Post by SammieSinclair on Jul 7, 2014 10:48:54 GMT
The very few ‘Polly Patriots’ in the arena shoot to their feet when the house speakers spark to life with the pounding of Metallica’s “Don’t Tread on Me”.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
But quickly behind comes the stretching of vocal cords providing their disapproval to the Young Americans’ Benedict Arnold. And while once upon a time this musical cue would spur a round of enthusiastic shouts and cheers, the crowd’s cascade of boos is deafening.
The PA barely breaks through the jeers.
“The next match is for FAWN’s Lightweight Championship and will be a NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH.”
The crowd momentarily changes their tune, loving the idea of the champ lighting up Polly throughout the entire arena.
“Hailing from Buffalo, NY...”
The jeering suddenly rivals that for Portia VanBuren or Lisa Dream, an impressive feat.
“Standing 5 feet 1 inch tall, and weighing in tonight at 118 scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome. Ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE American... POOOLLLLLLYYY LOOOCCCKKKWWWOOOOOODDD!!!!!”
POLLY LOCKWOOD
The haters only get louder when Lockwood strides confidently to centre stage, bringing a crisp salute to her brow. When the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight while the others recede. The FAWNatics are not amused and they let the smirking Lockwood know it.
And, amazingly, the volume grows further when Lockwood lifts the lightweight title belt with her opposite hand. Having been pilfered from the true champion during the last Pay-Per-View, Polly treats the gold as if it were her own, hugging it close as she starts her way down the ramp.
While Polly’s accompaniment, demeanour and success ratio has changed since her decision to find her own ‘American Dream’, her flag waving-worthy wardrobe remains. The tiny blonde hardbody sports the former Young Americans’ standard uniform of hot pants and bikini top. Tonight, Polly alternates her country’s colours between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
Continuing her recent habit, the True American wears Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak. She spreads her arms wide, showing off her stars-n-stripes as she walks down the ramp and aisle, turning up her nose at those confused fools unsure if it’s OK to boo Polly when the flag of their homeland is so prominently held behind her. They manage.
Polly marches to the ring with all the self-possessed superiority of a Fox News anchor, ignoring the insults and the jeers.
Reaching the ring, the patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood shrugs off her flag cum cape, draping it over her corner, but she continues to clutch her unofficial property.
She turns to the upper stage, awaiting the little brat who might want it back, BUT couldn’t have it.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer returned to centre ring, a renewed, warm buzz from the crowd welcoming his arrival and, more to the point, the words he was about to utter. “Introducing her opponent, the People’s Princess! SAMAN--”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gj_V_gKI4Q&list=PLPuOyWan3CRuPoCuzoiHkAq0VNWg308E4
...but before he could even utter another word he was effortlessly drowned out, the speakers blasting the opening guitar riff which was so positively upbeat, so infused with pep that it could only be one person. Samantha Sinclair, the TRUE Lightweight Champion, burst out from the behind the curtains in almost perfect harmony with the lyrics, striding out onto the stage and the majority of those in the iconic arena began cheering, the enthusiasm of the greeting reserved only for FAWN’s most Babyface of Factions and their Babyface Allies!
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
The arena was rocking, even as the Loyalist Legionnaires were momentarily caught flat footed, the sprite of their affections forgoing her usual stage based introductions and instead continuing her swift stride down the ramp and towards the squared circle. All was not amiss however, not as she greeted the masses with the brightest of smiles none the less, a proud mane of chocolate curls bouncing about her slender shoulders, the Little Lioness every bit as warm towards her fans as ever.
She did pause for a few moments, perhaps incapable of remaining utterly focused on one thing for too long as she stopped for half a step mid way towards her destination to launch into a swift circle. She was shimmering in her golden/yellow attire as she twirled with arms outstretched with impish swagger, the snug sports bra and boy cut shorts slipping about her every, crowd pleasing curve and petite mass in all the right places. Her sapphire boots, reached upwards towards her knees, along with pads and gloves that were the same shade that completed the ensemble. The FAWNatics greeted the salute with a fresh pop of applause, those closest to the aisle cheering louder as she reached out to clasp hands and exchange smiles before heading back down towards the squared circle.
Her eyes, baby brown and bright, found the focus of her distraction without hesitation, zeroing in on Lockwood and her stolen property with a recognition that could sour even her peppy disposition. She huffed as she clenched her fists and marched without further delay, button nose twitching in clear and present danger of her Babyface dander, Polly now the sole focus of her flash pan fury and intense, if swift temper.
Once within a few feet she raised her hands up high, holding them above her head as the Loyalist Legionnaires voiced their pleasure that she would not forgo this one Sinclair tradition, joining in as she made the wordless promise. As one they clapped...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!...?
Sammie’s arms dropped before she clapped the third time, allowing her faithful followers to fill in the void for her with a thunderous collection of palms colliding as one, taking the moment to launch into a sudden and unexpected sprint. The moment the Pyrokenetics erupted on cue; the People’s Princess had leapt up onto the ring apron, the explosion of light and sound accompanying her charge as she grasped the top rope and hurled her mighty mite mass upwards, the Tiny Titan bunny hopping her blue booted feet up to standing atop the uppermost coil.
The rubber coated steel flexed alarming with the momentum and it was with a loud “WHOOP!!” by way of war cry that Sammie sprung into the air, the Match Bell “CLANGING” at that exact moment as the Little Sparrow took flight, diving into a Thesz Press without warning!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvpPkitgpi4
Green eyes going wide as Sinclair times her springboard to the bell OR a helpful timekeeper does it for her, Polly tries to get some defences up but can't match the speed and fury of the Golden Girl. Lockwood is sent to her back under the straddling Sammie, the belt still lying atop her chest. Sammie plugs wild right and lefts into Polly's face, the True American getting her arms up to block some of the blows, but unable to stop them all.
The official starts to demand Sammie open her fists but remembers this is a no DQ.
Finally, Polly shoves Sammie to the side and scrambles away, leaving Sinclair to reclaim her gold for what the crowd hopes will be only the first time tonight. Meanwhile, Polly scampers in retreat, crawling out under the bottom ropes and scurrying to outside the far side of the ring where she holds up a hand, begging off Sinclair.
The brunette, having already handed her gold off to a FAWN flunky, isn't in the mood and she sprints to the ropes, throwing herself through and connecting with a suicide dive into the blonde hardbody, thumping into Lockwood and sending Polly's spine crashing against the metal barrier.
The SMECK of a young, nubile body colliding with a steel obstacle was audible, and the FAWNatics could barely catch their breath as the Upstart that many of them adored had began the contest at a hundred and seemed intent on raising it to a thousand. Never had Samantha begun a contest on such a solid front foot, and as the gold clad lass untangled herself from her Challenger she seemed to be revelling in it, standing back and preventing Lockwood from slumping downwards to the concrete, dragging her forwards into a side headlock instead.
With a button nose scrunched up in anger, freckled cheeks flushing a crimson hue as they were puffed out, Sinclair reached about to seize her rivals own and squeezed the sculptured feature between thumb and finger. She smirked, the Little Sparrow looking suddenly impish, twisting her wrist to make a point.
“Feel free to apologise anytime, the world hates a filthy thief!”
Sammie forces Polly's mug into a 'fish face' as she squeezes her foe's cheeks together then releases to let Lockwood say she's sorry. Instead, the True American flames Sammie's tender ears with some curses, ending with notice that the blonde had simply collected what would be hers a little ahead of time.
Sinclair doesn't seem to particularly like that response and she tugs and twists Polly's noggin some more. The challenger's hands rise to Sammie's hips and she tries to shove the People’s Princess off and into the apron in front of them.
It was with a certain amount of shock that she was shoved away, Samantha meeping as she stumbled forwards, the head of her opponent popping free from its confines as she swept her hands up to halt her fall. She did so well enough, the Lightweight Champion bracing her tiny mass against the apron with little incident, scrunching up her adorable nose in a frankly less than threatening manner before pivoting swiftly, one perfectly athletic stem swinging upwards and around to connect with her opponents temple.
Just happy to free of the champ's grip, Polly takes a deep breath and draws her flowing flaxen locks off her face, only to have Sammie's azure boot thump into the side of her noggin. The Star-Spangled Bytch stumbles away in the direction opposite the impact and falls to one knee. A hand rises and curls around the steel pipe making up the top of the barrier holding the fans in place. Shaking her head, she struggles to rise. Her inexorable push to the title has hit an unexpected and sizable snag in the form of a freckled Brit and Polly wheels to face her and make her pay.
Samantha, however, did not remain idle, a half smile upon her spritely features as she made a half turn, the spiral of her kick flowing smoothly through into a short sprint and a quick hop. She was up on the apron once more, the Bright Eyed Wonder living up to her namesake as she skipped into a precariously balanced dash, arms outstretched into a T as though she were running a tight rope.
Just as she was about to run out of ring to charge across, Sammie leapt, taking flight with limbs uncoiling into a beguiling Splash!
Again caught with her stars-n-stripes down, Polly barely gets turned before Sammie is airborne. The former tag teamer gets her arms up to catch the Brit, but with Sinclair's momentum behind her, she's unable to keep her feet. The crossbody collision sends Polly crashing to the thinly padded cement, sandwiched underneath the People's Princess, the blonde grunting when she hits the floor, Sammie atop her.
The referee seems flummoxed for a moment, then remembering another stipulation is that falls count anywhere; he dives out of the ring and slaps the floor for...
ONE!
TWO!!
Polly pushes Sinclair off in time.
Her relief was not shared by the majority of the FAWNatics; although a handful of them had courage enough to voice their support as the Challenger bucked the Champion free. Sammie rolled with it, tumbling with good grace across the cold concrete before settling across her back, a small shiver shaking her frame as she felt chilled by the cement in a not entirely unpleasant manner. Settled across her slender shoulders the Most Prolific of the Sinclair curled her legs up high and tucked into a ball, one that lasted for just a heartbeat before she POPPED into the most crowd pleasing Kip Up in FAWN!
Upright and assured, proud mane of chocolate curls tickling her nearly bare shoulders, the Golden Girl stood proud and ready as she turned her determined gaze back towards Lockwood. “Did you really think that you could just steal it?” she questioned, bringing herself about and willing the equally young woman opposite to rise, “of everyone I’ve fought, you’re the only one I would call a coward!”
The words seem to energize Lockwood and she pushes to her feet though not quite with the 'kippy-ness' of Sinclair. "You're calling a TRUE American...THE TRUE American a coward?" Polly makes sure to shout the words to help draw the Florida crowd to her side.
Sammie responds "You're not a true American. You're a true cowUHHH."
Sinclair doesn't get to finish as Lockwood lands a forearm shiver to the brunette's jaw. She follows with another and another, backing Sammie down the apron. Grabbing Sinclair's wrist after the fourth such blow, Polly pivots.
"You'll see a TRUE American is what I am and that a TRUE American will kick your ass." The challenger shifts her mass, trying to Irish Whip the Leader of the Upstart Nation down the line and into the waiting steel ringsteps.
With her ears suddenly ringing, Sammie continued her stumbles backwards with the smallest of half steps, blinking her pretty peepers in an attempt to shake the bright spots from them. It was in this bewildered state that her wrist was seized, the young woman with a heart (as well as guise) of gold seeming to surrender her limb meekly. As Polly pivoted and yanked, the Tiny Titan within the blondes grasp went with her, whipped around in a wide paced semi circle until she was ready to be released...only for the brunette to slam the breaks on hard!!
With a adorable scrunching of her button nose, a somewhat failed attempt to appear intimidating, Sinclair displayed her tenacity in the face of blunt force trauma and moved to turn the tables, squaring her own shoulders to drag her Challenger into a collision with the steps herself. Only it didn’t happen, Polly slamming on her own breaks and, with both their athletic stems braced apart and arms pulled outwards to their maximum extension, the two looked all the world like a pair of quarrelling puppies.
It was Lockwood who would prove the victor in the impromptu tug of war, the wide eyed Sammie taking her turn to be startled as she was suddenly YANKED forwards, ‘GUFFING!!” a great gasp of mournful air as her trim tummy was met by a blistering knee lift!! The weaponised joint buried itself deep and the English Export of Perfectly Petite Proportions was snapped into a sharp curve about the upraised leg of the vindictive American with a wild whipping of her delightful curls and a colouring of her freckled cheeks. The soles of her blue boots were bucked right up from off the concrete and Polly took absolute advantage of her utter lack of equilibrium, charging forwards, collecting her prey with her encircling grasp and charging the equally young woman into the waiting Steel Steps!!
The steps CLANG and reverberate when Sinclair hits the metal, leading with a shoulder then ending on her back, mewling in pain. Having come out on top in the countering contest, Polly enjoys the sight of Sammie wreckage, adding a couple of blistering boots for good measure.
"Matter of time, limey," she growls. "Matter of time." Polly places a boot on the cleft of the Brit's modest bosom and shouts at the official to make her champ.
ONE!
TWO!!
...and Sammie kicks out from under the arrogant pinning attempt!
Lockwood's face twists in anger. She sinks her fingers into the Upstarts chocolate locks and drags her off the floor. Slipping an arm between the champ's legs, Polly vaults Sinclair onto her right shoulder, into slamming position, and follows through, sending Sammie crashing atop the steps. Polly climbs to the apron one step above the splayed Sinclair. The True American launches into the air and drops toward the Englishwoman's tummy, intending to impale Sammie again, this time between knee and steel.
Womanhandled, as she so often was by the Hardbodies of her miniature division, Sammie cut a heartbreaking sight as she lay in pain atop the steel steeps, the unforgiving landscape a fortress her tormentors seemed determined to break her will against. She winced in pain, nibbling upon her bottom lip as she tried to curl her pained mass to cup her wounded back, shoulders arching as she remained resting with her petite bosom pushed upwards, an inviting target for the highflying Lockwood.
Polly had made a target of the Little Sparrow these last few months, and she didn’t miss this time, her own shout of victory drowning out Samantha’s fresh cry of torment as she was NAILED!! to her unwanted perch by her Challengers knee, the defences of her tummy demolished again by the attentions of that lethal limb. Sammie jerked and folded, shuddering as she attempted to roll free, the outside of the squared circle clearly as much her enemy as the Blonde who conspired to take her Title.
Lockwood grinds her joint into the taut ivory belly of the Brit, her perfect pearlies gritting in fury as she works it in deeper still. Finally satisfied, she rises and turns to the FAWNatics, arms raised high in a 'V'. "As Americans who cheer for this bytch, you don't deserve to have a True American represent you, but I will take on the task despite you!"
The crowd doesn't take to being called out, but there's little they can do. Polly turned away from Sammie, standing on the step below the brunette, drops her derriere into Sinclair's midriff one...two...three times before popping to her feet with a grin. Lockwood scrapes Sammie off the metal 'altar' and shoves her back in the ring, the People's Princess rolling to a stop on her back.
The blonde, meanwhile, takes the high road, climbing the corner on the outside to reach the top buckle. Sinclair isn't perfectly situated for a Lockwood Leap, not being on her chest, but Polly seems to forgo this fact. She launches HIGH into the atmosphere above Sammie, her taut tawny frame collapsing into a tight ball at its apex before spreading wide when she begins to plummet toward the champ's already bruised belly in a frog splash.
The blushed crimson of Sinclair’s bare tummy shone a shade in stark contrast to her golden outfit, the attire still shining even as she lay immobile, the Lightweight Champion looking anything but with her arms and legs outstretched. With such persistent punishment to her buckling midriff, Samantha struggled with laboured breathing, shallow and winded as her eyes remained half lidded, the young woman struggling to remain focused as Polly aspired to outdo her as she took flight.
Sinclair HUFFED as Lockwood’s flag attired mass managed to block out a few lights, the Bright Eyed Wonder taking it upon herself to pre-empt the blondes safe landing, sweeping her athletic stems up high before tucking them in tightly, her blue boots hugged in close to transform the formally prone, People’s Princess into a cherub cheeked hedgehog!
Lockwood's green eyes go wide with fright as she sees Sinclair's knees pointed to the sky and, more importantly, toward her taut abs. And though tight they may be, when tummy hits knees its Polly coming up the loser in this collision. Her splash a disaster, the True American hits HARD and rolls away, gasping and groaning as she hugs her midsection. Lying next to Sammie, Polly curls into a similar ball, but out of pain instead of protection. Lockwood rolls over and up to her knees, her forehead providing a third point of contact with the mat, her hands occupied as she continues to wrap arms around her gutted tummy.
Although she was never keen to admit it, Sammie had been on the wrong side of a botched landing more than enough times to know that it could leave even the most tenacious grappler in a bad way. Sinclair still felt winded, the full weight of Lockwood slamming down against her knees and compressing her pert bosom having done little to improve her mood, but she knew she had to start moving.
Not quite ready for a crowd pleasing Kip Up, the Most Prolific of the Sinclair’s instead renewed her determined ‘HUFF!’ and rolled over uneasily onto her side, following through onto the palms of her hands as she slowly (painfully so it seemed) pushed herself upwards. Her right shoulder met Polly’s left, the two of them tapping together as they engaged in a race of recovery, Sammie twitching her button nose before she surged, grappling across the equally miniature mass of her Challenger as she attempted to slip in a Full Nelson to keep the other young women still.
“I guess that’s why you prefer to splash people in the back huh?” she observed with a struggling breadth, rolling across the canvas with a panicked Lockwood who wriggled to remain free.
Her tummy still roiling, Polly nevertheless shakes, shimmies and rolls to break free from Sinclair, wanting nothing more than to remove the champion from her back. But when the Golden Girl's arms snake under and around those of the blonde, Sammie's fingers threading behind Lockwood's neck, things go from difficult to near impossible.
With Polly's chest and belly touching canvas, Sammie draws the blonde's head and shoulders off the mat with the full nelson, curving Polly's spine before SLAMMING her face back down. Her arms trapped by Sinclair, Lockwood's mug leads the way into the deck and the Brit isn't happy with just one impact, doubling, then tripling up on the challenger, leaving Polly glassy-eyed.
Satisfied that Lockwood had been rendered suitably mild mannered (a noticeable improvement to her demeanour by all accounts), Samantha allowed herself a moment longer for recovery, resting her forehead lightly against the back of Polly’s noggin. There was no time for luxuries, not in terms of time and she well knew it, the Leader of the Upstart Nation stealing her resolve as she locked the hold in a little tighter, bracing the soles of her boots against the canvas and ‘GRUNTING’ in a slightly less than flattering fasion as she dragged her burden back up to standing with her.
“I actually wanted to invite you into the Nation,” Sinclair confessed, her tone incapable of hiding her heartbreak, her disappointment at being so very wrong, “thank God Chloe could read you better!” With that she HUFFED again, puffing out her freckled cheeks as she whipped her frame backwards into a steep curve, aiming to drag Lockwood with her into a Wendy Smith approved Dragon Suplex!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWVcoyMqk_k
Lockwood starts to tell Sammie where she would have had to stick that offer, but before the wobbly Polly can, Sinclair rips the blonde off her moorings and sends the challenger over in a partial back flip. With Sammie hanging on, Polly only makes it to her head and shoulders, upon which she crashes down. The True American's body is piled atop itself, the champ holding on to a bridging pin for...
ONE!
TWO!!
THRNOO!!!
...with a split-second to spare, Lockwood sloughs to her side, rattled. As Sammie kips to her feet to a roar from the crowd, Polly makes it to all fours and crawls for cover, namely outside the ring, perhaps forgetting pins are possible anywhere in the arena tonight.
Sammie, however, seems to think that her Challenger might have the right idea, and the hint of mischief that sparkled within her eyes foretelling that she was about to do something she might regret. Experience, however, was not something she always learned from and, as she dashed for the nearby ropes opposite, it became quickly apparent to the Loyalist Legionnaires that the Tiny Titan of their affections had not been cowed by the mauling she had just received outside the squared circle.
She leapt into the coils, Samantha bouncing off them and, spying a target she could not refuse, dashed forwards with all her speed before correcting her trajectory and diving into a low dropkick, her athletic stems lancing out to plant the soles of her boots firmly upon the taunt toosh of her months long tormentor, aiming to ‘help’ the blonde on her way out...
Provided with a "turbo" boost, Polly flies out between the bottom and middle ropes, hitting the apron on the outside before tumbling to the floor in a heap. The star-spangled bytch snatches at her aching ass as she curses a red-white-and-blue streak, furious at Sammie's "help" in leaving the ring.
Sinclair pops to her feet and leaves the squared circle by more ordinary means, dropping to the floor on her feet next to Lockwood.
Polly spins to face the brunette, skidding her taut toosh in the opposite direction along the thinly padded cement, right hand raised plaintively. "Now hold on, Sammie," Polly chirps. "If I'd have known I could be an Upstart. Please...give me another chance."
Sammie blinked, pausing with half a step backwards with Polly’s sudden turn, her cherub cheeks and freckled features the picture of innocence her faithful followers were so familiar with. The bewilderment in her eyes was what made the FAWNatics soon despair, several of them voicing warning as the English Export of Perfectly Petite Proportions seemed to feel her heart waning, button nose no longer twitching as she held out her hand in welcome.
Sinclair took Lockwood’s outstretched paw in hers and, with a tug, pulled the pained young woman back up onto her feet, a hesitant smile upon her features. A smile that became a...smirk? With her dimple nose twitching in annoyance (fearsome fury!!) once more, Sammie revealed that she was perhaps sharper than she might occasionally let on, now yanking upon the Flag Attired Cows arm to drag her into a tight, front headlock.
“Sorry babe,” Samantha insisted, preparing to rock and flip them both backwards into a dizzying, Rolling Front Chancery, “but we got standards!”
@0:30
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHjK_G6KHxs&list=PLPuOyWan3CRt9D5q0QV7jOahlDdpDwYcY
Sinclair falls backward into a slick somersault, dragging Polly along with her. The brunette ends kneeling in Lockwood's lap, a tight, tough grip still around the Yankee's head. She tugs several mewling cries from Lockwood's lips before the True American balls her right hand and pecks away with kidney punches over Sinclair's hip, trying to convince the lightweight champion to let her go.
Sammie clearly didn’t like it, wincing as Polly’s sharp jabs dug in deep, tenderising her already wounded back and causing her sides to twitch and shudder. She held on tight, dropping down a firm forearm against the primed shoulders of her opponent in response to every rabbit punch, but soon found herself forced to nip her own bottom lip as the smallest meeps accompanied each expert blow, meeps of pain accompanying Lockwood’s grunts.
Eventually she opted to release, Lockwood popping back up to sitting like a spring, Sammie pouting with determination as she likewise remained sitting on her Challenger’s lap, winding her right limb backwards to launch a forearm towards a perky chin.
Polly's head snaps back from the force of the blow, but the challenger responds with one of her own that has the same affect on Sinclair. Sammie sends a salvo back and the two go at it, Yank responding to Brit and vice versa, time after time after time, the crowd chanting 'YAY' with every Sammie connection and 'BOO' with each from Polly. After a dozen such exchanges the Upstart blocks one of the True American's forearms and lands one to Polly's jaw. She blocks another from the blonde and doubles up. Blocks another and let’s loose with a storm of forearms until a battered Polly is left splayed on her back, looking up into the lights in a foggy daze.
Sammie slumps forwards, not in much condition to celebrate her mini victory in their fierce trade off, pretty peepers glassy and ears ringing, her forwards collapse halted only by planting both of her palms down firmly upon her rivals slumped shoulders. As her own curls slipped down past her cheeks to obscure her features, she gazed down upon the dull eyed blonde as she straddled the equally proud young women’s hips between her own, open thighs; the Official quickly catching on that this was a pin, and not only a prime moment for the Gladiatrix photographers to capture.
ONE!
TWO!!
Lockwood imperiously shoved herself over onto her side and, where once the FAWNatics would have met her resilience with cheers, there was now only jeers and disappointment. Sammie’s reaction was the smallest sigh and a firm, determined pouting, Polly proving herself as difficult to put down as all of her previous Challengers, Sinclair collecting wrists and, after a long pull up to vertical, twisted and pivoted, deciding it was time for one of her opponents to be introduced to the steel steps for a change.
Still trying to shake her way out of the stupor created by the slugfest, Lockwood sways in Sinclair's grip, seemingly unaware as Sammie aims the tawny blonde hardbody toward the misplaced steps. The champ's nose scrunches to give her that extra bit of power as she buggywhips Polly on her way down the length of the ring.
Lockwood has enough of her senses remaining to turn a shoulder into the metal. There's a loud CLANG as she hits the steel. The steps lurch forward a foot or so while the broken, star-spangled bytch bounces into a motionless heap in the opposite direction.
The crowd reflexively groans in sympathy at impact but soon cheers the continued destruction of the bratty challenger. Polly stirs enough to end in a wide spread eagle, arms extended in a wide 'V' above her, legs likewise positioned in the opposite direction.
Sammie didn’t linger, the youngest lightweight champion in FAWN history not taking the same joy from her opponent’s pain as others might, celebrating her success but nothing more as she launched into a curling sprint, one that took her in a swift, wide arc. Her pace was rapid and her intentions quickly clear, the cheers of the FAWNatics loud, the Little Sparrow bypassing the splayed Lockwood before popping up the displaced steps with the lightest of steps. At their apex she leapt, diving backwards through the air with a whiplash flip that directed her beguiling, golden lit flight for landing on America’s Brattiest Bytch.
And, as opposed to the Golden Girl earlier, Polly's legs don't pull up into a tight ball and gut the People's Princess. But Lockwood does manage instead to weakly roll out of the way as Sammie flies through the air with the greatest of ease. The landing is much more problematic, the perky brunette CRASHING down across the empty and HARD floor.
As Sinclair's body scrunches up along with her freckled nose, a worn Polly uses the metal barricade to pull to a seated position. She delivers a weak kick to Sammie's temple then, after several long seconds, starts to make her way to vertical. Lockwood balances against the barrier while Sinclair rises to all fours. Polly "helps" her foe the rest of the way and tosses her halfway over into the crowd. With Sammie dangling, Polly takes a step back and poises her right knee, ready to rush forward and part Sinclair's pert, gold-sheathed cheeks with a knee.
As targets go, it must have been a tempting one because Lockwood could not fail to miss, zeroing in on the petite, firm package and slamming a vicious knee lift right between them. With a cry of pain Sammie’s thighs parted as her perky rear was punted, jack knifed over the steel railing and sending the sweet hearted Lightweight Champion tumbling into the front row.
Blinded by the stark pain she rolled, spectators startled into panicked inaction as she curled into their collective laps, clutching at her fresh hurt as her cherub features were the picture of pained misery, eyes snapped shut as she tried to hold onto her surroundings. She attempted to continue rolling, but there was no-where for her to go, cornered as it were by her own FAWNatics.
Polly leans over the divider and reaches into the morass, snatching her fingers into the dark tresses of her foe. She tugs the Bright Eyed Wonder up and out of the fools/Legionnaires and into a front facelock. Walking away from the barricade in a backpedal, Polly hauls Sammie's frame atop the barrier, first her chest, then tummy, then thighs, and finally it's Sinclair's ankles keeping her horizontal. "The first step back to London starts now," Polly growls, preparing to spike the skull of the People's Princess into the floor with an elevated DDT.
Much to their mounting horror, and extremely vocal protests, there was very little the FAWNatics could to do prevent their heroine from being dragged out from their midst, there was nothing they could do to prevent the mounting disaster. At least, not with security making their presence known not barely a few feet away, ready to intervene should someone in the audience decide to launch an intervention, rendering them impotent and reduced to only watching.
Samantha appeared no more capable of preventing the seemingly inevitable, gasping as Lockwood tightened her headlock and twisted her forever pained neck. She tried to form words, but found herself barely able to do so, disorientated and blind as she pulled fruitlessly upon her rivals elbow, her lower body, athletic and curved perfectly, still paralysed from the low blow and unable to kick itself free from her precarious perch.
“N...no...” she protested, in defiance still and not pleading, however meek the chocked words may have sounded, but all such further utterances were snatched away from her as Lockwood whipped herself backwards, Sinclairs heart pounding in panic! It happened so quickly, the snap backwards and plummet, that the FAWNatics could only GASP!! before Samantha’s noggin CRACKED!! down hard onto the barely padded concrete, her slender frame spasming and stiffing right up to vertical as her skull was NAILED!! into the floor.
She flopped, ragdolled and surely broken, collapsing to the concrete in a dishevelled heap and a trail of frazzled curls, rolling forwards up to sitting before trickling sideways. She twitched, legs kicking as she were dreaming, the Lioness almost certainly out cold as she continued shuddering.
Lockwood sits next to the Brit, exhausted, but extremely satisfied with the turn of events.
Though the Legionnaires hold their breath, expecting a pin that would take the title from their favourite, the True American instead rises next to Sinclair, tugging up the perfectly petite proportion of deadweight. She walks a flaccid Sammie to the ring and stuffs her under the bottom rope.
The star-spangled bytch turns to the crowd and offers one of her infamous salutes before moving the steps back into place and trudging up. The blonde remains on the outside apron as a softly stirring Sammie struggles to rise in the ring. The diminutive, tanned hardbody grabs the top rope with both hands and lowers into a crouch, ready to explode into action when the Golden Girl rises and turns in her direction, Lockwood ready to launch her Polly Rocket and cause some red glare and make herself a TRUE champion!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
It was with grim finality that Samantha was rising, the dimple nosed darling barely aware of her surroundings as she slowly came to, blinking in befuddlement before wincing, the mark upon her forehead red, raw and glaring beneath the lights. Concussion was a very real concern of the Official, and yet he found himself as equally incapable of intervening as those watching, forced to wait until the contests conclusion before taking action.
With one knee wobbly, the other unnaturally rigid, Sammie regained a semblance of standing, pretty peepers blank eyed as she turned slowly, a groan accompanying her rapid blinking. She paused, and then with a held breadth, shared by both herself and the audience, she pivoted the last half circle, Lockwood grinning like a cat zeroing in on her canary and launching high into the air.
Sinclair surged forwards!! Living up to her name and then some as she (somewhat) roared and collided with the airborne Polly, brunette and blonde momentarily entangled and she rewrote the flight plan, instinctively attempting to slam them both forwards into an impromptu Spinebuster!!
A stunned Lockwood, in mid-air and unable to change her flight plan, finds Sammie to be a very moving target. Sinclair catches the wide-eyed blonde or, more accurately, redirects her foe through a quick turn of the hips. Sinclair sits out after the spin sending Lockwood CRASHING to the deck in spectacular fashion, Polly's back and the back of her head careening to the canvas in explosive violence, the Rocket totally defused by the quick recovering and quick thinking champion.
Laid out in a lifeless starfish, Polly barely offers a twitch between Sammie's extended legs. Wearily, the Golden Girl leans forward, shoving Polly's stems into a matchbook of the challenger. The FAWNatics roar as the count accumulates...
ONE!
TWO!!
THRENOOO!!!
The faux patriot somehow, someway throws a shoulder up with the ref's hand no more than a millimetre above the mat.
The Leader of the Upstart Nation almost flopped sideways following the failed pin, her breathing laboured and her forehead looking no healthier. If anything the welt looked larger, throbbing with each new moment and threatening to overcome her, it was pride perhaps, the pride inherit of her bloodline that prevented her from collapsing, or perhaps the simple stubbornness that she also had inherited from her Father, the Golden Girl of the Golden Goliath in more than name.
With a (babyfaced approximation of a) fierce sigh, Sammie shoved herself away from the newly felled Lockwood, almost stumbling the entire distance to the nearest corner. It seemed to go on forever, the wasteland between herself and the waiting post, but in truth it was just a few faltering steps, Sinclair almost flopping against the turnbuckles before her button nose began scrunching, and she began climbing.
The FAWNatics were cheering, the Loyalist Legionnaires buoyed by this last push, the Tiny Titan finding her perch and turning about slowly, facing back inwards into the ring. It was her turn to wait for Lockwood to begin rising, and it was with pretty peepers half fluttered that she anticipated her moment, those watching prophetically clapping three times as they awaited the Sinclair Summer Silencer...
@1:10
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhJJci2eD04&t=69s&list=PLPuOyWan3CRt9D5q0QV7jOahlDdpDwYcY&index=39
The dumbfounded Yank struggles to rise, dropping back to one knee before making her way slowly to vertical. Turned away from the perched Sinclair, the dazed blonde tries without immediate success to find her foe. She staggers in a tight arc toward the waiting Golden Girl who launches into a perfect front flip. landing atop Polly's shoulders. But before the champ can throw her bodyweight into reverse and rip Lockwood's boots off the deck in preparation of spiking her foe, the Star-Spangled Bytch flips the script on the Brit.
The Yank wraps her arms around Sammie's legs as she sits out, nearly Powerbombing Sinclair THROUGH the canvas!!
The crowd is turned to immediate silence, even when Polly does not have the wherewithal to turn the maneuver into a pin attempt.
The tiny gladiators lie in a single-filed heap, their legs entwined. Finally, after long seconds, the official starts his count on both, Sammie ten seconds away from keeping her title with a draw. But at EIGHT, Polly pushes wearily to her feet.
Unable to completely keep her balance, she turns wildly into a collision with the official, knocking him flat with an accidental forearm shiver. The faux patriot stares down at a wriggling Princess and zebra alike and decides there’s only one way to keep Sinclair down for good. Moving to her corner, she snatches up the lightweight gold and traipses back toward Sammie.
With but a moments indulgence to appreciate the flawless sheen, and her reflection upon her stolen prize, Lockwood places it reverently upon the canvas at centre ring, dismissive of the name already imprinted upon it and keen to replace the lettering with her own. With her preparations over, she collected the last semblance of a hurdle between herself and what was soon to be her property; Lockwood peeling the barely conscious champion off the canvas, dragging her rubbery frame to one knee by her vibrant, chocolate curls, a young Lioness humbled by her own mane. Sliding next to Sammie's left hip, Polly draws the Golden Girl up the rest of the way, tugging her noggin into a headlock whilst trapping one near flaccid arm between her own, flag attired thighs.
The forthcoming Patriot Driver recognised by one and all.
Months of anticipation came a head and Polly felt dizzy from the moment, lips curling into a smirk as she raised her chin imperiously, savouring the sensation of vindication, a People’s Princess within her grasp and at her mercy. March to War and Spring Break, twice denied but three times the charm, Mayhem the night that she swung her free arm up high and dropped down to earth, bringing Sinclair with her, SPIKING the freckled features of the Champion, beaten into submission, onto her own title.
@ 1:26
www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7xQsNCsbH0
The dull THUNK was deafening, the CRACK heartbreaking, Sammie jerked as much she was allowed to within the fierce grasp of her Rival, bright eyes closed and breathing laboured as she was knocked unconscious, rendered oblivious to what was surely to be her final moments as the coveted Lightweight Champion.
Polly, kneeling next to the gobsmacked Sinclair, grabs the dark locks of the champion and gives her head a shake. Receiving no response, she tosses one sleepy simpleton away and looks for another, namely the referee.
The little blonde hardbody takes both shoulders of the man and gives his body a rattle, drawing him out of his glassy-eyed stupor.
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” the former Young American sings-songs. “Time to earn your pay.”
On hands and knees, the glistening, battered blonde leads the man to the splayed carcass of the Golden Girl. Lockwood plops her tawny frame atop the lifeless champ in a full body pin, sweat dripping from the tip of Polly’s nose to that of Sammie. Polly’s hands are tight to the brunette’s wrists, pinning Sinclair’s arms above her head, her chest to swelling chest, navel to navel.
The confused zebra doesn’t seem to notice the conspicuous glittering belt next to Sammie’s opposite shoulder. Instead, he slaps the mat next to her near one…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Polly pulls Sammie’s head off the deck with a handful of hair and plants a smooch on the Brit’s forehead.
“Kissing you goodbye, loser,” she whispers. “Don’t even ask for a rematch because you didn’t earn it.”
The blonde throws Sammie’s noggin back to the deck and rolls off her mattress. She lies shoulder to shoulder with the vanquished lightweight queen, unable to move for several long seconds, save the corners of her mouth pulling wide in a pearly if exhausted smile.
Finally, an arm raises, the official grabbing it and pulling the limb a few inches higher as the PA confirms the obvious.
“Your winner…by pinfall… and NEW FAWN lightweight champion…Polly Lockwood!”
His duties done, the official drops Lockwood’s arm and seems more than happy to evacuate. Slowly, Polly rolls to all fours then pushes up to her knees, raising both arms high, the previously silent crowd offering their displeasure with great volume. Lockwood smirks and shakes her head. She calls for a microphone and catches the tossed “stick”.
“Please…please…”
Polly motions for a little decorum.
“A little respect for the dearly departed.”
Lockwood rises to stand on unsteady feet and move to a straddle of the still unmoving Sammie. She bends to pluck the golden belt off the deck with her free hand and brings the mic back to her lips with the other.
“And show a little respect for a TRUE American.”
The arena fills with jeers and catcalls.
“Follow along please.”
Lockwood places a hand (with the belt) over her left breast.
“I pledge allegiance to Polly Lockwood of the United States of America. And to the championship for which SHE HAS. One organization, under Polly, indivisible, with ass-kicking’s and losses for all.”
The Star-Spangled Bytch raises the gold high, Sammie finally starting to stir below her.
“Thank you,” Polly concludes, tossing the microphone aside with a ga-lunk.
The FAWNatics are beside themselves with anger, but it only grows when Lockwood lowers to a kneeling straddle of the Sammie’s freckled face. The blonde taps Sinclair’s cheek and slowly the baby browns blink open. Polly settles onto her haunches; taut, red-and-white-striped ass atop Sinclair’s chest, Sammie’s face framed by Polly’s tawny, thighs. She presents the gold a few inches in front of Sammie’s scrunching nose.
“Mine.”
Sinclair struggles weakly to remove Polly from her up-close-and-personal seat, grunting and chirping, but she’s a helpless Little Sparrow at the moment.
“Off,” she demands, not so convincingly.
Polly shakes her head.
“I’m letting everyone know this is mine forever.”
Lockwood rubs the faceplate of the title belt in Sammie’s face.
“Or at least until I become World Champion. And I’m letting everyone know you’re mine forever too.”
With that, Polly places the belt to the side and skooches her undercarriage up the flattened Sinclair, pausing for a moment at Sammie’s chin before sliding over the top and planting her booty on the Golden Girl’s face.
Sammie’s hands move to Polly’s hips, trying desperately to shove the new champion off. She bucks and twists with the little energy that remains, but there simply isn’t enough in Sammie’s emptied tank and slowly her movements slow to a flicker, the engulfed nose and mouth of the Sparrow drawing in much more Polly than air.
Finally, Sinclair’s arms fall limp at her sides. Polly adds a celebratory gliding shimmy across the unconscious brunette’s features before popping up to her knees and looking down into the greasy mug of the Brit.
“Buh bye. Loser.”
Polly plucks the gold off the canvas once more and hops to her feet, her strength and youth already beginning to refill her little robobabe body. The True American saunters to the ropes with her prize, slides through, drops to the floor and straps her belt in place, making sure everyone in the arena knows there is a new lightweight queen in town…a TRUE queen.
www.youtube.com/watch?v=FPl2sTo_8-o
But quickly behind comes the stretching of vocal cords providing their disapproval to the Young Americans’ Benedict Arnold. And while once upon a time this musical cue would spur a round of enthusiastic shouts and cheers, the crowd’s cascade of boos is deafening.
The PA barely breaks through the jeers.
“The next match is for FAWN’s Lightweight Championship and will be a NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH.”
The crowd momentarily changes their tune, loving the idea of the champ lighting up Polly throughout the entire arena.
“Hailing from Buffalo, NY...”
The jeering suddenly rivals that for Portia VanBuren or Lisa Dream, an impressive feat.
“Standing 5 feet 1 inch tall, and weighing in tonight at 118 scintillating pounds of All-American Awesome. Ladies and gentlemen, she is the one and only TRUE American... POOOLLLLLLYYY LOOOCCCKKKWWWOOOOOODDD!!!!!”
POLLY LOCKWOOD
The haters only get louder when Lockwood strides confidently to centre stage, bringing a crisp salute to her brow. When the hand, fashioned into a knife-edge, moves away from her forehead, Lockwood adds her own little twist, a middle finger remaining straight while the others recede. The FAWNatics are not amused and they let the smirking Lockwood know it.
And, amazingly, the volume grows further when Lockwood lifts the lightweight title belt with her opposite hand. Having been pilfered from the true champion during the last Pay-Per-View, Polly treats the gold as if it were her own, hugging it close as she starts her way down the ramp.
While Polly’s accompaniment, demeanour and success ratio has changed since her decision to find her own ‘American Dream’, her flag waving-worthy wardrobe remains. The tiny blonde hardbody sports the former Young Americans’ standard uniform of hot pants and bikini top. Tonight, Polly alternates her country’s colours between a shiny, eye catching blue topside, white stars prominently placed in just the right spots, and shimmering red and white stripes below; with white pads and boots capping off the ensemble.
Continuing her recent habit, the True American wears Old Glory draped over her shoulders as a cloak. She spreads her arms wide, showing off her stars-n-stripes as she walks down the ramp and aisle, turning up her nose at those confused fools unsure if it’s OK to boo Polly when the flag of their homeland is so prominently held behind her. They manage.
Polly marches to the ring with all the self-possessed superiority of a Fox News anchor, ignoring the insults and the jeers.
Reaching the ring, the patriot ascends the steel steps. Sliding through the ropes, Lockwood shrugs off her flag cum cape, draping it over her corner, but she continues to clutch her unofficial property.
She turns to the upper stage, awaiting the little brat who might want it back, BUT couldn’t have it.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer returned to centre ring, a renewed, warm buzz from the crowd welcoming his arrival and, more to the point, the words he was about to utter. “Introducing her opponent, the People’s Princess! SAMAN--”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gj_V_gKI4Q&list=PLPuOyWan3CRuPoCuzoiHkAq0VNWg308E4
...but before he could even utter another word he was effortlessly drowned out, the speakers blasting the opening guitar riff which was so positively upbeat, so infused with pep that it could only be one person. Samantha Sinclair, the TRUE Lightweight Champion, burst out from the behind the curtains in almost perfect harmony with the lyrics, striding out onto the stage and the majority of those in the iconic arena began cheering, the enthusiasm of the greeting reserved only for FAWN’s most Babyface of Factions and their Babyface Allies!
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
The arena was rocking, even as the Loyalist Legionnaires were momentarily caught flat footed, the sprite of their affections forgoing her usual stage based introductions and instead continuing her swift stride down the ramp and towards the squared circle. All was not amiss however, not as she greeted the masses with the brightest of smiles none the less, a proud mane of chocolate curls bouncing about her slender shoulders, the Little Lioness every bit as warm towards her fans as ever.
She did pause for a few moments, perhaps incapable of remaining utterly focused on one thing for too long as she stopped for half a step mid way towards her destination to launch into a swift circle. She was shimmering in her golden/yellow attire as she twirled with arms outstretched with impish swagger, the snug sports bra and boy cut shorts slipping about her every, crowd pleasing curve and petite mass in all the right places. Her sapphire boots, reached upwards towards her knees, along with pads and gloves that were the same shade that completed the ensemble. The FAWNatics greeted the salute with a fresh pop of applause, those closest to the aisle cheering louder as she reached out to clasp hands and exchange smiles before heading back down towards the squared circle.
Her eyes, baby brown and bright, found the focus of her distraction without hesitation, zeroing in on Lockwood and her stolen property with a recognition that could sour even her peppy disposition. She huffed as she clenched her fists and marched without further delay, button nose twitching in clear and present danger of her Babyface dander, Polly now the sole focus of her flash pan fury and intense, if swift temper.
Once within a few feet she raised her hands up high, holding them above her head as the Loyalist Legionnaires voiced their pleasure that she would not forgo this one Sinclair tradition, joining in as she made the wordless promise. As one they clapped...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!...?
Sammie’s arms dropped before she clapped the third time, allowing her faithful followers to fill in the void for her with a thunderous collection of palms colliding as one, taking the moment to launch into a sudden and unexpected sprint. The moment the Pyrokenetics erupted on cue; the People’s Princess had leapt up onto the ring apron, the explosion of light and sound accompanying her charge as she grasped the top rope and hurled her mighty mite mass upwards, the Tiny Titan bunny hopping her blue booted feet up to standing atop the uppermost coil.
The rubber coated steel flexed alarming with the momentum and it was with a loud “WHOOP!!” by way of war cry that Sammie sprung into the air, the Match Bell “CLANGING” at that exact moment as the Little Sparrow took flight, diving into a Thesz Press without warning!!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=NvpPkitgpi4
Green eyes going wide as Sinclair times her springboard to the bell OR a helpful timekeeper does it for her, Polly tries to get some defences up but can't match the speed and fury of the Golden Girl. Lockwood is sent to her back under the straddling Sammie, the belt still lying atop her chest. Sammie plugs wild right and lefts into Polly's face, the True American getting her arms up to block some of the blows, but unable to stop them all.
The official starts to demand Sammie open her fists but remembers this is a no DQ.
Finally, Polly shoves Sammie to the side and scrambles away, leaving Sinclair to reclaim her gold for what the crowd hopes will be only the first time tonight. Meanwhile, Polly scampers in retreat, crawling out under the bottom ropes and scurrying to outside the far side of the ring where she holds up a hand, begging off Sinclair.
The brunette, having already handed her gold off to a FAWN flunky, isn't in the mood and she sprints to the ropes, throwing herself through and connecting with a suicide dive into the blonde hardbody, thumping into Lockwood and sending Polly's spine crashing against the metal barrier.
The SMECK of a young, nubile body colliding with a steel obstacle was audible, and the FAWNatics could barely catch their breath as the Upstart that many of them adored had began the contest at a hundred and seemed intent on raising it to a thousand. Never had Samantha begun a contest on such a solid front foot, and as the gold clad lass untangled herself from her Challenger she seemed to be revelling in it, standing back and preventing Lockwood from slumping downwards to the concrete, dragging her forwards into a side headlock instead.
With a button nose scrunched up in anger, freckled cheeks flushing a crimson hue as they were puffed out, Sinclair reached about to seize her rivals own and squeezed the sculptured feature between thumb and finger. She smirked, the Little Sparrow looking suddenly impish, twisting her wrist to make a point.
“Feel free to apologise anytime, the world hates a filthy thief!”
Sammie forces Polly's mug into a 'fish face' as she squeezes her foe's cheeks together then releases to let Lockwood say she's sorry. Instead, the True American flames Sammie's tender ears with some curses, ending with notice that the blonde had simply collected what would be hers a little ahead of time.
Sinclair doesn't seem to particularly like that response and she tugs and twists Polly's noggin some more. The challenger's hands rise to Sammie's hips and she tries to shove the People’s Princess off and into the apron in front of them.
It was with a certain amount of shock that she was shoved away, Samantha meeping as she stumbled forwards, the head of her opponent popping free from its confines as she swept her hands up to halt her fall. She did so well enough, the Lightweight Champion bracing her tiny mass against the apron with little incident, scrunching up her adorable nose in a frankly less than threatening manner before pivoting swiftly, one perfectly athletic stem swinging upwards and around to connect with her opponents temple.
Just happy to free of the champ's grip, Polly takes a deep breath and draws her flowing flaxen locks off her face, only to have Sammie's azure boot thump into the side of her noggin. The Star-Spangled Bytch stumbles away in the direction opposite the impact and falls to one knee. A hand rises and curls around the steel pipe making up the top of the barrier holding the fans in place. Shaking her head, she struggles to rise. Her inexorable push to the title has hit an unexpected and sizable snag in the form of a freckled Brit and Polly wheels to face her and make her pay.
Samantha, however, did not remain idle, a half smile upon her spritely features as she made a half turn, the spiral of her kick flowing smoothly through into a short sprint and a quick hop. She was up on the apron once more, the Bright Eyed Wonder living up to her namesake as she skipped into a precariously balanced dash, arms outstretched into a T as though she were running a tight rope.
Just as she was about to run out of ring to charge across, Sammie leapt, taking flight with limbs uncoiling into a beguiling Splash!
Again caught with her stars-n-stripes down, Polly barely gets turned before Sammie is airborne. The former tag teamer gets her arms up to catch the Brit, but with Sinclair's momentum behind her, she's unable to keep her feet. The crossbody collision sends Polly crashing to the thinly padded cement, sandwiched underneath the People's Princess, the blonde grunting when she hits the floor, Sammie atop her.
The referee seems flummoxed for a moment, then remembering another stipulation is that falls count anywhere; he dives out of the ring and slaps the floor for...
ONE!
TWO!!
Polly pushes Sinclair off in time.
Her relief was not shared by the majority of the FAWNatics; although a handful of them had courage enough to voice their support as the Challenger bucked the Champion free. Sammie rolled with it, tumbling with good grace across the cold concrete before settling across her back, a small shiver shaking her frame as she felt chilled by the cement in a not entirely unpleasant manner. Settled across her slender shoulders the Most Prolific of the Sinclair curled her legs up high and tucked into a ball, one that lasted for just a heartbeat before she POPPED into the most crowd pleasing Kip Up in FAWN!
Upright and assured, proud mane of chocolate curls tickling her nearly bare shoulders, the Golden Girl stood proud and ready as she turned her determined gaze back towards Lockwood. “Did you really think that you could just steal it?” she questioned, bringing herself about and willing the equally young woman opposite to rise, “of everyone I’ve fought, you’re the only one I would call a coward!”
The words seem to energize Lockwood and she pushes to her feet though not quite with the 'kippy-ness' of Sinclair. "You're calling a TRUE American...THE TRUE American a coward?" Polly makes sure to shout the words to help draw the Florida crowd to her side.
Sammie responds "You're not a true American. You're a true cowUHHH."
Sinclair doesn't get to finish as Lockwood lands a forearm shiver to the brunette's jaw. She follows with another and another, backing Sammie down the apron. Grabbing Sinclair's wrist after the fourth such blow, Polly pivots.
"You'll see a TRUE American is what I am and that a TRUE American will kick your ass." The challenger shifts her mass, trying to Irish Whip the Leader of the Upstart Nation down the line and into the waiting steel ringsteps.
With her ears suddenly ringing, Sammie continued her stumbles backwards with the smallest of half steps, blinking her pretty peepers in an attempt to shake the bright spots from them. It was in this bewildered state that her wrist was seized, the young woman with a heart (as well as guise) of gold seeming to surrender her limb meekly. As Polly pivoted and yanked, the Tiny Titan within the blondes grasp went with her, whipped around in a wide paced semi circle until she was ready to be released...only for the brunette to slam the breaks on hard!!
With a adorable scrunching of her button nose, a somewhat failed attempt to appear intimidating, Sinclair displayed her tenacity in the face of blunt force trauma and moved to turn the tables, squaring her own shoulders to drag her Challenger into a collision with the steps herself. Only it didn’t happen, Polly slamming on her own breaks and, with both their athletic stems braced apart and arms pulled outwards to their maximum extension, the two looked all the world like a pair of quarrelling puppies.
It was Lockwood who would prove the victor in the impromptu tug of war, the wide eyed Sammie taking her turn to be startled as she was suddenly YANKED forwards, ‘GUFFING!!” a great gasp of mournful air as her trim tummy was met by a blistering knee lift!! The weaponised joint buried itself deep and the English Export of Perfectly Petite Proportions was snapped into a sharp curve about the upraised leg of the vindictive American with a wild whipping of her delightful curls and a colouring of her freckled cheeks. The soles of her blue boots were bucked right up from off the concrete and Polly took absolute advantage of her utter lack of equilibrium, charging forwards, collecting her prey with her encircling grasp and charging the equally young woman into the waiting Steel Steps!!
The steps CLANG and reverberate when Sinclair hits the metal, leading with a shoulder then ending on her back, mewling in pain. Having come out on top in the countering contest, Polly enjoys the sight of Sammie wreckage, adding a couple of blistering boots for good measure.
"Matter of time, limey," she growls. "Matter of time." Polly places a boot on the cleft of the Brit's modest bosom and shouts at the official to make her champ.
ONE!
TWO!!
...and Sammie kicks out from under the arrogant pinning attempt!
Lockwood's face twists in anger. She sinks her fingers into the Upstarts chocolate locks and drags her off the floor. Slipping an arm between the champ's legs, Polly vaults Sinclair onto her right shoulder, into slamming position, and follows through, sending Sammie crashing atop the steps. Polly climbs to the apron one step above the splayed Sinclair. The True American launches into the air and drops toward the Englishwoman's tummy, intending to impale Sammie again, this time between knee and steel.
Womanhandled, as she so often was by the Hardbodies of her miniature division, Sammie cut a heartbreaking sight as she lay in pain atop the steel steeps, the unforgiving landscape a fortress her tormentors seemed determined to break her will against. She winced in pain, nibbling upon her bottom lip as she tried to curl her pained mass to cup her wounded back, shoulders arching as she remained resting with her petite bosom pushed upwards, an inviting target for the highflying Lockwood.
Polly had made a target of the Little Sparrow these last few months, and she didn’t miss this time, her own shout of victory drowning out Samantha’s fresh cry of torment as she was NAILED!! to her unwanted perch by her Challengers knee, the defences of her tummy demolished again by the attentions of that lethal limb. Sammie jerked and folded, shuddering as she attempted to roll free, the outside of the squared circle clearly as much her enemy as the Blonde who conspired to take her Title.
Lockwood grinds her joint into the taut ivory belly of the Brit, her perfect pearlies gritting in fury as she works it in deeper still. Finally satisfied, she rises and turns to the FAWNatics, arms raised high in a 'V'. "As Americans who cheer for this bytch, you don't deserve to have a True American represent you, but I will take on the task despite you!"
The crowd doesn't take to being called out, but there's little they can do. Polly turned away from Sammie, standing on the step below the brunette, drops her derriere into Sinclair's midriff one...two...three times before popping to her feet with a grin. Lockwood scrapes Sammie off the metal 'altar' and shoves her back in the ring, the People's Princess rolling to a stop on her back.
The blonde, meanwhile, takes the high road, climbing the corner on the outside to reach the top buckle. Sinclair isn't perfectly situated for a Lockwood Leap, not being on her chest, but Polly seems to forgo this fact. She launches HIGH into the atmosphere above Sammie, her taut tawny frame collapsing into a tight ball at its apex before spreading wide when she begins to plummet toward the champ's already bruised belly in a frog splash.
The blushed crimson of Sinclair’s bare tummy shone a shade in stark contrast to her golden outfit, the attire still shining even as she lay immobile, the Lightweight Champion looking anything but with her arms and legs outstretched. With such persistent punishment to her buckling midriff, Samantha struggled with laboured breathing, shallow and winded as her eyes remained half lidded, the young woman struggling to remain focused as Polly aspired to outdo her as she took flight.
Sinclair HUFFED as Lockwood’s flag attired mass managed to block out a few lights, the Bright Eyed Wonder taking it upon herself to pre-empt the blondes safe landing, sweeping her athletic stems up high before tucking them in tightly, her blue boots hugged in close to transform the formally prone, People’s Princess into a cherub cheeked hedgehog!
Lockwood's green eyes go wide with fright as she sees Sinclair's knees pointed to the sky and, more importantly, toward her taut abs. And though tight they may be, when tummy hits knees its Polly coming up the loser in this collision. Her splash a disaster, the True American hits HARD and rolls away, gasping and groaning as she hugs her midsection. Lying next to Sammie, Polly curls into a similar ball, but out of pain instead of protection. Lockwood rolls over and up to her knees, her forehead providing a third point of contact with the mat, her hands occupied as she continues to wrap arms around her gutted tummy.
Although she was never keen to admit it, Sammie had been on the wrong side of a botched landing more than enough times to know that it could leave even the most tenacious grappler in a bad way. Sinclair still felt winded, the full weight of Lockwood slamming down against her knees and compressing her pert bosom having done little to improve her mood, but she knew she had to start moving.
Not quite ready for a crowd pleasing Kip Up, the Most Prolific of the Sinclair’s instead renewed her determined ‘HUFF!’ and rolled over uneasily onto her side, following through onto the palms of her hands as she slowly (painfully so it seemed) pushed herself upwards. Her right shoulder met Polly’s left, the two of them tapping together as they engaged in a race of recovery, Sammie twitching her button nose before she surged, grappling across the equally miniature mass of her Challenger as she attempted to slip in a Full Nelson to keep the other young women still.
“I guess that’s why you prefer to splash people in the back huh?” she observed with a struggling breadth, rolling across the canvas with a panicked Lockwood who wriggled to remain free.
Her tummy still roiling, Polly nevertheless shakes, shimmies and rolls to break free from Sinclair, wanting nothing more than to remove the champion from her back. But when the Golden Girl's arms snake under and around those of the blonde, Sammie's fingers threading behind Lockwood's neck, things go from difficult to near impossible.
With Polly's chest and belly touching canvas, Sammie draws the blonde's head and shoulders off the mat with the full nelson, curving Polly's spine before SLAMMING her face back down. Her arms trapped by Sinclair, Lockwood's mug leads the way into the deck and the Brit isn't happy with just one impact, doubling, then tripling up on the challenger, leaving Polly glassy-eyed.
Satisfied that Lockwood had been rendered suitably mild mannered (a noticeable improvement to her demeanour by all accounts), Samantha allowed herself a moment longer for recovery, resting her forehead lightly against the back of Polly’s noggin. There was no time for luxuries, not in terms of time and she well knew it, the Leader of the Upstart Nation stealing her resolve as she locked the hold in a little tighter, bracing the soles of her boots against the canvas and ‘GRUNTING’ in a slightly less than flattering fasion as she dragged her burden back up to standing with her.
“I actually wanted to invite you into the Nation,” Sinclair confessed, her tone incapable of hiding her heartbreak, her disappointment at being so very wrong, “thank God Chloe could read you better!” With that she HUFFED again, puffing out her freckled cheeks as she whipped her frame backwards into a steep curve, aiming to drag Lockwood with her into a Wendy Smith approved Dragon Suplex!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWVcoyMqk_k
Lockwood starts to tell Sammie where she would have had to stick that offer, but before the wobbly Polly can, Sinclair rips the blonde off her moorings and sends the challenger over in a partial back flip. With Sammie hanging on, Polly only makes it to her head and shoulders, upon which she crashes down. The True American's body is piled atop itself, the champ holding on to a bridging pin for...
ONE!
TWO!!
THRNOO!!!
...with a split-second to spare, Lockwood sloughs to her side, rattled. As Sammie kips to her feet to a roar from the crowd, Polly makes it to all fours and crawls for cover, namely outside the ring, perhaps forgetting pins are possible anywhere in the arena tonight.
Sammie, however, seems to think that her Challenger might have the right idea, and the hint of mischief that sparkled within her eyes foretelling that she was about to do something she might regret. Experience, however, was not something she always learned from and, as she dashed for the nearby ropes opposite, it became quickly apparent to the Loyalist Legionnaires that the Tiny Titan of their affections had not been cowed by the mauling she had just received outside the squared circle.
She leapt into the coils, Samantha bouncing off them and, spying a target she could not refuse, dashed forwards with all her speed before correcting her trajectory and diving into a low dropkick, her athletic stems lancing out to plant the soles of her boots firmly upon the taunt toosh of her months long tormentor, aiming to ‘help’ the blonde on her way out...
Provided with a "turbo" boost, Polly flies out between the bottom and middle ropes, hitting the apron on the outside before tumbling to the floor in a heap. The star-spangled bytch snatches at her aching ass as she curses a red-white-and-blue streak, furious at Sammie's "help" in leaving the ring.
Sinclair pops to her feet and leaves the squared circle by more ordinary means, dropping to the floor on her feet next to Lockwood.
Polly spins to face the brunette, skidding her taut toosh in the opposite direction along the thinly padded cement, right hand raised plaintively. "Now hold on, Sammie," Polly chirps. "If I'd have known I could be an Upstart. Please...give me another chance."
Sammie blinked, pausing with half a step backwards with Polly’s sudden turn, her cherub cheeks and freckled features the picture of innocence her faithful followers were so familiar with. The bewilderment in her eyes was what made the FAWNatics soon despair, several of them voicing warning as the English Export of Perfectly Petite Proportions seemed to feel her heart waning, button nose no longer twitching as she held out her hand in welcome.
Sinclair took Lockwood’s outstretched paw in hers and, with a tug, pulled the pained young woman back up onto her feet, a hesitant smile upon her features. A smile that became a...smirk? With her dimple nose twitching in annoyance (fearsome fury!!) once more, Sammie revealed that she was perhaps sharper than she might occasionally let on, now yanking upon the Flag Attired Cows arm to drag her into a tight, front headlock.
“Sorry babe,” Samantha insisted, preparing to rock and flip them both backwards into a dizzying, Rolling Front Chancery, “but we got standards!”
@0:30
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JHjK_G6KHxs&list=PLPuOyWan3CRt9D5q0QV7jOahlDdpDwYcY
Sinclair falls backward into a slick somersault, dragging Polly along with her. The brunette ends kneeling in Lockwood's lap, a tight, tough grip still around the Yankee's head. She tugs several mewling cries from Lockwood's lips before the True American balls her right hand and pecks away with kidney punches over Sinclair's hip, trying to convince the lightweight champion to let her go.
Sammie clearly didn’t like it, wincing as Polly’s sharp jabs dug in deep, tenderising her already wounded back and causing her sides to twitch and shudder. She held on tight, dropping down a firm forearm against the primed shoulders of her opponent in response to every rabbit punch, but soon found herself forced to nip her own bottom lip as the smallest meeps accompanied each expert blow, meeps of pain accompanying Lockwood’s grunts.
Eventually she opted to release, Lockwood popping back up to sitting like a spring, Sammie pouting with determination as she likewise remained sitting on her Challenger’s lap, winding her right limb backwards to launch a forearm towards a perky chin.
Polly's head snaps back from the force of the blow, but the challenger responds with one of her own that has the same affect on Sinclair. Sammie sends a salvo back and the two go at it, Yank responding to Brit and vice versa, time after time after time, the crowd chanting 'YAY' with every Sammie connection and 'BOO' with each from Polly. After a dozen such exchanges the Upstart blocks one of the True American's forearms and lands one to Polly's jaw. She blocks another from the blonde and doubles up. Blocks another and let’s loose with a storm of forearms until a battered Polly is left splayed on her back, looking up into the lights in a foggy daze.
Sammie slumps forwards, not in much condition to celebrate her mini victory in their fierce trade off, pretty peepers glassy and ears ringing, her forwards collapse halted only by planting both of her palms down firmly upon her rivals slumped shoulders. As her own curls slipped down past her cheeks to obscure her features, she gazed down upon the dull eyed blonde as she straddled the equally proud young women’s hips between her own, open thighs; the Official quickly catching on that this was a pin, and not only a prime moment for the Gladiatrix photographers to capture.
ONE!
TWO!!
Lockwood imperiously shoved herself over onto her side and, where once the FAWNatics would have met her resilience with cheers, there was now only jeers and disappointment. Sammie’s reaction was the smallest sigh and a firm, determined pouting, Polly proving herself as difficult to put down as all of her previous Challengers, Sinclair collecting wrists and, after a long pull up to vertical, twisted and pivoted, deciding it was time for one of her opponents to be introduced to the steel steps for a change.
Still trying to shake her way out of the stupor created by the slugfest, Lockwood sways in Sinclair's grip, seemingly unaware as Sammie aims the tawny blonde hardbody toward the misplaced steps. The champ's nose scrunches to give her that extra bit of power as she buggywhips Polly on her way down the length of the ring.
Lockwood has enough of her senses remaining to turn a shoulder into the metal. There's a loud CLANG as she hits the steel. The steps lurch forward a foot or so while the broken, star-spangled bytch bounces into a motionless heap in the opposite direction.
The crowd reflexively groans in sympathy at impact but soon cheers the continued destruction of the bratty challenger. Polly stirs enough to end in a wide spread eagle, arms extended in a wide 'V' above her, legs likewise positioned in the opposite direction.
Sammie didn’t linger, the youngest lightweight champion in FAWN history not taking the same joy from her opponent’s pain as others might, celebrating her success but nothing more as she launched into a curling sprint, one that took her in a swift, wide arc. Her pace was rapid and her intentions quickly clear, the cheers of the FAWNatics loud, the Little Sparrow bypassing the splayed Lockwood before popping up the displaced steps with the lightest of steps. At their apex she leapt, diving backwards through the air with a whiplash flip that directed her beguiling, golden lit flight for landing on America’s Brattiest Bytch.
And, as opposed to the Golden Girl earlier, Polly's legs don't pull up into a tight ball and gut the People's Princess. But Lockwood does manage instead to weakly roll out of the way as Sammie flies through the air with the greatest of ease. The landing is much more problematic, the perky brunette CRASHING down across the empty and HARD floor.
As Sinclair's body scrunches up along with her freckled nose, a worn Polly uses the metal barricade to pull to a seated position. She delivers a weak kick to Sammie's temple then, after several long seconds, starts to make her way to vertical. Lockwood balances against the barrier while Sinclair rises to all fours. Polly "helps" her foe the rest of the way and tosses her halfway over into the crowd. With Sammie dangling, Polly takes a step back and poises her right knee, ready to rush forward and part Sinclair's pert, gold-sheathed cheeks with a knee.
As targets go, it must have been a tempting one because Lockwood could not fail to miss, zeroing in on the petite, firm package and slamming a vicious knee lift right between them. With a cry of pain Sammie’s thighs parted as her perky rear was punted, jack knifed over the steel railing and sending the sweet hearted Lightweight Champion tumbling into the front row.
Blinded by the stark pain she rolled, spectators startled into panicked inaction as she curled into their collective laps, clutching at her fresh hurt as her cherub features were the picture of pained misery, eyes snapped shut as she tried to hold onto her surroundings. She attempted to continue rolling, but there was no-where for her to go, cornered as it were by her own FAWNatics.
Polly leans over the divider and reaches into the morass, snatching her fingers into the dark tresses of her foe. She tugs the Bright Eyed Wonder up and out of the fools/Legionnaires and into a front facelock. Walking away from the barricade in a backpedal, Polly hauls Sammie's frame atop the barrier, first her chest, then tummy, then thighs, and finally it's Sinclair's ankles keeping her horizontal. "The first step back to London starts now," Polly growls, preparing to spike the skull of the People's Princess into the floor with an elevated DDT.
Much to their mounting horror, and extremely vocal protests, there was very little the FAWNatics could to do prevent their heroine from being dragged out from their midst, there was nothing they could do to prevent the mounting disaster. At least, not with security making their presence known not barely a few feet away, ready to intervene should someone in the audience decide to launch an intervention, rendering them impotent and reduced to only watching.
Samantha appeared no more capable of preventing the seemingly inevitable, gasping as Lockwood tightened her headlock and twisted her forever pained neck. She tried to form words, but found herself barely able to do so, disorientated and blind as she pulled fruitlessly upon her rivals elbow, her lower body, athletic and curved perfectly, still paralysed from the low blow and unable to kick itself free from her precarious perch.
“N...no...” she protested, in defiance still and not pleading, however meek the chocked words may have sounded, but all such further utterances were snatched away from her as Lockwood whipped herself backwards, Sinclairs heart pounding in panic! It happened so quickly, the snap backwards and plummet, that the FAWNatics could only GASP!! before Samantha’s noggin CRACKED!! down hard onto the barely padded concrete, her slender frame spasming and stiffing right up to vertical as her skull was NAILED!! into the floor.
She flopped, ragdolled and surely broken, collapsing to the concrete in a dishevelled heap and a trail of frazzled curls, rolling forwards up to sitting before trickling sideways. She twitched, legs kicking as she were dreaming, the Lioness almost certainly out cold as she continued shuddering.
Lockwood sits next to the Brit, exhausted, but extremely satisfied with the turn of events.
Though the Legionnaires hold their breath, expecting a pin that would take the title from their favourite, the True American instead rises next to Sinclair, tugging up the perfectly petite proportion of deadweight. She walks a flaccid Sammie to the ring and stuffs her under the bottom rope.
The star-spangled bytch turns to the crowd and offers one of her infamous salutes before moving the steps back into place and trudging up. The blonde remains on the outside apron as a softly stirring Sammie struggles to rise in the ring. The diminutive, tanned hardbody grabs the top rope with both hands and lowers into a crouch, ready to explode into action when the Golden Girl rises and turns in her direction, Lockwood ready to launch her Polly Rocket and cause some red glare and make herself a TRUE champion!
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKWI-rr-T7I
It was with grim finality that Samantha was rising, the dimple nosed darling barely aware of her surroundings as she slowly came to, blinking in befuddlement before wincing, the mark upon her forehead red, raw and glaring beneath the lights. Concussion was a very real concern of the Official, and yet he found himself as equally incapable of intervening as those watching, forced to wait until the contests conclusion before taking action.
With one knee wobbly, the other unnaturally rigid, Sammie regained a semblance of standing, pretty peepers blank eyed as she turned slowly, a groan accompanying her rapid blinking. She paused, and then with a held breadth, shared by both herself and the audience, she pivoted the last half circle, Lockwood grinning like a cat zeroing in on her canary and launching high into the air.
Sinclair surged forwards!! Living up to her name and then some as she (somewhat) roared and collided with the airborne Polly, brunette and blonde momentarily entangled and she rewrote the flight plan, instinctively attempting to slam them both forwards into an impromptu Spinebuster!!
A stunned Lockwood, in mid-air and unable to change her flight plan, finds Sammie to be a very moving target. Sinclair catches the wide-eyed blonde or, more accurately, redirects her foe through a quick turn of the hips. Sinclair sits out after the spin sending Lockwood CRASHING to the deck in spectacular fashion, Polly's back and the back of her head careening to the canvas in explosive violence, the Rocket totally defused by the quick recovering and quick thinking champion.
Laid out in a lifeless starfish, Polly barely offers a twitch between Sammie's extended legs. Wearily, the Golden Girl leans forward, shoving Polly's stems into a matchbook of the challenger. The FAWNatics roar as the count accumulates...
ONE!
TWO!!
THRENOOO!!!
The faux patriot somehow, someway throws a shoulder up with the ref's hand no more than a millimetre above the mat.
The Leader of the Upstart Nation almost flopped sideways following the failed pin, her breathing laboured and her forehead looking no healthier. If anything the welt looked larger, throbbing with each new moment and threatening to overcome her, it was pride perhaps, the pride inherit of her bloodline that prevented her from collapsing, or perhaps the simple stubbornness that she also had inherited from her Father, the Golden Girl of the Golden Goliath in more than name.
With a (babyfaced approximation of a) fierce sigh, Sammie shoved herself away from the newly felled Lockwood, almost stumbling the entire distance to the nearest corner. It seemed to go on forever, the wasteland between herself and the waiting post, but in truth it was just a few faltering steps, Sinclair almost flopping against the turnbuckles before her button nose began scrunching, and she began climbing.
The FAWNatics were cheering, the Loyalist Legionnaires buoyed by this last push, the Tiny Titan finding her perch and turning about slowly, facing back inwards into the ring. It was her turn to wait for Lockwood to begin rising, and it was with pretty peepers half fluttered that she anticipated her moment, those watching prophetically clapping three times as they awaited the Sinclair Summer Silencer...
@1:10
www.youtube.com/watch?v=HhJJci2eD04&t=69s&list=PLPuOyWan3CRt9D5q0QV7jOahlDdpDwYcY&index=39
The dumbfounded Yank struggles to rise, dropping back to one knee before making her way slowly to vertical. Turned away from the perched Sinclair, the dazed blonde tries without immediate success to find her foe. She staggers in a tight arc toward the waiting Golden Girl who launches into a perfect front flip. landing atop Polly's shoulders. But before the champ can throw her bodyweight into reverse and rip Lockwood's boots off the deck in preparation of spiking her foe, the Star-Spangled Bytch flips the script on the Brit.
The Yank wraps her arms around Sammie's legs as she sits out, nearly Powerbombing Sinclair THROUGH the canvas!!
The crowd is turned to immediate silence, even when Polly does not have the wherewithal to turn the maneuver into a pin attempt.
The tiny gladiators lie in a single-filed heap, their legs entwined. Finally, after long seconds, the official starts his count on both, Sammie ten seconds away from keeping her title with a draw. But at EIGHT, Polly pushes wearily to her feet.
Unable to completely keep her balance, she turns wildly into a collision with the official, knocking him flat with an accidental forearm shiver. The faux patriot stares down at a wriggling Princess and zebra alike and decides there’s only one way to keep Sinclair down for good. Moving to her corner, she snatches up the lightweight gold and traipses back toward Sammie.
With but a moments indulgence to appreciate the flawless sheen, and her reflection upon her stolen prize, Lockwood places it reverently upon the canvas at centre ring, dismissive of the name already imprinted upon it and keen to replace the lettering with her own. With her preparations over, she collected the last semblance of a hurdle between herself and what was soon to be her property; Lockwood peeling the barely conscious champion off the canvas, dragging her rubbery frame to one knee by her vibrant, chocolate curls, a young Lioness humbled by her own mane. Sliding next to Sammie's left hip, Polly draws the Golden Girl up the rest of the way, tugging her noggin into a headlock whilst trapping one near flaccid arm between her own, flag attired thighs.
The forthcoming Patriot Driver recognised by one and all.
Months of anticipation came a head and Polly felt dizzy from the moment, lips curling into a smirk as she raised her chin imperiously, savouring the sensation of vindication, a People’s Princess within her grasp and at her mercy. March to War and Spring Break, twice denied but three times the charm, Mayhem the night that she swung her free arm up high and dropped down to earth, bringing Sinclair with her, SPIKING the freckled features of the Champion, beaten into submission, onto her own title.
@ 1:26
www.youtube.com/watch?v=U7xQsNCsbH0
The dull THUNK was deafening, the CRACK heartbreaking, Sammie jerked as much she was allowed to within the fierce grasp of her Rival, bright eyes closed and breathing laboured as she was knocked unconscious, rendered oblivious to what was surely to be her final moments as the coveted Lightweight Champion.
Polly, kneeling next to the gobsmacked Sinclair, grabs the dark locks of the champion and gives her head a shake. Receiving no response, she tosses one sleepy simpleton away and looks for another, namely the referee.
The little blonde hardbody takes both shoulders of the man and gives his body a rattle, drawing him out of his glassy-eyed stupor.
“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” the former Young American sings-songs. “Time to earn your pay.”
On hands and knees, the glistening, battered blonde leads the man to the splayed carcass of the Golden Girl. Lockwood plops her tawny frame atop the lifeless champ in a full body pin, sweat dripping from the tip of Polly’s nose to that of Sammie. Polly’s hands are tight to the brunette’s wrists, pinning Sinclair’s arms above her head, her chest to swelling chest, navel to navel.
The confused zebra doesn’t seem to notice the conspicuous glittering belt next to Sammie’s opposite shoulder. Instead, he slaps the mat next to her near one…
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
Polly pulls Sammie’s head off the deck with a handful of hair and plants a smooch on the Brit’s forehead.
“Kissing you goodbye, loser,” she whispers. “Don’t even ask for a rematch because you didn’t earn it.”
The blonde throws Sammie’s noggin back to the deck and rolls off her mattress. She lies shoulder to shoulder with the vanquished lightweight queen, unable to move for several long seconds, save the corners of her mouth pulling wide in a pearly if exhausted smile.
Finally, an arm raises, the official grabbing it and pulling the limb a few inches higher as the PA confirms the obvious.
“Your winner…by pinfall… and NEW FAWN lightweight champion…Polly Lockwood!”
His duties done, the official drops Lockwood’s arm and seems more than happy to evacuate. Slowly, Polly rolls to all fours then pushes up to her knees, raising both arms high, the previously silent crowd offering their displeasure with great volume. Lockwood smirks and shakes her head. She calls for a microphone and catches the tossed “stick”.
“Please…please…”
Polly motions for a little decorum.
“A little respect for the dearly departed.”
Lockwood rises to stand on unsteady feet and move to a straddle of the still unmoving Sammie. She bends to pluck the golden belt off the deck with her free hand and brings the mic back to her lips with the other.
“And show a little respect for a TRUE American.”
The arena fills with jeers and catcalls.
“Follow along please.”
Lockwood places a hand (with the belt) over her left breast.
“I pledge allegiance to Polly Lockwood of the United States of America. And to the championship for which SHE HAS. One organization, under Polly, indivisible, with ass-kicking’s and losses for all.”
The Star-Spangled Bytch raises the gold high, Sammie finally starting to stir below her.
“Thank you,” Polly concludes, tossing the microphone aside with a ga-lunk.
The FAWNatics are beside themselves with anger, but it only grows when Lockwood lowers to a kneeling straddle of the Sammie’s freckled face. The blonde taps Sinclair’s cheek and slowly the baby browns blink open. Polly settles onto her haunches; taut, red-and-white-striped ass atop Sinclair’s chest, Sammie’s face framed by Polly’s tawny, thighs. She presents the gold a few inches in front of Sammie’s scrunching nose.
“Mine.”
Sinclair struggles weakly to remove Polly from her up-close-and-personal seat, grunting and chirping, but she’s a helpless Little Sparrow at the moment.
“Off,” she demands, not so convincingly.
Polly shakes her head.
“I’m letting everyone know this is mine forever.”
Lockwood rubs the faceplate of the title belt in Sammie’s face.
“Or at least until I become World Champion. And I’m letting everyone know you’re mine forever too.”
With that, Polly places the belt to the side and skooches her undercarriage up the flattened Sinclair, pausing for a moment at Sammie’s chin before sliding over the top and planting her booty on the Golden Girl’s face.
Sammie’s hands move to Polly’s hips, trying desperately to shove the new champion off. She bucks and twists with the little energy that remains, but there simply isn’t enough in Sammie’s emptied tank and slowly her movements slow to a flicker, the engulfed nose and mouth of the Sparrow drawing in much more Polly than air.
Finally, Sinclair’s arms fall limp at her sides. Polly adds a celebratory gliding shimmy across the unconscious brunette’s features before popping up to her knees and looking down into the greasy mug of the Brit.
“Buh bye. Loser.”
Polly plucks the gold off the canvas once more and hops to her feet, her strength and youth already beginning to refill her little robobabe body. The True American saunters to the ropes with her prize, slides through, drops to the floor and straps her belt in place, making sure everyone in the arena knows there is a new lightweight queen in town…a TRUE queen.