Post by SammieSinclair on Sept 19, 2014 6:11:10 GMT
Michelle Dawnstar
Modeste Reaux
Introductions made, the two wrestlers lock eyes with one another from their respective corners. Modeste is all smoldering sultriness, with an edge of anger, whereas Michelle is exuberant almost to the point of giddiness. This comes not from any naivety on her part, but rather a firm conviction that she can take the measure of the Louisianan and find the blonde wanting.
That theory is swiftly put to the test as the pair meet in center ring and lock up, going from a collar and elbow to trading wrist locks, as they test the mettle of the other. Dawnstar then goes for a side headlock but is pushed off roughly by her opponent; the Native American makes use of the momentum to charge even faster toward the ropes, twisting herself as she bounds off of them, setting herself up to charge back at the blonde like a runaway locomotive.
The hitch in the plan was that Réaux wasn’t standing idly by, waiting for her adversary to return. Instead she charged right after Dawnstar, so that as the brunette spun around and hit the ropes, she was met with a shoulder block to the belly about one second after. The impact sent the startled girl flipping up and over to the mat, where she lay there gasping and clutching her stomach.
For the first time, the Cajun gave a hint of a smile, accompanied by a scrape of the sole of her boot across the eyes of her downed opponent, drawing forth a pained yelp from Michelle.
Thus the match went for the next several minutes, with Modeste engaging in tactics which earned sharp warnings from the referee, but fell just short of a disqualifying offense. Dawnstar’s earlier bravado was dismantled brick by brick as the blonde made the Indian her plaything.
At one point, subjecting the brunette to a mewl-inducing camel clutch, Réaux purrs, “Ah have a soft spot in my cœur for your cousin.” This remark reminds the struggling Native American that Modest had been a pupil of Michelle’s cousin, Juliet Bloodwind…and to painfully rue that fact. “But know this, Ah’d have no hesitation se terminent her career or her kin’s, so what do y’all think that’ll mean for you tonight, ma douce?”
But if the Cajun thought her words would break the nerve of her opponent, she misjudged her badly. Instead, they galvanized her, and as Modeste released her hold and grabbed twin handfuls of dark hair to haul her rival up, she was met with a fast trio of fists to her belly. The blows stunned and winded the blonde, just as Dawnstar was fired up by an adrenalin rush.
The next few minutes were the mirror opposite of the previous action unfolded, as Michelle exhibited a deft knowledge of a variety of moves, each designed to break down the victim…preferably with as much discomfort as possible. If they were perhaps less technical than physical, they were effective nonetheless. The offensive culminated with the pummeled blonde thrown into the corner, her spine slamming into the turnbuckle with a pained moan. Arms draped over the top ropes, Réaux was left wide open for the flurry of Mongolian chops which swiftly reddened her alabaster skin, leaving her panting and rubber-limbed.
The tomahawk chop to the forehead that followed caused Modeste to stumble, glassy-eyed, from the corner…but after just three shuffling steps, she keened forward, crashing face-first to the mat. Beaming with supreme self-confidence, Dawnstar strutted around the ring, raising her arms and encouraging the cheers of the crowd. Then, ready to go in for the kill…but not before administering a dollop of humiliation on her victim first, that is.
Kneeling next to the dazed Louisianan, Michelle grabs Modeste’s hair close to the scalp and yanks her head up and back, displaying her face for the spectators to see. Then she took the tip of an index finger and wiped it through the blonde’s heavy mascara, and then used the makeup to smear a frowny face at the corner of her rival’s mouth. “Aww, such a sad little clown. Next time you gamble, bltch, never bet against red!” Said the Native American with a giggle, as laughter came from the crowd at the spectacle of Réaux being taunted this way.
Satisfied, Dawnstar stands up and, still holding her adversary’s matted flaxen mane, she hauls her up to her feet as well. And suddenly the galaxy explodes with a thousand nova stars in the brunette’s eyes, courtesy of the uppercut forearm that has just slammed up between her thighs.
With a half-strangled shriek, Michelle releases her hold on Modeste’s hair and, knock-kneed, staggers backward, hands clutching her throbbing womanhood. Réaux…covered in sweat and chest heaving as she sucked in breath…was nonetheless almost electric with fury, courtesy of an adrenalin rush and more than a little bit of anger. She unleashed a trio of backhand chops to her opponent’s chest, driving the embattled Indian backward.
Stepping behind her stunned foe, Réaux then drove her thumb into the side of Michelle’s neck, administering an agonizing Oriental spike that slowly drove the brunette to her knees.
And before Dawnstar knew what was happening, she was trapped in Passionné; Grabbing the Navajo by her damp and tangled hair, Réaux forces her to lean back far enough for Modeste to place Michelle’s head between her thighs.
Clamping her legs tight, Réaux then implements both a standing headvise as well as a smother, with Dawnstar’s mouth and nose buried in her tormentor’s crotch. That alone could prove devastating enough, but Modeste decides to visit a bit of return humiliation on her rival as well, so she bends over enough to yank down the front of Michelle’s strapless one-piece, letting her breasts fall free, much to the appreciation of the onlookers.
With practiced cruelty, Réaux pinches each nipple between thumb and finger and begins to twist. Dawnstar’s muffled howls cannot be heard by the spectators, but the frantic flailing of her arms makes plain her anguish.
As the clock nears the two minute mark, the Native American’s movements have grown so sluggish as to be little more than spasmodic jerks. The ref checks her arm three times, finds her unresponsive, and calls for the bell. With one last pulse of her steely thighs, Modeste asserts her victory, then lets the slumbering brunette drop with a thud onto her back, and the official raises the Cajun’s right arm as the audience roars.
*****
"A tremendous win for the Cajun over a tough opponent," says Coleman. "And a fitting build-up of excitement for our main event tonight. So without further adieu, let's go back to the ring!"
fawn-wrestling.freeforums.net/thread/192/saturday-night-armstong-mariska-barinova
Modeste Reaux
Introductions made, the two wrestlers lock eyes with one another from their respective corners. Modeste is all smoldering sultriness, with an edge of anger, whereas Michelle is exuberant almost to the point of giddiness. This comes not from any naivety on her part, but rather a firm conviction that she can take the measure of the Louisianan and find the blonde wanting.
That theory is swiftly put to the test as the pair meet in center ring and lock up, going from a collar and elbow to trading wrist locks, as they test the mettle of the other. Dawnstar then goes for a side headlock but is pushed off roughly by her opponent; the Native American makes use of the momentum to charge even faster toward the ropes, twisting herself as she bounds off of them, setting herself up to charge back at the blonde like a runaway locomotive.
The hitch in the plan was that Réaux wasn’t standing idly by, waiting for her adversary to return. Instead she charged right after Dawnstar, so that as the brunette spun around and hit the ropes, she was met with a shoulder block to the belly about one second after. The impact sent the startled girl flipping up and over to the mat, where she lay there gasping and clutching her stomach.
For the first time, the Cajun gave a hint of a smile, accompanied by a scrape of the sole of her boot across the eyes of her downed opponent, drawing forth a pained yelp from Michelle.
Thus the match went for the next several minutes, with Modeste engaging in tactics which earned sharp warnings from the referee, but fell just short of a disqualifying offense. Dawnstar’s earlier bravado was dismantled brick by brick as the blonde made the Indian her plaything.
At one point, subjecting the brunette to a mewl-inducing camel clutch, Réaux purrs, “Ah have a soft spot in my cœur for your cousin.” This remark reminds the struggling Native American that Modest had been a pupil of Michelle’s cousin, Juliet Bloodwind…and to painfully rue that fact. “But know this, Ah’d have no hesitation se terminent her career or her kin’s, so what do y’all think that’ll mean for you tonight, ma douce?”
But if the Cajun thought her words would break the nerve of her opponent, she misjudged her badly. Instead, they galvanized her, and as Modeste released her hold and grabbed twin handfuls of dark hair to haul her rival up, she was met with a fast trio of fists to her belly. The blows stunned and winded the blonde, just as Dawnstar was fired up by an adrenalin rush.
The next few minutes were the mirror opposite of the previous action unfolded, as Michelle exhibited a deft knowledge of a variety of moves, each designed to break down the victim…preferably with as much discomfort as possible. If they were perhaps less technical than physical, they were effective nonetheless. The offensive culminated with the pummeled blonde thrown into the corner, her spine slamming into the turnbuckle with a pained moan. Arms draped over the top ropes, Réaux was left wide open for the flurry of Mongolian chops which swiftly reddened her alabaster skin, leaving her panting and rubber-limbed.
The tomahawk chop to the forehead that followed caused Modeste to stumble, glassy-eyed, from the corner…but after just three shuffling steps, she keened forward, crashing face-first to the mat. Beaming with supreme self-confidence, Dawnstar strutted around the ring, raising her arms and encouraging the cheers of the crowd. Then, ready to go in for the kill…but not before administering a dollop of humiliation on her victim first, that is.
Kneeling next to the dazed Louisianan, Michelle grabs Modeste’s hair close to the scalp and yanks her head up and back, displaying her face for the spectators to see. Then she took the tip of an index finger and wiped it through the blonde’s heavy mascara, and then used the makeup to smear a frowny face at the corner of her rival’s mouth. “Aww, such a sad little clown. Next time you gamble, bltch, never bet against red!” Said the Native American with a giggle, as laughter came from the crowd at the spectacle of Réaux being taunted this way.
Satisfied, Dawnstar stands up and, still holding her adversary’s matted flaxen mane, she hauls her up to her feet as well. And suddenly the galaxy explodes with a thousand nova stars in the brunette’s eyes, courtesy of the uppercut forearm that has just slammed up between her thighs.
With a half-strangled shriek, Michelle releases her hold on Modeste’s hair and, knock-kneed, staggers backward, hands clutching her throbbing womanhood. Réaux…covered in sweat and chest heaving as she sucked in breath…was nonetheless almost electric with fury, courtesy of an adrenalin rush and more than a little bit of anger. She unleashed a trio of backhand chops to her opponent’s chest, driving the embattled Indian backward.
Stepping behind her stunned foe, Réaux then drove her thumb into the side of Michelle’s neck, administering an agonizing Oriental spike that slowly drove the brunette to her knees.
And before Dawnstar knew what was happening, she was trapped in Passionné; Grabbing the Navajo by her damp and tangled hair, Réaux forces her to lean back far enough for Modeste to place Michelle’s head between her thighs.
Clamping her legs tight, Réaux then implements both a standing headvise as well as a smother, with Dawnstar’s mouth and nose buried in her tormentor’s crotch. That alone could prove devastating enough, but Modeste decides to visit a bit of return humiliation on her rival as well, so she bends over enough to yank down the front of Michelle’s strapless one-piece, letting her breasts fall free, much to the appreciation of the onlookers.
With practiced cruelty, Réaux pinches each nipple between thumb and finger and begins to twist. Dawnstar’s muffled howls cannot be heard by the spectators, but the frantic flailing of her arms makes plain her anguish.
As the clock nears the two minute mark, the Native American’s movements have grown so sluggish as to be little more than spasmodic jerks. The ref checks her arm three times, finds her unresponsive, and calls for the bell. With one last pulse of her steely thighs, Modeste asserts her victory, then lets the slumbering brunette drop with a thud onto her back, and the official raises the Cajun’s right arm as the audience roars.
*****
"A tremendous win for the Cajun over a tough opponent," says Coleman. "And a fitting build-up of excitement for our main event tonight. So without further adieu, let's go back to the ring!"
fawn-wrestling.freeforums.net/thread/192/saturday-night-armstong-mariska-barinova
