Post by SammieSinclair on Apr 12, 2015 14:32:24 GMT
Notes properly checked, the Announcer stepped into the spotlight to properly prepare the FAWNatics for what was sure to be a war between two world class technicians. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, hailing from Finsbury Park, London, England, she stands at five feet seven inches tall and weighs in tonight at eight stone thirteen, this is LADY FIONA WATERFORD!”
AVERT YOUR GAZE, PEASANTS!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-I9092pRIo
LADY FIONA WATERFORD:
The ominous chords that boomed from the speakers weren’t what the crowd expected, but they reacted with the usual vigor and venom the instant they realized her Ladyship was en route. Striding into view of the hateful mob, the classic and classy brunette beauty exuded an undeniable royal comportment though the look in her eyes had more in common with the wolves that haunted the moors in her distant homeland. Microphone in hand, Waterford stalked down the aisle and made to speak several times, only to be stopped by a rousing ’DO SHUT UP!’ chant.
Tonight the haughty Englishwoman was much appreciated and accentuated beautifully by a striking midnight blue lace bra and panties with red bows on either hip and a royal coat of arms on her taut bum The attire left just the right amount to the imagination, which in this case was little. As a perfect bit of flair, red fishnet stockings reached up from midnight blue boots, red garters ending the stockings at mid-thigh.
Eventually the rabble quieted down and she said, “Those of you troglodytes who can actually comprehend numbers may in fact be aware that this is the third match in a series that is currently tied one victory apiece. A ‘rubber match’, I believe you might call it in that delightfully backward parlance of yours. But trust me when I tell you, there’s nothing the least bit pliant about what will happen in that ring tonight. If anything, this is a ‘last nail’ match, as in, the last nail in a certain toe rag’s pathetic career. She humiliated me once and you urchins had the temerity to laugh at my degradation. I hope you find the strength to do the same to her when I unleash more than four years of pent-up aggression.”
At the base of the ramp by now, Fiona hopped to the apron, slid through the cables, and moved to the center where she treated the capacity crowd to a backhanded ‘V’, palm inward, before tossing the mic to a flunky lurking on the floor. Referee Al Carpenter tried to approach her shortly thereafter, but the regal brunette merely strode past him on her way to the far corner. She had far greater things to worry about than the pawings of some barely cogent man-child. Like getting a good look at her opponent. Her Ladyship wanted a perfect view of the American as she came down the ramp. If only to contrast the sobbing, mewling shell of broken femininity that would leave the ring in less than thirty minutes time.
With Fiona glaring daggers at the entryway, the Announcer raised his mic. “And introducing her opponent, hailing from Woodsboro California, she stands at five feet six inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and twenty seven pounds. She is the Technical Marvel, the Woodsboro Mangler, the brunette buzz saw… SYDNEY DESCHAIN!”
WHEREVER I MAY ROAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5TnPjOd_To
SYDNEY DESCHAIN:
The standing army gathered for this March to War turned to the stage just as the clanging gong of ‘Wherever I May Roam’ summoned the Mangler from backstage. Deschain was greeted by a wall of sound as she stepped into view, everyone and their mother cheering on the departing veteran who’d already hung losses on Sue Burlingame and the Church of Eternal Midnight. Nodding her thanks for the support, Deschain raised a hand, brushed a thumb against the tip of her nose, then lifted an index finger to the rafters. Sydney smiled when the sigil went up all over the arena, then looked to a camera that’d pulled up next to her. ”Fee says she’s been waiting four years. She should’ve kept waiting.” There was no more that needed to be said, so she started down the aisle.
For what would be the deciding match in her short but vicious career series against the Duchess of East Anglia, the brunette wore a black tankini with thin white trim and matte gray boots and pads. Though both sides of the ramp featured signs proclaiming fervent loyalty or passionate entreaties to stay just a little while longer, the Marvel paid them little attention, as her gaze was locked on Waterford. It’d been in June of 2010 when they met for the first time. Waterford ended that match by making the American submit to her Turn Of The Screw, then piled on with a Reverse Face Sit that left Deschain greasy and humiliated for days after. She’d avenged the loss early the next year, but she’d never really forgiven Fiona for that embarrassment. And judging by the look on Waterford’s face, she hadn’t forgiven Sydney for her retribution.
Forcing herself to maintain a steady pace (rather than dive under the bottom rope like a whirlwind) Sydney strode up the steps, wiped the soles of her boots on the apron and climbed between through the ropes. Still locked in on the Royal, Sydney strolled to middle ring and silently dared Waterford to come get her. Fiona only snorted in derision, so the Marvel backed into her corner to await the opening bell.
Lady Fiona Waterford didn’t move when the bell CLANGED, even though she wanted nothing more than to tear the American limb from limb. Rather she took one last moment to close her eyes and think back to that night more than four years ago when she’d last crossed swords with Sydney Deschain. She thought about all the times she’d had the so-called Technical Marvel tied in simpering human knots. Thought about all times she’d had the quote unquote ‘Mangler’ pinned to the canvas like a bug on a card. Thought about all the times she’d had the insufferable bytch heartbeats away from acknowledging her superiority in the worst way possible. Then she remembered how Deschain had taken that all away from her. The agonizing seconds she’s spent racked upside down across the Deschain’s shoulders, the hellish agony in her spine, shoulder and leg as the other woman tried to break her in half. Remembered the scalding tears trailing up her cheeks and how she’d keened like a child in the grip of a nightmare when the pain was too much to bear, how she’d shaken nodded her head ‘yes’ over and over, anything to make the hurt stop. And the indignities kept coming. Shea London strutting to ringside, hauling Fiona to her knees and grinning like a lunatic as forced her longtime rival’s face up against Deschain’s substandard hindquarters while the whole world pointed and laughed.
All those thoughts and many, many more went through her head in the time in took the sound of the bell to fade into the rafters.
Opening her eyes, Fiona honed in on Sydney and offered a smile that promised an end to the Englishwoman’s nightmares and a whole slew of new terrors for the Marvel as she tottered off into retirement. Fingers twitching at the prospect of getting into Deschain’s hair again, the Duchess of East Anglia pushed off the buckles and strode out with vengeance on her mind.
Sydney started forward when she did and though she moved with similar strength of purpose, her goals were much different. Whereas Waterford sought vengeance, Syd was out to deal with the recordbooks. At the moment they showed her record against the Briton as one and one, which was clearly a typo in need of correction. Because as good as Fiona was, and Deschain would freely admit that the wicked brunette was very, VERY good, she wasn’t her equal and Syd wasn’t about to let that misconception continue a single night longer.
Approaching with raised hands and narrowed, wary eyes, Deschain was heartbeats away from circling left when Waterford stopped and raised one hand overhead. “Your hand to mine. Now, gutter trash.” she said in the tone of one who must be obeyed.
Sydney reigned in the urge to slap Waterford’s face into the concession stand. Instead she flicked her eyes toward the extended palm and asked, “A Test of Strength? Is that really what you want, Fiona?”
“No. What I really want is to tear your hair out in massive, bloody clumps, but this is the only way you can’t run from me without reminding everyone you’re a bloody cowa--”
Sydney stepped in and slapped her hand against Fiona’s with such force the would-be Royal backed up a step. The flash of surprise blazed into anger almost at once and Waterford bore down on the Knucklelock even though the test was only half in place. Syd squeezed right back and went nose to nose with the other woman even though she knew full well Fiona wasn’t above driving a knee straight into her trunks.
“I’m a coward? I’m not the one who waited more than four years to ask for a rubber match. What’s the problem, Fee? Did it take that long to get the taste of ass sweat off your--
The Lady Waterford shouldered her Yank away, reared back with her free hand and CRAAACKED Deschain’s lying mouth with the nastiest Bytch Slap imaginable. The Knucklelock meant that Sydney couldn’t go far, not that she would have. She was still checking her lip for blood when Fiona jerked her in and whispered, “You’re right, the wait WAS far too long. I should have crushed you the following night, but your flat ass is so unmemorable I actually forgot about it until just NNNNGGGHHH!”
Syd backed her off with a shouldercheck, then stuffed her free hand into the other woman’s face and just mashed her features until a sputtering Waterford twisted clear. “That jog your memory, princess?” Syd sneered with acid in her voice. “As I recall that’s pretty much the noise you made when your greasy lips were squelching against this flat EEEERRGGGHHHH BYTCH!”
Fiona’s talon found Sydney’s hair and did everything in it’s power to snatch the lying bytch bald right then and there. Not that she got to relish the shocked pain on her foe’s face for very long, in fact Waterford only got in two good tugs before Deschain mirrored her with an equally vile yank.
“Hey, that’s enough of that, ladies! Get off the hair!” Al Carpenter ordered without much hope. “C’mon now, don’t make me pull you apart this early!”
Apparently they didn’t want that either because the pair of brunettes let go of the other’s hair, then smoothed out their own stinging tresses. Once she was settled, Waterford gave the Knucklelock another squeeze and started to lift her other hand, but paused halfway through. Shaking her head ’no’ she murmured, “A traditional Test of Strength is far too civilized for what I plan on doing to you. So I believe a variant is an order.”
As such, she formed her left hand into a cup and laid it atop the curve of Deschain’s right breast, much to the crowd’s delight.
Syd answered the challenge with an almost imperceptible nod. The so called ’Half & Half’ wasn’t seen often in the States, but it was a staple of the European Apartment House scene, of which she and Waterford were well-traveled veterans. Deschain palmed Waterford’s left breast in her right hand and twitched her fingers ever so slightly, a none too subtle reminder that her fingers were against bare skin while Fiona had to deal with the fuller protection of the American’s tankini-top.
“You sure you want this, Fiona? I was under the impression you didn’t want these people to see you on your knees ag--”
Deschain’s taunt trailed off into a breathy hiss of pain as Waterford bore down on both halves of the modified Test. “You cheeky little slattern,” the Englishwoman growled as Sydney did a similar number on her bounty. “You’re the only one hitting her knees tonight! And while my actions may prove far less graphic than those of certain nameless FAWN brass, it will still be an accurate representation of just how you managed to get as far as you DDDDEEERRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!”
Sydney clamped down and twisted her wrist to gouge instant welts in Waterford’s otherwise flawless complexion. “What bothers you more, Fee?” the American hissed through gritted teeth. “The fact that I made you tap out in front of the whole world, or that you liked kissing my ass more than you’ll ever admitTTTAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!”
Lycra be damned, Fiona narrowed her attack from claw to pincer and twisted her prey’s nipple as hard as she could. “I NEVER kissed your arse.” she countered. “That cow London forced my face into contact with your disgusting haunches, but I did not KISS your ass. What you do for me tonight however, that you will do of your own free wilHOW DARE YOU, YOU TOADAAAAAAOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!”
Forced to take drastic measures to counteract the Nipple Twist, Deschain let loose of her own grip just long enough to tug Waterford’s breast free of its sheath, then she took the Brit’s nub between thumb and forefinger and twisted like a radio dial.
The obvious pain written on both competitor’s faces told the ref he should break them up, yet they were posted dead center in the middle of the ring and the Breast Claw, while unorthodox by most standards, was common enough in FAWN. In short, there was nothing he could do until one of them decided to call it off or they did something patently against the rules.
Working hard to keep her voice level, Lady Fiona amped up her rack attack that much more and chided, “Is that all you’ve got, strumpet? If you’ve already hit your top gear you should have retired yeNNNGGH!”
Sydney pulled on Waterford’s nipple, stretching the flesh that’d already been pinched and twisted far more emphatically than it should. “Got plenty left, your highness.” Deschain replied with mock civility. “Didn’t think it would be polite to blow your doors off in thirty GUUUFFFHHH!”
The Duchess of East Anglia relinquished her pincer and jammed a Forearm Smash against the side of Deschain’s face in the span between Heartbeats. In the next instant she had that arm slipped around Syd’s skull and abandoning the Knucklelock made it child’s play to secure the Headlock. Bustling around so she (and by extension, Sydney) were pointed toward Carpenter, Fiona sneered, “How did you ever survive this long without cauliflower ears? I believe it’s time we rectified that little over--”
Deschain’s head might’ve been trapped, but both hands were still free and one of them treated the Englishwoman’s right breast to a squeeze so hard it made her gasp. “That is NOT a legal grip,” she huffed to the official, “get this brazen trollop off my tiTOOOOOOW! OOOWW! HAIR! LET GO OF MY HAIR!”
Fiona’s head snapped to the left at an odd angle and though Al didn’t see Syd’s hand, he’d been in enough wrestling matches to know the signs. So he swung around from right to left and arrived just in time to see Waterford shake loose. She said something, which he didn’t hear over a thunderous roar from the other side of the arena.
“What?”
Waterford flipped hair out of her face and smiled. “I said, I worked my way loose, but thank you for your diligence.”
The ref didn’t even get a chance to answer before the brunette twisted around in half circle and led a suddenly much more compliant Deschain toward the ropes. Sydney was indeed far more suggestible to Fiona’s whims at the moment and for good reason. In the brief time that Carpenter was out of position, the Royal Terror whipped her left leg up and back between the American’s legs in a vile Mule Kick that connected her heel to the Marvel’s crotch.
Of course it was only cheating if one got caught and Waterford was more than wily enough to press a palm over Syd’s mouth to stifle the outcry. Far happier now that she’d seized control of the contest, Lady Fiona forced Sydney’s upper body between the top and middle ropes, then forced her upright and angled both arms backward over the uppermost strand.
“The night you and London teamed up to humiliate me was the night my career went off the rails.” Waterford hissed into the trapped woman’s ear. “The night I send you out of here on a stretcher is the night I show the world that this waist needs, no, DESERVES gold.”
Syd sputtered something that transformed into a pained gurgle when Fiona crooked an arm around her throat and cupped the palm of her other hand against the back of the Marvel’s noggin. Waterford knew damned well she wasn’t going to put her rival away with a Sleeper in the ropes, but that didn’t stop her from reefing and twisting like an English Bulldog. Fiona got a good seven seconds in before Al warned her off and of course she told him to sod off, so all in all she worked it for perhaps fifteen seconds before the official made her break it off at ‘FOUR!’
Releasing the hold violently enough to pull Deschain’s arms free of the top rope, Waterford backed off just far and long enough to satisfy the ref’s yammering. Then she was back at it, stomping across the deck to grab a handful of waistband and tug her out into the middle of the ring.
“Kid gloves are off, hag.” Fiona taunted when she spun Sydney around in a wobbly half circle. “It’s time to remind you of your place in the grand scheme of things.”
The Duchess turned, reached over one shoulder with both hands and laced them across the back of Syd’s head. A smart little tug n’ drop flipped Deschain onto her butt via a simple Snapmare, which in turn left her quite exposed for the Knife-Edge Chop Fee CRAAACKED between her shoulders. Syd winced and instinctively arched her back, a bad move because it thrust her chest into the kick that Waterford pounded across her goods immediately thereafter. Knocked flat on her back by the aggressive flurry, Deschain was cogent enough to know what came next, alas that knowledge didn’t translate into movement until Waterford bounded off the ropes, leapt into the air and brought her right knee THUMPING down between the American’s eyes. Sydney grunted, rolled to one side and pressed the heel of her palm against her aching head.
SIGN OF THE FOUR @ 00:26
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRziHkeXfq4
The pain was still fresh and bright when Fiona helped herself to a double handful of hair and forced the Mangler to stand with a few sharp tugs. Waterford greeted the other brunette with a tart little slap on the mouth, then lowered her right shoulder and slid it between Deschain’s legs. Fireman’s Carry, Fiona Waterford to Sydney Deschain. “Our last meeting wasn’t just a travesty, it was an ANOMALY!” the Brit explained to the jeering lummoxes in the first few rows. “One that shall never be repeated as long as I draw breath! In fact, once I finish this toad, I do believe I’ll retire dear Shea NNNGGGHH!”
She’d went on a bit too long and Deschain made her pay for it with a trio of elbows to the side of the head. Waterford’s hooks loosened to the point of irrelevance, allowing Deschain to squirm off her shoulders and immediately run the ropes. Her return trek was *barely* underway when the Royal Terror planted on her left foot and THWHACKED the right square into the point of Syd’s chin.
The Super Kick sent Syd into the ropes again, bounced her out and back into the worrisome clutches of another Fireman’s Carry. No trash talk this time, Fiona simply slung the Yank up ‘n over and dropped to one knee, all the better to THWHUNK the back of Sydney’s neck against the bony joint.
WAKING NIGHTMARE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OCCuWlEcvU
Left in a slumped seat by this Waking Nightmare, Deschain offered no comment when Lady Fiona palmed her shoulders and stretched her out flat, but perhaps that was only because the blue-clad battler didn’t try for a cover. Rather she got to her feet and strutted to the edge of the ring to Sydney’s right. Hopping over the strands to the apron in a single bound, Waterford turned, grabbed the top rope in both hands and leapt onto it like a lightweight. This proved the perfect platform to launch herself into the aether like a rocket, a rocket that came down with its right elbow cocked up beside its ear to THWHUMP flush between her foe’s breasts.
SPRINGBOARD ELBOW DROP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAFOLgNd3PY
Finally satisfied she’d tenderized the other woman to an acceptable degree, Fiona floated around into a Lateral Press that saw one hand pressed to Deschain’s jaw and the other palmed hard against her tummy. Pushed up on her toes, the Duchess of East Anglia nodded along for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Syd shot a shoulder up and swatted Waterford’s face aside, something the Brit was sure was far from accidental. “All right, insect. You want the humiliation to continue? Who am I to deny a crone’s final wish?”
‘Helping’ the Marvel to her feet with a sturdy grip of trunks and tresses, Fiona quickly transitioned to a Wristlock, which she used to send Deschain to a far corner. Whirling an instant before her spine BWUUUNGED against the buckles, Sydney sagged but stayed upright, presenting a tempting target to Waterford, who charged at once. Leaving her feet when there was still a respectable distance between them, Lady Fiona bowed forward at the apex, her board-flat tummy SMECKING heavily against Deschain’s face and chest.
But then a funny thing happened. Fiona didn’t strut away like she was supposed to.
Oh, she WANTED to, but instead of bouncing away from the American as per her plan, Waterford found herself glued in place because Syd had one arm crooked across the back of her head and another cinched tight around her left thigh. This awkward development grew far more menacing when Deschain trudged out of the corner, her every step taking Lady Fiona farther and farther from the safety of the ropes.
“Release me!” Waterford barked in between trying to jab her left elbow into the side of Sydney’s noggin. It was a good effort, however the rivals were wedged so close together that the Royal Terror couldn’t do more than nudge the other brunette. Fighting to keep the panic out of her voice when Deschain turned around, Fiona snapped, “I mean it, toad! Set me on my feet right now or you’ll suffer as no othHHHHOOAAHHNGGH!”
FROM OUTTA LEFT FIELD @ 4:19
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dpApSqbiEQ
Sydney dropped into a near squat-thrust, then popped up on her heels and laid out on her back to fling Waterford up, over and down with a THWHUMPING Exploder. Fee landed hard on the back of her head and shoulders, flopped onto her stomach and laid still, save for the occasional tap of one boot against the mat.
The none-too-subtle shiver running through the ring told Deschain she had a moment or two to herself so she pushed to one knee and rolled the back of her neck, trying to work out the kinks left in the wake of Waterford’s attention. While they didn’t go away entirely they did fade to an acceptable level, which was Sydney’s cue to get up and stalk over to the woozy wrestler.
Digging both hands into Fiona’s hair like she thought she might fire up at any moment, the Mangler hauled her foe to boot-leather, then stuffed her head under Waterford’s left arm and applied a high, tight Waistlock for good measure. No theatrics or even preamble, Sydney simply snapped off another bridge, one that ended with the former Intercontinental Champion driven into mat full length. Unlike the previous bridge, this one didn’t break on completion, in truth it got higher and tighter because Deschain pushed up onto her toes. A long time aficionado of the Northern Lights Suplex, Al Carpenter took half a whisper to admire the execution before swooping in to count…
NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QS3KIQRzWZE
ONE…
TWO…
Waterford shot a hand up and SMACKED her attacker’s tummy hard enough to break both bridge and cover with a full second to spare. Syd sat back on her haunches, tucked hair behind her ears and ‘flicked’ her togs a little tighter across her glutes. Then she grabbed Fiona’s left wrist and used it to turn the Englishwoman onto her stomach. The Wristlock transformed into a Hammerlock and Deschain pressed her free hand into the side of Waterford’s face, a move that was simultaneously about control and mat dominance. Placing one knee into the small of her rival’s back, the Marvel tugged on the Hammerlock before she asked, “Are we done here, Fiona? Or do I have to throw you some more?”
Fiona remembered snickering at Sue Burlingame when Deschain forced her into a similar predicament in January. Now that she was experiencing it for herself, she failed to see the humor. “In what world is a Hammerlock enough to force me out of a match?” Lady Fiona hissed. “You must think I’ve gone as soft as you!” She punctuated that little observation by reaching blindly behind her head in hopes of getting the Yank’s hand off her cheek.
This task she accomplished with relative ease, yet it came with an exceptionally high price that Fiona only discovered when Sydney seized control of that wrist and pinioned it up beside her other hand. A few minute adjustments let her control both of Waterford’s wrists with one hand, leaving the other free to do whatever the veteran pleased. As such, she mussed Fee’s hair for several seconds, then pressed her face against the mat when the Duchess squealed her hatred. When the tantrum subsided, Syd ran her free hand through her hair and said, “It’s interesting Fiona, I spanked Susan like a brat to start this tour and in certain circles she’s considered American royalty. Seems only right that I’d continue the trend by doing the same to some actual royalty.”
Fiona’s microadjustments had been subtle but constant, she was certain she could escape the galling tableau if the Mangler ran her mouth long enough. But she froze solid when Deschain’s threat reached her ears. After a hateful silence broken only by some drunken lout shouting ‘SPANK THAT ASS, SYDNEY!’ Lady Fiona Waterford found her voice. “We both know I can’t stop you at the moment, but if you so much as touch my trunks, you have my word that this will be the last time anyone sees you in a wrestling ring… or in publ--”
CRAAACK!
Too intrigued by the threat to back down, Sydney curved her hand into a slightly cupped paddle and brought it down on the coat of arms for all she was worth. Fiona bellowed with rage only to cut it off behind clenched teeth so the rabble wouldn’t hear the pain in her voice. As thorough and methodical with her humiliations as she was with her more traditional holds, Deschain treated her rival to ten butt-blistering swats, each tallied and logged by the FAWNatics with gleeful enthusiasm.
“That’s it,” Waterford grunted once ‘TEN!’ faded into the background. “You’re a dead woman. And the instant they wheel you out of here I’ll set to dismantling your legaCCEEERRRGGGGGHHH BLOOOOODY COOOOOOOW!”
Though it appeared cruelly superflous at first glance, Syd’s wedgie actually served a dual purpose. First, it replaced Waterford’s threats with pained yowling, which was always music to the veteran’s ears. Second, if Fiona was preoccupied by the new thong cutting into her fore and aft, she couldn’t stop the Mangler from hauling her upright, which was exactly what Syd did. Relinquishing the Hammerlocks to snuggle in that much closer against the Brit’s back, Deschain forced Waterford’s left arm high overhead with a Half Nelson and added a few more catty points to her lifetime total by reaching around and patting Fee’s left breast in supremely condescending fashion. The Royal Terror went wild with rage, alas, it couldn’t stop Sydney from wrapping her up around the waist. Feet set good and flat, Deschain dipped down, popped her hips and flipped Fiona over onto the back of her head with a sickening THWHUNK!
HALF NELSON SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nx2KLCwugAs
Folded up like an accordion by the Half Nelson Suplex, Waterford tumbled to one side and managed to earn a bit of grudging applause when she started to fight to all fours. Lest you think the fans were starting to warm to her antics, they cheered all louder when Deschain cupped both hands under the Brit’s chin and dragged her back to her feet. Keeping one hand against the back of Waterford’s head to make sure she stayed doubled over, the Mangler sidled in from the right and twined her left leg around Fiona’s right thigh. In the same move she reached over, laid claim to the other brunette’s left arm and wrenched it up and toward her at the same time she slung her right leg over the back of Waterford’s neck.
Galvanized by the thought of getting trapped in an Octopus in her current state, Fiona twisted her head violently to the left. It didn’t stop Deschain from completing the hold and craaaaaaaaanking back, but it did put the Duchess’s mouth only inches away from Syd’s bare calf.
“What do you say, Fiona?” Al asked as the modified Abdominal Stretch threatened to bring Waterford to her knees. “Do you want to give it--”
“AAAAAAHHHH SSSHHHHHIIIIT YOU BITCH!”
The exclamation was so abrupt and painful that the ref thought it was coming from Waterford, it wasn’t until she wrenched an arm loose and shrugged Deschain’s leg off her head that he realized it’d come from the Marvel. Almost free now, Fiona wriggled into what remained of the pretender’s hold and delivered a parting gift in the form of a stubby little elbow that connected with the dead center of Sydney’s trunks. The remnants of the Octopus disintegrated at once as Sydney doubled over with both hands wedged between her aching thighs.
Showing no joy in her newfound freedom, Lady Fiona cupped her hands under Deschain’s exposed chin and twisted around so they were back-to-back, albeit with Sydney’s head bent over the Englishwoman’s right shoulder at a precarious angle. Fiona sprang the trap as soon as it was set, dropping to her knees to THWHUNK Syd’s noggin with a modified Hangman’s Neckbreaker.
KNEELING HANGMAN'S NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3Y_CiR0jKk
Deschain reeled forward and dropped to her knees but went no farther, a show of wherewithal that disgusted her opponent to no end. Circling around so she was posted off to the American’s right, Waterford pivoted on her on her left foot to bring her right leg, up, over and DOWN, the bony plank of her shin TWHACKING against the base of Sydney’s neck. That finally sent the other brunette all the way to the canvas, not that the Royal Terror allowed her more than a second or two to appreciate her new surroundings.
“You know what happens to brats who think they can embarrass me and get away with it?” Waterford growled as she pulled Syd up just high enough to apply a Front Facelock. “They lose their bloody heads.” Jerking the stunned grappler to her feet, Fiona bolstered the Facelock by slipping her right arm under Deschain’s left bicep in a Single Underhook. With that arm out of the way and the other offering no resistance of consequence, Fiona snapped over and down to land on her back while the Marvel THWHUNKED down full force on the back of her head and neck.
SINGLE UNDERHOOK NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbeO5iFBcGE
Sydney bounced to a seat and wrapped both arms around the back of her head, either to protect it from more punishment or to keep her brains from leaking out her ears. It worked, if only because Waterford shoved her shoulders to the mat, slid across her chest in a Lateral Press and grrrrrrrrrrroooound a forearm against the American’s jaw to drive home the point. “Stay down, skag!” Fee barked as Carpenter dropped to one knee for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Deschain kicked her legs and turned onto her side, ending the count far earlier than the Englishwoman would’ve liked. Al expected to get the rough side of Waterford’s tongue, but she only flared her nostrils and nodded to no one in particular. Continuing her apparent quest to remove Sydney’s head from her shoulders, Fiona got to her feet, curled her fingers around Deschain’s waistband and hauled her up alongside. A single Kneelift landed *just* beneath Sydney’s navel, it wasn’t a genuine Low Blow but considering the nauseated state of her innards it proved more than enough to double her over.
“If you won’t stay down I’ll have to lift you up.” Fiona told the FAWNatics once she’d sidled in against her prey’s right hip. “Higher and higher each time, so the next drop is always worse than the one that came before.”
She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around the Mangler’s gulping waist and, in an impressive show of strength, muscled Sydney up onto the point of her right shoulder. While there were all sorts of ways to deliver punishment from this particular position, only one fell in line with Fiona’s theme. It entailed halving the Gutwrench and reaching up with her left hand to cup Deschain’s chin. In the next instant she kicked a leg forward and laid out full length to THAWHAM Sydney into the canvas courtesy the nastiest Neckbreaker yet.
GUTWRENCH NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-8da56rjww
Syd sat up again but she couldn’t muster protection for her abused skull, in fact she settled out in a weary puddle and didn’t move until Waterford shoveled her onto her back. Showing a bit more fire with her cover now, Lady Fiona dropped across the American’s chest in a miniature Splash, hooked both legs behind the knee and damned near folded her in half for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
The Marvel shrugged her off, earning a roar from the crowd and a snarl from the Royal. Hands on her thighs, Waterford fixed the flagging fighter with a disgusted look and snarled, “If the threat of a broken neck won’t keep you down, perhaps the promise of a fractured skull will.” Plunging her hands into Sydney’s hair, she knee-walked into the center of the ring, dragging the American along cavewoman style. Fiona settled into a proper seat when they were well clear of the ropes, then spread her legs in a welcoming ‘V’ and drew Deschain in so the back of her head was wedged tight against the other brunette’s tummy. Moving with the casual ease of someone who’d had years of experience, Waterford crooked her left leg up under Syd’s chin and tucked that ankle into the pit of her right knee, thus completing a textbook Figure Four Headscissors.
Balanced on her left hand like it was a kickstand, Lady Fiona carefully brushed some loose strands of hair off her foe’s forehead before she delivered the first crushing squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze. Sydney made an ugly rasping sound deep in the back of her throat and slammed a heel against the mat, but that was it as far as a show of discomfort. Simultaneously angered and impressed that the Marvel could endure that sort of pressure after her Neckbreaker barrage, Waterford gripped her left foot in her right hand and pulled it toward her, drawing the noose around Deschain’s neck that much tighter.
Make no mistake about it, Sydney was suffering a great deal and a loud voice in her head was demanding she kick and thrash until free of the head-crushing predicament. Yet it was the quieter, colder voice she followed. The one that reminded her that Fiona was quick to anger if denied her will. All she had to do was hold out long enough and the Duchess of East Anglia would give her an opportunity. Of course, holding out was easier said than done with Waterford’s thighs against her ears so hard she couldn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in her temples. Knowing her face had gone a distressing shade of red by feel rather than sight, Syd abruptly crooked her hands into claws and gouged them into the dense meat of Fiona’s gams.
Lady Waterford hissed, then actually yelped when the desperate Yank raaaaaaaaked stinging welts from her bikini-line all the way down to her knees and back again. She got in two more scorings before the blue-clad Briton dropped to her tush, sacrificing a bit of elevation and leverage to snatch hold of her prey’s wrists. Wrenching Deschain’s arms straight out at her sides, Fiona bore down to the point of inviting cramps and was delighted to hear Sydney whistle like a teakettle that’d learned to scream.
“Give it up!” she demanded of the fuzzy-headed, red-faced brunette. “If you deny me a submission your unconsciousness will not be a pleasant thing.” Fiona hinted at just how unpleasant it could be by bundling Syd’s wrists in one hand so she could maul her left breast with the other.
Shaking her head was all but impossible, as was waggling a finger, so Deschain burned some precious oxygen to hiss, “Duuuuhhh…. don’t waste my time… Fee. We both know you’re about to leggOHHHHNNNNNGGGHH!”
Fiona twisted over onto her stomach, then pushed up on both hands. While it was a perfect opportunity to slam Deschain’s obnoxious face into the canvas, Waterford decided on something a bit more showy. With her chin tucked against her chest, she put the crown of her head against the mat and ‘hupped’ herself over in a slow motion somersault made all the more impressive because Sydney was still locked in the Headscissors. Deschain THWHAMMED spine-first into the deck. Fiona took a moment to smirk for the ‘ooohhhing’ masses, then rolled onto her tummy and repeated the body-breaking somersault a second time. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. Pausing to catch her breath after the last, Fiona leaned forward and grabbed a huge handful of hair.
“YOU’RE DONE!” she barked into Sydney’s gurgling features. “SAY IT!”
The gasping Mangler reached up, gripped her attacker’s intruding wrist and squeezed until she felt bones grind. “Kiss. My. Ass.” she hissed.
Spurred to near madness by the defiance and the cramps she felt blossoming deep in her thighs, Waterford rolled onto her belly for a sixth time, planted hard on both hands and, “WHOOOAAHHH WHAT’RE YOU DOING! SET ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!”
Fiona’s grand finale went all sorts of sideways when Deschain got a knee under her and wrapped both arms around the Englishwoman’s thighs. Anchoring them both to the canvas as firmly as she could, Sydney shuffled and groaned, then bellowed with triumph when she stood up with Waterford seated firmly on her shoulders. Patently astonished by this shift in position, Fiona gave up the Figure Four for a more traditional Headscissors and bore down with all her might in the hopes of stealing Deschain’s legs before the predicament got much worse. Sydney did stagger and the FAWNatics held their breath, but they cheered it all out when the veteran snatched hold of Waterford’s blue briefs and made them downright scant courtesy a vicious upwards tug. Sydney jerked and twisted on the wedgie until she felt the Duchess’s ankles unlock, then she put both hands against the backs of Fee’s thighs and gave ‘em a rough shove. Waterford popped off Sydney’s shoulders and dropped all of six inches before the Marvel caught her in a mid-air Waistlock and bridged back to THAWHAM her burden into the mat with a German Suplex complete with gorgeous bridge. Quick on the draw despite his surprise, Al sank to one knee and counted off…
ELECTRIC CHAIR GERMAN SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyA_EKhggns
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Fiona wrenched her hips loose and tumbled onto her belly with a whisper to spare. Too exhausted and sore to argue with the near fall, Deschain just rolled to one knee and took in deep breaths while trying to work a thousand different kinks from her neck. The ref was about halfway through his standing ten count when Syd got to her feet and trudged around to Fiona’s head.
“All right your highness,” she leaned over, worked her fingers into Waterford’s battle-damp locks, “it’s time you acknowledged the real royalty in this riNNNGGHH!”
Fiona let Deschain pull her as far as her knees, that’s when the crafty brunette took hold of her foe’s ankles and swept her legs out from underneath. The back of Sydney’s head bounced off the thinly-sheathed plywood an instant before Waterford stood up and stretched the American’s legs into a wide, exposed ‘V’. “Now you’ll see, insect. Now you’ll see.” Fiona stepped through with her right leg and crossed Deschain’s gams over her thigh in a compressed ‘X’. “I am FAWN’s only true QUEEN and its only genuine MARVELLLRRGGHHH!”
Waterford had squatted down to better turn Sydney onto her tummy and paid dearly for it when the American sat up and palmed the back of her neck in one hand. Drawing the struggling brunette closer still, Deschain THWHAPPED away at Fiona’s head until she let loose of those captured legs to better defend herself.
Rather than slide her way to safety, Syd grabbed Fiona’s wrists, pivoted onto her left hip and jerked the startled beauty onto the canvas in a facedown sprawl. The Duchess of East Anglia was still trying to clear her head when Deschain stepped onto the backs of her thighs and grasped her ankles.
“NO!” Fiona went wild, twisting and writhing like a downed power line even as the other brunette locked Waterford’s shins against her own at an unpleasant angle.
Halfway to the Whispering Scream, Sydney put her hands on her hips and bounced slightly, earning a pained growl from her opposition. “Who’s the queen of this mat, Fiona?” she huffed. “Say it loud enough and maybe I won’t fold you in half.”
Braced by her elbows, Waterford shook her head ’no’ and snarled, “You’re looking at her, bytch. And you’re the only thing folding tonight.”
Deschain smirked at the other woman’s confidence. “Hope you’ve been working your core, Fee. You’re about to show those abs to the whole world.” Syd dropped into a tense crouch, reached for the Englishwoman’s wrists and let out a surprised little shriek when managed to grab her instead. Jerking on her tether with the intent of dislocating a shoulder or hyper-extending an elbow, Waterford settled for laying the startled Yank out directly beside her. Eyes alight with wicked triumph, Fee scrambled to her knees, buried both hands in Sydney’s hair and thwunk-thwhunk-THWHUNKED her forehead against the mat.
That trio of concussive blows stopped the Mangler from doing much more than tagging along when Fiona got to her feet immediately thereafter. “The only thing I’ll show the world,” she twisted to one side, bent over and curled her right arm around Deschain’s waist, Sidewalk Slam-style, “is how truly pathetic the years have made you.” With her left arm wedged in behind the stunned woman’s knees, Fiona hoisted Syd up under her arm, then swung her up into a gut-first perch atop her right shoulder. Swinging around in a circle to keep the crippled technician off balance while she pinioned her left arm between her shoulders with a Hammerlock. Planted firmly in the center of the squared circle, Fiona glared daggers at the nearest camera and promised, “I’ll be taking over this farce of a tour next month. My first stop? The FAWN World Champion, be it West OR LondUUUUFFFFHH!”
Sydney drilled her knees into the Royal Terror’s back, then bucked her legs and slid backward to land on Waterford’s six. Fiona rounded on her with a looping Haymaker, unfortunately it was beaten to its target by the Toe Kick Deschain slammed into her navel. Taking Fee’s head like it was the gift she’d always wanted, Syd stuffed it between her thighs and slipped both arms under Waterford’s biceps to cinch in the Double Underhook. No title talk from Sydney, she only dipped her knees and-- Waterford bore down with everything she had left, the tenacious, terrible Englishwoman denying the Deschain Driver as emphatically as she could.
“No way out, Fiona.” Sydney punctuated each word with a stubby Kneelift to her rival’s tits. “Can’t break my grip. Can’t flip me. Can’t fight it!”
But fight it she did, Waterford burning through her reserves at a ferocious rate to keep her feet on the ground. Refusing to give into frustration, Deschain jostled the simple hold back ’n forth and added on more Kneelifts, each one striking heavy against Fiona’s tummy or tits. After more than a dozen she planted her feet, dropped her hips and pulled-- Waterford dropped to one knee, stopping the Driver dead in its tracks.
“Whaaaa…. what’s the matter luv?” Fiona sounded impossibly smug for someone in one of the least enviable positions in all of FAWN. “Have you finally started to realize you’re not in my NNNNNGGGGGGGGH!”
Sydney hopped up and leeeeeaned forward to stand Waterford most of the way up despite having an American draped down her back. Then Sydney swung back down and dropped to a seat to THWHUNK her opponent’s face into the mat with a Sit-Out version of the Drop Out made famous by Cynthia Mitchell.
JUMPING DOUBLE UNDERHOOK FACEBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJ62JoAYeXQ
Completely unprepared for this offensive audible, Fiona snapped up onto her knees and immediately flopped onto her back in a dazed starfish. A short distance away, Sydney contemplated picking her foe up and spiking her with the Driver out of sheer spite. In the end she decided against it. Let Fiona escape without any real head trauma, there were still plenty of ways to finish her off.
And Syd knew just the one.
Clambering to her feet, she trudged over to Waterford and shoveled the dazed Duchess onto her stomach before dragging her to all fours. After a quick look around told her the ropes were out of play, Deschain swung her right leg over Fiona’s left shoulder so she could trap British bicep in the ‘V’ in the pit of her knee. Once one arm was trapped, Deschain seized her rival’s right wrist and stretched her arm out at an awkward angle that allowed her to mirror the proceedings on the other side. From there Sydney slid down onto her butt, a move that rolled Fiona into a seat as well, one that saw her arms wrenched backward in a painfully wide ’Y’. Almost done now, Sydney leaned forward, laced her fingers across the base of Waterford’s neck and PULLED forward while PUSHING out with her legs.
LAMENT CONFIGURATION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWeAXvBm3b4
Wailing aloud as the Lament Configuration did awful things to her neck and shoulders, Fiona gained control of her agony just long enough to shout, “NO!” when Carpenter asked if she wanted to submit. Syd didn’t bother to make any inquiries of her own, she merely rocked back n’forth and flexed her stems to keep the Duchess in constant pain.
Unable to shake her head due to the other brunette’s clasp, Fiona tried shifting around to bite Deschain’s forearm, but that ended with Syd halving the grip long just enough to SMACK her opponent’s face. Reapplying with additional pressure, she forced the Englishwoman’s arms that much farther back. “It’s over, Fiona.” Deschain said after several more seconds. “Tap out before you pass out.”
“Sod off!” Waterford, kicked her legs up and managed to land a few rough knees to Sydney’s lower back, but it wasn’t nearly enough to get her free of the agonizing human knot.
“So you’d rather these people heard you scream? Fine. If that’s what you want.” Sydney let loose of Fiona’s head, grabbed hold of those dark blue cups and pulled up, freeing the Englishwoman’s breasts in a sweaty tumble.
“CHEAP SLUT!” Lady Fiona howled. “I’LL SEE THAT YOU AAAAAARRRGGGGHHHHH STAAAAAHP!” Deschain pinched Waterford’s nipples between thumb and forefinger and twisted in opposite direction. “YOU BLOODY SAVAGE! LET GO OF MY TITS!” Fiona’s feet resumed their kicking, but not with any offense in mind, this was only the frantic, pained spasms of a rabbit caught in a snare.
Sydney didn’t relent, in fact she added a none too subtle pulling, twisting and rolling to the other woman’s defenseless bits. “You want these back, your highness? Take them back! Or make me give them. You know the words that’ll make that happen.”
Fiona shook her head wildly ‘no’, a reaction which did nothing for her already strained neck. “NEVER! I WILL NOT LET HISTORY RECOGNIZE YOU AS THE BETTER WOMOOOOOOOWW AAAAAAAWWWWWW GAAAAAAHHHD!”
Sydney drew the coil that much tighter and pinched down that much harder. “You’re gonna give me a souvenir one way or another, Fiona. Only you can decide if it’s verbal or something a bit more tangible.”
Fiona had a sudden nightmare image of Susan planting her lips of Deschain’s cheeks, only it wasn’t the heiress puckering up, it was herself. Seeking to avoid that at all cost, she nodded as best she could and swatted at the American’s thighs as well. “Fine! Dear lord, I give! Just leave my tits alone!”
Sydney looked to Carpenter, who’d already turned away to signal the Timekeeper. She released the hold and pushed to one knee when the bell CLANGED. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission… SYDNEY DESCHAIN!”
The Marvel didn’t rise just yet, she was too busy lifting Fiona to a seat. “Something tells me you’re not going to need or want this for a while.” She undid the strap on Waterford’s bra and peeled it up over her head, much to the delight of those assembled. Setting Fee down flat, Syd got to her feet and nudged the Englishwoman’s arm aside when she tried to cover her abused bounty. “Right there is just fine.” Deschain planted a foot atop each of Fiona’s biceps, keeping her arms pinned flat for an unobstructed Gladiatrix shot.
Raising Fiona’s bra like a title belt, the Mangler eventually tucked it into her waistband, then put her hands on her hips and pressed a boot down on Waterford’s breasts. Fee wheezed but otherwise did nothing, she was too exhausted to stop the American from claiming her prize. While she could’ve posed over Fiona long enough to build a whole calendar, Syd knew her time for the night was drawing to a close, so she settled for shoveling the other brunette onto her belly and placing one foot flush on the coat of arms adorning Waterford’s lovely bum. Then she raised one hand high and extended three fingers. “That’s three down.” she said softly. “And nine to go.”
AVERT YOUR GAZE, PEASANTS!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-I9092pRIo
LADY FIONA WATERFORD:
The ominous chords that boomed from the speakers weren’t what the crowd expected, but they reacted with the usual vigor and venom the instant they realized her Ladyship was en route. Striding into view of the hateful mob, the classic and classy brunette beauty exuded an undeniable royal comportment though the look in her eyes had more in common with the wolves that haunted the moors in her distant homeland. Microphone in hand, Waterford stalked down the aisle and made to speak several times, only to be stopped by a rousing ’DO SHUT UP!’ chant.
Tonight the haughty Englishwoman was much appreciated and accentuated beautifully by a striking midnight blue lace bra and panties with red bows on either hip and a royal coat of arms on her taut bum The attire left just the right amount to the imagination, which in this case was little. As a perfect bit of flair, red fishnet stockings reached up from midnight blue boots, red garters ending the stockings at mid-thigh.
Eventually the rabble quieted down and she said, “Those of you troglodytes who can actually comprehend numbers may in fact be aware that this is the third match in a series that is currently tied one victory apiece. A ‘rubber match’, I believe you might call it in that delightfully backward parlance of yours. But trust me when I tell you, there’s nothing the least bit pliant about what will happen in that ring tonight. If anything, this is a ‘last nail’ match, as in, the last nail in a certain toe rag’s pathetic career. She humiliated me once and you urchins had the temerity to laugh at my degradation. I hope you find the strength to do the same to her when I unleash more than four years of pent-up aggression.”
At the base of the ramp by now, Fiona hopped to the apron, slid through the cables, and moved to the center where she treated the capacity crowd to a backhanded ‘V’, palm inward, before tossing the mic to a flunky lurking on the floor. Referee Al Carpenter tried to approach her shortly thereafter, but the regal brunette merely strode past him on her way to the far corner. She had far greater things to worry about than the pawings of some barely cogent man-child. Like getting a good look at her opponent. Her Ladyship wanted a perfect view of the American as she came down the ramp. If only to contrast the sobbing, mewling shell of broken femininity that would leave the ring in less than thirty minutes time.
With Fiona glaring daggers at the entryway, the Announcer raised his mic. “And introducing her opponent, hailing from Woodsboro California, she stands at five feet six inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and twenty seven pounds. She is the Technical Marvel, the Woodsboro Mangler, the brunette buzz saw… SYDNEY DESCHAIN!”
WHEREVER I MAY ROAM:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5TnPjOd_To
SYDNEY DESCHAIN:
The standing army gathered for this March to War turned to the stage just as the clanging gong of ‘Wherever I May Roam’ summoned the Mangler from backstage. Deschain was greeted by a wall of sound as she stepped into view, everyone and their mother cheering on the departing veteran who’d already hung losses on Sue Burlingame and the Church of Eternal Midnight. Nodding her thanks for the support, Deschain raised a hand, brushed a thumb against the tip of her nose, then lifted an index finger to the rafters. Sydney smiled when the sigil went up all over the arena, then looked to a camera that’d pulled up next to her. ”Fee says she’s been waiting four years. She should’ve kept waiting.” There was no more that needed to be said, so she started down the aisle.
For what would be the deciding match in her short but vicious career series against the Duchess of East Anglia, the brunette wore a black tankini with thin white trim and matte gray boots and pads. Though both sides of the ramp featured signs proclaiming fervent loyalty or passionate entreaties to stay just a little while longer, the Marvel paid them little attention, as her gaze was locked on Waterford. It’d been in June of 2010 when they met for the first time. Waterford ended that match by making the American submit to her Turn Of The Screw, then piled on with a Reverse Face Sit that left Deschain greasy and humiliated for days after. She’d avenged the loss early the next year, but she’d never really forgiven Fiona for that embarrassment. And judging by the look on Waterford’s face, she hadn’t forgiven Sydney for her retribution.
Forcing herself to maintain a steady pace (rather than dive under the bottom rope like a whirlwind) Sydney strode up the steps, wiped the soles of her boots on the apron and climbed between through the ropes. Still locked in on the Royal, Sydney strolled to middle ring and silently dared Waterford to come get her. Fiona only snorted in derision, so the Marvel backed into her corner to await the opening bell.
Lady Fiona Waterford didn’t move when the bell CLANGED, even though she wanted nothing more than to tear the American limb from limb. Rather she took one last moment to close her eyes and think back to that night more than four years ago when she’d last crossed swords with Sydney Deschain. She thought about all the times she’d had the so-called Technical Marvel tied in simpering human knots. Thought about all times she’d had the quote unquote ‘Mangler’ pinned to the canvas like a bug on a card. Thought about all the times she’d had the insufferable bytch heartbeats away from acknowledging her superiority in the worst way possible. Then she remembered how Deschain had taken that all away from her. The agonizing seconds she’s spent racked upside down across the Deschain’s shoulders, the hellish agony in her spine, shoulder and leg as the other woman tried to break her in half. Remembered the scalding tears trailing up her cheeks and how she’d keened like a child in the grip of a nightmare when the pain was too much to bear, how she’d shaken nodded her head ‘yes’ over and over, anything to make the hurt stop. And the indignities kept coming. Shea London strutting to ringside, hauling Fiona to her knees and grinning like a lunatic as forced her longtime rival’s face up against Deschain’s substandard hindquarters while the whole world pointed and laughed.
All those thoughts and many, many more went through her head in the time in took the sound of the bell to fade into the rafters.
Opening her eyes, Fiona honed in on Sydney and offered a smile that promised an end to the Englishwoman’s nightmares and a whole slew of new terrors for the Marvel as she tottered off into retirement. Fingers twitching at the prospect of getting into Deschain’s hair again, the Duchess of East Anglia pushed off the buckles and strode out with vengeance on her mind.
Sydney started forward when she did and though she moved with similar strength of purpose, her goals were much different. Whereas Waterford sought vengeance, Syd was out to deal with the recordbooks. At the moment they showed her record against the Briton as one and one, which was clearly a typo in need of correction. Because as good as Fiona was, and Deschain would freely admit that the wicked brunette was very, VERY good, she wasn’t her equal and Syd wasn’t about to let that misconception continue a single night longer.
Approaching with raised hands and narrowed, wary eyes, Deschain was heartbeats away from circling left when Waterford stopped and raised one hand overhead. “Your hand to mine. Now, gutter trash.” she said in the tone of one who must be obeyed.
Sydney reigned in the urge to slap Waterford’s face into the concession stand. Instead she flicked her eyes toward the extended palm and asked, “A Test of Strength? Is that really what you want, Fiona?”
“No. What I really want is to tear your hair out in massive, bloody clumps, but this is the only way you can’t run from me without reminding everyone you’re a bloody cowa--”
Sydney stepped in and slapped her hand against Fiona’s with such force the would-be Royal backed up a step. The flash of surprise blazed into anger almost at once and Waterford bore down on the Knucklelock even though the test was only half in place. Syd squeezed right back and went nose to nose with the other woman even though she knew full well Fiona wasn’t above driving a knee straight into her trunks.
“I’m a coward? I’m not the one who waited more than four years to ask for a rubber match. What’s the problem, Fee? Did it take that long to get the taste of ass sweat off your--
The Lady Waterford shouldered her Yank away, reared back with her free hand and CRAAACKED Deschain’s lying mouth with the nastiest Bytch Slap imaginable. The Knucklelock meant that Sydney couldn’t go far, not that she would have. She was still checking her lip for blood when Fiona jerked her in and whispered, “You’re right, the wait WAS far too long. I should have crushed you the following night, but your flat ass is so unmemorable I actually forgot about it until just NNNNGGGHHH!”
Syd backed her off with a shouldercheck, then stuffed her free hand into the other woman’s face and just mashed her features until a sputtering Waterford twisted clear. “That jog your memory, princess?” Syd sneered with acid in her voice. “As I recall that’s pretty much the noise you made when your greasy lips were squelching against this flat EEEERRGGGHHHH BYTCH!”
Fiona’s talon found Sydney’s hair and did everything in it’s power to snatch the lying bytch bald right then and there. Not that she got to relish the shocked pain on her foe’s face for very long, in fact Waterford only got in two good tugs before Deschain mirrored her with an equally vile yank.
“Hey, that’s enough of that, ladies! Get off the hair!” Al Carpenter ordered without much hope. “C’mon now, don’t make me pull you apart this early!”
Apparently they didn’t want that either because the pair of brunettes let go of the other’s hair, then smoothed out their own stinging tresses. Once she was settled, Waterford gave the Knucklelock another squeeze and started to lift her other hand, but paused halfway through. Shaking her head ’no’ she murmured, “A traditional Test of Strength is far too civilized for what I plan on doing to you. So I believe a variant is an order.”
As such, she formed her left hand into a cup and laid it atop the curve of Deschain’s right breast, much to the crowd’s delight.
Syd answered the challenge with an almost imperceptible nod. The so called ’Half & Half’ wasn’t seen often in the States, but it was a staple of the European Apartment House scene, of which she and Waterford were well-traveled veterans. Deschain palmed Waterford’s left breast in her right hand and twitched her fingers ever so slightly, a none too subtle reminder that her fingers were against bare skin while Fiona had to deal with the fuller protection of the American’s tankini-top.
“You sure you want this, Fiona? I was under the impression you didn’t want these people to see you on your knees ag--”
Deschain’s taunt trailed off into a breathy hiss of pain as Waterford bore down on both halves of the modified Test. “You cheeky little slattern,” the Englishwoman growled as Sydney did a similar number on her bounty. “You’re the only one hitting her knees tonight! And while my actions may prove far less graphic than those of certain nameless FAWN brass, it will still be an accurate representation of just how you managed to get as far as you DDDDEEERRRRRRRGGGGHHHHHH!”
Sydney clamped down and twisted her wrist to gouge instant welts in Waterford’s otherwise flawless complexion. “What bothers you more, Fee?” the American hissed through gritted teeth. “The fact that I made you tap out in front of the whole world, or that you liked kissing my ass more than you’ll ever admitTTTAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!”
Lycra be damned, Fiona narrowed her attack from claw to pincer and twisted her prey’s nipple as hard as she could. “I NEVER kissed your arse.” she countered. “That cow London forced my face into contact with your disgusting haunches, but I did not KISS your ass. What you do for me tonight however, that you will do of your own free wilHOW DARE YOU, YOU TOADAAAAAAOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!”
Forced to take drastic measures to counteract the Nipple Twist, Deschain let loose of her own grip just long enough to tug Waterford’s breast free of its sheath, then she took the Brit’s nub between thumb and forefinger and twisted like a radio dial.
The obvious pain written on both competitor’s faces told the ref he should break them up, yet they were posted dead center in the middle of the ring and the Breast Claw, while unorthodox by most standards, was common enough in FAWN. In short, there was nothing he could do until one of them decided to call it off or they did something patently against the rules.
Working hard to keep her voice level, Lady Fiona amped up her rack attack that much more and chided, “Is that all you’ve got, strumpet? If you’ve already hit your top gear you should have retired yeNNNGGH!”
Sydney pulled on Waterford’s nipple, stretching the flesh that’d already been pinched and twisted far more emphatically than it should. “Got plenty left, your highness.” Deschain replied with mock civility. “Didn’t think it would be polite to blow your doors off in thirty GUUUFFFHHH!”
The Duchess of East Anglia relinquished her pincer and jammed a Forearm Smash against the side of Deschain’s face in the span between Heartbeats. In the next instant she had that arm slipped around Syd’s skull and abandoning the Knucklelock made it child’s play to secure the Headlock. Bustling around so she (and by extension, Sydney) were pointed toward Carpenter, Fiona sneered, “How did you ever survive this long without cauliflower ears? I believe it’s time we rectified that little over--”
Deschain’s head might’ve been trapped, but both hands were still free and one of them treated the Englishwoman’s right breast to a squeeze so hard it made her gasp. “That is NOT a legal grip,” she huffed to the official, “get this brazen trollop off my tiTOOOOOOW! OOOWW! HAIR! LET GO OF MY HAIR!”
Fiona’s head snapped to the left at an odd angle and though Al didn’t see Syd’s hand, he’d been in enough wrestling matches to know the signs. So he swung around from right to left and arrived just in time to see Waterford shake loose. She said something, which he didn’t hear over a thunderous roar from the other side of the arena.
“What?”
Waterford flipped hair out of her face and smiled. “I said, I worked my way loose, but thank you for your diligence.”
The ref didn’t even get a chance to answer before the brunette twisted around in half circle and led a suddenly much more compliant Deschain toward the ropes. Sydney was indeed far more suggestible to Fiona’s whims at the moment and for good reason. In the brief time that Carpenter was out of position, the Royal Terror whipped her left leg up and back between the American’s legs in a vile Mule Kick that connected her heel to the Marvel’s crotch.
Of course it was only cheating if one got caught and Waterford was more than wily enough to press a palm over Syd’s mouth to stifle the outcry. Far happier now that she’d seized control of the contest, Lady Fiona forced Sydney’s upper body between the top and middle ropes, then forced her upright and angled both arms backward over the uppermost strand.
“The night you and London teamed up to humiliate me was the night my career went off the rails.” Waterford hissed into the trapped woman’s ear. “The night I send you out of here on a stretcher is the night I show the world that this waist needs, no, DESERVES gold.”
Syd sputtered something that transformed into a pained gurgle when Fiona crooked an arm around her throat and cupped the palm of her other hand against the back of the Marvel’s noggin. Waterford knew damned well she wasn’t going to put her rival away with a Sleeper in the ropes, but that didn’t stop her from reefing and twisting like an English Bulldog. Fiona got a good seven seconds in before Al warned her off and of course she told him to sod off, so all in all she worked it for perhaps fifteen seconds before the official made her break it off at ‘FOUR!’
Releasing the hold violently enough to pull Deschain’s arms free of the top rope, Waterford backed off just far and long enough to satisfy the ref’s yammering. Then she was back at it, stomping across the deck to grab a handful of waistband and tug her out into the middle of the ring.
“Kid gloves are off, hag.” Fiona taunted when she spun Sydney around in a wobbly half circle. “It’s time to remind you of your place in the grand scheme of things.”
The Duchess turned, reached over one shoulder with both hands and laced them across the back of Syd’s head. A smart little tug n’ drop flipped Deschain onto her butt via a simple Snapmare, which in turn left her quite exposed for the Knife-Edge Chop Fee CRAAACKED between her shoulders. Syd winced and instinctively arched her back, a bad move because it thrust her chest into the kick that Waterford pounded across her goods immediately thereafter. Knocked flat on her back by the aggressive flurry, Deschain was cogent enough to know what came next, alas that knowledge didn’t translate into movement until Waterford bounded off the ropes, leapt into the air and brought her right knee THUMPING down between the American’s eyes. Sydney grunted, rolled to one side and pressed the heel of her palm against her aching head.
SIGN OF THE FOUR @ 00:26
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZRziHkeXfq4
The pain was still fresh and bright when Fiona helped herself to a double handful of hair and forced the Mangler to stand with a few sharp tugs. Waterford greeted the other brunette with a tart little slap on the mouth, then lowered her right shoulder and slid it between Deschain’s legs. Fireman’s Carry, Fiona Waterford to Sydney Deschain. “Our last meeting wasn’t just a travesty, it was an ANOMALY!” the Brit explained to the jeering lummoxes in the first few rows. “One that shall never be repeated as long as I draw breath! In fact, once I finish this toad, I do believe I’ll retire dear Shea NNNGGGHH!”
She’d went on a bit too long and Deschain made her pay for it with a trio of elbows to the side of the head. Waterford’s hooks loosened to the point of irrelevance, allowing Deschain to squirm off her shoulders and immediately run the ropes. Her return trek was *barely* underway when the Royal Terror planted on her left foot and THWHACKED the right square into the point of Syd’s chin.
The Super Kick sent Syd into the ropes again, bounced her out and back into the worrisome clutches of another Fireman’s Carry. No trash talk this time, Fiona simply slung the Yank up ‘n over and dropped to one knee, all the better to THWHUNK the back of Sydney’s neck against the bony joint.
WAKING NIGHTMARE:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OCCuWlEcvU
Left in a slumped seat by this Waking Nightmare, Deschain offered no comment when Lady Fiona palmed her shoulders and stretched her out flat, but perhaps that was only because the blue-clad battler didn’t try for a cover. Rather she got to her feet and strutted to the edge of the ring to Sydney’s right. Hopping over the strands to the apron in a single bound, Waterford turned, grabbed the top rope in both hands and leapt onto it like a lightweight. This proved the perfect platform to launch herself into the aether like a rocket, a rocket that came down with its right elbow cocked up beside its ear to THWHUMP flush between her foe’s breasts.
SPRINGBOARD ELBOW DROP:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=LAFOLgNd3PY
Finally satisfied she’d tenderized the other woman to an acceptable degree, Fiona floated around into a Lateral Press that saw one hand pressed to Deschain’s jaw and the other palmed hard against her tummy. Pushed up on her toes, the Duchess of East Anglia nodded along for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Syd shot a shoulder up and swatted Waterford’s face aside, something the Brit was sure was far from accidental. “All right, insect. You want the humiliation to continue? Who am I to deny a crone’s final wish?”
‘Helping’ the Marvel to her feet with a sturdy grip of trunks and tresses, Fiona quickly transitioned to a Wristlock, which she used to send Deschain to a far corner. Whirling an instant before her spine BWUUUNGED against the buckles, Sydney sagged but stayed upright, presenting a tempting target to Waterford, who charged at once. Leaving her feet when there was still a respectable distance between them, Lady Fiona bowed forward at the apex, her board-flat tummy SMECKING heavily against Deschain’s face and chest.
But then a funny thing happened. Fiona didn’t strut away like she was supposed to.
Oh, she WANTED to, but instead of bouncing away from the American as per her plan, Waterford found herself glued in place because Syd had one arm crooked across the back of her head and another cinched tight around her left thigh. This awkward development grew far more menacing when Deschain trudged out of the corner, her every step taking Lady Fiona farther and farther from the safety of the ropes.
“Release me!” Waterford barked in between trying to jab her left elbow into the side of Sydney’s noggin. It was a good effort, however the rivals were wedged so close together that the Royal Terror couldn’t do more than nudge the other brunette. Fighting to keep the panic out of her voice when Deschain turned around, Fiona snapped, “I mean it, toad! Set me on my feet right now or you’ll suffer as no othHHHHOOAAHHNGGH!”
FROM OUTTA LEFT FIELD @ 4:19
www.youtube.com/watch?v=7dpApSqbiEQ
Sydney dropped into a near squat-thrust, then popped up on her heels and laid out on her back to fling Waterford up, over and down with a THWHUMPING Exploder. Fee landed hard on the back of her head and shoulders, flopped onto her stomach and laid still, save for the occasional tap of one boot against the mat.
The none-too-subtle shiver running through the ring told Deschain she had a moment or two to herself so she pushed to one knee and rolled the back of her neck, trying to work out the kinks left in the wake of Waterford’s attention. While they didn’t go away entirely they did fade to an acceptable level, which was Sydney’s cue to get up and stalk over to the woozy wrestler.
Digging both hands into Fiona’s hair like she thought she might fire up at any moment, the Mangler hauled her foe to boot-leather, then stuffed her head under Waterford’s left arm and applied a high, tight Waistlock for good measure. No theatrics or even preamble, Sydney simply snapped off another bridge, one that ended with the former Intercontinental Champion driven into mat full length. Unlike the previous bridge, this one didn’t break on completion, in truth it got higher and tighter because Deschain pushed up onto her toes. A long time aficionado of the Northern Lights Suplex, Al Carpenter took half a whisper to admire the execution before swooping in to count…
NORTHERN LIGHTS SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=QS3KIQRzWZE
ONE…
TWO…
Waterford shot a hand up and SMACKED her attacker’s tummy hard enough to break both bridge and cover with a full second to spare. Syd sat back on her haunches, tucked hair behind her ears and ‘flicked’ her togs a little tighter across her glutes. Then she grabbed Fiona’s left wrist and used it to turn the Englishwoman onto her stomach. The Wristlock transformed into a Hammerlock and Deschain pressed her free hand into the side of Waterford’s face, a move that was simultaneously about control and mat dominance. Placing one knee into the small of her rival’s back, the Marvel tugged on the Hammerlock before she asked, “Are we done here, Fiona? Or do I have to throw you some more?”
Fiona remembered snickering at Sue Burlingame when Deschain forced her into a similar predicament in January. Now that she was experiencing it for herself, she failed to see the humor. “In what world is a Hammerlock enough to force me out of a match?” Lady Fiona hissed. “You must think I’ve gone as soft as you!” She punctuated that little observation by reaching blindly behind her head in hopes of getting the Yank’s hand off her cheek.
This task she accomplished with relative ease, yet it came with an exceptionally high price that Fiona only discovered when Sydney seized control of that wrist and pinioned it up beside her other hand. A few minute adjustments let her control both of Waterford’s wrists with one hand, leaving the other free to do whatever the veteran pleased. As such, she mussed Fee’s hair for several seconds, then pressed her face against the mat when the Duchess squealed her hatred. When the tantrum subsided, Syd ran her free hand through her hair and said, “It’s interesting Fiona, I spanked Susan like a brat to start this tour and in certain circles she’s considered American royalty. Seems only right that I’d continue the trend by doing the same to some actual royalty.”
Fiona’s microadjustments had been subtle but constant, she was certain she could escape the galling tableau if the Mangler ran her mouth long enough. But she froze solid when Deschain’s threat reached her ears. After a hateful silence broken only by some drunken lout shouting ‘SPANK THAT ASS, SYDNEY!’ Lady Fiona Waterford found her voice. “We both know I can’t stop you at the moment, but if you so much as touch my trunks, you have my word that this will be the last time anyone sees you in a wrestling ring… or in publ--”
CRAAACK!
Too intrigued by the threat to back down, Sydney curved her hand into a slightly cupped paddle and brought it down on the coat of arms for all she was worth. Fiona bellowed with rage only to cut it off behind clenched teeth so the rabble wouldn’t hear the pain in her voice. As thorough and methodical with her humiliations as she was with her more traditional holds, Deschain treated her rival to ten butt-blistering swats, each tallied and logged by the FAWNatics with gleeful enthusiasm.
“That’s it,” Waterford grunted once ‘TEN!’ faded into the background. “You’re a dead woman. And the instant they wheel you out of here I’ll set to dismantling your legaCCEEERRRGGGGGHHH BLOOOOODY COOOOOOOW!”
Though it appeared cruelly superflous at first glance, Syd’s wedgie actually served a dual purpose. First, it replaced Waterford’s threats with pained yowling, which was always music to the veteran’s ears. Second, if Fiona was preoccupied by the new thong cutting into her fore and aft, she couldn’t stop the Mangler from hauling her upright, which was exactly what Syd did. Relinquishing the Hammerlocks to snuggle in that much closer against the Brit’s back, Deschain forced Waterford’s left arm high overhead with a Half Nelson and added a few more catty points to her lifetime total by reaching around and patting Fee’s left breast in supremely condescending fashion. The Royal Terror went wild with rage, alas, it couldn’t stop Sydney from wrapping her up around the waist. Feet set good and flat, Deschain dipped down, popped her hips and flipped Fiona over onto the back of her head with a sickening THWHUNK!
HALF NELSON SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nx2KLCwugAs
Folded up like an accordion by the Half Nelson Suplex, Waterford tumbled to one side and managed to earn a bit of grudging applause when she started to fight to all fours. Lest you think the fans were starting to warm to her antics, they cheered all louder when Deschain cupped both hands under the Brit’s chin and dragged her back to her feet. Keeping one hand against the back of Waterford’s head to make sure she stayed doubled over, the Mangler sidled in from the right and twined her left leg around Fiona’s right thigh. In the same move she reached over, laid claim to the other brunette’s left arm and wrenched it up and toward her at the same time she slung her right leg over the back of Waterford’s neck.
Galvanized by the thought of getting trapped in an Octopus in her current state, Fiona twisted her head violently to the left. It didn’t stop Deschain from completing the hold and craaaaaaaaanking back, but it did put the Duchess’s mouth only inches away from Syd’s bare calf.
“What do you say, Fiona?” Al asked as the modified Abdominal Stretch threatened to bring Waterford to her knees. “Do you want to give it--”
“AAAAAAHHHH SSSHHHHHIIIIT YOU BITCH!”
The exclamation was so abrupt and painful that the ref thought it was coming from Waterford, it wasn’t until she wrenched an arm loose and shrugged Deschain’s leg off her head that he realized it’d come from the Marvel. Almost free now, Fiona wriggled into what remained of the pretender’s hold and delivered a parting gift in the form of a stubby little elbow that connected with the dead center of Sydney’s trunks. The remnants of the Octopus disintegrated at once as Sydney doubled over with both hands wedged between her aching thighs.
Showing no joy in her newfound freedom, Lady Fiona cupped her hands under Deschain’s exposed chin and twisted around so they were back-to-back, albeit with Sydney’s head bent over the Englishwoman’s right shoulder at a precarious angle. Fiona sprang the trap as soon as it was set, dropping to her knees to THWHUNK Syd’s noggin with a modified Hangman’s Neckbreaker.
KNEELING HANGMAN'S NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=F3Y_CiR0jKk
Deschain reeled forward and dropped to her knees but went no farther, a show of wherewithal that disgusted her opponent to no end. Circling around so she was posted off to the American’s right, Waterford pivoted on her on her left foot to bring her right leg, up, over and DOWN, the bony plank of her shin TWHACKING against the base of Sydney’s neck. That finally sent the other brunette all the way to the canvas, not that the Royal Terror allowed her more than a second or two to appreciate her new surroundings.
“You know what happens to brats who think they can embarrass me and get away with it?” Waterford growled as she pulled Syd up just high enough to apply a Front Facelock. “They lose their bloody heads.” Jerking the stunned grappler to her feet, Fiona bolstered the Facelock by slipping her right arm under Deschain’s left bicep in a Single Underhook. With that arm out of the way and the other offering no resistance of consequence, Fiona snapped over and down to land on her back while the Marvel THWHUNKED down full force on the back of her head and neck.
SINGLE UNDERHOOK NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbeO5iFBcGE
Sydney bounced to a seat and wrapped both arms around the back of her head, either to protect it from more punishment or to keep her brains from leaking out her ears. It worked, if only because Waterford shoved her shoulders to the mat, slid across her chest in a Lateral Press and grrrrrrrrrrroooound a forearm against the American’s jaw to drive home the point. “Stay down, skag!” Fee barked as Carpenter dropped to one knee for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Deschain kicked her legs and turned onto her side, ending the count far earlier than the Englishwoman would’ve liked. Al expected to get the rough side of Waterford’s tongue, but she only flared her nostrils and nodded to no one in particular. Continuing her apparent quest to remove Sydney’s head from her shoulders, Fiona got to her feet, curled her fingers around Deschain’s waistband and hauled her up alongside. A single Kneelift landed *just* beneath Sydney’s navel, it wasn’t a genuine Low Blow but considering the nauseated state of her innards it proved more than enough to double her over.
“If you won’t stay down I’ll have to lift you up.” Fiona told the FAWNatics once she’d sidled in against her prey’s right hip. “Higher and higher each time, so the next drop is always worse than the one that came before.”
She leaned forward, wrapped her arms around the Mangler’s gulping waist and, in an impressive show of strength, muscled Sydney up onto the point of her right shoulder. While there were all sorts of ways to deliver punishment from this particular position, only one fell in line with Fiona’s theme. It entailed halving the Gutwrench and reaching up with her left hand to cup Deschain’s chin. In the next instant she kicked a leg forward and laid out full length to THAWHAM Sydney into the canvas courtesy the nastiest Neckbreaker yet.
GUTWRENCH NECKBREAKER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=9-8da56rjww
Syd sat up again but she couldn’t muster protection for her abused skull, in fact she settled out in a weary puddle and didn’t move until Waterford shoveled her onto her back. Showing a bit more fire with her cover now, Lady Fiona dropped across the American’s chest in a miniature Splash, hooked both legs behind the knee and damned near folded her in half for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
The Marvel shrugged her off, earning a roar from the crowd and a snarl from the Royal. Hands on her thighs, Waterford fixed the flagging fighter with a disgusted look and snarled, “If the threat of a broken neck won’t keep you down, perhaps the promise of a fractured skull will.” Plunging her hands into Sydney’s hair, she knee-walked into the center of the ring, dragging the American along cavewoman style. Fiona settled into a proper seat when they were well clear of the ropes, then spread her legs in a welcoming ‘V’ and drew Deschain in so the back of her head was wedged tight against the other brunette’s tummy. Moving with the casual ease of someone who’d had years of experience, Waterford crooked her left leg up under Syd’s chin and tucked that ankle into the pit of her right knee, thus completing a textbook Figure Four Headscissors.
Balanced on her left hand like it was a kickstand, Lady Fiona carefully brushed some loose strands of hair off her foe’s forehead before she delivered the first crushing squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze. Sydney made an ugly rasping sound deep in the back of her throat and slammed a heel against the mat, but that was it as far as a show of discomfort. Simultaneously angered and impressed that the Marvel could endure that sort of pressure after her Neckbreaker barrage, Waterford gripped her left foot in her right hand and pulled it toward her, drawing the noose around Deschain’s neck that much tighter.
Make no mistake about it, Sydney was suffering a great deal and a loud voice in her head was demanding she kick and thrash until free of the head-crushing predicament. Yet it was the quieter, colder voice she followed. The one that reminded her that Fiona was quick to anger if denied her will. All she had to do was hold out long enough and the Duchess of East Anglia would give her an opportunity. Of course, holding out was easier said than done with Waterford’s thighs against her ears so hard she couldn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in her temples. Knowing her face had gone a distressing shade of red by feel rather than sight, Syd abruptly crooked her hands into claws and gouged them into the dense meat of Fiona’s gams.
Lady Waterford hissed, then actually yelped when the desperate Yank raaaaaaaaked stinging welts from her bikini-line all the way down to her knees and back again. She got in two more scorings before the blue-clad Briton dropped to her tush, sacrificing a bit of elevation and leverage to snatch hold of her prey’s wrists. Wrenching Deschain’s arms straight out at her sides, Fiona bore down to the point of inviting cramps and was delighted to hear Sydney whistle like a teakettle that’d learned to scream.
“Give it up!” she demanded of the fuzzy-headed, red-faced brunette. “If you deny me a submission your unconsciousness will not be a pleasant thing.” Fiona hinted at just how unpleasant it could be by bundling Syd’s wrists in one hand so she could maul her left breast with the other.
Shaking her head was all but impossible, as was waggling a finger, so Deschain burned some precious oxygen to hiss, “Duuuuhhh…. don’t waste my time… Fee. We both know you’re about to leggOHHHHNNNNNGGGHH!”
Fiona twisted over onto her stomach, then pushed up on both hands. While it was a perfect opportunity to slam Deschain’s obnoxious face into the canvas, Waterford decided on something a bit more showy. With her chin tucked against her chest, she put the crown of her head against the mat and ‘hupped’ herself over in a slow motion somersault made all the more impressive because Sydney was still locked in the Headscissors. Deschain THWHAMMED spine-first into the deck. Fiona took a moment to smirk for the ‘ooohhhing’ masses, then rolled onto her tummy and repeated the body-breaking somersault a second time. And a third. And a fourth. And a fifth. Pausing to catch her breath after the last, Fiona leaned forward and grabbed a huge handful of hair.
“YOU’RE DONE!” she barked into Sydney’s gurgling features. “SAY IT!”
The gasping Mangler reached up, gripped her attacker’s intruding wrist and squeezed until she felt bones grind. “Kiss. My. Ass.” she hissed.
Spurred to near madness by the defiance and the cramps she felt blossoming deep in her thighs, Waterford rolled onto her belly for a sixth time, planted hard on both hands and, “WHOOOAAHHH WHAT’RE YOU DOING! SET ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!”
Fiona’s grand finale went all sorts of sideways when Deschain got a knee under her and wrapped both arms around the Englishwoman’s thighs. Anchoring them both to the canvas as firmly as she could, Sydney shuffled and groaned, then bellowed with triumph when she stood up with Waterford seated firmly on her shoulders. Patently astonished by this shift in position, Fiona gave up the Figure Four for a more traditional Headscissors and bore down with all her might in the hopes of stealing Deschain’s legs before the predicament got much worse. Sydney did stagger and the FAWNatics held their breath, but they cheered it all out when the veteran snatched hold of Waterford’s blue briefs and made them downright scant courtesy a vicious upwards tug. Sydney jerked and twisted on the wedgie until she felt the Duchess’s ankles unlock, then she put both hands against the backs of Fee’s thighs and gave ‘em a rough shove. Waterford popped off Sydney’s shoulders and dropped all of six inches before the Marvel caught her in a mid-air Waistlock and bridged back to THAWHAM her burden into the mat with a German Suplex complete with gorgeous bridge. Quick on the draw despite his surprise, Al sank to one knee and counted off…
ELECTRIC CHAIR GERMAN SUPLEX:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyA_EKhggns
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOOOOOO!
Fiona wrenched her hips loose and tumbled onto her belly with a whisper to spare. Too exhausted and sore to argue with the near fall, Deschain just rolled to one knee and took in deep breaths while trying to work a thousand different kinks from her neck. The ref was about halfway through his standing ten count when Syd got to her feet and trudged around to Fiona’s head.
“All right your highness,” she leaned over, worked her fingers into Waterford’s battle-damp locks, “it’s time you acknowledged the real royalty in this riNNNGGHH!”
Fiona let Deschain pull her as far as her knees, that’s when the crafty brunette took hold of her foe’s ankles and swept her legs out from underneath. The back of Sydney’s head bounced off the thinly-sheathed plywood an instant before Waterford stood up and stretched the American’s legs into a wide, exposed ‘V’. “Now you’ll see, insect. Now you’ll see.” Fiona stepped through with her right leg and crossed Deschain’s gams over her thigh in a compressed ‘X’. “I am FAWN’s only true QUEEN and its only genuine MARVELLLRRGGHHH!”
Waterford had squatted down to better turn Sydney onto her tummy and paid dearly for it when the American sat up and palmed the back of her neck in one hand. Drawing the struggling brunette closer still, Deschain THWHAPPED away at Fiona’s head until she let loose of those captured legs to better defend herself.
Rather than slide her way to safety, Syd grabbed Fiona’s wrists, pivoted onto her left hip and jerked the startled beauty onto the canvas in a facedown sprawl. The Duchess of East Anglia was still trying to clear her head when Deschain stepped onto the backs of her thighs and grasped her ankles.
“NO!” Fiona went wild, twisting and writhing like a downed power line even as the other brunette locked Waterford’s shins against her own at an unpleasant angle.
Halfway to the Whispering Scream, Sydney put her hands on her hips and bounced slightly, earning a pained growl from her opposition. “Who’s the queen of this mat, Fiona?” she huffed. “Say it loud enough and maybe I won’t fold you in half.”
Braced by her elbows, Waterford shook her head ’no’ and snarled, “You’re looking at her, bytch. And you’re the only thing folding tonight.”
Deschain smirked at the other woman’s confidence. “Hope you’ve been working your core, Fee. You’re about to show those abs to the whole world.” Syd dropped into a tense crouch, reached for the Englishwoman’s wrists and let out a surprised little shriek when managed to grab her instead. Jerking on her tether with the intent of dislocating a shoulder or hyper-extending an elbow, Waterford settled for laying the startled Yank out directly beside her. Eyes alight with wicked triumph, Fee scrambled to her knees, buried both hands in Sydney’s hair and thwunk-thwhunk-THWHUNKED her forehead against the mat.
That trio of concussive blows stopped the Mangler from doing much more than tagging along when Fiona got to her feet immediately thereafter. “The only thing I’ll show the world,” she twisted to one side, bent over and curled her right arm around Deschain’s waist, Sidewalk Slam-style, “is how truly pathetic the years have made you.” With her left arm wedged in behind the stunned woman’s knees, Fiona hoisted Syd up under her arm, then swung her up into a gut-first perch atop her right shoulder. Swinging around in a circle to keep the crippled technician off balance while she pinioned her left arm between her shoulders with a Hammerlock. Planted firmly in the center of the squared circle, Fiona glared daggers at the nearest camera and promised, “I’ll be taking over this farce of a tour next month. My first stop? The FAWN World Champion, be it West OR LondUUUUFFFFHH!”
Sydney drilled her knees into the Royal Terror’s back, then bucked her legs and slid backward to land on Waterford’s six. Fiona rounded on her with a looping Haymaker, unfortunately it was beaten to its target by the Toe Kick Deschain slammed into her navel. Taking Fee’s head like it was the gift she’d always wanted, Syd stuffed it between her thighs and slipped both arms under Waterford’s biceps to cinch in the Double Underhook. No title talk from Sydney, she only dipped her knees and-- Waterford bore down with everything she had left, the tenacious, terrible Englishwoman denying the Deschain Driver as emphatically as she could.
“No way out, Fiona.” Sydney punctuated each word with a stubby Kneelift to her rival’s tits. “Can’t break my grip. Can’t flip me. Can’t fight it!”
But fight it she did, Waterford burning through her reserves at a ferocious rate to keep her feet on the ground. Refusing to give into frustration, Deschain jostled the simple hold back ’n forth and added on more Kneelifts, each one striking heavy against Fiona’s tummy or tits. After more than a dozen she planted her feet, dropped her hips and pulled-- Waterford dropped to one knee, stopping the Driver dead in its tracks.
“Whaaaa…. what’s the matter luv?” Fiona sounded impossibly smug for someone in one of the least enviable positions in all of FAWN. “Have you finally started to realize you’re not in my NNNNNGGGGGGGGH!”
Sydney hopped up and leeeeeaned forward to stand Waterford most of the way up despite having an American draped down her back. Then Sydney swung back down and dropped to a seat to THWHUNK her opponent’s face into the mat with a Sit-Out version of the Drop Out made famous by Cynthia Mitchell.
JUMPING DOUBLE UNDERHOOK FACEBUSTER:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=EJ62JoAYeXQ
Completely unprepared for this offensive audible, Fiona snapped up onto her knees and immediately flopped onto her back in a dazed starfish. A short distance away, Sydney contemplated picking her foe up and spiking her with the Driver out of sheer spite. In the end she decided against it. Let Fiona escape without any real head trauma, there were still plenty of ways to finish her off.
And Syd knew just the one.
Clambering to her feet, she trudged over to Waterford and shoveled the dazed Duchess onto her stomach before dragging her to all fours. After a quick look around told her the ropes were out of play, Deschain swung her right leg over Fiona’s left shoulder so she could trap British bicep in the ‘V’ in the pit of her knee. Once one arm was trapped, Deschain seized her rival’s right wrist and stretched her arm out at an awkward angle that allowed her to mirror the proceedings on the other side. From there Sydney slid down onto her butt, a move that rolled Fiona into a seat as well, one that saw her arms wrenched backward in a painfully wide ’Y’. Almost done now, Sydney leaned forward, laced her fingers across the base of Waterford’s neck and PULLED forward while PUSHING out with her legs.
LAMENT CONFIGURATION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWeAXvBm3b4
Wailing aloud as the Lament Configuration did awful things to her neck and shoulders, Fiona gained control of her agony just long enough to shout, “NO!” when Carpenter asked if she wanted to submit. Syd didn’t bother to make any inquiries of her own, she merely rocked back n’forth and flexed her stems to keep the Duchess in constant pain.
Unable to shake her head due to the other brunette’s clasp, Fiona tried shifting around to bite Deschain’s forearm, but that ended with Syd halving the grip long just enough to SMACK her opponent’s face. Reapplying with additional pressure, she forced the Englishwoman’s arms that much farther back. “It’s over, Fiona.” Deschain said after several more seconds. “Tap out before you pass out.”
“Sod off!” Waterford, kicked her legs up and managed to land a few rough knees to Sydney’s lower back, but it wasn’t nearly enough to get her free of the agonizing human knot.
“So you’d rather these people heard you scream? Fine. If that’s what you want.” Sydney let loose of Fiona’s head, grabbed hold of those dark blue cups and pulled up, freeing the Englishwoman’s breasts in a sweaty tumble.
“CHEAP SLUT!” Lady Fiona howled. “I’LL SEE THAT YOU AAAAAARRRGGGGHHHHH STAAAAAHP!” Deschain pinched Waterford’s nipples between thumb and forefinger and twisted in opposite direction. “YOU BLOODY SAVAGE! LET GO OF MY TITS!” Fiona’s feet resumed their kicking, but not with any offense in mind, this was only the frantic, pained spasms of a rabbit caught in a snare.
Sydney didn’t relent, in fact she added a none too subtle pulling, twisting and rolling to the other woman’s defenseless bits. “You want these back, your highness? Take them back! Or make me give them. You know the words that’ll make that happen.”
Fiona shook her head wildly ‘no’, a reaction which did nothing for her already strained neck. “NEVER! I WILL NOT LET HISTORY RECOGNIZE YOU AS THE BETTER WOMOOOOOOOWW AAAAAAAWWWWWW GAAAAAAHHHD!”
Sydney drew the coil that much tighter and pinched down that much harder. “You’re gonna give me a souvenir one way or another, Fiona. Only you can decide if it’s verbal or something a bit more tangible.”
Fiona had a sudden nightmare image of Susan planting her lips of Deschain’s cheeks, only it wasn’t the heiress puckering up, it was herself. Seeking to avoid that at all cost, she nodded as best she could and swatted at the American’s thighs as well. “Fine! Dear lord, I give! Just leave my tits alone!”
Sydney looked to Carpenter, who’d already turned away to signal the Timekeeper. She released the hold and pushed to one knee when the bell CLANGED. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission… SYDNEY DESCHAIN!”
The Marvel didn’t rise just yet, she was too busy lifting Fiona to a seat. “Something tells me you’re not going to need or want this for a while.” She undid the strap on Waterford’s bra and peeled it up over her head, much to the delight of those assembled. Setting Fee down flat, Syd got to her feet and nudged the Englishwoman’s arm aside when she tried to cover her abused bounty. “Right there is just fine.” Deschain planted a foot atop each of Fiona’s biceps, keeping her arms pinned flat for an unobstructed Gladiatrix shot.
Raising Fiona’s bra like a title belt, the Mangler eventually tucked it into her waistband, then put her hands on her hips and pressed a boot down on Waterford’s breasts. Fee wheezed but otherwise did nothing, she was too exhausted to stop the American from claiming her prize. While she could’ve posed over Fiona long enough to build a whole calendar, Syd knew her time for the night was drawing to a close, so she settled for shoveling the other brunette onto her belly and placing one foot flush on the coat of arms adorning Waterford’s lovely bum. Then she raised one hand high and extended three fingers. “That’s three down.” she said softly. “And nine to go.”