Post by hawkeye on Nov 27, 2023 0:35:33 GMT
When the live feed returned to the packed arena, the broadcast briefly switching to a robust promo package for the impending Title Matches later that evening, the crowd were suitably pumped up for the next contest to begin. Eagerly they waited until…
HERE COMES TROUBLE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiRVK6SXhQA
…burst into life over the loud speakers, heralding the arrival of one of FAWN’s most divisive, the Promise of New Storms, Annabelle Dark!!
ANNABELLE DARK
Five foot four and one hundred fifteen pounds, the perfectly petite Brit sauntered out onto centre stage clad in midnight and cloaked in mischief. She sang with saints and slept with sinners, a conundrum of contradictions who, with mild amusement, rode the wave of conflicting jubilation and rejection in equal measure, the Lightning Reaper greeted by a polarised reception to say the least.
Unattainable, unpredictable, the Midnight Maiden was a soarer of division wherever she tread.
With a light-footed swagger and confidence abound, Dark set off down the ramp, the Promise of New Storms well aware that her slight frame and pert booty were now the focus of the world’s attention.
Upon arriving at her destination, she bounded up onto the apron with a fluid leap, turning about to face the crowd sat behind the hard camera before slowly sliding her jacket off one smooth, ivory shoulder and then suggestively doing likewise with the second. Leaning forwards, she whipped the whole thing off before flinging it to the safe keeping of a hypnotised stage hand, that one young man coming to represent a veritable legion of new, infatuated followers.
Ducking between the top and middle ropes, Dark glided into the ring she had every intention of dominating for the foreseeable future and, claiming the centre of the squared circle with her arms upraised and young body glistening, she revealed herself to be Goddess in the making, temptation in the flesh.
So much so, the FAWNatics were quite happy to have Annabelle remain the sole focus of their collective attentions, but fate would intervene when…
BURY YOU
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLliftUOkmg
…came to life over the loud speakers, heralding the arrival of her adversary for the evening.
Ceaseless aggression made manifest, the Apex Enforcer stormed out into view, her powerful physique laced with steel corded muscle and radiating her ill intent.
IRMA IRONS
As perpetually pissed off as a person could be, and still be considered functionally human, Iron’s tore a direct route down towards the ring, undeviating from her course as she snorted, envisioning the violence that she would unleash as her eyes burned a hole through the youngest of the Darks.
A few steps behind her, and largely unannounced, Alessandra Bianchi also slid though the curtains with her phone out before her, turned sideways for best effect as she live streamed the whole thing, the Apex Intellect clearly unimpressed with the handiwork of the FAWN camera crews.
ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
As for Irma, when the squared circle was almost within reach, she accelerated into a dash, all but throwing herself beneath the bottom rope and surging right back up to vertical. Five foot four and one hundred and thirty pounds of ruthless intensity, she snorted back at the booing FAWNatics whilst beating one fist against her chest. She paced back and forth, rolling her shoulders with a cracking of her neck before, under protest, she settled on waiting in a free corner, her heart already beating frantically as it seemed someone back stage had made it their mission to work her up into a frenzy.
The primary suspect, the Apex Supreme, Darla Diane Davis.
When the Official moved over to check Iron’s gear, she snapped at him, telling him exactly where he could f*ck right the f*ck off to. Given her history of violence against any and all who crossed her path, the man in black and white chose the better part of valour and left her be, opting instead to give the waiting Annabelle Dark her pat down.
The Midnight Maiden indulged him, behaving as he patted down her tights for anything she might have concealed, her eyes only for Irma whilst she leant back in her corner, the quirk of her lips sly.
“I’ve got to admit,” she conspired to the Official, the gentlemen busy inspecting her boots whilst her tone was hushed and conspiratorial. “She’s tastier than I expected. You think I should go over and introduce myself?”
The man who was, in theory, the voice of authority in the upcoming contest blinked before he looked up, only just realising that Dark was in fact talking to him. Surprised to say the least, and not entirely sure what was appropriate to say, he opted to fall back on honesty, shaking his head at her suggestion.
“I don’t think that’s a great ide…”
“Shhh,” Annabelle interrupted, not really looking at him as she placed a finger to his stunned lips. “Rhetorical dear, rhetorical.”
Without another word, she began to pace towards centre ring, hips swaying like she owned it.
“So hey,” she announced, this time more loudly, recapturing the attention of Iron’s who had been engaging in some manner of discourse with Bianchi, Alessandra standing on the apron with one palm on Irma’s shoulder whilst the Manchester Malcontent placed a possessive paw about the small of the Digital Damsel’s back.
“You get this hot and bothered about everybody?” Annabelle continued, the Lightning Reaper coming to a stop with one hand on hip and displaying an inviting smirk. “Or just me?”
Bianchi had stopped whispering, which was just as well as Irma had stopped listening, the Personification of Pissed Off pulling away from the Gorgeous Geek before she paced on over to the middle of the ring. She radiated menace, staring down the slighter Brit as they stood eye to eye, neither flinching from the others gaze.
Annabelle, however, did note that for the briefest of moment’s Iron’s gaze did flicker, looking the sleek physique of the Lightning Reaper up and down and, in her own way, clearly liking what she saw. Chancing it, Dark looked over her adversaries’ powerful right shoulder to Bianchi still standing on the apron, goading her with a wink that was successful in sparking irritation.
Let it not be said that Promise of New Storms was not an agent of discord to the end.
That might have been a mistake however as, in the next second, Iron’s most defiantly felt provoked, reaching out and snatching Annabelle by her hair, sharply yanking the young woman’s head back.
Dark released a surprised and involuntary yelp, wincing as her mane was pulled back by the roots, that cry replaced by a surprised gasp as Irma grabbed her by her thigh, soon cupping her by the butt to pull her in tightly.
Annabelle, however was no damsel, nor was she a Princess that Irma could just take back to her castle, the Midnight Maiden regaining her composure and, eliciting a visible, pained wince from viewers the world over, she RAMMED her knee up clean between Iron’s thighs and NAILED the Apex Enforcer in the most sensitive or regions.
“That would be a no,” Dark reprimanded her sturdier counterpart, Irma releasing her with a shocked gasp as her knees lost a little of their fibre. “After that, I will be considerably harder to get,” Annabelle continued to inform, placing her palm on Iron’s chest and pushing her now knocked kneed opponent pack a full pace.
Regaining her balance, Iron’s leaned forwards as the FAWNatics cheered her misfortune, the masses surprisingly on board with the low blow given the current circumstances. Gritting her teeth, Irma leant forwards and braced her hands against her knees, inhaling a deep breath as the thumping of her temple was practically visible.
“Annabelle,” the Official attempted to sound stern.
“You’re right, Stripes,” Dark agreed in an amenable fashion, apparently having decided for herself what he was about to suggest. “Now would be a good time to ring the bell, might as well start the match before it gets out of hand, wouldn’t you say?”
The Official resisted the urge to sigh, shaking his head before doing exactly that, the match underway after the first blow had been struck.
“What about you?” Annabelle enquired, leaning forwards slightly to look Iron’s in the eye with a perking of a brow. It probably wasn’t wise to poke the bear but, in Dark’s opinion, it had worked so far. “Still feeling up to a little tussle? People are watching.”
With a snarl, Irma’s expression darkened as she suddenly launched herself forwards, crossing the distance between them in less than a second with her right arm extended, fully prepared to damn near decapitate the Lightning Reaper with a STIFF lariat…
…at least, she would have done had Annabelle not seen it coming, ducking neatly below the scything limb and dashing on past, the duo passing each other on the canvas. Dark was the first to slam on the brakes, being as she was travelling under far greater control and, as Iron’s was only just starting to turn around, she braced herself back on her left leg before snapping her right both up and out, CRACKING the sole of her boot clean across the Manchester Malcontents exposed jaw!!
Super kick connecting as flush as could be, Irma’s head snapped backwards and a little spittle launched upwards from between her clenched teeth, the Brit back peddling three full steps before coming to a stop. She didn’t fall though, to the disappointment of those watching, Iron’s clutching at her features and remaining stubbornly upright.
“Huh,” Annabelle noted, bringing her athletic limb back down to ground. “That works when Sam does it,” she remarked, looking mildly incredulous as if surprised that the beloved People’s Princess might not be all hype after all. “I guess it’s harder than it looks. Never mind,” she shrugged, lining Iron’s up before she launched into a second Super Kick. “Practice makes perfe…”
…she didn’t finish her sentiment, not with Iron’s catching her boot before she could connect, snarling as she overextended the now captured leg and left Dark balanced precariously on one stem. “You aint no Sinclair,” Irma growled, referring to her adversary. “And you aint hard to get!!”
Inhaling a sharp, deep breath, she yanked backwards on Annabelle’s athletic limb and pulled the Promise of New Storms in, letting go just in time to wrap her mighty arms tightly about Dark’s young body and SQUEEZED her fellow Brit tight!!
With a heady GROOOOOAN, Annabelle was hoisted off her feet as Iron’s biceps flexed, compacting her sleek physique and driving a deep breath out from her torso. She grimaced, her back curling as she was compressed, the Midnight Maiden moaning as she pushed down on Irma’s unflinching shoulders, finding no give as the Manchester Malcontent adjusted her grip, and applied and even greater amount of pressure.
With an audible gasp, Dark felt a shudder run the full length of her petite body, the small of her back creaking as the muscles began to bunch up, Irma jolting her with sharp jostles that threatened to keep her from focusing. A particularly intense application of pressure caused her head to pop backwards on her slim shoulders, exposing the full length of her pale neck to Irma’s short, sharp, hot and heavy breaths, Annabelle’s pulse quickening beneath the prickling of her skin.
She beat her fist against her captures shoulder, but that only seemed to encourage the more powerful Brit further, Irma pulling her in even closer and pressed her lips down upon the ensnared girls exposed throat.
“Dark?” the Official questioned, watching as she was already displaying signs of being rag dolled in Iron’s intense Bearhug.
“No!” Annabelle shook her head, furrowing her brow between gasps of stolen breath, managing to briefly plant her own feet back onto the ground before a fresh jostle ripped them back of the apron. She shook her head again, marshalling her stamina as she forced some fibre back into her posture and, managing to bring her arms up, she prepared to box Irma about the ears…
…only for Iron’s to not give her the chance to, adjusting her grip one last time and releasing a shout, practically tossing Dark up into the air via a dominant Belly to Belly Suplex. Achieving an impressive amount of air, however involuntarily, Annabelle came back to the earth hard, landing across her shoulders with a short grunt as the plywood flexed beneath her petite body. She rolled over onto her front and, to her credit, she pushed up onto her hands and knees, inhaling a deep breath now that she was able to and…
…GUFFED all of it back out again as Irma, on her feet, charged over the canvas and then savagely PUNTED the youngest of the Dark’s clean against her trim gut!! Annabelle was, again, lifted into the air as her tummy trembled, the compact athlete kissing canvas quickly enough and rolling several times, reeling from her opponents sudden and intense offensive.
Instinctively, she reached out, able to grasp a hold of the nearest ring ropes and stubbornly began to pull herself up, finding the middle one before realising that Alessandra Bianchi was there beside her. Standing at ringside, the Digital Damsel was still filming with her phone, holding it distractingly close as the Lightning Reaper’s pained expression as this footage was gold for her private livestream.
“Is this foreplay?” Annabelle questioned, looking to throw a spanner in Bianchi’s attempted humiliation. “Because if it is,” Dark taunted the Gorgeous Geek as she continued in her struggles to pull herself back up, “well, I’m pretty sure you still can’t do better.”
With a narrowed gaze, Alessandra glared right back up at her, continuing to film as Annabelle reached the top rope. She had a retort ready but, at the last second, opted to keep it to herself, her expression becoming mildly panicked as she rapidly dashed to one side.
Just in time, Dark recognised what it meant, her own eyes opening wide as she dropped sharply, grasping a tight hold of the top rope and yanking it earthwards with her. Just as well, being as Iron’s was charging across the ring, a runaway train that would have flattened her had the Promise of New Storms not possessed faster reflexes. Instead, with the Personification of Pissed Off unable to halt her forward momentum, Irma released a serious of especially violent expletives as she overshot her target and tumbled ass over head out of the ring.
The curses continued as she bounced off the apron on her way down, coming to land on the barely padded concrete across her back. She was resilient however, and spitting furious, quickly rolling over onto her front and pushing up onto her hands and knees.
“Bytch,” Irma snarled between gritted teeth, bracing one hand against the apron and dragging herself up. “I’m gonna f*ck you into oblivi…”
She didn’t get to finish her threat, not after Annabelle had regained her bearings and dashed across the ring, sprinting towards the opposite set of ring ropes before, after rebounding off them, she raced back across the canvas and, at the last moment, all but threw herself into a gorgeous baseball slide!! The soles of her boots leading the way, she rapidly slid across the mat and out of the squared circle beneath the bottom rope, RAMMING her feet into the unprotected chest of the unprepared Iron’s!!
With a heady GRUNT, the Personification of Pissed Off was practically jolted clean off her feet, stumbling backwards in a retreat for several strides before the small of her back collided with the commentary table. She cursed again, snapping out a single, vulgar syllable as she clutched at her spine, a duo of commentators behind the desk looking notably more worried about their own wellbeing than they had been a few moments before.
Annabelle, for her own part, landed on her feet, sliding sleekly out of the ring and, after a moment, stood with one hand on hip, looking Irma over with a quirk of her lips that was noticeably more satisfied. She released a small huff before she began to stride forwards…
…only to realise that she had dramatically underestimated Irma’s powers of recovery, her pale peepers opening slightly as the Apex Enforcer surged forwards with what was a particularly primordial roar. She caught Dark with a shoulder tackle and lifted her off her feet, the smaller Brit groaning as her opposites shoulder joint was rammed into her tummy, carrying her backwards until the small of her spine as RAMMED against the apron!!
Annabelle yelped, her back protesting with a sharp spasm after being driven into the hardest part of the ring, her legs almost giving out after she was set back down to earth. She slumped, bracing herself against the side of the squared circle, the slighter, sleek physique of the Midnight Maiden looking meek before the comparatively towering presence of her adversary in front of her.
Before Dark could begin to recover, Iron’s once again grabbed the smaller girl by her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her slim neck in a tight curve, Irma also encircling the Lightning Reapers hips and pulling them in tight against her own.
“So, what is it, Bytch?” Irons demanded, the Manchester Malcontent staring down into the visibly less defiant, perhaps even passive expression of her opponent. “Still hard to get?”
Annabelle didn’t answer straight away, but just as it seemed a note of rebellion was about to resurface, Irma dropped her head down and wrapped her lips about the young woman’s exposed throat, suckling on her ivory complexion hard enough to illicit a full body flinch from her opponent.
With her pale peepers snapped open wide, Annabelle grew rigid from head to toe, her whole posture stiffening as her lips parted open with a shocked moan. She stayed there, unprepared for these sensations as Irma forcibly had her pound of inviting flesh, holding her tightly in front of the whole world as her neck was jostled and abused. Some part of her wanted to get away, but her young body would not obey, seeming to betray her as her posture, so very slowly, grew increasingly submissive.
Irma, however, had apparently had her fill, mostly releasing the sensually overwhelmed Dark but keeping a hold of her hair. Adjusting her grip to grasp the back of Annabelle’s neck, she pivoted on the spot and the bodily tossed the bleary-eyed cutie back first into the steel steps!
The FAWNatics winced when Dark collided with the furniture with both a bone jarring CLANG and bewildered GRUNT, the young woman slumping down to sitting with her back against the cold steel, the nearest camera also now bringing into focus the large bruise that was forming on the side of her abused throat.
Irons wasn’t done, rolling her neck as she lined Annabelle up as, close by, Alessandra was back to live streaming the unfolding events, a wicked little grin having replaced her earlier irritation. Irma charged, despite the crowd begging her not to and, mere seconds later, she raised her right boot and SLAMMED it against the side of her opponent’s temple, damn near NAILING the poor girl’s noggin right against the steel.
To no-one’s surprise, Annabelle slopped over onto her side, her peeper’s half lidded as her right leg twitched.
“SEVEN!” the Official called from inside the ring, some debate raging later as whether or not the man in black and white was indeed trying to alert the duo of Brits to the prospect of being counted out, or if he had really just been hoping that he would reach ten before they noticed.
Regardless, Iron’s evidently possessed zero desire to win by count out, both reaching down and peeling Dark’s all too pliant frame back off the barely padded concrete. She snorted, lugging the slighter Brit in her arms like a ragdoll, Bianchi on hand to make sure the entire spectacle was captured for her private chatroom, Annabelle’s dulled expression broadcast to thousands of homes at once.
Exercising little ceremony, and even less care, Irma tossed Dark back onto the apron and rolled her beneath the bottom rope, following a moment later as the Official reached…
“NINE!”
Count averted, and with an intensely hostile glare in the man’s direction, Irma grabbed the limp limbed Annabelle by her ankle and began to drag the newcomer towards centre ring. There, she dropped her adversaries leaden, lower limb and switched her grip for the young woman’s wrist, hauling her opposite to a shaky state of vertical before folding her forwards. With Dark going no-where, Irons yanked her forwards into a stiff headlock, grabbed a hold of the girls shorts with her hand, with a shout, suddenly popped the Midnight Maiden’s lower body high up into the air before throwing herself backwards, NAILING the crown of her opponent’s noggin deep into the canvas with a brutal DDT!!
IRON NAIL: @0:20 Onwards.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyzdEif7vJI
As tightly as her head was being held, it fell to the rest of Annabelle’s sleekly packed frame to eat the recoil, a sharp spasm running the full length of her spine as her athletic legs kicked out. A moment later, she was laid out flat, petite body flaccid and expression unresponsive.
Irma immediately rolled her over and hooked both of the new girl’s legs, folding her tightly into a ball as the Official dropped down to the canvas, counting…
ONE!
TWO!!
Dark kicked out, shoving up her shoulder before slipping back down into a puddle, breathing raggedly as she blinked with bleary eyes.
Iron’s snorted in aggravation, clearly not amused, cracking her neck one way and then the next before shoving her way back to standing, Alessandra outside the ring remarking to her surprisingly(?) large number of followers online at how slow the Ref was counting. Irma, on the other hand, allowed the glower she shot in the man’s direction to speak for her as she reached down and grabbed the ailing Annabelle by her head, sharp tugs dragging the Lightning Reaper back up onto her knees…
…which was where the youngest of the Darks opted to split her fellow countrywoman’s wickets, RAMMING her forearm up sharply between the unsuspecting Iron’s thighs and stiffly battering her crotch!!
With a sharp gasp, Irma’s eyes snapped open wide and she folded forwards, growling both low and dangerously as a great deal of fibre seem to vanish from her thighs.
The crowd wasn’t quite certain how they were supposed to react but, beyond those who were wincing, being as who was on the receiving end of the low blow, settled on cheering.
The Official was feeling less charitable.
“Annabelle,” he directly addressed the kneeling young woman, ensuring to sound stern. “You know the rules.”
Dark, grimacing as she took the moment of respite that she had earned to massage her forehead, waving away his attempt at a rebuke with mild irritation.
“That?” she questioned, looking incredulous. “After the liberties this Ox has been taking?” she referred to the huffing Irons who was still trying to shake off the effects of the crotch shot through mounting rage alone. “That was me just balancing the ledger,” Annabelle explained further as, on shaky legs, she fought her way up to standing, inhaling a deep breath…
…before stepping forwards and WHACKING her athletic stem up between Irma’s still very much compromised thighs, kicking her squarely on the crotch!!
Iron’s howled, her knees very nearly giving out as, blinded by the pain, the Manchester Malcontent could do little more than sway and sputter out incomplete curses.
“I admit,” Dark cut off the impending protest, shrugging without a great deal of regret by way of apology. “That one was an overdraft.”
“I’m serious, Annabelle,” the man in black and white asserted.
“Oh, yes,” Dark nodded back in ‘understanding’. “Very serious, consider me suitably chastised, from now on, I’ll be on my best behaviour,” she promised whilst collecting Irma, leading her knock-kneed adversary towards the nearest corner. Ignoring Iron’s continued, incoherent promises of excessive violence, she shoved the bigger Brit back first against the turnbuckles and, with the dark-haired destroyer still possessing little control over her lower extremities, Annabelle lifted and hooked her opponents’ left leg up and over the middle rope before doing likewise with the right.
“Then again,” Annabelle mused, the FAWNatics quickly catching on to what she was planning. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“Dark,” the Official warned as the petitely packed athlete sauntered back towards centre ring, many in the audience hypnotised by the swagger of her hips.
“Ok, I admit it,” Annabelle did not look at all contrite. “I’m going to kick her in the crotch again. Feel free to do that charming little count thing you do. I only need one!”
She shot off at a sprint, closing the distance in no time at all and, as promised and with all the momentum in the world behind her, the FAWNatics watched as the Promise of New Storms NAILED the Personification of Pissed Off with an almighty low blow by way of a wickedly fast kick!!
For a few seconds, Irons could see nothing but white, her whole world seemingly imploding as she GASPED a long and hollow cry, slumping forwards and quivering as she remained entangled in the ring ropes.
“I wasn’t kidding by the way,” Annabelle looked back briefly over her slender shoulder at the stunned Official before turning all of her attention back to Irma. “You probably should have started a count, because now I’ve got time for this.”
Stepping forwards, Dark collected the paralysed Irons into a firm Front Headlock before slowly back peddling, tugging Irma out of her entanglement until only her ankles were still perched on the ropes. A second later, Annabelle threw herself backwards, dragging her opponent with her and SPIKING her cranium into the barely yielding plywood with a variation of the DDT of her own!!
MIDNIGHT BLISS: @1:36
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmrxwRFA9vg
For a moment, Iron’s whole body was rigid, and then she fell limp with a sense of finality, Annabelle huffing a little as she rolled her fellow Brit over and, with little more effort than she expected, she dragged her leaden foe further away from the ring ropes. Quickly straddling Irma’s complaint hips (and admittedly, briefly trying them on size with a deliberate, assertive grinding of her thighs), winking at a silently seething Bianchi at ringside as Dark braced her palms down on her adversaries’ firm shoulders.
The Official wasted no time in performing his duties, dropping down to the canvas and counting…
ONE!
TW…
Irma SHOVED up her shoulder, breaking up the pinfall with a fierce shout, shaking her head with a low growl before her hand came back down to rest of Annabelle’s leg, the petite Brit still comfortably mounted atop her.
Dark shot the Alessandra a further coy look, the Digital Damsel returning it with mounting hatred before Annabelle returned her full attention back to her opponent.
“Bad, bronco,” the Midnight Maiden reprimanded the brawler beneath her, driving her point home with a thrust downwards with her hips, driving the most private parts of their anatomy together and was rewarded by a sharp inhale from Irons. “That’s what you could have got,” she ‘lamented’ before getting up, stepping up and collecting both of her fellow Brit’s ankles. “Now you get the stick,” she explained before lifting Irma’s legs up high and spreading them out wide in a sharp V.
“Annabelle,” the Officials tone was back to being a warning but, just as before, such attempts to assert his authority fell on deaf ears.
Dark leapt, clearly not listening and, this time, several of the FAWNatics chose to look away as, once again, Irma’s abused privates were the focus of Annabelle’s assault. Her double leg drop landed true, not only splitting wickets but also battered her foes crotch, Irma defiantly awake now as she rolled up into a tight ball, her eyes wide and furious as she gagged and groaned.
It was then that the Official lost his cool.
“That’s it, Dark, no more,” he warned, getting up in the petite young woman’s business who, despite his bluster, did not appear to be all that impressed. “One more low blow, and it’s a DQ, got it?”
“If you insist,” Annabelle held her palms up in innocence, her manner suggesting that she was anything but, her smirk unrepentant. “I’ll play nice with the girly parts from now on.”
The Official shook his head, demanding that Dark create some space after the repeated, illegal offensive, the young woman rolling her eyes and turning her back on him as the man in black and white checked on Iron’s well-being. He was rewarded with a rabid, rapid series of threats and curses, and Annabelle smirked all the more.
“Alright Stripes,” Dark rolled her eyes after barely a spattering of seconds, quickly retracing the steps that she had retreated to close the distance back up again. “I promise to dole out plenty of TLC once I’m done, all night long if she learns to behave herself.”
“Annabelle…” the Official, yet again, attempted to assert some amount of authority over the pixie Brit.
“I’ll learn behave myself too, ok?” she placated without much credibility, reaching down to grapple the spitting Iron’s back up to vertical. “Why on Earth would I break something I plan to…”
She didn’t finish her sentence, Dark’s complexation turning pale as, with one, savage and brutally swift motion, the Apex Enforcer RAMMED her forearm deep between the unsuspecting Annabelle’s own, athletic wickets. The Lightning Reaper turned rigid, her pouty lower lip all a quiver as her breath stuck in her chest with a strangled gag.
“Jesus Christ!” the Official exclaimed, exceptionally exasperated as Irma, forcing herself to rise, powered the slighter physique of her suddenly paralysed foe to lay limp up and across her shoulders. “And that’s your one warning, Iron’s. One! I’m not having any more of…”
“F*CK YOU!!” Irma snapped back in his face; her features positively crimson from her mounting rage as she mercilessly secured her Fireman’s Carry. Planting her feet at centre stage, the far stronger of the two duelling Brits braced her powerful physique and, whilst exhaling a sharp, deep breath, shoved up on Darks coveted lower limbs whilst simultaneously dropping sideways, NAILING the Promise of New Storms into the deck with a thunderous impact!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=38NzoBne320
Even the crowd felt that one as an audible gasp rippled through their ranks in time with the swift recoil that ran the length of Annabelle’s compacted, petite physique before her fell limp. Practically boneless, the smaller, shellshocked Brit flopped out in a puddle as she gazed up sightless at the rafters, finding herself for the first time on the wrong end of a move that, for the past year, had been putting women away the length and breadth of Europe.
Iron’s, however, didn’t go for a pinfall which would be the expected modus operandi. Instead, she remained kneeling, exhaling heavily as, cheeks still flush, she roughly wiped the back of her hand across her lips. She glowered down at her fresh adversary, gritting her teeth and snarling as her nether regions continued throbbing, fuelling her still bristling fury.
After a further few, lingering moments of consideration, Irma snarled as she pushed up onto one knee before powering her way back up to boot leather. Wasting no further time, she reached down to likewise peel the blanked eyed Annabelle off the canvas and bullied her up onto her own swaying stems.
Back in the middle of the ring, where the duos duel had first begun, Iron’s set about finishing what she started, jerking her now all too pliant counterpart tight into her embrace, the bleary eyed Midnight Maiden leant placidly against her, caught in a fresh and renewed Bearhug.
Annabelle released a short and, briefly, alarmed groan as her peepers remained half lidded, her posture stiffening for a single, defiant second before, with a quiver, each and every muscle slackened with a sense of finality. She continued to grunt and moan as the increasingly possessive and overpowering pulses from Irma’s steel corded biceps robbed her steadily of her remaining stamina, draining her of her resolve whilst the Lightning Reaper remained in a stupor.
A particularly stiff constriction popped her up onto her tiptoes, whilst a second forced her to GASP and a third, even fiercer tightening of the coils summoned a protracted GROOOOOAN to issue out from her lips. Methodically, ruthlessly, aggressively with short, STIFF jerks and shakes of her embrace, the Manchester Malcontent stripped the Promise of New Storms of almost the entirety of her reserves just as her pale peepers started to flutter back open, the youngest of the Dark’s coming back around far too late.
Even as aware as she was becoming, there remained nothing that Annabelle could do, the lithe, little Brit now fully at the mercy of her would be possessor as Irma still continued to drain her of power, Darks hands swaying idly by her thighs as her athletic stems hung leaden. She attempted to inhale but found nothing could get in and, as a grunting and snarling Iron’s bobbed her flagging frame up and down like a flaccid rag doll, she was coherent just long enough to know that she had lost.
With what little power that she could still summon, she tapped her fingers against her new adversary’s thigh to signal her surrender…
…only the Official didn’t see it and Iron’s, her heart beating faster, refused to acknowledge it.
If anything, Irma only poured on MORE pressure, lifting the utterly defeated Dark clean off her boot leather and somehow tightening the Bearhug even more, exercising every ounce of her superior power to all but crush the remaining life from out of her capitulated foe, emboldened by her surrender.
Completely slack from head to toe and peepers fluttering back to half lidded, the Midnight Maiden found her own pulse quickening as her head rolled to one side, fully exposing the sleek, still unblemished curve of the left side of her neck.
Intended or otherwise, the Apex Enforcer, with a hot and heavy breath, accepted the invitation and tightly locked her lips about the soft, cool and exposed throat to vigorously claim her second pound of flesh.
Annabelle, initially, stiffened just a fraction at the new invasion but, finally, had not the will (nor, privately, the desire) to fend off her opposite’s advances, her peepers remaining half lidded and moans quite as, for at least one evening, Irma had claimed a fresh adversary as her own.
The Official (to the disappointment of many watching) had finally seen enough and called for the bell, Iron’s winning the contest by submission.
Even as the bell rang to confirm her victory, Irma didn’t release her Bearhug, nor did she cease her voracious suckling for a long time afterwards whilst at ringside, Alessandra Bianchi continued to stream live Annabelle’s downfall to not only a growing, but also emboldened audience of the budding Apex Nation…
HERE COMES TROUBLE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiRVK6SXhQA
…burst into life over the loud speakers, heralding the arrival of one of FAWN’s most divisive, the Promise of New Storms, Annabelle Dark!!
ANNABELLE DARK
Five foot four and one hundred fifteen pounds, the perfectly petite Brit sauntered out onto centre stage clad in midnight and cloaked in mischief. She sang with saints and slept with sinners, a conundrum of contradictions who, with mild amusement, rode the wave of conflicting jubilation and rejection in equal measure, the Lightning Reaper greeted by a polarised reception to say the least.
Unattainable, unpredictable, the Midnight Maiden was a soarer of division wherever she tread.
With a light-footed swagger and confidence abound, Dark set off down the ramp, the Promise of New Storms well aware that her slight frame and pert booty were now the focus of the world’s attention.
Upon arriving at her destination, she bounded up onto the apron with a fluid leap, turning about to face the crowd sat behind the hard camera before slowly sliding her jacket off one smooth, ivory shoulder and then suggestively doing likewise with the second. Leaning forwards, she whipped the whole thing off before flinging it to the safe keeping of a hypnotised stage hand, that one young man coming to represent a veritable legion of new, infatuated followers.
Ducking between the top and middle ropes, Dark glided into the ring she had every intention of dominating for the foreseeable future and, claiming the centre of the squared circle with her arms upraised and young body glistening, she revealed herself to be Goddess in the making, temptation in the flesh.
So much so, the FAWNatics were quite happy to have Annabelle remain the sole focus of their collective attentions, but fate would intervene when…
BURY YOU
www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLliftUOkmg
…came to life over the loud speakers, heralding the arrival of her adversary for the evening.
Ceaseless aggression made manifest, the Apex Enforcer stormed out into view, her powerful physique laced with steel corded muscle and radiating her ill intent.
IRMA IRONS
As perpetually pissed off as a person could be, and still be considered functionally human, Iron’s tore a direct route down towards the ring, undeviating from her course as she snorted, envisioning the violence that she would unleash as her eyes burned a hole through the youngest of the Darks.
A few steps behind her, and largely unannounced, Alessandra Bianchi also slid though the curtains with her phone out before her, turned sideways for best effect as she live streamed the whole thing, the Apex Intellect clearly unimpressed with the handiwork of the FAWN camera crews.
ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
As for Irma, when the squared circle was almost within reach, she accelerated into a dash, all but throwing herself beneath the bottom rope and surging right back up to vertical. Five foot four and one hundred and thirty pounds of ruthless intensity, she snorted back at the booing FAWNatics whilst beating one fist against her chest. She paced back and forth, rolling her shoulders with a cracking of her neck before, under protest, she settled on waiting in a free corner, her heart already beating frantically as it seemed someone back stage had made it their mission to work her up into a frenzy.
The primary suspect, the Apex Supreme, Darla Diane Davis.
When the Official moved over to check Iron’s gear, she snapped at him, telling him exactly where he could f*ck right the f*ck off to. Given her history of violence against any and all who crossed her path, the man in black and white chose the better part of valour and left her be, opting instead to give the waiting Annabelle Dark her pat down.
The Midnight Maiden indulged him, behaving as he patted down her tights for anything she might have concealed, her eyes only for Irma whilst she leant back in her corner, the quirk of her lips sly.
“I’ve got to admit,” she conspired to the Official, the gentlemen busy inspecting her boots whilst her tone was hushed and conspiratorial. “She’s tastier than I expected. You think I should go over and introduce myself?”
The man who was, in theory, the voice of authority in the upcoming contest blinked before he looked up, only just realising that Dark was in fact talking to him. Surprised to say the least, and not entirely sure what was appropriate to say, he opted to fall back on honesty, shaking his head at her suggestion.
“I don’t think that’s a great ide…”
“Shhh,” Annabelle interrupted, not really looking at him as she placed a finger to his stunned lips. “Rhetorical dear, rhetorical.”
Without another word, she began to pace towards centre ring, hips swaying like she owned it.
“So hey,” she announced, this time more loudly, recapturing the attention of Iron’s who had been engaging in some manner of discourse with Bianchi, Alessandra standing on the apron with one palm on Irma’s shoulder whilst the Manchester Malcontent placed a possessive paw about the small of the Digital Damsel’s back.
“You get this hot and bothered about everybody?” Annabelle continued, the Lightning Reaper coming to a stop with one hand on hip and displaying an inviting smirk. “Or just me?”
Bianchi had stopped whispering, which was just as well as Irma had stopped listening, the Personification of Pissed Off pulling away from the Gorgeous Geek before she paced on over to the middle of the ring. She radiated menace, staring down the slighter Brit as they stood eye to eye, neither flinching from the others gaze.
Annabelle, however, did note that for the briefest of moment’s Iron’s gaze did flicker, looking the sleek physique of the Lightning Reaper up and down and, in her own way, clearly liking what she saw. Chancing it, Dark looked over her adversaries’ powerful right shoulder to Bianchi still standing on the apron, goading her with a wink that was successful in sparking irritation.
Let it not be said that Promise of New Storms was not an agent of discord to the end.
That might have been a mistake however as, in the next second, Iron’s most defiantly felt provoked, reaching out and snatching Annabelle by her hair, sharply yanking the young woman’s head back.
Dark released a surprised and involuntary yelp, wincing as her mane was pulled back by the roots, that cry replaced by a surprised gasp as Irma grabbed her by her thigh, soon cupping her by the butt to pull her in tightly.
Annabelle, however was no damsel, nor was she a Princess that Irma could just take back to her castle, the Midnight Maiden regaining her composure and, eliciting a visible, pained wince from viewers the world over, she RAMMED her knee up clean between Iron’s thighs and NAILED the Apex Enforcer in the most sensitive or regions.
“That would be a no,” Dark reprimanded her sturdier counterpart, Irma releasing her with a shocked gasp as her knees lost a little of their fibre. “After that, I will be considerably harder to get,” Annabelle continued to inform, placing her palm on Iron’s chest and pushing her now knocked kneed opponent pack a full pace.
Regaining her balance, Iron’s leaned forwards as the FAWNatics cheered her misfortune, the masses surprisingly on board with the low blow given the current circumstances. Gritting her teeth, Irma leant forwards and braced her hands against her knees, inhaling a deep breath as the thumping of her temple was practically visible.
“Annabelle,” the Official attempted to sound stern.
“You’re right, Stripes,” Dark agreed in an amenable fashion, apparently having decided for herself what he was about to suggest. “Now would be a good time to ring the bell, might as well start the match before it gets out of hand, wouldn’t you say?”
The Official resisted the urge to sigh, shaking his head before doing exactly that, the match underway after the first blow had been struck.
“What about you?” Annabelle enquired, leaning forwards slightly to look Iron’s in the eye with a perking of a brow. It probably wasn’t wise to poke the bear but, in Dark’s opinion, it had worked so far. “Still feeling up to a little tussle? People are watching.”
With a snarl, Irma’s expression darkened as she suddenly launched herself forwards, crossing the distance between them in less than a second with her right arm extended, fully prepared to damn near decapitate the Lightning Reaper with a STIFF lariat…
…at least, she would have done had Annabelle not seen it coming, ducking neatly below the scything limb and dashing on past, the duo passing each other on the canvas. Dark was the first to slam on the brakes, being as she was travelling under far greater control and, as Iron’s was only just starting to turn around, she braced herself back on her left leg before snapping her right both up and out, CRACKING the sole of her boot clean across the Manchester Malcontents exposed jaw!!
Super kick connecting as flush as could be, Irma’s head snapped backwards and a little spittle launched upwards from between her clenched teeth, the Brit back peddling three full steps before coming to a stop. She didn’t fall though, to the disappointment of those watching, Iron’s clutching at her features and remaining stubbornly upright.
“Huh,” Annabelle noted, bringing her athletic limb back down to ground. “That works when Sam does it,” she remarked, looking mildly incredulous as if surprised that the beloved People’s Princess might not be all hype after all. “I guess it’s harder than it looks. Never mind,” she shrugged, lining Iron’s up before she launched into a second Super Kick. “Practice makes perfe…”
…she didn’t finish her sentiment, not with Iron’s catching her boot before she could connect, snarling as she overextended the now captured leg and left Dark balanced precariously on one stem. “You aint no Sinclair,” Irma growled, referring to her adversary. “And you aint hard to get!!”
Inhaling a sharp, deep breath, she yanked backwards on Annabelle’s athletic limb and pulled the Promise of New Storms in, letting go just in time to wrap her mighty arms tightly about Dark’s young body and SQUEEZED her fellow Brit tight!!
With a heady GROOOOOAN, Annabelle was hoisted off her feet as Iron’s biceps flexed, compacting her sleek physique and driving a deep breath out from her torso. She grimaced, her back curling as she was compressed, the Midnight Maiden moaning as she pushed down on Irma’s unflinching shoulders, finding no give as the Manchester Malcontent adjusted her grip, and applied and even greater amount of pressure.
With an audible gasp, Dark felt a shudder run the full length of her petite body, the small of her back creaking as the muscles began to bunch up, Irma jolting her with sharp jostles that threatened to keep her from focusing. A particularly intense application of pressure caused her head to pop backwards on her slim shoulders, exposing the full length of her pale neck to Irma’s short, sharp, hot and heavy breaths, Annabelle’s pulse quickening beneath the prickling of her skin.
She beat her fist against her captures shoulder, but that only seemed to encourage the more powerful Brit further, Irma pulling her in even closer and pressed her lips down upon the ensnared girls exposed throat.
“Dark?” the Official questioned, watching as she was already displaying signs of being rag dolled in Iron’s intense Bearhug.
“No!” Annabelle shook her head, furrowing her brow between gasps of stolen breath, managing to briefly plant her own feet back onto the ground before a fresh jostle ripped them back of the apron. She shook her head again, marshalling her stamina as she forced some fibre back into her posture and, managing to bring her arms up, she prepared to box Irma about the ears…
…only for Iron’s to not give her the chance to, adjusting her grip one last time and releasing a shout, practically tossing Dark up into the air via a dominant Belly to Belly Suplex. Achieving an impressive amount of air, however involuntarily, Annabelle came back to the earth hard, landing across her shoulders with a short grunt as the plywood flexed beneath her petite body. She rolled over onto her front and, to her credit, she pushed up onto her hands and knees, inhaling a deep breath now that she was able to and…
…GUFFED all of it back out again as Irma, on her feet, charged over the canvas and then savagely PUNTED the youngest of the Dark’s clean against her trim gut!! Annabelle was, again, lifted into the air as her tummy trembled, the compact athlete kissing canvas quickly enough and rolling several times, reeling from her opponents sudden and intense offensive.
Instinctively, she reached out, able to grasp a hold of the nearest ring ropes and stubbornly began to pull herself up, finding the middle one before realising that Alessandra Bianchi was there beside her. Standing at ringside, the Digital Damsel was still filming with her phone, holding it distractingly close as the Lightning Reaper’s pained expression as this footage was gold for her private livestream.
“Is this foreplay?” Annabelle questioned, looking to throw a spanner in Bianchi’s attempted humiliation. “Because if it is,” Dark taunted the Gorgeous Geek as she continued in her struggles to pull herself back up, “well, I’m pretty sure you still can’t do better.”
With a narrowed gaze, Alessandra glared right back up at her, continuing to film as Annabelle reached the top rope. She had a retort ready but, at the last second, opted to keep it to herself, her expression becoming mildly panicked as she rapidly dashed to one side.
Just in time, Dark recognised what it meant, her own eyes opening wide as she dropped sharply, grasping a tight hold of the top rope and yanking it earthwards with her. Just as well, being as Iron’s was charging across the ring, a runaway train that would have flattened her had the Promise of New Storms not possessed faster reflexes. Instead, with the Personification of Pissed Off unable to halt her forward momentum, Irma released a serious of especially violent expletives as she overshot her target and tumbled ass over head out of the ring.
The curses continued as she bounced off the apron on her way down, coming to land on the barely padded concrete across her back. She was resilient however, and spitting furious, quickly rolling over onto her front and pushing up onto her hands and knees.
“Bytch,” Irma snarled between gritted teeth, bracing one hand against the apron and dragging herself up. “I’m gonna f*ck you into oblivi…”
She didn’t get to finish her threat, not after Annabelle had regained her bearings and dashed across the ring, sprinting towards the opposite set of ring ropes before, after rebounding off them, she raced back across the canvas and, at the last moment, all but threw herself into a gorgeous baseball slide!! The soles of her boots leading the way, she rapidly slid across the mat and out of the squared circle beneath the bottom rope, RAMMING her feet into the unprotected chest of the unprepared Iron’s!!
With a heady GRUNT, the Personification of Pissed Off was practically jolted clean off her feet, stumbling backwards in a retreat for several strides before the small of her back collided with the commentary table. She cursed again, snapping out a single, vulgar syllable as she clutched at her spine, a duo of commentators behind the desk looking notably more worried about their own wellbeing than they had been a few moments before.
Annabelle, for her own part, landed on her feet, sliding sleekly out of the ring and, after a moment, stood with one hand on hip, looking Irma over with a quirk of her lips that was noticeably more satisfied. She released a small huff before she began to stride forwards…
…only to realise that she had dramatically underestimated Irma’s powers of recovery, her pale peepers opening slightly as the Apex Enforcer surged forwards with what was a particularly primordial roar. She caught Dark with a shoulder tackle and lifted her off her feet, the smaller Brit groaning as her opposites shoulder joint was rammed into her tummy, carrying her backwards until the small of her spine as RAMMED against the apron!!
Annabelle yelped, her back protesting with a sharp spasm after being driven into the hardest part of the ring, her legs almost giving out after she was set back down to earth. She slumped, bracing herself against the side of the squared circle, the slighter, sleek physique of the Midnight Maiden looking meek before the comparatively towering presence of her adversary in front of her.
Before Dark could begin to recover, Iron’s once again grabbed the smaller girl by her hair and yanked her head back, exposing her slim neck in a tight curve, Irma also encircling the Lightning Reapers hips and pulling them in tight against her own.
“So, what is it, Bytch?” Irons demanded, the Manchester Malcontent staring down into the visibly less defiant, perhaps even passive expression of her opponent. “Still hard to get?”
Annabelle didn’t answer straight away, but just as it seemed a note of rebellion was about to resurface, Irma dropped her head down and wrapped her lips about the young woman’s exposed throat, suckling on her ivory complexion hard enough to illicit a full body flinch from her opponent.
With her pale peepers snapped open wide, Annabelle grew rigid from head to toe, her whole posture stiffening as her lips parted open with a shocked moan. She stayed there, unprepared for these sensations as Irma forcibly had her pound of inviting flesh, holding her tightly in front of the whole world as her neck was jostled and abused. Some part of her wanted to get away, but her young body would not obey, seeming to betray her as her posture, so very slowly, grew increasingly submissive.
Irma, however, had apparently had her fill, mostly releasing the sensually overwhelmed Dark but keeping a hold of her hair. Adjusting her grip to grasp the back of Annabelle’s neck, she pivoted on the spot and the bodily tossed the bleary-eyed cutie back first into the steel steps!
The FAWNatics winced when Dark collided with the furniture with both a bone jarring CLANG and bewildered GRUNT, the young woman slumping down to sitting with her back against the cold steel, the nearest camera also now bringing into focus the large bruise that was forming on the side of her abused throat.
Irons wasn’t done, rolling her neck as she lined Annabelle up as, close by, Alessandra was back to live streaming the unfolding events, a wicked little grin having replaced her earlier irritation. Irma charged, despite the crowd begging her not to and, mere seconds later, she raised her right boot and SLAMMED it against the side of her opponent’s temple, damn near NAILING the poor girl’s noggin right against the steel.
To no-one’s surprise, Annabelle slopped over onto her side, her peeper’s half lidded as her right leg twitched.
“SEVEN!” the Official called from inside the ring, some debate raging later as whether or not the man in black and white was indeed trying to alert the duo of Brits to the prospect of being counted out, or if he had really just been hoping that he would reach ten before they noticed.
Regardless, Iron’s evidently possessed zero desire to win by count out, both reaching down and peeling Dark’s all too pliant frame back off the barely padded concrete. She snorted, lugging the slighter Brit in her arms like a ragdoll, Bianchi on hand to make sure the entire spectacle was captured for her private chatroom, Annabelle’s dulled expression broadcast to thousands of homes at once.
Exercising little ceremony, and even less care, Irma tossed Dark back onto the apron and rolled her beneath the bottom rope, following a moment later as the Official reached…
“NINE!”
Count averted, and with an intensely hostile glare in the man’s direction, Irma grabbed the limp limbed Annabelle by her ankle and began to drag the newcomer towards centre ring. There, she dropped her adversaries leaden, lower limb and switched her grip for the young woman’s wrist, hauling her opposite to a shaky state of vertical before folding her forwards. With Dark going no-where, Irons yanked her forwards into a stiff headlock, grabbed a hold of the girls shorts with her hand, with a shout, suddenly popped the Midnight Maiden’s lower body high up into the air before throwing herself backwards, NAILING the crown of her opponent’s noggin deep into the canvas with a brutal DDT!!
IRON NAIL: @0:20 Onwards.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vyzdEif7vJI
As tightly as her head was being held, it fell to the rest of Annabelle’s sleekly packed frame to eat the recoil, a sharp spasm running the full length of her spine as her athletic legs kicked out. A moment later, she was laid out flat, petite body flaccid and expression unresponsive.
Irma immediately rolled her over and hooked both of the new girl’s legs, folding her tightly into a ball as the Official dropped down to the canvas, counting…
ONE!
TWO!!
Dark kicked out, shoving up her shoulder before slipping back down into a puddle, breathing raggedly as she blinked with bleary eyes.
Iron’s snorted in aggravation, clearly not amused, cracking her neck one way and then the next before shoving her way back to standing, Alessandra outside the ring remarking to her surprisingly(?) large number of followers online at how slow the Ref was counting. Irma, on the other hand, allowed the glower she shot in the man’s direction to speak for her as she reached down and grabbed the ailing Annabelle by her head, sharp tugs dragging the Lightning Reaper back up onto her knees…
…which was where the youngest of the Darks opted to split her fellow countrywoman’s wickets, RAMMING her forearm up sharply between the unsuspecting Iron’s thighs and stiffly battering her crotch!!
With a sharp gasp, Irma’s eyes snapped open wide and she folded forwards, growling both low and dangerously as a great deal of fibre seem to vanish from her thighs.
The crowd wasn’t quite certain how they were supposed to react but, beyond those who were wincing, being as who was on the receiving end of the low blow, settled on cheering.
The Official was feeling less charitable.
“Annabelle,” he directly addressed the kneeling young woman, ensuring to sound stern. “You know the rules.”
Dark, grimacing as she took the moment of respite that she had earned to massage her forehead, waving away his attempt at a rebuke with mild irritation.
“That?” she questioned, looking incredulous. “After the liberties this Ox has been taking?” she referred to the huffing Irons who was still trying to shake off the effects of the crotch shot through mounting rage alone. “That was me just balancing the ledger,” Annabelle explained further as, on shaky legs, she fought her way up to standing, inhaling a deep breath…
…before stepping forwards and WHACKING her athletic stem up between Irma’s still very much compromised thighs, kicking her squarely on the crotch!!
Iron’s howled, her knees very nearly giving out as, blinded by the pain, the Manchester Malcontent could do little more than sway and sputter out incomplete curses.
“I admit,” Dark cut off the impending protest, shrugging without a great deal of regret by way of apology. “That one was an overdraft.”
“I’m serious, Annabelle,” the man in black and white asserted.
“Oh, yes,” Dark nodded back in ‘understanding’. “Very serious, consider me suitably chastised, from now on, I’ll be on my best behaviour,” she promised whilst collecting Irma, leading her knock-kneed adversary towards the nearest corner. Ignoring Iron’s continued, incoherent promises of excessive violence, she shoved the bigger Brit back first against the turnbuckles and, with the dark-haired destroyer still possessing little control over her lower extremities, Annabelle lifted and hooked her opponents’ left leg up and over the middle rope before doing likewise with the right.
“Then again,” Annabelle mused, the FAWNatics quickly catching on to what she was planning. “In for a penny, in for a pound.”
“Dark,” the Official warned as the petitely packed athlete sauntered back towards centre ring, many in the audience hypnotised by the swagger of her hips.
“Ok, I admit it,” Annabelle did not look at all contrite. “I’m going to kick her in the crotch again. Feel free to do that charming little count thing you do. I only need one!”
She shot off at a sprint, closing the distance in no time at all and, as promised and with all the momentum in the world behind her, the FAWNatics watched as the Promise of New Storms NAILED the Personification of Pissed Off with an almighty low blow by way of a wickedly fast kick!!
For a few seconds, Irons could see nothing but white, her whole world seemingly imploding as she GASPED a long and hollow cry, slumping forwards and quivering as she remained entangled in the ring ropes.
“I wasn’t kidding by the way,” Annabelle looked back briefly over her slender shoulder at the stunned Official before turning all of her attention back to Irma. “You probably should have started a count, because now I’ve got time for this.”
Stepping forwards, Dark collected the paralysed Irons into a firm Front Headlock before slowly back peddling, tugging Irma out of her entanglement until only her ankles were still perched on the ropes. A second later, Annabelle threw herself backwards, dragging her opponent with her and SPIKING her cranium into the barely yielding plywood with a variation of the DDT of her own!!
MIDNIGHT BLISS: @1:36
www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmrxwRFA9vg
For a moment, Iron’s whole body was rigid, and then she fell limp with a sense of finality, Annabelle huffing a little as she rolled her fellow Brit over and, with little more effort than she expected, she dragged her leaden foe further away from the ring ropes. Quickly straddling Irma’s complaint hips (and admittedly, briefly trying them on size with a deliberate, assertive grinding of her thighs), winking at a silently seething Bianchi at ringside as Dark braced her palms down on her adversaries’ firm shoulders.
The Official wasted no time in performing his duties, dropping down to the canvas and counting…
ONE!
TW…
Irma SHOVED up her shoulder, breaking up the pinfall with a fierce shout, shaking her head with a low growl before her hand came back down to rest of Annabelle’s leg, the petite Brit still comfortably mounted atop her.
Dark shot the Alessandra a further coy look, the Digital Damsel returning it with mounting hatred before Annabelle returned her full attention back to her opponent.
“Bad, bronco,” the Midnight Maiden reprimanded the brawler beneath her, driving her point home with a thrust downwards with her hips, driving the most private parts of their anatomy together and was rewarded by a sharp inhale from Irons. “That’s what you could have got,” she ‘lamented’ before getting up, stepping up and collecting both of her fellow Brit’s ankles. “Now you get the stick,” she explained before lifting Irma’s legs up high and spreading them out wide in a sharp V.
“Annabelle,” the Officials tone was back to being a warning but, just as before, such attempts to assert his authority fell on deaf ears.
Dark leapt, clearly not listening and, this time, several of the FAWNatics chose to look away as, once again, Irma’s abused privates were the focus of Annabelle’s assault. Her double leg drop landed true, not only splitting wickets but also battered her foes crotch, Irma defiantly awake now as she rolled up into a tight ball, her eyes wide and furious as she gagged and groaned.
It was then that the Official lost his cool.
“That’s it, Dark, no more,” he warned, getting up in the petite young woman’s business who, despite his bluster, did not appear to be all that impressed. “One more low blow, and it’s a DQ, got it?”
“If you insist,” Annabelle held her palms up in innocence, her manner suggesting that she was anything but, her smirk unrepentant. “I’ll play nice with the girly parts from now on.”
The Official shook his head, demanding that Dark create some space after the repeated, illegal offensive, the young woman rolling her eyes and turning her back on him as the man in black and white checked on Iron’s well-being. He was rewarded with a rabid, rapid series of threats and curses, and Annabelle smirked all the more.
“Alright Stripes,” Dark rolled her eyes after barely a spattering of seconds, quickly retracing the steps that she had retreated to close the distance back up again. “I promise to dole out plenty of TLC once I’m done, all night long if she learns to behave herself.”
“Annabelle…” the Official, yet again, attempted to assert some amount of authority over the pixie Brit.
“I’ll learn behave myself too, ok?” she placated without much credibility, reaching down to grapple the spitting Iron’s back up to vertical. “Why on Earth would I break something I plan to…”
She didn’t finish her sentence, Dark’s complexation turning pale as, with one, savage and brutally swift motion, the Apex Enforcer RAMMED her forearm deep between the unsuspecting Annabelle’s own, athletic wickets. The Lightning Reaper turned rigid, her pouty lower lip all a quiver as her breath stuck in her chest with a strangled gag.
“Jesus Christ!” the Official exclaimed, exceptionally exasperated as Irma, forcing herself to rise, powered the slighter physique of her suddenly paralysed foe to lay limp up and across her shoulders. “And that’s your one warning, Iron’s. One! I’m not having any more of…”
“F*CK YOU!!” Irma snapped back in his face; her features positively crimson from her mounting rage as she mercilessly secured her Fireman’s Carry. Planting her feet at centre stage, the far stronger of the two duelling Brits braced her powerful physique and, whilst exhaling a sharp, deep breath, shoved up on Darks coveted lower limbs whilst simultaneously dropping sideways, NAILING the Promise of New Storms into the deck with a thunderous impact!!
IRON VALLEY DRIVER!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=38NzoBne320
Even the crowd felt that one as an audible gasp rippled through their ranks in time with the swift recoil that ran the length of Annabelle’s compacted, petite physique before her fell limp. Practically boneless, the smaller, shellshocked Brit flopped out in a puddle as she gazed up sightless at the rafters, finding herself for the first time on the wrong end of a move that, for the past year, had been putting women away the length and breadth of Europe.
Iron’s, however, didn’t go for a pinfall which would be the expected modus operandi. Instead, she remained kneeling, exhaling heavily as, cheeks still flush, she roughly wiped the back of her hand across her lips. She glowered down at her fresh adversary, gritting her teeth and snarling as her nether regions continued throbbing, fuelling her still bristling fury.
After a further few, lingering moments of consideration, Irma snarled as she pushed up onto one knee before powering her way back up to boot leather. Wasting no further time, she reached down to likewise peel the blanked eyed Annabelle off the canvas and bullied her up onto her own swaying stems.
Back in the middle of the ring, where the duos duel had first begun, Iron’s set about finishing what she started, jerking her now all too pliant counterpart tight into her embrace, the bleary eyed Midnight Maiden leant placidly against her, caught in a fresh and renewed Bearhug.
Annabelle released a short and, briefly, alarmed groan as her peepers remained half lidded, her posture stiffening for a single, defiant second before, with a quiver, each and every muscle slackened with a sense of finality. She continued to grunt and moan as the increasingly possessive and overpowering pulses from Irma’s steel corded biceps robbed her steadily of her remaining stamina, draining her of her resolve whilst the Lightning Reaper remained in a stupor.
A particularly stiff constriction popped her up onto her tiptoes, whilst a second forced her to GASP and a third, even fiercer tightening of the coils summoned a protracted GROOOOOAN to issue out from her lips. Methodically, ruthlessly, aggressively with short, STIFF jerks and shakes of her embrace, the Manchester Malcontent stripped the Promise of New Storms of almost the entirety of her reserves just as her pale peepers started to flutter back open, the youngest of the Dark’s coming back around far too late.
Even as aware as she was becoming, there remained nothing that Annabelle could do, the lithe, little Brit now fully at the mercy of her would be possessor as Irma still continued to drain her of power, Darks hands swaying idly by her thighs as her athletic stems hung leaden. She attempted to inhale but found nothing could get in and, as a grunting and snarling Iron’s bobbed her flagging frame up and down like a flaccid rag doll, she was coherent just long enough to know that she had lost.
With what little power that she could still summon, she tapped her fingers against her new adversary’s thigh to signal her surrender…
…only the Official didn’t see it and Iron’s, her heart beating faster, refused to acknowledge it.
If anything, Irma only poured on MORE pressure, lifting the utterly defeated Dark clean off her boot leather and somehow tightening the Bearhug even more, exercising every ounce of her superior power to all but crush the remaining life from out of her capitulated foe, emboldened by her surrender.
Completely slack from head to toe and peepers fluttering back to half lidded, the Midnight Maiden found her own pulse quickening as her head rolled to one side, fully exposing the sleek, still unblemished curve of the left side of her neck.
Intended or otherwise, the Apex Enforcer, with a hot and heavy breath, accepted the invitation and tightly locked her lips about the soft, cool and exposed throat to vigorously claim her second pound of flesh.
Annabelle, initially, stiffened just a fraction at the new invasion but, finally, had not the will (nor, privately, the desire) to fend off her opposite’s advances, her peepers remaining half lidded and moans quite as, for at least one evening, Irma had claimed a fresh adversary as her own.
The Official (to the disappointment of many watching) had finally seen enough and called for the bell, Iron’s winning the contest by submission.
Even as the bell rang to confirm her victory, Irma didn’t release her Bearhug, nor did she cease her voracious suckling for a long time afterwards whilst at ringside, Alessandra Bianchi continued to stream live Annabelle’s downfall to not only a growing, but also emboldened audience of the budding Apex Nation…