Post by hawkeye on Aug 8, 2021 23:53:32 GMT
Joined in progress with the combatants in the ring…
The challenger…PORTIA VANBUREN
The World Champion…AMARA SINGH
Amara took leave of her corner as soon as the bell sounded, the Golden Empress moving with a celerity that suggested the galling finale at Summer Swelter was still fresh on her mind.
The mere thought, let alone sight, of the current FAWN World Champion storming their way would’ve sent a shiver down the spines of most women, yet no one was really surprised when Fortune’s Favorite simply dipped right and threaded her svelte torso through the gap between top and middle ropes. “Ensure she keeps her distance, Castle.” VanBuren sniffed. “And check her trunks a second time, if you will. I know for a fact that our sniveling ‘Empress’ has a hidden pocket for those times when she finds herself hopelessly outclassed.”
Singh snarled, went to juke around the official only to turn away when Nick moved with her. “Easy, Amara.” he said as gently as possible. Amara snorted, flicked a dismissive hand in his direction. Thus satisfied, Nick turned to Portia and noted, “Match is live Portia, you heard the bell. I understand you might be nervous, so take five seconds to collect yourself, then--”
“I am absolutely NOT nervous.” the blonde snapped. “I am perhaps slightly concerned that your shoddy pre-match check didn’t reveal the full depths of our World Champion’s penchant for trick--”
Singh’s second attempt took her right by the startled ref, the gold-clad brunette coming in low and fast to THUMP a heavy Shoulderblock into the pit of Portia’s tummy! The initial collision scuffed Baby’s butt up onto the middle buckle, though apparently not quite enough for Amara’s liking because she grabbed hold of the second strand on either side of the challenger to put even more ‘oomph’ on the next three she applied to her foe’s midsection! Baring her teeth as she bore the champion’s weight, Portia hooked one arm around Amara’s neck in a Front Facelock to keep her doubled up while she pwak-pwak-PWAAAAKED a trio of overhand Forearm Smashes across Singh’s lower back.
More angered than hurt by this resistance, Amara set her feet and continued to plow forward, presumably in an effort to touch her shoulder to the ring-post despite the persistent annoyance of VanBuren’s body. “Is that all you’ve got, peasant?” Singh’s voice dripped disdain. “I expect FAR more from my co-champioAAARRRRHHHH OOOOOOWWWW!”
Not about to suffer such disrespect from this flouncing figurehead of her own creation, Portia curled her free hand into a talon and raaaaaaaaaaaked Amara from her waistband to between the shoulders approximately half a dozen times before she grabbed hold of those gauzy harem pants (not to mention the briefs beneath) and yanked up on a wedgie that tore the former and greatly reduced the latter!
Painfully aware of the uphill climb he faced tonight, Nick didn’t bother with a warning, he merely moved into position beside his charges and began to count, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”
Singh straightened up and took two big steps back with both hands raised to shoulder-level. The look on her face suggested this had nothing to do with respect for the rules and everything for getting Castle out of the way.
As for Portia, she made a minor adjustment to her own briefs and smoothed down her hair like she didn’t have a worry in the world. “How easily your façade slips, Empress Jersey.” she chided. “Soon even these chortling idiots will realize there’s nothing golden about you. You’re just a lead paperweight with a coat of shiny NNNGGGHHH!”
Amara hauled off and pasted the veteran with a Bytch Slap that swiveled Baby’s head to the side. “You forget your place, old woman.” Singh sneered as she backpedaled to the center of the squared circle. “All you did was draw the proper attention to my prowess. It was I who bent the backs and crushed the wills that you never--”
VanBuren exploded out of the corner, swept Amara into a Collar & Elbow and forced her to cede all of three steps before the Subcontinental Siren dug in one foot like a kickstand. Portia continued to push and shove, but Amara would have none of it, even when the blonde wedged a hand beneath her chin. Tiring of the show in a manner of seconds, Singh grabbed VanBuren by the nape of the neck and marched her right back to the corner she’d so recently occupied.
“Break!” Portia snapped as soon as she felt her butt touch the buckles. “Get this pretender off of me, Cast--”
Gasps of delight and surprise from the FAWNatics when Amara broke the clinch and slapped Baby’s patrician features sideways!
“How dare you look surprised.” the Golden Empress huffed as she gave VanBuren the demanded separation. “You had to know how this would play out. You’re a shell of your former self… and even in your prime you’d barely be capable of carrying my palan--”
Fortune’s Favorite pounced for another Collar & Elbow Tie-Up only this time Singh didn’t budge so much as an inch. She simply absorbed the blonde’s power, then marched her toward the corner which was quickly becoming the challenger’s newest summer residen--“HHHRRGHH!” VanBuren hooked a thumb into the side of Amara’s mouth and pushed like she meant to widen the brunette’s smile by several ghastly inches!
Forced to follow Baby’s whims to protect her face, Singh found their positions reversed to that it was her rump pressed snug to the second turnbuckle. “BRAYGH!” she gabbled to Castle. “BRAYGH DEH RRRRGGGGGGGHHHH!”
Portia added her other thumb to the already painful rictus and looked Singh dead in the eye as she mouthed out the Senior Official’s count. “ONE… TWO… THREE…FOUR!”
The three-time World Champion relinquished her hooks with a flourish, then warmed Singh’s cheeks with a forehand / backhand combination because she was Portia Ophelia VanBuren the Fourth!
“You had to know how this would play out.” Baby smirked to the brunette now that it was her turn to offer the condescending space. “You were just another broken Jersey when I extended my hand and pulled you from the gutter. I promised you everything you ever wanted and I delivered because I am the Queen Maker and ooohhh, my dear little Empress, it’s time you learned that I am also the Queen Break--”
Amara stormed out showing righteous fury and a telegraphed Haymaker that cost her dearly when VanBuren countered by simply poking her in the eyes! Singh yelped, wheeled around and got snatched into a gnashing Side Headlock for her troubles. Careful to keep her knotted fists dragging back ‘n forth across the Indian grappler’s eyes, Portia hauled her foe to the ropes, pressed her face to the top strand and bore down with every ounce of her weight as she proceeded to stroll toward the next corner!
The crowd didn’t mind in the slightest, alas Amara and Nick protested quite vehemently, albeit at differing levels of coherence! VanBuren nodded in sympathetic understanding every step of the way, though it took another count of ‘FOUR!’ from the ref to make her pull Singh’s face away from the rubber-coated steel. Even then the freedom proved costly for the champion as Portia buried both hands in the brunette’s dark locks and SMASHED her forehead against the top turnbuckle! Legs rubbery, Amara stumbled backward and cursed aloud when VanBuren collected her in another Side Headlock.
“I think it’s time you tasted the canvas, Empress.” Portia tittered before she loped out to center with Amara wriggling in her wake. Leaving her feet after several long strides, Portia soared through a beautiful descent that culminated in an ugly THWHUNKING landing when Singh’s skull was driven into the mat. The Empress slopped onto one side so Fortune’s Favorite pushed her onto her back and slid across her chest, Baby hooking the far leg in a cradle good for the…
ONE…
TWO…
+++
Singh denies FAWN its first four-time World Champion, shoving a shoulder off the canvas, pushing VanBuren up to her haunches. Baby rakes her nails across the golden-brown midriff of the Bollywood Bombshell drawing a shriek from Amara, welt lines rising on her foe’s flawless skin.
“After your reign is done, you can still have a job serving me. Of course, there’ll be a new woman riding the palanquin and you’ll be one of my carriers.”
The words draw the Indian into a fury-induced, adrenaline rush. Singh rises to a seat and shoves the slender socialite away. Pushing to her feet, Amara staggers, her body getting ahead of her addled gray matter. She rattles her senses back into place, but Portia’s already on her feet and pirouetting into a Discus Clothesline that nearly removes the Empress’ head from her body.
Discus Clothesline ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0qJHBN70o8 )
The proximity of the ropes dissuades VanBuren from attempting another pin. Instead, the organizational icon rolls a dazed Singh to her chest and lifts the champion enough to drape Amara’s throat across the bottom strand. Portia straddles her derriere against the back of Singh’s throat, riding the Jersey as Amara chokes back to life, her dark eyes bulging.
The Empress gasps breathlessly, flailing wildly as her windpipe is shut by Lyle’s baby girl. Al shouts at Fortune’s Favorite to dismount, but Baby rides for the full four-spot, leaving Amara a gagging wreck in her wake.
“Just like Lenore. You can’t believe I’m still better than you’ll ever be.”
Portia pushes past Carpenter and sinks a set of nails into the Bonbshell’s scalp, tugging Singh back to her feet and away from any possible salvation via the strands. Moving her grip to a wrist and shoulder, VanBuren heaves the Empress toward a far corner. Amara sprints and turns into a HEAVY back-first collision that sends a shudder through Singh, though the remaining fight in the champ keeps Amara upright.
Portia is at ramming speed and VanBuren NAILS Amara with a splash as best as she can manage with the limited mass available to her. It’s enough to keep Singh in a stupor as Baby pivots and climbs to the middle ropes her back to Amara. VanBuren turns to gaze over her shoulder as she peels her bikini bottoms down enough to bare her ivory cheeks.
“Time you’ve learned every stock, including yours, falls in a Bare Ass Market.”
Portia backs her backside, stuffing her butt into Amara’s features, Singh’s beak parting the alabaster glutes of the challenger.
Amara thrashes wildly as VanBuren continues to smother the squirming Empress until a roar, muffled by Portia’s buttocks can be heard beneath, and Singh’s arms encircle the slender thighs of the Manhattanite.
As Portia starts to lift involuntarily from her perch, her emerald pools grow large. They bulge wider as she’s carried away from the corner, her arms windmilling as she’s atop a blinded but enraged Amara. Having lost control, Baby plummets to earth, face and chest first when Singh drops forward, VanBuren’s head snapping back from the forceful impact.
Baby rolls absently to her back, hand shooting to her patrician features to check for a creased proboscis. The collision removed the Empress’ nose from between Baby’s cheeks and the greasy-faced Amara sputters back to life, spitting out the crack sweat from her full lips.
“Daddy’s not dealing with stocks and bonds,” Singh huffs, trying to regain her breath on hands and knees as Baby curses through her fingers at what the champ might have done to her face. “You’re dealing with an Empress whose empire will not fall to the likes of you.”
Singh crawls to Portia and sinks both sets of talons into each of Baby’s A-cups, wrenching them in cruel claws that draw howls of anguish as the enraged Bollywood Bully uses them to yank VanBuren to a seated position. Singh transfers her grips to a Portia’s flaxen locks and pulls Baby up the rest of the way.
The Subcontinental Siren scoops Portia behind the knees like a babe in her arms, showing the wincing, writhing VanBuren to the crowd in a short lap before dropping to one knee in an attempt to split Baby’s backbone in half. Portia’s sinewy frame CRASHES across the plank of Amara’s upper right leg, Singh hoping to snap her former manager’s spine.
From the ragged arch of the socialite’s body and the scream of agony, it seems the snorting Singh may have succeeded. That isn’t about to halt the Empress from pouring on the pain, pressing down on her backbreaker from both sides, one hand wedged under Portia’s chin, the other against a leg.
“STAHHHPP,” Portia cries out.
“Do you quit?” an attentive Carpenter interjects.
“I never surrender,” the challenger insists.
Amara responds by making the arch that is Portia’s frame all the more acute until VanBuren is sobbing…but still not submitting.
Disdainfully, Singh pushes the Manhattanite off her bended knee and rises over the wreckage, a mewling Portia collapsing into a ball, a hand glued to her lower vertebrae, vainly trying to offer some relief.
“BOW,” Singh demands. “Get on your knees and bow before me.”
When there’s no response, Amara drops an elbow into Portia’s ribs to crack the shell. She grasps a wrist of her former leader, tugging Portia violently to her haunches.
“Supplicate yourself to your Empress!” the golden-brown gladiator demands.
Portia keeps her chin pressed to her chest and brings her palms together, but the hands quickly hinge outward from each other and the middle fingers raise.
A steaming Singh snatches each digit and pulls a protesting Portia to her feet by them. Singh steps back and pirouettes into a spinning heel kick that connects like a lightning bolt to Baby’s jaw. The shock delivers Portia into a spin of her own, only remaining vertical after a full 360 by Amara’s good graces, Singh catching her former manager under the arms, a droopy VanBuren leaning heavily into the Empress.
With measured ease, Singh dips and scoops Portia off the canvas, shuffling Baby into body slam position on her right shoulder. But the Indian grappler has something else in mind, walking the groaning socialite to a corner and laying her across the top ropes on either side, face up, making Lyle’s only child a sacrifice on the altar of the Empress.
“Only now you learn it was I who used you the whole time,” Amara growls at the splayed blonde, VanBuren unable to offer even a meager defense. “And your usefulness for me and the wrestling world has come to an end.”
+++
While her usefulness to the Empress was currently a question mark, there seemed no doubt that Baby was still, at the very least, an entertaining diversion, if the smile on Singh’s face was any indication. Hands cupped into cruel paddles, Amara lined up her shots and went to town on Portia’s patrician midriff with a series of scintillating SLAPS that combined elements of Macy Renquist and Lisa Dream with that incomparable Singh flair. Call it a Bollywood Bellyache performed in the key of a defenseless has-been.
Not that Portia’s audible anguish earned her any sympathy from the FAWNatics. Too many of them bore witness to VanBuren’s numerous reigns of terror to feel anything other than a mean-spirited satisfaction as welt after welt after welt glowed into existence upon the tummy of Fortune’s Favorite. Ultimately it was none other than the perpetually put-upon Nick Castle who provided at least temporary relief to Baby when he hurried over and said, “That’s enough, Amara. Get her out of the corner, please.”
Singh made as if to administer a final slap only to pinch hold of Portia’s waistband for a slight adjustment. “Of course, Nicholas. Would you mind counting me down?”
“That’s not really how this works, but… oh, ok.” Amara took hold of the top rope above Portia’s legs, then climbed on the bottom rope and began to rock up and down while the official counted out, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!” Singh sprang up, tucked her heels against her glutes and SLAMMED both knees into the pit of Portia’s stomach!
ROPE HUNG DOUBLE KNEES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRTkMfHexQY
Knocked loose of her dubious perch, VanBuren crashed to the deck in an awkward sprawl and offered no meaningful resistance when Amara clamped on at wrist and ankle and draaaaaaaaaaaaagged her out to the center of the ring. The World Champ must’ve been feeling confident after her latest showcase because rather than settle down for a Crossbody, Back Press or even a Double-Leg Grapevine, she simply placed one sole on the side of Portia’s face and raised both hands to the rafters while Castle and the crowd belted out…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Just because a cover was domineering didn’t make it inescapable, as Singh and the crowd discovered when Baby swatted her foe’s boot aside with half a second remaining. Amara didn’t seem bothered by the escape, indeed she smiled all the wider as she bent down to brush some ‘dust’ from the boot Portia dared sully with her peasant’s touch. “So you wish to continue in my presence? To stand and fight like a true warrior?” she scoffed. “Then rise, weakling. Rise and face your--”
“Shut your mouth.” VanBuren rasped, her respiration still rather ugly following those pointed knees. “You’re nothing but a curiosity. A mere footnote in the voluminous epic that is my carEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWWW F*CKING BYTCH!”
Though it nauseated her to even contemplate a positive idea about Lenore Lemarchand, Amara had to admit that the Raven had brazenly blown the lid off one of FAWN’s worst kept secrets in her match against the Sinister Socialite. Namely, Portia Ophelia VanBuren the Fourth was extremely vulnerable to attacks on her nipples. Singh claimed them for her own with a vile pincer-grip not dulled in the slightest by the thin black lyrca of her the blonde’s top. Twisting like moving radio dials in opposite directions, the Bollywood Bombshell tugged and jostled until VanBuren was forced to stand alongside to alleviate the worst of the eye-watering pa--“HHHHRRRRGGGHH!”
BEAR HUG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOMRHWANOZM
Amara yanked the challenger forward and released her grip to welcome Portia into a Waistlock that became a proper Bear Hug the instant Singh clasped her hands and lifted the bendy-back off her feet. And no patient, methodical grind was this, Amara set her feet and whipped Portia from side to side with all the malicious enthusiasm of a terrier shaking a rat. “Surrender!” Singh demanded during the first lull in her rib-grinding offensive. “Your rule is over, pretender! Acknowledge your Empress and you may yet live to see the sun rissSSEEERRRHHH!”
Baby filled her hands with the champion’s dark hair and pulled hard enough to put an ugly crick in Amara’s neck. “Don’t ever threaten me, Jersey.” VanBuren gulped. “I tend to answer threats with OOOOOWWWWW GAAAAAAWWD!” Sacrificing several strands of hair to draw closer to her attacker, Singh opened wide and chomped down on Portia’s left breast! Castle started his count at once, though it proved a moot point as the Subcontinental Siren immediately shot onto tiptoe and went down on one knee to THUMP Portia’s undercarriage against the bronzed plank of her thigh!
VanBuren went weak in the knees, alas Amara simply wouldn’t allow her to crumple without the proper show of obeisance. To that end she segued from the Waistlock to threading her right arm across Baby’s chest and over her left shoulder. With that hand braced between the blonde’s shoulders (and VanBuren’s right bicep pressed snug to the side of her face, Amara reached down with her free hand, snatched hold of the former World Champion’s scant waistband and sent the $ sky high with a wedgie so emphatic it hoisted VanBuren high into the air! Singh rose alongside, the Golden Empress leaping up and laying out to THA-WHAM the FAWN Original down flat on her face with a huge Leaping Flatliner!
LIFTED FLATLINER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-xRsfUkvBY
Baby bounced quite nicely but didn’t roll quite quick enough for Amara’s liking, so she shot the Half Nelson, muscled VanBuren onto her back and climbed aboard her waist. Knees snug against her former manager’s flanks, Amara collected Portia’s wrists, pinned them overhead, then leaned down and pressed her cruel copper suns to the blonde’s upturned features. Portia’s somnolent squeal paired with Amara’s satisfied smile suggested the latter enjoyed the arrangement just as much as the latter despised it, even if it only lasted through a count of…
ONE…
TWO…
THRE--“AAAAARRRRRHHHH!”
Singh reared back and brought Baby with her because the blonde was paying back the previous golden gnawing with eye-watering interest! “YOU SCURRYING COCKROACH!” Amara shrieked as she pounded punches into the svelte flanks of Fortune’s Favorite. “YOU WILL SCREAM FOR SUCH INSOLENCE!”
Portia didn’t scream, though she did produce a clearly audible groan when the Golden Goddess slammed the point of one elbow into the crown of her skull. Filling her hands with VanBuren’s hair as soon as she’d escaped from the bite, Singh got to her feet, skewered Portia’s tummy with a Toe Kick and reeled her in for a Standing Headscissors. No theatrics or threats from the champ now, she wrapped her arms around Baby’s waist and flipped her up onto her shoulders for a Bolly--“AAAIIIEEE!” VanBuren palmed Amara’s head in both hands and gouged her thumbs into the Empress’ eyes! Amara stumbled backward with the Manhattanite squirming astride her shoulders but managed to steady outNOOOO! VanBuren thrust her thumbs and her hips to knock Singh off balance, the blinded Empress tumbling to the deck with Portia’s pert posterior THWHUMPING down on Amara’s chest!
FORTUNE FAVORS A VANBUREN:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMeoeI-JV7A
Singh’s stems shot straight off the mat so Baby hooked the left behind the knee and leaned forward to keep the Jersey glued in place through…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara twisted free of the pin but not free of Portia herself, she simply finished on her belly beneath the resurgent blonde. VanBuren got up on instinct, paused to consider the arrangement, then took to the skies to land with every bit of her weight on the small of Singh’s back! “You’ve always been a pale, well, bronze, imitation of yours truly.” Portia sneered as she laid claim to Amara’s biceps and pulled them up and back across the slender planks of her thighs. “Now it’s time you finally understood why true greatness never goes out of style.”
Baring her teeth as the FAWNatics roared their incredulity, VanBuren laced her fingers beneath Amara’s chin and craaaanked back with all her strength.
CAMEL CLUTCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=USM4dls7pGI
Camel Clutch, Portia VanBuren to Amara Singh in the center of the squared circle.
+++
Singh tries to hide the anguish growing from the pain in her lower spine. Anything to deny Baby the satisfaction of VanBuren using the Bombshell’s trademark to significant effect against her. But when the legendary Portia reels back far enough to send Amara’s gaze to the rafters, she draws a agonized chirp from the Indian grappler. VanBuren’s emerald pools light up, adrenaline flowing freely and growing confidence quickly following.
The slender socialite stares into Amara’s dark, welling pools
“Are you learning how painful this move can be when done correctly?”
VanBuren turns her attention to Nick.
“She’s going to be begging soon, so be ready when it comes.”
Castle nods as Singh mewls a whimpering ‘fumpph yammpphh’.
Adding her own little twist, Portia flexes her sinewy thighs to push higher in her crouch then RAM her pert backside into the base of Singh’s backbone before reapplying the Camel.
The extra effort and Amara’s continued resistance seem to inform VanBuren she needs to move on, her alabaster legs starting to quake. Giving up the cup of her laced fingers, Portia sinks both sets of digits into Amara’s scalp and THUMPS the face of the World Champion into the thinly-sheathed plywood, Singh’s noggin bouncing away disturbingly.
A glassy glaze covers the champ’s peepers and Baby grabs a wrist and shoulder, tugging Singh to her back.
Instead of a cover, the malicious Manhattanite rises and collects the golden-brown stems of the titleholder, spreading them in a wide ‘V’.
Castle flinches before Singh can gather the sense to be concerned.
“Oh Jersey. Jersey! Wakey wakey,” Portia sing-songs.
Amara shakes her braincase, dropping a few marbles back in place. Singh clearly doesn’t like what she sees, pushing her palms into the air toward Portia, pleading.
“No…no…no,” she bleats at a grinning Baby.
“You’re an Empress? And you’re begging?” Portia chuckles. “I think we both know what you are. Some piece of scrap I salvaged from a Jersey junkyard and polished to near-perfection just to show the world I could. Time to toss you back where you and Alexis belong.”
VanBuren makes a pointed exclamation on top of her words, dropping a savage knee into Amara’s kitty.
Singh jolts to a seated position, her eyes crossing, jaw dropping open. She tries to speak but it comes out as a pitiful squeak, hands buried between her quivering thighs.
Baby grinds the ball of her inserted knee into the throbbing center of the Bollywood Bully, enjoying the throaty groans of the Indian.
“If it was all about physicality, you might have a chance,” Portia berates. “But you’re dumb as a post and when it comes to winning against the best, you don’t have the rocks.”
Baby lifts from her genuflection a foot or so before DRIVING in again to emphasize the point then lays the knee into Amara’s chin on the way up to flatten her foe to the canvas. Singh curdles into a fetal ball around the waves of anguish from her crotch.
“Not long now,” VanBuren exclaims as she hovers over the demolished Singh, closing in on shuffling Lenore and Amara to back to back humiliations and claiming an unprecedented fourth World Title reign. It a feat seemingly well beyond anyone’s grasp save perhaps but Sue Burlingame.
Baby sinks a set of manicured nails, polished in old-school, dollar green, into Amara’s flowing ebony mane, pulling her out of the shell and slowly to wobbly feet, Singh’s knees pressed tightly together in order to remain upright.
Portia, looking like she’s back in the late Aughts of her glory days, roughly yanks the remains of a doubled Singh toward her, securing a hammerlock on Amara’s left arm. With the limb secured, she forces the Empress into a bunny hop, the Bombshell’s legs circling VanBuren’s waist to avoid a possible Atomic Drop.
But Portia has something far more devastating in mind. The Color of Money. And Lyle’s little girl converts in spectacular fashion, throwing her bendy-back frame in reverse and SPIKING Amara’s skull into the deck with her immaculate version of a Cradle DDT.
Color of Money ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeENkUBLt1I )
An insensate Singh tumbles over, ending comatose on her back with Portia quickly rolling over into a lateral press across Amara’s chest and shoulders for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The Empress uses both arms as scoops beneath the challenger, somehow finding the will to shovel the blonde overhead, a wide-eyed Portia barrel rolling off and pushing to her haunches in conspicuous anxiety at Amara’s survival.
Baby’s green eyes move to Castle, longingly willing him to hold up three fingers, but there’s one less digit, even if Nick’s features show as much surprise as VanBuren’s.
“Daddy always said. A tough loser’s still a loser,” Baby mumbles, as if trying to convince herself. “At the end of the day, no one survives the ride.”
Baby knee-walks toward the splayed Singh. Amara’s chest heaves but otherwise she’s unmoving, apparently having used the remainder of her reserves in staving off defeat.
Fortune’s Favorite reaches the crown of Singh’s braincase and glances down into the vacant pools of the Empress.
“Cream rises, bytch. But it also sits.”
Inching forward, Portia doesn’t bother to pull her bottoms out of the crack into which Amara wedged them earlier. Instead, she settles the ivory glutes directly onto the Bollywood Bombshell’s eyes and nose, Singh’s beak poking between the sinewy buttocks of the FAWN legend, Amara’s chin pressing against Portia’s pussy.
VanBuren ignores the potential distraction as she had so many times before when mounting into her 911. She leans forward to press Amara’s bronzed orbs flat, or as flat as she could manage, then sinks in her talons, drawing an increased but weak set of bucks from the faltering champion.
“Time to drive this one home, trashbag.”
Portia barely gets the words out of her mouth when Singh latches her palms around Baby’s wrists and pulls them wide, off her bosom, having taken some of the leverage of the heiress away. The FAWNatics barely believe when Singh prods her body with enough power to thrust her legs upward then back. She somersaults in reverse, the greasy-faced and gasping Subcontinental Siren acrobatically flipping positions into a reverse facesit of the wildly thrashing Baby, Amara deciding she wants to take Portia’s vehicle out for a spin.
+++
‘Drive it like you stole it’ has long been a favorite sentiment among the automotively inclined and while the Golden Empress was no one’s idea of a gear-head, she embraced the phrase wholeheartedly (or perhaps coldheartedly) when she SMECKED her right hand down on the center of Baby’s billion dollar briefs and squeezed like she meant to take this broken-down blonde jalopy on one last joyride. “HOW…DARE…YOU!” Singh bellowed down at the suffering squealing veteran as she poured on the pressure with gnashing, white-knuckle ferocity. “I am Amara f*cking Singh. I am the Golden Empress. I am the FAWN World Champion, and you, you bawling little PEASANT, you will acknowledge me as such before you are allowed to trundle off to the pigsty of retirement!”
Nick wasn’t sure if that actually qualified as a demand for submission, but he’d seen the 911 put away scores of strong wrestlers even when VanBuren wasn’t in the driver’s seat, so he dropped to one knee and asked, “What do you say, Portia? Need me to call for the bell? Tell me someth--”
“FHUGHOFF JHERZEE!” she squealed from beneath the Empress’ encroaching seat. “JUHSFHUGN SHUDHUPPPHHHRRRRGGGGGHHH!”
Singh flipped the hair off her face, grabbed hold of her clawin’ wrist, then bore down with all her weight for another prolonged privates-pulverizing pulse. “You will not speak to one of my duly appointed representatives in such fashion.” Amara’s usual arrogance was quickly reasserting itself now that the Valkyrie fury had done its job. Grinning like a shark as she continued putting hard miles on the veteran’s undercarriage, Singh went on. “You will in fact, address him with the same deference you’d show me, which is to say you will BEG with all the zeal your pathetic will can--”
“NEHBER!” Portia wailed at the cost of yet more precious oxygen. “NEHBERNEHBERNEHAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!”
Amara abandoned the claw for a double handful of the challenger’s waistband, which she promptly raised to only a few inches south of her breasts courtesy a massive Inverted Wedgie! Singh leaned back and yanked the distended from side to side, each little jostle and tug earning VanBuren the closest approximation of sympathy she’d ever get from a FAWN audience. Hellacious though it was, the expected begging did not come and after ten seconds of unabated agony, Singh released the grip and rose to her full height.
“Clean yourself up.” she spat down at the panting, quivering blonde. “You were a champion once, no matter how inconsequential. You could at least try to present yourself as such.”
“Buuuuhhh… buuuuhhhh… you arrogant bytch.” Portia had curled into a ball around her aggrieved center, both hands wedged between her thighs in an effort to set those traitorous trunks to rights. “You’re going to pay for this. Carrying the palanquin isn’t nearly enough, you’re going to BE the palanquNNNRRRHHH!”
Amara hopped up and delivered a Stomp to the side of Baby’s skull to put an end to her ramblings. “Threats from peasants carry no weight in the court of the Golden Empress.” she explained after filling her hands with the blonde’s hair. “Action is the only thing that matters here, as I will now demonstrate.” Drawing VanBuren to all fours, Singh reeled her rival into a Standing Headscissors, then hunched over to wrap both arms around Portia’s waist. A Bollybomb seemed inevitable when the brunette released her grip and straightened up. Amara’s thoughtful expression betrayed no particular motivation, her hands however quickly spidered their way down the slim curve of Baby’s backside and--
“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHH GODDAMN YOU!” Fortune’s Favorite sobbed aloud as Amara made the $ and the rest of her briefs disappear with another eye-watering wedgie. Another five seconds passed before it was back to the Waistlock and no stopping it now, the champ brusquely muscled Baby into a seat atop her right shoulder, then went down on one knee to THAWHAM! the FAWN Original onto the deck with a Bollybomb!
BOLLYBOMB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=mA4h9jJOR8k
Nick swooped in alongside his charges to count the pin only to find himself with nothing to do when Amara plunged both hands into Portia’s hair and hauled her back to verticality. Sidling in on the challenger’s right, she caught that arm in a Half Nelson, grabbed a handful of waistband and bared a little more of Baby’s alabaster cheeks. “This is the end of you, peasant.” she murmured in the blonde’s ear. “No triumphant return in a few years, no second stint as a manager for some piece of trash desperate to cash in on the remnants of your legacy. After tonight you won’t be Fortune’s Favorite, you’ll be just another peasant bending the knee in the presence of her Empr--”
“The f*ck I will.” Baby rasped to life in the Indian grappler’s grasp. “I’m Portia VanBuren and my shadow will ALWAYS linger over this dumPRGH! HRGH! HRGH!”
Singh smashed a trio of Kneelifts into VanBuren’s belly, then sank her hooks a little deeper and gave the blonde a rough, rag-doll shake. “Not anymore, peasant. Tonight your shadow burns in the light of the Golden Empress.” She planted a kiss on Portia’s temple, then dipped her knees and flipped / tossed Baby up ‘n over in a what would’ve been a beautiful back-flip if the champion hadn’t spiked her left knee into the challenger’s forehead with a brain-rattling THWHUNK! VanBuren’s legs went limp and she landed flat on her back in a wide-eyed starfish.
SINGH U 2 SLEEP @ 2:08
www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4Tx3qGyY2Y
Castle moved in for the second time in less than a minute but got the same rebuke as before because Singh shoveled the blonde onto her belly rather than go for a cover. Admittedly this wasn’t as surprising once the Bollywood Bombshell stepped over and sank down into a snug, comfortable seat in the hollow of Portia’s back.
“Disgusting imitations will not be tolerated.” she noted after seizing Baby’s biceps and draping them over the bronze planks of her thighs. “Faded legends will be brushed aside in favor of brighter glories. And above all else,” Singh threaded her hands under Portia’s chin and squeezed just enough to press VanBuren’s cheeks together, “you will pay due tribute to the one true Empress!”
Just like that she pressed down and craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanked backward, Amara putting all her considerable strength into the most dangerous Camel Clutch in all of FAWN.
“AAAAARRRRRHHHHHH GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHD!” Portia shrieked back to thrashing, hapless life, her hands scratching and skittering at Singh’s legs in the only show of resistance she could muster.
“No refuge in prayer now, peasant!” Amara cackled. “Mine is the only will that can save you!”
“What do you say, Portia?” Nick asked over the swelling ‘TAP!’ chants from the crowd. “Are you ok? Do you need me to--”
“Deeerrhhh… don’t even think about it, JerseeYYAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH FAAAAAAAHK!” VanBuren’s patrician arrogance cracked down the middle when Singh tried to do the same to her spine.
Offering her victim a knowing smile once she was able to look down into those shimmering green eyes, Singh cooed, “You are my Empress, Amara. Say it.”
“Nuuuuhhhh… NOOGUUURRRK!”
Amara slipped two fingers from each hand into the corners of Portia’s mouth and pulled it into a garish parody of mirth. “I am a peasant, and you are my Empress.” the Singh repeated. “Say it.”
“Yuuuuhh…you are a Jersey and I am a legRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!” Amara raised her glutes, slammed them down on Portia’s lower back and pulled until she’d bent the former World Champion into something resembling a tipped over ’L’. The Empress was about to make another demand when Portia began swatting her thighs with both hands. “Submit!” she groaned to Nick Castle. “I submOOOOOOOHHHH STAAAAAAAHP!”
Castle called for the bell at once, alas the CLANG wasn’t enough to break Amara’s grip, nor was the Announcer’s proclamation. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission and STILL the FAWN World Champion… AMARA SINGH!”
+++
The Bollywood Bombshell continues to bear down on her Camel, yanking Portia’s faltering frame further, into a brutal ‘C’ shape, a shrieking VanBuren pleading for release and Castle demanding it.
Singh gives up her Clutch with the threat of a decision reversal, dismounting from the sobbing VanBuren, Portia denied her birthright as FAWN’s most accomplished. The Empress hovers over the broken legend, apparently contemplating more brutality when Nick grabs the Indian grappler by a shoulder, turning her to face him.
“You made you point,” Castle informs, “let’s call it a night.”
“But did I?” Amara asks.
She surges forward with right arm drawn and LEVELS Castle with a wicked clothesline.
Standing over the splayed man, Castle in a pained daze, Singh points down at the official.
“Let’s see you disqualify me from a semiconscious stupor.”
Amara turns her attention back to Portia, Baby slithering slowly along the canvas like an ivory-skinned snake, her bottoms turned to a thong, her top ajar enough to display one of her breasts.
As ragged and defeated as her former manager is, Singh clearly wants more. She stomps on the base of VanBuren’s backbone, sending a spasm through Baby and a cry through the arena, stopping the socialite’s limited forward motion.
Amara drops into a forward-facing crouch over the battered vertebrae and again applies her infamous Clutch. Instantaneously, Portia is tapping anything she can reach.
“Pleeease Empress. PLEEEEASE!”
“Alexis made a decent effort to end your FAWN career,” Singh responds. “But as usual, I have to pick up her slack.”
Having pulled the alabaster taffy that is Portia’s body into another awful arch, Amara gives up her cupped hands. Instead, she sweeps an arm across VanBuren’s throat and pulls back even further with a dragon sleeper grip until Portia is not looking to the rafters but instead is gazing teary-eyed BEHIND HER at the golden-brown grappler, chin pointed to the lights.
“GAWWWWDD. STAHHHP,” Portia wails.
But there is no stopping until a half dozen women from the back race to the ring, slide in, and pry the sneering Singh off the broken Baby.
As the women back a smirking Amara into a corner, the EMTs enter and, after a moment of investigation, call for a back brace and stretcher.
“She can’t feel her legs,” one of the attendants screams. “Call the ER and have then prep for emergency surgery.”
The sociopathic Singh revels in the nervous shouts of the med techs. She shakes off the women sent to stop her, pushing through the crowd in the ring, and pounds Portia’s spine one last time with a final goodbye stomp to Baby’s backbone.
Portia screeches in agony as Amara takes her leave, satisfied from the looks on the faces of the EMTs Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV is truly dead and gone from FAWN in any capacity in this life and probably the next.
The challenger…PORTIA VANBUREN
The World Champion…AMARA SINGH
Amara took leave of her corner as soon as the bell sounded, the Golden Empress moving with a celerity that suggested the galling finale at Summer Swelter was still fresh on her mind.
The mere thought, let alone sight, of the current FAWN World Champion storming their way would’ve sent a shiver down the spines of most women, yet no one was really surprised when Fortune’s Favorite simply dipped right and threaded her svelte torso through the gap between top and middle ropes. “Ensure she keeps her distance, Castle.” VanBuren sniffed. “And check her trunks a second time, if you will. I know for a fact that our sniveling ‘Empress’ has a hidden pocket for those times when she finds herself hopelessly outclassed.”
Singh snarled, went to juke around the official only to turn away when Nick moved with her. “Easy, Amara.” he said as gently as possible. Amara snorted, flicked a dismissive hand in his direction. Thus satisfied, Nick turned to Portia and noted, “Match is live Portia, you heard the bell. I understand you might be nervous, so take five seconds to collect yourself, then--”
“I am absolutely NOT nervous.” the blonde snapped. “I am perhaps slightly concerned that your shoddy pre-match check didn’t reveal the full depths of our World Champion’s penchant for trick--”
Singh’s second attempt took her right by the startled ref, the gold-clad brunette coming in low and fast to THUMP a heavy Shoulderblock into the pit of Portia’s tummy! The initial collision scuffed Baby’s butt up onto the middle buckle, though apparently not quite enough for Amara’s liking because she grabbed hold of the second strand on either side of the challenger to put even more ‘oomph’ on the next three she applied to her foe’s midsection! Baring her teeth as she bore the champion’s weight, Portia hooked one arm around Amara’s neck in a Front Facelock to keep her doubled up while she pwak-pwak-PWAAAAKED a trio of overhand Forearm Smashes across Singh’s lower back.
More angered than hurt by this resistance, Amara set her feet and continued to plow forward, presumably in an effort to touch her shoulder to the ring-post despite the persistent annoyance of VanBuren’s body. “Is that all you’ve got, peasant?” Singh’s voice dripped disdain. “I expect FAR more from my co-champioAAARRRRHHHH OOOOOOWWWW!”
Not about to suffer such disrespect from this flouncing figurehead of her own creation, Portia curled her free hand into a talon and raaaaaaaaaaaked Amara from her waistband to between the shoulders approximately half a dozen times before she grabbed hold of those gauzy harem pants (not to mention the briefs beneath) and yanked up on a wedgie that tore the former and greatly reduced the latter!
Painfully aware of the uphill climb he faced tonight, Nick didn’t bother with a warning, he merely moved into position beside his charges and began to count, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”
Singh straightened up and took two big steps back with both hands raised to shoulder-level. The look on her face suggested this had nothing to do with respect for the rules and everything for getting Castle out of the way.
As for Portia, she made a minor adjustment to her own briefs and smoothed down her hair like she didn’t have a worry in the world. “How easily your façade slips, Empress Jersey.” she chided. “Soon even these chortling idiots will realize there’s nothing golden about you. You’re just a lead paperweight with a coat of shiny NNNGGGHHH!”
Amara hauled off and pasted the veteran with a Bytch Slap that swiveled Baby’s head to the side. “You forget your place, old woman.” Singh sneered as she backpedaled to the center of the squared circle. “All you did was draw the proper attention to my prowess. It was I who bent the backs and crushed the wills that you never--”
VanBuren exploded out of the corner, swept Amara into a Collar & Elbow and forced her to cede all of three steps before the Subcontinental Siren dug in one foot like a kickstand. Portia continued to push and shove, but Amara would have none of it, even when the blonde wedged a hand beneath her chin. Tiring of the show in a manner of seconds, Singh grabbed VanBuren by the nape of the neck and marched her right back to the corner she’d so recently occupied.
“Break!” Portia snapped as soon as she felt her butt touch the buckles. “Get this pretender off of me, Cast--”
Gasps of delight and surprise from the FAWNatics when Amara broke the clinch and slapped Baby’s patrician features sideways!
“How dare you look surprised.” the Golden Empress huffed as she gave VanBuren the demanded separation. “You had to know how this would play out. You’re a shell of your former self… and even in your prime you’d barely be capable of carrying my palan--”
Fortune’s Favorite pounced for another Collar & Elbow Tie-Up only this time Singh didn’t budge so much as an inch. She simply absorbed the blonde’s power, then marched her toward the corner which was quickly becoming the challenger’s newest summer residen--“HHHRRGHH!” VanBuren hooked a thumb into the side of Amara’s mouth and pushed like she meant to widen the brunette’s smile by several ghastly inches!
Forced to follow Baby’s whims to protect her face, Singh found their positions reversed to that it was her rump pressed snug to the second turnbuckle. “BRAYGH!” she gabbled to Castle. “BRAYGH DEH RRRRGGGGGGGHHHH!”
Portia added her other thumb to the already painful rictus and looked Singh dead in the eye as she mouthed out the Senior Official’s count. “ONE… TWO… THREE…FOUR!”
The three-time World Champion relinquished her hooks with a flourish, then warmed Singh’s cheeks with a forehand / backhand combination because she was Portia Ophelia VanBuren the Fourth!
“You had to know how this would play out.” Baby smirked to the brunette now that it was her turn to offer the condescending space. “You were just another broken Jersey when I extended my hand and pulled you from the gutter. I promised you everything you ever wanted and I delivered because I am the Queen Maker and ooohhh, my dear little Empress, it’s time you learned that I am also the Queen Break--”
Amara stormed out showing righteous fury and a telegraphed Haymaker that cost her dearly when VanBuren countered by simply poking her in the eyes! Singh yelped, wheeled around and got snatched into a gnashing Side Headlock for her troubles. Careful to keep her knotted fists dragging back ‘n forth across the Indian grappler’s eyes, Portia hauled her foe to the ropes, pressed her face to the top strand and bore down with every ounce of her weight as she proceeded to stroll toward the next corner!
The crowd didn’t mind in the slightest, alas Amara and Nick protested quite vehemently, albeit at differing levels of coherence! VanBuren nodded in sympathetic understanding every step of the way, though it took another count of ‘FOUR!’ from the ref to make her pull Singh’s face away from the rubber-coated steel. Even then the freedom proved costly for the champion as Portia buried both hands in the brunette’s dark locks and SMASHED her forehead against the top turnbuckle! Legs rubbery, Amara stumbled backward and cursed aloud when VanBuren collected her in another Side Headlock.
“I think it’s time you tasted the canvas, Empress.” Portia tittered before she loped out to center with Amara wriggling in her wake. Leaving her feet after several long strides, Portia soared through a beautiful descent that culminated in an ugly THWHUNKING landing when Singh’s skull was driven into the mat. The Empress slopped onto one side so Fortune’s Favorite pushed her onto her back and slid across her chest, Baby hooking the far leg in a cradle good for the…
ONE…
TWO…
+++
Singh denies FAWN its first four-time World Champion, shoving a shoulder off the canvas, pushing VanBuren up to her haunches. Baby rakes her nails across the golden-brown midriff of the Bollywood Bombshell drawing a shriek from Amara, welt lines rising on her foe’s flawless skin.
“After your reign is done, you can still have a job serving me. Of course, there’ll be a new woman riding the palanquin and you’ll be one of my carriers.”
The words draw the Indian into a fury-induced, adrenaline rush. Singh rises to a seat and shoves the slender socialite away. Pushing to her feet, Amara staggers, her body getting ahead of her addled gray matter. She rattles her senses back into place, but Portia’s already on her feet and pirouetting into a Discus Clothesline that nearly removes the Empress’ head from her body.
Discus Clothesline ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0qJHBN70o8 )
The proximity of the ropes dissuades VanBuren from attempting another pin. Instead, the organizational icon rolls a dazed Singh to her chest and lifts the champion enough to drape Amara’s throat across the bottom strand. Portia straddles her derriere against the back of Singh’s throat, riding the Jersey as Amara chokes back to life, her dark eyes bulging.
The Empress gasps breathlessly, flailing wildly as her windpipe is shut by Lyle’s baby girl. Al shouts at Fortune’s Favorite to dismount, but Baby rides for the full four-spot, leaving Amara a gagging wreck in her wake.
“Just like Lenore. You can’t believe I’m still better than you’ll ever be.”
Portia pushes past Carpenter and sinks a set of nails into the Bonbshell’s scalp, tugging Singh back to her feet and away from any possible salvation via the strands. Moving her grip to a wrist and shoulder, VanBuren heaves the Empress toward a far corner. Amara sprints and turns into a HEAVY back-first collision that sends a shudder through Singh, though the remaining fight in the champ keeps Amara upright.
Portia is at ramming speed and VanBuren NAILS Amara with a splash as best as she can manage with the limited mass available to her. It’s enough to keep Singh in a stupor as Baby pivots and climbs to the middle ropes her back to Amara. VanBuren turns to gaze over her shoulder as she peels her bikini bottoms down enough to bare her ivory cheeks.
“Time you’ve learned every stock, including yours, falls in a Bare Ass Market.”
Portia backs her backside, stuffing her butt into Amara’s features, Singh’s beak parting the alabaster glutes of the challenger.
Amara thrashes wildly as VanBuren continues to smother the squirming Empress until a roar, muffled by Portia’s buttocks can be heard beneath, and Singh’s arms encircle the slender thighs of the Manhattanite.
As Portia starts to lift involuntarily from her perch, her emerald pools grow large. They bulge wider as she’s carried away from the corner, her arms windmilling as she’s atop a blinded but enraged Amara. Having lost control, Baby plummets to earth, face and chest first when Singh drops forward, VanBuren’s head snapping back from the forceful impact.
Baby rolls absently to her back, hand shooting to her patrician features to check for a creased proboscis. The collision removed the Empress’ nose from between Baby’s cheeks and the greasy-faced Amara sputters back to life, spitting out the crack sweat from her full lips.
“Daddy’s not dealing with stocks and bonds,” Singh huffs, trying to regain her breath on hands and knees as Baby curses through her fingers at what the champ might have done to her face. “You’re dealing with an Empress whose empire will not fall to the likes of you.”
Singh crawls to Portia and sinks both sets of talons into each of Baby’s A-cups, wrenching them in cruel claws that draw howls of anguish as the enraged Bollywood Bully uses them to yank VanBuren to a seated position. Singh transfers her grips to a Portia’s flaxen locks and pulls Baby up the rest of the way.
The Subcontinental Siren scoops Portia behind the knees like a babe in her arms, showing the wincing, writhing VanBuren to the crowd in a short lap before dropping to one knee in an attempt to split Baby’s backbone in half. Portia’s sinewy frame CRASHES across the plank of Amara’s upper right leg, Singh hoping to snap her former manager’s spine.
From the ragged arch of the socialite’s body and the scream of agony, it seems the snorting Singh may have succeeded. That isn’t about to halt the Empress from pouring on the pain, pressing down on her backbreaker from both sides, one hand wedged under Portia’s chin, the other against a leg.
“STAHHHPP,” Portia cries out.
“Do you quit?” an attentive Carpenter interjects.
“I never surrender,” the challenger insists.
Amara responds by making the arch that is Portia’s frame all the more acute until VanBuren is sobbing…but still not submitting.
Disdainfully, Singh pushes the Manhattanite off her bended knee and rises over the wreckage, a mewling Portia collapsing into a ball, a hand glued to her lower vertebrae, vainly trying to offer some relief.
“BOW,” Singh demands. “Get on your knees and bow before me.”
When there’s no response, Amara drops an elbow into Portia’s ribs to crack the shell. She grasps a wrist of her former leader, tugging Portia violently to her haunches.
“Supplicate yourself to your Empress!” the golden-brown gladiator demands.
Portia keeps her chin pressed to her chest and brings her palms together, but the hands quickly hinge outward from each other and the middle fingers raise.
A steaming Singh snatches each digit and pulls a protesting Portia to her feet by them. Singh steps back and pirouettes into a spinning heel kick that connects like a lightning bolt to Baby’s jaw. The shock delivers Portia into a spin of her own, only remaining vertical after a full 360 by Amara’s good graces, Singh catching her former manager under the arms, a droopy VanBuren leaning heavily into the Empress.
With measured ease, Singh dips and scoops Portia off the canvas, shuffling Baby into body slam position on her right shoulder. But the Indian grappler has something else in mind, walking the groaning socialite to a corner and laying her across the top ropes on either side, face up, making Lyle’s only child a sacrifice on the altar of the Empress.
“Only now you learn it was I who used you the whole time,” Amara growls at the splayed blonde, VanBuren unable to offer even a meager defense. “And your usefulness for me and the wrestling world has come to an end.”
+++
While her usefulness to the Empress was currently a question mark, there seemed no doubt that Baby was still, at the very least, an entertaining diversion, if the smile on Singh’s face was any indication. Hands cupped into cruel paddles, Amara lined up her shots and went to town on Portia’s patrician midriff with a series of scintillating SLAPS that combined elements of Macy Renquist and Lisa Dream with that incomparable Singh flair. Call it a Bollywood Bellyache performed in the key of a defenseless has-been.
Not that Portia’s audible anguish earned her any sympathy from the FAWNatics. Too many of them bore witness to VanBuren’s numerous reigns of terror to feel anything other than a mean-spirited satisfaction as welt after welt after welt glowed into existence upon the tummy of Fortune’s Favorite. Ultimately it was none other than the perpetually put-upon Nick Castle who provided at least temporary relief to Baby when he hurried over and said, “That’s enough, Amara. Get her out of the corner, please.”
Singh made as if to administer a final slap only to pinch hold of Portia’s waistband for a slight adjustment. “Of course, Nicholas. Would you mind counting me down?”
“That’s not really how this works, but… oh, ok.” Amara took hold of the top rope above Portia’s legs, then climbed on the bottom rope and began to rock up and down while the official counted out, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!” Singh sprang up, tucked her heels against her glutes and SLAMMED both knees into the pit of Portia’s stomach!
ROPE HUNG DOUBLE KNEES:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WRTkMfHexQY
Knocked loose of her dubious perch, VanBuren crashed to the deck in an awkward sprawl and offered no meaningful resistance when Amara clamped on at wrist and ankle and draaaaaaaaaaaaagged her out to the center of the ring. The World Champ must’ve been feeling confident after her latest showcase because rather than settle down for a Crossbody, Back Press or even a Double-Leg Grapevine, she simply placed one sole on the side of Portia’s face and raised both hands to the rafters while Castle and the crowd belted out…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Just because a cover was domineering didn’t make it inescapable, as Singh and the crowd discovered when Baby swatted her foe’s boot aside with half a second remaining. Amara didn’t seem bothered by the escape, indeed she smiled all the wider as she bent down to brush some ‘dust’ from the boot Portia dared sully with her peasant’s touch. “So you wish to continue in my presence? To stand and fight like a true warrior?” she scoffed. “Then rise, weakling. Rise and face your--”
“Shut your mouth.” VanBuren rasped, her respiration still rather ugly following those pointed knees. “You’re nothing but a curiosity. A mere footnote in the voluminous epic that is my carEEEEEOOOOOWWWWWWW F*CKING BYTCH!”
Though it nauseated her to even contemplate a positive idea about Lenore Lemarchand, Amara had to admit that the Raven had brazenly blown the lid off one of FAWN’s worst kept secrets in her match against the Sinister Socialite. Namely, Portia Ophelia VanBuren the Fourth was extremely vulnerable to attacks on her nipples. Singh claimed them for her own with a vile pincer-grip not dulled in the slightest by the thin black lyrca of her the blonde’s top. Twisting like moving radio dials in opposite directions, the Bollywood Bombshell tugged and jostled until VanBuren was forced to stand alongside to alleviate the worst of the eye-watering pa--“HHHHRRRRGGGHH!”
BEAR HUG:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=pOMRHWANOZM
Amara yanked the challenger forward and released her grip to welcome Portia into a Waistlock that became a proper Bear Hug the instant Singh clasped her hands and lifted the bendy-back off her feet. And no patient, methodical grind was this, Amara set her feet and whipped Portia from side to side with all the malicious enthusiasm of a terrier shaking a rat. “Surrender!” Singh demanded during the first lull in her rib-grinding offensive. “Your rule is over, pretender! Acknowledge your Empress and you may yet live to see the sun rissSSEEERRRHHH!”
Baby filled her hands with the champion’s dark hair and pulled hard enough to put an ugly crick in Amara’s neck. “Don’t ever threaten me, Jersey.” VanBuren gulped. “I tend to answer threats with OOOOOWWWWW GAAAAAAWWD!” Sacrificing several strands of hair to draw closer to her attacker, Singh opened wide and chomped down on Portia’s left breast! Castle started his count at once, though it proved a moot point as the Subcontinental Siren immediately shot onto tiptoe and went down on one knee to THUMP Portia’s undercarriage against the bronzed plank of her thigh!
VanBuren went weak in the knees, alas Amara simply wouldn’t allow her to crumple without the proper show of obeisance. To that end she segued from the Waistlock to threading her right arm across Baby’s chest and over her left shoulder. With that hand braced between the blonde’s shoulders (and VanBuren’s right bicep pressed snug to the side of her face, Amara reached down with her free hand, snatched hold of the former World Champion’s scant waistband and sent the $ sky high with a wedgie so emphatic it hoisted VanBuren high into the air! Singh rose alongside, the Golden Empress leaping up and laying out to THA-WHAM the FAWN Original down flat on her face with a huge Leaping Flatliner!
LIFTED FLATLINER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-xRsfUkvBY
Baby bounced quite nicely but didn’t roll quite quick enough for Amara’s liking, so she shot the Half Nelson, muscled VanBuren onto her back and climbed aboard her waist. Knees snug against her former manager’s flanks, Amara collected Portia’s wrists, pinned them overhead, then leaned down and pressed her cruel copper suns to the blonde’s upturned features. Portia’s somnolent squeal paired with Amara’s satisfied smile suggested the latter enjoyed the arrangement just as much as the latter despised it, even if it only lasted through a count of…
ONE…
TWO…
THRE--“AAAAARRRRRHHHH!”
Singh reared back and brought Baby with her because the blonde was paying back the previous golden gnawing with eye-watering interest! “YOU SCURRYING COCKROACH!” Amara shrieked as she pounded punches into the svelte flanks of Fortune’s Favorite. “YOU WILL SCREAM FOR SUCH INSOLENCE!”
Portia didn’t scream, though she did produce a clearly audible groan when the Golden Goddess slammed the point of one elbow into the crown of her skull. Filling her hands with VanBuren’s hair as soon as she’d escaped from the bite, Singh got to her feet, skewered Portia’s tummy with a Toe Kick and reeled her in for a Standing Headscissors. No theatrics or threats from the champ now, she wrapped her arms around Baby’s waist and flipped her up onto her shoulders for a Bolly--“AAAIIIEEE!” VanBuren palmed Amara’s head in both hands and gouged her thumbs into the Empress’ eyes! Amara stumbled backward with the Manhattanite squirming astride her shoulders but managed to steady outNOOOO! VanBuren thrust her thumbs and her hips to knock Singh off balance, the blinded Empress tumbling to the deck with Portia’s pert posterior THWHUMPING down on Amara’s chest!
FORTUNE FAVORS A VANBUREN:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JMeoeI-JV7A
Singh’s stems shot straight off the mat so Baby hooked the left behind the knee and leaned forward to keep the Jersey glued in place through…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Amara twisted free of the pin but not free of Portia herself, she simply finished on her belly beneath the resurgent blonde. VanBuren got up on instinct, paused to consider the arrangement, then took to the skies to land with every bit of her weight on the small of Singh’s back! “You’ve always been a pale, well, bronze, imitation of yours truly.” Portia sneered as she laid claim to Amara’s biceps and pulled them up and back across the slender planks of her thighs. “Now it’s time you finally understood why true greatness never goes out of style.”
Baring her teeth as the FAWNatics roared their incredulity, VanBuren laced her fingers beneath Amara’s chin and craaaanked back with all her strength.
CAMEL CLUTCH:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=USM4dls7pGI
Camel Clutch, Portia VanBuren to Amara Singh in the center of the squared circle.
+++
Singh tries to hide the anguish growing from the pain in her lower spine. Anything to deny Baby the satisfaction of VanBuren using the Bombshell’s trademark to significant effect against her. But when the legendary Portia reels back far enough to send Amara’s gaze to the rafters, she draws a agonized chirp from the Indian grappler. VanBuren’s emerald pools light up, adrenaline flowing freely and growing confidence quickly following.
The slender socialite stares into Amara’s dark, welling pools
“Are you learning how painful this move can be when done correctly?”
VanBuren turns her attention to Nick.
“She’s going to be begging soon, so be ready when it comes.”
Castle nods as Singh mewls a whimpering ‘fumpph yammpphh’.
Adding her own little twist, Portia flexes her sinewy thighs to push higher in her crouch then RAM her pert backside into the base of Singh’s backbone before reapplying the Camel.
The extra effort and Amara’s continued resistance seem to inform VanBuren she needs to move on, her alabaster legs starting to quake. Giving up the cup of her laced fingers, Portia sinks both sets of digits into Amara’s scalp and THUMPS the face of the World Champion into the thinly-sheathed plywood, Singh’s noggin bouncing away disturbingly.
A glassy glaze covers the champ’s peepers and Baby grabs a wrist and shoulder, tugging Singh to her back.
Instead of a cover, the malicious Manhattanite rises and collects the golden-brown stems of the titleholder, spreading them in a wide ‘V’.
Castle flinches before Singh can gather the sense to be concerned.
“Oh Jersey. Jersey! Wakey wakey,” Portia sing-songs.
Amara shakes her braincase, dropping a few marbles back in place. Singh clearly doesn’t like what she sees, pushing her palms into the air toward Portia, pleading.
“No…no…no,” she bleats at a grinning Baby.
“You’re an Empress? And you’re begging?” Portia chuckles. “I think we both know what you are. Some piece of scrap I salvaged from a Jersey junkyard and polished to near-perfection just to show the world I could. Time to toss you back where you and Alexis belong.”
VanBuren makes a pointed exclamation on top of her words, dropping a savage knee into Amara’s kitty.
Singh jolts to a seated position, her eyes crossing, jaw dropping open. She tries to speak but it comes out as a pitiful squeak, hands buried between her quivering thighs.
Baby grinds the ball of her inserted knee into the throbbing center of the Bollywood Bully, enjoying the throaty groans of the Indian.
“If it was all about physicality, you might have a chance,” Portia berates. “But you’re dumb as a post and when it comes to winning against the best, you don’t have the rocks.”
Baby lifts from her genuflection a foot or so before DRIVING in again to emphasize the point then lays the knee into Amara’s chin on the way up to flatten her foe to the canvas. Singh curdles into a fetal ball around the waves of anguish from her crotch.
“Not long now,” VanBuren exclaims as she hovers over the demolished Singh, closing in on shuffling Lenore and Amara to back to back humiliations and claiming an unprecedented fourth World Title reign. It a feat seemingly well beyond anyone’s grasp save perhaps but Sue Burlingame.
Baby sinks a set of manicured nails, polished in old-school, dollar green, into Amara’s flowing ebony mane, pulling her out of the shell and slowly to wobbly feet, Singh’s knees pressed tightly together in order to remain upright.
Portia, looking like she’s back in the late Aughts of her glory days, roughly yanks the remains of a doubled Singh toward her, securing a hammerlock on Amara’s left arm. With the limb secured, she forces the Empress into a bunny hop, the Bombshell’s legs circling VanBuren’s waist to avoid a possible Atomic Drop.
But Portia has something far more devastating in mind. The Color of Money. And Lyle’s little girl converts in spectacular fashion, throwing her bendy-back frame in reverse and SPIKING Amara’s skull into the deck with her immaculate version of a Cradle DDT.
Color of Money ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=jeENkUBLt1I )
An insensate Singh tumbles over, ending comatose on her back with Portia quickly rolling over into a lateral press across Amara’s chest and shoulders for the inevitable…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
The Empress uses both arms as scoops beneath the challenger, somehow finding the will to shovel the blonde overhead, a wide-eyed Portia barrel rolling off and pushing to her haunches in conspicuous anxiety at Amara’s survival.
Baby’s green eyes move to Castle, longingly willing him to hold up three fingers, but there’s one less digit, even if Nick’s features show as much surprise as VanBuren’s.
“Daddy always said. A tough loser’s still a loser,” Baby mumbles, as if trying to convince herself. “At the end of the day, no one survives the ride.”
Baby knee-walks toward the splayed Singh. Amara’s chest heaves but otherwise she’s unmoving, apparently having used the remainder of her reserves in staving off defeat.
Fortune’s Favorite reaches the crown of Singh’s braincase and glances down into the vacant pools of the Empress.
“Cream rises, bytch. But it also sits.”
Inching forward, Portia doesn’t bother to pull her bottoms out of the crack into which Amara wedged them earlier. Instead, she settles the ivory glutes directly onto the Bollywood Bombshell’s eyes and nose, Singh’s beak poking between the sinewy buttocks of the FAWN legend, Amara’s chin pressing against Portia’s pussy.
VanBuren ignores the potential distraction as she had so many times before when mounting into her 911. She leans forward to press Amara’s bronzed orbs flat, or as flat as she could manage, then sinks in her talons, drawing an increased but weak set of bucks from the faltering champion.
“Time to drive this one home, trashbag.”
Portia barely gets the words out of her mouth when Singh latches her palms around Baby’s wrists and pulls them wide, off her bosom, having taken some of the leverage of the heiress away. The FAWNatics barely believe when Singh prods her body with enough power to thrust her legs upward then back. She somersaults in reverse, the greasy-faced and gasping Subcontinental Siren acrobatically flipping positions into a reverse facesit of the wildly thrashing Baby, Amara deciding she wants to take Portia’s vehicle out for a spin.
+++
‘Drive it like you stole it’ has long been a favorite sentiment among the automotively inclined and while the Golden Empress was no one’s idea of a gear-head, she embraced the phrase wholeheartedly (or perhaps coldheartedly) when she SMECKED her right hand down on the center of Baby’s billion dollar briefs and squeezed like she meant to take this broken-down blonde jalopy on one last joyride. “HOW…DARE…YOU!” Singh bellowed down at the suffering squealing veteran as she poured on the pressure with gnashing, white-knuckle ferocity. “I am Amara f*cking Singh. I am the Golden Empress. I am the FAWN World Champion, and you, you bawling little PEASANT, you will acknowledge me as such before you are allowed to trundle off to the pigsty of retirement!”
Nick wasn’t sure if that actually qualified as a demand for submission, but he’d seen the 911 put away scores of strong wrestlers even when VanBuren wasn’t in the driver’s seat, so he dropped to one knee and asked, “What do you say, Portia? Need me to call for the bell? Tell me someth--”
“FHUGHOFF JHERZEE!” she squealed from beneath the Empress’ encroaching seat. “JUHSFHUGN SHUDHUPPPHHHRRRRGGGGGHHH!”
Singh flipped the hair off her face, grabbed hold of her clawin’ wrist, then bore down with all her weight for another prolonged privates-pulverizing pulse. “You will not speak to one of my duly appointed representatives in such fashion.” Amara’s usual arrogance was quickly reasserting itself now that the Valkyrie fury had done its job. Grinning like a shark as she continued putting hard miles on the veteran’s undercarriage, Singh went on. “You will in fact, address him with the same deference you’d show me, which is to say you will BEG with all the zeal your pathetic will can--”
“NEHBER!” Portia wailed at the cost of yet more precious oxygen. “NEHBERNEHBERNEHAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!”
Amara abandoned the claw for a double handful of the challenger’s waistband, which she promptly raised to only a few inches south of her breasts courtesy a massive Inverted Wedgie! Singh leaned back and yanked the distended from side to side, each little jostle and tug earning VanBuren the closest approximation of sympathy she’d ever get from a FAWN audience. Hellacious though it was, the expected begging did not come and after ten seconds of unabated agony, Singh released the grip and rose to her full height.
“Clean yourself up.” she spat down at the panting, quivering blonde. “You were a champion once, no matter how inconsequential. You could at least try to present yourself as such.”
“Buuuuhhh… buuuuhhhh… you arrogant bytch.” Portia had curled into a ball around her aggrieved center, both hands wedged between her thighs in an effort to set those traitorous trunks to rights. “You’re going to pay for this. Carrying the palanquin isn’t nearly enough, you’re going to BE the palanquNNNRRRHHH!”
Amara hopped up and delivered a Stomp to the side of Baby’s skull to put an end to her ramblings. “Threats from peasants carry no weight in the court of the Golden Empress.” she explained after filling her hands with the blonde’s hair. “Action is the only thing that matters here, as I will now demonstrate.” Drawing VanBuren to all fours, Singh reeled her rival into a Standing Headscissors, then hunched over to wrap both arms around Portia’s waist. A Bollybomb seemed inevitable when the brunette released her grip and straightened up. Amara’s thoughtful expression betrayed no particular motivation, her hands however quickly spidered their way down the slim curve of Baby’s backside and--
“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHH GODDAMN YOU!” Fortune’s Favorite sobbed aloud as Amara made the $ and the rest of her briefs disappear with another eye-watering wedgie. Another five seconds passed before it was back to the Waistlock and no stopping it now, the champ brusquely muscled Baby into a seat atop her right shoulder, then went down on one knee to THAWHAM! the FAWN Original onto the deck with a Bollybomb!
BOLLYBOMB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=mA4h9jJOR8k
Nick swooped in alongside his charges to count the pin only to find himself with nothing to do when Amara plunged both hands into Portia’s hair and hauled her back to verticality. Sidling in on the challenger’s right, she caught that arm in a Half Nelson, grabbed a handful of waistband and bared a little more of Baby’s alabaster cheeks. “This is the end of you, peasant.” she murmured in the blonde’s ear. “No triumphant return in a few years, no second stint as a manager for some piece of trash desperate to cash in on the remnants of your legacy. After tonight you won’t be Fortune’s Favorite, you’ll be just another peasant bending the knee in the presence of her Empr--”
“The f*ck I will.” Baby rasped to life in the Indian grappler’s grasp. “I’m Portia VanBuren and my shadow will ALWAYS linger over this dumPRGH! HRGH! HRGH!”
Singh smashed a trio of Kneelifts into VanBuren’s belly, then sank her hooks a little deeper and gave the blonde a rough, rag-doll shake. “Not anymore, peasant. Tonight your shadow burns in the light of the Golden Empress.” She planted a kiss on Portia’s temple, then dipped her knees and flipped / tossed Baby up ‘n over in a what would’ve been a beautiful back-flip if the champion hadn’t spiked her left knee into the challenger’s forehead with a brain-rattling THWHUNK! VanBuren’s legs went limp and she landed flat on her back in a wide-eyed starfish.
SINGH U 2 SLEEP @ 2:08
www.youtube.com/watch?v=o4Tx3qGyY2Y
Castle moved in for the second time in less than a minute but got the same rebuke as before because Singh shoveled the blonde onto her belly rather than go for a cover. Admittedly this wasn’t as surprising once the Bollywood Bombshell stepped over and sank down into a snug, comfortable seat in the hollow of Portia’s back.
“Disgusting imitations will not be tolerated.” she noted after seizing Baby’s biceps and draping them over the bronze planks of her thighs. “Faded legends will be brushed aside in favor of brighter glories. And above all else,” Singh threaded her hands under Portia’s chin and squeezed just enough to press VanBuren’s cheeks together, “you will pay due tribute to the one true Empress!”
Just like that she pressed down and craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanked backward, Amara putting all her considerable strength into the most dangerous Camel Clutch in all of FAWN.
“AAAAARRRRRHHHHHH GAAAAAAAAAAAAHHD!” Portia shrieked back to thrashing, hapless life, her hands scratching and skittering at Singh’s legs in the only show of resistance she could muster.
“No refuge in prayer now, peasant!” Amara cackled. “Mine is the only will that can save you!”
“What do you say, Portia?” Nick asked over the swelling ‘TAP!’ chants from the crowd. “Are you ok? Do you need me to--”
“Deeerrhhh… don’t even think about it, JerseeYYAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH FAAAAAAAHK!” VanBuren’s patrician arrogance cracked down the middle when Singh tried to do the same to her spine.
Offering her victim a knowing smile once she was able to look down into those shimmering green eyes, Singh cooed, “You are my Empress, Amara. Say it.”
“Nuuuuhhhh… NOOGUUURRRK!”
Amara slipped two fingers from each hand into the corners of Portia’s mouth and pulled it into a garish parody of mirth. “I am a peasant, and you are my Empress.” the Singh repeated. “Say it.”
“Yuuuuhh…you are a Jersey and I am a legRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHH!” Amara raised her glutes, slammed them down on Portia’s lower back and pulled until she’d bent the former World Champion into something resembling a tipped over ’L’. The Empress was about to make another demand when Portia began swatting her thighs with both hands. “Submit!” she groaned to Nick Castle. “I submOOOOOOOHHHH STAAAAAAAHP!”
Castle called for the bell at once, alas the CLANG wasn’t enough to break Amara’s grip, nor was the Announcer’s proclamation. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission and STILL the FAWN World Champion… AMARA SINGH!”
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The Bollywood Bombshell continues to bear down on her Camel, yanking Portia’s faltering frame further, into a brutal ‘C’ shape, a shrieking VanBuren pleading for release and Castle demanding it.
Singh gives up her Clutch with the threat of a decision reversal, dismounting from the sobbing VanBuren, Portia denied her birthright as FAWN’s most accomplished. The Empress hovers over the broken legend, apparently contemplating more brutality when Nick grabs the Indian grappler by a shoulder, turning her to face him.
“You made you point,” Castle informs, “let’s call it a night.”
“But did I?” Amara asks.
She surges forward with right arm drawn and LEVELS Castle with a wicked clothesline.
Standing over the splayed man, Castle in a pained daze, Singh points down at the official.
“Let’s see you disqualify me from a semiconscious stupor.”
Amara turns her attention back to Portia, Baby slithering slowly along the canvas like an ivory-skinned snake, her bottoms turned to a thong, her top ajar enough to display one of her breasts.
As ragged and defeated as her former manager is, Singh clearly wants more. She stomps on the base of VanBuren’s backbone, sending a spasm through Baby and a cry through the arena, stopping the socialite’s limited forward motion.
Amara drops into a forward-facing crouch over the battered vertebrae and again applies her infamous Clutch. Instantaneously, Portia is tapping anything she can reach.
“Pleeease Empress. PLEEEEASE!”
“Alexis made a decent effort to end your FAWN career,” Singh responds. “But as usual, I have to pick up her slack.”
Having pulled the alabaster taffy that is Portia’s body into another awful arch, Amara gives up her cupped hands. Instead, she sweeps an arm across VanBuren’s throat and pulls back even further with a dragon sleeper grip until Portia is not looking to the rafters but instead is gazing teary-eyed BEHIND HER at the golden-brown grappler, chin pointed to the lights.
“GAWWWWDD. STAHHHP,” Portia wails.
But there is no stopping until a half dozen women from the back race to the ring, slide in, and pry the sneering Singh off the broken Baby.
As the women back a smirking Amara into a corner, the EMTs enter and, after a moment of investigation, call for a back brace and stretcher.
“She can’t feel her legs,” one of the attendants screams. “Call the ER and have then prep for emergency surgery.”
The sociopathic Singh revels in the nervous shouts of the med techs. She shakes off the women sent to stop her, pushing through the crowd in the ring, and pounds Portia’s spine one last time with a final goodbye stomp to Baby’s backbone.
Portia screeches in agony as Amara takes her leave, satisfied from the looks on the faces of the EMTs Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV is truly dead and gone from FAWN in any capacity in this life and probably the next.