherwise, in truth, Kathryn hadn’t expected to wring a submission out of this hold—and, frankly, she would have been disappointed if the Sweet Sensation had surrendered so soon. No, this hold was all about taking some of the wind out of Honey’s sails. And, satisfied that she had accomplished that mission, the curvaceous French blonde relinquishes the hold of her own accord. Dismounting her prey, she hairhauls a gasping Harris off the deck and pulls her into a front facelock.
Taking advantage of the smaller blonde’s winded state, de Chevalier pulls her opponent closer to the ropes, then hups Honey off her feet, swinging the Brit’s body through the gap between the middle and top ropes. As Harris’ feet settle on the apron, Kathryn breaks the front facelock, instead opting to keep just one hand against the back of the Brit’s noggin, keeping Honey doubled over, the middle rope pressing into her tummy. Le Tueur Voluptueux then delivers a wicked kneelift that catches the British blonde’s forehead, rocking her backward. The fact that the middle rope catches Honey under her arms might have been the only thing to save her from an incredibly unpleasant spill to the floor…
… instead, de Chevalier pivots and sweeps her right boot under the bottom rope, cutting the Sweet Sensation’s stems out from under her and sending her crashing to her back on the apron.
ROPE HUNG KNEE STRIKE/LEG SWEEP COMBO:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qM1y-bbFcg
The French beauty retreats to the middle ring, and the referee admonishes her for her assault on an opponent in the ropes. Never one to take criticism well, de Chevalier begins to give the official a piece of her mind as well, the language barrier doing little to prevent him from registering her indignation. Honey, meanwhile, begins to roll back into the ring…
… until a pair of hands reach through the ropes, and pull her noggin back to the apron side of the cables.
“I must confess,” Anciline purrs maliciously, before pulling Honey’s throat down across the rubber coated steel cable, “you tempt me to return to service actif… should Kathryn leave anything of you worth combat, of course.”
Honey’s arms flail and her feet kick, but her freedom only comes when de Cyr spies the official ready to disengage with her charge. She releases her grip on the British blonde’s locks and steps away, a wheezing Harris melting off the bottom rope and falling to her back, her upper body spilling out onto the apron. As the ref moves to check on the Sweet Sensation, Kathryn slips through the ropes and approaches the fallen Honey. Initially, the Frenchwoman seems content to arrogantly place a boot atop Honey’s gulping tummy, a gesture that earns de Chevalier a vociferous amount of condemnation from the FAWNatics…
… if only she were done.
Grabbing the top rope with her left hand, Kathryn raises her right boot into the air, which consequently transfers all one hundred and thirty-five of her curvaceous pounds onto her plant foot—which currently resides atop the yielding belly of Honey Harris. The Brit’s head droops backward, off the apron, blonde locks spilling toward the floor as she lets out a howl of anguish. It’s only a moment, however, before Kathryn’s other foot comes to rest upon Honey’s stomach—not that this eases the Brit’s torment in the slightest. Leaning forward to secure a two handed grip on the top rope, de Chevalier’s soles begin to knead and plow at the midsection of the Sweet Sensation, in a manner not entirely dissimilar to a cat “making biscuits.”
APRON GROUNDED DOUBLE FOOT PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuGRc0Ja8CQ
Even though Kathryn might be outside of the ring, at least half of Honey remained inside. And with de Chevalier using the ropes for support, the official begins to count the Frenchwoman toward disqualification. Le Tueur Voluptueux steps off of Harris at the count of four, then jumps down to the floor, the shockwave that radiates from her boots touching down swiftly working its way to set Kathryn’s bosom a-jiggle—which, at least temporarily, helps to quell the masses animosity towards her.
That is, until de Chevalier turns back toward the Sweet Sensation, and then begins hammering Honey’s comparatively modest rack with clubbing forearms. But Kathryn quickly tires of being the only competitor out on the floor, and she drags the smaller blonde under the bottom rope to join her. Harris’ feet had barely touched down when de Chevalier snatches her wrist and whips her toward the near guardrail, Honey having JUST enough time to turn her back into the collision.
“Gyyyyuuuuhhhh… Jiminy Christmas…” the British spitfire moans, sinking to her tush. Kathryn marches over to her quickly, and it would seem that keeping Honey breathless remains the strategy for the moment, for de Chevalier plants her sole against the smaller blonde’s windpipe and presses down, hard. Once again, Honey’s gams begin to thrash, and her hands clutch and push at de Chevalier’s ankle. Unfortunately, she lacks the leverage necessary to force an end to the choke…
… and Kathryn responds to her efforts by bringing a hand to her mouth, stifling an overdramatic yawn.
Noticing that the referee’s count is nearing the danger zone, de Chevalier relents and slides back into the ring. She then saunters toward the official, her demeanor suddenly as sweet as her opponent’s namesake, attempting to draw him into a discussion of… well, what he has no idea. But, bless him, he TRIES to figure it out…
… which prevents him from noticing that, down on the floor, Anciline de Cyr is kicking off her heels.
Her nylon clad feet pad across the thinly padded concrete floor as the aristocrat makes her way to Honey, who has managed to pull herself up to all fours. Snatching a handful of flaxen tresses, de Cyr pulls her up the rest of the way, and then into a tight front facelock. And, once her free hand claims a helping of the British blonde’s waistband, Anciline’s business attire proves no impediment to her delivering a crisp vertical suplex that SLAMS Honey’s back into the floor.
“GYYYYAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!” Harris wails, momentarily launched back to a seated position by the impact. As her eyes snap shut against the pain from her spine, the Sweet Sensation spills over to her right hip, one hand reaching for the base of her spine as she puddles to the floor, her trembling voice trailing off on something that sounds suspiciously like, “… popsicle sticks…”
As one Frenchwoman reclaims her footwear, the other at last allows the referee to turn back toward the floor. Seeing Honey down and all but out, he begins to count. And the FAWNatics implore Honey to pick herself up. Sadly, however, through the count of “FIVE!” the British blonde remains little more than a boneless puddle.
Get up, Honey told herself. Honey Blossom Harris, get your backside off this floor and in THAT ring…
“SIX!
SEVEN!”
Yoona Park had made her submit, but as crushing that had been in the moment, she could live with it. If she allowed herself to be counted out here, that too would be a form of surrender, in her mind. Only this one would be even tougher to swallow…
“EIGHT!”
Ignoring the throbbing ache in her lower back and the flames engulfing her lungs, Harris drags herself off the floor…
“NINE!”
… and dives back under the bottom rope!
The crowd applauds the Brit’s resolve… or at least, they attempt to. Before they ever have much of a chance, however, a vengeful Kathryn begins driving stomp after stomp after brutal stomp to Honey’s traumatized back. When she finally relents, de Chevalier snatches her foe’s ankles and drags the smaller blonde away from the ropes, on her belly. Pulling up on those still captive ankles, le Tueur Voluptueux steps over the Sweet Sensation’s back, turning to face Harris’ legs. Kathryn continues to pull her foe up, until Honey’s body is almost completely vertical, only her cheek and sternum remaining in contact with the canvas—and with the Frenchwoman’s boots residing, rather ominous, on either side of the Brit’s noggin.
Kathryn then performs the smallest of hops, for this move the elevation paling in importance to her descent. For as she drops to her rump, she KEEPS possession of Honey’s ankles, pulling down on the British blonde’s gams with a viciousness that threatens to snap the Sweet Sensation’s abused spine!
MARSEILLE MERCI:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vk8FhlcuPO8
A screaming Honey flops like a goldfish spilled from its bowl onto her back, but barely remains there more than a fraction of a second before rolling over to her belly. Her eyes welling, Harris reaches a hand back toward the base of her somehow-still-intact spine. “Fuhh… uhhh… fudgebuckets…” she manages to whimper, unable to do much of anything else for the moment.
With nary a care in the world, and certainly no concern about her opposition turning the tide of this massacre, de Chevalier picks herself up and then peels the sweat-slick remains of the British blonde off the canvas as well. Aligning Honey with the far corner, Kathryn sets her feet and administers an Irish whip, leaving Harris with a sort of Sophie’s choice: either charge headlong into the buckles and collide with them chest and stomach first, or turn her devastated spine into the collision for yet more abuse…
Instinct wins out, and Honey pivots moments before reaching her destination, the battered British blonde crying out as her back slams into the turnbuckles. The Sweet Sensation’s shapely stems visibly quake, and only the fact that her arms had spilled over the top rope prevents Harris from plopping to a seat, her head bowed, her chest heaving with each labored breath.
Retreating to the opposite corner, Kathryn elects to show that she is more than just an impressive set of curves, imposing physical power, and vicious arrogance. The Frenchwoman launches into a tumbling run evocative of the woman to whom Honey had spent a significant portion of her career being compared. There would be one significant difference, however, and it makes plain the contrast between the two women: whereas a Shea London would come out of her tumbling run into a back elbow, Kathryn de Chevalier instead lands and swivels into a contemptuous bytch slap, her palm meeting Honey’s cheek with a thunderous clap, and once again nearly dropping the British spitfire o her backside.
HANDSPRING BYTCH SLAP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CM7J6fXHj8k
Working Harris’ left arm free of the ropes, le Tueur Voluptueux again sets her feet and propels her foe toward the opposite corner. This time, however, Kathryn follows her almost immediately. This time, however, Honey Harris’ will wins out over her instincts, and she does NOT turn her back into yet another massive blow…
… but she also doesn’t rush headlong into the buckles, either.
Instead, the smaller blonde jumps into the air, landing on the middle rope for the briefest of moments before launching herself backward at a curvaceous Frenchwoman who suddenly feels the need to slam on the brakes. Honey’s butt lands against Kathryn’s bosom, de Chevalier’s arms reflexively reaching to ensnare her opponent’s waist as gravity pulls the British blonde’s upper body down toward the mat. The Sweet Sensation brings her hands down in front of her, pushing off the canvas and sending her torso flying upward again… that is, until Harris throws it into reverse, slinging her upper body through de Chevalier’s parted gams, the Brit’s arms moving to reach around Kathryn’s thighs…
HONEYCOMB FACEBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvYbM5AEyIE
Suddenly with reason to cheer again, the FAWNatics erupt, many vaulting to their feet as Honey scrambles to hers, stumbling a few strides back toward the center of the ring. The energy from the crowd, coupled with the rush of having escaped near disaster, both help to inject the British beauty’s legs with a little more strength than they had possessed mere moments ago, and Harris makes use of that by charging toward Kathryn, the bigger blonde now having turned and slumped to recline against the bottom two buckles…
… and only a newcomer to FAWN would fail to guess what happens next.
Harris takes flight, her gams parting to land in a straddle of Kathryn’s head, Honey’s taut tush slamming down atop de Chevalier’s abundant bounty. Gripping the top rope with both hands, the Sweet Sensation pulls herself up, only to drive her backside down again and again. Admittedly, it’s one of the more… chaste… bronco busters in FAWN history, with only fleeting crotch-to-face contact. The bulk of the abuse is reserved for the Frenchwoman’s jugs, but perhaps considering their value to de Chevalier offensively, maybe that’s a wise course to take.
Tumbling out of the saddle, Harris grabs her opponent by the ankles, dragging Kathryn away from the ropes before allowing her grip to slip down to the French blonde’s knees. Honey then dives forward, flipping to land with a boot off either side of Kathryn’s noggin, the jackknife pin secured for…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn’s arms fly upward, striking Honey’s flanks, eliciting a groan and forcing the British spitfire to relinquish her pin attempt. Still feeding off that surge of adrenaline, the Sweet Sensation pushes the sting from her ribs out of her mind, picks herself up, and pulls de Chevalier up as well. Stuffing the curvier blonde’s head under her left arm, Harris threads her own arms underneath Kathryn’s wings. Clasping her hands together between the Frenchwoman’s shoulderblades, Honey pops her hips, muscling the bigger woman off her feet and taking her to the mat with a beautiful butterfly suplex…
… only Honey doesn’t break her grasp. Instead, the British blonde rolls through the landing to essentially take a seat in le Tueur Voluptueux’s lap. With her head still stuffed inside the smaller blonde’s armpit, de Chevalier utters a less than dignified grunt, the Sweet Sensation’s Honey Pot not only putting a vigorous strain on the neck of the French beauty, but also forcing Kathryn’s features closer to the cavernous coffin that had spelt doom for so many of her opponents.
HONEY POT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbxnz-9M5SA
“How about it, Kathryn?” the official asks, not entirely sure whether the trussed up blonde would fully understand him. “Do you give up?”
Through context rather than fluency, de Chevalier works out what she is being asked. “Non,” she rasps out. “Non jamais…”
Harris continues to work the hold, but it’s less about trying to draw surrender out of the Frenchwoman and more about employing an attack that keeps the pressure on Kathryn while also allowing Honey a chance to rebuild her strength and stamina. After a few more seconds, the British spitfire releases her Honey Pot, rising and pulling de Chevalier up as well. Grabbing her foe’s wrist, she attempts to whip de Chevalier into the ropes, but le Tueur Voluptueux reverses the effort. Perhaps the Sweet Sensation would have been better served keeping Kathryn in the Honey Pot for a little longer…?
It quickly becomes clear, however, that having suffered for as much of the match as she had, Harris has no intention of squandering her newfound advantage quite so soon. She dives into a handstand just shy of the ropes, tumbling back into the ropes until her legs meet the cables, the resistance of the strands propelling Honey back toward her adversary. Landing on her feet with her back still toward the larger blonde, Harris goes airborne, flipping backward, her boot catching Kathryn’s skull with a nasty Pele kick that takes the Frenchwoman down to the mat along with Honey.
HANDSPRING PELE KICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zJH5iGtzBw
Rocking to her shoulders, Honey earns another roar from the FAWNatics as she kips to her feet. Sparing just a moment to access her opponent’s prone position and its relation to the nearest corner, Harris marches past de Chevalier and begins scaling her way to the top turnbuckle. A movement out of the corner of her eye, however, halts Honey on the middle rope. Looking to her right, the Sweet Sensation sees that Anciline de Cyr has climbed onto the apron. “If you want a match with me,” the British blonde tells her, “I’ll gladly oblige. But you’ll have to wait your turn.”
“Oh, Mademoiselle Harris,” de Cyr purrs icily, “as délicieux as the sounds, you have not mérité the right to challenge moi…”
Honey considers offering a rebuttal, but the approach of the referee to command de Cyr off the apron convinces the British blonde to continue her ascent. Unfortunately for Honey, had she waited just a moment longer to turn her attention away from Anciline and the official, she might have noticed that Kathryn had made it back to her feet…
Though upright, de Chevalier still appears a little unsteady as she regains her bearings. First, she locates Honey, assuming her perch on the top turnbuckle, her back to the ring. In the next instant, she sees the referee along the ropes, his back also to her, as her mentor returns to the floor…
… and in that moment, le Tueur Voluptueux knows what to do.
Apparently losing her balance for a moment, de Chevalier staggers forward, her hands reaching out for the first surface they can find to steady herself. That surface proves to be the referee’s back. It’s a light bump, but as he is not prepared for it, it still nudges him forward…
… and into the ropes.
The impact sends a tremor running through the rubber coated steel, one that quickly reaches Honey Harris’ boots. Losing her balance, the Sweet Sensation’s gams spill from the top rope toward the floor, her descent brutally halted when the blonde’s crotch crashes into the metal rigging connecting the turnbuckle to the ringpost. Her jaw falling slack, Honey teeters uncertainly, somehow managing to keep from crashing from the buckle to either the canvas or, worse still, the floor…
… at least, for the moment.
It all transpires so fast, and just as soon as Kathryn’s light shove had knocked him into the cables, the Frenchwoman’s hands quickly move to steady him as he spins against the ropes and toward her. The curvaceous blonde allows herself to stagger into the ref, her weight softly pressing him against the ropes, the feel of those firm 34DD’s against his chest impossible to ignore—especially when de Chevalier takes a steadying breath. “Pardon,” a seemingly dizzied Kathryn mumbles. “Je m’excuse…” She then steps away from the flustered zebra, shaking her head to dispel a few phantom cobwebs, and to further sell the illusion.
At ringside, a smirking de Cyr turns to address one particularly apoplectic Honey Harris fan. “Plausible déniabilité,”she taunts him.
Sauntering to the corner, de Chevalier crosses Honey’s ankles under the top turnbuckle, then places a hand on the Brit’s shoulder and pushes down, strapping the Sweet Sensation to the Tree of Woe. With her opponent all but helpless, Kathryn retreats a couple of steps, then charges back toward the corner. Grabbing the top rope on either side of the buckle, le Tueur Voluptueux kicks up into something of a handstand looming ominously above her prey. And then, de Chevalier swings downward, opening her legs wide and RAMMING her undercarriage into the upside down Honey’s abs.
FALL OF THE BASTILLE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIwWn9ffx80
The brutal impact does Honey one small favor: it dislodges the breathless blonde from the Tree of Woe, allowing her to collapse into a glistening tangle of arms and legs at the base of the corner. Grabbing a handful of blonde locks, Kathryn pulls the Sweet Sensation out of her jumble and to her hands and knees, and leads a crawling Harris back toward the middle of the ring, Honey’s left arm occasionally moving to hug her gulping tummy as much as circumstances would allow. Hairhauling the smaller woman to her feet, de Chevalier dips a shoulder and scoops her foe up and into a fireman’s carry. From there, the Frenchwoman administers an airplane spin, achieving eight full revolutions before depositing Honey to the canvas with a slam.
Leisurely, a mildly dizzied but still vertical de Chevalier plants a boot atop Honey’s heaving, modest bosom, Kathryn’s hands planted against her hips as the crowd boos, and the official slaps off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Harris shoves away de Chevalier’s boot.
“Paysan ignorant,” Kathryn sneers, dragging the ragged Honey to her feet with a handful of hair. “J'essayais d'épargner votre fierté. Si vous souhaitez être gêné, cependant...”
Doubling the smaller blonde over with a boot to the belly, de Chevalier turns away from Honey, her derriere pressing against the back of the Sweet Sensation’s noggin as Kathryn reaches back to hook Harris’ arms. The Frenchwoman then dips and pivots, pulling Honey’s body on top of her back while, in essence, swapping their positioning, as now the back of Kathryn’s head rests against the curve of the Brit’s glutes. Le Tueur Voluptueux then straightens up, lifting Honey off her feet—feet that Kathryn quickly captures by grabbing and pulling down on the lithe blonde’s ankles, Harris left strapped upside down to de Chevalier’s back in her signature Bonaparte Lock.
BONAPARTE LOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8S1pjYL7Cv0
“Honey?” the ref asks. “Do you wanna give?”
“Agggghhhhhhhhhhhhh,” the inverted British mewls, but shakes her head.
“Abandon,” de Chevalier snarls. “Rendez comme la chienne britannique ordinaire et sans valeur que vous êtes!”
Harris shakes her head even more vigorously, her upended blonde tresses sweeping in all directions. “NOOOOOAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHUUUUUHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
Despite her torment, Honey refuses to say the words—and part of the insidiousness of the Bonaparte Lock is that she would almost HAVE to say the words. With her wrists caught in the vice of de Chevalier’s armpits, it would be a task for her fingers to find a suitable surface on which to tap. But, if she COULD get her hands free…
It takes some effort, but “COULD” becomes a reality when the Sweet Sensation manages to work her left hand free, and then her right. Then, in an impressive display of abdominal strength, resiliency, and willpower, Honey curls up into a seated position astride de Chevalier’s shoulders. With a determined roar, the British blonde swings down, diving between Kathryn’s legs, grabbing the Frenchwoman’s thighs and capturing her in a swift and sudden victory roll for…
VICTORY ROLL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7rY7SLd1rU
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn bucks free.
A collective groan of disappointment escapes the crowd, though the sight of Honey winning the race back to verticality gives them a renewed reason to cheer. Alas, it proves a fleeting one. Embarrassed by the Sweet Sensation’s escape from the Bonaparte Lock and enraged by just how close she had come to being defeated, de Chevalier, grabs the back of Honey’s head and pulls the smaller blonde into a savage kneelift to the midsection. She then whips Harris toward the ropes, extending an arm to decapitate the British beauty with a clothesline.
It had worked to turn the match initially in Kathryn’s favor, but this time her opponent is able to duck the would-be scythe and continue on into the opposite cables. Rebounding off the strands, Harris grabs the curvy Frenchwoman’s left arm and leaps across de Chevalier’s back. Swinging her body over the right shoulder of le Tueur Voluptueux, Honey commits one more revolution, leaving herself looking down at the mat with her legs scissoring Kathryn’s midsection, de Chevalier’s arms underneath the Brit’s stomach. Gravity pulls Honey down, but her arms propel her upward, the Sweet Sensation again maneuvering her body to this time face Kathryn as she swings an arm around the larger blonde’s neck. Harris then kicks her feet toward the rafters and throws her weight backward with all her might, SPIKING her foe’s skull with a stunning tilt-a-whirl wheelbarrow tornado DDT.
TILT-A-WHIRL WHEELBARROW TORNADO DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=80Y4un0exps
As Honey applies the lateral press, the referee slides into position and checks de Chevalier’s shoulders. The FAWNatics leap to their feet as the official counts off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
With maybe an eyelash to spare, le Tueur Voluptueux gets a shoulder up.
Rolling to her knees, Honey casts disbelieving eyes in the official’s direction. That had to be a three. HAD to be. But even the best puppy dog eyes fail to spur the official to raise an additional finger. Swallowing her disappointment, Harris shovels her foe over to her stomach before placing both knees against de Chevalier’s back. After crossing the Frenchwoman’s feet, Honey uses her right hand to keep them trapped while reaching her left hand to cup the other blonde’s chin…
It is then that Honey’s and Anciline’s eyes meet each other. And Honey allows herself just a second to savor the recognition in the veteran’s eyes, before she rocks to her back, hoisting Kathryn onto her knees and into the Bow and Arrow.
BOW AND ARROW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKIsV8Kg3AI
Oh yes, Anciline recognizes the hold only too well. And she understands only too well just how lethal it can be, when performed by an expert. With both hands, she slaps the apron. “KATHRYN!” the aristocrat shouts. “Être fort! Vous POUVEZ supporter! Vous ALLEZ supporter!”
Easy for de Cyr to say. She’s not the one currently enduring the assault on her vertebrae. But Kathryn is nothing if not stubborn, and it’s only a matter of time before the growing inflammation in Honey’s shoulders begins to tax her resolve, not to mention the strain on her legs from supporting the weight of de Chevalier’s larger frame…
After nearly half a minute, and with deep reluctance, the Sweet Sensation relinquishes the Bow and Arrow.
Getting to her feet, Harris sinks into an expectant crouch and starts to clap, just long enough for the FAWNatics to catch onto the rhythm and to carry it on themselves. As the crowd continues to clap, the Sweet Sensation mutters quiet encouragement toward her opponent, willing a suddenly vulnerable Kathryn de Chevalier back toward verticality. The French beauty valiantly attempts to comply, making her way to unsteady legs, her back to the Brit. Almost drunkenly, le Tueur Voluptueux starts to turn… and Honey rushes toward her, leaving her feet and drawing her knees up toward Kathryn’s chin, while the Sweet Sensation’s hands slip behind her opponent’s head.
HONEY TRAP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AszkGgipGKA
Honey lands on her back, wincing slightly thanks to the earlier punishment her spine had taken. But it is indisputable that Kathryn takes the brunt of the maneuver, her jaw crashing into the Brit’s knees, de Chevalier whiplashing away and tumbling into an ungainly heap on the canvas. Springing back to her feet, the Sweet Sensation turns her back to the near corner and mounts the middle rope. Again, Harris beckons the bigger blonde to rise, albeit this time wordlessly, motioning her foe upward with a wave of her fingers.
And again, Kathryn begins to pick herself up—slower this time, and this time facing the smaller blonde. Not that it makes a bit of difference. Honey launches herself from the second turnbuckle, her knees landing against the Frenchwoman’s shoulders. Harris’ weight and momentum drive the curvaceous blonde to the mat, the Sweet Sensation’s rump slamming down atop Kathryn’s vaunted chest before she rolls away from her opponent’s carcass, and toward the corner.
HONEY TO THE B:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WK4x8Aqpkk4
The house is rocking, and Honey is rolling—literally so, in fact, out to the apron. Making it to her feet as quickly as her battered but unbowed body will allow, the British beauty begins climbing to the top turnbuckle. Reaching her perch, the Sweet Sensation steadies herself for a moment, drawing in a deep breath… when, again, she catches something in her peripheral vision. On the floor, Anciline de Cyr rushes around the ringpost to Honey’s left, clearly intent on interjecting herself once more.
Honey doesn’t give her the opportunity. Instead, the Sweet Sensation soars into the skies, tucking her body for the jaw-dropping 630 degree rotation that made her Reading Rainbow a guaranteed match-ender…
READING RAINBOW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vD_U5x8V0IM
Perhaps, had she not been hurried by the approaching de Cyr, Honey might have noticed Kathryn beginning to stir. Alas, by the time she’s airborne, it’s far too late. The voluptuous French beauty rolls clear, vacating the drop zone, leaving not a pot of gold at the end of Honey’s Rainbow but merely harsh canvas. Many fans immediately sink back into their chairs as Harris crashes and burns. The Sweet Sensation bounces up to her knees with a howl of agony, her spine arches in a futile effort to alleviate some of the pain. She then pitches forward, coming to rest face down, one boot weakly drumming the mat while a hand reaches for the small of her back.
Kathryn, meanwhile, reaches for the ropes, using the taut, rubber coated steel to drag herself back to uncertain legs. Glancing out of the ring, de Chevalier’s eyes meet those of a relieved Anciline.
“Finis la,” de Cyr commands.
The Frenchwoman in the ring nods. Lumbering toward the wreckage of Honey Harris, de Chevalier merciless sends a couple of sharp stomps to the Brit’s lower back, forcing the Sweet Sensation to cry out and roll over. Stooping down, Kathryn latches on to Honey’s wrists, pulling her arms up into the air—and leaving the British spitfire with nothing to protect either her face or chest from the ruthless barrage of stomps that follows. Again and again, the French blonde’s sole smashes into her foe’s mug and sternum with vicious intent, le Tueur Voluptueux venting every last ounce of anger and frustration over Honey’s impudence and resiliency against the target of her ire.
By the time de Chevalier relents, Honey Harris is little more than a damp ragdoll.
Kathryn hoists Honey up onto rubbery legs, both hands plunged into the Brit’s flaxen locks. She looks down into Harris’ shellshocked features, reveling in the sheer lack of comprehension in Honey’s glazed eyes. “Peut-être que maintenant vous comprenez,” de Chevalier hisses. “Cette bague est à moi. Ton cul est à moi!”
And with that, le Tueur Voluptueux pulls her opponent into a kiss.
There is nothing remotely tender about this kiss, or loving. It’s not even particularly passionate. No, this is a kiss of pure possession and conquest. A statement of ownership that, when Kathryn finally draws back, leaves the Sweet Sensation slack-jawed and dull-eyed.
And, before Honey’s scrambled senses can give any thought to regrouping, de Chevalier’s fingers slip past the smaller blonde’s bottom lip, Kathryn latching on a mandible claw!
Feeling considerably more confident than she did just a couple of minutes ago, Anciline turns to the rabble behind her. “Mes amies,” she purrs, “this is what is what is known as le Baiser Français.”
The French Kiss.
Kathryn’s invasive digits send shockwaves of utter torment running through Honey’s entire body, that electric jolt serving to restore a little bit of clarity to her addled mind. Those fingers also effectively paralyze the British blonde’s jaws, keeping her mouth opened to endure this torture, and denying her the simplest form of counterattack. Instead, Harris can only club at de Chevalier’s forearm with increasingly leaden arms.
“Honey?” the ref asks her. “Do you give?”
The garbled sounds that escape the Brit’s lips are anguished and faltering, but still retain a quality of defiance that keeps the official from calling for the bell. But also faltering are Honey’s trembling gams and her sluggish arms, Harris forced to trade in her clubbing blows for clutching and pawing at the Frenchwoman’s forearm. And, as Honey’s blue eyes start to roll back behind fluttering eyelids, her left hand melts away from Kathryn’s arm…
The right follows maybe two seconds later.
“Honey?” the official asks again, and when he fails to receive even a gurgled hint of a response, he gently takes Harris’ right wrist and raises her arm…
It falls once.
Slowly, inexorably, the Sweet Sensation sinks to her knees. The ref raises her right arm again…
It falls twice.
As saliva begins to bubble at the left corner of Honey’s mouth, Kathryn starts to push Honey toward her back, while the referee raises her right arm for potentially the final time.
And again, it drops limp.
“RING THE BELL!” the ref barks toward the timekeeper’s table. And as the clanging of the bell fills the air, Anciline de Cyr climbs the ringsteps, the ring announcer breaking the bad news to a deflated FAWN Arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via knockout… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
Even with her name blasting over the arena’s speakers, Kathryn keeps the French Kiss locked in, drawing a ever louder and impassioned chorus of jeers. The referee manages to take one step toward de Chevalier, but before he can make it any further, Anciline steps in his path, and buries a knee below his belt, dropping him to a fetal ball a few feet away from Honey.
Finally, the curvaceous blonde releases the Sweet Sensation… but only to inflict a different form of punishment. Scraping Honey off the mat, Kathryn SHOVES the smaller blonde’s head between her thighs, clamping down with a standing headscissors. And when de Chevalier underhooks Harris’ arms and grabs hold of her foe’s thighs, a chill runs through the audience. They had seen her do this to Michelle Dawnstar, and not even the prospect of Kathryn baring her impressive gurls could warrant the crowd wishing the already beaten Honey be subjected to this as well. The FAWNatics PLEAD with de Chevalier to show mercy…
They plead in vain.
Not only does Kathryn muscle Harris off her feet. She spins around with her cargo this suspended, trussed up and upside down, showing off poor Honey’s defenseless form to every portion of the audience that had DARED cheer for her. That had dared BLIEVE that the Sweet Sensation could defeat de Chevalier. And then, Kathryn jumps into the air, extending her legs out in front of her and brutally DRIVING the British spitfire’s cranium into the canvas.
PACKAGE PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=j5ZlOOF0aRY
As Honey settles into a shuddering, jellied heap of flesh, Anciline calls for a microphone. “Now, as I said before,” the beautiful aristocrat tells a jeering audience, “we are nothing if not a généreuse dominion. And we would not dream of sending you home désappointé.”
Covering the mic with one hand, de Cyr offers some instruction to her protégé. Nodding, Kathryn gathers up the remnants of Honey Harris, drops to one knee, and pulls the senseless Brit to lay with her belly across the French blonde’s outstretched thigh.
“If memory serves,” Anciline continues, “Mademoiselle Harris lead you to expect a fessée for a… ‘naughty Dottie.’ Well, I believe that is certainement in order.”
Kathryn slips a thumb inside the waistband of Honey’s briefs, sliding them down her hips and treating the audience to what would otherwise be a pleasing glimpse of the Sweet Sensation’s cheeks. Meanwhile, Anciline circles behind her pupil, until she stands off of de Chevalier’s right flank.
And then, de Cyr begins swatting at Honey’s backside.
By this point, Harris is too far gone to register any of the impacts with more than a feeble squeak of protest. Her tush, however, demonstrates the accumulation of strikes by transitioning from alabaster to ever more crimson. Eventually, Anciline considers her point made, and she relents. Kathryn, in turn, roughly pulls Honey’s briefs back into place—or, at least, back over her glutes, though some of the fabric slips within the crevice of the Brit’s rump—and shoves her back to the mat.
“Mes amies,” a satisfied de Cyr says, “you will see us again soon. The only question remains, will any putain in that dressing room be insensé enough to sacrifice herself as Mademoiselle Harris just did.”
”LA MARSEILLAISES”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HlEj_qjQ-Ks
The crowd responds with a chorus of jeers and boos. For some, it’s due to the announcer’s introduction of a personality rather than a competitor, which suggested that the audience would soon find themselves witnessing a promo rather than an actual wrestling match. For others, all the reason necessary to express their displeasure is the mere mention of the haughty French aristocrat’s name. But, needless to say, if this constitutes a welcome, it proves to be anything but a warm one, even before the curvaceous blonde parts the curtain.
ANCILINE DE CYR:
Of course, someone possessing the impeccable physical charms of de Cyr can transform a portion of that condemnation into appreciation, especially when those charms are accentuated by a snug, long sleeved, grey, lightweight slim fit blouse and an equally curve hugging navy blue pencil skirt that ends about two to three inches above the new, along with a pair of red, open-toe ankle strap six inch heels.
Anciline strides down the aisle, her nose almost but not quite imperceptibly upturned. Ascending the ringsteps, de Cyr slips through the ropes and approaches the announcer. Without a single syllable spoken, she extends a hand toward him, wordlessly commanding possession of the microphone. And, dutifully, he complies. “Merci mon ami,” the Frenchwoman says, before at last acknowledging the existence of the paying audience.
“Mesdames et Messieurs,” de Cyr addresses the FAWNatics, “they do say l’absence rend la coeur plus affecteur… or, put in simple terms that your cerveaux plus simple can comprehend, absence makes the heart grow fonder. And I can attest to the véracité of that sentiment, for I have never been more fond of you paysans than I was during the time I was away from you.”
The crowd wastes no time in assuring de Cyr that, whatever the hell she had just said, the sentiment is entirely mutual.
Anciline remains nonplussed.
“Therefore, I needn’t tell you le caliber of competitor it took for me to encore une fois grace you scélérats indignes with my presence. Effectivement, I needn’t tell you because, at March to War, you were all witness to her somptuosité. Mesdames et Messieurs, I present to you your new reina de la bague… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
KATHRYN de CHEVALIER
”LA GRENADE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=85m-Qgo9_nE
Over the pulse of a guitar and Clara Luciani’s “La Grenade”, the curtain parts, and the French blonde in the ring is joined by another atop the ramp—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.
Kathryn surveys her new queendom for a moment, but then begins her march toward her personal throne room: the ring. The audience, with memories of Michelle Dawnstar’s annihilation still fresh in their minds, unleash… well, a smattering of cheers and whistles from Section 1408, unsurprisingly. But the overwhelming response from the FAWNatics is one of utter contempt. 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 moves to the ropes. The older Frenchwoman takes a seat on the middle cable, opening the ropes for de Chevalier as she climbs the steps, and then slips into the ring.
While the younger, curvier blonde claims possession of one corner and continues to stretch, a referee emerges from backstage, a development that picks up the crowd’s interest considerably. For her part, de Cyr strides back toward the center of the ring. “Ours is hardly un règne de terreur, however. While it is true that poor Mademoiselle Dawnstar had la malchance of being the first to taste Kathryn’s supériorité, we are généreuse. And, rather than force one spécifique woman to come to this ring, we instead extend une invitation to ANY putain eager to be conquis and humilié.”
The prospect of an open challenge succeeds in injecting a little more energy into an already excited mass of fans.
“If there is one certitude in FAWN,” de Cyr notes, “it is that there is no shortage of salopes backstage possessing of more bravoure than intelligence. Kindly do not déçois-moi…”
Anciline passes the microphone back to the announcer, then departs the ring, leaving both him, the referee, and her charge to stare back up the aisle. The two men in the ring sport expressions of mildly anxious curiosity, while the crowd buzzes in eager anticipation. For her part, however, de Chevalier almost seems bored that her time is being wasted…
Speaking of time, for a number of seconds, the only answer to the open challenge proves to be the energized murmur of the capacity crowd. But eventually, their rumblings are interrupted by the rolling bass of Michelle Branch’s “Best You Ever”.
”BEST YOU EVER”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN_Lxfeed9A
With the answer moments away from appearing onstage, the announcer raises his mic. “And introducing her opponent… Hailing from Reading, Berkshire in the United Kingdom. She stands five feet five inches tall and weighs in this evening at one hundred and twenty-three pounds. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to… HOOONNNEEEYYY HAAARRRRRRIIISSS!!!!!”
HONEY HARRIS:
Honey grabs the edges of the curtain on both sides and BURSTS through onto the stage, making her return to the FAWN Arena. The young, blonde British spitfire skips to a halt on one foot, her left knee raised as she pumps her right fist to the crowd. “C’MON, LET’S GO!!!!!” Harris bellows, a bright smile gracing her youthful features—and the crowd happily obliges, rising and roaring in support of the youthful Brit.
Honey makes her way toward the ring at a brisk pace, but not going so fast that she bypasses slapping any offered hand or occasionally pausing for an embrace. The closer she gets to the ring, the louder it seems that the crowd cheers, as they gain more of an opportunity to take her in. The FAWN rookie’s well-shaped legs are bared, a hint of gold bikini style bottoms (with black trim) just visible beneath the hem a gold tee. Upon the front read the words “SWEET AS” in black type, directly above an illustration of a pot of honey. On the back, below the words “BUT WITH A” is a cartoon bee abdomen—complete with stinger.
Harris practically skips up the ring steps, that smile never leaving her features as she wipes her boots on the skirt of the apron. Honey slips through the ropes and mounts the second rope, tapping her fist to her heart twice before blowing a kiss to the full house. Maintaining her perch, the blonde’s hands move to the hem of her shirt, which she peels overhead to reveal a bikini top with matches her black trimmed gold shorts. Balling the garment in her right hand, the Brit cocks her arm and scans the crowd—a gesture which brings a few FAWNatics hands rising in anticipation. Choosing a lucky fan, Harris sends the shirt flying into the crowd.
As Honey hops back to the canvas, a few wise ass fans launch a chant of, “HON-EY’S GON-NA KILL YOU!” Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, that chant starts to catch on, increasing in volume—and the shade of crimson of Honey’s cheeks also inches up with each decibel. With a sheepish smile, she waves a hand to (admittedly half-heartedly) hush the FAWNatics. “Now, now,” she chides them. “There will be no homicides in this ring this evening.”
For one of the few times in her career to date, Harris earns a chorus of boos. Playful boos, but boos nonetheless.
“I won’t, however, rule out a spanking for a naughty Dottie,” Honey adds, cheekily.
And, just like that, the audience is back on her side.
Kathryn, however, appears singularly unimpressed with the lovefest being held for her opponent. “Ils vous encouragent maintenant,” she notes, almost casually. “Ils encourageront votre humiliation plus fort.”
Honey merely shakes her head. “J'ai été menacé par mieux que toi.”
Kathryn’s eyes narrow, her features clouding in fury. “Votre langue anglaise ne mérite pas de parler français.”
The bell sounds, and de Chevalier surges forward, Honey moving out to meet her in kind. But as Kathryn reaches to tie up, Honey ducks underneath, slipping behind the voluptuous Frenchwoman and applying a tight waistlock. Shifting her feet to secure her grip drops the British beauty a little more than the single inch that truly is the difference in their height, Honey’s 34B breasts pressing into Kathryn’s back…
… and de Chevalier’s 34DD likely possess the majority of the approximately ten pounds difference in their weight.
The French blonde’s hands move to Honey’s wrists and, slowly but surely, demonstrates her strength by working her way free of that embrace. Keeping possession of the British spitfire’s left wing, de Chevalier now slips around behind her, applying a hammerlock. Harris grimaces, lifted up onto her tiptoes for a moment, but she too manages to work her way free. Reaching over her shoulder, the smaller blonde secures a grip on the back of Kathryn’s head, her shorter frame actually coming to her assistance this time as she puts Chevalier on her backside with a snapmare.
Her height (or lack thereof) having already served her well, Harris now turns to her wheels, sprinting into the near ropes and rebounding off those strands to deliver a swift and crisp penalty kick. The French beauty’s vaunted gurls serve as an almost unmissable target, and the ‘THWACK!’ of bootleather to jugg mingles with the howl of the curvy blonde as Kathryn is sent tumbling to her back. Honey is forced to jump over her opponent’s stems as de Chevalier settles into a loose matchbook, but Harris doesn’t let her spill out of it, instead dropping to land her belly against Kathryn’s upturned backside as her hands reach for the novice’s ankles…
PENALTY KICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yy44TWMlbq4
ONE…
TWO…
NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn bucks free.
Both women are up quickly, Kathryn actually making it to her feet first. But le Tueur Voluptueux, rather than directing her ire at Honey, instead angrily turns toward the referee. “Comment osez-vous lui donner un compte rapide?” de Chevalier demands to know, the official (with only three years of high school German under his belt) able only to raise his hands in bewilderment at the charge of a fast count. But Kathryn would soon have bigger problems when Harris takes advantage of the curvier blonde’s turned back, coming up from behind and again locking her arms around de Chevalier’s waist. This time, however, the blonde Briton’s legs drive her foe toward the ropes, and when Kathryn’s belly and bosom meet the rubber coated steel, Honey drops to her butt and into an O’Connor roll…
… only without any cargo. Rather than be pulled down and stacked up on her shoulders, de Chevalier had instead captured the ropes with her arms, and thus kept her moorings. To her credit, Honey scrambles back to her feet quickly, but this time she is the full recipient of Kathryn’s fury, taking a massive running clothesline that almost turns her inside out before leaving her in a face down, crumpled heap on the canvas.
Kathryn promptly takes a seat atop her prone opponent, Harris letting out a small groan as the Frenchwoman’s taut derriere settles onto the small of her back. She then lets out a louder groan, albeit a strangled when, when de Chevalier draws Honey’s arms across her own throat, leaning back to really work her grounded straightjacket choke.
GROUNDED STRAIGHTJACKET CHOKE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji95yPYb-4A
“What do you say, Honey?” the official asks. “Do you want to quit?”
“Elle ne peut rien dire en ce moment, crétin,” de Chevalier snarls at him.
Harris’ boots drum at the mat, but despite how difficult the straightjacket choke make speaking, she still manages to rasp out something that sounded passably like, “Not… this… time…”
As much as her demeanor might suggest otherwise, in truth, Kathryn hadn’t expected to wring a submission out of this hold—and, frankly, she would have been disappointed if the Sweet Sensation had surrendered so soon. No, this hold was all about taking some of the wind out of Honey’s sails. And, satisfied that she had accomplished that mission, the curvaceous French blonde relinquishes the hold of her own accord. Dismounting her prey, she hairhauls a gasping Harris off the deck and pulls her into a front facelock.
Taking advantage of the smaller blonde’s winded state, de Chevalier pulls her opponent closer to the ropes, then hups Honey off her feet, swinging the Brit’s body through the gap between the middle and top ropes. As Harris’ feet settle on the apron, Kathryn breaks the front facelock, instead opting to keep just one hand against the back of the Brit’s noggin, keeping Honey doubled over, the middle rope pressing into her tummy. Le Tueur Voluptueux then delivers a wicked kneelift that catches the British blonde’s forehead, rocking her backward. The fact that the middle rope catches Honey under her arms might have been the only thing to save her from an incredibly unpleasant spill to the floor…
… instead, de Chevalier pivots and sweeps her right boot under the bottom rope, cutting the Sweet Sensation’s stems out from under her and sending her crashing to her back on the apron.
ROPE HUNG KNEE STRIKE/LEG SWEEP COMBO:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qM1y-bbFcg
The French beauty retreats to the middle ring, and the referee admonishes her for her assault on an opponent in the ropes. Never one to take criticism well, de Chevalier begins to give the official a piece of her mind as well, the language barrier doing little to prevent him from registering her indignation. Honey, meanwhile, begins to roll back into the ring…
… until a pair of hands reach through the ropes, and pull her noggin back to the apron side of the cables.
“I must confess,” Anciline purrs maliciously, before pulling Honey’s throat down across the rubber coated steel cable, “you tempt me to return to service actif… should Kathryn leave anything of you worth combat, of course.”
Honey’s arms flail and her feet kick, but her freedom only comes when de Cyr spies the official ready to disengage with her charge. She releases her grip on the British blonde’s locks and steps away, a wheezing Harris melting off the bottom rope and falling to her back, her upper body spilling out onto the apron. As the ref moves to check on the Sweet Sensation, Kathryn slips through the ropes and approaches the fallen Honey. Initially, the Frenchwoman seems content to arrogantly place a boot atop Honey’s gulping tummy, a gesture that earns de Chevalier a vociferous amount of condemnation from the FAWNatics…
… if only she were done.
Grabbing the top rope with her left hand, Kathryn raises her right boot into the air, which consequently transfers all one hundred and thirty-five of her curvaceous pounds onto her plant foot—which currently resides atop the yielding belly of Honey Harris. The Brit’s head droops backward, off the apron, blonde locks spilling toward the floor as she lets out a howl of anguish. It’s only a moment, however, before Kathryn’s other foot comes to rest upon Honey’s stomach—not that this eases the Brit’s torment in the slightest. Leaning forward to secure a two handed grip on the top rope, de Chevalier’s soles begin to knead and plow at the midsection of the Sweet Sensation, in a manner not entirely dissimilar to a cat “making biscuits.”
APRON GROUNDED DOUBLE FOOT PRESS:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuGRc0Ja8CQ
Even though Kathryn might be outside of the ring, at least half of Honey remained inside. And with de Chevalier using the ropes for support, the official begins to count the Frenchwoman toward disqualification. Le Tueur Voluptueux steps off of Harris at the count of four, then jumps down to the floor, the shockwave that radiates from her boots touching down swiftly working its way to set Kathryn’s bosom a-jiggle—which, at least temporarily, helps to quell the masses animosity towards her.
That is, until de Chevalier turns back toward the Sweet Sensation, and then begins hammering Honey’s comparatively modest rack with clubbing forearms. But Kathryn quickly tires of being the only competitor out on the floor, and she drags the smaller blonde under the bottom rope to join her. Harris’ feet had barely touched down when de Chevalier snatches her wrist and whips her toward the near guardrail, Honey having JUST enough time to turn her back into the collision.
“Gyyyyuuuuhhhh… Jiminy Christmas…” the British spitfire moans, sinking to her tush. Kathryn marches over to her quickly, and it would seem that keeping Honey breathless remains the strategy for the moment, for de Chevalier plants her sole against the smaller blonde’s windpipe and presses down, hard. Once again, Honey’s gams begin to thrash, and her hands clutch and push at de Chevalier’s ankle. Unfortunately, she lacks the leverage necessary to force an end to the choke…
… and Kathryn responds to her efforts by bringing a hand to her mouth, stifling an overdramatic yawn.
Noticing that the referee’s count is nearing the danger zone, de Chevalier relents and slides back into the ring. She then saunters toward the official, her demeanor suddenly as sweet as her opponent’s namesake, attempting to draw him into a discussion of… well, what he has no idea. But, bless him, he TRIES to figure it out…
… which prevents him from noticing that, down on the floor, Anciline de Cyr is kicking off her heels.
Her nylon clad feet pad across the thinly padded concrete floor as the aristocrat makes her way to Honey, who has managed to pull herself up to all fours. Snatching a handful of flaxen tresses, de Cyr pulls her up the rest of the way, and then into a tight front facelock. And, once her free hand claims a helping of the British blonde’s waistband, Anciline’s business attire proves no impediment to her delivering a crisp vertical suplex that SLAMS Honey’s back into the floor.
“GYYYYAAAAAAGGGGHHHHHH!!!!!” Harris wails, momentarily launched back to a seated position by the impact. As her eyes snap shut against the pain from her spine, the Sweet Sensation spills over to her right hip, one hand reaching for the base of her spine as she puddles to the floor, her trembling voice trailing off on something that sounds suspiciously like, “… popsicle sticks…”
As one Frenchwoman reclaims her footwear, the other at last allows the referee to turn back toward the floor. Seeing Honey down and all but out, he begins to count. And the FAWNatics implore Honey to pick herself up. Sadly, however, through the count of “FIVE!” the British blonde remains little more than a boneless puddle.
Get up, Honey told herself. Honey Blossom Harris, get your backside off this floor and in THAT ring…
“SIX!
SEVEN!”
Yoona Park had made her submit, but as crushing that had been in the moment, she could live with it. If she allowed herself to be counted out here, that too would be a form of surrender, in her mind. Only this one would be even tougher to swallow…
“EIGHT!”
Ignoring the throbbing ache in her lower back and the flames engulfing her lungs, Harris drags herself off the floor…
“NINE!”
… and dives back under the bottom rope!
The crowd applauds the Brit’s resolve… or at least, they attempt to. Before they ever have much of a chance, however, a vengeful Kathryn begins driving stomp after stomp after brutal stomp to Honey’s traumatized back. When she finally relents, de Chevalier snatches her foe’s ankles and drags the smaller blonde away from the ropes, on her belly. Pulling up on those still captive ankles, le Tueur Voluptueux steps over the Sweet Sensation’s back, turning to face Harris’ legs. Kathryn continues to pull her foe up, until Honey’s body is almost completely vertical, only her cheek and sternum remaining in contact with the canvas—and with the Frenchwoman’s boots residing, rather ominous, on either side of the Brit’s noggin.
Kathryn then performs the smallest of hops, for this move the elevation paling in importance to her descent. For as she drops to her rump, she KEEPS possession of Honey’s ankles, pulling down on the British blonde’s gams with a viciousness that threatens to snap the Sweet Sensation’s abused spine!
MARSEILLE MERCI:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vk8FhlcuPO8
A screaming Honey flops like a goldfish spilled from its bowl onto her back, but barely remains there more than a fraction of a second before rolling over to her belly. Her eyes welling, Harris reaches a hand back toward the base of her somehow-still-intact spine. “Fuhh… uhhh… fudgebuckets…” she manages to whimper, unable to do much of anything else for the moment.
With nary a care in the world, and certainly no concern about her opposition turning the tide of this massacre, de Chevalier picks herself up and then peels the sweat-slick remains of the British blonde off the canvas as well. Aligning Honey with the far corner, Kathryn sets her feet and administers an Irish whip, leaving Harris with a sort of Sophie’s choice: either charge headlong into the buckles and collide with them chest and stomach first, or turn her devastated spine into the collision for yet more abuse…
Instinct wins out, and Honey pivots moments before reaching her destination, the battered British blonde crying out as her back slams into the turnbuckles. The Sweet Sensation’s shapely stems visibly quake, and only the fact that her arms had spilled over the top rope prevents Harris from plopping to a seat, her head bowed, her chest heaving with each labored breath.
Retreating to the opposite corner, Kathryn elects to show that she is more than just an impressive set of curves, imposing physical power, and vicious arrogance. The Frenchwoman launches into a tumbling run evocative of the woman to whom Honey had spent a significant portion of her career being compared. There would be one significant difference, however, and it makes plain the contrast between the two women: whereas a Shea London would come out of her tumbling run into a back elbow, Kathryn de Chevalier instead lands and swivels into a contemptuous bytch slap, her palm meeting Honey’s cheek with a thunderous clap, and once again nearly dropping the British spitfire o her backside.
HANDSPRING BYTCH SLAP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CM7J6fXHj8k
Working Harris’ left arm free of the ropes, le Tueur Voluptueux again sets her feet and propels her foe toward the opposite corner. This time, however, Kathryn follows her almost immediately. This time, however, Honey Harris’ will wins out over her instincts, and she does NOT turn her back into yet another massive blow…
… but she also doesn’t rush headlong into the buckles, either.
Instead, the smaller blonde jumps into the air, landing on the middle rope for the briefest of moments before launching herself backward at a curvaceous Frenchwoman who suddenly feels the need to slam on the brakes. Honey’s butt lands against Kathryn’s bosom, de Chevalier’s arms reflexively reaching to ensnare her opponent’s waist as gravity pulls the British blonde’s upper body down toward the mat. The Sweet Sensation brings her hands down in front of her, pushing off the canvas and sending her torso flying upward again… that is, until Harris throws it into reverse, slinging her upper body through de Chevalier’s parted gams, the Brit’s arms moving to reach around Kathryn’s thighs…
HONEYCOMB FACEBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvYbM5AEyIE
Suddenly with reason to cheer again, the FAWNatics erupt, many vaulting to their feet as Honey scrambles to hers, stumbling a few strides back toward the center of the ring. The energy from the crowd, coupled with the rush of having escaped near disaster, both help to inject the British beauty’s legs with a little more strength than they had possessed mere moments ago, and Harris makes use of that by charging toward Kathryn, the bigger blonde now having turned and slumped to recline against the bottom two buckles…
… and only a newcomer to FAWN would fail to guess what happens next.
Harris takes flight, her gams parting to land in a straddle of Kathryn’s head, Honey’s taut tush slamming down atop de Chevalier’s abundant bounty. Gripping the top rope with both hands, the Sweet Sensation pulls herself up, only to drive her backside down again and again. Admittedly, it’s one of the more… chaste… bronco busters in FAWN history, with only fleeting crotch-to-face contact. The bulk of the abuse is reserved for the Frenchwoman’s jugs, but perhaps considering their value to de Chevalier offensively, maybe that’s a wise course to take.
Tumbling out of the saddle, Harris grabs her opponent by the ankles, dragging Kathryn away from the ropes before allowing her grip to slip down to the French blonde’s knees. Honey then dives forward, flipping to land with a boot off either side of Kathryn’s noggin, the jackknife pin secured for…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn’s arms fly upward, striking Honey’s flanks, eliciting a groan and forcing the British spitfire to relinquish her pin attempt. Still feeding off that surge of adrenaline, the Sweet Sensation pushes the sting from her ribs out of her mind, picks herself up, and pulls de Chevalier up as well. Stuffing the curvier blonde’s head under her left arm, Harris threads her own arms underneath Kathryn’s wings. Clasping her hands together between the Frenchwoman’s shoulderblades, Honey pops her hips, muscling the bigger woman off her feet and taking her to the mat with a beautiful butterfly suplex…
… only Honey doesn’t break her grasp. Instead, the British blonde rolls through the landing to essentially take a seat in le Tueur Voluptueux’s lap. With her head still stuffed inside the smaller blonde’s armpit, de Chevalier utters a less than dignified grunt, the Sweet Sensation’s Honey Pot not only putting a vigorous strain on the neck of the French beauty, but also forcing Kathryn’s features closer to the cavernous coffin that had spelt doom for so many of her opponents.
HONEY POT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbxnz-9M5SA
“How about it, Kathryn?” the official asks, not entirely sure whether the trussed up blonde would fully understand him. “Do you give up?”
Through context rather than fluency, de Chevalier works out what she is being asked. “Non,” she rasps out. “Non jamais…”
Harris continues to work the hold, but it’s less about trying to draw surrender out of the Frenchwoman and more about employing an attack that keeps the pressure on Kathryn while also allowing Honey a chance to rebuild her strength and stamina. After a few more seconds, the British spitfire releases her Honey Pot, rising and pulling de Chevalier up as well. Grabbing her foe’s wrist, she attempts to whip de Chevalier into the ropes, but le Tueur Voluptueux reverses the effort. Perhaps the Sweet Sensation would have been better served keeping Kathryn in the Honey Pot for a little longer…?
It quickly becomes clear, however, that having suffered for as much of the match as she had, Harris has no intention of squandering her newfound advantage quite so soon. She dives into a handstand just shy of the ropes, tumbling back into the ropes until her legs meet the cables, the resistance of the strands propelling Honey back toward her adversary. Landing on her feet with her back still toward the larger blonde, Harris goes airborne, flipping backward, her boot catching Kathryn’s skull with a nasty Pele kick that takes the Frenchwoman down to the mat along with Honey.
HANDSPRING PELE KICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4zJH5iGtzBw
Rocking to her shoulders, Honey earns another roar from the FAWNatics as she kips to her feet. Sparing just a moment to access her opponent’s prone position and its relation to the nearest corner, Harris marches past de Chevalier and begins scaling her way to the top turnbuckle. A movement out of the corner of her eye, however, halts Honey on the middle rope. Looking to her right, the Sweet Sensation sees that Anciline de Cyr has climbed onto the apron. “If you want a match with me,” the British blonde tells her, “I’ll gladly oblige. But you’ll have to wait your turn.”
“Oh, Mademoiselle Harris,” de Cyr purrs icily, “as délicieux as the sounds, you have not mérité the right to challenge moi…”
Honey considers offering a rebuttal, but the approach of the referee to command de Cyr off the apron convinces the British blonde to continue her ascent. Unfortunately for Honey, had she waited just a moment longer to turn her attention away from Anciline and the official, she might have noticed that Kathryn had made it back to her feet…
Though upright, de Chevalier still appears a little unsteady as she regains her bearings. First, she locates Honey, assuming her perch on the top turnbuckle, her back to the ring. In the next instant, she sees the referee along the ropes, his back also to her, as her mentor returns to the floor…
… and in that moment, le Tueur Voluptueux knows what to do.
Apparently losing her balance for a moment, de Chevalier staggers forward, her hands reaching out for the first surface they can find to steady herself. That surface proves to be the referee’s back. It’s a light bump, but as he is not prepared for it, it still nudges him forward…
… and into the ropes.
The impact sends a tremor running through the rubber coated steel, one that quickly reaches Honey Harris’ boots. Losing her balance, the Sweet Sensation’s gams spill from the top rope toward the floor, her descent brutally halted when the blonde’s crotch crashes into the metal rigging connecting the turnbuckle to the ringpost. Her jaw falling slack, Honey teeters uncertainly, somehow managing to keep from crashing from the buckle to either the canvas or, worse still, the floor…
… at least, for the moment.
It all transpires so fast, and just as soon as Kathryn’s light shove had knocked him into the cables, the Frenchwoman’s hands quickly move to steady him as he spins against the ropes and toward her. The curvaceous blonde allows herself to stagger into the ref, her weight softly pressing him against the ropes, the feel of those firm 34DD’s against his chest impossible to ignore—especially when de Chevalier takes a steadying breath. “Pardon,” a seemingly dizzied Kathryn mumbles. “Je m’excuse…” She then steps away from the flustered zebra, shaking her head to dispel a few phantom cobwebs, and to further sell the illusion.
At ringside, a smirking de Cyr turns to address one particularly apoplectic Honey Harris fan. “Plausible déniabilité,”she taunts him.
Sauntering to the corner, de Chevalier crosses Honey’s ankles under the top turnbuckle, then places a hand on the Brit’s shoulder and pushes down, strapping the Sweet Sensation to the Tree of Woe. With her opponent all but helpless, Kathryn retreats a couple of steps, then charges back toward the corner. Grabbing the top rope on either side of the buckle, le Tueur Voluptueux kicks up into something of a handstand looming ominously above her prey. And then, de Chevalier swings downward, opening her legs wide and RAMMING her undercarriage into the upside down Honey’s abs.
FALL OF THE BASTILLE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pIwWn9ffx80
The brutal impact does Honey one small favor: it dislodges the breathless blonde from the Tree of Woe, allowing her to collapse into a glistening tangle of arms and legs at the base of the corner. Grabbing a handful of blonde locks, Kathryn pulls the Sweet Sensation out of her jumble and to her hands and knees, and leads a crawling Harris back toward the middle of the ring, Honey’s left arm occasionally moving to hug her gulping tummy as much as circumstances would allow. Hairhauling the smaller woman to her feet, de Chevalier dips a shoulder and scoops her foe up and into a fireman’s carry. From there, the Frenchwoman administers an airplane spin, achieving eight full revolutions before depositing Honey to the canvas with a slam.
Leisurely, a mildly dizzied but still vertical de Chevalier plants a boot atop Honey’s heaving, modest bosom, Kathryn’s hands planted against her hips as the crowd boos, and the official slaps off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THNOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Harris shoves away de Chevalier’s boot.
“Paysan ignorant,” Kathryn sneers, dragging the ragged Honey to her feet with a handful of hair. “J'essayais d'épargner votre fierté. Si vous souhaitez être gêné, cependant...”
Doubling the smaller blonde over with a boot to the belly, de Chevalier turns away from Honey, her derriere pressing against the back of the Sweet Sensation’s noggin as Kathryn reaches back to hook Harris’ arms. The Frenchwoman then dips and pivots, pulling Honey’s body on top of her back while, in essence, swapping their positioning, as now the back of Kathryn’s head rests against the curve of the Brit’s glutes. Le Tueur Voluptueux then straightens up, lifting Honey off her feet—feet that Kathryn quickly captures by grabbing and pulling down on the lithe blonde’s ankles, Harris left strapped upside down to de Chevalier’s back in her signature Bonaparte Lock.
BONAPARTE LOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=8S1pjYL7Cv0
“Honey?” the ref asks. “Do you wanna give?”
“Agggghhhhhhhhhhhhh,” the inverted British mewls, but shakes her head.
“Abandon,” de Chevalier snarls. “Rendez comme la chienne britannique ordinaire et sans valeur que vous êtes!”
Harris shakes her head even more vigorously, her upended blonde tresses sweeping in all directions. “NOOOOOAAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHUUUUUHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
Despite her torment, Honey refuses to say the words—and part of the insidiousness of the Bonaparte Lock is that she would almost HAVE to say the words. With her wrists caught in the vice of de Chevalier’s armpits, it would be a task for her fingers to find a suitable surface on which to tap. But, if she COULD get her hands free…
It takes some effort, but “COULD” becomes a reality when the Sweet Sensation manages to work her left hand free, and then her right. Then, in an impressive display of abdominal strength, resiliency, and willpower, Honey curls up into a seated position astride de Chevalier’s shoulders. With a determined roar, the British blonde swings down, diving between Kathryn’s legs, grabbing the Frenchwoman’s thighs and capturing her in a swift and sudden victory roll for…
VICTORY ROLL:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=a7rY7SLd1rU
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Kathryn bucks free.
A collective groan of disappointment escapes the crowd, though the sight of Honey winning the race back to verticality gives them a renewed reason to cheer. Alas, it proves a fleeting one. Embarrassed by the Sweet Sensation’s escape from the Bonaparte Lock and enraged by just how close she had come to being defeated, de Chevalier, grabs the back of Honey’s head and pulls the smaller blonde into a savage kneelift to the midsection. She then whips Harris toward the ropes, extending an arm to decapitate the British beauty with a clothesline.
It had worked to turn the match initially in Kathryn’s favor, but this time her opponent is able to duck the would-be scythe and continue on into the opposite cables. Rebounding off the strands, Harris grabs the curvy Frenchwoman’s left arm and leaps across de Chevalier’s back. Swinging her body over the right shoulder of le Tueur Voluptueux, Honey commits one more revolution, leaving herself looking down at the mat with her legs scissoring Kathryn’s midsection, de Chevalier’s arms underneath the Brit’s stomach. Gravity pulls Honey down, but her arms propel her upward, the Sweet Sensation again maneuvering her body to this time face Kathryn as she swings an arm around the larger blonde’s neck. Harris then kicks her feet toward the rafters and throws her weight backward with all her might, SPIKING her foe’s skull with a stunning tilt-a-whirl wheelbarrow tornado DDT.
TILT-A-WHIRL WHEELBARROW TORNADO DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=80Y4un0exps
As Honey applies the lateral press, the referee slides into position and checks de Chevalier’s shoulders. The FAWNatics leap to their feet as the official counts off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
With maybe an eyelash to spare, le Tueur Voluptueux gets a shoulder up.
Rolling to her knees, Honey casts disbelieving eyes in the official’s direction. That had to be a three. HAD to be. But even the best puppy dog eyes fail to spur the official to raise an additional finger. Swallowing her disappointment, Harris shovels her foe over to her stomach before placing both knees against de Chevalier’s back. After crossing the Frenchwoman’s feet, Honey uses her right hand to keep them trapped while reaching her left hand to cup the other blonde’s chin…
It is then that Honey’s and Anciline’s eyes meet each other. And Honey allows herself just a second to savor the recognition in the veteran’s eyes, before she rocks to her back, hoisting Kathryn onto her knees and into the Bow and Arrow.
BOW AND ARROW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=dKIsV8Kg3AI
Oh yes, Anciline recognizes the hold only too well. And she understands only too well just how lethal it can be, when performed by an expert. With both hands, she slaps the apron. “KATHRYN!” the aristocrat shouts. “Être fort! Vous POUVEZ supporter! Vous ALLEZ supporter!”
Easy for de Cyr to say. She’s not the one currently enduring the assault on her vertebrae. But Kathryn is nothing if not stubborn, and it’s only a matter of time before the growing inflammation in Honey’s shoulders begins to tax her resolve, not to mention the strain on her legs from supporting the weight of de Chevalier’s larger frame…
After nearly half a minute, and with deep reluctance, the Sweet Sensation relinquishes the Bow and Arrow.
Getting to her feet, Harris sinks into an expectant crouch and starts to clap, just long enough for the FAWNatics to catch onto the rhythm and to carry it on themselves. As the crowd continues to clap, the Sweet Sensation mutters quiet encouragement toward her opponent, willing a suddenly vulnerable Kathryn de Chevalier back toward verticality. The French beauty valiantly attempts to comply, making her way to unsteady legs, her back to the Brit. Almost drunkenly, le Tueur Voluptueux starts to turn… and Honey rushes toward her, leaving her feet and drawing her knees up toward Kathryn’s chin, while the Sweet Sensation’s hands slip behind her opponent’s head.
HONEY TRAP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=AszkGgipGKA
Honey lands on her back, wincing slightly thanks to the earlier punishment her spine had taken. But it is indisputable that Kathryn takes the brunt of the maneuver, her jaw crashing into the Brit’s knees, de Chevalier whiplashing away and tumbling into an ungainly heap on the canvas. Springing back to her feet, the Sweet Sensation turns her back to the near corner and mounts the middle rope. Again, Harris beckons the bigger blonde to rise, albeit this time wordlessly, motioning her foe upward with a wave of her fingers.
And again, Kathryn begins to pick herself up—slower this time, and this time facing the smaller blonde. Not that it makes a bit of difference. Honey launches herself from the second turnbuckle, her knees landing against the Frenchwoman’s shoulders. Harris’ weight and momentum drive the curvaceous blonde to the mat, the Sweet Sensation’s rump slamming down atop Kathryn’s vaunted chest before she rolls away from her opponent’s carcass, and toward the corner.
HONEY TO THE B:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WK4x8Aqpkk4
The house is rocking, and Honey is rolling—literally so, in fact, out to the apron. Making it to her feet as quickly as her battered but unbowed body will allow, the British beauty begins climbing to the top turnbuckle. Reaching her perch, the Sweet Sensation steadies herself for a moment, drawing in a deep breath… when, again, she catches something in her peripheral vision. On the floor, Anciline de Cyr rushes around the ringpost to Honey’s left, clearly intent on interjecting herself once more.
Honey doesn’t give her the opportunity. Instead, the Sweet Sensation soars into the skies, tucking her body for the jaw-dropping 630 degree rotation that made her Reading Rainbow a guaranteed match-ender…
READING RAINBOW:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vD_U5x8V0IM
Perhaps, had she not been hurried by the approaching de Cyr, Honey might have noticed Kathryn beginning to stir. Alas, by the time she’s airborne, it’s far too late. The voluptuous French beauty rolls clear, vacating the drop zone, leaving not a pot of gold at the end of Honey’s Rainbow but merely harsh canvas. Many fans immediately sink back into their chairs as Harris crashes and burns. The Sweet Sensation bounces up to her knees with a howl of agony, her spine arches in a futile effort to alleviate some of the pain. She then pitches forward, coming to rest face down, one boot weakly drumming the mat while a hand reaches for the small of her back.
Kathryn, meanwhile, reaches for the ropes, using the taut, rubber coated steel to drag herself back to uncertain legs. Glancing out of the ring, de Chevalier’s eyes meet those of a relieved Anciline.
“Finis la,” de Cyr commands.
The Frenchwoman in the ring nods. Lumbering toward the wreckage of Honey Harris, de Chevalier merciless sends a couple of sharp stomps to the Brit’s lower back, forcing the Sweet Sensation to cry out and roll over. Stooping down, Kathryn latches on to Honey’s wrists, pulling her arms up into the air—and leaving the British spitfire with nothing to protect either her face or chest from the ruthless barrage of stomps that follows. Again and again, the French blonde’s sole smashes into her foe’s mug and sternum with vicious intent, le Tueur Voluptueux venting every last ounce of anger and frustration over Honey’s impudence and resiliency against the target of her ire.
By the time de Chevalier relents, Honey Harris is little more than a damp ragdoll.
Kathryn hoists Honey up onto rubbery legs, both hands plunged into the Brit’s flaxen locks. She looks down into Harris’ shellshocked features, reveling in the sheer lack of comprehension in Honey’s glazed eyes. “Peut-être que maintenant vous comprenez,” de Chevalier hisses. “Cette bague est à moi. Ton cul est à moi!”
And with that, le Tueur Voluptueux pulls her opponent into a kiss.
There is nothing remotely tender about this kiss, or loving. It’s not even particularly passionate. No, this is a kiss of pure possession and conquest. A statement of ownership that, when Kathryn finally draws back, leaves the Sweet Sensation slack-jawed and dull-eyed.
And, before Honey’s scrambled senses can give any thought to regrouping, de Chevalier’s fingers slip past the smaller blonde’s bottom lip, Kathryn latching on a mandible claw!
Feeling considerably more confident than she did just a couple of minutes ago, Anciline turns to the rabble behind her. “Mes amies,” she purrs, “this is what is what is known as le Baiser Français.”
The French Kiss.
Kathryn’s invasive digits send shockwaves of utter torment running through Honey’s entire body, that electric jolt serving to restore a little bit of clarity to her addled mind. Those fingers also effectively paralyze the British blonde’s jaws, keeping her mouth opened to endure this torture, and denying her the simplest form of counterattack. Instead, Harris can only club at de Chevalier’s forearm with increasingly leaden arms.
“Honey?” the ref asks her. “Do you give?”
The garbled sounds that escape the Brit’s lips are anguished and faltering, but still retain a quality of defiance that keeps the official from calling for the bell. But also faltering are Honey’s trembling gams and her sluggish arms, Harris forced to trade in her clubbing blows for clutching and pawing at the Frenchwoman’s forearm. And, as Honey’s blue eyes start to roll back behind fluttering eyelids, her left hand melts away from Kathryn’s arm…
The right follows maybe two seconds later.
“Honey?” the official asks again, and when he fails to receive even a gurgled hint of a response, he gently takes Harris’ right wrist and raises her arm…
It falls once.
Slowly, inexorably, the Sweet Sensation sinks to her knees. The ref raises her right arm again…
It falls twice.
As saliva begins to bubble at the left corner of Honey’s mouth, Kathryn starts to push Honey toward her back, while the referee raises her right arm for potentially the final time.
And again, it drops limp.
“RING THE BELL!” the ref barks toward the timekeeper’s table. And as the clanging of the bell fills the air, Anciline de Cyr climbs the ringsteps, the ring announcer breaking the bad news to a deflated FAWN Arena.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via knockout… KAAATTTHHHRRRYYYNNN de CHHHEEEVVVAAALLLIIIEEERRR!!!!!”
Even with her name blasting over the arena’s speakers, Kathryn keeps the French Kiss locked in, drawing a ever louder and impassioned chorus of jeers. The referee manages to take one step toward de Chevalier, but before he can make it any further, Anciline steps in his path, and buries a knee below his belt, dropping him to a fetal ball a few feet away from Honey.
Finally, the curvaceous blonde releases the Sweet Sensation… but only to inflict a different form of punishment. Scraping Honey off the mat, Kathryn SHOVES the smaller blonde’s head between her thighs, clamping down with a standing headscissors. And when de Chevalier underhooks Harris’ arms and grabs hold of her foe’s thighs, a chill runs through the audience. They had seen her do this to Michelle Dawnstar, and not even the prospect of Kathryn baring her impressive gurls could warrant the crowd wishing the already beaten Honey be subjected to this as well. The FAWNatics PLEAD with de Chevalier to show mercy…
They plead in vain.
Not only does Kathryn muscle Harris off her feet. She spins around with her cargo this suspended, trussed up and upside down, showing off poor Honey’s defenseless form to every portion of the audience that had DARED cheer for her. That had dared BLIEVE that the Sweet Sensation could defeat de Chevalier. And then, Kathryn jumps into the air, extending her legs out in front of her and brutally DRIVING the British spitfire’s cranium into the canvas.
PACKAGE PILEDRIVER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=j5ZlOOF0aRY
As Honey settles into a shuddering, jellied heap of flesh, Anciline calls for a microphone. “Now, as I said before,” the beautiful aristocrat tells a jeering audience, “we are nothing if not a généreuse dominion. And we would not dream of sending you home désappointé.”
Covering the mic with one hand, de Cyr offers some instruction to her protégé. Nodding, Kathryn gathers up the remnants of Honey Harris, drops to one knee, and pulls the senseless Brit to lay with her belly across the French blonde’s outstretched thigh.
“If memory serves,” Anciline continues, “Mademoiselle Harris lead you to expect a fessée for a… ‘naughty Dottie.’ Well, I believe that is certainement in order.”
Kathryn slips a thumb inside the waistband of Honey’s briefs, sliding them down her hips and treating the audience to what would otherwise be a pleasing glimpse of the Sweet Sensation’s cheeks. Meanwhile, Anciline circles behind her pupil, until she stands off of de Chevalier’s right flank.
And then, de Cyr begins swatting at Honey’s backside.
By this point, Harris is too far gone to register any of the impacts with more than a feeble squeak of protest. Her tush, however, demonstrates the accumulation of strikes by transitioning from alabaster to ever more crimson. Eventually, Anciline considers her point made, and she relents. Kathryn, in turn, roughly pulls Honey’s briefs back into place—or, at least, back over her glutes, though some of the fabric slips within the crevice of the Brit’s rump—and shoves her back to the mat.
“Mes amies,” a satisfied de Cyr says, “you will see us again soon. The only question remains, will any putain in that dressing room be insensé enough to sacrifice herself as Mademoiselle Harris just did.”