Post by EmmaWoods007 on Jan 3, 2024 19:18:36 GMT
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR VS. AMAYA MURAKAMI
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
AMAYA MURAKAMI
…Finally, after twenty minutes if chasing ghosts, Murakami had Sammie on her knees before her. She possessed every intent to keep her there, a double set of nerve pinches digging deep into the grounded brunettes’ slim shoulders, claws punishing the sleek lines of the young women’s neck, paralysing her into inaction as Amaya towered imperiously behind Sinclair.
Sammie grimaced from the prolonged torture, but that sign of life was swift in passing, the Brits expression softening as her moans, soft and fleeting, remained her only remaining source of protest. Expertly, Murakami went about her labours, picking apart the Upstart Supreme’s nerve bundles over the course of several, agonising minutes, pinning her to the spot and rendering each of her foe’s upper limbs leaden.
Sammie’s breathing remained shallow, her petite, pert bosom hiking every now and then and yet displaying no signs of agency, the lips of the People’s Princess parting slightly with quite and pained sighs, her head swaying slowly from left to right.
Amaya had her, the whole world could see it, the former EuroAsia Champion entirely at her mercy, and yet it was all for naught if she did not say the words. The words the Silent Assassin was growing impatient to hear.
“Sam?” the Official questioned, getting down to one knee. “What do you say, Sam? Do you give?”
The FAWNatics watched with held breath.
Roused, however briefly from her stupor, Sammie inhaled a deep one of her own and shook her head. She would not surrender; Murakami would not be the first woman to drive the words ‘I submit’ from her torso.
With both a narrowed gaze and a thinning of her lips, Amaya released an impatient exhale before changing tact, releasing both of her clamps from about the shallows of her adversary’s neck to Sinclair’s visible and instant relief. It was to be all too fleeting, Murakami economical in her attack as she slipped her palms beneath Sammie’s compliant shoulders and hoisted the petite Brit up to vertical.
Sinclair wouldn’t be asked to retain boot leather under her own power, not when Amaya lowered her grip and quickly tightened her embrace, squeezing the People’s Princess with a shocking amount of force.
Once again ensnared, this time by way of Belly to Back Bearhug. Sammie grooooooaned mournfully, her head rolling slowly to the left as her arms, still paralysed, were unable to assist her. She gasped in time with each, perfectly measured constriction, Amaya knowing more about such holds than almost any other, and she was more than keen to demonstrate her expertise in front of the hard camera, the Upstart Supreme capitulating in her grasp.
She rationed out the pressure, unwilling to allow the brunette to pass out, increasing it when necessary, and preserving her own stamina when not. Murakami could measure out this torture all evening, although the match clock would not allow it.
With sensation gradually returning to her upper limbs, Sinclair was able to raise her right arm to press, pull and tug impotently at the constrictor wrapped about her trim tummy but, even at full strength, it would have been unlikely for her to pry her way loose. As it was, the effort looked entirely meek.
Even so, sensing those slithers of determination, Amaya braced herself for a second and, with a savage jostle, shook the depleted Sammie out, forcing a moan out from her petite body and the girls right arm to fall slack.
Again, for the second time in quick succession, it was clear to the whole world that Murakami had her. The Former EuroAsia Champion, The Samantha Sinclair utterly pliant in her grasp. Submissive in all but spoken word.
“Sam?” the Official more in, growing increasingly concerned as the brunette was, deliberately, left precariously on the very edge of passing out. “Sam? What do you say? Do you give?”
There was a long silence, Amaya applying just a fraction more pressure for good measure, Sammie swaying limp in the far stronger athletes’ arms with pretty peeper’s half lidded.
She grimaced, displaying the slightest sign of life, and shook her head.
With a sudden curse, one that betrayed a rare, visible display of frustration, Murakami tossed her prisoner aside, the flaccid frame of the crowd favourite sent tumbling and rolling across the deck. She came to a rest across her back, her skin glistening and limbs outstretched, the young woman breathing deeply as she stared blankly towards the rafters.
Amaya granted her no peace, chiding herself for her own impatience as she knew, she knew it was only a matter of time. Sammie would say the words that she had never surrendered to any other, the submission of the Upstart Supreme that would solidify her own position for years to come.
She STOMPED down on Sammie’s exposed belly, forcing the defenceless brunette to fold up sharply and gag, instinctively rolling over onto her side for protection. It didn’t work, Murakami instead savagely kicking her in the spine, the Brit releasing a fresh, heartbreaking yelp as she curved her back from the impact and tried her best to cradle it, eyes of baby brown fluttering open as the quick succession of sharp pain sliced through her grogginess in unwelcome fashion.
Having worked out her irritation in the most direct way possible, Amaya returned to the systematic dismantling of her foe, grabbing her by the hair yanking her upwards…
…before Sammie dropped, all but throwing her upper body forwards whilst simultaneously snapping her right leg up and over, WHACKING the sole of her boot clean against her tormentors features with a gorgeous Scorpion Kick!!
SAMMIE STRIKE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jPUQB_Moj4
Seeing stars, Amaya stumbled backwards, shaking her head as she experienced coming into contact with the Former EuroAsia Champions lower limbs for the first time. She didn’t quite fall over, but her ears were left ringing, almost to the point that she could barely hear the FAWNatics cheering.
She blinked, shook her head and took stock, bracing herself to…
…EAT a SAMMIE KICK!! The Superkick that had felled athletes across the world connecting with an almighty WHACK that, as it had done to so many others, turned her lights out.
Amaya tumbled over and Sinclair practically fell on top of her, the People’s Princess going for a pin after rolling both of her adversaries now limp limbs up.
The Official dropped to the canvas to count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…the bell ringing soon after to confirm her victory, the FAWNatics roaring in approval and, after too long, joining in together for a familiar chant.
“WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!!”
Sammie dismounted her challenging foe in quick order and, with her button nose still screwed up in Babyfaced dander from having her hair yanked, she sighed deeply before letting it go. With a groan she stood slowly and thrust both her hands up in salute, the People serenading their Princess as she stood (as) tall (as her petite physique would allow), the young woman flashing the warmest of smiles.
She huffed again, feeling achy all over but damn, it was good to be back…
SUMMER HOPKINS VS. AMANDA DARK
SUMMER HOPKINS
AMANDA DARK
…Outside the ring was a bad place to be with many members of the FAWN roster, as Summer Hopkins was quickly being reminded of. With a surge of effort accompanied by a domineering shout, Amanda Dark muscled the slighter frame of her blonde counterpart up into the air by her hips, before SLAMMING her back down across the top of the steel steps by way of a hellacious Spinebuster!!
The CLANG was audible throughout the arena, and Summer arched in a painful spasm before she slumped, coughing and groaning as she lay in a starfish, limbs dangling over the edge of the furniture. Filled with heart aplenty, she tried to get straight back up but, while the spirit was willing, her body most defiantly was not. She collapsed anew, moaning from where she lay.
Dark, for her part, was panting heavily after expending far more energy this evening than she was pleased with, which was to say, any at all. “Christ,” she cursed, stumbling away from her victim with her hands on her hips, leaning forwards for a second before pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’d forgotten how f*cking loud these idiots are when you’re around.”
She was referring to the FAWNatics, the packed arena still in full voice regardless of their heroines’ current fortunes, chanting and cheering for the beloved Supergirl of Sheffield to recover. The sheer racket was playing havoc with her hangover, as ever present as always, and she was fully prepared to put a bullet through someone’s skull to make it end.
Just not her own.
“Is this yours?” she snarled, standing up straight and snatching the gleaming, coveted EuroAsia Title from out of the hands of the timekeeper. She held the ten pounds of precious leather and gold as though it were little more than a trinket, the same as any of the other dozen or so Amanda had both won and lost across the course her storied career.
The best days of which, many argued, were long behind her…
“I’d almost forgotten what it looks like,” she curled her lip, holding it in both hands as she turned her attention back to the struggling blonde that it belonged to. For the better part of over a year, Summer had defended that very prize the entire length of two continents, overcoming all Challengers from across half a dozen companies to Champion FAWN’s pride.
Now, the youngest of the Hopkins sisters had returned home in triumph, and the Mother of Midnight knew exactly how to greet her.
The moment Summer had managed to peel herself off the steel steps and return to secure footing, Amanda was there to meet her at a charge, the crowd watching on and catching their collective breath in their throats as…
…Dark connected square and true, much to horror of the young women’s most vocal of fans as she was DECKED by the faceplate of her own Title. The Maid of Might spun on the spot and went down hard as the CLANG of the collision echoed across the hall, Amanda tossing the Belt aside and looking marginally less annoyed and significantly less impressed.
“SEVEN!!” the Official called from inside the ring and, while Dark very much considered securing an easier, count out victory, but, after going down to Alison Atlantic just two days before, circumstances demanded a more empathic victory. Especially over one of the brands oh so precious Champions.
With a visible lack of respect, she peeled Summer’s stunned frame off the barely padded concrete, dragging her towards the apron before tossing her inside the squared circle beneath the bottom rope. Amanda followed suit, climbing in before the man in black and white could reach ten and…
…was mildly surprised to find Hopkins getting back up, pushing her way slowly to her hand and knees whilst shaking her head.
Respect, however, was not an emotion that she could bring herself to summon, not with the thumping of her temples threatening to crack open her own cranium for the sin of being awake.
With a deeply resigned sigh and a slow rolling of her strong shoulders, the Mother of Storms swiftly bore down on her opponent, determined to put her to bed. Grabbing the young woman by her pony tail, she began to yank the blonde up to her feet, dismissive as she did so.
“Really?” she scowled into the grimacing expression of the Maid of Might, SLAPPING her sharply across her cheek.
Summer stumbled but didn’t fall, the crowd crying foul.
“You’re what passes for a Champion now?”
She paused for an answer…
….and received a boot to the gut for a reply, Dark folding over with a guff of escaped air and her snapped eyes wide open in alarm.
The FAWNatics responded with a cheer, Summer fuelled to overflowing with Babyfaced Dander as she tugged her sponsors oldest enemy tight into a Front Headlock. Securing a fistful of the dark-haired destroyers’ tights quickly after, she inhaled a deep breath before releasing a valiant shout, powering the Thunder Reaper clean off the deck until she was being suspended upside down, vertical to the mat.
Summer held her there for a heartbeat, the Maid of might deserving of her moniker, before first dropping her preciously suspended adversary and then catching her about the waist. At the same time, Hopkins dropped down to sitting and the blonde beauty NAILED Dark’s cranium into the deck by way of Piledriver.
SUMMER IS HERE!!:@0:35
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Elhpv06iBlA&t=56s
The crowd exploded as Amanda flopped to the canvas boneless, the EuroAsia Champion in prime position to sweep one of her coveted, long legs up and over her opponents hips to straddle her and pinning her shoulders to the mat.
The Official was quickly there to count.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
And the bell rang to christen the elated gorgeous Brits return with a victory.
“Uh huh,” she answered Amanda’s question with disarming sincerity and a, quite frankly, a shocking degree of innocence. “I guess so, I get by,” she shrugged as if Dark could still hear her, sighing in relief before finding her feet, cheeks flushing crimson before the crowd’s adulation.
She bit down on her bottom lip in a desperate attempt to avoid releasing a dorky giggle and the EuroAsia Champion cemented her return by popping into a familiar, dainty little bicep flex melting hearts the world over
She was back on the biggest stage after over a year of building the brand overseas, and it was time to remind America why she was the EuroAsia Champion.
ALISON ATLANTIC VS. ANGELICA KAISER
ALISON ATLANTIC
ANGELICA KAISER
…As much as it stung her pride to admit it, Alison Atlantic was on her last legs whilst Angelica Kaiser had scarcely even broken a sweat. In all of her career, young though it was, the Babe of Battle had never met the likes of the Volcanic Vixen before, the far stronger blonde overwhelming her from the get go and now, for all of her will to fight back, she was being made an example of.
With ruthless efficiency and, quite frankly, shocking ease, Angelica swept the Flag Attired Beauty back up off her feet only to spin her about and SLAM her spine first into the canvas.
Atlantic bucked with a fresh cry, cradling the small of her punished back as the plywood flexed beneath her, struggling to catch her breath as the toe of her right boot tapped an SOS against the mat. She grimaced, only dimly aware of the Austrian dropping down to one knee beside her, eyeing the sleeker blonde up like an appetiser.
Alison would have attempted to get back up, had Kaiser not instead bullied her into doing so, forcibly positioning her counterpart as though she were manipulating a doll, and yanking her backwards into a TIGHT Dragon Sleeper! Alison stiffened as a steel corded bicep pressed down about her throat, cutting off not only her air but also, more immediately concerning, the blood flow to her brain. She fought, valiantly enough, but it was for nought.
She’d been utterly unable to match the more powerful athlete’s strength from the start, the weary specimen she was now didn’t have a hope.
With a rueful grin, one that would be infectious had she not become so ruthless in recent years, Angelica watched her adversary for the evening squirm, the young woman’s pert bosom thrust upwards towards the sky whilst she struggled in vain. Her amusement ended with a heavy sigh; one accompanied a furrowed brow as she systematically sapped the last of the All-American Athletes remaining stamina with but a single arm.
“The Patriot Princess?” she inquired incredulously, the air of disappointment about her thick enough to be felt. With the yielding young woman suitably restrained, Kaiser raised her free arm and BEAT Alison savagely across her utterly exposed chest, the WHACK audible to those in the front row and rocking the trapped Atlantic to her core.
“All!” she continued, WHACKING the Lean Marine a second time, rewarded with a heady and deflated grunt for her efforts. “American!!” she thundered on, connecting with a third forearm smash that battered her foes poor, defenceless body. “Heroine!!” she finished with a fourth and final WHACK, one that was not even accompanied by the smallest of grunts from her flaccid foe.
“I am not impressed,” she remarked before shrugging, a rueful grin returning to her features as she pushed herself back up to standing, dragging the limp limb frame of her opponent up with her whilst retaining the fierce Dragon Sleeper. Alison didn’t flinch, she merely hung in her grasp as her own arms dangled towards the floor, the tips of her fingers idly circling.
To anyone who could see, Alison was still in the building in body only, her astute, insightful baby blues fully closed whilst her lips were parted open slightly.
Clearly, Angelica didn’t care or, more to the point, this was exactly what she wanted, flashing her infectious, self-assured grin as she flexed her free limb to pop a perfect bicep flex. She did so before addressing the FAWNatics directly, both those in the arena, and those watching at home.
“This is who you would Champion?” she questioned, tightening the grip of her Dragon Sleeper a little more to force a fresh quiver from Atlantic’s already depleted, sleek physique. “This is one of your soldiers?” she openly mocked Alison’s tour of duty in the Marines.
That received an especially hearty chorus of boos from the sold-out arena.
“You can do better,” she judged, deciding to put any potential debate to bed by grasping a fistful of Alison’s tights and bodily lifting her deadweight of the floor, soon holding her in place across her own body in preparation of her entirely unnecessary finisher.
She strode quickly to centre ring, building up momentum before she dropped, DRILLING the crown of the already unconscious Atlantic deep into the canvas, the FAWNatics howling in protest as she did so.
NOTHERN LIGHTS BOMB: @0:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9FuzK82X_Q
A sharp convulsion ran through the entire of the Flag Attired Beauties body, and she was not even given the chance to stop twitching before Kaiser wrapped her up into the tightest of possessive balls, Alison’s firm booty deliberately thrust skywards towards the rafters.
Finally, the Official was there to do his job, beginning her count of…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Angelica got up after leaving the Babe of Battle to flop out in a heap, planting a boot atop her scarcely rising torso before breaking out her patented, perfect bicep flex, the definition on show enough to put many a FAWN talent to shame.
Another night and another victory but still, this was not the blonde that she was looking for…
ALEXIS ATLANTIC Vs. ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ
ALEXIS ATLANTIC
ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ
…Finally, after a solid twenty minutes of near battering each other senseless, Alexis and Alejandra resuming their hostilities from Monday, Fernandez had secured the lions share of the momentum. She was determined to ensure that history repeated itself twice in one week, spinning on the spot sharply and near LAUNCHING the flagging physique of her original rival across the ring by way of Irish Whip.
Atlantic turned herself about at the last second, crashing into the turnbuckles across her spine and shoulders and yet, the gasp that burst free from her body revealed that it had not availed her much. She slumped as though her limbs were made of lead weight, pert booty sitting on the middle pad whilst arms slumped over the top ropes, her breathing shallow and laboured.
Relentless now that she was in the ascendency, the Prototype advanced with cold blooded intent, reloading her biceps with stiff, practiced thrusts of her arms as her forever repressed temper threated to overflow. Inhaling a deep breath, she stopped just before the flag attired beauty before unleashing her salvo, delivering a full four piston powered punches with pitch perfect precision deep into Atlantic’s vulnerable and exposed, firm tummy, growling each time with increasing intensity.
Alexis was defenceless, the Lioness jolting with each hit, each of the rapid blows jerking her up off her heels before slumping back down to sitting, a little more deflated each time. In echo to her foe’s intense snarls, the Babe of Brawl grunted, groaned, moaned and the moaned even softer, that last gasp to escape from between her lips betraying that she was finally running on empty.
That was what Fernandez was waiting to hear, the Mexican Mauler exhaling deeply as she rolled her strong shoulders, her dark gaze only for Atlantic, the Minatare Marine a literal, petitely packaged personification of everything she resented. That would never change, not when they were in the ring together, and grinding the blonde into submission was, for a short time at least, all that she lived for.
Grabbing her by the wrists, Alejandra peeled Alexis out the corner, tugging her towards centre ring as, baby blue eyes woozy, the Babe of Brawl swayed where she was bid, the fierce warrior pummelled into submission. Fernandez came to a stop and sharply tugged her adversary a final step forwards, the two closely matched grapplers bumping up chest to chest to one another and pelvis to pelvis.
Wrapping her arms about the blondes’ hips, Alejandra compressed her Original Rival closer, warm, nubile young bodies entangling as the end loomed ever closer.
Perhaps oblivious to the danger, her proud shoulders slumped and pretty peeper’s half lidded, Atlantic made no efforts to pull away, the flag attired beauty leant forwards against her oldest adversary, arms swaying limp by her thighs.
Fernandez adjusted her grip, dropping her palms to TIGHTLY grasp the blonde by her pert booty, exploring both it and the other girls’ firm thighs with impunity, preparing to…
…Alexis NUTTED her, square, true and with a resounding CRACK that echoed out across the front rows, the young woman perhaps roused by the uninvited groping. In any case, the moment their craniums connected, Alejandra was seeing stars, cursing with a protracted hiss as she stumbled away, clutching at her features as she did so.
Atlantic also retreated, albeit not under her own power, back peddling with a stumble of her own before shaking her head, the FAWNatics all around her rallying with a vocal cheer as if they could simply will her into recovering.
“Don’t toy with me!” Alexis forced out the growl before shaking her head again, bringing her dukes up to form a solid, renewed defence. “We’re here to throw down, Fernandez,” she declared whilst advancing, closing the distance between herself and her adversary before unleashing a quick one, two combo that buried her fists deep in the Mexican’s exposed gut, winding her in short order. “So, let’s throw down!”
She advanced; the flag attired beauty full of piss and vinegar, her near empty tank running on pure adrenaline as she prepared…
“Alright,” the Official interposed, echoes of Monday. “I’ve been lenient,” he insisted with upraised palms, “now enough of the closed fists.”
“Are you sh*tting me?” the miniature marine exclaimed, a sentiment the crowd were vocal in letting the man in black and white know that they shared. “Again?”
“It’s the rules,” the Official remained frustratingly in the way.
“It wasn’t five minutes ago,” Atlantic refused to let it go, her dander already up and fully prepared to get all up in his business. “Awfully familiar this, are you on the take or what?”
“I’m impartial…”
“You’re a jackass,” she retorted, preparing to push past…
…just as Fernandez surged in to take advantage of her distraction, storming across the ring with a thunderous clothesline…
…which Alexis ducked deftly beneath, narrowly avoiding the beheading strike and leaving her adversary to sail pass. They both recovered and spun on the spot at the same time…
…and Atlantic connected with a sweet as you like Superkick, one accompanied by a roar from the Little Lioness and the crowd erupted. Caught right beneath her chin, Fernandez went down like a felled oak.
“Satisfied,” the blonde threw a look at the Official that betrayed just how little she thought of his opinion. “Because I’m sure that felt like a feather duster by comparison.”
The man in black and white didn’t answer, and Atlantic breezed past him, well aware that her second (more accurately, third or fourth) wind would only carry her so far before fatigue caught back up. Picking her spot, and feeling just a little bit petty being as the slowly fading bruise along the soft curve of her neck was still sore from Monday, she dropped down to straddling her Original Rival’s impressive bosom, her knees pinning Alejandra’s shoulders to the mat.
So perched, and with the Official dropping down to count, the Babe of Brawl looked to the hard camera and flexed, popping out her biceps as the man in black and white counted…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…securing for her a victory that went a long way to massaging her pride.
She exhaled deeply, feeling the fatigue setting back in along with all her aches and pains but, at least tonight, she could stand tall.
ANNABELLE DARK VS. ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
ANNABELLE DARK
ALEASANDRA BIANCHI
…“Is this on?” Annabelle enquired whilst holding Alessandra’s mobile phone aloft, putting the item that she had liberated from her opponent’s corner to start a livestream. Not just any livestream, but Bianchi’s private feed that she was so fond of broadcasting to during her adversaries’ lowest moments. She pursed her lips in thought before flashing the slyest of smirks, her eyes lightning up upon realising that she had been met with success.
“Perfect,” she practically purred, streaming live across the Apex Nations private servers, the view count shooting up to startlingly high numbers. “Greeting dorks,” she winked invitingly, “cease your communal fapping for just one moment, for I have a shocking update concerning the Queen of the Nerds, the Digital Dunse, Alessandra Biachi!!”
Annabelle spun the feed about to bring the Gorgeous Geek in question into focus, the leather clad Apex Intellect sat precariously in the far corner. With pert booty perched on the middle turnbuckle, her arms draped over the top ropes and her coveted gams spread open wide and hooked over the middle coils, her expression betrayed her dazed state, perhaps paying the consequences for liberties taken on Monday.
“I’m sure this is a sight you’re used to seeing,” Dark remarked with considerable mischief. “Got to drive those new subscribers somehow, but never let it be said that I am not the gift that keeps on giving.”
Passing the phone off to a surprisingly helpful stagehand, Annabelle came back into frame, more than happy to steal the limelight as she spun sleekly one eighty before providing a generous shot of her pert backside. A moment later, she was on the move, sprinting across the ring and, as the distance closed between the duo, the Midnight Maiden unleashed a shockingly well practiced and whiplash fast PUNT!! to the trussed-up Alessandra’s nether region.
Bianchi yowled, unsurprisingly, and she slumped forwards in her captivity, slim shoulders quivering as Annabelle, looking very pleased with herself, turned back to face the livestream head on. She both winked and leant forwards to blow a kiss, clearly enjoying upstaging the Digital Damsel on her own show.
“And for my next trick…” she began before the phone picked up a considerable amount of commotion, the camera view blurring as the stagehand sought to find what, or who, and riled the crowd up into a frenzy. There on the stage, some twenty yards from the ring, stood the Apex Enforcer, Irma Irons serenaded with boos as the Personification of Pissed Off paced back and forth, strong shoulders rolling as she looked ready to throw down.
IRMA IRONS
With yet another blur of motion, the private live feed was bought back to the squared circle, Annabelle motioning to the now offscreen Irons to bring it, the two youthful Brits mere moments away from resuming hostilities…
…before Alessandra flew back into frame, the Apex Intellect appearing out of no-where and striking like a bolt of lightning, NAILING the blindsided Dark square against the back of her head.
With the Midnight Maiden going down hard, the live stream again lost focus, the stagehand more than a little startled as he struggled to maintain a steady shot. When it did stabilise, the FAWNatics could be heard lamenting as, far from satisfied, the Gorgeous Geek SLAMMED the Lighting Reapers already dazed features deep into the canvas, her emphatic Curb Stomp ruthless enough to put anyone to sleep…as Annabelle well knew…
The live feed cut out entirely for a few seconds before flashing back on and off, coming and going to reveal snapshots of Alessandra securing the three count, some manner of terse discourse between her and the Official, and finally Bianchi insistently tugging something free from off the Midnight Maidens pliant, athletic stems.
The private broadcast, shot entirely from the Digital Damsels phone, returned approximately half an hour later, the ring left behind and Alessandra front and centre in the Apex Nation's locker room, the undisputed Queen, once again, of her Digital Kingdom.
Those especially keen of hearing were convinced they could, just barely, hear a long series of short, sharp grunts, groans and moans emerging from just out of shot, but Bianchi had no interest in sharing the limelight.
Instead, matter-of-factly, with her free hand she held up a set of navy blues shorts, the previous owner of which obvious to all.
“These are up for auction,” she stated blandly, pausing in mild irritation as she was interrupted by an especially loud, forlorn groooooooan from just out of view. With an arched brow and agitated sigh, she turned her attention back to the viewers.
“Bidding begins now.”
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
AMAYA MURAKAMI
…Finally, after twenty minutes if chasing ghosts, Murakami had Sammie on her knees before her. She possessed every intent to keep her there, a double set of nerve pinches digging deep into the grounded brunettes’ slim shoulders, claws punishing the sleek lines of the young women’s neck, paralysing her into inaction as Amaya towered imperiously behind Sinclair.
Sammie grimaced from the prolonged torture, but that sign of life was swift in passing, the Brits expression softening as her moans, soft and fleeting, remained her only remaining source of protest. Expertly, Murakami went about her labours, picking apart the Upstart Supreme’s nerve bundles over the course of several, agonising minutes, pinning her to the spot and rendering each of her foe’s upper limbs leaden.
Sammie’s breathing remained shallow, her petite, pert bosom hiking every now and then and yet displaying no signs of agency, the lips of the People’s Princess parting slightly with quite and pained sighs, her head swaying slowly from left to right.
Amaya had her, the whole world could see it, the former EuroAsia Champion entirely at her mercy, and yet it was all for naught if she did not say the words. The words the Silent Assassin was growing impatient to hear.
“Sam?” the Official questioned, getting down to one knee. “What do you say, Sam? Do you give?”
The FAWNatics watched with held breath.
Roused, however briefly from her stupor, Sammie inhaled a deep one of her own and shook her head. She would not surrender; Murakami would not be the first woman to drive the words ‘I submit’ from her torso.
With both a narrowed gaze and a thinning of her lips, Amaya released an impatient exhale before changing tact, releasing both of her clamps from about the shallows of her adversary’s neck to Sinclair’s visible and instant relief. It was to be all too fleeting, Murakami economical in her attack as she slipped her palms beneath Sammie’s compliant shoulders and hoisted the petite Brit up to vertical.
Sinclair wouldn’t be asked to retain boot leather under her own power, not when Amaya lowered her grip and quickly tightened her embrace, squeezing the People’s Princess with a shocking amount of force.
Once again ensnared, this time by way of Belly to Back Bearhug. Sammie grooooooaned mournfully, her head rolling slowly to the left as her arms, still paralysed, were unable to assist her. She gasped in time with each, perfectly measured constriction, Amaya knowing more about such holds than almost any other, and she was more than keen to demonstrate her expertise in front of the hard camera, the Upstart Supreme capitulating in her grasp.
She rationed out the pressure, unwilling to allow the brunette to pass out, increasing it when necessary, and preserving her own stamina when not. Murakami could measure out this torture all evening, although the match clock would not allow it.
With sensation gradually returning to her upper limbs, Sinclair was able to raise her right arm to press, pull and tug impotently at the constrictor wrapped about her trim tummy but, even at full strength, it would have been unlikely for her to pry her way loose. As it was, the effort looked entirely meek.
Even so, sensing those slithers of determination, Amaya braced herself for a second and, with a savage jostle, shook the depleted Sammie out, forcing a moan out from her petite body and the girls right arm to fall slack.
Again, for the second time in quick succession, it was clear to the whole world that Murakami had her. The Former EuroAsia Champion, The Samantha Sinclair utterly pliant in her grasp. Submissive in all but spoken word.
“Sam?” the Official more in, growing increasingly concerned as the brunette was, deliberately, left precariously on the very edge of passing out. “Sam? What do you say? Do you give?”
There was a long silence, Amaya applying just a fraction more pressure for good measure, Sammie swaying limp in the far stronger athletes’ arms with pretty peeper’s half lidded.
She grimaced, displaying the slightest sign of life, and shook her head.
With a sudden curse, one that betrayed a rare, visible display of frustration, Murakami tossed her prisoner aside, the flaccid frame of the crowd favourite sent tumbling and rolling across the deck. She came to a rest across her back, her skin glistening and limbs outstretched, the young woman breathing deeply as she stared blankly towards the rafters.
Amaya granted her no peace, chiding herself for her own impatience as she knew, she knew it was only a matter of time. Sammie would say the words that she had never surrendered to any other, the submission of the Upstart Supreme that would solidify her own position for years to come.
She STOMPED down on Sammie’s exposed belly, forcing the defenceless brunette to fold up sharply and gag, instinctively rolling over onto her side for protection. It didn’t work, Murakami instead savagely kicking her in the spine, the Brit releasing a fresh, heartbreaking yelp as she curved her back from the impact and tried her best to cradle it, eyes of baby brown fluttering open as the quick succession of sharp pain sliced through her grogginess in unwelcome fashion.
Having worked out her irritation in the most direct way possible, Amaya returned to the systematic dismantling of her foe, grabbing her by the hair yanking her upwards…
…before Sammie dropped, all but throwing her upper body forwards whilst simultaneously snapping her right leg up and over, WHACKING the sole of her boot clean against her tormentors features with a gorgeous Scorpion Kick!!
SAMMIE STRIKE
www.youtube.com/watch?v=-jPUQB_Moj4
Seeing stars, Amaya stumbled backwards, shaking her head as she experienced coming into contact with the Former EuroAsia Champions lower limbs for the first time. She didn’t quite fall over, but her ears were left ringing, almost to the point that she could barely hear the FAWNatics cheering.
She blinked, shook her head and took stock, bracing herself to…
…EAT a SAMMIE KICK!! The Superkick that had felled athletes across the world connecting with an almighty WHACK that, as it had done to so many others, turned her lights out.
Amaya tumbled over and Sinclair practically fell on top of her, the People’s Princess going for a pin after rolling both of her adversaries now limp limbs up.
The Official dropped to the canvas to count…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…the bell ringing soon after to confirm her victory, the FAWNatics roaring in approval and, after too long, joining in together for a familiar chant.
“WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!! WORLDS! BEST!! BRIT!!!”
Sammie dismounted her challenging foe in quick order and, with her button nose still screwed up in Babyfaced dander from having her hair yanked, she sighed deeply before letting it go. With a groan she stood slowly and thrust both her hands up in salute, the People serenading their Princess as she stood (as) tall (as her petite physique would allow), the young woman flashing the warmest of smiles.
She huffed again, feeling achy all over but damn, it was good to be back…
SUMMER HOPKINS VS. AMANDA DARK
SUMMER HOPKINS
AMANDA DARK
…Outside the ring was a bad place to be with many members of the FAWN roster, as Summer Hopkins was quickly being reminded of. With a surge of effort accompanied by a domineering shout, Amanda Dark muscled the slighter frame of her blonde counterpart up into the air by her hips, before SLAMMING her back down across the top of the steel steps by way of a hellacious Spinebuster!!
The CLANG was audible throughout the arena, and Summer arched in a painful spasm before she slumped, coughing and groaning as she lay in a starfish, limbs dangling over the edge of the furniture. Filled with heart aplenty, she tried to get straight back up but, while the spirit was willing, her body most defiantly was not. She collapsed anew, moaning from where she lay.
Dark, for her part, was panting heavily after expending far more energy this evening than she was pleased with, which was to say, any at all. “Christ,” she cursed, stumbling away from her victim with her hands on her hips, leaning forwards for a second before pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’d forgotten how f*cking loud these idiots are when you’re around.”
She was referring to the FAWNatics, the packed arena still in full voice regardless of their heroines’ current fortunes, chanting and cheering for the beloved Supergirl of Sheffield to recover. The sheer racket was playing havoc with her hangover, as ever present as always, and she was fully prepared to put a bullet through someone’s skull to make it end.
Just not her own.
“Is this yours?” she snarled, standing up straight and snatching the gleaming, coveted EuroAsia Title from out of the hands of the timekeeper. She held the ten pounds of precious leather and gold as though it were little more than a trinket, the same as any of the other dozen or so Amanda had both won and lost across the course her storied career.
The best days of which, many argued, were long behind her…
“I’d almost forgotten what it looks like,” she curled her lip, holding it in both hands as she turned her attention back to the struggling blonde that it belonged to. For the better part of over a year, Summer had defended that very prize the entire length of two continents, overcoming all Challengers from across half a dozen companies to Champion FAWN’s pride.
Now, the youngest of the Hopkins sisters had returned home in triumph, and the Mother of Midnight knew exactly how to greet her.
The moment Summer had managed to peel herself off the steel steps and return to secure footing, Amanda was there to meet her at a charge, the crowd watching on and catching their collective breath in their throats as…
…Dark connected square and true, much to horror of the young women’s most vocal of fans as she was DECKED by the faceplate of her own Title. The Maid of Might spun on the spot and went down hard as the CLANG of the collision echoed across the hall, Amanda tossing the Belt aside and looking marginally less annoyed and significantly less impressed.
“SEVEN!!” the Official called from inside the ring and, while Dark very much considered securing an easier, count out victory, but, after going down to Alison Atlantic just two days before, circumstances demanded a more empathic victory. Especially over one of the brands oh so precious Champions.
With a visible lack of respect, she peeled Summer’s stunned frame off the barely padded concrete, dragging her towards the apron before tossing her inside the squared circle beneath the bottom rope. Amanda followed suit, climbing in before the man in black and white could reach ten and…
…was mildly surprised to find Hopkins getting back up, pushing her way slowly to her hand and knees whilst shaking her head.
Respect, however, was not an emotion that she could bring herself to summon, not with the thumping of her temples threatening to crack open her own cranium for the sin of being awake.
With a deeply resigned sigh and a slow rolling of her strong shoulders, the Mother of Storms swiftly bore down on her opponent, determined to put her to bed. Grabbing the young woman by her pony tail, she began to yank the blonde up to her feet, dismissive as she did so.
“Really?” she scowled into the grimacing expression of the Maid of Might, SLAPPING her sharply across her cheek.
Summer stumbled but didn’t fall, the crowd crying foul.
“You’re what passes for a Champion now?”
She paused for an answer…
….and received a boot to the gut for a reply, Dark folding over with a guff of escaped air and her snapped eyes wide open in alarm.
The FAWNatics responded with a cheer, Summer fuelled to overflowing with Babyfaced Dander as she tugged her sponsors oldest enemy tight into a Front Headlock. Securing a fistful of the dark-haired destroyers’ tights quickly after, she inhaled a deep breath before releasing a valiant shout, powering the Thunder Reaper clean off the deck until she was being suspended upside down, vertical to the mat.
Summer held her there for a heartbeat, the Maid of might deserving of her moniker, before first dropping her preciously suspended adversary and then catching her about the waist. At the same time, Hopkins dropped down to sitting and the blonde beauty NAILED Dark’s cranium into the deck by way of Piledriver.
SUMMER IS HERE!!:@0:35
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Elhpv06iBlA&t=56s
The crowd exploded as Amanda flopped to the canvas boneless, the EuroAsia Champion in prime position to sweep one of her coveted, long legs up and over her opponents hips to straddle her and pinning her shoulders to the mat.
The Official was quickly there to count.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
And the bell rang to christen the elated gorgeous Brits return with a victory.
“Uh huh,” she answered Amanda’s question with disarming sincerity and a, quite frankly, a shocking degree of innocence. “I guess so, I get by,” she shrugged as if Dark could still hear her, sighing in relief before finding her feet, cheeks flushing crimson before the crowd’s adulation.
She bit down on her bottom lip in a desperate attempt to avoid releasing a dorky giggle and the EuroAsia Champion cemented her return by popping into a familiar, dainty little bicep flex melting hearts the world over
She was back on the biggest stage after over a year of building the brand overseas, and it was time to remind America why she was the EuroAsia Champion.
ALISON ATLANTIC VS. ANGELICA KAISER
ALISON ATLANTIC
ANGELICA KAISER
…As much as it stung her pride to admit it, Alison Atlantic was on her last legs whilst Angelica Kaiser had scarcely even broken a sweat. In all of her career, young though it was, the Babe of Battle had never met the likes of the Volcanic Vixen before, the far stronger blonde overwhelming her from the get go and now, for all of her will to fight back, she was being made an example of.
With ruthless efficiency and, quite frankly, shocking ease, Angelica swept the Flag Attired Beauty back up off her feet only to spin her about and SLAM her spine first into the canvas.
Atlantic bucked with a fresh cry, cradling the small of her punished back as the plywood flexed beneath her, struggling to catch her breath as the toe of her right boot tapped an SOS against the mat. She grimaced, only dimly aware of the Austrian dropping down to one knee beside her, eyeing the sleeker blonde up like an appetiser.
Alison would have attempted to get back up, had Kaiser not instead bullied her into doing so, forcibly positioning her counterpart as though she were manipulating a doll, and yanking her backwards into a TIGHT Dragon Sleeper! Alison stiffened as a steel corded bicep pressed down about her throat, cutting off not only her air but also, more immediately concerning, the blood flow to her brain. She fought, valiantly enough, but it was for nought.
She’d been utterly unable to match the more powerful athlete’s strength from the start, the weary specimen she was now didn’t have a hope.
With a rueful grin, one that would be infectious had she not become so ruthless in recent years, Angelica watched her adversary for the evening squirm, the young woman’s pert bosom thrust upwards towards the sky whilst she struggled in vain. Her amusement ended with a heavy sigh; one accompanied a furrowed brow as she systematically sapped the last of the All-American Athletes remaining stamina with but a single arm.
“The Patriot Princess?” she inquired incredulously, the air of disappointment about her thick enough to be felt. With the yielding young woman suitably restrained, Kaiser raised her free arm and BEAT Alison savagely across her utterly exposed chest, the WHACK audible to those in the front row and rocking the trapped Atlantic to her core.
“All!” she continued, WHACKING the Lean Marine a second time, rewarded with a heady and deflated grunt for her efforts. “American!!” she thundered on, connecting with a third forearm smash that battered her foes poor, defenceless body. “Heroine!!” she finished with a fourth and final WHACK, one that was not even accompanied by the smallest of grunts from her flaccid foe.
“I am not impressed,” she remarked before shrugging, a rueful grin returning to her features as she pushed herself back up to standing, dragging the limp limb frame of her opponent up with her whilst retaining the fierce Dragon Sleeper. Alison didn’t flinch, she merely hung in her grasp as her own arms dangled towards the floor, the tips of her fingers idly circling.
To anyone who could see, Alison was still in the building in body only, her astute, insightful baby blues fully closed whilst her lips were parted open slightly.
Clearly, Angelica didn’t care or, more to the point, this was exactly what she wanted, flashing her infectious, self-assured grin as she flexed her free limb to pop a perfect bicep flex. She did so before addressing the FAWNatics directly, both those in the arena, and those watching at home.
“This is who you would Champion?” she questioned, tightening the grip of her Dragon Sleeper a little more to force a fresh quiver from Atlantic’s already depleted, sleek physique. “This is one of your soldiers?” she openly mocked Alison’s tour of duty in the Marines.
That received an especially hearty chorus of boos from the sold-out arena.
“You can do better,” she judged, deciding to put any potential debate to bed by grasping a fistful of Alison’s tights and bodily lifting her deadweight of the floor, soon holding her in place across her own body in preparation of her entirely unnecessary finisher.
She strode quickly to centre ring, building up momentum before she dropped, DRILLING the crown of the already unconscious Atlantic deep into the canvas, the FAWNatics howling in protest as she did so.
NOTHERN LIGHTS BOMB: @0:06
www.youtube.com/watch?v=V9FuzK82X_Q
A sharp convulsion ran through the entire of the Flag Attired Beauties body, and she was not even given the chance to stop twitching before Kaiser wrapped her up into the tightest of possessive balls, Alison’s firm booty deliberately thrust skywards towards the rafters.
Finally, the Official was there to do his job, beginning her count of…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Angelica got up after leaving the Babe of Battle to flop out in a heap, planting a boot atop her scarcely rising torso before breaking out her patented, perfect bicep flex, the definition on show enough to put many a FAWN talent to shame.
Another night and another victory but still, this was not the blonde that she was looking for…
ALEXIS ATLANTIC Vs. ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ
ALEXIS ATLANTIC
ALEJANDRA FERNANDEZ
…Finally, after a solid twenty minutes of near battering each other senseless, Alexis and Alejandra resuming their hostilities from Monday, Fernandez had secured the lions share of the momentum. She was determined to ensure that history repeated itself twice in one week, spinning on the spot sharply and near LAUNCHING the flagging physique of her original rival across the ring by way of Irish Whip.
Atlantic turned herself about at the last second, crashing into the turnbuckles across her spine and shoulders and yet, the gasp that burst free from her body revealed that it had not availed her much. She slumped as though her limbs were made of lead weight, pert booty sitting on the middle pad whilst arms slumped over the top ropes, her breathing shallow and laboured.
Relentless now that she was in the ascendency, the Prototype advanced with cold blooded intent, reloading her biceps with stiff, practiced thrusts of her arms as her forever repressed temper threated to overflow. Inhaling a deep breath, she stopped just before the flag attired beauty before unleashing her salvo, delivering a full four piston powered punches with pitch perfect precision deep into Atlantic’s vulnerable and exposed, firm tummy, growling each time with increasing intensity.
Alexis was defenceless, the Lioness jolting with each hit, each of the rapid blows jerking her up off her heels before slumping back down to sitting, a little more deflated each time. In echo to her foe’s intense snarls, the Babe of Brawl grunted, groaned, moaned and the moaned even softer, that last gasp to escape from between her lips betraying that she was finally running on empty.
That was what Fernandez was waiting to hear, the Mexican Mauler exhaling deeply as she rolled her strong shoulders, her dark gaze only for Atlantic, the Minatare Marine a literal, petitely packaged personification of everything she resented. That would never change, not when they were in the ring together, and grinding the blonde into submission was, for a short time at least, all that she lived for.
Grabbing her by the wrists, Alejandra peeled Alexis out the corner, tugging her towards centre ring as, baby blue eyes woozy, the Babe of Brawl swayed where she was bid, the fierce warrior pummelled into submission. Fernandez came to a stop and sharply tugged her adversary a final step forwards, the two closely matched grapplers bumping up chest to chest to one another and pelvis to pelvis.
Wrapping her arms about the blondes’ hips, Alejandra compressed her Original Rival closer, warm, nubile young bodies entangling as the end loomed ever closer.
Perhaps oblivious to the danger, her proud shoulders slumped and pretty peeper’s half lidded, Atlantic made no efforts to pull away, the flag attired beauty leant forwards against her oldest adversary, arms swaying limp by her thighs.
Fernandez adjusted her grip, dropping her palms to TIGHTLY grasp the blonde by her pert booty, exploring both it and the other girls’ firm thighs with impunity, preparing to…
…Alexis NUTTED her, square, true and with a resounding CRACK that echoed out across the front rows, the young woman perhaps roused by the uninvited groping. In any case, the moment their craniums connected, Alejandra was seeing stars, cursing with a protracted hiss as she stumbled away, clutching at her features as she did so.
Atlantic also retreated, albeit not under her own power, back peddling with a stumble of her own before shaking her head, the FAWNatics all around her rallying with a vocal cheer as if they could simply will her into recovering.
“Don’t toy with me!” Alexis forced out the growl before shaking her head again, bringing her dukes up to form a solid, renewed defence. “We’re here to throw down, Fernandez,” she declared whilst advancing, closing the distance between herself and her adversary before unleashing a quick one, two combo that buried her fists deep in the Mexican’s exposed gut, winding her in short order. “So, let’s throw down!”
She advanced; the flag attired beauty full of piss and vinegar, her near empty tank running on pure adrenaline as she prepared…
“Alright,” the Official interposed, echoes of Monday. “I’ve been lenient,” he insisted with upraised palms, “now enough of the closed fists.”
“Are you sh*tting me?” the miniature marine exclaimed, a sentiment the crowd were vocal in letting the man in black and white know that they shared. “Again?”
“It’s the rules,” the Official remained frustratingly in the way.
“It wasn’t five minutes ago,” Atlantic refused to let it go, her dander already up and fully prepared to get all up in his business. “Awfully familiar this, are you on the take or what?”
“I’m impartial…”
“You’re a jackass,” she retorted, preparing to push past…
…just as Fernandez surged in to take advantage of her distraction, storming across the ring with a thunderous clothesline…
…which Alexis ducked deftly beneath, narrowly avoiding the beheading strike and leaving her adversary to sail pass. They both recovered and spun on the spot at the same time…
…and Atlantic connected with a sweet as you like Superkick, one accompanied by a roar from the Little Lioness and the crowd erupted. Caught right beneath her chin, Fernandez went down like a felled oak.
“Satisfied,” the blonde threw a look at the Official that betrayed just how little she thought of his opinion. “Because I’m sure that felt like a feather duster by comparison.”
The man in black and white didn’t answer, and Atlantic breezed past him, well aware that her second (more accurately, third or fourth) wind would only carry her so far before fatigue caught back up. Picking her spot, and feeling just a little bit petty being as the slowly fading bruise along the soft curve of her neck was still sore from Monday, she dropped down to straddling her Original Rival’s impressive bosom, her knees pinning Alejandra’s shoulders to the mat.
So perched, and with the Official dropping down to count, the Babe of Brawl looked to the hard camera and flexed, popping out her biceps as the man in black and white counted…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
…securing for her a victory that went a long way to massaging her pride.
She exhaled deeply, feeling the fatigue setting back in along with all her aches and pains but, at least tonight, she could stand tall.
ANNABELLE DARK VS. ALESSANDRA BIANCHI
ANNABELLE DARK
ALEASANDRA BIANCHI
…“Is this on?” Annabelle enquired whilst holding Alessandra’s mobile phone aloft, putting the item that she had liberated from her opponent’s corner to start a livestream. Not just any livestream, but Bianchi’s private feed that she was so fond of broadcasting to during her adversaries’ lowest moments. She pursed her lips in thought before flashing the slyest of smirks, her eyes lightning up upon realising that she had been met with success.
“Perfect,” she practically purred, streaming live across the Apex Nations private servers, the view count shooting up to startlingly high numbers. “Greeting dorks,” she winked invitingly, “cease your communal fapping for just one moment, for I have a shocking update concerning the Queen of the Nerds, the Digital Dunse, Alessandra Biachi!!”
Annabelle spun the feed about to bring the Gorgeous Geek in question into focus, the leather clad Apex Intellect sat precariously in the far corner. With pert booty perched on the middle turnbuckle, her arms draped over the top ropes and her coveted gams spread open wide and hooked over the middle coils, her expression betrayed her dazed state, perhaps paying the consequences for liberties taken on Monday.
“I’m sure this is a sight you’re used to seeing,” Dark remarked with considerable mischief. “Got to drive those new subscribers somehow, but never let it be said that I am not the gift that keeps on giving.”
Passing the phone off to a surprisingly helpful stagehand, Annabelle came back into frame, more than happy to steal the limelight as she spun sleekly one eighty before providing a generous shot of her pert backside. A moment later, she was on the move, sprinting across the ring and, as the distance closed between the duo, the Midnight Maiden unleashed a shockingly well practiced and whiplash fast PUNT!! to the trussed-up Alessandra’s nether region.
Bianchi yowled, unsurprisingly, and she slumped forwards in her captivity, slim shoulders quivering as Annabelle, looking very pleased with herself, turned back to face the livestream head on. She both winked and leant forwards to blow a kiss, clearly enjoying upstaging the Digital Damsel on her own show.
“And for my next trick…” she began before the phone picked up a considerable amount of commotion, the camera view blurring as the stagehand sought to find what, or who, and riled the crowd up into a frenzy. There on the stage, some twenty yards from the ring, stood the Apex Enforcer, Irma Irons serenaded with boos as the Personification of Pissed Off paced back and forth, strong shoulders rolling as she looked ready to throw down.
IRMA IRONS
With yet another blur of motion, the private live feed was bought back to the squared circle, Annabelle motioning to the now offscreen Irons to bring it, the two youthful Brits mere moments away from resuming hostilities…
…before Alessandra flew back into frame, the Apex Intellect appearing out of no-where and striking like a bolt of lightning, NAILING the blindsided Dark square against the back of her head.
With the Midnight Maiden going down hard, the live stream again lost focus, the stagehand more than a little startled as he struggled to maintain a steady shot. When it did stabilise, the FAWNatics could be heard lamenting as, far from satisfied, the Gorgeous Geek SLAMMED the Lighting Reapers already dazed features deep into the canvas, her emphatic Curb Stomp ruthless enough to put anyone to sleep…as Annabelle well knew…
The live feed cut out entirely for a few seconds before flashing back on and off, coming and going to reveal snapshots of Alessandra securing the three count, some manner of terse discourse between her and the Official, and finally Bianchi insistently tugging something free from off the Midnight Maidens pliant, athletic stems.
The private broadcast, shot entirely from the Digital Damsels phone, returned approximately half an hour later, the ring left behind and Alessandra front and centre in the Apex Nation's locker room, the undisputed Queen, once again, of her Digital Kingdom.
Those especially keen of hearing were convinced they could, just barely, hear a long series of short, sharp grunts, groans and moans emerging from just out of shot, but Bianchi had no interest in sharing the limelight.
Instead, matter-of-factly, with her free hand she held up a set of navy blues shorts, the previous owner of which obvious to all.
“These are up for auction,” she stated blandly, pausing in mild irritation as she was interrupted by an especially loud, forlorn groooooooan from just out of view. With an arched brow and agitated sigh, she turned her attention back to the viewers.
“Bidding begins now.”