Post by hawkeye on Apr 5, 2021 0:57:55 GMT
Apparently dispensing with the Raven in a once and for all revenge match could catch a few eyes of the powers that be and having a manager who intimately knew her way around FAWN negotiations and contracts and could get in their ears didn’t hurt either. The result for the Golden Empress was the main event at March to War and a shot to bring down the reigning, defending Army of One as World Champion.
Portia kneaded the shoulders of the Bollywood Bombshell, Singh shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other.
“She’s all yours. Guaranteed. You’re stronger. You’re meaner. You want it more,” VanBuren whispered in Singh’s ear.
“Sad little Army grunt doesn’t want any of you. Just treat her like that raggedy Raven and you’ll be the power in this organization.”
A glittering grin blossomed across Amara’s features and she asked Baby for a literal hand up. The slender socialite cupped her hands together, lowering them to accept the Indian’s bare right sole. With a ‘hup’, Amara’s lifted gracefully into her iconic conveyance.
“HIS-TOH-REEE,” Singh responded. “Let’s go.”
VanBuren nodded and waved her hand at a nearby FAWN flunky.
The captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s ‘Exotic’ broke through the murmur on the opposite side of the curtains, the accompaniment heralding the Subcontinental Siren.
EXOTIC:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU
Moving through the cloth divider, the set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals carried their golden-brown royal. Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh drew the enmity of nearly every FAWNatic.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths bore the ornate bed where upon the Bollywood Bombshell reclined. As the ‘exotic’ grappler was carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics peppered her with boos. And the anger only grew when the long-scorned Manhattanite manager appeared, VanBuren shouting directions at Singh’s transporters.
PORTIA VANBUREN
Flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs; a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank, short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies, VanBuren skipped past and led the men and their ‘beloved’ Empress to the war zone. In Baby’s right hand was Precious, Portia pointing the way to the ring with her polo mallet.
Behind and above, the copper-skinned beauty writhed seductively on her cushioned platform to the sound of the catchy beat. Below, the men’s gaze never left Portia, oblivious to the outstretched hands of the fans and the movements of the bronzed, ebony-haired beauty above.
The Announcer greeted the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit and is for the FAWN WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, the challenger. Hailing from Cawnpore, India, she stands at five feet six inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and thirty-three pounds. She is the Empress… AMARA SINGH!”
Having reached their destination, the men lowered the palanquin so it’s even with the apron. Singh gracefully slid from bedside to ringside. Portia took the nearby steps and helped Amara slip from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease drew a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moved through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara was clad in a lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fell just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raised a microphone to her full rosy lips, but VanBuren, having entered behind, requested Amara provide her the amplifier.
“There’s a reason I support this woman,” Portia began, the crowd’s volume slowly lowering, “She is the best I’ve ever seen. She proved that becoming a Tag Team champion. She proved it in dispatching Alexis when the so-called Phenom proved herself so much dead weight. And she proved it again last month in plucking the Raven, making that scrawny bytch a flightless bird for the rest of her career.
“Tonight, we move to a different level. The level my and your Empress always belonged. The best in the business. And by the end of the evening your Jersey trash champion, that blockheaded camo catastrophe will be kissing the feet of her conqueror and placing the belt around the bronzed abs of the ultimate exotic.”
The FAWNatics didn’t seem to appreciate Portia’s prediction and they let her know.
Sneering at their jeers, VanBuren dropped the mic and led Singh to her corner where the duo discussed strategy, the importance of every word heightened by the supreme prize on the line.
The crowd was still voicing their disdain for the Bollywood Bombshell when the Announcer went on. “And introducing their opponent! Hailing from Denver, Colorado she stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty-three pounds. They call her the Peacekeeper, the BFG and the Camouflage Crusher! She is the reigning and defending FAWN World Champion, this is BECKY CLAYTON!”
‘White Flag’ grumbled through the speakers to ensure everyone was on their feet before the One Woman Army made her arrival.
WHITE FLAG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWzZeA2GMsk
Take a hit, shoot me down, shoot me down
I won't ever hit the ground, hit the ground
Playing dead, I'll never do
Gotta keep an eye on you
Patience is wearing thin, paper thin
Promises broke again, what a sin
But it only feeds my energy
So don't expect no sympathy
Smoke, fire, it's all going up
Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood?
Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up!
BECKY CLAYTON:
The chorus started in time with Clayton’s entrance, the hardbody battler marching through the curtains to claim the spotlight at the center of the stage with FAWN’s biggest prize strapped tight around her waist. Greeting her Howling Commandos with a double bicep flex that wasn’t so much tickets to the gun show as it was a display of overwhelming firepower, the Peacekeeper reached behind her back one-handed, undid the snaps and raised it overhead. “Baby can’t win this for you, Empress.” Clayton explained to the challenger. “Which is exactly why you’re going to walk out of here disappointed.”
Eager to fulfill her own prophecy, Clayton slung the strap over her right shoulder and headed for the squared circle. For her fight with the remaining half of the Gold Standard she wore her traditional green & brown camouflage two-piece with tie-sided bottoms and an impossible to ignore ladder / double helix of lycra that ran from the top of her waistband all the way to the southern border of her low-cut sports bra. The gear was completed with dark green pads, black boots and few wraps of matte black wrist-tape.
Extending her arms to press the flesh with folks on both sides of the aisle, Clayton made a sharp right when she reached the base of the ramp just to repeat the process for everyone at ringside. With the troops properly rallied Becky stomped up the steel steps and leapt over the top rope in one effortless burst of kinetic energy. Coming to a stop in the center of the ring, she spun toward the hard camera, then raised the title with one hand and snapped off that trademark salute with the other.
Swinging around to meet Amara’s gaze a few seconds later, Bex raised the title high overhead and extended her free hand to the brunette, daring her to come and get it. Singh bade the champion forward instead, the Empress demanding she hand over the leather and gold on the spot. Becky snorted and handed the strap to Nick Castle instead, thus ensuring it was in trustworthy hands before she made her way to the opposite corner.
Amara and Portia shared a final nod when the bell sounded, the Empress and the Original eager to add a most luxurious piece of hardware to their already impressive portfolio. Turning her attention to the last remaining obstacle between herself and FAWN’s top prize, Singh rolled her shoulders and headed for the middle of the ring on a mission to expose her opponent as nothing but another peasant striving to rise above her station.
Becky Clayton kept an eye on Portia even after Amara left the corner. The Bollywood Bombshell was tonight’s primary objective of course, but the champ wasn’t about to let Fortune’s Favorite out of her sight if she could help it. Meeting Portia’s sneer with a saucy little wink, Clayton pushed away from the corner to arrive at center only a few steps behind the challenger.
Singh didn’t speak for a moment, choosing instead to treat her adversary to a long, appraising glance. “You consider yourself a soldier, a great leader. Perhaps this is even true, the last several months certainly offer much to support these claims. And yet like any other soldier, any other leader, you must bend the knee when challenged by your superior officer. That moment has come, Rebecca Clayton. Bend the knee right now and you have my word that my ascent and your fall will go with a minimum of pain and embarrassment.”
Becky arched an eyebrow, her expression far more insolent than Singh cared to tolerate. “Oh, you’re offering me a deal?” she asked.
“An ultimatum couched in pleasant language.” Amara countered. “It’s a one-time offer, Clayton. And certainly far better than anything I offered to your friend the Raven.”
Bex frowned, she hadn’t much cared for the double team punishment heaped upon Lenore after the bell at Heartbroken. After a moment to consider her response, she said, “There’s a single, colossal problem with you claiming to be my superior officer, Empress. See, I know you answer to her.” she flicked her eyes in the direction of Portia Ophelia VanBuren the Fourth. “And if she’s your superior there’s no way you can coax me into bending the knee because I WHOOPED Baby’s narrow ass back when she was still a threat and not the shrill, worn out has-been she is NNGGGHHH!”
Singh earned jeers from the crowd and applause from Portia when she clouted Clayton across the chest with a heavy Forearm Smash. “Besmirch us at your peril, Clayton. Now fall to your knees and apologize or my next shot will set you in the dirt like the peasant you HHHRRRGGGH!”
Those jeers blossomed to raucous cheers following the short Headbutt Becky smashed into the bridge of the challenger’s nose! “Looks like you’re the one who needs to take a knee, Empress!” Clayton barked as Amara rocked back on her heels with one hand pressed to her face. “Be honest with me, did Portia tell you how badly I kicked her ass or did she--”
Amara pounced only to curse aloud when the One Woman Army dipped around on her six and pounded a Forearm Smash across the small of her back. Singh grunted but held her ground until Bex palmed a shoulder in each hand and THWHUMPED a Headbutt into the nape of her neck. That sent her staggering into the strands, as VanBuren was quick to point out. “Ropes, Castle! She’s in the ro--HEY! What sort of non-call is that?”
Nick didn’t bother to answer (a slight that Portia noted with obvious disgust) because neither of his charges spent more than a few heartbeats on the ropes and they certainly didn’t call for a break. That’s because Clayton spun Singh around, grabbed her by the wrist and sent her running to the far side with an Irish NO! The Peacekeeper let her line play out just to reel it back in, Becky releasing the Wristlock to thread one arm through Amara’s thighs and another over her shoulders, both grips mere precursors to the violent twist of her hips that delivered Singh to the deck with a ring-shivering THWHAM!
SCOOP POWER SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF4h5miev0s
Singh bounced to a seat on impact so Becky shoved her back down and stretched out across her chest only for the Subcontinental Siren fight clear before Castle could even get into position. “That’s right, Amara!” Portia called to her client. “Push her around, impose your will!”
Amara heeded this advice by jabbing an elbow into the pit of her foe’s stomach, but Clayton apparently wasn’t in the mood to be bullied because she answered with a trio of cudgeling blows once again focused on the nape of Singh’s neck. “You want a shot at the gold, Amara?” Bex didn’t have to pull Amara up with a double handful of hair, not that the lack of necessity stopped her from doing exactly that. “I wouldn’t listen to a word she says. Just tune her out and fight!”
Grimacing as the Camouflage Crusher twisted her head to the side with a simple Cravate, Amara pounded several quick punches into Clayton’s flank with no noticeable effect. “Duuuhhh… don’t presume to offer me strategies, peasant. No product of your mind is worthy of HHRRGGH!”
Becky turned around so her back was to Portia, then shot up on tiptoe and dropped to one knee to flip the brunette onto her rump with quick Snapmare. The jolt up her tailbone was far from pleasant, but Singh would’ve regained her feet in an instant if the World Champ hadn’t braced a knee between her shoulders cupped both hands across her jaw to secure a painfully simple Chinlock. “Go on and keep running that mouth, honeybunch.” Clayton worked her foe’s head from side to side to put more strain on her neck. “I’m sure you’re paying Portia enough money for her to come up with some plausible excuse for why I kicked your ass all over this ri--”
The BFG pulled her head away from Singh’s claws when they sought her face. She avoided the Eye Rake, hissed in pain when the challenger found her hair instead. “Savor this hopeless show of defiance while you can, peasant.” Amara twined a lock of Becky’s hair around her fingers so she could pull it that much harder. “It will ultimately fall to rack and ruin, just like the rest of your dubious accomplishNGH! NGH! NGH! NNNGGGHH!”
Simultaneously aware of and utterly unconcerned with Castle’s warning about Singh’s hair pull, Bex raised her right arm overhead, fashioned it into a tire iron and brought it THWAPPING down across Amara’s chest once, twice, three times! A fourth clubberin’ seemed likely but rather than smite her foes tits again Becky cinched that arm around the challenger’s throat and gripped her own left bicep while that hand cupped the back of Amara’s skull.
Sleeper Hold, Becky Clayton to Amara Singh.
“GET OUT OF THERE, EMPRESS!” Portia swatted the mat with both hands to emphasize her point. “BACK ON YOUR FEET, DON’T LET HER TAKE IT…” the Sinister Socialite turned the volume down, her voice returning to a normal register as the One Woman Army stretched out on her left side with Amara still wriggling in her grasp, “…to the mat.”
Amara didn’t need any advice on her current predicament and frankly it was easier to concentrate on an escape plan without Baby barking at the top of her lungs. Of course the silence also made it easier to hear the blood pounding in her temples and the faint slipping sound as she fought to wrest her head free of Clayton’s encroaching arm. Finding no easy answer, she crooked her fingers into hooks and dragged them down Becky’s bicep no less than half a dozen times.
“Yuuuuhhh…. you’re no soldier.” Singh rasped when her claws made Becky hiss in displeasure. “You’ve got the pampered skin of a NNHHHHRRRGGGGGHHH!”
Clayton bore down on the Sleeper and threw her right leg over the Bollywood Bombshell’s bronzed hip, thus forcing her to carry even more weight. “Why are you so cranky tonight, Amara?” Becky ground the point of her chin into the top of Singh’s skull to make her time on the mat that much more miserable. “Portia could’ve campaigned to have this match earlier in the card if the Main Event is after your bedtime.”
The Empress gurgled an attempt at a reply, the constricting grip lessening the blood flow to her brain. Singh reached behind her trapped braincase and found some mane to tug, but the yanks seemed more an inconvenience to the Army of One.
“And now you’re braiding my hair,” Clayton joked amidst a grunt of effort. “So generous.”
Baby slid around a corner, getting as near as possible to the champion and the woman Becky’s slowly squeezing into oblivion. Amara’s dark eyes were growing glassier, her full lips burbling, arms turning rubbery.
A concerned Castle leaned in close. “Whaddyasay, Amara?”
Nothing intelligible.
Clayton’s muscular frame continued to tighten like an anaconda. It wouldn’t be the most exciting of World Title wins, but it might be among the most impressive. Might have if not for a shriek from VanBuren, Portia pointing to Amara’s ankle lying atop the bottom rope.
“CASTLE!” the slender socialite implored. “ROPES!”
The vicinity of Portia to the golden-brown leg wasn’t lost on FAWN’s lead referee but there’s little he could do but call for the break. Becky, having also missed what might have been Singh’s saving grace, slowly uncoiled from around the challenger. Amara sputtered back to life, exchanging her layered ankle for a two-armed hug of the middle cable. She leaned her head over and engages in a private conversation with her manager.
The Camouflage Crusher stood several feet away, watching intently.
“Looks like you made the right choice, Amara. An Empress can’t survive without her underlings.”
It’s difficult to tell who’s more upset by the slight. VanBuren or Amara. Singh’s state of disrepair left her to do little more than stare lasers. Baby was more demonstrative, leaping to the apron and using her biggest remaining weapon as a leader, her voice.
Portia berated Clayton as a paper champion while Castle moved Fortune’s Favorite toward the corner of the Bollywood Bombshell. He’s slowly successful, though VanBuren bitterly complained through every inch.
Becky chuckled over the bad theater. She used Nick’s inattention to close with Amara, the Indian grappler on her haunches, using every second for recovery from her near demise. Bex latched onto a handful of ebony locks and pulled Singh to a full kneel, spinning Amara toward her. She lowered to wrap both hands around Amara’s noggin when Singh’s balled right hand flashed toward her jaw, literally.
Becky’s head whipped away from the impact, long locks flying. Clayton’s body went stiff as a board and she timbered to her back, out cold.
A huffing Singh didn’t bother dispensing with Baby’s infamous gold knux unobtrusively. With Nick’s head turned she blatantly tossed them into the front row and crawled wearily to the waylaid Clayton, dropping like deadweight across Becky’s chest. The Empress croaked softly toward the argument in her corner, VanBuren finally recognizing her plan had come to fruition.
Baby grabbed Castle by the shoulders and tried to turn him to the action, but he continued to demand the Manhattanite get back in her proper place. Frantic, Portia acceded to his wishes, dropping to the floor, then pointing and screaming at Castle to turn around. The zebra swung his gaze toward the middle of the ring and realized he’s late for a very important date.
He leapt next to the pinned Clayton and slapped the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Becky shot a shoulder off the canvas, perhaps on reflexes alone, pushing Singh up to all fours, Amara slackjawed and staring at VanBuren in disbelief. For a moment, Baby responded with likeminded amazement, but quickly motioned the Empress to make the army grunt one of her subjects.
Amara rose and pulled Clayton up to her haunches by her foe’s hair. She let Bex lean into her coppery-skinned frame, the Army of One capable of little more.
“Now, peasant. You will pay your respects.”
The Bombshell pivoted and proceeded to POUND a series of ten Soccer Kicks into Clayton’s chest, the last few nearly spilling her foe over, but somehow the physical specimen absorbed them all and remains partially upright, albeit grimacing in pain.
Amara played to the jeering crowd, motioning them unsuccessfully to bow before her, then turned to start on another set of kicks. The first one swung toward the target, but Bex caught her at the ankle. With a sneer, Clayton rose with Singh’s right leg in her possession, Amara left to hop on her remaining planted foot. Reacting quickly, she leapt off the left and CLACKED a bare foot into Clayton’s right temple, freeing herself from the champion’s grip and sending the Camo Crusher down to one knee with the Enzugiri.
Racing to the ropes in front of her foe, Amara came sprinting out of the cables and NAILED Becky with a Shining Empress kick to the forehead, sending the BFG tumbling to her back in a spreadeagle.
With Becky trying to blink some senses back into her gray matter, the Bollywood Bombshell dove on the titleholder, mounting Clayton in a reverse straddle of Becky’s chest. The sultry Empress smashed fist after fist into Becky’s chiseled abs in blistering combos, drawing chirps of pain from the Army of One. With Clayton slightly softened, she slid her seat back, slipping to the champ’s neck then over her chin to take a Bollywood Ending seat on Clayton’s face and try and smother her foe out.
Becky, her features buried, flailed wildly, her air cut off by Amara’s undercarriage. Singh’s copper-skinned legs bracketed Clayton’s noggin as the Indian grappler tried to ride out her foe’s bucking and bring Becky’s reign to a humiliating end. But the Black Court’s muscle had too much left. She combined a thrusting pelvis with a two handed-shove against the thighs of the Empress to heave the exotic Amara overhead.
The greasy-faced Clayton gasped for air as she clambered to the ropes, using them to rise to vertical, while a disappointed but focused challenger nodded at Portia’s directions.
Singh approaches carefully as the champ swept soaked, matted hair off her face and forehead then lifted her hands for a Tie-Up. The Empress interrupted Clayton’s plan with a delving Toe Kick to the tummy, doubling Bex over with a guttural groan.
Amara tugged Becky’s lowered head between her thighs, wrapping her arms around the gulping tummy of the title holder.
Marshalling the energy she had remaining, Amara grunted as she flips the BFG up her body until she had Clayton seated on her shoulders, ready to send the Army of One damn near through the mat with her PowerBollyBomb. But before Singh could detonate the maneuver, Becky had the sense to hammer away with a balled right fist to Amara’s temple. Singh’s legs gave way from the assault and Becky rode the collapsing Amara to the mat, her ass THUMPING Singh’s chest in an impactful sandwich with the canvas.
Becky reached back to coral both of her foe’s golden brown stems in the crooks of her elbows. She leaned forward, Matchbooking Singh for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara bucked clear of the champ with half a second to spare, her show of resilience disappointing the FAWN faithful and considerably lowering Portia’s blood pressure in a single stroke. “Stay on her, Amara!” VanBuren coached her slowly rising charge. “She’s already been your throne once already, so get up and take what’s yours!
Easier said than done, yet the Empress nodded agreement and swatted her backside while glaring daggers at her opponent. “Your panic felt exquisite, peasant.” she growled. “I didn’t think--”
“That’s right you didn’t think.” Clayton interrupted. “That’s the only explanation for you’re taking advice from a woman who’s last match ended with an ambulance ri--”
Singh leapt with claws extended, fully intending to rip that blasphemy from Bex’s mouth before it could reach any other peasant ears. These suppressive efforts were at least partially successful, though they came at the cost of Clayton’s right shoulder buried deep in her belly. Said costs continued to skyrocket when the Peacekeeper hooked her arms around Singh’s upper thighs and knotted her hands just below the swell of her glutes. Portia knew what came next as evidenced by her shrieked warning, alas it wasn’t nearly enough to prevent Clayton from shooting up on tiptoe, then sinking to one knee to THUMP Amara’s crotch against the plank of her thigh!
Singh groaned and stumbled backward, her knees practically knocking as she dealt with the nauseating ache in her gut. Certain the Bombshell could tend to these problems on her own, Clayton did an about-face and sprinted to the ropes on the opposite side of the squared circle. Amara saw her coming and backpedaled as fast as she could, the brunette going so far as to raise a warding hand against THWHACK! Bex put her on the deck with a massive Lariat across the clavicle, the force of which dropped the World Champ to one knee beside her opponent. Sliding into a Crossbody on general principle, Clayton hooked the far leg tight and pressed her other hand to Singh’s forehead while Castle and the rest of the War Marchers counted off…
LARIAT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XW4CsPYtdwk
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara didn’t just get a shoulder off the mat, she got a hand under Becky’s chin and shoved her off. “Away with you, peasant.” she grunted. “Your filth is offensive to all my sensNNGGHH!”
The BFG answered that show of disrespect with a heavy Double Axehandle smashed deep into the challenger’s tummy! “This is MY ring, honeybunch.” Bex explained once she’d hauled Singh to verticality via a double handful of hair. “You’re welcome to leave anytime if you can’t hack it!”
Amara’s only answer was muttered vitriol so Clayton slipped an arm between her thighs and ‘hupped’ her into a tummy-first perch atop her right shoulder. Taking care to flip Portia off as she swung toward one of the far corners, Becky strode over and dumped Amara like a sack of laundry, her forehead meeting the top turnbuckle with an eye-watering BWUUUNG!
Coming up Snake Eyes was never a good thing but Singh at least managed to keep her feet as she staggered away from the crash site. “OUT OF THE WAY, AMARA!” VanBuren bellowed to the Empress in a vain effort to be heard over the roar of the capacity crowd. “YOU HAVE GET OUT OF THE--”
SNAKE EYES & BIG BOOT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeaEWDgK0WA
THWHACK! Clayton’s Big Boot put Amara down on the back of her head and shoulders like she’d just been eaten a Powerbomb, but the One Woman Army didn’t get a chance to go for a cover before Singh sat up and rolled to one knee! This was no miraculous recovery though, merely an adrenaline-fueled bit of muscle memory that faded out once her shoulders were off the canvas. Becky went to grab a handful of hair, drew back when Portia caught her gaze. Eyes locked on the FAWN Original, Clayton mouthed ‘Watch this, baby.’ then drew a bead on Singh’s chin and put her head on a swivel with an absolute shotgun blast of a right hand. Amara collapsed to the deck in a heap and Becky dropped sank down beside her, the Camouflage Crusher shoveling Singh onto her back so she could secure another Crossbody for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara ensured the survival of her golden quest for another three seconds, though this escape lacked the haughtiness shown in her previous effort. The difference was not lost on Becky, who got up and stomped away from the challenger without so much as a backward glance. Settling into a corner on her opponent’s six, Clayton dropped into a crouch and began to sway back and forth, back and forth.
The Howling Commandos knew what that meant and Baby must’ve too because she banged a fist against the apron and called, “Get out of the ring, Amara! Take a breather and regr--NO! Don’t get…” VanBuren trailed off in frustrated silence as the Empress pushed off her knee and turned around in what looked like a barely-controlled swoon. A roar from the assembled when Clayton exploded from the corner, the Camouflage Crusher transforming herself into the heaviest ordinance for the Spear she aimed at Singh’s midsect--THUNK!
Amara couldn’t get out of the way so she stepped back and whipped her right foot up into the other wrestler’s forehead! The pinpoint Toe Kick knocked Bex up on her tiptoes, but the kick Singh delivered to her left shin dropped the Destroyer to her knees with equal efficacy. Catching Clayton’s noggin in a Front Facelock the instant she touched down, Amara kicked her right leg forward and snapped backward to THWONK! Becky’s forehead into the canvas courtesy a huge Snap DDT! The champ jolted from end to end and rolled onto her shoulder and hip so Singh bulled her the rest of the way over and collected both legs in a bundle that pointed her ass at the overhead lights for…
SNAP DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Mhnw-GhYKQ
ONE…
TWO…
Becky kicked out *just* after ‘TWO!’ which didn’t please Portia one bit. “Good lord, Castle! Could you count any slower? That was cuh-learly five!”
As for Amara, she seemed far less concerned. “Let him count as slow as he’d like, Portia.” Singh told her manager in the midst of dragging Clayton to boot-leather. “I want these peasants to see their heroine utterly helpless when confronted by the might of an Empress.” Baby’s expression suggested she wasn’t entirely on board with this line of thinking, though she did break into a devious smile when Amara walked Becky over and forced her to kneel with her throat snug against the middle strand.
“Hands to yourself, Portia.” Castle warned. “You so much as brush hair out of her face and I’ll send you to the back.” VanBuren scoffed, then offered Singh a brisk golf clap when the brunette placed her right knee across the nape of Clayton’s neck and climbed aboard, Singh effectively throttling the penitent Destroyer with every bit of her weight! Anchored in place thanks to a two-handed grip on the top rope, Amara put every bit of her near hundred and forty pounds into the vile jouncing that had Becky’s arms flailing and her face turning ever uglier shades of red. Only halted by the ‘FOUR!’ of Nick’s count, the Bollywood Bombshell slipped through the ropes to the apron and caught hold of her prey’s hair. “Don’t start choking her again, Amara.” the Senior Official warned. “You won’t be happy if I have to tell you twice.”
“Your mere existence guarantees that I will never be happy, Castle.” Singh sneered as she pulled Bex to stooped verticality that saw her half-in / half-out of the ring. Twisting Clayton around so she could brace the back of her neck against her left shoulder, Amara dropped to a seat on the apron which in turn snapped Becky’s neck against the middle rope with an awful TWANG! The Peacekeeper bounced away from the edge to land flat on her face, Clayton looking as beaten as she ever had while a smirking Singh spread her arms wide to better soak in the adulation of her loyal peasants.
ROPE HUNG HANGMAN'S NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFcnZk456U0
Amara sat on the edge of the apron, casting a disdainful glance over her shoulder at the splayed, facedown title holder. She skooched off the hardest part of the ring, putting bare feet to the arena floor. A grinning Portia sidled to her charge and threw a hug around the Empress, the solidarity returned by the Subcontinental Siren. VanBuren disengaged and took a step back before dropping to one knee in supplication to the future World Champion so taken by the moment was the former three-time World Title holder.
Singh motioned for her manager to rise then demanded everyone in the audience repeat Portia’s display. A few FAWNatics took the challenger up on her offer, but most buried Amara in a sea of boos.
The Bollywood Bombshell turned her attention back to the activity, or lack thereof, in the ring. Clayton was stirring, slowly pushing to all fours as Singh rolled under the bottom rope and popped to her feet. She reached the Camouflage Crusher just as Becky’s putting boot soles to the canvas and pulled the champ into a tight Side Headlock. With her left arm occupied, Amara clenched a right fist and thrust a set of curling Uppercuts into Clayton’s chin. Bex’s face held in place, the Army of One’s legs rubbery after a half dozen shots.
Relenting from one attack, the Empress set up another by releasing her grip and shoving the wobbling Becky into a backpedal, Clayton’s spinal column crashing into a corner. Amara followed her in slowly, the exotic beauty then LIGHTING Clayton’s chest afire with a blazing Chop that drew the requisite ‘WOOO’ from the crowd and a rosy welt across the décolletage of the Black Court’s muscle. The Peacekeeper was rocked to her heels from that blow, a whistling second, and a blistering third did her no favors, Becky wincing, her eyes reflexively welling from the stinging rebukes.
Amara leaned in close to the shuddering champ, moving her full lips to an ear.
“You’ll kiss my feet before this night’s done,” Singh insisted.
Grabbing a shoulder and wrist in combination, Singh heaved Becky toward the opposite corner with an Irish Whip, or that appeared to be the plan. But before the Cam Crusher was sent sprinting, she planted and pivoted. Instead, it’s the Indian grappler rushing toward the buckles. Wide-eyed, she turned into the collision, back BLASTED by the force of the impact.
Amara stumbled out toward a charging Becky who drew Singh in close, chest to chest. Her arms cinched behind the challenger, Becky closing the grip into a tight Bear Hug that drew a gasp and look of anguish from the challenger. But before the Peacekeeper could get too settled and squeeze the life from Singh, Amara grabbed Becky’s head, a hand on each side to steady her target, and laid into the bridge of the All-American’s nose with a THWACKING Headbutt.
Clayton’s head snapped back in whiplash-like fashion and she stumbled back a step. Becky’s turnaround extinguished before it could fully catch flame, Singh showed her power, scooping the Star-Spangled Destroyer off her feet like a babe on her arms, a couple arms behind Becky’s knees. She held her foe tight, cradled to her chest, then dropped to one knee, attempting to snap the spine of the Army of One with a Backbreaker.
Bent in an agonizing arch across the golden-brown plank of Amara’s leg, Becky mewled in pain, the grunts growing when the Empress pushed a palm down on either side to accentuate the arc of her rival.
“Ask her,” the Bombshell demanded. “Ask the peasant if she’s seen the light.”
Castle did as he’s told, but there’s an emphatic shake of the champion’s head in reply.
Frustrated, Amara shoved Clayton off, the Camouflage Crusher puddling in front of Singh, a hand reaching for her lower spine. The Empress rose and paraded around the downed champion.
“Some people will never understand their proper station,” Amara informed the FAWNatics, taking a veiled shot at them along with the fighter they favor.
Fight remained in the Army of One as she struggled toward vertical. The Indian import stepped in front of the rising Clayton, dipping an arm between Becky’s unsteady stems. Amara scooped Bex off the canvas, easily shifting the Peacekeeper onto a shoulder in Body Slam position. But instead of immediately bruising her foe’s backbone again, she carried the softly squirming Clayton to the corner above a delighted VanBuren.
Amara drew Becky off her shoulder, slamming Becky’s back atop the ropes on either side of the buckles, placed like a sacrifice on an altar to the Empress. Amara savagely kicked the base of Becky’s spine, Clayton arching upward, offering her taut abdomen up. Singh did not refuse the gift, swinging a wicked Double Axehandle down into the chiseled midriff, no amount of crunches preventing Amara’s laced fists from gutting the champion.
Becky’s eyes bulged from the blow, a great exhalation bursting from her lips, only for her perfect pearlies to be gritting from another barefoot kick to her lower vertebrae. Backing off a few steps, Amara leapt onto the middle rope a few feet away from the Black Court offering to her manager. She springboarded off and landed a pointed elbow drop to the cleft of Becky’s bosom, the downward thrust of the strike finally collapsing Clayton’s frame enough to spill her to the canvas.
Amara popped to her feet sporting a shyt-eating grin. Grabbing Castle by a shoulder, she led him in the opposite direction of Fortune’s Favorite. While Singh discussed geopolitics, Baby slid her upper body in far enough to grab the often powerful but currently flaccid lower limbs of the Peacekeeper at the ankles. She dragged Becky toward the corner and, more importantly, the steel ring post behind. But most importantly, one of those legs was situated on either side of the iron.
The narrow ‘V’ of Becky’s stems was still wide enough for the slender socialite, using all her limited strength, to YANK Clayton into a gut-churning kitty collision that had the crowd groaning in sympathy. Steel to crotch remained the order of the day as a vicious VanBuren put an immaculately (and specially made) white Air Jordan to one side of the metal beam, while grinding Becky’s groin into the other side as she pulled back on each of her ‘handles’.
“I don’t appreciate being insulted, Jersey,” Portia complained through clenched teeth. “Particularly from lunkhead grunts like you!”
Baby released one lower limb and drew the opposite number wide before SWINGING the limb toward the steel, the inside of Becky’s left knee THUMPING against the post. Clayton howled in pain, frantically butt-scooting out of reach of VanBuren, one hand stuffed between her thighs, the other working at her screaming joint.
“Time to make memories.” Singh concluded her soliloquy to the zebra before pushing past Nick and striding to a whimpering Clayton, Bex looking more like she could use an army than being one.
Credit the grit of the World Champ, she sat up and swiped shots at the encroaching Empress, alas they weren’t enough to prevent Singh from driving a quick boot into her forehead. “Didn’t I say you’d kiss my feet tonight, peasant?” Amara growled as she bent down to collect a double handful of hair. “I believe it’s time you got started.” But rather than apply lips to toes, Singh hauled the Camouflage Crusher into a Standing Headscissors and treated the undeserving throng to a little Bollywood shimmy.
“The Age of the Empress is upon you! Look upon my glory, peasants! And despair!”
The jeers hit her in waves that Amara ignored in favor of looping both arms around Becky’s waist so she could muscle / flip the hardbody onto her shoulders for a reign-ending PowerboNO! Aching knee be damned, Clayton crossed her ankles and popped her hips to flip Singh off her feet in an improved Hurricanrana! Portia’s features went from gloating to ghastly, Fortune’s Favorite shrieking for Amara to break free even as Bex collected those thrashing legs in a tight bundle and leaned down so far her forehead was touching the mat! Swooping into place in the span between heartbeats, Castle counted off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Singh exploded out of the ‘Rana and bounded to verticality, her dark eyes shiny with rage and fear. She didn’t waste time checking with the ref though, the challenger just threw herself at the Peacekeeper as Clayton clambered to her fee--“HHNNGGGHH!”
Becky wasn’t quite upright when Amara closed in, so she hooked her arms around the brunette’s knees and swept her to the deck with a stiff Double Leg Takedown. Tucking Singh’s shins beneath her armpits, Clayton locked her hands to create an unbreakable loop, then turned Amara onto her belly, stepped over and sat down DEEP, her butt oh so snug in the hollow of Singh’s back. “GIVE UP!” Becky demanded as she bent Singh into a ‘C’ that was looking more like an ‘O’ with each passing second. “TAP OUT, AMARA!”
BOSTON CRAB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zU5mtyL_Wrk
“Don’t you dare!” Portia shouted at her suffering charge. “The ropes are close, Amara! Just follow my voice and I’ll lead you to go--”
“AAAAAAAAARRRGGGGHH SHHHHYYYTTT!” Singh sobbed in anguish as her bare soles drew that much closer to the back of her skull.
“Tap out, honeybunch.” Becky growled. “Or I’ll break you in half.”
“THE HELL SHE WILL!” VanBuren countered. “DIG YOUR GODDAMNED CLAWS INTO THE MAT AND GET. OVER. HERE!”
Singh shook her head ‘no’, which Baby actually took as a show of disrespect until she realized the Empress was refusing Castle’s latest question. Her mood improved ever so slightly when Singh set her hands against the canvas and puuuuuushed her torso off the mat by three or four inches. The pressure on her lower back was hellacious, but the increased mobility allowed Amara to inch and claw her way toward the ropes despite all of Clayton’s efforts. Singh’s straining fingers were mere inches from freedom when Becky stood up and-- Portia reached under the bottom rope with both hands, grabbed the Empress’ wrists and pulled her to the ropes!
Now VanBuren hadn’t been brazen about the assist, but she hadn’t been particularly stealthy about it either. That combined with the outraged roar from the crowd brought Castle down on her like the Wrath of God. “Locker room. Now.” he barked at the FAWN original.
“What? The hell I will!”
“You’re gone or I call a DQ right now. Your choice.”
“How dare--”
“Get. OUT Portia.” Singh rasped. “I’ve got thisSSNNNNGGGHH!”
Becky had tossed the challenger’s legs aside but she was still astride Singh’s back so she dropped a short, brutal Butt Bomb onto those aching vertebrae.
Looking like she was ready to chew nails, Portia abruptly threw her hands high and started up the ramp. “Don’t let me down, Amara.” she said softly. “I won’t be disappointed again.”
Alas Baby would’ve been well served to temper her expectations because things weren’t looking good for the challenger when Becky buried both hands in Amara’s hair and draaaaaaaaagged her out to the center of the ring. “Thhuuu… knew that’s why you brought Portia.” Clayton groaned as she hauled Amara to her feet. “Couldn’t do it by your f*cking self.”
“I don’t… don’t need her to humble yoOOOOFFFHHHH!”
The BFG buried her good knee in Amara’s midsection to make sure she was good and doubled over when Bex circled around to her left side, snatched that wrist and stuffed it between the brunette’s thighs. Once she’d taken possession of that wrist in her right hand, Clayton leaned over Singh’s back and threaded her left arm under Amara’s right bicep, then wrenched it backward in a Pumphandle strong enough to flip the Empress onto her right shoul--“NNNGGGHH!”
Amara spiked her left knee into the back of Clayton’s neck, the violent jolt causing her to stumble forward in an effort to regain her balance. She might’ve done so if not for that aching left knee, but the collision with the ring-post caused the joint to buckle and she crumpled to all fours with Singh squatted awkwardly atop her lower ba-- the Bollywood Bombshell snatched Becky’s elbows, wrenched her arms backward and dropped into a deep squat just before she locked her hands across Clayton’s chin and craaaaaaaaaaaaaanked backward.
CAMEL CLUTCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMFOCqCrdLU
“SUBMIT, PEASANT!” Singh screamed as she put everything she had left into subjugating her foe with the Camel Clutch.
“What do you say, Becky?” Castle was as close to the action as he dared. “Do you need me to call it?”
“Nuuuuhhhh….NOOOOO!” Bex howled the denial because the pressure on her neck wouldn’t let her shake her head ‘no’. “NO, NO I WON’T TAPPPRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!”
Amara went up on tiptoe and rocked back a little farther, this adjustment doing no favors for her own aching spine. “I have shortened careers with this hold, peasant.” Singh sneered. “And I will END yours to claim my proper place, so see the light and TAP OUTNOOOOOOOOO!”
Becky tightened her arms around Amara’s thighs and slid her right knee into position against the canvas beneath her. A colossal roar from the FAWNatics as Clayton rose to her full height and Amara’s hooks changed from the Camel Clutch to little more than a piggyback ride with a particularly aggressive Chinlo--“AAAAAHHHHH FAAAAAAAAHHHK!”
Becky sobbed in aggrieved distress when Amara crooked one hand into a talon and raked it across her eyes! She stumbled hard and her left leg gave out again, the injured powerhouse crumpling into a facedown heap with Singh landing astride her lower back. Sliding south off the Camouflage Crusher, Amara bundled up Becky’s legs and quickly laid a shin on each shoulder. Just leaning forward folded Clayton’s stems up and put the Bombshell in position to clasp her rival’s chin once more, but rather than do so she took Becky’s left wrist in her right hand and vice-versa, then pulled the Straightjacket with such force that the toes of the champion’s boots did indeed touch the back of her head!
“FINISHED!” Amara roared down at her squirming prey. “YOU’RE FINISHED, PEASANT! BEG FOR THE MERCY OF YOUR EMPR--”
“YOU’RE NO EMPRESS!” Clayton wailed. “YOU’RE JUST AN ARROGANT BYTCAAAAAAHHH! AGH! AGH! AGH! AAAAAAAGGGAAWWWD I SUBMIT! I SUBMIT!”
Singh heard it but didn’t acknowledge, she just kept jouncing that Straightjacket Bollyknot up and down until the bell sounded and Nick Castle was at one shoulder, the ref working frantically to get her off the deposed champion.
He was still at it when the Announcer called, “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission… and the NEEEEEEEEEEEEW FAWN World Champion… AMARA SINGH!”
The Empress tossed the straightjacket portion of the hold aside, Clayton’s upper half unspooling, her face THUMPING against the canvas.
“And the legs.” Castle demanded.
Singh grinned guiltily. “Can’t put anything past you.” Amara let the lower limbs loose and a sigh of relief escapes the Peacekeeper’s lips as they flopped limply to the canvas.
The newly crowned Bollywood Bombshell arose, hovering in a straddling stance over the FORMER World Champion.
Singh turned to a flashing bolt of white racing down the ramp. The returning Portia grabbed the gold on the ‘drive-by’ past the Announcer’s table and slid in.
“Empress,” she said politely, holding the belt deferentially over an extended arm.
Amara relieved her manager of the championship, raising it high with one hand while VanBuren pushed Castle aside and took his place holding up the opposite high, showcasing the new queen of the FAWN hill.
“Bow down to your Empress!” Baby demanded. She got a few responses. Very few. The jeers quickly overwhelmed them and only grew louder when Portia stomped a white Air Jordan into the base of Becky’s spine then I]grrrrroooooooound[/I] it back & forth.
Nose firmly raised, Amara Singh was in her element, her station finally meeting her opinion of herself.
VanBuren released her grip but on Singh’s wrist but continued to motion toward her star pupil until she noticed Becky rolling to her back below. As Amara took a promenade of the ring, Portia stared down into the grimacing face of the Army of One. Drawn instantly to her glory days, she dropped to a seated straddle of Clayton’s chest. Nose over nose, the slender socialite gazed at a bruised Bex.
“Since you didn’t kiss the feet of your Empress, you’ll get to kiss something else.”
“You try it and you’llMMMMMPPPPPHHHH.”
Becky’s threat was cut short as Portia pivoted into a Reverse Face Sit, her taut tush riding the features of the once-dominant destroyer. Becky, under normal conditions, might have heaved VanBuren to the moon, but in the state Amara’s left her, she struggled in vain to shift Portia’s derriere off her mug. Slowly Baby scooted forward and back across the flawless features, picking up her pace as Becky fought futilely to unseat her.
Baby drove her talons into the Peacekeeper’s bosom, squeezing her fingers white. It wouldn’t be a full 911 but to have the Army of One at her mercy flushed Portia’s face. That or the sensual swipes across Becky’s features growing in their pace. Clayton’s arms became increasingly flaccid, waving like reeds in the wind before they fell to her sides, Becky out cold.
Beside her, a returning Amara enjoyed the show but didn’t want her victory to be overshadowed.
“That’s enough, my mentor.”
VanBuren scowled, having to end class before going fully old school. She leaned forward, removing her backside from Becky’s now greasy visage and tapped Clayton’s chiseled tummy.
“See? Mercy.” Baby informed the comatose Clayton.
Unsteadily, Fortune’s Favorite rose and headed for the ropes, opening the top and middle wide for her charge.
Amara dramatically wiped the dust off her bare feet onto Becky’s carcass, carrying her hard-won treasure home, the golden-brown beauty surely already considering how her Empire would be defended.
Portia kneaded the shoulders of the Bollywood Bombshell, Singh shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other.
“She’s all yours. Guaranteed. You’re stronger. You’re meaner. You want it more,” VanBuren whispered in Singh’s ear.
“Sad little Army grunt doesn’t want any of you. Just treat her like that raggedy Raven and you’ll be the power in this organization.”
A glittering grin blossomed across Amara’s features and she asked Baby for a literal hand up. The slender socialite cupped her hands together, lowering them to accept the Indian’s bare right sole. With a ‘hup’, Amara’s lifted gracefully into her iconic conveyance.
“HIS-TOH-REEE,” Singh responded. “Let’s go.”
VanBuren nodded and waved her hand at a nearby FAWN flunky.
The captivating groove of Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull’s ‘Exotic’ broke through the murmur on the opposite side of the curtains, the accompaniment heralding the Subcontinental Siren.
EXOTIC:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU
Moving through the cloth divider, the set of musclebound men clad in gold loin clothes and sandals carried their golden-brown royal. Excited yet repulsed by the appearance of the Empress, the despicable Singh drew the enmity of nearly every FAWNatic.
AMARA SINGH
The behemoths bore the ornate bed where upon the Bollywood Bombshell reclined. As the ‘exotic’ grappler was carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics peppered her with boos. And the anger only grew when the long-scorned Manhattanite manager appeared, VanBuren shouting directions at Singh’s transporters.
PORTIA VANBUREN
Flawless in her immaculate, white tennis togs; a form-fitting, Louis Vuitton tank, short skirt with white socks and thousand-dollar tennies, VanBuren skipped past and led the men and their ‘beloved’ Empress to the war zone. In Baby’s right hand was Precious, Portia pointing the way to the ring with her polo mallet.
Behind and above, the copper-skinned beauty writhed seductively on her cushioned platform to the sound of the catchy beat. Below, the men’s gaze never left Portia, oblivious to the outstretched hands of the fans and the movements of the bronzed, ebony-haired beauty above.
The Announcer greeted the spectacular arrival of the Subcontinent’s most acclaimed warrior.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit and is for the FAWN WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, the challenger. Hailing from Cawnpore, India, she stands at five feet six inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and thirty-three pounds. She is the Empress… AMARA SINGH!”
Having reached their destination, the men lowered the palanquin so it’s even with the apron. Singh gracefully slid from bedside to ringside. Portia took the nearby steps and helped Amara slip from beneath a sparkling golden robe, revealing the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease drew a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She moved through the ropes, taking center stage.
Amara was clad in a lavishly designed, gold bra with matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Singh’s raven tresses fell just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. The Bombshell raised a microphone to her full rosy lips, but VanBuren, having entered behind, requested Amara provide her the amplifier.
“There’s a reason I support this woman,” Portia began, the crowd’s volume slowly lowering, “She is the best I’ve ever seen. She proved that becoming a Tag Team champion. She proved it in dispatching Alexis when the so-called Phenom proved herself so much dead weight. And she proved it again last month in plucking the Raven, making that scrawny bytch a flightless bird for the rest of her career.
“Tonight, we move to a different level. The level my and your Empress always belonged. The best in the business. And by the end of the evening your Jersey trash champion, that blockheaded camo catastrophe will be kissing the feet of her conqueror and placing the belt around the bronzed abs of the ultimate exotic.”
The FAWNatics didn’t seem to appreciate Portia’s prediction and they let her know.
Sneering at their jeers, VanBuren dropped the mic and led Singh to her corner where the duo discussed strategy, the importance of every word heightened by the supreme prize on the line.
The crowd was still voicing their disdain for the Bollywood Bombshell when the Announcer went on. “And introducing their opponent! Hailing from Denver, Colorado she stands at five feet eight inches tall and weighs in tonight at one hundred and forty-three pounds. They call her the Peacekeeper, the BFG and the Camouflage Crusher! She is the reigning and defending FAWN World Champion, this is BECKY CLAYTON!”
‘White Flag’ grumbled through the speakers to ensure everyone was on their feet before the One Woman Army made her arrival.
WHITE FLAG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RWzZeA2GMsk
Take a hit, shoot me down, shoot me down
I won't ever hit the ground, hit the ground
Playing dead, I'll never do
Gotta keep an eye on you
Patience is wearing thin, paper thin
Promises broke again, what a sin
But it only feeds my energy
So don't expect no sympathy
Smoke, fire, it's all going up
Don't you know I ain't afraid to shed a little blood?
Smoke, fire, flares are going up, flares are going up!
BECKY CLAYTON:
The chorus started in time with Clayton’s entrance, the hardbody battler marching through the curtains to claim the spotlight at the center of the stage with FAWN’s biggest prize strapped tight around her waist. Greeting her Howling Commandos with a double bicep flex that wasn’t so much tickets to the gun show as it was a display of overwhelming firepower, the Peacekeeper reached behind her back one-handed, undid the snaps and raised it overhead. “Baby can’t win this for you, Empress.” Clayton explained to the challenger. “Which is exactly why you’re going to walk out of here disappointed.”
Eager to fulfill her own prophecy, Clayton slung the strap over her right shoulder and headed for the squared circle. For her fight with the remaining half of the Gold Standard she wore her traditional green & brown camouflage two-piece with tie-sided bottoms and an impossible to ignore ladder / double helix of lycra that ran from the top of her waistband all the way to the southern border of her low-cut sports bra. The gear was completed with dark green pads, black boots and few wraps of matte black wrist-tape.
Extending her arms to press the flesh with folks on both sides of the aisle, Clayton made a sharp right when she reached the base of the ramp just to repeat the process for everyone at ringside. With the troops properly rallied Becky stomped up the steel steps and leapt over the top rope in one effortless burst of kinetic energy. Coming to a stop in the center of the ring, she spun toward the hard camera, then raised the title with one hand and snapped off that trademark salute with the other.
Swinging around to meet Amara’s gaze a few seconds later, Bex raised the title high overhead and extended her free hand to the brunette, daring her to come and get it. Singh bade the champion forward instead, the Empress demanding she hand over the leather and gold on the spot. Becky snorted and handed the strap to Nick Castle instead, thus ensuring it was in trustworthy hands before she made her way to the opposite corner.
Amara and Portia shared a final nod when the bell sounded, the Empress and the Original eager to add a most luxurious piece of hardware to their already impressive portfolio. Turning her attention to the last remaining obstacle between herself and FAWN’s top prize, Singh rolled her shoulders and headed for the middle of the ring on a mission to expose her opponent as nothing but another peasant striving to rise above her station.
Becky Clayton kept an eye on Portia even after Amara left the corner. The Bollywood Bombshell was tonight’s primary objective of course, but the champ wasn’t about to let Fortune’s Favorite out of her sight if she could help it. Meeting Portia’s sneer with a saucy little wink, Clayton pushed away from the corner to arrive at center only a few steps behind the challenger.
Singh didn’t speak for a moment, choosing instead to treat her adversary to a long, appraising glance. “You consider yourself a soldier, a great leader. Perhaps this is even true, the last several months certainly offer much to support these claims. And yet like any other soldier, any other leader, you must bend the knee when challenged by your superior officer. That moment has come, Rebecca Clayton. Bend the knee right now and you have my word that my ascent and your fall will go with a minimum of pain and embarrassment.”
Becky arched an eyebrow, her expression far more insolent than Singh cared to tolerate. “Oh, you’re offering me a deal?” she asked.
“An ultimatum couched in pleasant language.” Amara countered. “It’s a one-time offer, Clayton. And certainly far better than anything I offered to your friend the Raven.”
Bex frowned, she hadn’t much cared for the double team punishment heaped upon Lenore after the bell at Heartbroken. After a moment to consider her response, she said, “There’s a single, colossal problem with you claiming to be my superior officer, Empress. See, I know you answer to her.” she flicked her eyes in the direction of Portia Ophelia VanBuren the Fourth. “And if she’s your superior there’s no way you can coax me into bending the knee because I WHOOPED Baby’s narrow ass back when she was still a threat and not the shrill, worn out has-been she is NNGGGHHH!”
Singh earned jeers from the crowd and applause from Portia when she clouted Clayton across the chest with a heavy Forearm Smash. “Besmirch us at your peril, Clayton. Now fall to your knees and apologize or my next shot will set you in the dirt like the peasant you HHHRRRGGGH!”
Those jeers blossomed to raucous cheers following the short Headbutt Becky smashed into the bridge of the challenger’s nose! “Looks like you’re the one who needs to take a knee, Empress!” Clayton barked as Amara rocked back on her heels with one hand pressed to her face. “Be honest with me, did Portia tell you how badly I kicked her ass or did she--”
Amara pounced only to curse aloud when the One Woman Army dipped around on her six and pounded a Forearm Smash across the small of her back. Singh grunted but held her ground until Bex palmed a shoulder in each hand and THWHUMPED a Headbutt into the nape of her neck. That sent her staggering into the strands, as VanBuren was quick to point out. “Ropes, Castle! She’s in the ro--HEY! What sort of non-call is that?”
Nick didn’t bother to answer (a slight that Portia noted with obvious disgust) because neither of his charges spent more than a few heartbeats on the ropes and they certainly didn’t call for a break. That’s because Clayton spun Singh around, grabbed her by the wrist and sent her running to the far side with an Irish NO! The Peacekeeper let her line play out just to reel it back in, Becky releasing the Wristlock to thread one arm through Amara’s thighs and another over her shoulders, both grips mere precursors to the violent twist of her hips that delivered Singh to the deck with a ring-shivering THWHAM!
SCOOP POWER SLAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=qF4h5miev0s
Singh bounced to a seat on impact so Becky shoved her back down and stretched out across her chest only for the Subcontinental Siren fight clear before Castle could even get into position. “That’s right, Amara!” Portia called to her client. “Push her around, impose your will!”
Amara heeded this advice by jabbing an elbow into the pit of her foe’s stomach, but Clayton apparently wasn’t in the mood to be bullied because she answered with a trio of cudgeling blows once again focused on the nape of Singh’s neck. “You want a shot at the gold, Amara?” Bex didn’t have to pull Amara up with a double handful of hair, not that the lack of necessity stopped her from doing exactly that. “I wouldn’t listen to a word she says. Just tune her out and fight!”
Grimacing as the Camouflage Crusher twisted her head to the side with a simple Cravate, Amara pounded several quick punches into Clayton’s flank with no noticeable effect. “Duuuhhh… don’t presume to offer me strategies, peasant. No product of your mind is worthy of HHRRGGH!”
Becky turned around so her back was to Portia, then shot up on tiptoe and dropped to one knee to flip the brunette onto her rump with quick Snapmare. The jolt up her tailbone was far from pleasant, but Singh would’ve regained her feet in an instant if the World Champ hadn’t braced a knee between her shoulders cupped both hands across her jaw to secure a painfully simple Chinlock. “Go on and keep running that mouth, honeybunch.” Clayton worked her foe’s head from side to side to put more strain on her neck. “I’m sure you’re paying Portia enough money for her to come up with some plausible excuse for why I kicked your ass all over this ri--”
The BFG pulled her head away from Singh’s claws when they sought her face. She avoided the Eye Rake, hissed in pain when the challenger found her hair instead. “Savor this hopeless show of defiance while you can, peasant.” Amara twined a lock of Becky’s hair around her fingers so she could pull it that much harder. “It will ultimately fall to rack and ruin, just like the rest of your dubious accomplishNGH! NGH! NGH! NNNGGGHH!”
Simultaneously aware of and utterly unconcerned with Castle’s warning about Singh’s hair pull, Bex raised her right arm overhead, fashioned it into a tire iron and brought it THWAPPING down across Amara’s chest once, twice, three times! A fourth clubberin’ seemed likely but rather than smite her foes tits again Becky cinched that arm around the challenger’s throat and gripped her own left bicep while that hand cupped the back of Amara’s skull.
Sleeper Hold, Becky Clayton to Amara Singh.
“GET OUT OF THERE, EMPRESS!” Portia swatted the mat with both hands to emphasize her point. “BACK ON YOUR FEET, DON’T LET HER TAKE IT…” the Sinister Socialite turned the volume down, her voice returning to a normal register as the One Woman Army stretched out on her left side with Amara still wriggling in her grasp, “…to the mat.”
Amara didn’t need any advice on her current predicament and frankly it was easier to concentrate on an escape plan without Baby barking at the top of her lungs. Of course the silence also made it easier to hear the blood pounding in her temples and the faint slipping sound as she fought to wrest her head free of Clayton’s encroaching arm. Finding no easy answer, she crooked her fingers into hooks and dragged them down Becky’s bicep no less than half a dozen times.
“Yuuuuhhh…. you’re no soldier.” Singh rasped when her claws made Becky hiss in displeasure. “You’ve got the pampered skin of a NNHHHHRRRGGGGGHHH!”
Clayton bore down on the Sleeper and threw her right leg over the Bollywood Bombshell’s bronzed hip, thus forcing her to carry even more weight. “Why are you so cranky tonight, Amara?” Becky ground the point of her chin into the top of Singh’s skull to make her time on the mat that much more miserable. “Portia could’ve campaigned to have this match earlier in the card if the Main Event is after your bedtime.”
The Empress gurgled an attempt at a reply, the constricting grip lessening the blood flow to her brain. Singh reached behind her trapped braincase and found some mane to tug, but the yanks seemed more an inconvenience to the Army of One.
“And now you’re braiding my hair,” Clayton joked amidst a grunt of effort. “So generous.”
Baby slid around a corner, getting as near as possible to the champion and the woman Becky’s slowly squeezing into oblivion. Amara’s dark eyes were growing glassier, her full lips burbling, arms turning rubbery.
A concerned Castle leaned in close. “Whaddyasay, Amara?”
Nothing intelligible.
Clayton’s muscular frame continued to tighten like an anaconda. It wouldn’t be the most exciting of World Title wins, but it might be among the most impressive. Might have if not for a shriek from VanBuren, Portia pointing to Amara’s ankle lying atop the bottom rope.
“CASTLE!” the slender socialite implored. “ROPES!”
The vicinity of Portia to the golden-brown leg wasn’t lost on FAWN’s lead referee but there’s little he could do but call for the break. Becky, having also missed what might have been Singh’s saving grace, slowly uncoiled from around the challenger. Amara sputtered back to life, exchanging her layered ankle for a two-armed hug of the middle cable. She leaned her head over and engages in a private conversation with her manager.
The Camouflage Crusher stood several feet away, watching intently.
“Looks like you made the right choice, Amara. An Empress can’t survive without her underlings.”
It’s difficult to tell who’s more upset by the slight. VanBuren or Amara. Singh’s state of disrepair left her to do little more than stare lasers. Baby was more demonstrative, leaping to the apron and using her biggest remaining weapon as a leader, her voice.
Portia berated Clayton as a paper champion while Castle moved Fortune’s Favorite toward the corner of the Bollywood Bombshell. He’s slowly successful, though VanBuren bitterly complained through every inch.
Becky chuckled over the bad theater. She used Nick’s inattention to close with Amara, the Indian grappler on her haunches, using every second for recovery from her near demise. Bex latched onto a handful of ebony locks and pulled Singh to a full kneel, spinning Amara toward her. She lowered to wrap both hands around Amara’s noggin when Singh’s balled right hand flashed toward her jaw, literally.
Becky’s head whipped away from the impact, long locks flying. Clayton’s body went stiff as a board and she timbered to her back, out cold.
A huffing Singh didn’t bother dispensing with Baby’s infamous gold knux unobtrusively. With Nick’s head turned she blatantly tossed them into the front row and crawled wearily to the waylaid Clayton, dropping like deadweight across Becky’s chest. The Empress croaked softly toward the argument in her corner, VanBuren finally recognizing her plan had come to fruition.
Baby grabbed Castle by the shoulders and tried to turn him to the action, but he continued to demand the Manhattanite get back in her proper place. Frantic, Portia acceded to his wishes, dropping to the floor, then pointing and screaming at Castle to turn around. The zebra swung his gaze toward the middle of the ring and realized he’s late for a very important date.
He leapt next to the pinned Clayton and slapped the canvas for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Becky shot a shoulder off the canvas, perhaps on reflexes alone, pushing Singh up to all fours, Amara slackjawed and staring at VanBuren in disbelief. For a moment, Baby responded with likeminded amazement, but quickly motioned the Empress to make the army grunt one of her subjects.
Amara rose and pulled Clayton up to her haunches by her foe’s hair. She let Bex lean into her coppery-skinned frame, the Army of One capable of little more.
“Now, peasant. You will pay your respects.”
The Bombshell pivoted and proceeded to POUND a series of ten Soccer Kicks into Clayton’s chest, the last few nearly spilling her foe over, but somehow the physical specimen absorbed them all and remains partially upright, albeit grimacing in pain.
Amara played to the jeering crowd, motioning them unsuccessfully to bow before her, then turned to start on another set of kicks. The first one swung toward the target, but Bex caught her at the ankle. With a sneer, Clayton rose with Singh’s right leg in her possession, Amara left to hop on her remaining planted foot. Reacting quickly, she leapt off the left and CLACKED a bare foot into Clayton’s right temple, freeing herself from the champion’s grip and sending the Camo Crusher down to one knee with the Enzugiri.
Racing to the ropes in front of her foe, Amara came sprinting out of the cables and NAILED Becky with a Shining Empress kick to the forehead, sending the BFG tumbling to her back in a spreadeagle.
With Becky trying to blink some senses back into her gray matter, the Bollywood Bombshell dove on the titleholder, mounting Clayton in a reverse straddle of Becky’s chest. The sultry Empress smashed fist after fist into Becky’s chiseled abs in blistering combos, drawing chirps of pain from the Army of One. With Clayton slightly softened, she slid her seat back, slipping to the champ’s neck then over her chin to take a Bollywood Ending seat on Clayton’s face and try and smother her foe out.
Becky, her features buried, flailed wildly, her air cut off by Amara’s undercarriage. Singh’s copper-skinned legs bracketed Clayton’s noggin as the Indian grappler tried to ride out her foe’s bucking and bring Becky’s reign to a humiliating end. But the Black Court’s muscle had too much left. She combined a thrusting pelvis with a two handed-shove against the thighs of the Empress to heave the exotic Amara overhead.
The greasy-faced Clayton gasped for air as she clambered to the ropes, using them to rise to vertical, while a disappointed but focused challenger nodded at Portia’s directions.
Singh approaches carefully as the champ swept soaked, matted hair off her face and forehead then lifted her hands for a Tie-Up. The Empress interrupted Clayton’s plan with a delving Toe Kick to the tummy, doubling Bex over with a guttural groan.
Amara tugged Becky’s lowered head between her thighs, wrapping her arms around the gulping tummy of the title holder.
Marshalling the energy she had remaining, Amara grunted as she flips the BFG up her body until she had Clayton seated on her shoulders, ready to send the Army of One damn near through the mat with her PowerBollyBomb. But before Singh could detonate the maneuver, Becky had the sense to hammer away with a balled right fist to Amara’s temple. Singh’s legs gave way from the assault and Becky rode the collapsing Amara to the mat, her ass THUMPING Singh’s chest in an impactful sandwich with the canvas.
Becky reached back to coral both of her foe’s golden brown stems in the crooks of her elbows. She leaned forward, Matchbooking Singh for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara bucked clear of the champ with half a second to spare, her show of resilience disappointing the FAWN faithful and considerably lowering Portia’s blood pressure in a single stroke. “Stay on her, Amara!” VanBuren coached her slowly rising charge. “She’s already been your throne once already, so get up and take what’s yours!
Easier said than done, yet the Empress nodded agreement and swatted her backside while glaring daggers at her opponent. “Your panic felt exquisite, peasant.” she growled. “I didn’t think--”
“That’s right you didn’t think.” Clayton interrupted. “That’s the only explanation for you’re taking advice from a woman who’s last match ended with an ambulance ri--”
Singh leapt with claws extended, fully intending to rip that blasphemy from Bex’s mouth before it could reach any other peasant ears. These suppressive efforts were at least partially successful, though they came at the cost of Clayton’s right shoulder buried deep in her belly. Said costs continued to skyrocket when the Peacekeeper hooked her arms around Singh’s upper thighs and knotted her hands just below the swell of her glutes. Portia knew what came next as evidenced by her shrieked warning, alas it wasn’t nearly enough to prevent Clayton from shooting up on tiptoe, then sinking to one knee to THUMP Amara’s crotch against the plank of her thigh!
Singh groaned and stumbled backward, her knees practically knocking as she dealt with the nauseating ache in her gut. Certain the Bombshell could tend to these problems on her own, Clayton did an about-face and sprinted to the ropes on the opposite side of the squared circle. Amara saw her coming and backpedaled as fast as she could, the brunette going so far as to raise a warding hand against THWHACK! Bex put her on the deck with a massive Lariat across the clavicle, the force of which dropped the World Champ to one knee beside her opponent. Sliding into a Crossbody on general principle, Clayton hooked the far leg tight and pressed her other hand to Singh’s forehead while Castle and the rest of the War Marchers counted off…
LARIAT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XW4CsPYtdwk
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara didn’t just get a shoulder off the mat, she got a hand under Becky’s chin and shoved her off. “Away with you, peasant.” she grunted. “Your filth is offensive to all my sensNNGGHH!”
The BFG answered that show of disrespect with a heavy Double Axehandle smashed deep into the challenger’s tummy! “This is MY ring, honeybunch.” Bex explained once she’d hauled Singh to verticality via a double handful of hair. “You’re welcome to leave anytime if you can’t hack it!”
Amara’s only answer was muttered vitriol so Clayton slipped an arm between her thighs and ‘hupped’ her into a tummy-first perch atop her right shoulder. Taking care to flip Portia off as she swung toward one of the far corners, Becky strode over and dumped Amara like a sack of laundry, her forehead meeting the top turnbuckle with an eye-watering BWUUUNG!
Coming up Snake Eyes was never a good thing but Singh at least managed to keep her feet as she staggered away from the crash site. “OUT OF THE WAY, AMARA!” VanBuren bellowed to the Empress in a vain effort to be heard over the roar of the capacity crowd. “YOU HAVE GET OUT OF THE--”
SNAKE EYES & BIG BOOT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=MeaEWDgK0WA
THWHACK! Clayton’s Big Boot put Amara down on the back of her head and shoulders like she’d just been eaten a Powerbomb, but the One Woman Army didn’t get a chance to go for a cover before Singh sat up and rolled to one knee! This was no miraculous recovery though, merely an adrenaline-fueled bit of muscle memory that faded out once her shoulders were off the canvas. Becky went to grab a handful of hair, drew back when Portia caught her gaze. Eyes locked on the FAWN Original, Clayton mouthed ‘Watch this, baby.’ then drew a bead on Singh’s chin and put her head on a swivel with an absolute shotgun blast of a right hand. Amara collapsed to the deck in a heap and Becky dropped sank down beside her, the Camouflage Crusher shoveling Singh onto her back so she could secure another Crossbody for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara ensured the survival of her golden quest for another three seconds, though this escape lacked the haughtiness shown in her previous effort. The difference was not lost on Becky, who got up and stomped away from the challenger without so much as a backward glance. Settling into a corner on her opponent’s six, Clayton dropped into a crouch and began to sway back and forth, back and forth.
The Howling Commandos knew what that meant and Baby must’ve too because she banged a fist against the apron and called, “Get out of the ring, Amara! Take a breather and regr--NO! Don’t get…” VanBuren trailed off in frustrated silence as the Empress pushed off her knee and turned around in what looked like a barely-controlled swoon. A roar from the assembled when Clayton exploded from the corner, the Camouflage Crusher transforming herself into the heaviest ordinance for the Spear she aimed at Singh’s midsect--THUNK!
Amara couldn’t get out of the way so she stepped back and whipped her right foot up into the other wrestler’s forehead! The pinpoint Toe Kick knocked Bex up on her tiptoes, but the kick Singh delivered to her left shin dropped the Destroyer to her knees with equal efficacy. Catching Clayton’s noggin in a Front Facelock the instant she touched down, Amara kicked her right leg forward and snapped backward to THWONK! Becky’s forehead into the canvas courtesy a huge Snap DDT! The champ jolted from end to end and rolled onto her shoulder and hip so Singh bulled her the rest of the way over and collected both legs in a bundle that pointed her ass at the overhead lights for…
SNAP DDT:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Mhnw-GhYKQ
ONE…
TWO…
Becky kicked out *just* after ‘TWO!’ which didn’t please Portia one bit. “Good lord, Castle! Could you count any slower? That was cuh-learly five!”
As for Amara, she seemed far less concerned. “Let him count as slow as he’d like, Portia.” Singh told her manager in the midst of dragging Clayton to boot-leather. “I want these peasants to see their heroine utterly helpless when confronted by the might of an Empress.” Baby’s expression suggested she wasn’t entirely on board with this line of thinking, though she did break into a devious smile when Amara walked Becky over and forced her to kneel with her throat snug against the middle strand.
“Hands to yourself, Portia.” Castle warned. “You so much as brush hair out of her face and I’ll send you to the back.” VanBuren scoffed, then offered Singh a brisk golf clap when the brunette placed her right knee across the nape of Clayton’s neck and climbed aboard, Singh effectively throttling the penitent Destroyer with every bit of her weight! Anchored in place thanks to a two-handed grip on the top rope, Amara put every bit of her near hundred and forty pounds into the vile jouncing that had Becky’s arms flailing and her face turning ever uglier shades of red. Only halted by the ‘FOUR!’ of Nick’s count, the Bollywood Bombshell slipped through the ropes to the apron and caught hold of her prey’s hair. “Don’t start choking her again, Amara.” the Senior Official warned. “You won’t be happy if I have to tell you twice.”
“Your mere existence guarantees that I will never be happy, Castle.” Singh sneered as she pulled Bex to stooped verticality that saw her half-in / half-out of the ring. Twisting Clayton around so she could brace the back of her neck against her left shoulder, Amara dropped to a seat on the apron which in turn snapped Becky’s neck against the middle rope with an awful TWANG! The Peacekeeper bounced away from the edge to land flat on her face, Clayton looking as beaten as she ever had while a smirking Singh spread her arms wide to better soak in the adulation of her loyal peasants.
ROPE HUNG HANGMAN'S NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vFcnZk456U0
Amara sat on the edge of the apron, casting a disdainful glance over her shoulder at the splayed, facedown title holder. She skooched off the hardest part of the ring, putting bare feet to the arena floor. A grinning Portia sidled to her charge and threw a hug around the Empress, the solidarity returned by the Subcontinental Siren. VanBuren disengaged and took a step back before dropping to one knee in supplication to the future World Champion so taken by the moment was the former three-time World Title holder.
Singh motioned for her manager to rise then demanded everyone in the audience repeat Portia’s display. A few FAWNatics took the challenger up on her offer, but most buried Amara in a sea of boos.
The Bollywood Bombshell turned her attention back to the activity, or lack thereof, in the ring. Clayton was stirring, slowly pushing to all fours as Singh rolled under the bottom rope and popped to her feet. She reached the Camouflage Crusher just as Becky’s putting boot soles to the canvas and pulled the champ into a tight Side Headlock. With her left arm occupied, Amara clenched a right fist and thrust a set of curling Uppercuts into Clayton’s chin. Bex’s face held in place, the Army of One’s legs rubbery after a half dozen shots.
Relenting from one attack, the Empress set up another by releasing her grip and shoving the wobbling Becky into a backpedal, Clayton’s spinal column crashing into a corner. Amara followed her in slowly, the exotic beauty then LIGHTING Clayton’s chest afire with a blazing Chop that drew the requisite ‘WOOO’ from the crowd and a rosy welt across the décolletage of the Black Court’s muscle. The Peacekeeper was rocked to her heels from that blow, a whistling second, and a blistering third did her no favors, Becky wincing, her eyes reflexively welling from the stinging rebukes.
Amara leaned in close to the shuddering champ, moving her full lips to an ear.
“You’ll kiss my feet before this night’s done,” Singh insisted.
Grabbing a shoulder and wrist in combination, Singh heaved Becky toward the opposite corner with an Irish Whip, or that appeared to be the plan. But before the Cam Crusher was sent sprinting, she planted and pivoted. Instead, it’s the Indian grappler rushing toward the buckles. Wide-eyed, she turned into the collision, back BLASTED by the force of the impact.
Amara stumbled out toward a charging Becky who drew Singh in close, chest to chest. Her arms cinched behind the challenger, Becky closing the grip into a tight Bear Hug that drew a gasp and look of anguish from the challenger. But before the Peacekeeper could get too settled and squeeze the life from Singh, Amara grabbed Becky’s head, a hand on each side to steady her target, and laid into the bridge of the All-American’s nose with a THWACKING Headbutt.
Clayton’s head snapped back in whiplash-like fashion and she stumbled back a step. Becky’s turnaround extinguished before it could fully catch flame, Singh showed her power, scooping the Star-Spangled Destroyer off her feet like a babe on her arms, a couple arms behind Becky’s knees. She held her foe tight, cradled to her chest, then dropped to one knee, attempting to snap the spine of the Army of One with a Backbreaker.
Bent in an agonizing arch across the golden-brown plank of Amara’s leg, Becky mewled in pain, the grunts growing when the Empress pushed a palm down on either side to accentuate the arc of her rival.
“Ask her,” the Bombshell demanded. “Ask the peasant if she’s seen the light.”
Castle did as he’s told, but there’s an emphatic shake of the champion’s head in reply.
Frustrated, Amara shoved Clayton off, the Camouflage Crusher puddling in front of Singh, a hand reaching for her lower spine. The Empress rose and paraded around the downed champion.
“Some people will never understand their proper station,” Amara informed the FAWNatics, taking a veiled shot at them along with the fighter they favor.
Fight remained in the Army of One as she struggled toward vertical. The Indian import stepped in front of the rising Clayton, dipping an arm between Becky’s unsteady stems. Amara scooped Bex off the canvas, easily shifting the Peacekeeper onto a shoulder in Body Slam position. But instead of immediately bruising her foe’s backbone again, she carried the softly squirming Clayton to the corner above a delighted VanBuren.
Amara drew Becky off her shoulder, slamming Becky’s back atop the ropes on either side of the buckles, placed like a sacrifice on an altar to the Empress. Amara savagely kicked the base of Becky’s spine, Clayton arching upward, offering her taut abdomen up. Singh did not refuse the gift, swinging a wicked Double Axehandle down into the chiseled midriff, no amount of crunches preventing Amara’s laced fists from gutting the champion.
Becky’s eyes bulged from the blow, a great exhalation bursting from her lips, only for her perfect pearlies to be gritting from another barefoot kick to her lower vertebrae. Backing off a few steps, Amara leapt onto the middle rope a few feet away from the Black Court offering to her manager. She springboarded off and landed a pointed elbow drop to the cleft of Becky’s bosom, the downward thrust of the strike finally collapsing Clayton’s frame enough to spill her to the canvas.
Amara popped to her feet sporting a shyt-eating grin. Grabbing Castle by a shoulder, she led him in the opposite direction of Fortune’s Favorite. While Singh discussed geopolitics, Baby slid her upper body in far enough to grab the often powerful but currently flaccid lower limbs of the Peacekeeper at the ankles. She dragged Becky toward the corner and, more importantly, the steel ring post behind. But most importantly, one of those legs was situated on either side of the iron.
The narrow ‘V’ of Becky’s stems was still wide enough for the slender socialite, using all her limited strength, to YANK Clayton into a gut-churning kitty collision that had the crowd groaning in sympathy. Steel to crotch remained the order of the day as a vicious VanBuren put an immaculately (and specially made) white Air Jordan to one side of the metal beam, while grinding Becky’s groin into the other side as she pulled back on each of her ‘handles’.
“I don’t appreciate being insulted, Jersey,” Portia complained through clenched teeth. “Particularly from lunkhead grunts like you!”
Baby released one lower limb and drew the opposite number wide before SWINGING the limb toward the steel, the inside of Becky’s left knee THUMPING against the post. Clayton howled in pain, frantically butt-scooting out of reach of VanBuren, one hand stuffed between her thighs, the other working at her screaming joint.
“Time to make memories.” Singh concluded her soliloquy to the zebra before pushing past Nick and striding to a whimpering Clayton, Bex looking more like she could use an army than being one.
Credit the grit of the World Champ, she sat up and swiped shots at the encroaching Empress, alas they weren’t enough to prevent Singh from driving a quick boot into her forehead. “Didn’t I say you’d kiss my feet tonight, peasant?” Amara growled as she bent down to collect a double handful of hair. “I believe it’s time you got started.” But rather than apply lips to toes, Singh hauled the Camouflage Crusher into a Standing Headscissors and treated the undeserving throng to a little Bollywood shimmy.
“The Age of the Empress is upon you! Look upon my glory, peasants! And despair!”
The jeers hit her in waves that Amara ignored in favor of looping both arms around Becky’s waist so she could muscle / flip the hardbody onto her shoulders for a reign-ending PowerboNO! Aching knee be damned, Clayton crossed her ankles and popped her hips to flip Singh off her feet in an improved Hurricanrana! Portia’s features went from gloating to ghastly, Fortune’s Favorite shrieking for Amara to break free even as Bex collected those thrashing legs in a tight bundle and leaned down so far her forehead was touching the mat! Swooping into place in the span between heartbeats, Castle counted off the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Singh exploded out of the ‘Rana and bounded to verticality, her dark eyes shiny with rage and fear. She didn’t waste time checking with the ref though, the challenger just threw herself at the Peacekeeper as Clayton clambered to her fee--“HHNNGGGHH!”
Becky wasn’t quite upright when Amara closed in, so she hooked her arms around the brunette’s knees and swept her to the deck with a stiff Double Leg Takedown. Tucking Singh’s shins beneath her armpits, Clayton locked her hands to create an unbreakable loop, then turned Amara onto her belly, stepped over and sat down DEEP, her butt oh so snug in the hollow of Singh’s back. “GIVE UP!” Becky demanded as she bent Singh into a ‘C’ that was looking more like an ‘O’ with each passing second. “TAP OUT, AMARA!”
BOSTON CRAB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=zU5mtyL_Wrk
“Don’t you dare!” Portia shouted at her suffering charge. “The ropes are close, Amara! Just follow my voice and I’ll lead you to go--”
“AAAAAAAAARRRGGGGHH SHHHHYYYTTT!” Singh sobbed in anguish as her bare soles drew that much closer to the back of her skull.
“Tap out, honeybunch.” Becky growled. “Or I’ll break you in half.”
“THE HELL SHE WILL!” VanBuren countered. “DIG YOUR GODDAMNED CLAWS INTO THE MAT AND GET. OVER. HERE!”
Singh shook her head ‘no’, which Baby actually took as a show of disrespect until she realized the Empress was refusing Castle’s latest question. Her mood improved ever so slightly when Singh set her hands against the canvas and puuuuuushed her torso off the mat by three or four inches. The pressure on her lower back was hellacious, but the increased mobility allowed Amara to inch and claw her way toward the ropes despite all of Clayton’s efforts. Singh’s straining fingers were mere inches from freedom when Becky stood up and-- Portia reached under the bottom rope with both hands, grabbed the Empress’ wrists and pulled her to the ropes!
Now VanBuren hadn’t been brazen about the assist, but she hadn’t been particularly stealthy about it either. That combined with the outraged roar from the crowd brought Castle down on her like the Wrath of God. “Locker room. Now.” he barked at the FAWN original.
“What? The hell I will!”
“You’re gone or I call a DQ right now. Your choice.”
“How dare--”
“Get. OUT Portia.” Singh rasped. “I’ve got thisSSNNNNGGGHH!”
Becky had tossed the challenger’s legs aside but she was still astride Singh’s back so she dropped a short, brutal Butt Bomb onto those aching vertebrae.
Looking like she was ready to chew nails, Portia abruptly threw her hands high and started up the ramp. “Don’t let me down, Amara.” she said softly. “I won’t be disappointed again.”
Alas Baby would’ve been well served to temper her expectations because things weren’t looking good for the challenger when Becky buried both hands in Amara’s hair and draaaaaaaaagged her out to the center of the ring. “Thhuuu… knew that’s why you brought Portia.” Clayton groaned as she hauled Amara to her feet. “Couldn’t do it by your f*cking self.”
“I don’t… don’t need her to humble yoOOOOFFFHHHH!”
The BFG buried her good knee in Amara’s midsection to make sure she was good and doubled over when Bex circled around to her left side, snatched that wrist and stuffed it between the brunette’s thighs. Once she’d taken possession of that wrist in her right hand, Clayton leaned over Singh’s back and threaded her left arm under Amara’s right bicep, then wrenched it backward in a Pumphandle strong enough to flip the Empress onto her right shoul--“NNNGGGHH!”
Amara spiked her left knee into the back of Clayton’s neck, the violent jolt causing her to stumble forward in an effort to regain her balance. She might’ve done so if not for that aching left knee, but the collision with the ring-post caused the joint to buckle and she crumpled to all fours with Singh squatted awkwardly atop her lower ba-- the Bollywood Bombshell snatched Becky’s elbows, wrenched her arms backward and dropped into a deep squat just before she locked her hands across Clayton’s chin and craaaaaaaaaaaaaanked backward.
CAMEL CLUTCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=jMFOCqCrdLU
“SUBMIT, PEASANT!” Singh screamed as she put everything she had left into subjugating her foe with the Camel Clutch.
“What do you say, Becky?” Castle was as close to the action as he dared. “Do you need me to call it?”
“Nuuuuhhhh….NOOOOO!” Bex howled the denial because the pressure on her neck wouldn’t let her shake her head ‘no’. “NO, NO I WON’T TAPPPRRRRRGGGGGHHHHH!”
Amara went up on tiptoe and rocked back a little farther, this adjustment doing no favors for her own aching spine. “I have shortened careers with this hold, peasant.” Singh sneered. “And I will END yours to claim my proper place, so see the light and TAP OUTNOOOOOOOOO!”
Becky tightened her arms around Amara’s thighs and slid her right knee into position against the canvas beneath her. A colossal roar from the FAWNatics as Clayton rose to her full height and Amara’s hooks changed from the Camel Clutch to little more than a piggyback ride with a particularly aggressive Chinlo--“AAAAAHHHHH FAAAAAAAAHHHK!”
Becky sobbed in aggrieved distress when Amara crooked one hand into a talon and raked it across her eyes! She stumbled hard and her left leg gave out again, the injured powerhouse crumpling into a facedown heap with Singh landing astride her lower back. Sliding south off the Camouflage Crusher, Amara bundled up Becky’s legs and quickly laid a shin on each shoulder. Just leaning forward folded Clayton’s stems up and put the Bombshell in position to clasp her rival’s chin once more, but rather than do so she took Becky’s left wrist in her right hand and vice-versa, then pulled the Straightjacket with such force that the toes of the champion’s boots did indeed touch the back of her head!
“FINISHED!” Amara roared down at her squirming prey. “YOU’RE FINISHED, PEASANT! BEG FOR THE MERCY OF YOUR EMPR--”
“YOU’RE NO EMPRESS!” Clayton wailed. “YOU’RE JUST AN ARROGANT BYTCAAAAAAHHH! AGH! AGH! AGH! AAAAAAAGGGAAWWWD I SUBMIT! I SUBMIT!”
Singh heard it but didn’t acknowledge, she just kept jouncing that Straightjacket Bollyknot up and down until the bell sounded and Nick Castle was at one shoulder, the ref working frantically to get her off the deposed champion.
He was still at it when the Announcer called, “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission… and the NEEEEEEEEEEEEW FAWN World Champion… AMARA SINGH!”
The Empress tossed the straightjacket portion of the hold aside, Clayton’s upper half unspooling, her face THUMPING against the canvas.
“And the legs.” Castle demanded.
Singh grinned guiltily. “Can’t put anything past you.” Amara let the lower limbs loose and a sigh of relief escapes the Peacekeeper’s lips as they flopped limply to the canvas.
The newly crowned Bollywood Bombshell arose, hovering in a straddling stance over the FORMER World Champion.
Singh turned to a flashing bolt of white racing down the ramp. The returning Portia grabbed the gold on the ‘drive-by’ past the Announcer’s table and slid in.
“Empress,” she said politely, holding the belt deferentially over an extended arm.
Amara relieved her manager of the championship, raising it high with one hand while VanBuren pushed Castle aside and took his place holding up the opposite high, showcasing the new queen of the FAWN hill.
“Bow down to your Empress!” Baby demanded. She got a few responses. Very few. The jeers quickly overwhelmed them and only grew louder when Portia stomped a white Air Jordan into the base of Becky’s spine then I]grrrrroooooooound[/I] it back & forth.
Nose firmly raised, Amara Singh was in her element, her station finally meeting her opinion of herself.
VanBuren released her grip but on Singh’s wrist but continued to motion toward her star pupil until she noticed Becky rolling to her back below. As Amara took a promenade of the ring, Portia stared down into the grimacing face of the Army of One. Drawn instantly to her glory days, she dropped to a seated straddle of Clayton’s chest. Nose over nose, the slender socialite gazed at a bruised Bex.
“Since you didn’t kiss the feet of your Empress, you’ll get to kiss something else.”
“You try it and you’llMMMMMPPPPPHHHH.”
Becky’s threat was cut short as Portia pivoted into a Reverse Face Sit, her taut tush riding the features of the once-dominant destroyer. Becky, under normal conditions, might have heaved VanBuren to the moon, but in the state Amara’s left her, she struggled in vain to shift Portia’s derriere off her mug. Slowly Baby scooted forward and back across the flawless features, picking up her pace as Becky fought futilely to unseat her.
Baby drove her talons into the Peacekeeper’s bosom, squeezing her fingers white. It wouldn’t be a full 911 but to have the Army of One at her mercy flushed Portia’s face. That or the sensual swipes across Becky’s features growing in their pace. Clayton’s arms became increasingly flaccid, waving like reeds in the wind before they fell to her sides, Becky out cold.
Beside her, a returning Amara enjoyed the show but didn’t want her victory to be overshadowed.
“That’s enough, my mentor.”
VanBuren scowled, having to end class before going fully old school. She leaned forward, removing her backside from Becky’s now greasy visage and tapped Clayton’s chiseled tummy.
“See? Mercy.” Baby informed the comatose Clayton.
Unsteadily, Fortune’s Favorite rose and headed for the ropes, opening the top and middle wide for her charge.
Amara dramatically wiped the dust off her bare feet onto Becky’s carcass, carrying her hard-won treasure home, the golden-brown beauty surely already considering how her Empire would be defended.