Post by hawkeye on Nov 27, 2023 0:30:26 GMT
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
Twas the spooky season and, as such, Sammie was in an even brighter mood than usual, which was saying quite a bit given her generally positive disposition in even the most trying of times. With a skip in her step and a slight hurry in her pace (given as she might be a teeny bit late), the freckled faced Brit greeted each and every member of the backstage crew as she made her way to the gorilla position, the People’s Princess making a point to know each of them by name.
“Maggie, Liam, Connor,” she gave them all a little wave, her smile as endearing as could be and, upon seeing one in particular, she furrowed her brow just a little. “Steve?” she announced, her tone obviously making her surprise a question. “What are you doing here?” she queried the stocky gentlemen lugging about something particularly heavy. “It’s your Birthday.”
“I…” Steve stammered, a little surprised that the beloved, perfectly packaged brunette was aware of such things. “Well, yes but, you know, got to pay the bills,” he shrugged in resignation.
Sammie, releasing a little sigh, furrowed her brow just a tiny fraction more before coming to a swift decision. Stepping forwards quickly, the Upstart Supreme popped up onto her tiptoes and planted a kiss on the man’s cheek.
Caught utterly off guard (and yet hardly unreceptive), Steve failed to disguise the wild flush that coloured his features and made a show of clearing his throat after she pulled back.
“Happy Birthday, Steve,” Sam flashed her sincerest of smiles, making his whole day in but a few seconds. “I’ve got to go and do my thing,” Sinclair motioned towards the Gorilla Position. “Drop by my teams locker room when the show is done,” she quickly followed up by looking over her sleek shoulder once she was underway, the offer that she would make as guileless as could be. “Bring some friends, we’ll head out and you can have a real Birthday, ok?”
“Ok?” Steve stuttered, taken aback, his cheeks turning even more crimson. “Sure, I guess.”
Now, Sammie was all business, arriving at her destination and, after exhaling a deep breath in yet another failed attempt to calm her butterflies, doing her best to not fidget with her singlet.
“You realise, of course,” someone spoke up not far from the Brits left, an undercurrent of disdain lacing the other girls every word. “That by the end of tonight, he’s going to expect you to bend over.”
Sammie, her gaze narrowing just slightly, felt a sudden rise in her Babyfaced dander as she turned to face the rude interloper, the leather clad Selene Douglas sat stiffly on a crate not five feet away. She fought down her retort, however, resisting the desire to rise to her adversary for this evening’s bait, instead choosing to only look (not terribly) scolding, “Selena.”
SELENA DOUGLAS
“Sammie,” Douglas rolled her shoulder, the stockier of the brunettes demonstrating her superior power, her tone adopting a mocking sweetness. “So, I finally have your attention, Princess.”
The Former Two Time Champion sighed before turning to face her opponent for the night, placing one hand on her hip as she did, ignoring the fact that her opposite was looking her athletic physique up and down. It was hardly the first time.
“You’ve had my attention since Thrills, Chills and Spills,” Sammie shot back, trying to be as firm, which, as was generally the case, was not as firm as she imagined. “But if your only way to get my attention is to pick a fight with me, well, I’m afraid you had to get in line.”
The youthful Brit turned away, feeling that Douglas had been suitably rebuked, “It’s a long one, I’ll see you out there,” she concluded before, upon hearing her music rising from the loud speakers on the opposite side of the curtains, she felt her spirits rising as a bright smile returned to her features, the spirited young woman inhaling deeply before stepping out into the light.
“Damn f*cking right you will,” Selena muttered darkly, pushing herself off the crate and standing to her full height. “Unlike that idiot, I know you’ll bend over.”
**********
The FAWNatics, well versed as they were in their world-renowned roster, were initially surprised when…
FIRE ON UP
www.youtube.com/watch?v=lwx8-1cvow8
…burst into life over the loud speakers. The confusion, however, quickly vanished when the lights shot up and Samantha Sinclair appeared at centre stage, the crowd almost immediately lost their shit.
They erupted with cheers as the Upstart Supreme made her return to the Orlando Arena, the perfectly petite Brit the object of their affections as she stood with her hands raised above her head. Wiggling her fingers and signalling to her followers, the Loyalist Legionaries in attendance brought their hands together with her own as she emphatically clapped…
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
…before pointing dramatically towards the squared circle where pyrokinetics exploded on cue, declaring her intent before she set off towards the ring at a swift pace. Twirling upon reaching half way and, somehow, not breaking her light stride, she saluted the adoring masses and flashed them her most disarming smile, freckled cheeks all aglow as Rick ‘Golden Goliath’ Sinclair’s Little Girl was near overwhelmed by their adoration.
She reached the apron barely a heartbeat or two later and dove beneath the bottom rope, sliding across the canvas before spinning her way up to her feet. She found the furthest corner and quickly climbed the turnbuckles to once again salute the packed arena and picked out one fan in particular, delivering a sweet, personal wave to a young man sporting her merch.
Hopping back down to the mat she spun on the spot and pressed her back against the pads, preparing herself mentally for the trial to come as she exhaled a calming breath, rapidly tapping the back on one heel rapidly against the plywood.
At five foot four and one hundred and ten pounds, she was every inch the People’s Princess, and the crowd loved her all the more for it.
That jubilation, however, could not last unabated, not when…
MONSTER – FEMALE VERSION
www.youtube.com/watch?v=KWViX8-4uaI
…took it’s turn to take over the loud speakers, heralding the arrival of Selena Douglas, making her first, official appearance on the PPV scene. Five foot four and one hundred and twenty-three pounds, the firmly built brunette and frequent convict was as powerfully built as a Lightweight could hope to be without tipping the scales into the next division…
…and she revelled in being the big fish in this particular pond.
Little time was wasted on ceremony as she pushed through the curtains, striding down the ramp as a years’ worth of rampage across the Indy scene was reaching its climax, her temper now as keenly focused as it had ever been. It was a focus harnessed from experience, one that made her all the more dangerous, a Pitbull ready to strike.
A savage in barley civilised clothing.
She rolled her shoulders and readied her fists as, her glare only for Sinclair, she stormed up the steps and, just before ducking into the ring, she finally acknowledged the chorus of boos that greeted her arrival.
“F*ck you,” she growled to no-one in particular, delivering a one fingered salute to the masses before turning her attention back to the reason that she was here. Halloween was just around the corner, and she had but one treat in mind.
One of the most coveted in FAWN.
With singular purpose she marched to centre ring and, rolling her neck, she waited for the young woman opposite.
Sammie, waiting for just a second, weighed up her options before acting against her better judgement, pushing out from her corner to meet the opposite brunette in middle of the canvas.
There they stared each other down, much to the delight of the FAWNatics, anticipation building to boiling point as they could all but taste a new feud in the making, neither Douglas or Sinclair flinching…
…before, shockingly fast, Selena seized Sammie by her slim shoulders and yanked the sleeker young woman forwards, pressing their lips together in the FIERCEST kiss the Former Lightweight Champion had ever experienced.
Baby brown eyes snapped open wide, Sammie stood rigid in shock, her hands clenched tightly into fists as she was overwhelmed with surprise, teetering on the spot as she felt the need to exhale a stunned GASP. She could not, however, expel even an ounce of air, so tight was the ravenous lip lock that her more powerful opposite inflicted upon her, the Upstart Supreme stifling a moan as she quivered on the spot.
So bewildered was she by the assault(?) that she was enduring, Sammie made no attempt to pull away and, with her pulse all a fluster and her cheeks reddening, she could scarcely string even a single thought together as, rebelliously, the posture of the People’s Princess slackened just a fraction…
It was enough, more than enough for Selena who took the minute lessening in her would be rival’s guard as a signal of consent, of mutual, repressed WANT, and Douglas pounced on her opportunity in front of the whole world. She adjusted her grip and possessively wrapped her arms about the Upstart Supreme’s sleek physique and wedged their bodies even closer, sharing their warmth and allowing their pounding hearts to beat against each other’s.
Sammie couldn’t think, she could barely breath, her senses overcome on a battlefield she had so very little experience, fighting on. Peepers of baby brown began to flutter as, being held so very close, her posture slackened even more, surrendering ground that she hadn’t been expecting needed to be held.
Selena knew she had her now, Curvaceous Convict squeezing the Former EuroAsia Champion just tight enough to hold her still, to keep her in place, to keep her obedient as, by inches Sammie’s posture became so very pliant. Sensing no resistance, feeling the short, soft moans rising from the younger woman’s torso, tensing her biceps just a fraction to turn them into muffled groans.
Sammie swayed in her captures grasp, practically swooning, the tips of her fingers twitching as, to all those watching, the People’s Princess surrendered to the unexpected moment, capitulating utterly within the embrace of FAWN’s Most Wanted.
Finally, tightening her embrace at a little further, Douglas broke off the near savage lip, relishing in the pounding of both of their heartbeats. “I f*cking knew it,” she muttered in vindication as she watched Sammie’s glazed expression show no desire to break away, soft lips still parted just so and waiting. “Just needed a real woman to…”
…Sammie SLAMMED her forehead forwards, some instinctual drive erupting from her core mere seconds after her lips had been released, after being given to chance to draw fresh breath, to gather even a fraction of her senses. The CRACK was audible even on the hard camera and, as if broken from a haze themselves (some of them unwillingly), the FAWNatics WHOOPED in response.
Douglas didn’t see it coming, the first knew of it was bone meeting bone and, with a short, sharp curse, she released her captive and stumbled backwards, clutching her nose. She shook it off quickly, temper flaring as she snorted something that might be blood, setting her feet as she prepared to…
…EAT the entirety of a Sammie Kick, the People’s Princess aiming it with perfection and damn near WHACKING the bigger brunette’s noggin clean off her shoulders.
For Douglas, the lights went out, just as it had done for so many others, and she was out of it before she even hit the canvas. She laid splayed out across the mat, toppled like an oak, the latest victim of one of the most lethal kicks in all of sports.
Sammie blinked, inhaling deep breadths and trying to think, leaning forwards with hands on knee and
not quite realising that the hard camera was receiving a perfect shot of her petite, pert booty.
A frustrated sigh from the Official brought her fully back to the here and now and she gazed at him with a perking of her brow.
“Sam,” the Official shook his head, despite the cheering of the masses. “The match hasn’t started yet.”
A little surprised, Sammie nipped her bottom lip apologetically.
“She surprised me,” Sinclair ultimately defended with disarming sincerity, standing tall(?) with flushed, freckled features, she looked between the near boneless Selena and the Official before shrugging.
“Not to toot my own horn but,” Sammie shrugged, looking a little guilty despite the fact that she hadn’t been the one to instigate these events. “But I don’t think that she’s getting up. Maybe… ring the bell?”
The Official, exhaling a deep, world-weary sigh, shook his head and did just that, if only to keep the show going and technically starting the match.
Sinclair, far from being the vindictive sort, settled from straddling the pliant Selena’s hips (privately noting, only to herself, that they were a good fit. Almost as good as Wendys), and pressed her palms down on the Curvaceous Convicts muscle packed shoulders.
“So, hey…” Sammie whispered quietly as the man in black and white dropped down to begin his count.
ONE!
“For what it’s worth,” Sammie leant and little further down, gazing into Selena’s half lidded peepers, not unkindly.
TWO!!
Douglas was just barely starting to come to, a reactive scowl creasing her features. As such, she was able to hear the end of the Sammie’s sentiment, the expression of the People’s Princess becoming a stern as she could make it.
“I am not on the menu, clear?”
THREE!!!
The FAWNatics cheered, despite the unconventional nature of the Upstart Supreme’s return, and the object of their affections unsaddled herself from her perch to raise her hands up high in gratitude, her smile as disarming as always.
As much as she enjoyed such moments, and it was a welcome return to the main stage, Sammie had a sudden need to return to her locker room…
Needs that could only be fulfilled by one Wendy Smith…