Post by EmmaWoods007 on Jan 1, 2024 14:19:21 GMT
ANNABELLE DARK Vs. ALESSANDRA BIANCHI: END GAME
ANNBELLE DARK
ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
IRMA IRONS
…flustered with exertion and her pale complexion glistening with a glowing sheen of sweat, Alessandra Bianchi finally had the Midnight Maiden within her grip, forcing the equally petite athlete into compliance. Grinding down on front headlock, Annabelle penitently folded forwards in front of her, the Digital Damsel was as elated as her spiteful demeanour would allow, twisting her tight hold with just enough, measured force to elicit the desired grunt to emerge from Dark’s torso.
It was music to her ears, especially given how much work it had taken for her to reach her current destination and, for just a moment, it inspired enough joy to twitch a smile to her lips. It didn’t last, a half dozen years’ worth of disappointment souring her mood immediately and, with notable vindictiveness, the Gorgeous Geek grasped the belt of Annabelle’s (practically painted on) shorts to hold her steady before RAMMING her right knee up into the younger girls exposed gut!!
The trapped Annabelle grunted as her midriff was impaled, the Lightning Reaper jerked up off her feet as far as the front headlock would allow her, her knees noticeably wobblier than they were a moment before. She groaned following a second attack to her trim tummy and, following the third rapidly rising knee, she stopped pawing at the limb trapping her noggin in place, the youngest of the Dark’s own arm falling to sway limp towards the canvas.
With a pentulent sneer, followed by a near visible aura of self-satisfaction, Bianchi took a moment to compose her breathing and savoured her ascendency in this contest.
“Allow me to illuminate you,” Alessandra chided, addressing the masses as much as she was her opponent. “I,” she began with sudden venom, DRIVING her knee up into Annabelle’s capitulating midriff with even more force than before, rewarded with a breathless groan from her adversary. “Hate,” she continued, following with a third kneelift and lifted Dark up off her feet. “BRITS!!” she scowled before DRIVING home one final strike that dropped the rag dolled, Promise of New Storms within her grasp to her weary knees.
“With one, notable exception,” Bianchi turned her attention, briefly, to a pacing, forever irate Irma Irons at ringside, the Apex Enforcer ever vigilant to the needs of the Apex Intellect inside the ring. “You can blame Cromwell, the viperous weasel. For the time being,” Alessandra resumed her grip of her opponent’s belt, preparing to yank her back up to vertical. “You can carry her burden of guilt.”
With nary a word, her whole physique slack, Dark was complaint in being hoisted back up to boot leather…
…until she most certainly wasn’t, a resurgence running through her frame as she RAMMED her forearm up DEEP between her complacent captors’ thighs, the thunderous low blow accompanied by a POP from the sold-out crowd that more than made the allegiance of the locals known.
With dark eyes wide and pouty lips suddenly open in a shocked, silent scream, Bianchi stood stock rigid and paralysed into inaction, trebling as her womanhood throbbed.
“Could you do me a solid,” Annabelle sighed deeply, still on her knees and far wearier than she expected to be this evening. “And repeat everything that you just said?” she asked whilst liberally using the knocked need Alessandra as a climbing frame in an effort to find her own, unsteady feet. “Missed it all I’m afraid,” she sighed again before huffing a stray trail of her fringe away from her eyeline, soon standing face to face with the still shellshocked Alessandra.
“On second thought,” Dark made a show of looking thoughtful before shrugging. “Never mind,” she decided before STRIKING Alessandra in her own, trim tummy with a wicked kneelift of her own, effortlessly folding Bianchi forwards. Locking her opponent into a swift, front headlock, Annabelle then wasted no time in throwing herself backwards and NAILING the Digital Damsel crown first into the canvas by way of DDT!!
Biachi’s entire body turned rigid as the shockwave ran the length of her spine before the sheer force of the impact rolled her over to flop boneless across the mat.
Dark lay beside her, exhausted and inhaling deep, heady breaths, “I realised I don’t give a f*ck about your life story.”
Forcing herself to sit up, Annabelle leaned over in preparation to pin her foe before, like a bolt of lightning, the gaze of her baby browns was caught by the intense, thunderous glower of one Irma Irons, the Personification of Pissed Off now stood rigidly on the apron. Dark couldn’t look away, she didn’t want to look away, her fellow, powerfully built and scarcely contained Brit far too tasty to dismiss out of hand, the danger she represented be damned.
With the coyest of compulsions and the sultriest of smirks, Annabelle made a point of leaning over the pliant frame of her defeated competition, never breaking eye contact with Iron’s.
“Well, aren’t you the attentive one,” Dark practically purred, sliding past Alessandra as though the Gorgeous Geek wasn’t even there before gliding up onto her feet. With a shimmy in her hips and her arms open in subtle invitation, the Midnight Maiden strolled on over to the Apex Enforcer, tilting her chin back just so, “still considering the upgrade?”
Irma said nothing, fists tightening about the top rope as though she could throttle it as her lithe counterpart glided closer.
Deliberately, temptingly, Annabelle came to a suggestive stop just…
…within reach, much to Dark’s surprise as, with shocking swiftness, Irons reached out with both hands and grabbed her top before YANKING the stunned young woman TIGHT into her fierce embrace!!
With Irma’s arms wrapped around her petite physique, the much slighter athlete couldn’t even voice her shocked yelp as, once again, Iron’s locked her lips about Annabelle’s pouty own, possessing them with insatiable hunger.
For several, long seconds, Dark’s infamous cool abandoned her and, despite having experienced this first-hand before late last year, she was momentary at a loss as to what to do, the toe of her right boot tapping an SOS on the canvas as she was squeezed.
It took longer than she would like to recover from the tidal wave of stimulation but, once she had, Annabelle’s own dark eyes narrowed and, with an assertive shove against Irma’s rock-solid shoulders, she was able to push her way free from the Manchester Malcontents hug.
With that distance secured, she quickly wrapped her palms around the back of Iron’s neck before dropping down to her knees, dragging Irma’s head down with her and catching her would be possessor’s throat across the top rope. Iron’s sprung away as though she’d been shot in the neck and she tumbled off the apron, somehow managing to both gag and furiously curse her entire way to the concrete.
“Just to clear the air,” Dark remarked whilst regaining her composure, using the rubber coated steel to regain her footing. “After All Hallows Evil,” she referred to how their contest ended at the PPV. “I am impossible to get,” she lied with a convincing upturn of her chin, ignoring the flutter of her heart as she sleekly back peddled and turned…
…STRAIGHT into an onrushing Bicycle Kick that damn near took her head off, Alessandra drilling all of her considerable spite into the single blow!!
Annabelle went down hard, the lights going out for her before she even hit the canvas, the young woman flopping out across the mat like a puppet with her strings cut.
Splayed out across her side, the right leg of the Lightning Reaper twitched as something in her rocked cranium misfired before, with an incoherent mumble, she somehow rolled over onto her front. Groggily, with barely anyone still home, some manner of compulsion forced Dark to place her palms down against the thinly covered plywood and begin to push up…
…only for Bianchi to return at a sprint and, with a sneer, CURB STOMP Annabelle’s pretty features into mat with a cringe inducing THUD!!
A near savage spasm ran the length of her whole frame before Dark slumped limp, her lithe, athletic frame now betraying no signs of life.
Bianchi, now in full control, took a short moment to saunter about the ring, the Apex Intellect tapping her own temple with a superior expression before putting this evening to bed. Dropping down to her knees, she rolled the lifeless Annabelle onto her back and made a point shoving her hips up between the other young woman’s thighs, Dark compliant to the invasion. Placing her hands down on Annabelle’s shoulders, she caught the eyes of Iron’s at ringside, keeping her gaze slowly, deliberately, thrust her pert booty forwards with sharp, suggestive thrusts.
she waited to the Official to count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…and the bell rang to secure her victory.
Alessandra remained where she was for several long moments, unable to resist continuing to grind her own hips, eliciting the desired chirps to emerge from Darks throat in full view of the hard camera.
Annabelle remained pliant through it all, her expression blank and peeper’s half lidded, the Midnight Maiden once again finding herself a victim of the Apex Nation…
AILEE GARRETT Vs. ANGELICA KAISER: END GAME
AILEE GARRETT
ANGELICA KAISER
…Launched across the ring well beyond her control, Ailee Garrett hit the turnbuckles hard enough to practically shake the ring, her Amazonian physique rocked from head to toe before she slumped to almost sitting on the middle turnbuckle. She shook her head as her arms lay draped over the top ropes but, despite having the crowd behind her, the Brit was in no condition to move before her Austrian adversary, Angelica Kaiser, followed up with a titanic Avalanche Splash!!
As impressive as Ailee’s stature was, her opponents were even more so, one hundred and fifty-eight pounds of athletic might crushing her up against the Ringpost with enough force to slam every iota of air out of her capitulating body. It came rushing up out of her torso as a deep and heavy groan and, this time, with her head all a wobble atop her shoulders, Garret did slump down to sitting on the proffered perch.
Kaiser, however, was utterly relentless, just as she had been all evening, simply overwhelming the slighter blondes defence, valiant as it was, with a ruthlessness to match her passion that had perhaps been lacking during her previous stint in FAWN. Without pausing for breath, she grasped Ailee by her firm, pliant thighs and lifted her to sitting on the top turnbuckle.
As much as she wanted to, Garrett offered no resistance, swaying slightly as the FAWNatics chanted for her to recover whilst she remained far too winded to do so. Her spirit was willing, a new found fire that had led her to a string of high-profile victories across the pond in her native England, but tonight her body was not, Angelica climbing the turnbuckles in front of her before the Austrian pulled her into a tight, and precarious, front headlock.
As a body in motion, Kaiser was perpetual, slinging Ailee’s left arm over her shoulder and grabbing a tight fistful of the other younger woman’s tights about her hips before, with an awesome display of might, hoisted her five-foot nine foe’s glorious physique up into the air, flipping her up and over in highlight reel worthy, Avalanche Superplex!!
Both powerful blondes crashed down across the canvas from a hellacious height, the plywood flexing to its limits and bouncing them both a good inch or two back up into the air.
Garrett lay still, breathing heavily and staring blankly up towards the rafters, a low toned groan her only source of communication.
Angelica, however, as the architect of their shared plummet, was back up onto one knee in no time, flashing what would be an infectious grin were it not for the trail of broken grapplers she had left on her road back to the bright lights. For effect, and clearly pleased with herself, she popped an impressive bicep flex for the hard camera whilst Ailee lay supine behind her.
Her point made, and the moment immortalised, Kaiser spun about and draped herself across Garrett’s moaning frame, hooking one of her long legs for good measure before the Official counted…
ONE!
TWO!!
…and with a defiant shout echoed by a hearty cheer from the FAWNatics, Ailee kicked out, throwing her right arm up and rolling over onto one side.
To the surprise of some, Angelica showed no sign of disappointment nor frustration, the Austrian displaying only the same economy of purpose that had brought her this far tonight. She grabbed a hold of Garrett’s upraised right arm and used that very same limb as leverage to yank her back up to standing. With Ailee clearly not ready to do so, it was little trouble for Kaiser to then muscle the slighter blondes more athletic frame to lay up and across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, securing her dauntless cargo to…
…suddenly slip down out the back, a burst of life enough for Garrett to wriggle free of whatever punishment her opponent had in mind and drop down to the canvas. The spirits of the crowd grew as she then spun a finally surprised Angelica on the spot and, with a terrific clothesline, knock the slightly taller blonde backwards into the waiting ring ropes. Momentum was her ally, aiding her in her hour of need and doubling her power, the rubber coated steel providing enough leverage to send Kaiser tumbling ass over heels over the top rope and sent crashing to the outside of the ring.
With fortune swiftly changing hands, and Ailee still feeling dizzy, the dared to take a moment to regather her composure, shaking her head and steeling her resolve…
…only for Angelica to reach beneath the bottom ropes and grab her by the ankles. With a nary a warning nor time to react, Garrett was yanked clean off her feet and sent toppling backwards to the canvas. She hit the mat hard, winding her yet again and, regardless of the protests of those watching, she was dragged out of the squared circle to join her adversary on the outside.
No sooner had her boot leather hit the barely padded concrete than did Kaiser RAM her shoulder deep into the Brits exposed tummy and SLAMMED the small of her aching back into the apron. Ailee yelped despite herself, her thighs feeling numb as the hardest part of the ring embedded itself into her spine. Pain, white hot and blinding, raced up and down her vertebrae and, with gritted teeth, Garrett clasped both of her palms together and refusing to go quietly into the night, SLAMMED her double fist down between Angelica’s shoulders like a mace.
She was rewarded by a GRUNT from the folded Kaiser, but the Austrian didn’t relent, instead again grasping the slowly capitulating Brit by her thighs and lifted her clean off her feet. Pivoting on the spot, she then slung her unwilling passenger forwards, DRIVING her back first across the barely passed concrete with a blistering Spinebuster!!
Ailee grunted before laying still, parts of her extremities refusing to respond to any further commands as her arms remained outstretched and her long legs pointed upwards at the knees.
“I have been told,” Angelica mused whilst knelt before the Brit. “That we have fought before,” she remarked before going to work on the padding carpeting the floor, tearing it up to reveal the cold concrete beneath. The FAWNatics protested, but she didn’t listen, instead returning to Garrett and scooping her up, one arm across the other Amazon’s shoulders and the other secured deep between her thighs.
“Truthfully,” she continued before, with a deft lift and pivot, she spun the crowd favourite up and over until she was suspending upside down. “I don’t recall,” she finished before dropping, picking her spot and NAILING the crown of Ailee’s noggin right into the exposed concrete by way of a BRUTAL Northen Lights Bomb, many in the front rows flinching as they practically felt it.
NOTHERN LIGHTS BOMB: @0:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9FuzK82X_Q
Garrett was limp the moment her head made contact, her whole-body flaccid as the crowd cried fowl, Kaiser wasting no time (the Official rapidly approaching the count of ten) and dragging the dead weight of her foe across the floor. Like a Cavewoman of old, she jostled and tossed her gorgeous prize back into the ring beneath the bottom rope, rolling her on as she followed through. Pulling Ailee to the middle of the ring by her right ankle before dropping the slack leg, Angelica picked her moment and planted her boot squarely atop Garrett’s barely rising torso.
Flag planted, the Austrian flashed her infectious smile whilst popping out a perfect bicep flex waiting for the Official to perform his duty…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…with nary a protest from the unconscious Brit.
Her victory secured, Angelica was the picture of power, returning to these shores twice the monster she was before. The Kaiser’s were the force to be reckoned with and, this time, everyone in FAWN would know it…
ALISON ATLANTIC Vs. AMANDA DARK: END GAME
ALISON ATLANTIC
AMANDEA DARK
…As much as the perpetually hung over Amanda Dark was loathe to admit it, the Alison Atlantic she faced in the ring tonight was a far cry from the rookie she had bested but a handful of years before, the young blonde now fully equipped to give the veteran of some two decades a run for her money. Time was a bytch that favoured no-one and, for all of her experience, damnable youth had nearly won out.
It was all over now though, to Amanda’s well camouflaged relief. With the Patriot Princess wrapped up tightly in her arms for these past five minutes, she could finally feel the last of the girl’s damn pride being systematically wrung out of her sleek physique along with what was left of her famed stamina. Dark’s Bearhug may lack the sheer power of her peers, but she knew exactly where and how to apply pressure, which Alison was learning with each, expertly placed squeeze across multiple parts of her back.
The FAWNatics watched on as slowly took Atlantic apart, the blonde gradually dismantled before their eyes with each pulse and constriction, grunting, the young woman groaning and moaning with soft, plaintive exhales as her slimmer shoulders quivered, shivered and shook. The whole length of her sublime body jerked following an especially precise adjustment, and another caused her head to slowly roll first to the left and then right.
Her palms remained on Amananda’s shoulders, where they had first put up a fierce resistance, but now they lay there idle, a token effort from the Lithe Lioness that Dark barely felt. Growing impatient, the Mother of Midnight jostled her captive, sharply jerking the blonde beaty and forcing her arms to drop, fingers soon swaying idly by her own thighs.
Still, Alison refused to say the words, still, she refused to capitulate…
“Damn it,” Dark cursed silently through clenched teeth, her temples throbbing from the previous night’s bad choices. God damn blondes would be the death of her. “Give it up, Atlantic,” she demanded, fighting to retain measured breathing, to not betray the tremble in her own biceps, the extended embrace taking a toll on her own endurance. “You’re done, give it up!!”
Alison shook her head, grimacing following an especially well placed, and extremely vindictive pulse, the younger women perhaps sensing her adversary’s unspoken desperation. She raised her arms once again, digging deep into some manner of fresh reserves as it was now Amanda’s resolve that was faltering, pushing back, however weakly on her foe’s stiff biceps. Atlantic shook her head again, lifting it to look the Queen of Storms right in the eye, baby blues meeting dark browns as her expression, no longer placid and mournful, found an iota of steel to express a look of resolve.
“No,” she found voice to defy the Thunder Reaper who held her so tight, the Babe of Battle refusing to go quietly into the night, stiffening her thighs and planting her feet flat against the deck in a renewed effort to outlast her adversary. She could hold on, for just a little longer, she could prove her…
Suddenly, the pressure was freed discharged, Alison releasing a stunned and relieved gasp as her whole bodied quivered, barely managing to remain standing as spots clouded her vision.
Amanda, caught in the centre of a storm from both a deep-rooted sense of pragmatism and ever mounting frustration, had been forced to admit that she couldn’t maintain that level of pressure any longer. She refused, however, even as the FAWNatics cheered with renewed optimism, to allow Atlantic to draw any hope from the revelation, grabbing the younger woman by the wrist and launching her across the canvas by way of Irish Whip.
Alison, no longer a green horn, possessed just enough about her, even in a dazed state, to turn about before she reached the rubbed coated steel. She hit the ropes across her back, picking up speed as she was propelled back across the ring, Dark waiting for her at its centre…
…and ducked beneath Amanda’s waiting grasp, the All-American Athlete blinking her vision clear as she forced fibre back into her posture. When she hit the opposite set of ring ropes, it was now under her own power and, with a look of determination, she rebounded off them like and expert and returned to sender.
Dark had just about managed to turn and face her, but Alison was running on gas now, leaping at the last moment and, after sailing through the air to the joy of the FAWNatics, the Patriot Princess wrapped her long legs about the head of her adversary and spun herself about. The speeding Hurricanrana caught Amanda utterly flat footed, the momentum not quite ripping her from her feet but most certainly whipped her into a swift footed stumble.
Even then, perhaps she still would have fallen had she not reached the turnbuckles first, turning herself about at the last second to slam backwards into the barely yielding pads. Her whole ribcage rattled; Dark GRUNTED out a guff of escaped air before her arms slumped out across the top ropes. With a scowl rooted deep in decades of simmering, silent resentment, Amanda prepared to push herself out…
…but ate a SPEAR long before she could, the FAWNatics WHOOPING with excitement as Alison connected like a missel.
With her gut practically impaled by Atlantic’s high velocity shoulder as surely as any cannonball that had been sent exploding across the battlefield, Amanda was SLAMMED backwards into the turnbuckles and she was wedged in just about as tightly between the top and middle as one could be. She gagged, finding it nearly impossible to breath and, when Alison snagged her by the back of her neck and peeled her out of the corner, she put up little resistance, just as she didn’t protest to being unceremoniously shoved out towards centre ring.
She quickly found that she couldn’t hear properly, the Queen of Storms drowning in a sea of half heard noise as, still unable to inhale a fresh breath, she staggered in a half circle…
…and was IMAPLED by a second SPEAR, this one even more precise than the first as she was ripped off her feet and sent crumpling to the deck.
Alison wasted no time, the Babe of Battle quickly laying atop her shellshocked foe, hooking both of the veterans’ long legs for good measure.
The Official was there to count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
The bell rang and Atlantic released her foes gams, leaving them to drop to the mat and getting up onto her knees, a heavy sigh escaping from her lips as she did so. Finally, with the crowd cheering around her, the bane of her young career now lay with her shoulder pinned to the canvas, the Mother of Midnight no longer the bogeyman of her resolve, of her belief…
For tonight at least, tomorrow would be another trial.
One she would meet head on, as always, just like her sister, the Patriot Princess rising to her feet and standing at centre ring. With a smile that was small, yet as warm as it could be, the Babe of Battle crossed one foot just in front of the other before planting her left hand on curvy hip. So set, she snapped a sharp salute, and the FAWNatics echoing it with a roar…
ALEXIS ATLANTIC Vs. ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ: END GAME
ALEXIS ATLANTIC
ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ
…For much of the evening, the two petite powerhouses had gone blow for blow, neither letting up regardless of what was thrown at them, both of them with something to prove. Alexis was in the ascendency and, weary though she was, momentum was something she would never be able to pass up…
With Alejandra finally showing signs of flagging in one corner, leaning heavily against the turnbuckles, Atlantic shot off at a sprint from the other end, the Miniature Marine a force to be reckoned with as, at the last moment, she leapt deftly into the air. Achieving impressive height, her flying knee connected flush with the Prototypes jaw, the impact jolting the stronger girls head back and, for a moment, knocking the light out of her eyes.
Retaining to a brisk pace, Atlantic grasped Fernandez by the arm and pulled her out of the corner, sending her towards centre ring with a helpful shove. The Prototype did as she was bid, stumbling and yet staying upright, groggily turning about just in time for Alexis to meet her at a renewed charge…
…only to find Alejandra far more ready for her than anyone had expected, suddenly sharp and alert and catching Alexis utterly off guard. With a roar representing her frequently repressed rage, Fernandez scooped the slightly slighter frame of the Little Lioness clean off the deck, one arm about the blondes’ shoulders and the other buried between her thighs. Up and over Alexis went before being emphatically Scoop SLAMMED spine first into the deck, Atlantic crushed between her adversary’s power packed physique and the barely padded plywood.
Alexis groaned, unable to contain it, athletic legs kicking out before she lay largely still, left winded and by far looking the most pliant she had done all evening.
Alejandra was quick to take advantage, straddling Atlantic’s slimmer hips and, with a tightly clenched jaw, glowered down at her developmental rival, relishing her bleary-eyed expression as though it were the first time. With a rolling of her neck, Fernandez went back to business, grabbing a hold of the blonde’s flag attired top and peeled the winded girl’s upper body up off the deck. Balling up her right hand, she CRACKED Alexis across the jaw with the stiffest right hook the house show circuit had seen in some time, following up the impact with two more, each as methodical and ruthless as the last.
The FAWNatics booed, but the outcome remained the same, much to Alejandra’s satisfaction. Atlantic hung limply in her grasp, well and truly shellshocked, baby blues gazing sightless back up into her opposites dark gaze, the Mexican Mauler true to her reputation.
Damage done, Fernandez dismounted and continued to peel the rest of the docile Alexis off the canvas, the blonde groaning as she was first jostled back up to boot leather and then, with nary a protest, was muscled right off her feet. Up and over, she went before she lay folded, trim tummy first, across her opponent’s right shoulder, arms dangling down the front as Alejandra prepared to finish.
She took one step and the FAWNatics protested, knowing what was coming next, but that didn’t stop her from taking the second into the third and soon she was sprinting across the canvas…
…and Atlantic dropped down out the back before Alejandra could complete her patented, dreaded Gringa Killer Powerslam.
The Babe of Brawl, possessing perhaps only the basest of instincts, braced herself before releasing a shout of her own as Fernandez turned about, the Little Lioness NAILING the Malevolent Machine with a haymaker to remember. Connecting flush and true, Fernandez was sent reeling, wide open for a…
“Alright,” the Official chose now to interpose, much to the chagrin of those watching. “I’ve been lenient, enough of the closed fists!”
“Really?” Alexis was, putting it lightly, somewhat taken aback. “Now?” she questioned, her own jaw still throbbing. “You’re taking issue with it n…”
Pouncing on the distraction, Alejandra powered back in, a locomotive of force that slammed into the blindsided Atlantic like a freight train. Grasping the stunned blonde by her thighs and hoisting her up into her air, Fernandez continued her charge across the squared circle, CRUSHING the already battered, Miniature Marine between her hardbody physique and the barely yielding turnbuckles.
Breathless, Alexis slumped back to sitting on the middle turnbuckle, pert booty coming to rest whilst her arms draped idly across the top ropes.
Alejandra went to town, exhaling deep breaths as, without pause, she DRILLED home a veritable barrage of piston fuelled punches into her original rival’s exposed midriff. Chiselled though it was, there was only so much that it could endure and, defenceless, Atlantic could do nothing more than grunt, groan and moan beneath every solid impact, jerking this way and that with no-where to go.
“FOUR!!” the Official shouted, not that it mattered, the Prototype landing a complete dozen illegal strikes before he had managed to reach that far, and Alexis could not have look more deflated.
Before the man in black and white could even think of reaching five, Fernandez yanked the remains of her adversary out of the dubious safety of the corner and dragged her towards centre ring. Likewise, before Atlantic could even think to try and stop her, the Mexican Mauler pulled the Babe of Brawl in close, grabbed her by her firm buttocks and effortlessly popped her up into the air. Instinctively, the blonde wrapped her athletic legs around the brunettes all too willing hips and, too late, she felt her foe adjust her grip to wrap her arms tightly about her already punished waist.
With startling clarity, Alexis came to the moment the Bearhug was synched in tight, baby blues snapping open wide as she well knew the danger she was now in. Intimately familiar with this hold from their shared time in Developmental, Atlantic never the less remained woefully unprepared for the raw power that her original rival could, and would bring to bear.
She grooooooaned, long and loud from the pressure being applied about her ribs, the young woman throwing her head back and, valiantly, struggling for release, biting her bottom lip before forcing herself straighten as best she could.
“No,” Alexis protested pushing and prying at her opposite’s rigid shoulders and steel corded biceps, the Malevolent Machine as unyielding as she remembered. She grunted, moaned and groaned, sharp expulsions of pained air, jostled minutely left and then right as, more than anyone, Alejandra knew exactly where and how to apply pressure to the Miniature Marine, rhythmically jerking her up and then down in her steadily tightening embrace.
It was working, ever so slowly and Alejandra’s own breathing remained deep, slow and steady, interrupted only by increased bursts of effort to further torment her foe, to squeeze the last of the fight from her.
“No,” Alexis shook her head, but her protest lacked the agency of before, her struggles to escape slackening as her baby blue lost a hint of focus.
Fernandez rotated slowly on the spot, relishing the opportunity to finally display her superiority on a bigger stage, squeezing, constricting, suffocating the beloved, defiant blonde within her grasp. It had been too long.
The flag attired beauty continued to grunt, moan and groan but they became more plaintive than assertive, soft instead of sharp, pliant instead of defiant, the press of her palms slackening with each passing moment.
Fernandez adjusted her grip and, somehow, pulled Atlantic’s depleted physique in even tighter against her domineering own, chest to chest with no-where to go.
Alexis groooooooooand once again, even longer than the first, her head rolling back on her shoulders before, with her last dregs, she beat her fists weakly against her foes unflinching back.
A final, sharp jostle put an end to that and, with baby blues half lidded Atlantic resistance came to rest, her arms draped across her opposites shoulders whilst their features were almost touching.
Alejandra knew that her opposite wasn’t done yet, some dregs of reserves remaining just beneath the surface and so she continued to deliver short, sharp squeezes, grinding the very last of the blonde’s stamina from her now pliable frame, soft groans slipping free from her lips as they gazed eye to eye.
Finally, Atlantic slumped, utterly and totally as the last of her reserves were ground free from her body, her head slowly lolling to one side as her peepers remained half lidded, exposing the slim line of her throat.
With the dawning of a new year, Fernandez would not deny herself this invitation, especially with it being delivered unwillingly. With a deep, heavy and hungry breath, she latched her lips about her original rivals neck and slowly claimed her pound of flesh.
The Babe of Brawl stiffened in response, and the Prototype punished her in reply, tightening her squeeze one final time. The flag attired beauty quivered and, inevitably, her last act of defiance could not last long, the blonde slackening once again until she fully surrendered, Fernandez free to take her fill from an unflinching Atlantic.
She continued to hold her there for a long moments after the bell rang to confirm her victory, savouring the literal, sweet taste of victory as the new year began…
ANNBELLE DARK
ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
IRMA IRONS
…flustered with exertion and her pale complexion glistening with a glowing sheen of sweat, Alessandra Bianchi finally had the Midnight Maiden within her grip, forcing the equally petite athlete into compliance. Grinding down on front headlock, Annabelle penitently folded forwards in front of her, the Digital Damsel was as elated as her spiteful demeanour would allow, twisting her tight hold with just enough, measured force to elicit the desired grunt to emerge from Dark’s torso.
It was music to her ears, especially given how much work it had taken for her to reach her current destination and, for just a moment, it inspired enough joy to twitch a smile to her lips. It didn’t last, a half dozen years’ worth of disappointment souring her mood immediately and, with notable vindictiveness, the Gorgeous Geek grasped the belt of Annabelle’s (practically painted on) shorts to hold her steady before RAMMING her right knee up into the younger girls exposed gut!!
The trapped Annabelle grunted as her midriff was impaled, the Lightning Reaper jerked up off her feet as far as the front headlock would allow her, her knees noticeably wobblier than they were a moment before. She groaned following a second attack to her trim tummy and, following the third rapidly rising knee, she stopped pawing at the limb trapping her noggin in place, the youngest of the Dark’s own arm falling to sway limp towards the canvas.
With a pentulent sneer, followed by a near visible aura of self-satisfaction, Bianchi took a moment to compose her breathing and savoured her ascendency in this contest.
“Allow me to illuminate you,” Alessandra chided, addressing the masses as much as she was her opponent. “I,” she began with sudden venom, DRIVING her knee up into Annabelle’s capitulating midriff with even more force than before, rewarded with a breathless groan from her adversary. “Hate,” she continued, following with a third kneelift and lifted Dark up off her feet. “BRITS!!” she scowled before DRIVING home one final strike that dropped the rag dolled, Promise of New Storms within her grasp to her weary knees.
“With one, notable exception,” Bianchi turned her attention, briefly, to a pacing, forever irate Irma Irons at ringside, the Apex Enforcer ever vigilant to the needs of the Apex Intellect inside the ring. “You can blame Cromwell, the viperous weasel. For the time being,” Alessandra resumed her grip of her opponent’s belt, preparing to yank her back up to vertical. “You can carry her burden of guilt.”
With nary a word, her whole physique slack, Dark was complaint in being hoisted back up to boot leather…
…until she most certainly wasn’t, a resurgence running through her frame as she RAMMED her forearm up DEEP between her complacent captors’ thighs, the thunderous low blow accompanied by a POP from the sold-out crowd that more than made the allegiance of the locals known.
With dark eyes wide and pouty lips suddenly open in a shocked, silent scream, Bianchi stood stock rigid and paralysed into inaction, trebling as her womanhood throbbed.
“Could you do me a solid,” Annabelle sighed deeply, still on her knees and far wearier than she expected to be this evening. “And repeat everything that you just said?” she asked whilst liberally using the knocked need Alessandra as a climbing frame in an effort to find her own, unsteady feet. “Missed it all I’m afraid,” she sighed again before huffing a stray trail of her fringe away from her eyeline, soon standing face to face with the still shellshocked Alessandra.
“On second thought,” Dark made a show of looking thoughtful before shrugging. “Never mind,” she decided before STRIKING Alessandra in her own, trim tummy with a wicked kneelift of her own, effortlessly folding Bianchi forwards. Locking her opponent into a swift, front headlock, Annabelle then wasted no time in throwing herself backwards and NAILING the Digital Damsel crown first into the canvas by way of DDT!!
Biachi’s entire body turned rigid as the shockwave ran the length of her spine before the sheer force of the impact rolled her over to flop boneless across the mat.
Dark lay beside her, exhausted and inhaling deep, heady breaths, “I realised I don’t give a f*ck about your life story.”
Forcing herself to sit up, Annabelle leaned over in preparation to pin her foe before, like a bolt of lightning, the gaze of her baby browns was caught by the intense, thunderous glower of one Irma Irons, the Personification of Pissed Off now stood rigidly on the apron. Dark couldn’t look away, she didn’t want to look away, her fellow, powerfully built and scarcely contained Brit far too tasty to dismiss out of hand, the danger she represented be damned.
With the coyest of compulsions and the sultriest of smirks, Annabelle made a point of leaning over the pliant frame of her defeated competition, never breaking eye contact with Iron’s.
“Well, aren’t you the attentive one,” Dark practically purred, sliding past Alessandra as though the Gorgeous Geek wasn’t even there before gliding up onto her feet. With a shimmy in her hips and her arms open in subtle invitation, the Midnight Maiden strolled on over to the Apex Enforcer, tilting her chin back just so, “still considering the upgrade?”
Irma said nothing, fists tightening about the top rope as though she could throttle it as her lithe counterpart glided closer.
Deliberately, temptingly, Annabelle came to a suggestive stop just…
…within reach, much to Dark’s surprise as, with shocking swiftness, Irons reached out with both hands and grabbed her top before YANKING the stunned young woman TIGHT into her fierce embrace!!
With Irma’s arms wrapped around her petite physique, the much slighter athlete couldn’t even voice her shocked yelp as, once again, Iron’s locked her lips about Annabelle’s pouty own, possessing them with insatiable hunger.
For several, long seconds, Dark’s infamous cool abandoned her and, despite having experienced this first-hand before late last year, she was momentary at a loss as to what to do, the toe of her right boot tapping an SOS on the canvas as she was squeezed.
It took longer than she would like to recover from the tidal wave of stimulation but, once she had, Annabelle’s own dark eyes narrowed and, with an assertive shove against Irma’s rock-solid shoulders, she was able to push her way free from the Manchester Malcontents hug.
With that distance secured, she quickly wrapped her palms around the back of Iron’s neck before dropping down to her knees, dragging Irma’s head down with her and catching her would be possessor’s throat across the top rope. Iron’s sprung away as though she’d been shot in the neck and she tumbled off the apron, somehow managing to both gag and furiously curse her entire way to the concrete.
“Just to clear the air,” Dark remarked whilst regaining her composure, using the rubber coated steel to regain her footing. “After All Hallows Evil,” she referred to how their contest ended at the PPV. “I am impossible to get,” she lied with a convincing upturn of her chin, ignoring the flutter of her heart as she sleekly back peddled and turned…
…STRAIGHT into an onrushing Bicycle Kick that damn near took her head off, Alessandra drilling all of her considerable spite into the single blow!!
Annabelle went down hard, the lights going out for her before she even hit the canvas, the young woman flopping out across the mat like a puppet with her strings cut.
Splayed out across her side, the right leg of the Lightning Reaper twitched as something in her rocked cranium misfired before, with an incoherent mumble, she somehow rolled over onto her front. Groggily, with barely anyone still home, some manner of compulsion forced Dark to place her palms down against the thinly covered plywood and begin to push up…
…only for Bianchi to return at a sprint and, with a sneer, CURB STOMP Annabelle’s pretty features into mat with a cringe inducing THUD!!
A near savage spasm ran the length of her whole frame before Dark slumped limp, her lithe, athletic frame now betraying no signs of life.
Bianchi, now in full control, took a short moment to saunter about the ring, the Apex Intellect tapping her own temple with a superior expression before putting this evening to bed. Dropping down to her knees, she rolled the lifeless Annabelle onto her back and made a point shoving her hips up between the other young woman’s thighs, Dark compliant to the invasion. Placing her hands down on Annabelle’s shoulders, she caught the eyes of Iron’s at ringside, keeping her gaze slowly, deliberately, thrust her pert booty forwards with sharp, suggestive thrusts.
she waited to the Official to count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…and the bell rang to secure her victory.
Alessandra remained where she was for several long moments, unable to resist continuing to grind her own hips, eliciting the desired chirps to emerge from Darks throat in full view of the hard camera.
Annabelle remained pliant through it all, her expression blank and peeper’s half lidded, the Midnight Maiden once again finding herself a victim of the Apex Nation…
AILEE GARRETT Vs. ANGELICA KAISER: END GAME
AILEE GARRETT
ANGELICA KAISER
…Launched across the ring well beyond her control, Ailee Garrett hit the turnbuckles hard enough to practically shake the ring, her Amazonian physique rocked from head to toe before she slumped to almost sitting on the middle turnbuckle. She shook her head as her arms lay draped over the top ropes but, despite having the crowd behind her, the Brit was in no condition to move before her Austrian adversary, Angelica Kaiser, followed up with a titanic Avalanche Splash!!
As impressive as Ailee’s stature was, her opponents were even more so, one hundred and fifty-eight pounds of athletic might crushing her up against the Ringpost with enough force to slam every iota of air out of her capitulating body. It came rushing up out of her torso as a deep and heavy groan and, this time, with her head all a wobble atop her shoulders, Garret did slump down to sitting on the proffered perch.
Kaiser, however, was utterly relentless, just as she had been all evening, simply overwhelming the slighter blondes defence, valiant as it was, with a ruthlessness to match her passion that had perhaps been lacking during her previous stint in FAWN. Without pausing for breath, she grasped Ailee by her firm, pliant thighs and lifted her to sitting on the top turnbuckle.
As much as she wanted to, Garrett offered no resistance, swaying slightly as the FAWNatics chanted for her to recover whilst she remained far too winded to do so. Her spirit was willing, a new found fire that had led her to a string of high-profile victories across the pond in her native England, but tonight her body was not, Angelica climbing the turnbuckles in front of her before the Austrian pulled her into a tight, and precarious, front headlock.
As a body in motion, Kaiser was perpetual, slinging Ailee’s left arm over her shoulder and grabbing a tight fistful of the other younger woman’s tights about her hips before, with an awesome display of might, hoisted her five-foot nine foe’s glorious physique up into the air, flipping her up and over in highlight reel worthy, Avalanche Superplex!!
Both powerful blondes crashed down across the canvas from a hellacious height, the plywood flexing to its limits and bouncing them both a good inch or two back up into the air.
Garrett lay still, breathing heavily and staring blankly up towards the rafters, a low toned groan her only source of communication.
Angelica, however, as the architect of their shared plummet, was back up onto one knee in no time, flashing what would be an infectious grin were it not for the trail of broken grapplers she had left on her road back to the bright lights. For effect, and clearly pleased with herself, she popped an impressive bicep flex for the hard camera whilst Ailee lay supine behind her.
Her point made, and the moment immortalised, Kaiser spun about and draped herself across Garrett’s moaning frame, hooking one of her long legs for good measure before the Official counted…
ONE!
TWO!!
…and with a defiant shout echoed by a hearty cheer from the FAWNatics, Ailee kicked out, throwing her right arm up and rolling over onto one side.
To the surprise of some, Angelica showed no sign of disappointment nor frustration, the Austrian displaying only the same economy of purpose that had brought her this far tonight. She grabbed a hold of Garrett’s upraised right arm and used that very same limb as leverage to yank her back up to standing. With Ailee clearly not ready to do so, it was little trouble for Kaiser to then muscle the slighter blondes more athletic frame to lay up and across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry, securing her dauntless cargo to…
…suddenly slip down out the back, a burst of life enough for Garrett to wriggle free of whatever punishment her opponent had in mind and drop down to the canvas. The spirits of the crowd grew as she then spun a finally surprised Angelica on the spot and, with a terrific clothesline, knock the slightly taller blonde backwards into the waiting ring ropes. Momentum was her ally, aiding her in her hour of need and doubling her power, the rubber coated steel providing enough leverage to send Kaiser tumbling ass over heels over the top rope and sent crashing to the outside of the ring.
With fortune swiftly changing hands, and Ailee still feeling dizzy, the dared to take a moment to regather her composure, shaking her head and steeling her resolve…
…only for Angelica to reach beneath the bottom ropes and grab her by the ankles. With a nary a warning nor time to react, Garrett was yanked clean off her feet and sent toppling backwards to the canvas. She hit the mat hard, winding her yet again and, regardless of the protests of those watching, she was dragged out of the squared circle to join her adversary on the outside.
No sooner had her boot leather hit the barely padded concrete than did Kaiser RAM her shoulder deep into the Brits exposed tummy and SLAMMED the small of her aching back into the apron. Ailee yelped despite herself, her thighs feeling numb as the hardest part of the ring embedded itself into her spine. Pain, white hot and blinding, raced up and down her vertebrae and, with gritted teeth, Garrett clasped both of her palms together and refusing to go quietly into the night, SLAMMED her double fist down between Angelica’s shoulders like a mace.
She was rewarded by a GRUNT from the folded Kaiser, but the Austrian didn’t relent, instead again grasping the slowly capitulating Brit by her thighs and lifted her clean off her feet. Pivoting on the spot, she then slung her unwilling passenger forwards, DRIVING her back first across the barely passed concrete with a blistering Spinebuster!!
Ailee grunted before laying still, parts of her extremities refusing to respond to any further commands as her arms remained outstretched and her long legs pointed upwards at the knees.
“I have been told,” Angelica mused whilst knelt before the Brit. “That we have fought before,” she remarked before going to work on the padding carpeting the floor, tearing it up to reveal the cold concrete beneath. The FAWNatics protested, but she didn’t listen, instead returning to Garrett and scooping her up, one arm across the other Amazon’s shoulders and the other secured deep between her thighs.
“Truthfully,” she continued before, with a deft lift and pivot, she spun the crowd favourite up and over until she was suspending upside down. “I don’t recall,” she finished before dropping, picking her spot and NAILING the crown of Ailee’s noggin right into the exposed concrete by way of a BRUTAL Northen Lights Bomb, many in the front rows flinching as they practically felt it.
NOTHERN LIGHTS BOMB: @0:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9FuzK82X_Q
Garrett was limp the moment her head made contact, her whole-body flaccid as the crowd cried fowl, Kaiser wasting no time (the Official rapidly approaching the count of ten) and dragging the dead weight of her foe across the floor. Like a Cavewoman of old, she jostled and tossed her gorgeous prize back into the ring beneath the bottom rope, rolling her on as she followed through. Pulling Ailee to the middle of the ring by her right ankle before dropping the slack leg, Angelica picked her moment and planted her boot squarely atop Garrett’s barely rising torso.
Flag planted, the Austrian flashed her infectious smile whilst popping out a perfect bicep flex waiting for the Official to perform his duty…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…with nary a protest from the unconscious Brit.
Her victory secured, Angelica was the picture of power, returning to these shores twice the monster she was before. The Kaiser’s were the force to be reckoned with and, this time, everyone in FAWN would know it…
ALISON ATLANTIC Vs. AMANDA DARK: END GAME
ALISON ATLANTIC
AMANDEA DARK
…As much as the perpetually hung over Amanda Dark was loathe to admit it, the Alison Atlantic she faced in the ring tonight was a far cry from the rookie she had bested but a handful of years before, the young blonde now fully equipped to give the veteran of some two decades a run for her money. Time was a bytch that favoured no-one and, for all of her experience, damnable youth had nearly won out.
It was all over now though, to Amanda’s well camouflaged relief. With the Patriot Princess wrapped up tightly in her arms for these past five minutes, she could finally feel the last of the girl’s damn pride being systematically wrung out of her sleek physique along with what was left of her famed stamina. Dark’s Bearhug may lack the sheer power of her peers, but she knew exactly where and how to apply pressure, which Alison was learning with each, expertly placed squeeze across multiple parts of her back.
The FAWNatics watched on as slowly took Atlantic apart, the blonde gradually dismantled before their eyes with each pulse and constriction, grunting, the young woman groaning and moaning with soft, plaintive exhales as her slimmer shoulders quivered, shivered and shook. The whole length of her sublime body jerked following an especially precise adjustment, and another caused her head to slowly roll first to the left and then right.
Her palms remained on Amananda’s shoulders, where they had first put up a fierce resistance, but now they lay there idle, a token effort from the Lithe Lioness that Dark barely felt. Growing impatient, the Mother of Midnight jostled her captive, sharply jerking the blonde beaty and forcing her arms to drop, fingers soon swaying idly by her own thighs.
Still, Alison refused to say the words, still, she refused to capitulate…
“Damn it,” Dark cursed silently through clenched teeth, her temples throbbing from the previous night’s bad choices. God damn blondes would be the death of her. “Give it up, Atlantic,” she demanded, fighting to retain measured breathing, to not betray the tremble in her own biceps, the extended embrace taking a toll on her own endurance. “You’re done, give it up!!”
Alison shook her head, grimacing following an especially well placed, and extremely vindictive pulse, the younger women perhaps sensing her adversary’s unspoken desperation. She raised her arms once again, digging deep into some manner of fresh reserves as it was now Amanda’s resolve that was faltering, pushing back, however weakly on her foe’s stiff biceps. Atlantic shook her head again, lifting it to look the Queen of Storms right in the eye, baby blues meeting dark browns as her expression, no longer placid and mournful, found an iota of steel to express a look of resolve.
“No,” she found voice to defy the Thunder Reaper who held her so tight, the Babe of Battle refusing to go quietly into the night, stiffening her thighs and planting her feet flat against the deck in a renewed effort to outlast her adversary. She could hold on, for just a little longer, she could prove her…
Suddenly, the pressure was freed discharged, Alison releasing a stunned and relieved gasp as her whole bodied quivered, barely managing to remain standing as spots clouded her vision.
Amanda, caught in the centre of a storm from both a deep-rooted sense of pragmatism and ever mounting frustration, had been forced to admit that she couldn’t maintain that level of pressure any longer. She refused, however, even as the FAWNatics cheered with renewed optimism, to allow Atlantic to draw any hope from the revelation, grabbing the younger woman by the wrist and launching her across the canvas by way of Irish Whip.
Alison, no longer a green horn, possessed just enough about her, even in a dazed state, to turn about before she reached the rubbed coated steel. She hit the ropes across her back, picking up speed as she was propelled back across the ring, Dark waiting for her at its centre…
…and ducked beneath Amanda’s waiting grasp, the All-American Athlete blinking her vision clear as she forced fibre back into her posture. When she hit the opposite set of ring ropes, it was now under her own power and, with a look of determination, she rebounded off them like and expert and returned to sender.
Dark had just about managed to turn and face her, but Alison was running on gas now, leaping at the last moment and, after sailing through the air to the joy of the FAWNatics, the Patriot Princess wrapped her long legs about the head of her adversary and spun herself about. The speeding Hurricanrana caught Amanda utterly flat footed, the momentum not quite ripping her from her feet but most certainly whipped her into a swift footed stumble.
Even then, perhaps she still would have fallen had she not reached the turnbuckles first, turning herself about at the last second to slam backwards into the barely yielding pads. Her whole ribcage rattled; Dark GRUNTED out a guff of escaped air before her arms slumped out across the top ropes. With a scowl rooted deep in decades of simmering, silent resentment, Amanda prepared to push herself out…
…but ate a SPEAR long before she could, the FAWNatics WHOOPING with excitement as Alison connected like a missel.
With her gut practically impaled by Atlantic’s high velocity shoulder as surely as any cannonball that had been sent exploding across the battlefield, Amanda was SLAMMED backwards into the turnbuckles and she was wedged in just about as tightly between the top and middle as one could be. She gagged, finding it nearly impossible to breath and, when Alison snagged her by the back of her neck and peeled her out of the corner, she put up little resistance, just as she didn’t protest to being unceremoniously shoved out towards centre ring.
She quickly found that she couldn’t hear properly, the Queen of Storms drowning in a sea of half heard noise as, still unable to inhale a fresh breath, she staggered in a half circle…
…and was IMAPLED by a second SPEAR, this one even more precise than the first as she was ripped off her feet and sent crumpling to the deck.
Alison wasted no time, the Babe of Battle quickly laying atop her shellshocked foe, hooking both of the veterans’ long legs for good measure.
The Official was there to count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
The bell rang and Atlantic released her foes gams, leaving them to drop to the mat and getting up onto her knees, a heavy sigh escaping from her lips as she did so. Finally, with the crowd cheering around her, the bane of her young career now lay with her shoulder pinned to the canvas, the Mother of Midnight no longer the bogeyman of her resolve, of her belief…
For tonight at least, tomorrow would be another trial.
One she would meet head on, as always, just like her sister, the Patriot Princess rising to her feet and standing at centre ring. With a smile that was small, yet as warm as it could be, the Babe of Battle crossed one foot just in front of the other before planting her left hand on curvy hip. So set, she snapped a sharp salute, and the FAWNatics echoing it with a roar…
ALEXIS ATLANTIC Vs. ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ: END GAME
ALEXIS ATLANTIC
ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ
…For much of the evening, the two petite powerhouses had gone blow for blow, neither letting up regardless of what was thrown at them, both of them with something to prove. Alexis was in the ascendency and, weary though she was, momentum was something she would never be able to pass up…
With Alejandra finally showing signs of flagging in one corner, leaning heavily against the turnbuckles, Atlantic shot off at a sprint from the other end, the Miniature Marine a force to be reckoned with as, at the last moment, she leapt deftly into the air. Achieving impressive height, her flying knee connected flush with the Prototypes jaw, the impact jolting the stronger girls head back and, for a moment, knocking the light out of her eyes.
Retaining to a brisk pace, Atlantic grasped Fernandez by the arm and pulled her out of the corner, sending her towards centre ring with a helpful shove. The Prototype did as she was bid, stumbling and yet staying upright, groggily turning about just in time for Alexis to meet her at a renewed charge…
…only to find Alejandra far more ready for her than anyone had expected, suddenly sharp and alert and catching Alexis utterly off guard. With a roar representing her frequently repressed rage, Fernandez scooped the slightly slighter frame of the Little Lioness clean off the deck, one arm about the blondes’ shoulders and the other buried between her thighs. Up and over Alexis went before being emphatically Scoop SLAMMED spine first into the deck, Atlantic crushed between her adversary’s power packed physique and the barely padded plywood.
Alexis groaned, unable to contain it, athletic legs kicking out before she lay largely still, left winded and by far looking the most pliant she had done all evening.
Alejandra was quick to take advantage, straddling Atlantic’s slimmer hips and, with a tightly clenched jaw, glowered down at her developmental rival, relishing her bleary-eyed expression as though it were the first time. With a rolling of her neck, Fernandez went back to business, grabbing a hold of the blonde’s flag attired top and peeled the winded girl’s upper body up off the deck. Balling up her right hand, she CRACKED Alexis across the jaw with the stiffest right hook the house show circuit had seen in some time, following up the impact with two more, each as methodical and ruthless as the last.
The FAWNatics booed, but the outcome remained the same, much to Alejandra’s satisfaction. Atlantic hung limply in her grasp, well and truly shellshocked, baby blues gazing sightless back up into her opposites dark gaze, the Mexican Mauler true to her reputation.
Damage done, Fernandez dismounted and continued to peel the rest of the docile Alexis off the canvas, the blonde groaning as she was first jostled back up to boot leather and then, with nary a protest, was muscled right off her feet. Up and over, she went before she lay folded, trim tummy first, across her opponent’s right shoulder, arms dangling down the front as Alejandra prepared to finish.
She took one step and the FAWNatics protested, knowing what was coming next, but that didn’t stop her from taking the second into the third and soon she was sprinting across the canvas…
…and Atlantic dropped down out the back before Alejandra could complete her patented, dreaded Gringa Killer Powerslam.
The Babe of Brawl, possessing perhaps only the basest of instincts, braced herself before releasing a shout of her own as Fernandez turned about, the Little Lioness NAILING the Malevolent Machine with a haymaker to remember. Connecting flush and true, Fernandez was sent reeling, wide open for a…
“Alright,” the Official chose now to interpose, much to the chagrin of those watching. “I’ve been lenient, enough of the closed fists!”
“Really?” Alexis was, putting it lightly, somewhat taken aback. “Now?” she questioned, her own jaw still throbbing. “You’re taking issue with it n…”
Pouncing on the distraction, Alejandra powered back in, a locomotive of force that slammed into the blindsided Atlantic like a freight train. Grasping the stunned blonde by her thighs and hoisting her up into her air, Fernandez continued her charge across the squared circle, CRUSHING the already battered, Miniature Marine between her hardbody physique and the barely yielding turnbuckles.
Breathless, Alexis slumped back to sitting on the middle turnbuckle, pert booty coming to rest whilst her arms draped idly across the top ropes.
Alejandra went to town, exhaling deep breaths as, without pause, she DRILLED home a veritable barrage of piston fuelled punches into her original rival’s exposed midriff. Chiselled though it was, there was only so much that it could endure and, defenceless, Atlantic could do nothing more than grunt, groan and moan beneath every solid impact, jerking this way and that with no-where to go.
“FOUR!!” the Official shouted, not that it mattered, the Prototype landing a complete dozen illegal strikes before he had managed to reach that far, and Alexis could not have look more deflated.
Before the man in black and white could even think of reaching five, Fernandez yanked the remains of her adversary out of the dubious safety of the corner and dragged her towards centre ring. Likewise, before Atlantic could even think to try and stop her, the Mexican Mauler pulled the Babe of Brawl in close, grabbed her by her firm buttocks and effortlessly popped her up into the air. Instinctively, the blonde wrapped her athletic legs around the brunettes all too willing hips and, too late, she felt her foe adjust her grip to wrap her arms tightly about her already punished waist.
With startling clarity, Alexis came to the moment the Bearhug was synched in tight, baby blues snapping open wide as she well knew the danger she was now in. Intimately familiar with this hold from their shared time in Developmental, Atlantic never the less remained woefully unprepared for the raw power that her original rival could, and would bring to bear.
She grooooooaned, long and loud from the pressure being applied about her ribs, the young woman throwing her head back and, valiantly, struggling for release, biting her bottom lip before forcing herself straighten as best she could.
“No,” Alexis protested pushing and prying at her opposite’s rigid shoulders and steel corded biceps, the Malevolent Machine as unyielding as she remembered. She grunted, moaned and groaned, sharp expulsions of pained air, jostled minutely left and then right as, more than anyone, Alejandra knew exactly where and how to apply pressure to the Miniature Marine, rhythmically jerking her up and then down in her steadily tightening embrace.
It was working, ever so slowly and Alejandra’s own breathing remained deep, slow and steady, interrupted only by increased bursts of effort to further torment her foe, to squeeze the last of the fight from her.
“No,” Alexis shook her head, but her protest lacked the agency of before, her struggles to escape slackening as her baby blue lost a hint of focus.
Fernandez rotated slowly on the spot, relishing the opportunity to finally display her superiority on a bigger stage, squeezing, constricting, suffocating the beloved, defiant blonde within her grasp. It had been too long.
The flag attired beauty continued to grunt, moan and groan but they became more plaintive than assertive, soft instead of sharp, pliant instead of defiant, the press of her palms slackening with each passing moment.
Fernandez adjusted her grip and, somehow, pulled Atlantic’s depleted physique in even tighter against her domineering own, chest to chest with no-where to go.
Alexis groooooooooand once again, even longer than the first, her head rolling back on her shoulders before, with her last dregs, she beat her fists weakly against her foes unflinching back.
A final, sharp jostle put an end to that and, with baby blues half lidded Atlantic resistance came to rest, her arms draped across her opposites shoulders whilst their features were almost touching.
Alejandra knew that her opposite wasn’t done yet, some dregs of reserves remaining just beneath the surface and so she continued to deliver short, sharp squeezes, grinding the very last of the blonde’s stamina from her now pliable frame, soft groans slipping free from her lips as they gazed eye to eye.
Finally, Atlantic slumped, utterly and totally as the last of her reserves were ground free from her body, her head slowly lolling to one side as her peepers remained half lidded, exposing the slim line of her throat.
With the dawning of a new year, Fernandez would not deny herself this invitation, especially with it being delivered unwillingly. With a deep, heavy and hungry breath, she latched her lips about her original rivals neck and slowly claimed her pound of flesh.
The Babe of Brawl stiffened in response, and the Prototype punished her in reply, tightening her squeeze one final time. The flag attired beauty quivered and, inevitably, her last act of defiance could not last long, the blonde slackening once again until she fully surrendered, Fernandez free to take her fill from an unflinching Atlantic.
She continued to hold her there for a long moments after the bell rang to confirm her victory, savouring the literal, sweet taste of victory as the new year began…