Post by hawkeye on Aug 3, 2020 0:16:53 GMT
The FAWNatics wait impatiently for their next fix, Red, White and Bruised already proving a Birthday Blowup to remember. The next candle on the cake is lit as the power pop of Tones and I’s Dance Monkey has people swaying in anticipation.
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0hyYWKXF0Q )
From stage right, a flaxen-haired fighter who’s had little more than a cup of coffee thus far in her fledgling FAWN career, cheerily moves to center stage. Vibrating with excitement in having another shot at Pay-Per-View glory after coming up short against Violyt Goodheart earlier in the year, she struts to center stage with the catchy ditty.
HEATHER CROFTON
She spins through a pirouette and vogues for the delighted devotees, a vision in yellow. The two-piece includes spandex boy-cut trunks and a cross-shoulder top, the side of the shorts, a window of criss-crossed strips. The gear is completed with white pads and boots.
( i.imgur.com/4SRiQzy.jpg ) (without the snorkel gear and in yellow)
The rookie offers a brawny double-bicep pose then starts skipping her way down the aisle, bouncing from side to side, slapping hands, joyous with the opportunity to break loose and show the fans what she can do.
The last several strides the blonde takes off in a sprint, sliding in under the bottom rope on her chest. She pushes to her feet and waggles through several exuberant, hip-swiveling spins as her music slowly fades.
The ring announcer takes the opportunity to jump in and provide an introduction only the biggest FAWNatics don’t require, though the newbie is striking a warm, friendly chord the crowd is picking up on.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a time limit of twenty minutes. First. Fighting out of Grapevine. Standing 5’4” and weighing in at 119 pounds. The Texas Danger… Heather Crofton!”
The bubbly blonde leaps into the air, dropping into a set of splits. She pumps her first at the assembled, drawing an ovation from the crowd that grows when she kips to her feet, moves to a corner and climbs to the top and shouts “Whaddya say, y’all!”
The throng responds with a feisty ovation until the sound of a rumbling tremblor overwhelms the cheers and all turn to the entrance.
The grappler from the Lone Star Girl, having made herself comfortable under the lights of Orlando, turns with the rest of masses toward the rattling sound of the quake before the arena’s speakers transition to Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’, the unmistakable vibration of Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tearing through the air.
Beautiful Girls (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ9h2m06sFQ )
No longer just the song for one of the GOATs of the organization, three-time World Champion Chrissy Daniel, the musical baton is passed to her curvy, Gen Z Quake counterpart, the ill-mannered, ass-kicking blonde brat moving to center stage. Kat Braddock settles and lets the hate wash over her, hazel eyes shut, grin blossoming.
KAT BRADDOCK:
The blonde fireplug offers the crowd a shake of her head, giving her long flaxen locks a flip over a shoulder, before heading to tonight’s fight. Briefly a fan favorite while battling FAWN’s Most Hated Kylie Sanders at the very start of her career, the relationship between the well-named Brat and the crowd continues to speed downhill as Kat flips the bird to all in view.
With a unique combination of a young Kylie’s features and a young Chrissy’s body, the Quake strides down the ramp and aisle, casting an occasional glance from side to side, sneering at the mob.
The busty blonde youngster reaches the ring in her remarkably well-knit, green crocheted bikini. She sports green pads and black ankle boots to complete the wardrobe.
Dawdling at the bottom of the ring steps, Kat collects a microphone and only then ascends and enters, the co-rookie of 2019 claiming the ring as The Brat’s playground. She takes a slow look around the confines before her gaze settles on Heather.
As Van Halen fades, the announcer breaks in with his introduction.
“And her opponent. From Newport Beach, California. Standing five feet two inches tall and weighing in at 124 pounds. The Brat. KAT BRADDOCK!”
The arena echoes with enmity, the vocal and virulent distaste quite impressive for someone so early in her career.
Properly introduced, the Cali Quake draws the amplifier to parted lips.
“Girl. I get you wanting to be me but stop trying. It ain’t workin’. I’m a household name and you look more like a barnyard animal.”
The assembled don’t seem to agree, burying Kat in an avalanche of boos. Crofton smiles, enjoying the sold-out backup.
“Wipe that off your face, bytch! Before I do it for you. Your buddy Bridget may have cheated her way to a win against Aves. And she’s on notice, her bill is coming due. You? You’ve got about three minutes before I send you back to the bingo hall from which you crawled.”
Braddock literally drops the mic and backpedals to her corner, pointing at the noob and miming break her in half.
Heather swallows hard. If she was going to get her first Pay-Per-View win it would surely come at a steep price, but she seems ready to put the down payment for success on the counter.
The bell brings the next generation blondes out of their corners, Kat slightly shorter and brawnier, looking every bit a part of Chrissy Daniel’s lineage. Meeting in the middle, they throw themselves into a collar-and-elbow and struggle for leverage, each eventually throwing the other off. A few feet removed from each other, Braddock stares a surly hole through Crofton and offers a raised right hand, flexing her fingers.
“Let’s see what ya got,” Kat growls.
Heather shows no inclination to be intimidated. Her time sparring and training with Bridget toughening her body and spirit, Miss Maverick doesn’t hesitate to respond in kind, lacing her left set of fingers with Kat’s right. The ingenues do likewise on the opposite side and instantly Kat twists the joined limbs into an underhanded grip, taking control of the test, Heather moving to tiptoes to relieve the pressure as her face is twisted in pain.
“Don’t ever think you or raggedy rock climber are on my level,” Braddock informs, going nose to nose with her fellow flaxen-haired grappler. She walks Crofton to the buckles behind her, stuffing her foe into a corner before tonight’s arbiter Craig Long calls for a break.
The Brat surprises, shaking her grips free and backing up a step with hands raised before surging back in and BURYING a knee into Heather’s midriff. Crofton folds over the invading bony cap, a breath bursting from her lips.
The seal broken on her chicanery, Kat lets her catty flag fly, snatching Heather by her chest, sinking in a pair of breast claws. Pivoting, she flips Crofton out of the corner with a sort of bosom-centric Biel throw, Heather flipping to a harsh landing on her backside. She rubs at the spandex covering her aching chest with one hand and checks her tailbone with the other as Kat moves in from her six. Braddock grabs Heather’s wrists, yanking her foe’s arms behind her. Using them as handles, she genuflects, sinking her raised knee between the shoulderblades of the Texan. Grounded surfboard locked, a snarling Kat twists and tugs on the arms, seemingly trying to remove them at the sockets.
“Wrestling isn’t fancy moves,” Kat instructs. “It’s beating the shyt out of someone who deserves it. The Natural Disaster should have told you that.”
Braddock releases Heather’s wrists and snakes her arms under and around those of Crofton, lacing her fingers behind the blonde’s neck then tugging her up with a full nelson. The Lone Star Girl writhes within the lock but can’t break free before the fireplug shows off her remarkable power per square inch, launching Heather into the air and depositing her with a Full Nelson Slam.
Full Nelson Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwMRLIiraac )
The Brat stares down, enjoying the sight of the wincing Crofton, Heather cradling her head, her boot soles pattering against the canvas. The Brat stomps the gut of the rookie, one, two, three times, each jackknifing Miss Maverick, Braddock showing her shitkicking attitude straight from the highlight reels of the Killer Imp.
Grabbing Heather’s legs at the ankles, she widens the limbs and the babyfaced blonde is ‘washing windows’ with her palms, silently pleading for Kat to change the obvious course. Braddock grins in response.
“Another little message from me to Bridge,” The Brat chuckles.
Verbal message conveyed, she delivers another more physical one, dropping a headbutt to Heather’s privates. The crowd groans in sympathy as an imploding Crofton rolls from side to side in a fetal ball, hands buried between her thighs. Crotch throbbing and the match quickly getting away from her, Heather rties to roll to an ignominious exit but Braddock’s not having it.
The new generation of Beach Kat grabs a wrist and pulls Heather out of her shell, first to her knees, where Kat cracks a knee to her foe’s temple, then to vertical where she aims Heather at the ropes and flings Crofton on her way with an Irish Whip. As the Grapevine native rebounds, she gets but a few steps from the cables before a charging Kat knocks her flat with a running hip check to the chest. The back of Heather’s skull THUMPS to the mat, Crofton nearly tumbling over in a somersault from the force of the impact, her legs elevated.
Kat takes advantage of the positioning, matchbooking Miss Maverick’s stems. The blonde’s knees planted into her chest as the Cali girl layers herself on top of the jackknife for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Heather’s able to thrust a shoulder off the canvas, tumbling to her side and sending Braddock lurching off her folded foe. A subtle roll of her head to the right shows Braddock is unhappy, The Brat having nearly broken a sweat in putting down the appetizer for her entrée of Stroud. The ‘It Girl’ from Minnesota’s backwater would become the ‘Shyt out of luck’ girl soon enough and she’d reclaim her moniker.
Looking out of her element, Heather is ripped to her feet by a handful of flaxen locks, Kat enjoying herself. She transfers her clenching fingers to a wrist and shoulder and heaves the battered blonde off again, Heather sent sprinting across the canvas, turning into a back-first collision with the buckles. Her body rocked by the force, Crofton remains upright and pays for it as a rampaging Kat is close behind, leaping into an avalanche splash, the curvy fireplug using every square inch to its most in flattening Crofton underneath her mass.
Braddock bounces away from the impact letting a waylaid Heather stagger out of the corner, the Lone Star Girl making it a few steps before the battering catches up with her, Crofton dropping to her haunches, eyes gKidy. And the clouds only gather when Kat continues the blowout, racing to a Shining Wizard to the back of Heather’s braincase, Miss Maverick pitching forward and faceplanting.
The Brat skids to a stop, turns and shakes her head at the lack of a challenge Crofton’s proving to be. She strides back to the wreckage and turns Heather over, using her boot as a shovel to send Stroud’s protégé flopping to a starfish. Kat stamps the seal on an impressive win with a boot sole to Heather’s chest, grinding it in for good measure for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The arrogance of the pin saves the faltering Texan as she’s able to wrap palms around Kat’s ankle and shove off her foe’s domineering foot. Fueled by embarrassment, she rolls to her chest and pushes to hands and knees, but Braddock takes over the rest of the way, yanking the overwhelmed Heather to her feet. But as Crofton reaches vertical, she brings a European Uppercut with her, perfectly placed under The Brat’s chin, snapping the former beach fighter’s head and, when the cranium returns as a target with a bit of wobble, Crofton multiplies, swinging in a second and a third, the latter of which puts Braddock in a backpedal only halting when she has buckles behind her.
Heather leaps to the middle ropes, a boot on either side of the post and Braddock and pushes the envelope of the rules, folding her fingers into a fist and dispensing a little Lone Star justice courtesy some right hands to Kat’s hairline, The Brat’s braincase bouncing from the battering. Before Miss Maverick can get to her full ten-spot, Braddock hooks her arms under and around Heather’s thighs and carries Crofton off her perch.
She heaves Heather’s stems outward to shake her off and send her splashing to the deck. However, Crofton laces her fingers behind Braddock’s neck and keeps them locked during the toss, yanking Kat along with her as she’s ejected, SPIKING Braddock’s features into the canvas with a modified facebuster that sends the Beach Kat absently flopping to her back, rocked for the first time in the contest.
Almost startled by the success, Heather dives atop the fireplug blonde and hooks a leg for…
ONE…
Braddock shoves a shoulder up, cursing not so much under her breath, and checking her bruised beak as she lies on her side. As Kat starts to push up, Heather’s already vertical and on the move, hitting the cables of her own accord this time and swooping back in at full speed, launching into a basement crossbody to a kneeling Kat.
Braddock’s hammies are folded atop her calves with Heather making her the folded meat of a sandwich and with no legs to use for an escape, a panicky Kat flails for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Braddock barely twists from under the smaller blonde, ending on her side and looking worriedly at Long who shows her the number of fingers she’s desperate to see, two.
The blossoming Heather hauls The Brat to her feet and Kat protests. She shoves Crofton off, Braddock using the momentum of her effort to back to the ropes and rebound at full speed, looking to dim the Lone Star Girl. But Kat and the crowd get a shocker as Heather shows off a maneuver more likely in Braddock’s arsenal, the recently slimmed down Heather, maintaining some of her power game as she LAUNCHES the charging Cali Quake into the air above her and DROPS her with a pop-up forearm.
Pop-up Forearm ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=1YleegSvlGI )
Starch removed from the fireplug, Kat’s laid out by the startling feat but has the training from her future Hall-of-Famer mentor to roll out under the bottom rope, spilling to the floor to avoid a pin that Heather might take to three.
Crofton, having chased Kat to the ropes but coming up short, hovers over the seated Braddock below. Miss Maverick seems ready to back away and allow The Brat to enter on her own time and terms, but the Sweet Disaster’s instilled a little badass into the by-the-book Lone Star Girl.
As the Cali Quake pushes to vertical, Heather sprints toward the opposite cables. She rebounds and races toward her fellow blonde, diving feet-first. As she grabs the top rope with both hands, her boots blast between the upper and middle strands, ramming into the back of Kat’s noggin. Braddock lurches forward, waist hitting the steel barricade, nearly sending the fireplug tumbling over.
Heather opens her palms and drops her boot leather to the thinly-padded cement. Again, pressing her advantage on the outside doesn’t seem natural, but she fights her instinct and grabs Kat by a shoulder and wrist, only for The Brat to spin toward her and jam a thumb into her throat. Crofton staggers away from the heinous attack, stumbling down the length of the ring, grasping at her neck and choking in breaths as Braddock follows on the prowl.
Running in from behind, Kat snatches a handful of spandex on the Texan’s hip and shoulder and flings her into the steel divider, Heather front-flipping into an overturned, spine-first crash before landing on her head and shoulders. The Quake stomps as much of a mudhole out of Heather as Castle’s growing count allows. She plucks the groaning Texan off the floor, bullies her to the apron’s edge, and tosses her in under the bottom rope.
Knowing she has a couple seconds alone before the attack resumes, Miss Maverick pushes to her feet as Braddock rolls in behind her. Unfortunately, she can’t steady herself before Kat’s racing toward her, dipping a shoulder and SPEARING the ‘don’t mess with’ right out of the Texan. The FAWNatics groan in sympathy as Heather’s matchbooked body folds around Kat’s impaling shoulder and is POUNDED into the canvas, Braddock bringing the heavy end of the Richter Scale with her gut-wrenching tackle.
With the babyfaced blonde spread before her, the invitation is engraved and Kat presses her curvy form tight to Heather’s reshaped slimmer physique, Braddock apparently starting to take things more seriously as she hooks a leg to make sure Crofton stays put through…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Miss Maverick bucks her ‘rider’ off and stays alive, rolling to her chest to prevent any hurried repeat. The move prompts Braddock to mount Heather’s back at the waistline in a forward straddle. Kat slips her arms under and around those of her foe, snaking the limbs toward each other until she can lace fingers and lock them behind the neck of the Texan.
Moving from a kneel to a crouch as she does, the former beachfighter leeeans back with her full nelson clutch. Forced to gaze painfully into the rafters as Kat bends her body in an unnatural arch, a teary-eyed Heather shakes her head as best she can when a hovering Castle asks if she wants to surrender.
“Are you sure about that, loser?” Braddock barks. “I feel like you want to quit.”
Kat forces Heather’s head into a nod but Nick’s no spring chicken and he isn’t convinced by one of the oldest tricks in the book. The Brat forces the curve in Heather’s spine even more as punishment, Crofton twisted into a brutal ‘C’ shape before a frustrated Kat, realizing the limber Texan would fight through the pain, releases her nelson and SPIKES Heather’s face into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
“You really want to be torn apart piece by piece then?” the curvy blonde asks as she rises, collecting an ankle with both hands. “I can make that happen.”
Braddock stands on the opposite ankle, pinning Crofton’s leg to the mat while lifting the stem in her possession to high noon. Heather’s blank stare shows she doesn’t understand what a terrible predicament she’s in, but The Brat makes it clear when she lays out in the opposite direction, bringing the raised leg with her and forcing the Lone Star Girl into a hateful set of splits.
Heather cries out at Kat’s landing, her hands shooting to her searing groin muscles, Chrissy’s protégé severely restricting the mobility of the rookie for the near future. As Crofton draws her legs together, hands buried between, a smirking Braddock rises.
“Looks like you need to go back to climbing school, loser. Not that anything Bridge can teach you is going to do any good against me.”
A worried-looking Heather butt-scoots her way toward a corner, trying to find a defensible position with her lower limbs in less than working order. Braddock seems more than willing to let her work her way there moving close to her foe then flinching at Crofton to garner what she finds a hilarious response. Finally, the Lone Star Girl reaches her destination and uses the ropes behind her to pull to an unsteady vertical, leaning heavily into the buckles as she carefully shakes out her legs.
Kat’s ready to renew her assault, racing from mid ring. he flings herself at an ill-prepared Heather, CRASHING into the faltering Crofton with her Beachy Crossbody, driving the wind from the blonde and following through the impact by sliding between the top and middle ropes, ending on the apron’s edge.
Beach Crossbody ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNOJH6nphR8 )
From the outside she climbs the post behind the groaning Heather. Reaching a genuflecting position to the six o’clock of her aching foe, Braddock seems ready to bring an end to a dominating performance, but Heather shows she’s got more in the tank and is willing to use it to pull off the upset.
Reaching over a shoulder, catching a shocked Kat mid-maneuver, Crofton latches onto The Brat’s braincase and sends her flying from the heights with a snap mare from the top buckle. Kat’s tailbone THUMPS into the thinly-covered plywood. She howls in pain, hands burying beneath her buttocks then flops to her side, spasmodically jerking from the pain to her rump.
The FAWNatics love every second of the comeuppance, but they know it’s not enough, chanting ‘Heather’ to get Miss Maverick back in full control while she has a window. Showing her determination, Crofton responds, pushing away from the buckles and planting a THUMPING soccer kick into Braddock’s lower spine, sending Kat’s backbone into a pronounced arch.
“You’re going to learn a thing or two, Chrissy Junior,” Heather huffs between deep breaths. “And one of them is how tough they make us in Grapevine.”
Heather peels an aching Kat off the canvas by a wrist. She heaves her fellow blonde to the far ropes with an Irish Whip, pivots and shoves her past on the first rebound. With Braddock picking up speed on her second u-turn, the Texan sends Braddock flying with a modified belly-to-belly.
Overhead belly-to-belly suplex ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qs2LV88xLI )
The ring-rattling landing has Kat reaching for the back of her skull. She tries to call another time out by rolling out of the ring. But Crofton latches onto an ankle and tugs the curvy Quake toward the middle before hauling The Brat to her feet.
Showing increasing confidence, Miss Maverick goes face to face with the Cali Quake and lays down the law as well as her hands, lighting up Braddock’s considerable cleavage with a double-barreled overhand slap, Bridget had cheekily been calling the Love Tap. Seeing the pain etched on Kat’s features after the echoing impact, it feels right to the growingly assertive Texan.
With Braddock partially bent at the waist, Heather folds her further with a delving toe kick to the tummy. She snatches The Brat’s lowered noggin and draws it between her sinewy stems, clamping down with a head scissors, locking her ankles in the process. Heather’s thighs tense as she tries to crack her foe’s cranium like a nut, but when Kat surrounds the stems with her arms and starts to lift, Crofton releases her scissors out of survival.
The powerpacked Brat flips Crofton over her shoulders, toward a back body drop, but the Texan manages to stick the landing behind her foe. She turns and grabs Kat’s head, yanking it into a ¾ facelock. With the Cali Quake in tow, Heather heads for the nearest corner, hops to the middle buckle and backflips to a landing on her knees, PLANTING the back of Braddock’s skull into the deck with a brain-battering Shiranui.
Shiranui ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoyDE-F5lO4 ) 00:15
Heather dives across the splayed form of Braddock in a lateral press, Castle slapping the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The FAWNatics groan in unison as Kat kicks free with Castle’s hand a few inches off the canvas. The zebra makes sure there’s no mistake, rising and gesticulating emphatically the match continues. The green-eyed Texan slaps the canvas in disappointment but knows better than to waste much time with Braddock in dire straits.
Rising, she plucks Kat’s stems off the canvas at the ankles. If anyone’s hoping for a retaliatory butt to the nethers, they’re disappointed. Instead, Heather begins to pivot in order to flip The Brat to her chest and settle into a crouch and apply a Boston Crab putting more strain on the spine of the Cali Quake.
Kat pinwheels her arms wildly as she fights the growing tide of the brewing upset. Moved to her side, the curvy fireplug blonde tries to halt the progress of Miss Maverick, but Heather finally rotates Kat to her chest and lowers her cheeks toward Braddock’s, pulling the yelping Kat into an unnatural arch. The Crab tests the abbreviated, muscular stems of the beachfighter but even more so her searing spinal column. Kat sinks her nails into her scalp and yanks her long, golden tresses, trying to spread the pain.
Heather sinks lower and the moment of escape is lost. Feeling like she’s about to be snapped in two by the Lone Star Girl, Kat’s right palm wavers over the canvas, Castle asking if the quaking Quake wants to quit. But instead of dropping it to the canvas, she shakes an index finger at Nick then digs her nails into the deck to try and drag herself and Heather to the ropes.
It’s agonizingly slow going for the mewling Brat, but she’s got Crofton slowly backpedaling and, after an eternity of a dozen and a half seconds, she wraps an index and middle finger around the bottom cable, squealing for release.
Heather’s slow to respond to Castle’s first request. She’s scolded then counted up to ‘FOUR’, only surrendering her submission when within a single count of disqualification.
“I am aware,” she says sweetly to Nick, a guilty smile firmly planted. “But Bridget would dress me down if I didn’t.
Heather backs away as Castle intervenes, giving Braddock room to slowly pull her way up with the help of the cables. Wobbling away from the strands, one hand working at her knotted lower back, Kat is a ready-made target for Heather’s first big league win. She moves to Braddock’s side, grabbing an arm and lifting it high while ducking her head under the bent torso of the doubled Brat, preparing her foe for a Texas Tornado.
Texas Tornado ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYQacdoLnEM ) 00:46
But as Heather moves her free arm behind Braddock’s near knee to sweep her to the deck in violent fashion, Braddock manages to bang a pointed elbow into the back of Heather’s neck and noggin, interrupting The Brat’s swan song and Crofton’s inaugural victory celebration.
Miss Maverick backs out a step from her lowered stance, her head ringing from the blows to her cranium. But she doesn’t get any further, Kat grabbing her by both shoulders with white-knuckle grips, the blonde’s face to face at arm’s length. The Brat’s braincase thrusts forward, the curvy if vertically-challenged blonde’s forehead snapping into the cleft of Heather’s bosom, the Quake’s unusual but effective Heart Butt, tripping Crofton’s heart into unsteady strokes.
Heather’s legs give a shimmy and her lids flutter, emerald pools going half-white as the blast to her blood-pumper has her out of sorts, a bad place to be in front of an aggravated Beach Brat.
With Heather in a daze, Braddock snatches a wrist and whips the Lone Star Girl into a gallop, Crofton turning into a ring-rattling collision with a corner. Kat doubles down on the impact, following quickly behind with an enveloping, leaping splash atop the rookie that seems to drain the scrap out of the Texan.
Looking shellshocked, Heather doesn’t respond as a busy Braddock lifts one leg and laces it over the top of the middle rope. She grabs the opposite stem and places it over the cable on the other side of the corner, suspiciously stretching out Miss Maverick’s legs wide. Heather’s already yipping from her strained groin, but those searing muscles aren’t half of the less than sweet disaster the beachfighter has planned for her foe.
As Heather weakly struggles to find a way loose, Kat trots to the opposite corner, turns and sprints toward the wide-eyed, pleading bullseye. But there’s no stopping Kat’s Sand Blaster, Braddock leaping into a dropkick to Heather’s kitty.
Crofton’s eyes roll completely pale from the scurrilous attack, the pain putting the Texan on tilt as she tumbles forward, thankfully and pitifully flopping to the canvas and curdling into a fetal ball, moaning, her hands buried between her thighs.
“You said you wanted her out of the corner,” Kat accurately counters Castle’s argument while shrugging. “She’s out.”
The flaxen-haired fireplug grabs her foe’s ankles and drags Crofton to center stage, pulling her out of the shell and into a teary-eyed seat. Braddock spreads the legs to a 90-degree angle, just to the point of testing the aching groin of her foe. She races to the ropes behind her, hits, rebounds and vaults toward her opponent, landing a spread-leg dropkick that catches the inside of Heather’s knees, forcing the stems WIDE at a precipitous pace.
Heather howls in agony as a grinning Kat scoots her booty into Crofton’s lap, the Texan’s lower limbs stuck wide, frozen in pain. The Cali Quake curls her lower limbs around the midriff of the Lone Star Girl, cinching a scissors tight, crushing her foe’s ribs, making it awfully uncomfortable to breathe.
And when Kat’s arms encircle Heather’s head, pulling her foe’s nose and mouth forward into the deep cleavage of the Beach Kat’s dunes, Kat’s Brat Pack finisher is fully realized.
Heather squirms topside, trying to escape the fleshy prison but without her legs in working order, there’s no way out. And without any oxygen incoming, the battle having drained her, the arms of the Kid grow leaden and uncoordinated. Soon they’re draped lifelessly over the shoulders of The Brat.
The familiar feel of drool down the cleft of her bosom lets Kat know tonight’s fight is won. It takes Nick a few ticks longer to check on the unmoving Crofton, lifting Heather’s arm high by the wrist and letting it drop to her side. Growing concerned, Castle follows protocol as quickly as possible, lifting and dropping a second and third time before speedily calling for the bell.
Leaping to his feet he motions the match over, but Braddock seems less sure, keeping Heather’s face entombed in her bounty until Nick threatens her with disqualification. Only then does the Cali Quake let Heather’s upper half melt to the mat between her extended stems.
Kat releases her scissors and climbs to her feet, planting a boot on Heather’s softly swelling chest. She turns to the nearest lens, looking considerably worse for wear after the difficult battle but supremely confident all the same.
“Now that’s a disaster,” she shouts to a certain roster member who needn’t be named. “And if you want to find out in person what me and/or Avery can and will do to the likes of you and your little bimbo, let’s take it to Slaybor Day. If you’ve got the guts!”
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0hyYWKXF0Q )
From stage right, a flaxen-haired fighter who’s had little more than a cup of coffee thus far in her fledgling FAWN career, cheerily moves to center stage. Vibrating with excitement in having another shot at Pay-Per-View glory after coming up short against Violyt Goodheart earlier in the year, she struts to center stage with the catchy ditty.
HEATHER CROFTON
She spins through a pirouette and vogues for the delighted devotees, a vision in yellow. The two-piece includes spandex boy-cut trunks and a cross-shoulder top, the side of the shorts, a window of criss-crossed strips. The gear is completed with white pads and boots.
( i.imgur.com/4SRiQzy.jpg ) (without the snorkel gear and in yellow)
The rookie offers a brawny double-bicep pose then starts skipping her way down the aisle, bouncing from side to side, slapping hands, joyous with the opportunity to break loose and show the fans what she can do.
The last several strides the blonde takes off in a sprint, sliding in under the bottom rope on her chest. She pushes to her feet and waggles through several exuberant, hip-swiveling spins as her music slowly fades.
The ring announcer takes the opportunity to jump in and provide an introduction only the biggest FAWNatics don’t require, though the newbie is striking a warm, friendly chord the crowd is picking up on.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a time limit of twenty minutes. First. Fighting out of Grapevine. Standing 5’4” and weighing in at 119 pounds. The Texas Danger… Heather Crofton!”
The bubbly blonde leaps into the air, dropping into a set of splits. She pumps her first at the assembled, drawing an ovation from the crowd that grows when she kips to her feet, moves to a corner and climbs to the top and shouts “Whaddya say, y’all!”
The throng responds with a feisty ovation until the sound of a rumbling tremblor overwhelms the cheers and all turn to the entrance.
The grappler from the Lone Star Girl, having made herself comfortable under the lights of Orlando, turns with the rest of masses toward the rattling sound of the quake before the arena’s speakers transition to Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’, the unmistakable vibration of Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tearing through the air.
Beautiful Girls (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bJ9h2m06sFQ )
No longer just the song for one of the GOATs of the organization, three-time World Champion Chrissy Daniel, the musical baton is passed to her curvy, Gen Z Quake counterpart, the ill-mannered, ass-kicking blonde brat moving to center stage. Kat Braddock settles and lets the hate wash over her, hazel eyes shut, grin blossoming.
KAT BRADDOCK:
The blonde fireplug offers the crowd a shake of her head, giving her long flaxen locks a flip over a shoulder, before heading to tonight’s fight. Briefly a fan favorite while battling FAWN’s Most Hated Kylie Sanders at the very start of her career, the relationship between the well-named Brat and the crowd continues to speed downhill as Kat flips the bird to all in view.
With a unique combination of a young Kylie’s features and a young Chrissy’s body, the Quake strides down the ramp and aisle, casting an occasional glance from side to side, sneering at the mob.
The busty blonde youngster reaches the ring in her remarkably well-knit, green crocheted bikini. She sports green pads and black ankle boots to complete the wardrobe.
Dawdling at the bottom of the ring steps, Kat collects a microphone and only then ascends and enters, the co-rookie of 2019 claiming the ring as The Brat’s playground. She takes a slow look around the confines before her gaze settles on Heather.
As Van Halen fades, the announcer breaks in with his introduction.
“And her opponent. From Newport Beach, California. Standing five feet two inches tall and weighing in at 124 pounds. The Brat. KAT BRADDOCK!”
The arena echoes with enmity, the vocal and virulent distaste quite impressive for someone so early in her career.
Properly introduced, the Cali Quake draws the amplifier to parted lips.
“Girl. I get you wanting to be me but stop trying. It ain’t workin’. I’m a household name and you look more like a barnyard animal.”
The assembled don’t seem to agree, burying Kat in an avalanche of boos. Crofton smiles, enjoying the sold-out backup.
“Wipe that off your face, bytch! Before I do it for you. Your buddy Bridget may have cheated her way to a win against Aves. And she’s on notice, her bill is coming due. You? You’ve got about three minutes before I send you back to the bingo hall from which you crawled.”
Braddock literally drops the mic and backpedals to her corner, pointing at the noob and miming break her in half.
Heather swallows hard. If she was going to get her first Pay-Per-View win it would surely come at a steep price, but she seems ready to put the down payment for success on the counter.
The bell brings the next generation blondes out of their corners, Kat slightly shorter and brawnier, looking every bit a part of Chrissy Daniel’s lineage. Meeting in the middle, they throw themselves into a collar-and-elbow and struggle for leverage, each eventually throwing the other off. A few feet removed from each other, Braddock stares a surly hole through Crofton and offers a raised right hand, flexing her fingers.
“Let’s see what ya got,” Kat growls.
Heather shows no inclination to be intimidated. Her time sparring and training with Bridget toughening her body and spirit, Miss Maverick doesn’t hesitate to respond in kind, lacing her left set of fingers with Kat’s right. The ingenues do likewise on the opposite side and instantly Kat twists the joined limbs into an underhanded grip, taking control of the test, Heather moving to tiptoes to relieve the pressure as her face is twisted in pain.
“Don’t ever think you or raggedy rock climber are on my level,” Braddock informs, going nose to nose with her fellow flaxen-haired grappler. She walks Crofton to the buckles behind her, stuffing her foe into a corner before tonight’s arbiter Craig Long calls for a break.
The Brat surprises, shaking her grips free and backing up a step with hands raised before surging back in and BURYING a knee into Heather’s midriff. Crofton folds over the invading bony cap, a breath bursting from her lips.
The seal broken on her chicanery, Kat lets her catty flag fly, snatching Heather by her chest, sinking in a pair of breast claws. Pivoting, she flips Crofton out of the corner with a sort of bosom-centric Biel throw, Heather flipping to a harsh landing on her backside. She rubs at the spandex covering her aching chest with one hand and checks her tailbone with the other as Kat moves in from her six. Braddock grabs Heather’s wrists, yanking her foe’s arms behind her. Using them as handles, she genuflects, sinking her raised knee between the shoulderblades of the Texan. Grounded surfboard locked, a snarling Kat twists and tugs on the arms, seemingly trying to remove them at the sockets.
“Wrestling isn’t fancy moves,” Kat instructs. “It’s beating the shyt out of someone who deserves it. The Natural Disaster should have told you that.”
Braddock releases Heather’s wrists and snakes her arms under and around those of Crofton, lacing her fingers behind the blonde’s neck then tugging her up with a full nelson. The Lone Star Girl writhes within the lock but can’t break free before the fireplug shows off her remarkable power per square inch, launching Heather into the air and depositing her with a Full Nelson Slam.
Full Nelson Slam ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=XwMRLIiraac )
The Brat stares down, enjoying the sight of the wincing Crofton, Heather cradling her head, her boot soles pattering against the canvas. The Brat stomps the gut of the rookie, one, two, three times, each jackknifing Miss Maverick, Braddock showing her shitkicking attitude straight from the highlight reels of the Killer Imp.
Grabbing Heather’s legs at the ankles, she widens the limbs and the babyfaced blonde is ‘washing windows’ with her palms, silently pleading for Kat to change the obvious course. Braddock grins in response.
“Another little message from me to Bridge,” The Brat chuckles.
Verbal message conveyed, she delivers another more physical one, dropping a headbutt to Heather’s privates. The crowd groans in sympathy as an imploding Crofton rolls from side to side in a fetal ball, hands buried between her thighs. Crotch throbbing and the match quickly getting away from her, Heather rties to roll to an ignominious exit but Braddock’s not having it.
The new generation of Beach Kat grabs a wrist and pulls Heather out of her shell, first to her knees, where Kat cracks a knee to her foe’s temple, then to vertical where she aims Heather at the ropes and flings Crofton on her way with an Irish Whip. As the Grapevine native rebounds, she gets but a few steps from the cables before a charging Kat knocks her flat with a running hip check to the chest. The back of Heather’s skull THUMPS to the mat, Crofton nearly tumbling over in a somersault from the force of the impact, her legs elevated.
Kat takes advantage of the positioning, matchbooking Miss Maverick’s stems. The blonde’s knees planted into her chest as the Cali girl layers herself on top of the jackknife for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Heather’s able to thrust a shoulder off the canvas, tumbling to her side and sending Braddock lurching off her folded foe. A subtle roll of her head to the right shows Braddock is unhappy, The Brat having nearly broken a sweat in putting down the appetizer for her entrée of Stroud. The ‘It Girl’ from Minnesota’s backwater would become the ‘Shyt out of luck’ girl soon enough and she’d reclaim her moniker.
Looking out of her element, Heather is ripped to her feet by a handful of flaxen locks, Kat enjoying herself. She transfers her clenching fingers to a wrist and shoulder and heaves the battered blonde off again, Heather sent sprinting across the canvas, turning into a back-first collision with the buckles. Her body rocked by the force, Crofton remains upright and pays for it as a rampaging Kat is close behind, leaping into an avalanche splash, the curvy fireplug using every square inch to its most in flattening Crofton underneath her mass.
Braddock bounces away from the impact letting a waylaid Heather stagger out of the corner, the Lone Star Girl making it a few steps before the battering catches up with her, Crofton dropping to her haunches, eyes gKidy. And the clouds only gather when Kat continues the blowout, racing to a Shining Wizard to the back of Heather’s braincase, Miss Maverick pitching forward and faceplanting.
The Brat skids to a stop, turns and shakes her head at the lack of a challenge Crofton’s proving to be. She strides back to the wreckage and turns Heather over, using her boot as a shovel to send Stroud’s protégé flopping to a starfish. Kat stamps the seal on an impressive win with a boot sole to Heather’s chest, grinding it in for good measure for the…
ONE…
TWO…
The arrogance of the pin saves the faltering Texan as she’s able to wrap palms around Kat’s ankle and shove off her foe’s domineering foot. Fueled by embarrassment, she rolls to her chest and pushes to hands and knees, but Braddock takes over the rest of the way, yanking the overwhelmed Heather to her feet. But as Crofton reaches vertical, she brings a European Uppercut with her, perfectly placed under The Brat’s chin, snapping the former beach fighter’s head and, when the cranium returns as a target with a bit of wobble, Crofton multiplies, swinging in a second and a third, the latter of which puts Braddock in a backpedal only halting when she has buckles behind her.
Heather leaps to the middle ropes, a boot on either side of the post and Braddock and pushes the envelope of the rules, folding her fingers into a fist and dispensing a little Lone Star justice courtesy some right hands to Kat’s hairline, The Brat’s braincase bouncing from the battering. Before Miss Maverick can get to her full ten-spot, Braddock hooks her arms under and around Heather’s thighs and carries Crofton off her perch.
She heaves Heather’s stems outward to shake her off and send her splashing to the deck. However, Crofton laces her fingers behind Braddock’s neck and keeps them locked during the toss, yanking Kat along with her as she’s ejected, SPIKING Braddock’s features into the canvas with a modified facebuster that sends the Beach Kat absently flopping to her back, rocked for the first time in the contest.
Almost startled by the success, Heather dives atop the fireplug blonde and hooks a leg for…
ONE…
Braddock shoves a shoulder up, cursing not so much under her breath, and checking her bruised beak as she lies on her side. As Kat starts to push up, Heather’s already vertical and on the move, hitting the cables of her own accord this time and swooping back in at full speed, launching into a basement crossbody to a kneeling Kat.
Braddock’s hammies are folded atop her calves with Heather making her the folded meat of a sandwich and with no legs to use for an escape, a panicky Kat flails for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Braddock barely twists from under the smaller blonde, ending on her side and looking worriedly at Long who shows her the number of fingers she’s desperate to see, two.
The blossoming Heather hauls The Brat to her feet and Kat protests. She shoves Crofton off, Braddock using the momentum of her effort to back to the ropes and rebound at full speed, looking to dim the Lone Star Girl. But Kat and the crowd get a shocker as Heather shows off a maneuver more likely in Braddock’s arsenal, the recently slimmed down Heather, maintaining some of her power game as she LAUNCHES the charging Cali Quake into the air above her and DROPS her with a pop-up forearm.
Pop-up Forearm ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=1YleegSvlGI )
Starch removed from the fireplug, Kat’s laid out by the startling feat but has the training from her future Hall-of-Famer mentor to roll out under the bottom rope, spilling to the floor to avoid a pin that Heather might take to three.
Crofton, having chased Kat to the ropes but coming up short, hovers over the seated Braddock below. Miss Maverick seems ready to back away and allow The Brat to enter on her own time and terms, but the Sweet Disaster’s instilled a little badass into the by-the-book Lone Star Girl.
As the Cali Quake pushes to vertical, Heather sprints toward the opposite cables. She rebounds and races toward her fellow blonde, diving feet-first. As she grabs the top rope with both hands, her boots blast between the upper and middle strands, ramming into the back of Kat’s noggin. Braddock lurches forward, waist hitting the steel barricade, nearly sending the fireplug tumbling over.
Heather opens her palms and drops her boot leather to the thinly-padded cement. Again, pressing her advantage on the outside doesn’t seem natural, but she fights her instinct and grabs Kat by a shoulder and wrist, only for The Brat to spin toward her and jam a thumb into her throat. Crofton staggers away from the heinous attack, stumbling down the length of the ring, grasping at her neck and choking in breaths as Braddock follows on the prowl.
Running in from behind, Kat snatches a handful of spandex on the Texan’s hip and shoulder and flings her into the steel divider, Heather front-flipping into an overturned, spine-first crash before landing on her head and shoulders. The Quake stomps as much of a mudhole out of Heather as Castle’s growing count allows. She plucks the groaning Texan off the floor, bullies her to the apron’s edge, and tosses her in under the bottom rope.
Knowing she has a couple seconds alone before the attack resumes, Miss Maverick pushes to her feet as Braddock rolls in behind her. Unfortunately, she can’t steady herself before Kat’s racing toward her, dipping a shoulder and SPEARING the ‘don’t mess with’ right out of the Texan. The FAWNatics groan in sympathy as Heather’s matchbooked body folds around Kat’s impaling shoulder and is POUNDED into the canvas, Braddock bringing the heavy end of the Richter Scale with her gut-wrenching tackle.
With the babyfaced blonde spread before her, the invitation is engraved and Kat presses her curvy form tight to Heather’s reshaped slimmer physique, Braddock apparently starting to take things more seriously as she hooks a leg to make sure Crofton stays put through…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Miss Maverick bucks her ‘rider’ off and stays alive, rolling to her chest to prevent any hurried repeat. The move prompts Braddock to mount Heather’s back at the waistline in a forward straddle. Kat slips her arms under and around those of her foe, snaking the limbs toward each other until she can lace fingers and lock them behind the neck of the Texan.
Moving from a kneel to a crouch as she does, the former beachfighter leeeans back with her full nelson clutch. Forced to gaze painfully into the rafters as Kat bends her body in an unnatural arch, a teary-eyed Heather shakes her head as best she can when a hovering Castle asks if she wants to surrender.
“Are you sure about that, loser?” Braddock barks. “I feel like you want to quit.”
Kat forces Heather’s head into a nod but Nick’s no spring chicken and he isn’t convinced by one of the oldest tricks in the book. The Brat forces the curve in Heather’s spine even more as punishment, Crofton twisted into a brutal ‘C’ shape before a frustrated Kat, realizing the limber Texan would fight through the pain, releases her nelson and SPIKES Heather’s face into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
“You really want to be torn apart piece by piece then?” the curvy blonde asks as she rises, collecting an ankle with both hands. “I can make that happen.”
Braddock stands on the opposite ankle, pinning Crofton’s leg to the mat while lifting the stem in her possession to high noon. Heather’s blank stare shows she doesn’t understand what a terrible predicament she’s in, but The Brat makes it clear when she lays out in the opposite direction, bringing the raised leg with her and forcing the Lone Star Girl into a hateful set of splits.
Heather cries out at Kat’s landing, her hands shooting to her searing groin muscles, Chrissy’s protégé severely restricting the mobility of the rookie for the near future. As Crofton draws her legs together, hands buried between, a smirking Braddock rises.
“Looks like you need to go back to climbing school, loser. Not that anything Bridge can teach you is going to do any good against me.”
A worried-looking Heather butt-scoots her way toward a corner, trying to find a defensible position with her lower limbs in less than working order. Braddock seems more than willing to let her work her way there moving close to her foe then flinching at Crofton to garner what she finds a hilarious response. Finally, the Lone Star Girl reaches her destination and uses the ropes behind her to pull to an unsteady vertical, leaning heavily into the buckles as she carefully shakes out her legs.
Kat’s ready to renew her assault, racing from mid ring. he flings herself at an ill-prepared Heather, CRASHING into the faltering Crofton with her Beachy Crossbody, driving the wind from the blonde and following through the impact by sliding between the top and middle ropes, ending on the apron’s edge.
Beach Crossbody ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=xNOJH6nphR8 )
From the outside she climbs the post behind the groaning Heather. Reaching a genuflecting position to the six o’clock of her aching foe, Braddock seems ready to bring an end to a dominating performance, but Heather shows she’s got more in the tank and is willing to use it to pull off the upset.
Reaching over a shoulder, catching a shocked Kat mid-maneuver, Crofton latches onto The Brat’s braincase and sends her flying from the heights with a snap mare from the top buckle. Kat’s tailbone THUMPS into the thinly-covered plywood. She howls in pain, hands burying beneath her buttocks then flops to her side, spasmodically jerking from the pain to her rump.
The FAWNatics love every second of the comeuppance, but they know it’s not enough, chanting ‘Heather’ to get Miss Maverick back in full control while she has a window. Showing her determination, Crofton responds, pushing away from the buckles and planting a THUMPING soccer kick into Braddock’s lower spine, sending Kat’s backbone into a pronounced arch.
“You’re going to learn a thing or two, Chrissy Junior,” Heather huffs between deep breaths. “And one of them is how tough they make us in Grapevine.”
Heather peels an aching Kat off the canvas by a wrist. She heaves her fellow blonde to the far ropes with an Irish Whip, pivots and shoves her past on the first rebound. With Braddock picking up speed on her second u-turn, the Texan sends Braddock flying with a modified belly-to-belly.
Overhead belly-to-belly suplex ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qs2LV88xLI )
The ring-rattling landing has Kat reaching for the back of her skull. She tries to call another time out by rolling out of the ring. But Crofton latches onto an ankle and tugs the curvy Quake toward the middle before hauling The Brat to her feet.
Showing increasing confidence, Miss Maverick goes face to face with the Cali Quake and lays down the law as well as her hands, lighting up Braddock’s considerable cleavage with a double-barreled overhand slap, Bridget had cheekily been calling the Love Tap. Seeing the pain etched on Kat’s features after the echoing impact, it feels right to the growingly assertive Texan.
With Braddock partially bent at the waist, Heather folds her further with a delving toe kick to the tummy. She snatches The Brat’s lowered noggin and draws it between her sinewy stems, clamping down with a head scissors, locking her ankles in the process. Heather’s thighs tense as she tries to crack her foe’s cranium like a nut, but when Kat surrounds the stems with her arms and starts to lift, Crofton releases her scissors out of survival.
The powerpacked Brat flips Crofton over her shoulders, toward a back body drop, but the Texan manages to stick the landing behind her foe. She turns and grabs Kat’s head, yanking it into a ¾ facelock. With the Cali Quake in tow, Heather heads for the nearest corner, hops to the middle buckle and backflips to a landing on her knees, PLANTING the back of Braddock’s skull into the deck with a brain-battering Shiranui.
Shiranui ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=uoyDE-F5lO4 ) 00:15
Heather dives across the splayed form of Braddock in a lateral press, Castle slapping the canvas for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The FAWNatics groan in unison as Kat kicks free with Castle’s hand a few inches off the canvas. The zebra makes sure there’s no mistake, rising and gesticulating emphatically the match continues. The green-eyed Texan slaps the canvas in disappointment but knows better than to waste much time with Braddock in dire straits.
Rising, she plucks Kat’s stems off the canvas at the ankles. If anyone’s hoping for a retaliatory butt to the nethers, they’re disappointed. Instead, Heather begins to pivot in order to flip The Brat to her chest and settle into a crouch and apply a Boston Crab putting more strain on the spine of the Cali Quake.
Kat pinwheels her arms wildly as she fights the growing tide of the brewing upset. Moved to her side, the curvy fireplug blonde tries to halt the progress of Miss Maverick, but Heather finally rotates Kat to her chest and lowers her cheeks toward Braddock’s, pulling the yelping Kat into an unnatural arch. The Crab tests the abbreviated, muscular stems of the beachfighter but even more so her searing spinal column. Kat sinks her nails into her scalp and yanks her long, golden tresses, trying to spread the pain.
Heather sinks lower and the moment of escape is lost. Feeling like she’s about to be snapped in two by the Lone Star Girl, Kat’s right palm wavers over the canvas, Castle asking if the quaking Quake wants to quit. But instead of dropping it to the canvas, she shakes an index finger at Nick then digs her nails into the deck to try and drag herself and Heather to the ropes.
It’s agonizingly slow going for the mewling Brat, but she’s got Crofton slowly backpedaling and, after an eternity of a dozen and a half seconds, she wraps an index and middle finger around the bottom cable, squealing for release.
Heather’s slow to respond to Castle’s first request. She’s scolded then counted up to ‘FOUR’, only surrendering her submission when within a single count of disqualification.
“I am aware,” she says sweetly to Nick, a guilty smile firmly planted. “But Bridget would dress me down if I didn’t.
Heather backs away as Castle intervenes, giving Braddock room to slowly pull her way up with the help of the cables. Wobbling away from the strands, one hand working at her knotted lower back, Kat is a ready-made target for Heather’s first big league win. She moves to Braddock’s side, grabbing an arm and lifting it high while ducking her head under the bent torso of the doubled Brat, preparing her foe for a Texas Tornado.
Texas Tornado ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=AYQacdoLnEM ) 00:46
But as Heather moves her free arm behind Braddock’s near knee to sweep her to the deck in violent fashion, Braddock manages to bang a pointed elbow into the back of Heather’s neck and noggin, interrupting The Brat’s swan song and Crofton’s inaugural victory celebration.
Miss Maverick backs out a step from her lowered stance, her head ringing from the blows to her cranium. But she doesn’t get any further, Kat grabbing her by both shoulders with white-knuckle grips, the blonde’s face to face at arm’s length. The Brat’s braincase thrusts forward, the curvy if vertically-challenged blonde’s forehead snapping into the cleft of Heather’s bosom, the Quake’s unusual but effective Heart Butt, tripping Crofton’s heart into unsteady strokes.
Heather’s legs give a shimmy and her lids flutter, emerald pools going half-white as the blast to her blood-pumper has her out of sorts, a bad place to be in front of an aggravated Beach Brat.
With Heather in a daze, Braddock snatches a wrist and whips the Lone Star Girl into a gallop, Crofton turning into a ring-rattling collision with a corner. Kat doubles down on the impact, following quickly behind with an enveloping, leaping splash atop the rookie that seems to drain the scrap out of the Texan.
Looking shellshocked, Heather doesn’t respond as a busy Braddock lifts one leg and laces it over the top of the middle rope. She grabs the opposite stem and places it over the cable on the other side of the corner, suspiciously stretching out Miss Maverick’s legs wide. Heather’s already yipping from her strained groin, but those searing muscles aren’t half of the less than sweet disaster the beachfighter has planned for her foe.
As Heather weakly struggles to find a way loose, Kat trots to the opposite corner, turns and sprints toward the wide-eyed, pleading bullseye. But there’s no stopping Kat’s Sand Blaster, Braddock leaping into a dropkick to Heather’s kitty.
Crofton’s eyes roll completely pale from the scurrilous attack, the pain putting the Texan on tilt as she tumbles forward, thankfully and pitifully flopping to the canvas and curdling into a fetal ball, moaning, her hands buried between her thighs.
“You said you wanted her out of the corner,” Kat accurately counters Castle’s argument while shrugging. “She’s out.”
The flaxen-haired fireplug grabs her foe’s ankles and drags Crofton to center stage, pulling her out of the shell and into a teary-eyed seat. Braddock spreads the legs to a 90-degree angle, just to the point of testing the aching groin of her foe. She races to the ropes behind her, hits, rebounds and vaults toward her opponent, landing a spread-leg dropkick that catches the inside of Heather’s knees, forcing the stems WIDE at a precipitous pace.
Heather howls in agony as a grinning Kat scoots her booty into Crofton’s lap, the Texan’s lower limbs stuck wide, frozen in pain. The Cali Quake curls her lower limbs around the midriff of the Lone Star Girl, cinching a scissors tight, crushing her foe’s ribs, making it awfully uncomfortable to breathe.
And when Kat’s arms encircle Heather’s head, pulling her foe’s nose and mouth forward into the deep cleavage of the Beach Kat’s dunes, Kat’s Brat Pack finisher is fully realized.
Heather squirms topside, trying to escape the fleshy prison but without her legs in working order, there’s no way out. And without any oxygen incoming, the battle having drained her, the arms of the Kid grow leaden and uncoordinated. Soon they’re draped lifelessly over the shoulders of The Brat.
The familiar feel of drool down the cleft of her bosom lets Kat know tonight’s fight is won. It takes Nick a few ticks longer to check on the unmoving Crofton, lifting Heather’s arm high by the wrist and letting it drop to her side. Growing concerned, Castle follows protocol as quickly as possible, lifting and dropping a second and third time before speedily calling for the bell.
Leaping to his feet he motions the match over, but Braddock seems less sure, keeping Heather’s face entombed in her bounty until Nick threatens her with disqualification. Only then does the Cali Quake let Heather’s upper half melt to the mat between her extended stems.
Kat releases her scissors and climbs to her feet, planting a boot on Heather’s softly swelling chest. She turns to the nearest lens, looking considerably worse for wear after the difficult battle but supremely confident all the same.
“Now that’s a disaster,” she shouts to a certain roster member who needn’t be named. “And if you want to find out in person what me and/or Avery can and will do to the likes of you and your little bimbo, let’s take it to Slaybor Day. If you’ve got the guts!”