Post by alyadmirer on Mar 14, 2016 21:35:46 GMT
As the houselights fell, an unnatural air of trepidation fell about the arena, the slow creep of darkness summoning a chill that was uncommon. A slim slit of crimson red illuminated through the curtains, the identity of the arriving competitor not a mystery and yet, from reputation and history, a palpable sense of unease gathered amongst those watching.
”DEVIL”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxlaJQGve7s
Erika Eisenberg emerged amongst the stark and piercing beat of that opening rhythm, the melody as unsettling as it was threatening, the curvaceous carnivore striding with purpose, with desire, her pace unceasing and her gaze entrancing, ice blue and calculating, alluring... perilous...
ERIKA EISENBERG:
Attired in the skin of the dead, the blonde destroyer hugged tightly by the two piece, dark tan, snake skin top and slim line shorts, elbow long, fingerless gloves and knee high boots, she was every inch the Titan the FAWNatics feared her to be. Slowly, with cold, methodical, malicious intent, she circled the ring, refusing to acknowledge the shades that were the bystanders, moving like a predator pinning down her prey, that stare, that piercing, ravenous stare soaking in the ground upon which she would feed upon her volunteering challenger.
Not even the Gold that was wrapped about her waist, the coveted Belt that was one of the greatest prizes in wrestling, could find the spark to pierce the all pervading gloom, the overriding sense of dread. She had made the IC Title her own, and with it, she was crowned a Queen of Misery.
Suddenly, with a burst of speed, she all but leapt up onto the apron, proceeding to almost effortlessly lift one long, stunningly powerful leg over the top rope, followed quickly by the other, a slight, mirthless smile finally rising to her coldly intense features.
The Announcer, keeping his distance and finding his voice, cut through the pervading silence and made the coming contest official.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest will be for the Intercontinental Championship, and a continuation of the Curvaceous Carnivore, Open Challenge!! Introducing first, hailing from Berlin, Germany, standing in at 5’9” and 140lbs, the Perfect Predator, ERIKA! EISENBERG!”
That smallest of mirthless smiles remained upon her features as the houselights returned with agonizing slowness, finding her corner as though she owned it, her eyes unfaltering from their gaze of the curtains which had yet to flutter open. Perhaps mockingly, perhaps sincerely, she licked her lips, a long trailing of her tongue, as the viper could hardly wait to sink her teeth in...
The FAWNatics followed her gaze, well aware of the torment and terror that Erika had sown in both recent, and now long term memory, unstoppable as she tore a ragged hole through their beloved favorites. Not in over a year had anyone pinned her, and still the challenge remained open, her appetite for suffering refusing to be slaked. Even those who formed the crème of FAWN’s pedigree, Juliet Bloodwind, Carol Courage, Becky Clayton, Sayuki Matsumoto, could not prevent the ongoing carnage, all of them and more yet another pedestal for the ever more elaborate throne of ‘corpses’.
The silence lingered, the shadows lengthened, the torch that needed tendering going unheeded...
It almost became unbearable...
... until the arena's speakers roared into life, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responded with a roar worthy the main event at Mania when Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" began to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, stepped from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darted down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returned to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presented a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms were primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that started at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image was broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads displayed the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
The gorgeous blonde made a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grew even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swung her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard read, rather simply, “PLEASE LET ERIKA’S REIGN COME TO A SENSATIONAL END!”
“Ya got inside information or somethin’, kid?” London asked with a somewhat crooked smile.
“Just praying,” the fan replied.
“Keep prayin’, kid,” Shea said. “Trust me, miracles DO ‘appen.”
Further making the fan's day, London gave him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slipped between the ropes, headed to her corner and began to stretch along the ropes. And as she did so, the atmosphere in the FAWN Arena continued to generate electricity. As much of a terror as the Python Powerhouse had proven to be, she had NEVER shared the ring with someone QUITE like the woman who had answered her challenge tonight. She’d never stood across from a TRUE icon of this company--its first ever champion, in fact.
To be clear, no one in the building believed for a moment that the end of Erika’s reign was a foregone conclusion. But the FAWNatics were perhaps as hopeful of seeing that joyous day as they had ever been...
Eisenberg remained poised, deceptively languid within her corner, the Curvaceous Carnivore with her arms uncurled across the uppermost ropes, her half lidded gaze unblinking as she followed her willing morsel capering around the ring. Once inside, the little blonde’s fate was already sealed, and Erika was nothing if not patient, after all, to her all good things came in time. None of them could help it, lining themselves up to be slaughtered at the merest hint of a challenge, the Amazonian herself becoming the bait that her most desired targets could not ignore.
“Amusing,” she spoke finally, tilting her head back with curling of her throat, red lips quirking into a half smirk, the German savoring the arrival of the beloved Brit. “I half expected another infant.”
Limbered up to her satisfaction, the Sensational One stepped away from her corner and toward the center of the ring. “No infants ‘ere,” Shea called to the reigning Intercontinental champion. “Ya gotta deal with a full grown woman.”
The irony of the five foot four Briton referring to herself as a “full grown woman”, standing opposite a German blonde five inches taller is hardly lost on anyone, least of all Erika herself, whose only response to that proclamation was an arched eyebrow.
“Ya ‘eard me,” London remarked, anything but chastised. “An’ you are NOT leavin’ THIS ring with THA’ belt tanight. So why don’t ya bring tha’ bony backside out o’ tha’ corner, an’ let’s get this started...”
Eisenberg’s reply was not immediate, neither was her response, the moment lingering almost uncomfortably until she pushed out slowly from her corner, muscles uncoiling like supine serpents as the Perfect Predator began a slow, deliberate pace about the circumference of the ring. They circled, the two Alpha Females, London predictably far more spritely on her toes than the Destroyer opposite.
“You are as... vocal as I recall,” Erika finally broke her own silence, choosing her words with precision, “and I do recall you ‘Sensational’ Shea London. I recall you traveling the world as though it owed you, I recall you battling at my sisters side as though you were somehow blood kin.”
She paused, the titanic blonde, lowering herself forwards with arms outstretched and ready, a glint in her pale blue eyes betraying passion. “I broke her back you know, perhaps you saw it, the pop of her spine across my knee, it’s still... invigorating.”
In all honesty, Shea London hadn’t seen it. The German tour was, relatively speaking, a brief one. But she remembered Klaudia well enough, and yes, she had liked her tremendously. They hadn’t just worked together in the ring. They had also spent many an evening with Klaudia showing the foreigner around the local nightlife. They had spent a number of hours discussing their hopes in the business, and their lives away from it.
And she remembered Klaudia discussing her love for her baby sister.
While Shea had known that Klaudia had lost her title to Erika, the exact circumstances had escaped her attention. And to hear Erika now, relishing what she had done to a woman that London knew cared for her deeply... it made her sick to her stomach. Snarling, the Sensational One lunged forward...
... and ducked under the rising arms of the Python Powerhouse. If Eisenberg had hoped to goad her into an ill-advised lock up, Shea had other ideas. Moving past the larger blonde, London whipped around quickly, snaking her arms around Erika’s midsection, attempting to secure a waistlock. If she could do that, then she could try to take advantage of her opponent’s surprise to use that waistlock to take Eisenberg down to the mat.
If London did indeed possess an ally within this contest, beyond the legion of FAWNatics cheering for her success at ringside, then it was her infamous speed. The far smaller blonde made equal use of her more diminutive stature to slip beneath the all too eager grasp of Eisenberg, sidestepping a lock up than could surely only end badly for the fan favorite, and slipped her own arms around the rigid midriff of the German from behind. Momentum proved to be in her favor, albeit momentarily, and the whiplash nature of her rapid footwork proved to be enough to unbalance the statuesque blonde she fought against, almost bringing her down to one knee.
Almost...
Erika remained upright, twisting one way and then the other, mildly amused by her predicament, before the horror clad in snakeskin began to enforce a rapid reverse towards the closest set of turnbuckles...
Shea couldn’t help but notice the two sets of rubber coated steel cables drawing closer to her flanks, the foreboding knowledge that those ropes would end in a juncture of turnbuckles that were guaranteed to SLAM into her back considerably less than comforting--especially with Erika’s statuesque, retreating frame squarely in the way of any hope of escape. The Sensational One realized almost instantly that her set of brakes had little hope of slowing Eisenberg down sufficiently, so instead London screwed her eyes shut and tightened her embrace, steadying herself against the impact of...
“OOOOOPPPPHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
One hundred and forty pounds of Curvaceous Carnivore CRUSHED the tawny blonde against the buckles, but to her credit, London’s arms remained locked tight around Erika’s waist, Shea’s hands clutching her own forearms tightly as she tried to re-capture the breath her opponent had driven out of her. Eisenberg didn’t afford her challenger much respite, however, rocking her hips forward only to DRIVE her hindquarters back into London’s abdomen...
... and THAT blow loosened the Sensational One’s embrace.
Erika followed up with a second backward thrust of her hips, which broke the clasp ensnaring her. But Shea’s arms fell only briefly before reversing course, her hands wrapping around the top turnbuckle as Eisenberg took one stride forward. Drawing her knees up toward her chest, London launches her books toward the back of the Perfect Predator, hoping to send the German blonde striding a little further out into the ring--and give Shea enough space to climb to the middle rope and launch a somewhat abbreviated missile dropkick.
As Eisenberg turned about, now mildly irritated by the shove against her shoulders, Shea was already airborne, in her element as few others could be and connected with a solid dropkick!! With both of her boots leading the way, she caught the towering blonde squarely over her heart and even the Sublime Serpent was forced into a backwards stumble.
Still she didn’t fall, her enforced withdraw taking Eisenberg to the opposite sent of ring ropes, the taunt coils doing their utmost to support her destroyer class physique. Suddenly all pretense of lethargy was absent, Erika immediately launching forwards with a speed that belied her size, the Perfect Predator narrowing the distance on her prey inside an eye blink as Shea herself was starting to rise, an arm outstretched for a thunderous clothesline!!
The combination of Erika’s lengthy stems, the momentum suddenly given to her by the ring ropes and Eisenberg’s own fury and sudden resolve were a formidable combination. Any one of those three prongs, the Sensational One might have been able to find an answer for. But all three ingredients merged into one irresistible formula, the Sublime Serpent catching a wide-eyed London before she could even think about evasive maneuvers. Erika’s scythe-like arm met Shea’s upper chest with a resounding ‘THWOOMP!!!’ that might very well have been the sound of an explosion, the impact with which the clothesline struck the challenger and practically turned her inside out. London flipped through the air, crashing to the canvas face down, the FAWNatics which just a second ago had been cheering Shea’s dropkick abruptly stunned into near total silence.
With a sensual slowness, the towering blonde rolled her neck as her forward sprint faded into a stroll, the Champion turning about in a wide circle which zeroed Eisenberg back in on the upended London with methodical intent. A solid and precise kick caught the shell shocked heroine clean against her smooth tummy and flipped the smaller blonde over, Erika sparing neither a hint of mercy nor hesitation as she dropped down sharply onto one knee, aiming the joint to impale the beloved Brit clean over her heart.
Shea’s arsenal, more than perhaps any other woman in the company, was fueled by her oxygen intake. Her speed fed off her lungs, and to this point, EVERYTHING Erika had done--the corner crunch, the butt bumps to the belly, even the clothesline--had served to keep the Sensational One’s sails as deprived of wind as humanly possible. It was a line of attack that continued with Eisenberg’s short, swift kick to the tummy, as well as the knee that dropped harshly onto her bosom, the blonde’s Brit’s eyes bulging along with her loud exhale.
The Perfect Predator remained on one knee, the other holding London down--and with Shea’s shoulders flat against the mat, the official promptly slid into position to record the...
ONE...
TWO...
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
Shea’s hands flew up, striking Erika’s thigh and pushing the bigger, crueler blonde’s leg away. No longer pinned, the Sensational One rolled forward, hungrily gulping down air as she tried to create some separation between herself and the champion.
Separation, however, could not have been further from Eisenberg’s mind as the titanic blonde moved to close the distance quickly, her appetites for the evening far from slaked. With London crawling and stumbling with her back to her, the Curvaceous Carnivore could not resist her overriding temptation even if she wanted to, the smaller blonde a delicious delicacy to be savored. Erika moved in, slipping her right arm beneath Shea’s shoulder before FAWN’s first Champion could even react, the German beginning to palm the back of the legends neck as she began to hiss into her ear.
“That Niece of yours, you should learn to watch her,” Eisenberg warned, sowing the seeds of discontent, “she’ll not be satisfied with ‘Baby’ London forever, she’ll want your crown before you’re done, she’ll want your blood.”
Without waiting for a rebuttal, Erika’s left arm was already moving to snake around, matching the movement of her right as she attempted to secure a fierce Full Nelson.
It was a good thing (well, for Erika, at least) that she didn’t wait for a response, because none was forthcoming. Perhaps Shea simply refused to take the bait? Or maybe she just still didn’t have enough air to form a retort. Or she simply determined that it would be better to save her breath toward more offensive measures--and offensive measures suddenly became VERY difficult to come by once Eisenberg laced her fingers together behind the Sensational One’s head.
London’s arms strained down, attempting to power out of the nelson, but with little success--and the longer Erika was able to work the full nelson from above, forcing the Brit to bear the Perfect Predator’s weight as she fought to break Eisenberg’s chains, success was certain to become even more elusive. She HAD to get back to her feet, and to that end Shea struggled to work her way up off her knees, fighting against both Erika’s brawn and her leverage.
“Yes, you are as valiant as I was informed,” Eisenberg observed, punctuating her remark with a bite to London’s ear. Fleeting, perhaps, but utterly possessive, just as was the ferocious SHAKE she subjected the much smaller women to, wringing the battling Brit from one side to the other if only to elicit grunts of pain from the severely jostled heroine. “And just as fragile.”
Again, leaving no room for retort, Erika suddenly straightened, bringing her passenger with her ripping the Lightweight clean off her struggling feet. With the Full Nelson still retained, she moved to compound the courageous blonde’s torture, attempting to hook the crowd favorite’s boots across the Germans thighs, and thus rob her of purchase entirely...
SURFBOARD FULL NELSON @3:10:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydKLPyPmsno
Powering a smaller woman like Shea off her feet was no chore at all for Eisenberg, the German blonde dropping from her impressive full height into a crouch--a crouch that served to trap the Sensational One’s shins against her succulent stems, Erika pressing down against London’s neck with renewed vigor. Now, this not only kept the pressure amped up on the nelson, but the combination of Eisenberg’s downward thrusts and her parted legs served to keep the British blonde’s gams bent at the knees.
“What do you say, Shea?” the referee asked, London’s Legions PLEADING with their heroine not to surrender.
“Nuhhhhhaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh....” the Sensational One defiantly howled, willful but utterly helpless, her flailing arms nowhere near long enough to reach the ropes from the center of the ring. The best Shea could manage to do was strain to slip her boots away from Erika’s thighs. As long her legs were ensnared, the only thing London could do was pray she could outlast the Perfect Predator’s strength.
An unlikely prospect, many would guess, even with the infamous resolve of the Sensational Shea London. For Erika, it seemed, submission from the Brit was not a requirement of domination, wringing the life from the heroine’s small body substance enough for her ravenous appetites. If anything, that defiance only made her struggles all the sweeter.
It was not, however, a test that Shea would need to pass tonight, not as Eisenberg released one half of her locked in Full Nelson and allowed her valiant little morsel the briefest of moments to set her boots to canvas. It was indeed but a moment however, as the Curvaceous Carnivore also dropped to one knee, retaining half of her hold for leverage as she turned the Lightweight about, preparing her to subject her to a Backbreaker of vindictive intent...
HALF NELSON BACKBREAKER @5:35:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9V73mInfRA
The kneeling Sublime Serpent gives her challenger a wicked downward yank, Shea’s back SLAMMING down across Eisenberg’s outstretched thigh. “GYAAAAAGGGGGGuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnhhhhhhh...” the Sensational One moans, seemingly impaled by Erika’s posted knee. While the reigning and defending Intercontinental champion might not have succeeded in wringing a submission out of her opponent with the full nelson surfboard, it was immediately readily apparent just how much that monstrous torment had drained the fight out of London, the British blonde left sprawled nearly limp across Eisenberg’s thigh, Shea’s head, hair and arms all hanging down, the knuckles of her curled fingers almost grazing the canvas.
Clearly unsatisfied with the already curled arc of London’s spine, Erika showed not even a hint of haste in removing the smaller blonde from her pedestal. Whilst using one of her palms to cup the chin of iconic Brit, the German used her other to brace against the women’s athletically firm thigh. Following a deep and sharp exhale, Eisenberg prepared to SHOVE down hard on either side of her unwilling wishbone, straining every one of her foes vertebra to their limits.
“To your credit, ‘Sensational’ One,” Erika cooed from her position of dominance, “my dear siblings back popped far more swiftly.”
“AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” the blonde Briton cried out, her upper and lower body both being directed toward the canvas, but with her lower spine frustratingly not going anywhere. At some point, it seemed like her back would HAVE to snap in two at some point, though thankfully Shea’s spinal column was every bit as stubborn as the rest of her.
Even so, the referee dropped to one knee beside them, his voice full of concern as he asked, “How about it, Shea? I’ll ring the bell as soon as you say the word. Don’t risk your health over...”
“CLEAR OFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” London snapped in equal parts defiance and agony, her eyes snapping shut as Erika exerted a little more force on her thighs and jaw. Unable to force her eyes back open against the pain, the Sensational One never the less balled her left fist and swung it upwards, hoping to connect with Eisenberg’s jaw but willing to settle for landing anywhere that might earn her freedom.
While the blow was fleeting, the connection it made across the side of Erika’s jaw was enough to earn a note of annoyance from the Sadistic Serpent, the veneer of her viciously cool demeanor breached for just a heartbeat. She jerked her head backwards as though she had been stung and, with a curling of her red slick lips, the powerful blonde shoved the former Champion from off her knee.
Never the less, she was not prepared to allow the wreckage of her opponent to cool for long, almost immediately grasping the other proud blonde by her mane and yanking her upwards towards kneeling. Once positioned, she continued in her attempts to curl the struggling Brit, encircling her own arm about to lock in a Dragon Sleeper...
Shea London might be among the quickest women this business had ever known, but even she wasn’t particularly fast from her knees--and particularly not with electric jolts of anguish continuing to shoot up and down her poor spine. So preoccupied with reaching her left hand toward the small of her back, she practically failed to notice Erika’s arm slip underneath her right arm, trapping that limb as the Sublime Serpent clasped her hands together against London’s shoulderblades. Almost immediately, Shea felt the artery conveying precious blood to her brain pressed closed, her one free hand sweeping through the air in a desperate--and ultimately futile--quest to find the ropes.
Coming up empty there, London’s fingers instead coiled tightly around the one thing she COULD find: Erika’s golden locks. The Sensational One promptly yanked down with as much strength as she could summon, her opponent letting out a fittingly serpentine hiss as the referee offered a rebuke. He then began to administer a count, London hoping that Erika could be convinced to release her hold by the time he reached “FOUR!”
Eisenberg did indeed release, albeit perhaps not for motivations that some would expect, her bicep unclenching and allowing fresh oxygen to flood back towards Shea’s precious grey matter. The smaller blonde also released, although she was not about to be allowed to simply puddle onto the canvas, Erika grasping the defiant Challengers by her slim shoulders and YANKED!! her backwards, CRACKING the back of the crowd favorites noggin across the Germans knee on her way down to the canvas.
With London suitably shell-shocked, the Intercontinental Champion rose to her full, stunning height and turned the entirety of her ire towards the Official. Her tone remained quiet and yet all of her mannerisms threatened violence, a warning pushed out between her teeth. “Do not think to interfere with my victory, little Sheppard, I will have my pound of meat from my sheep. Submission or Oblivion and nothing else, I will not accept disqualification you understand? I will not allow it.”
The referee opened his mouth to protest, but no sound emerged despite the movement of his lips. Accepting that as compliance with her wishes, Erika turned and sauntered back toward the mewling, weakly stirring challenger. Stooping down, the Perfect Predator gathered a handful of hair, yanking the Sensational One up as far as her knees...
... and receiving a balled fist to the midsection for her efforts.
Eisenberg let loose a small puff of air, but otherwise didn’t register the blow much at all. Instead, with a casual confidence, the Intercontinental champion continued to methodically tug London up from her knees. Far less methodically, Shea’s arms suddenly flew upward, both her hands plunging into the German’s mane. Pulling Erika’s chin over the crown of her skull, the FAWN icon went dead weight, trying to drop back to her knees and deliver a jawbreaker to the Sublime Serpent.
Gravity could be an ally to many a Lightweight competitor, just as it was tonight as London tucked herself up into a ball and plummeted towards the canvas. Eisenberg was rapidly folded forwards and, just as it seemed as though she were taking a bow, Shea’s momentum ended as her shoulders met the mat and the savage jolt ran throughout the length of her small body all the way to her knees before transferring to Erika’s chin with a mighty CRACK!!
The far taller blonde returned to upright with a whiplash motion, clutching her chin before she turned about in a half circle. The Curvaceous Carnivore stumbled for several steps before coming to a halt, snarling some quiet warning that was lost somewhere in translation, her tongue throbbing from where she had inadvertently bitten it.
Behind her, meanwhile, the Sensational One kipped back to her feet--an action that belied many of the aches and pains that still afflicted her. Adrenaline could be a powerful painkiller, however--and the knowledge that she had only bought herself maybe a few seconds with the jawbreaker was a powerful source of adrenaline. Noting that the bigger blonde’s back was to her, London charged toward her foe, leaping off her feet and drawing her knees into the air. Reaching for Erika’s shoulders, Shea hoped to gain a little more time--and do more than just a little more damage--by executing a lungblower.
The FAWNatics that watched on were caught in a moment of indecision, trapped between their desires to shout in approval and yet also not wanting to give the game away. Even the barest hint of a cheer could serve as a warning for the Sublime Serpent, Eisenberg spinning about to thwart any chance of a resurgence, but much to their relief that didn’t come to pass. Instead Erika was yanked backwards, London once again utilizing gravity and surprise to YANK!! the Intercontinental Champion towards the mat.
With Shea’s knee’s proving to be the weapon of choice for the second time within the same minute, a louder hiss escaped the bloodied lips of Erika as both of the joints embedded themselves DEEP between her shoulder blades. As though she had been jolted with electricity, the taller blonde gasped with strangled pain as, a fraction of a moment after the impact, she SHOT straight back up to standing. For just the barest moment, it appeared as though she may well begin to topple over...
...only for Eisenberg to remain stubbornly upright.
Even with all they had seen Erika do and all that she could endure, the crowd could scarcely believe the powerful blonde was still on her feet. For her part, Shea London herself was only slightly less skeptical than the fans. Scrambling to her feet, the Sensational One sprinted past the Perfect Predator, turning her back into the ropes and allowing the cables to propel the smaller blonde back toward her foe. Charging Eisenberg, London vaulted into the air, again raising up her knees--this time aiming to land on Erika’s shoulders, and allowing her weight to drive Erika to the mat underneath the London Blitz.
This time London’s Legion could not even hope to contain themselves, an almighty roar rippling across the arena as FAWN’s First Heroine took to the skies, her knees once again connecting against Eisenberg with a terrific THUNK!! Her joints slapped against the powerful shoulders of her adversary, and all that was left was for Erika to topple...
...Only she didn’t, those watching still shouting with enthusiasm as Eisenberg was forced into a full step backwards, before triumph threatened to turn rapidly into disaster. Erika didn’t fall, instead the Curvaceous Carnivore whipped her own arms upwards to catch her Challenger in her flight, the German seizing the much smaller Brit by her thighs and, following her own shout, exercised her free will in plummeting towards the canvas, albeit by way of Sit Out Powerbomb!!
SITOUT POWERBOMB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=xroW_nu3itU
Shuffling the Briton’s shins off her shoulders, allowing those calves to fall down across the German’s back, Erika directed all her might into viciously swinging her cargo downward--and ALL of the Sublime Serpent’s might was far more than many could handle. Eisenberg landed not so softly on her rump, but London’s back struck the canvas so hard that only a miracle of modern engineering meant that there was no impact crater left on the mat. A dull, woozy groan pushed past the Sensational One’s lips when the back of her head ‘CRAAACK!’ed off the thinly padded plywood, more than a few FAWNatics concerned that London’s skull could not have survived as unscathed as the canvas. Erika leaned forward, keeping the smaller blonde held down for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
London’s right arm spasmed off the mat, falling nearly limp across her own chest, but still elevating her shoulder off the canvas.
A deep exhale slid out slowly from the frame of the Sublime Serpent as she displayed not a hint of disappointment, instead eyeing the ravaged frame of her diminutive Rival as the smaller blonde moaned between her thighs. With deliberate lethargy, her eyes never leaving her morsel, the Intercontinental Champion slid forwards across the top of her oh so hopeful Challenger, stopping only when her lips could meet Shea’s. Bloodied from her own injury, there was a taste of copper as Eisenberg brought hers together with her opponents, stifling any potential protest with her own insatiable hunger, all the while bringing her palms upwards to clasp the Brit with an impending vice against her temples.
“Savor the taste, Little London,” she suggested as she pulled her lips away, preparing to SQUEEZE her foes golden topped noggin, “it is all the pleasure you have remaining.”
Having been driven practically into next month by Eisenberg’s powerbomb, the Sensational One registered very little recognition or response to the possessive kiss, her eyes not even half-lidded when the Perfect Predator pulled away... but as soon as Erika began to exert pressure, London’s eyes snapped open wide. They grew wider still the harder the heels of the German’s palms drove into the side of her head, her jaw beginning to fall slack as well.
Less obviously, Shea’s fingers balled into fists, the blonde Briton still possessing enough of her wits to think of trying to fire punches upward at her attacker. Alas, London’s arms barely lift off the mat before falling back when Eisenberg amped up the pressure a little more. And as Shea’s eyes started to roll back, far more white on display than pupil, her tongue gradually started to slip past her lips--and a small stream of saliva began to trickle down her cheek.
Before London could involuntarily surrender to sweet oblivion, Eisenberg released her vice, ever so slowly slackening the pressure and witnessing the barest hints of life returning to the cheeks of FAWN’s first World Champion. This was no act of mercy towards a valiant opponent that she physically outmatched in almost every stat, it was nothing more than the act of a cat playing with her morsel before it was put it out to slaughter.
“This is it?” she queried, looking upwards from the Lightweight laid out prone beneath her, Eisenberg icy stare glaring out across the audience with quite, dangerous amusement. The Hard Camera couldn’t move in fast enough to capture the moment, nor allow her words to go unnoticed.
Erika surrendered her straddle of the Brit’s hips, but only so that she could rise herself, almost absently rolling London over and, with her right hand, viciously seized the back of the fan favorites neck like a Falcon seizing a field mouse, digging her talons deep.
“This is your Heroine?” she questioned, mocking the FAWNatics with a cruel twitching of her lips, exerting a surge of effort to bring about a moment of history. With one arm she scraped her Challenger clean off the canvas and dead lifted her into the air, holding her aloft for all the world to see.
“I expected better...”
As trophies went, she might be slight in stature, but the legacy embodied by the woman being held on display was without parallel--which made Erika’s statement all the more pronounced. FAWN’s first World champion. Indeed, the only woman in the history of the company to hold every singles belt in existence at that time all at once. And her body hung nearly lifeless before the Curvaceous Carnivore at the end of Eisenberg’s elevated arm, London’s boots dangling feet above the mat, toes pointed toward the canvas. Her arms drooped at her sides, swaying slightly with the slightest jostle of the domineering German’s grasp.
The only true signs of life with the slight heaving of Shea’s bosom, and the increasingly rapid blinking of the Sensational One’s eyes. With the audience unleashing a cascade of jeers toward the Sublime Serpent, the referee attempted to offer the clearly bested Briton an easy way out. “Come on, Shea,” he urged her. “Just say the word, and I’ll end this.”
Shea London offered no intelligible words in response, only the softest of incoherent murmurs.
Eisenberg tightened her grip in response, her fingers trembling as she dug her thumb in deeper into the vulnerable tendons of the smaller blondes exposed neck. “None of you believe,” Eisenberg pushed the words out from between her teeth as a slither, “that this is how it ends.” Turning about sharply, the Sublime Serpent growled with effort as she swung her trophy about, throwing the FAWN Original as if she were a discuss, face first towards the nearest set of turnbuckles!
Shea’s usual acts of defiance toward gravity ordinarily brought cheers and shouts of joy and admiration from the FAWNatics. Not this time. Oh, there were shouts aplenty, but they only contained concern and alarm as the Sensational One flew through the air, the blonde’s feet touching down a mere instant before her head swung forward, her features striking the thin leather padding of the top turnbuckle with a loud ‘THWAAACK!’ A glassy-eyed London pivoted away from the impact on one heel and managed to take one and a half faltering strides back toward the champion before her legs shimmied, sending Shea toppling toward the mat.
London touched down with another thud, her arms having made distressingly little movement toward breaking her fall, leaving many watching to wonder whether that faceful of turnbuckle had knocked the Sensational One unconscious... but the answer to that question came a heartbeat or so later when, moaning faintly, Shea’s fingers curled and dug into the canvas. The glistening blonde dragged herself forward, until her fingers found boot instead of mat. Curling around Erika’s ankles, London began straining to pull herself up, using Eisenberg’s succulent stems for all the support they might provide.
Eisenberg, much to the mounting discomfort of the FAWNatics, many of whom were beginning to hope that the Official may just see fit to end it, made no immediate effort to prevent Shea’s progress. Far more amused was she, with the most chilling of smirks on show, to merely witness her desert coming to her. The progress of the far smaller blonde was slow, painfully slow, the Brit utterly incapable of surrender pulling herself upwards inch by weary inch.
Finally, when the lithe Brit hand managed to make it to her knees, Erika was satisfied with her Challengers ascent, the German grabbing the Sensational One by her noggin and SHOVING her head between her strong thighs. With her opponent so secured, her groans muffled, the Curvaceous Carnivore also seized the smaller women by her wrists and raised her arms up high, removing them from the equation before she began to SQUEEZE!! her impossibly long, luscious legs together...
At first glance, taking possession of the Sensational One’s wrists had seemed a superfluous touch. After all, in her current condition, Shea would have been hard pressed to convert Erika’s standing headscissors into a backdrop if she had her feet under her. Being on her knees robbed the smaller blonde of ANY leverage with which to try that counter...
... but when Eisenberg’s hands started to slither up to London’s, her meaning became clearer. And any doubt was erased when the Curvaceous Carnivore’s fingers laced between Shea’s, her palms pressed flat against those of the Sensational One.
This wasn’t defense against a counter. This was defense against SURRENDER.
Her new grip now entirely eliminated the possibility of London finding a surface to slap or tap, laving only her fingers free to wiggle in a way which indicated nothing but her suffering, not her failing resolve. And the German beauty’s sculpted, constricting gams did FAR more than CRUUUSH the Sensational One’s skull. The smooth skin of her thighs swallowed most of Shea’s vocalizations. The only hope the official might have had in deciphering the Brit’s wails would have been in a silent arena...
... and alas, the FAWN Arena is FAAAAR from silent, the audience reacting with ever increasing volume to Erika’s tortures. And that merely made the Sublime Serpent smirk just a little more, amused by the unwitting assistance the dullards were providing her. Meanwhile, Shea’s boots gingerly kicked at the canvas, the Sensational One’s backside swishing ever so subtly side to side with each kick, until her glutes sunk to rest against her heels.
Several, sharp, vindictive twists from Erika’s hips added an almost audible crick to her Challengers neck, mounting her misery still further. It was only then that Eisenberg’s cold smile began to falter, displeasure marring her marble countenance. “No,” she shook her head, as if suddenly dissatisfied by the outcome, “this is insufficient, I must see it in your own eyes.”
The Sublime Serpent released, once again denying London any semblance of relief granted by oblivion and, before the lithe competitor could slink away by way of slump, Erika grasped her by her proud mane. The smaller blonde was hoisted upwards, first YANKED!! up onto her wobbly feet before being hupped up onto the air, the smaller blonde capture by the larger with two arms snaking about her slender waist.
The breath caught in the throats of the FAWNatics as the Curvaceous Carnivore had once again both captured her prey, and prepared to unleash the most brutal Bearhug in FAWN!!
For the FAWNatics, their collective breath caught in their throat. For Shea, it’s the exact opposite problem: Eisenberg’s joined hands pressing into her back DRIIIIIIIIIIIVE the oxygen out of London’s lungs in one prolonged gasp, the Sensational One’s legs rising and wrapping loosely around the German’s hips. The smaller blonde tried to draw in a breath to replace it, but her ribcage could not expand against the Curvaceous Carnivore’s constricting arms, her lungs beginning to burn from the lack of sustenance.
But STILL, Shea London would not submit.
When the referee asked, the Sensational One responded with (an exceedingly weak) shake of the head, her eyes sealed shut, her cheeks beginning to take on a slightly bluish tint. If she stayed in the German’s arms much longer, the decision would be taken out of her hands entirely. So knowing that, London dug down deep, trying to find the very last embers of defiance in her. And slowly... VERY slowly... Shea’s wings began to rise, her biceps quaking as her arms bent at the elbows. Gritting her teeth, the Sensational One launched those elbows toward Erika’s ears...
“GYYYYYUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Shea’s jaw fell slack as that breathless cry erupted from her, spurred by a vice-like crush from Erika’s arms the likes of which the smaller blonde had NEVER felt before. London’s arms came to an abrupt halt mid-swing, dropping all but limp to her sides, her fingers almost casually uncoiling. Similarly, the Sensational One’s legs melted down Erika’s outer thighs, Shea’s noggin lolling back on her shoulders, her long golden mane joining all four limbs in draping down toward the canvas.
Eisenberg’s resulting grin could not have been wider, far too many teeth on display as she surrendered to her baser instincts, the fully exposed throat of London far too tempting to ignore. She darted her head forwards and, after the briefest of teased tasting, latched her lips down HARD!! on the Heroine supple neck, suckling so forcibly that she really could be feeding upon her defeated Challenger. She paused for the barest moment, just long enough to switch from one side to the other, and to whisper a poisoned promise.
“Say my name,” she cooed with barely concealed malice, tempting Eve with the apple, “and I’ll consider returning you to Ms. Style,” Eisenberg SQUEEZED a little harder to ensure that she had Shea’s absolute attention, “and not Ms. Daniel...”
“Unnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh...” the sweat-drenched blonde Briton moaned, her eyelids fluttering with increasing speed, her arms and legs increasingly feeling as if they were encased in cement and her ribcage feeling like it was being balled shut around her lungs. The fight was over. Of that, there remained no doubt. All that was left was for Shea to acknowledge that reality. Finding the last dregs of oxygen within her, London managed to rasp...
“Ehhhhhhhh.... unnnnnhhhhhhhffffuuuuuuuugggggghhhhhhoooooooffffffffuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh...”
Eisenberg tilted her head as if listening, before smiling slowly with ruthless intent, subjecting Shea to one last, impossibly more severe squeeze before coming to her judgment. “I’m afraid that is unsatisfactory,” she declared before releasing her grip just quickly enough to grasp her victim by her perfectly firm thighs, slinging both herself and London forwards for a truly brutal Spinebuster!
As the Curvaceous Carnivore swooped downward, Shea’s legs swung back past Erika’s hips, the Sensational One savagely DRIVEN into the mat. It was bad enough that London hit the deck with practically the force of a thermonuclear detonation, but to then have the weight of Eisenberg crash down on top of her as well, sandwiching the blonde Brit in between... It was a nearly lethal combination, and the spasming of the sprawled legend underneath her foe demonstrated that Shea had indeed survived it--but any hope of the Sensational One summoning one of her legendary runs had been extinguished, certainly in the hearts and minds of the FAWNatics.
And possibly in Shea’s, as well.
For once, Eisenberg showed little by way of indulgent hesitation, the Sublime Serpent securing her position and, with the smaller blonde beneath barely responsive, slipped one of her arms beneath an immobile stem before likewise collecting the other, folding Shea’s athletic legs up at the knee and rolling the multi time Champion up into an impossibly small ball. That isn’t to say that the German did not place authority upon her dominant position, the snake clad Destroyer forcibly grinding her crotch down hard against the upturned, pert buttocks of her new Rival.
The Official, visibly relieved that the contest was meeting with a natural climax, dropped down to the canvas and began his three count...
ONE...
TWO...
THRE...
Without warning, Eisenberg leaned backwards, instantly relieving the pressure that had left the lithe Brit compacted and, without it, the crowd favorite ‘popped’ her way to freedom... albeit not at all under her own power...
The boneless, tensionless form of the Sensational One tumbled over, Shea left in a glistening, sprawled puddle of flesh, face down and motionless. And the crowd UNLOADED on the Perfect Predator with a THUNDEROUS round of boos and jeers, their volume loud enough to make the official feel like the ring was shaking as he turned a disbelieving, exasperated glare toward Eisenberg. “Come on, Erika,” he protested. “She’s done. Exactly what are you trying to prove? Pin her and be done with it.”
“Prove?” Eisenberg queried with a perplexed tilting of her head, considering the word as though she considered it a genuine query, “I have nothing to prove. But then,” Erika found one foot and then the other, reaching forwards at the same time to grasp a handful of her opponents golden mane, yanking her dead weight frame back up to a mockery of vertical, “I didn’t need to break my sisters spine in order to achieve victory either, some things are done simply for infamy.”
With Shea no longer plastered all over the mat, Eisenberg at least allowed the smaller blonde to at least fold forwards, although it was not act of mercy. Slipping her impossibly strong arm about the trembling tummy of her Challenger, the IC Champion secured the beginnings of a Sidewalk Slam.
“There is a saying, in this business, is there not? We all end our careers the same way,” Erika sermon ended, although no-one believed that Shea was capable of listening, “on our backs!!”
With a sudden lift, the Sublime Serpent prepared to pile on the torture to an already obliterated opponent with a ‘Final Destination’...
FINAL DESTINATION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0u1l7bquPTw
London let out a small cry when Erika genuflected, SLAMMING the smaller blonde’s spine down across her outstretched thigh with considerable force. Frankly, the violence of the impact and the softness of Shea’s wail stood in stark contrast--but it was a testament to the number on the FAWN icon the Curvaceous Carnivore had already done...
... and she was still by no means finished.
Tightening her grip around the Sensational One’s waist, Eisenberg powered her way back to her full height, effortlessly slinging Shea back into the air and leaving the British blonde’s belly resting against her shoulder. But just for a moment. This time, the German beauty fell to her opposite knee, dropping London stomach first across her other thigh. Shea’s moan was louder this time as her knees dropped to the canvas, the blonde looking decidedly green around the gills...
... and yet, this two was merely a layover.
Scooping Shea back into the air, Erika surged her way back to verticality, hoisting Shea up and leaving the legend’s back atop her shoulder. But instead of taking a knee, this time Eisenberg remained on her feet, only swooping forward as she launched London from her shoulder and PLANTED the Sensational One into the canvas with a jaw-dropping powerbomb, rendering Shea little more than the flag the German planted in laying her claim to dominion over FAWN. After impact, the British Bombshell remained folded in a tight matchbook, her insensate features framed by a pair of knees resting against the mat, her arms spilled lifeless to the sides and her rump elevated toward the arena lights, simply waiting for Erika to place a boot atop.
Eisenberg did not pass on such a tantalizing moment, her boot soon planted upon the former World Champions upraised posterior, her heel grinding into the proud women’s sex, the Official dropping to the canvas to begin his count. Erika did not impede him, raising her arms up to accept her well deserved accolades, her gaze, coldest blue and ravenous, turning towards the skybox. No doubt the FAWN Commissioner, Bethany Christian, the Sublime Serpent her chosen Champion, watched on and was pleased by the outcome.
ONE...
TWO...
THRE...
With an all but idle flick of her boot, Eisenberg knocked the Sensational Shea London over...
As before, Shea tumbled into a tangle of arms and legs, the drenched blonde offering not even the slightest hint of any remaining consciousness following the Perfect Predator’s awe-inspiring trifecta of maneuvers. More so than before, the audience ERUPTED into jeers and whistles--and now, even soda cups and popcorn baskets sailed toward the ring, a few FAWNatics looking almost ready to charge the ring to come to Shea’s defense--if they didn’t believe Eisenberg would do the exact same thing to them as well. “DAMMIT, ERIKA!” the referee exclaimed. “END THIS!!!”
“I shall,” Eisenberg circled the wreckage of her Challenger, considering what further travesty she could visit upon the Icon, her pace unhurried as her fingers twitched in anticipation. “In due time. For Decades others have tried to ‘end it’ and failed, this is not a matter to be hurried...”
Sam Sinclair: Leaning forwards rapidly like a viper, she grabbed the defeated Icon by her gold mane once more, preparing to rip...
“Rock You Like a Hurricane” burst into life over the loud speakers...
”ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2q-gMFsHb0
...heralding the arrival of hope at last, the FAWNatics flooded with relief for the first time in far too long during this contest for, once where there had been no-one, now came Susan Style!! The All American Angel and Commissioner of the ever popular House Show, Monday Night Mayhem, was wasting no time tonight, forgoing her usual welcome as she beat a rapid path towards the squared circle. Even now, as she stormed into the breach and was as furious as ANYONE had ever known her, her every movement remained hypnotic, the sway of her hips and swing of her curls capturing almost everyone’s attention... including Eisenberg’s.
SUSAN STYLE:
[URL=http://s288.photobucket.com/user/bigfan877/media/SusanStyle2.jpg.html%5d%5bIMG%5dhttp://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll185/bigfan877/SusanStyle2.jpg%5b/IMG%5d%5b/URL%5d
“You heard the man,” the Girl of a Thousand Heartbreaks warned in no uncertain terms, bringing a stick to her mouth to make damn sure that she wasn’t ignored. “That is ENOUGH!!” The Media Icon stopped just short of the squared circle, exercising an immense amount of will to go no further, looking every inch the authority figure that the FAWNatics were more than happy to adore.
Decked out in the tightest pair of jeans to have ever hugged a wrestler, the denim stretched across long legs broken only by the brace securely fitted about her right knee, whilst the cross media icon also sported a pearl white T-Shit and leather jacket. Across her shirt, however, remained two words in girlish, bright red script across her bosom that reminded everyone and all of her in ring trademark, and fueled hope that she should one day return to it.
‘YOU WISH!’
Eisenberg, through it all, remained silent, her head tilted to the side as if mildly bemused, a fistful of Shea’s golden mane still grasped tightly between her fingers while London’s eyes barely fluttered, mumbles and moans beginning to return from out between her lips, responding to new stimuli.
“You want to make a statement, fine; you can take every opportunity,” Susan soldiered on, her pretty peepers of bright blue meeting Eisenberg’s chilling gaze and not faltering. “But if you think for one moment that we,” some of the FAWNatics had to wonder if Style were using the Royal ‘we’ on this occasion, as many suspected that Bethany Christian could not be further from the same mind on this occasion, “will not stand by while you End a Career to satisfy your WHIMSY!!”
Susan stepped forwards, the cheers of the packed arena growing louder as she grasped the middle rope, “You have your victory Erika, bravo, now End It,” Style narrowed her eyes slightly, “or I’ll end it for you, feel free to walk away tonight with nothing!”
For a long, charged moment, Erika said nothing... before the beginnings of a smile began to crease her lips.
“Amusing,” she muttered, before dropping down to one knee, her eyes, cold and utterly unforgiving, never leaving those of Susan. With Shea before her, Eisenberg SLAPPED!! on a brutal Sleeper, preparing to finally drive London into the deepest of dark oblivion. “Say my name,” she commanded by domineering whisper into her Challengers waiting ear, “so that your dear Ms. Style can hear you. Say! My! Name!”
As Eisenberg’s arms drew the noose tight around Shea’s throat, the smaller blonde returned to some semblance of awareness with some soft groans and one or two louder gurgles. The legend’s eyelids fluttered a little more rapidly, finally managing to stay parted by perhaps a third of their usual state, revealing a lot of white and only the tiniest of the underside of her pupils. London’s arms flailed just a bit, but that was only due to the movements of Erika’s arms, closing off the artery that fed her brain the blood it needed to function.
And, at last, Shea’s lips trembled as they started to open. “Uhhhhhhhhh...” the blonde Brit gasped, barely audible, precious little oxygen available to supply her voice volume. “.... unnnnnhhhh... ehhhhhhh.... errrrrr... iiiiiiiikkkkkkkkaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh...”
The smile that was to follow across Erika’s ruthlessly serene features was utterly lacking in mirth, her eyes, never blinking, matching the gaze of Susan’s without flinching. “Shhhhhhh,” she cooed, lacking warmth as she clamped down tighter, ending matters as requested. Her next words were for the House Show Commissioner glaring at her from ringside, “listen to her as she sleeps Ms. Style,” she taunted, her vindictive smirk widening further as she jostled her Challenger for just a little more torment. “It will be my name she whispers, and not yours...”
The Sublime Serpent gave Shea’s noggin one abrupt shrug, which in turn sent the smaller blonde’s arms flopping into the air... but as they did, London’s eyelids drew shut, another thin, tiny stream of spittle starting to dribble out of the corner of her mouth. For a moment, the official considered simply turning toward the timekeeper and calling for the bell, given Erika’s earlier antics. But, perhaps against his better instincts--and perhaps fearful that Bethany Christian would have his job if he didn’t go through the customary check--he reached out and secured a light grasp around Shea’s wrist. Lifting the Sensational One’s arm into the air, he held it a second before letting go...
It fell ONCE...
It fell TWICE...
Unable to resist, Erika bore down HARD!! for one last squeeze, savoring one final shudder from her victim before letting go, Shea dropping like a brick and the Curvaceous Carnivore rising as a Champion. She took her gold from the Time Keeper as the houselights dimmed, raising it high above her head as the Announcer made it legal, a foot placed imperiously upon her Challenger’s firm thigh as the Age of the Perfect Predator continued to go unchecked...
...with but a single voice in the FAWN hierarchy speaking out against her.
”DEVIL”
www.youtube.com/watch?v=XxlaJQGve7s
Erika Eisenberg emerged amongst the stark and piercing beat of that opening rhythm, the melody as unsettling as it was threatening, the curvaceous carnivore striding with purpose, with desire, her pace unceasing and her gaze entrancing, ice blue and calculating, alluring... perilous...
ERIKA EISENBERG:
Attired in the skin of the dead, the blonde destroyer hugged tightly by the two piece, dark tan, snake skin top and slim line shorts, elbow long, fingerless gloves and knee high boots, she was every inch the Titan the FAWNatics feared her to be. Slowly, with cold, methodical, malicious intent, she circled the ring, refusing to acknowledge the shades that were the bystanders, moving like a predator pinning down her prey, that stare, that piercing, ravenous stare soaking in the ground upon which she would feed upon her volunteering challenger.
Not even the Gold that was wrapped about her waist, the coveted Belt that was one of the greatest prizes in wrestling, could find the spark to pierce the all pervading gloom, the overriding sense of dread. She had made the IC Title her own, and with it, she was crowned a Queen of Misery.
Suddenly, with a burst of speed, she all but leapt up onto the apron, proceeding to almost effortlessly lift one long, stunningly powerful leg over the top rope, followed quickly by the other, a slight, mirthless smile finally rising to her coldly intense features.
The Announcer, keeping his distance and finding his voice, cut through the pervading silence and made the coming contest official.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest will be for the Intercontinental Championship, and a continuation of the Curvaceous Carnivore, Open Challenge!! Introducing first, hailing from Berlin, Germany, standing in at 5’9” and 140lbs, the Perfect Predator, ERIKA! EISENBERG!”
That smallest of mirthless smiles remained upon her features as the houselights returned with agonizing slowness, finding her corner as though she owned it, her eyes unfaltering from their gaze of the curtains which had yet to flutter open. Perhaps mockingly, perhaps sincerely, she licked her lips, a long trailing of her tongue, as the viper could hardly wait to sink her teeth in...
The FAWNatics followed her gaze, well aware of the torment and terror that Erika had sown in both recent, and now long term memory, unstoppable as she tore a ragged hole through their beloved favorites. Not in over a year had anyone pinned her, and still the challenge remained open, her appetite for suffering refusing to be slaked. Even those who formed the crème of FAWN’s pedigree, Juliet Bloodwind, Carol Courage, Becky Clayton, Sayuki Matsumoto, could not prevent the ongoing carnage, all of them and more yet another pedestal for the ever more elaborate throne of ‘corpses’.
The silence lingered, the shadows lengthened, the torch that needed tendering going unheeded...
It almost became unbearable...
... until the arena's speakers roared into life, posing their own question for one and all:
"Do you wanna get rocked?"
”LET’S GET ROCKED:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=BO1Nae_EBvQ
The audience responded with a roar worthy the main event at Mania when Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" began to pump over the PA. At which point the British Bombshell herself, Sensational Shea London, stepped from backstage to a rapturous reception from the Orlando faithful.
SHEA LONDON:
The blonde Briton darted down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does, her usual million dollar smile on full display for the crowd. The Sensational One returned to action tonight sporting what could best be described as a Union Jack two piece: her top presented a white cross with the quadrants above in red and below in blue, and white trim leading into the shoulder straps. Her bottoms were primarily blue, save for the red, upside-down ‘V’ that started at each thigh and meet at her waist, the waistband and bars both trimmed in white. Though in this case of this Union Jack, the image was broken up by an expanse of scrumptious tummy. Her kneepads displayed the emblem in a much more traditional fashion, with white wrist tape and boots completing the ensemble.
The gorgeous blonde made a complete circuit around ringside, continuing to slap hands and accept the well wishes of her fans. Catching sight of one particular sign in the audience, Shea's grin grew even wider. Leaning over the railing, Shea swung her left arm around the shoulders of one fortunate fan, turning to the camera and pointing at the posterboard with her right. The placard read, rather simply, “PLEASE LET ERIKA’S REIGN COME TO A SENSATIONAL END!”
“Ya got inside information or somethin’, kid?” London asked with a somewhat crooked smile.
“Just praying,” the fan replied.
“Keep prayin’, kid,” Shea said. “Trust me, miracles DO ‘appen.”
Further making the fan's day, London gave him a quick peck on the cheek before bounding over to the ring.
Climbing the steps, Shea slipped between the ropes, headed to her corner and began to stretch along the ropes. And as she did so, the atmosphere in the FAWN Arena continued to generate electricity. As much of a terror as the Python Powerhouse had proven to be, she had NEVER shared the ring with someone QUITE like the woman who had answered her challenge tonight. She’d never stood across from a TRUE icon of this company--its first ever champion, in fact.
To be clear, no one in the building believed for a moment that the end of Erika’s reign was a foregone conclusion. But the FAWNatics were perhaps as hopeful of seeing that joyous day as they had ever been...
Eisenberg remained poised, deceptively languid within her corner, the Curvaceous Carnivore with her arms uncurled across the uppermost ropes, her half lidded gaze unblinking as she followed her willing morsel capering around the ring. Once inside, the little blonde’s fate was already sealed, and Erika was nothing if not patient, after all, to her all good things came in time. None of them could help it, lining themselves up to be slaughtered at the merest hint of a challenge, the Amazonian herself becoming the bait that her most desired targets could not ignore.
“Amusing,” she spoke finally, tilting her head back with curling of her throat, red lips quirking into a half smirk, the German savoring the arrival of the beloved Brit. “I half expected another infant.”
Limbered up to her satisfaction, the Sensational One stepped away from her corner and toward the center of the ring. “No infants ‘ere,” Shea called to the reigning Intercontinental champion. “Ya gotta deal with a full grown woman.”
The irony of the five foot four Briton referring to herself as a “full grown woman”, standing opposite a German blonde five inches taller is hardly lost on anyone, least of all Erika herself, whose only response to that proclamation was an arched eyebrow.
“Ya ‘eard me,” London remarked, anything but chastised. “An’ you are NOT leavin’ THIS ring with THA’ belt tanight. So why don’t ya bring tha’ bony backside out o’ tha’ corner, an’ let’s get this started...”
Eisenberg’s reply was not immediate, neither was her response, the moment lingering almost uncomfortably until she pushed out slowly from her corner, muscles uncoiling like supine serpents as the Perfect Predator began a slow, deliberate pace about the circumference of the ring. They circled, the two Alpha Females, London predictably far more spritely on her toes than the Destroyer opposite.
“You are as... vocal as I recall,” Erika finally broke her own silence, choosing her words with precision, “and I do recall you ‘Sensational’ Shea London. I recall you traveling the world as though it owed you, I recall you battling at my sisters side as though you were somehow blood kin.”
She paused, the titanic blonde, lowering herself forwards with arms outstretched and ready, a glint in her pale blue eyes betraying passion. “I broke her back you know, perhaps you saw it, the pop of her spine across my knee, it’s still... invigorating.”
In all honesty, Shea London hadn’t seen it. The German tour was, relatively speaking, a brief one. But she remembered Klaudia well enough, and yes, she had liked her tremendously. They hadn’t just worked together in the ring. They had also spent many an evening with Klaudia showing the foreigner around the local nightlife. They had spent a number of hours discussing their hopes in the business, and their lives away from it.
And she remembered Klaudia discussing her love for her baby sister.
While Shea had known that Klaudia had lost her title to Erika, the exact circumstances had escaped her attention. And to hear Erika now, relishing what she had done to a woman that London knew cared for her deeply... it made her sick to her stomach. Snarling, the Sensational One lunged forward...
... and ducked under the rising arms of the Python Powerhouse. If Eisenberg had hoped to goad her into an ill-advised lock up, Shea had other ideas. Moving past the larger blonde, London whipped around quickly, snaking her arms around Erika’s midsection, attempting to secure a waistlock. If she could do that, then she could try to take advantage of her opponent’s surprise to use that waistlock to take Eisenberg down to the mat.
If London did indeed possess an ally within this contest, beyond the legion of FAWNatics cheering for her success at ringside, then it was her infamous speed. The far smaller blonde made equal use of her more diminutive stature to slip beneath the all too eager grasp of Eisenberg, sidestepping a lock up than could surely only end badly for the fan favorite, and slipped her own arms around the rigid midriff of the German from behind. Momentum proved to be in her favor, albeit momentarily, and the whiplash nature of her rapid footwork proved to be enough to unbalance the statuesque blonde she fought against, almost bringing her down to one knee.
Almost...
Erika remained upright, twisting one way and then the other, mildly amused by her predicament, before the horror clad in snakeskin began to enforce a rapid reverse towards the closest set of turnbuckles...
Shea couldn’t help but notice the two sets of rubber coated steel cables drawing closer to her flanks, the foreboding knowledge that those ropes would end in a juncture of turnbuckles that were guaranteed to SLAM into her back considerably less than comforting--especially with Erika’s statuesque, retreating frame squarely in the way of any hope of escape. The Sensational One realized almost instantly that her set of brakes had little hope of slowing Eisenberg down sufficiently, so instead London screwed her eyes shut and tightened her embrace, steadying herself against the impact of...
“OOOOOPPPPHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!”
One hundred and forty pounds of Curvaceous Carnivore CRUSHED the tawny blonde against the buckles, but to her credit, London’s arms remained locked tight around Erika’s waist, Shea’s hands clutching her own forearms tightly as she tried to re-capture the breath her opponent had driven out of her. Eisenberg didn’t afford her challenger much respite, however, rocking her hips forward only to DRIVE her hindquarters back into London’s abdomen...
... and THAT blow loosened the Sensational One’s embrace.
Erika followed up with a second backward thrust of her hips, which broke the clasp ensnaring her. But Shea’s arms fell only briefly before reversing course, her hands wrapping around the top turnbuckle as Eisenberg took one stride forward. Drawing her knees up toward her chest, London launches her books toward the back of the Perfect Predator, hoping to send the German blonde striding a little further out into the ring--and give Shea enough space to climb to the middle rope and launch a somewhat abbreviated missile dropkick.
As Eisenberg turned about, now mildly irritated by the shove against her shoulders, Shea was already airborne, in her element as few others could be and connected with a solid dropkick!! With both of her boots leading the way, she caught the towering blonde squarely over her heart and even the Sublime Serpent was forced into a backwards stumble.
Still she didn’t fall, her enforced withdraw taking Eisenberg to the opposite sent of ring ropes, the taunt coils doing their utmost to support her destroyer class physique. Suddenly all pretense of lethargy was absent, Erika immediately launching forwards with a speed that belied her size, the Perfect Predator narrowing the distance on her prey inside an eye blink as Shea herself was starting to rise, an arm outstretched for a thunderous clothesline!!
The combination of Erika’s lengthy stems, the momentum suddenly given to her by the ring ropes and Eisenberg’s own fury and sudden resolve were a formidable combination. Any one of those three prongs, the Sensational One might have been able to find an answer for. But all three ingredients merged into one irresistible formula, the Sublime Serpent catching a wide-eyed London before she could even think about evasive maneuvers. Erika’s scythe-like arm met Shea’s upper chest with a resounding ‘THWOOMP!!!’ that might very well have been the sound of an explosion, the impact with which the clothesline struck the challenger and practically turned her inside out. London flipped through the air, crashing to the canvas face down, the FAWNatics which just a second ago had been cheering Shea’s dropkick abruptly stunned into near total silence.
With a sensual slowness, the towering blonde rolled her neck as her forward sprint faded into a stroll, the Champion turning about in a wide circle which zeroed Eisenberg back in on the upended London with methodical intent. A solid and precise kick caught the shell shocked heroine clean against her smooth tummy and flipped the smaller blonde over, Erika sparing neither a hint of mercy nor hesitation as she dropped down sharply onto one knee, aiming the joint to impale the beloved Brit clean over her heart.
Shea’s arsenal, more than perhaps any other woman in the company, was fueled by her oxygen intake. Her speed fed off her lungs, and to this point, EVERYTHING Erika had done--the corner crunch, the butt bumps to the belly, even the clothesline--had served to keep the Sensational One’s sails as deprived of wind as humanly possible. It was a line of attack that continued with Eisenberg’s short, swift kick to the tummy, as well as the knee that dropped harshly onto her bosom, the blonde’s Brit’s eyes bulging along with her loud exhale.
The Perfect Predator remained on one knee, the other holding London down--and with Shea’s shoulders flat against the mat, the official promptly slid into position to record the...
ONE...
TWO...
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!
Shea’s hands flew up, striking Erika’s thigh and pushing the bigger, crueler blonde’s leg away. No longer pinned, the Sensational One rolled forward, hungrily gulping down air as she tried to create some separation between herself and the champion.
Separation, however, could not have been further from Eisenberg’s mind as the titanic blonde moved to close the distance quickly, her appetites for the evening far from slaked. With London crawling and stumbling with her back to her, the Curvaceous Carnivore could not resist her overriding temptation even if she wanted to, the smaller blonde a delicious delicacy to be savored. Erika moved in, slipping her right arm beneath Shea’s shoulder before FAWN’s first Champion could even react, the German beginning to palm the back of the legends neck as she began to hiss into her ear.
“That Niece of yours, you should learn to watch her,” Eisenberg warned, sowing the seeds of discontent, “she’ll not be satisfied with ‘Baby’ London forever, she’ll want your crown before you’re done, she’ll want your blood.”
Without waiting for a rebuttal, Erika’s left arm was already moving to snake around, matching the movement of her right as she attempted to secure a fierce Full Nelson.
It was a good thing (well, for Erika, at least) that she didn’t wait for a response, because none was forthcoming. Perhaps Shea simply refused to take the bait? Or maybe she just still didn’t have enough air to form a retort. Or she simply determined that it would be better to save her breath toward more offensive measures--and offensive measures suddenly became VERY difficult to come by once Eisenberg laced her fingers together behind the Sensational One’s head.
London’s arms strained down, attempting to power out of the nelson, but with little success--and the longer Erika was able to work the full nelson from above, forcing the Brit to bear the Perfect Predator’s weight as she fought to break Eisenberg’s chains, success was certain to become even more elusive. She HAD to get back to her feet, and to that end Shea struggled to work her way up off her knees, fighting against both Erika’s brawn and her leverage.
“Yes, you are as valiant as I was informed,” Eisenberg observed, punctuating her remark with a bite to London’s ear. Fleeting, perhaps, but utterly possessive, just as was the ferocious SHAKE she subjected the much smaller women to, wringing the battling Brit from one side to the other if only to elicit grunts of pain from the severely jostled heroine. “And just as fragile.”
Again, leaving no room for retort, Erika suddenly straightened, bringing her passenger with her ripping the Lightweight clean off her struggling feet. With the Full Nelson still retained, she moved to compound the courageous blonde’s torture, attempting to hook the crowd favorite’s boots across the Germans thighs, and thus rob her of purchase entirely...
SURFBOARD FULL NELSON @3:10:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydKLPyPmsno
Powering a smaller woman like Shea off her feet was no chore at all for Eisenberg, the German blonde dropping from her impressive full height into a crouch--a crouch that served to trap the Sensational One’s shins against her succulent stems, Erika pressing down against London’s neck with renewed vigor. Now, this not only kept the pressure amped up on the nelson, but the combination of Eisenberg’s downward thrusts and her parted legs served to keep the British blonde’s gams bent at the knees.
“What do you say, Shea?” the referee asked, London’s Legions PLEADING with their heroine not to surrender.
“Nuhhhhhaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh....” the Sensational One defiantly howled, willful but utterly helpless, her flailing arms nowhere near long enough to reach the ropes from the center of the ring. The best Shea could manage to do was strain to slip her boots away from Erika’s thighs. As long her legs were ensnared, the only thing London could do was pray she could outlast the Perfect Predator’s strength.
An unlikely prospect, many would guess, even with the infamous resolve of the Sensational Shea London. For Erika, it seemed, submission from the Brit was not a requirement of domination, wringing the life from the heroine’s small body substance enough for her ravenous appetites. If anything, that defiance only made her struggles all the sweeter.
It was not, however, a test that Shea would need to pass tonight, not as Eisenberg released one half of her locked in Full Nelson and allowed her valiant little morsel the briefest of moments to set her boots to canvas. It was indeed but a moment however, as the Curvaceous Carnivore also dropped to one knee, retaining half of her hold for leverage as she turned the Lightweight about, preparing her to subject her to a Backbreaker of vindictive intent...
HALF NELSON BACKBREAKER @5:35:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=C9V73mInfRA
The kneeling Sublime Serpent gives her challenger a wicked downward yank, Shea’s back SLAMMING down across Eisenberg’s outstretched thigh. “GYAAAAAGGGGGGuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnhhhhhhh...” the Sensational One moans, seemingly impaled by Erika’s posted knee. While the reigning and defending Intercontinental champion might not have succeeded in wringing a submission out of her opponent with the full nelson surfboard, it was immediately readily apparent just how much that monstrous torment had drained the fight out of London, the British blonde left sprawled nearly limp across Eisenberg’s thigh, Shea’s head, hair and arms all hanging down, the knuckles of her curled fingers almost grazing the canvas.
Clearly unsatisfied with the already curled arc of London’s spine, Erika showed not even a hint of haste in removing the smaller blonde from her pedestal. Whilst using one of her palms to cup the chin of iconic Brit, the German used her other to brace against the women’s athletically firm thigh. Following a deep and sharp exhale, Eisenberg prepared to SHOVE down hard on either side of her unwilling wishbone, straining every one of her foes vertebra to their limits.
“To your credit, ‘Sensational’ One,” Erika cooed from her position of dominance, “my dear siblings back popped far more swiftly.”
“AGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” the blonde Briton cried out, her upper and lower body both being directed toward the canvas, but with her lower spine frustratingly not going anywhere. At some point, it seemed like her back would HAVE to snap in two at some point, though thankfully Shea’s spinal column was every bit as stubborn as the rest of her.
Even so, the referee dropped to one knee beside them, his voice full of concern as he asked, “How about it, Shea? I’ll ring the bell as soon as you say the word. Don’t risk your health over...”
“CLEAR OFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!” London snapped in equal parts defiance and agony, her eyes snapping shut as Erika exerted a little more force on her thighs and jaw. Unable to force her eyes back open against the pain, the Sensational One never the less balled her left fist and swung it upwards, hoping to connect with Eisenberg’s jaw but willing to settle for landing anywhere that might earn her freedom.
While the blow was fleeting, the connection it made across the side of Erika’s jaw was enough to earn a note of annoyance from the Sadistic Serpent, the veneer of her viciously cool demeanor breached for just a heartbeat. She jerked her head backwards as though she had been stung and, with a curling of her red slick lips, the powerful blonde shoved the former Champion from off her knee.
Never the less, she was not prepared to allow the wreckage of her opponent to cool for long, almost immediately grasping the other proud blonde by her mane and yanking her upwards towards kneeling. Once positioned, she continued in her attempts to curl the struggling Brit, encircling her own arm about to lock in a Dragon Sleeper...
Shea London might be among the quickest women this business had ever known, but even she wasn’t particularly fast from her knees--and particularly not with electric jolts of anguish continuing to shoot up and down her poor spine. So preoccupied with reaching her left hand toward the small of her back, she practically failed to notice Erika’s arm slip underneath her right arm, trapping that limb as the Sublime Serpent clasped her hands together against London’s shoulderblades. Almost immediately, Shea felt the artery conveying precious blood to her brain pressed closed, her one free hand sweeping through the air in a desperate--and ultimately futile--quest to find the ropes.
Coming up empty there, London’s fingers instead coiled tightly around the one thing she COULD find: Erika’s golden locks. The Sensational One promptly yanked down with as much strength as she could summon, her opponent letting out a fittingly serpentine hiss as the referee offered a rebuke. He then began to administer a count, London hoping that Erika could be convinced to release her hold by the time he reached “FOUR!”
Eisenberg did indeed release, albeit perhaps not for motivations that some would expect, her bicep unclenching and allowing fresh oxygen to flood back towards Shea’s precious grey matter. The smaller blonde also released, although she was not about to be allowed to simply puddle onto the canvas, Erika grasping the defiant Challengers by her slim shoulders and YANKED!! her backwards, CRACKING the back of the crowd favorites noggin across the Germans knee on her way down to the canvas.
With London suitably shell-shocked, the Intercontinental Champion rose to her full, stunning height and turned the entirety of her ire towards the Official. Her tone remained quiet and yet all of her mannerisms threatened violence, a warning pushed out between her teeth. “Do not think to interfere with my victory, little Sheppard, I will have my pound of meat from my sheep. Submission or Oblivion and nothing else, I will not accept disqualification you understand? I will not allow it.”
The referee opened his mouth to protest, but no sound emerged despite the movement of his lips. Accepting that as compliance with her wishes, Erika turned and sauntered back toward the mewling, weakly stirring challenger. Stooping down, the Perfect Predator gathered a handful of hair, yanking the Sensational One up as far as her knees...
... and receiving a balled fist to the midsection for her efforts.
Eisenberg let loose a small puff of air, but otherwise didn’t register the blow much at all. Instead, with a casual confidence, the Intercontinental champion continued to methodically tug London up from her knees. Far less methodically, Shea’s arms suddenly flew upward, both her hands plunging into the German’s mane. Pulling Erika’s chin over the crown of her skull, the FAWN icon went dead weight, trying to drop back to her knees and deliver a jawbreaker to the Sublime Serpent.
Gravity could be an ally to many a Lightweight competitor, just as it was tonight as London tucked herself up into a ball and plummeted towards the canvas. Eisenberg was rapidly folded forwards and, just as it seemed as though she were taking a bow, Shea’s momentum ended as her shoulders met the mat and the savage jolt ran throughout the length of her small body all the way to her knees before transferring to Erika’s chin with a mighty CRACK!!
The far taller blonde returned to upright with a whiplash motion, clutching her chin before she turned about in a half circle. The Curvaceous Carnivore stumbled for several steps before coming to a halt, snarling some quiet warning that was lost somewhere in translation, her tongue throbbing from where she had inadvertently bitten it.
Behind her, meanwhile, the Sensational One kipped back to her feet--an action that belied many of the aches and pains that still afflicted her. Adrenaline could be a powerful painkiller, however--and the knowledge that she had only bought herself maybe a few seconds with the jawbreaker was a powerful source of adrenaline. Noting that the bigger blonde’s back was to her, London charged toward her foe, leaping off her feet and drawing her knees into the air. Reaching for Erika’s shoulders, Shea hoped to gain a little more time--and do more than just a little more damage--by executing a lungblower.
The FAWNatics that watched on were caught in a moment of indecision, trapped between their desires to shout in approval and yet also not wanting to give the game away. Even the barest hint of a cheer could serve as a warning for the Sublime Serpent, Eisenberg spinning about to thwart any chance of a resurgence, but much to their relief that didn’t come to pass. Instead Erika was yanked backwards, London once again utilizing gravity and surprise to YANK!! the Intercontinental Champion towards the mat.
With Shea’s knee’s proving to be the weapon of choice for the second time within the same minute, a louder hiss escaped the bloodied lips of Erika as both of the joints embedded themselves DEEP between her shoulder blades. As though she had been jolted with electricity, the taller blonde gasped with strangled pain as, a fraction of a moment after the impact, she SHOT straight back up to standing. For just the barest moment, it appeared as though she may well begin to topple over...
...only for Eisenberg to remain stubbornly upright.
Even with all they had seen Erika do and all that she could endure, the crowd could scarcely believe the powerful blonde was still on her feet. For her part, Shea London herself was only slightly less skeptical than the fans. Scrambling to her feet, the Sensational One sprinted past the Perfect Predator, turning her back into the ropes and allowing the cables to propel the smaller blonde back toward her foe. Charging Eisenberg, London vaulted into the air, again raising up her knees--this time aiming to land on Erika’s shoulders, and allowing her weight to drive Erika to the mat underneath the London Blitz.
This time London’s Legion could not even hope to contain themselves, an almighty roar rippling across the arena as FAWN’s First Heroine took to the skies, her knees once again connecting against Eisenberg with a terrific THUNK!! Her joints slapped against the powerful shoulders of her adversary, and all that was left was for Erika to topple...
...Only she didn’t, those watching still shouting with enthusiasm as Eisenberg was forced into a full step backwards, before triumph threatened to turn rapidly into disaster. Erika didn’t fall, instead the Curvaceous Carnivore whipped her own arms upwards to catch her Challenger in her flight, the German seizing the much smaller Brit by her thighs and, following her own shout, exercised her free will in plummeting towards the canvas, albeit by way of Sit Out Powerbomb!!
SITOUT POWERBOMB:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=xroW_nu3itU
Shuffling the Briton’s shins off her shoulders, allowing those calves to fall down across the German’s back, Erika directed all her might into viciously swinging her cargo downward--and ALL of the Sublime Serpent’s might was far more than many could handle. Eisenberg landed not so softly on her rump, but London’s back struck the canvas so hard that only a miracle of modern engineering meant that there was no impact crater left on the mat. A dull, woozy groan pushed past the Sensational One’s lips when the back of her head ‘CRAAACK!’ed off the thinly padded plywood, more than a few FAWNatics concerned that London’s skull could not have survived as unscathed as the canvas. Erika leaned forward, keeping the smaller blonde held down for...
ONE...
TWO...
THRENOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
London’s right arm spasmed off the mat, falling nearly limp across her own chest, but still elevating her shoulder off the canvas.
A deep exhale slid out slowly from the frame of the Sublime Serpent as she displayed not a hint of disappointment, instead eyeing the ravaged frame of her diminutive Rival as the smaller blonde moaned between her thighs. With deliberate lethargy, her eyes never leaving her morsel, the Intercontinental Champion slid forwards across the top of her oh so hopeful Challenger, stopping only when her lips could meet Shea’s. Bloodied from her own injury, there was a taste of copper as Eisenberg brought hers together with her opponents, stifling any potential protest with her own insatiable hunger, all the while bringing her palms upwards to clasp the Brit with an impending vice against her temples.
“Savor the taste, Little London,” she suggested as she pulled her lips away, preparing to SQUEEZE her foes golden topped noggin, “it is all the pleasure you have remaining.”
Having been driven practically into next month by Eisenberg’s powerbomb, the Sensational One registered very little recognition or response to the possessive kiss, her eyes not even half-lidded when the Perfect Predator pulled away... but as soon as Erika began to exert pressure, London’s eyes snapped open wide. They grew wider still the harder the heels of the German’s palms drove into the side of her head, her jaw beginning to fall slack as well.
Less obviously, Shea’s fingers balled into fists, the blonde Briton still possessing enough of her wits to think of trying to fire punches upward at her attacker. Alas, London’s arms barely lift off the mat before falling back when Eisenberg amped up the pressure a little more. And as Shea’s eyes started to roll back, far more white on display than pupil, her tongue gradually started to slip past her lips--and a small stream of saliva began to trickle down her cheek.
Before London could involuntarily surrender to sweet oblivion, Eisenberg released her vice, ever so slowly slackening the pressure and witnessing the barest hints of life returning to the cheeks of FAWN’s first World Champion. This was no act of mercy towards a valiant opponent that she physically outmatched in almost every stat, it was nothing more than the act of a cat playing with her morsel before it was put it out to slaughter.
“This is it?” she queried, looking upwards from the Lightweight laid out prone beneath her, Eisenberg icy stare glaring out across the audience with quite, dangerous amusement. The Hard Camera couldn’t move in fast enough to capture the moment, nor allow her words to go unnoticed.
Erika surrendered her straddle of the Brit’s hips, but only so that she could rise herself, almost absently rolling London over and, with her right hand, viciously seized the back of the fan favorites neck like a Falcon seizing a field mouse, digging her talons deep.
“This is your Heroine?” she questioned, mocking the FAWNatics with a cruel twitching of her lips, exerting a surge of effort to bring about a moment of history. With one arm she scraped her Challenger clean off the canvas and dead lifted her into the air, holding her aloft for all the world to see.
“I expected better...”
As trophies went, she might be slight in stature, but the legacy embodied by the woman being held on display was without parallel--which made Erika’s statement all the more pronounced. FAWN’s first World champion. Indeed, the only woman in the history of the company to hold every singles belt in existence at that time all at once. And her body hung nearly lifeless before the Curvaceous Carnivore at the end of Eisenberg’s elevated arm, London’s boots dangling feet above the mat, toes pointed toward the canvas. Her arms drooped at her sides, swaying slightly with the slightest jostle of the domineering German’s grasp.
The only true signs of life with the slight heaving of Shea’s bosom, and the increasingly rapid blinking of the Sensational One’s eyes. With the audience unleashing a cascade of jeers toward the Sublime Serpent, the referee attempted to offer the clearly bested Briton an easy way out. “Come on, Shea,” he urged her. “Just say the word, and I’ll end this.”
Shea London offered no intelligible words in response, only the softest of incoherent murmurs.
Eisenberg tightened her grip in response, her fingers trembling as she dug her thumb in deeper into the vulnerable tendons of the smaller blondes exposed neck. “None of you believe,” Eisenberg pushed the words out from between her teeth as a slither, “that this is how it ends.” Turning about sharply, the Sublime Serpent growled with effort as she swung her trophy about, throwing the FAWN Original as if she were a discuss, face first towards the nearest set of turnbuckles!
Shea’s usual acts of defiance toward gravity ordinarily brought cheers and shouts of joy and admiration from the FAWNatics. Not this time. Oh, there were shouts aplenty, but they only contained concern and alarm as the Sensational One flew through the air, the blonde’s feet touching down a mere instant before her head swung forward, her features striking the thin leather padding of the top turnbuckle with a loud ‘THWAAACK!’ A glassy-eyed London pivoted away from the impact on one heel and managed to take one and a half faltering strides back toward the champion before her legs shimmied, sending Shea toppling toward the mat.
London touched down with another thud, her arms having made distressingly little movement toward breaking her fall, leaving many watching to wonder whether that faceful of turnbuckle had knocked the Sensational One unconscious... but the answer to that question came a heartbeat or so later when, moaning faintly, Shea’s fingers curled and dug into the canvas. The glistening blonde dragged herself forward, until her fingers found boot instead of mat. Curling around Erika’s ankles, London began straining to pull herself up, using Eisenberg’s succulent stems for all the support they might provide.
Eisenberg, much to the mounting discomfort of the FAWNatics, many of whom were beginning to hope that the Official may just see fit to end it, made no immediate effort to prevent Shea’s progress. Far more amused was she, with the most chilling of smirks on show, to merely witness her desert coming to her. The progress of the far smaller blonde was slow, painfully slow, the Brit utterly incapable of surrender pulling herself upwards inch by weary inch.
Finally, when the lithe Brit hand managed to make it to her knees, Erika was satisfied with her Challengers ascent, the German grabbing the Sensational One by her noggin and SHOVING her head between her strong thighs. With her opponent so secured, her groans muffled, the Curvaceous Carnivore also seized the smaller women by her wrists and raised her arms up high, removing them from the equation before she began to SQUEEZE!! her impossibly long, luscious legs together...
At first glance, taking possession of the Sensational One’s wrists had seemed a superfluous touch. After all, in her current condition, Shea would have been hard pressed to convert Erika’s standing headscissors into a backdrop if she had her feet under her. Being on her knees robbed the smaller blonde of ANY leverage with which to try that counter...
... but when Eisenberg’s hands started to slither up to London’s, her meaning became clearer. And any doubt was erased when the Curvaceous Carnivore’s fingers laced between Shea’s, her palms pressed flat against those of the Sensational One.
This wasn’t defense against a counter. This was defense against SURRENDER.
Her new grip now entirely eliminated the possibility of London finding a surface to slap or tap, laving only her fingers free to wiggle in a way which indicated nothing but her suffering, not her failing resolve. And the German beauty’s sculpted, constricting gams did FAR more than CRUUUSH the Sensational One’s skull. The smooth skin of her thighs swallowed most of Shea’s vocalizations. The only hope the official might have had in deciphering the Brit’s wails would have been in a silent arena...
... and alas, the FAWN Arena is FAAAAR from silent, the audience reacting with ever increasing volume to Erika’s tortures. And that merely made the Sublime Serpent smirk just a little more, amused by the unwitting assistance the dullards were providing her. Meanwhile, Shea’s boots gingerly kicked at the canvas, the Sensational One’s backside swishing ever so subtly side to side with each kick, until her glutes sunk to rest against her heels.
Several, sharp, vindictive twists from Erika’s hips added an almost audible crick to her Challengers neck, mounting her misery still further. It was only then that Eisenberg’s cold smile began to falter, displeasure marring her marble countenance. “No,” she shook her head, as if suddenly dissatisfied by the outcome, “this is insufficient, I must see it in your own eyes.”
The Sublime Serpent released, once again denying London any semblance of relief granted by oblivion and, before the lithe competitor could slink away by way of slump, Erika grasped her by her proud mane. The smaller blonde was hoisted upwards, first YANKED!! up onto her wobbly feet before being hupped up onto the air, the smaller blonde capture by the larger with two arms snaking about her slender waist.
The breath caught in the throats of the FAWNatics as the Curvaceous Carnivore had once again both captured her prey, and prepared to unleash the most brutal Bearhug in FAWN!!
For the FAWNatics, their collective breath caught in their throat. For Shea, it’s the exact opposite problem: Eisenberg’s joined hands pressing into her back DRIIIIIIIIIIIVE the oxygen out of London’s lungs in one prolonged gasp, the Sensational One’s legs rising and wrapping loosely around the German’s hips. The smaller blonde tried to draw in a breath to replace it, but her ribcage could not expand against the Curvaceous Carnivore’s constricting arms, her lungs beginning to burn from the lack of sustenance.
But STILL, Shea London would not submit.
When the referee asked, the Sensational One responded with (an exceedingly weak) shake of the head, her eyes sealed shut, her cheeks beginning to take on a slightly bluish tint. If she stayed in the German’s arms much longer, the decision would be taken out of her hands entirely. So knowing that, London dug down deep, trying to find the very last embers of defiance in her. And slowly... VERY slowly... Shea’s wings began to rise, her biceps quaking as her arms bent at the elbows. Gritting her teeth, the Sensational One launched those elbows toward Erika’s ears...
“GYYYYYUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Shea’s jaw fell slack as that breathless cry erupted from her, spurred by a vice-like crush from Erika’s arms the likes of which the smaller blonde had NEVER felt before. London’s arms came to an abrupt halt mid-swing, dropping all but limp to her sides, her fingers almost casually uncoiling. Similarly, the Sensational One’s legs melted down Erika’s outer thighs, Shea’s noggin lolling back on her shoulders, her long golden mane joining all four limbs in draping down toward the canvas.
Eisenberg’s resulting grin could not have been wider, far too many teeth on display as she surrendered to her baser instincts, the fully exposed throat of London far too tempting to ignore. She darted her head forwards and, after the briefest of teased tasting, latched her lips down HARD!! on the Heroine supple neck, suckling so forcibly that she really could be feeding upon her defeated Challenger. She paused for the barest moment, just long enough to switch from one side to the other, and to whisper a poisoned promise.
“Say my name,” she cooed with barely concealed malice, tempting Eve with the apple, “and I’ll consider returning you to Ms. Style,” Eisenberg SQUEEZED a little harder to ensure that she had Shea’s absolute attention, “and not Ms. Daniel...”
“Unnnnnnnnnyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyynnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhhhhhhhh...” the sweat-drenched blonde Briton moaned, her eyelids fluttering with increasing speed, her arms and legs increasingly feeling as if they were encased in cement and her ribcage feeling like it was being balled shut around her lungs. The fight was over. Of that, there remained no doubt. All that was left was for Shea to acknowledge that reality. Finding the last dregs of oxygen within her, London managed to rasp...
“Ehhhhhhhh.... unnnnnhhhhhhhffffuuuuuuuugggggghhhhhhoooooooffffffffuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh...”
Eisenberg tilted her head as if listening, before smiling slowly with ruthless intent, subjecting Shea to one last, impossibly more severe squeeze before coming to her judgment. “I’m afraid that is unsatisfactory,” she declared before releasing her grip just quickly enough to grasp her victim by her perfectly firm thighs, slinging both herself and London forwards for a truly brutal Spinebuster!
As the Curvaceous Carnivore swooped downward, Shea’s legs swung back past Erika’s hips, the Sensational One savagely DRIVEN into the mat. It was bad enough that London hit the deck with practically the force of a thermonuclear detonation, but to then have the weight of Eisenberg crash down on top of her as well, sandwiching the blonde Brit in between... It was a nearly lethal combination, and the spasming of the sprawled legend underneath her foe demonstrated that Shea had indeed survived it--but any hope of the Sensational One summoning one of her legendary runs had been extinguished, certainly in the hearts and minds of the FAWNatics.
And possibly in Shea’s, as well.
For once, Eisenberg showed little by way of indulgent hesitation, the Sublime Serpent securing her position and, with the smaller blonde beneath barely responsive, slipped one of her arms beneath an immobile stem before likewise collecting the other, folding Shea’s athletic legs up at the knee and rolling the multi time Champion up into an impossibly small ball. That isn’t to say that the German did not place authority upon her dominant position, the snake clad Destroyer forcibly grinding her crotch down hard against the upturned, pert buttocks of her new Rival.
The Official, visibly relieved that the contest was meeting with a natural climax, dropped down to the canvas and began his three count...
ONE...
TWO...
THRE...
Without warning, Eisenberg leaned backwards, instantly relieving the pressure that had left the lithe Brit compacted and, without it, the crowd favorite ‘popped’ her way to freedom... albeit not at all under her own power...
The boneless, tensionless form of the Sensational One tumbled over, Shea left in a glistening, sprawled puddle of flesh, face down and motionless. And the crowd UNLOADED on the Perfect Predator with a THUNDEROUS round of boos and jeers, their volume loud enough to make the official feel like the ring was shaking as he turned a disbelieving, exasperated glare toward Eisenberg. “Come on, Erika,” he protested. “She’s done. Exactly what are you trying to prove? Pin her and be done with it.”
“Prove?” Eisenberg queried with a perplexed tilting of her head, considering the word as though she considered it a genuine query, “I have nothing to prove. But then,” Erika found one foot and then the other, reaching forwards at the same time to grasp a handful of her opponents golden mane, yanking her dead weight frame back up to a mockery of vertical, “I didn’t need to break my sisters spine in order to achieve victory either, some things are done simply for infamy.”
With Shea no longer plastered all over the mat, Eisenberg at least allowed the smaller blonde to at least fold forwards, although it was not act of mercy. Slipping her impossibly strong arm about the trembling tummy of her Challenger, the IC Champion secured the beginnings of a Sidewalk Slam.
“There is a saying, in this business, is there not? We all end our careers the same way,” Erika sermon ended, although no-one believed that Shea was capable of listening, “on our backs!!”
With a sudden lift, the Sublime Serpent prepared to pile on the torture to an already obliterated opponent with a ‘Final Destination’...
FINAL DESTINATION:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=0u1l7bquPTw
London let out a small cry when Erika genuflected, SLAMMING the smaller blonde’s spine down across her outstretched thigh with considerable force. Frankly, the violence of the impact and the softness of Shea’s wail stood in stark contrast--but it was a testament to the number on the FAWN icon the Curvaceous Carnivore had already done...
... and she was still by no means finished.
Tightening her grip around the Sensational One’s waist, Eisenberg powered her way back to her full height, effortlessly slinging Shea back into the air and leaving the British blonde’s belly resting against her shoulder. But just for a moment. This time, the German beauty fell to her opposite knee, dropping London stomach first across her other thigh. Shea’s moan was louder this time as her knees dropped to the canvas, the blonde looking decidedly green around the gills...
... and yet, this two was merely a layover.
Scooping Shea back into the air, Erika surged her way back to verticality, hoisting Shea up and leaving the legend’s back atop her shoulder. But instead of taking a knee, this time Eisenberg remained on her feet, only swooping forward as she launched London from her shoulder and PLANTED the Sensational One into the canvas with a jaw-dropping powerbomb, rendering Shea little more than the flag the German planted in laying her claim to dominion over FAWN. After impact, the British Bombshell remained folded in a tight matchbook, her insensate features framed by a pair of knees resting against the mat, her arms spilled lifeless to the sides and her rump elevated toward the arena lights, simply waiting for Erika to place a boot atop.
Eisenberg did not pass on such a tantalizing moment, her boot soon planted upon the former World Champions upraised posterior, her heel grinding into the proud women’s sex, the Official dropping to the canvas to begin his count. Erika did not impede him, raising her arms up to accept her well deserved accolades, her gaze, coldest blue and ravenous, turning towards the skybox. No doubt the FAWN Commissioner, Bethany Christian, the Sublime Serpent her chosen Champion, watched on and was pleased by the outcome.
ONE...
TWO...
THRE...
With an all but idle flick of her boot, Eisenberg knocked the Sensational Shea London over...
As before, Shea tumbled into a tangle of arms and legs, the drenched blonde offering not even the slightest hint of any remaining consciousness following the Perfect Predator’s awe-inspiring trifecta of maneuvers. More so than before, the audience ERUPTED into jeers and whistles--and now, even soda cups and popcorn baskets sailed toward the ring, a few FAWNatics looking almost ready to charge the ring to come to Shea’s defense--if they didn’t believe Eisenberg would do the exact same thing to them as well. “DAMMIT, ERIKA!” the referee exclaimed. “END THIS!!!”
“I shall,” Eisenberg circled the wreckage of her Challenger, considering what further travesty she could visit upon the Icon, her pace unhurried as her fingers twitched in anticipation. “In due time. For Decades others have tried to ‘end it’ and failed, this is not a matter to be hurried...”
Sam Sinclair: Leaning forwards rapidly like a viper, she grabbed the defeated Icon by her gold mane once more, preparing to rip...
“Rock You Like a Hurricane” burst into life over the loud speakers...
”ROCK YOU LIKE A HURRICANE”:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=I2q-gMFsHb0
...heralding the arrival of hope at last, the FAWNatics flooded with relief for the first time in far too long during this contest for, once where there had been no-one, now came Susan Style!! The All American Angel and Commissioner of the ever popular House Show, Monday Night Mayhem, was wasting no time tonight, forgoing her usual welcome as she beat a rapid path towards the squared circle. Even now, as she stormed into the breach and was as furious as ANYONE had ever known her, her every movement remained hypnotic, the sway of her hips and swing of her curls capturing almost everyone’s attention... including Eisenberg’s.
SUSAN STYLE:
[URL=http://s288.photobucket.com/user/bigfan877/media/SusanStyle2.jpg.html%5d%5bIMG%5dhttp://i288.photobucket.com/albums/ll185/bigfan877/SusanStyle2.jpg%5b/IMG%5d%5b/URL%5d
“You heard the man,” the Girl of a Thousand Heartbreaks warned in no uncertain terms, bringing a stick to her mouth to make damn sure that she wasn’t ignored. “That is ENOUGH!!” The Media Icon stopped just short of the squared circle, exercising an immense amount of will to go no further, looking every inch the authority figure that the FAWNatics were more than happy to adore.
Decked out in the tightest pair of jeans to have ever hugged a wrestler, the denim stretched across long legs broken only by the brace securely fitted about her right knee, whilst the cross media icon also sported a pearl white T-Shit and leather jacket. Across her shirt, however, remained two words in girlish, bright red script across her bosom that reminded everyone and all of her in ring trademark, and fueled hope that she should one day return to it.
‘YOU WISH!’
Eisenberg, through it all, remained silent, her head tilted to the side as if mildly bemused, a fistful of Shea’s golden mane still grasped tightly between her fingers while London’s eyes barely fluttered, mumbles and moans beginning to return from out between her lips, responding to new stimuli.
“You want to make a statement, fine; you can take every opportunity,” Susan soldiered on, her pretty peepers of bright blue meeting Eisenberg’s chilling gaze and not faltering. “But if you think for one moment that we,” some of the FAWNatics had to wonder if Style were using the Royal ‘we’ on this occasion, as many suspected that Bethany Christian could not be further from the same mind on this occasion, “will not stand by while you End a Career to satisfy your WHIMSY!!”
Susan stepped forwards, the cheers of the packed arena growing louder as she grasped the middle rope, “You have your victory Erika, bravo, now End It,” Style narrowed her eyes slightly, “or I’ll end it for you, feel free to walk away tonight with nothing!”
For a long, charged moment, Erika said nothing... before the beginnings of a smile began to crease her lips.
“Amusing,” she muttered, before dropping down to one knee, her eyes, cold and utterly unforgiving, never leaving those of Susan. With Shea before her, Eisenberg SLAPPED!! on a brutal Sleeper, preparing to finally drive London into the deepest of dark oblivion. “Say my name,” she commanded by domineering whisper into her Challengers waiting ear, “so that your dear Ms. Style can hear you. Say! My! Name!”
As Eisenberg’s arms drew the noose tight around Shea’s throat, the smaller blonde returned to some semblance of awareness with some soft groans and one or two louder gurgles. The legend’s eyelids fluttered a little more rapidly, finally managing to stay parted by perhaps a third of their usual state, revealing a lot of white and only the tiniest of the underside of her pupils. London’s arms flailed just a bit, but that was only due to the movements of Erika’s arms, closing off the artery that fed her brain the blood it needed to function.
And, at last, Shea’s lips trembled as they started to open. “Uhhhhhhhhh...” the blonde Brit gasped, barely audible, precious little oxygen available to supply her voice volume. “.... unnnnnhhhh... ehhhhhhh.... errrrrr... iiiiiiiikkkkkkkkaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhh...”
The smile that was to follow across Erika’s ruthlessly serene features was utterly lacking in mirth, her eyes, never blinking, matching the gaze of Susan’s without flinching. “Shhhhhhh,” she cooed, lacking warmth as she clamped down tighter, ending matters as requested. Her next words were for the House Show Commissioner glaring at her from ringside, “listen to her as she sleeps Ms. Style,” she taunted, her vindictive smirk widening further as she jostled her Challenger for just a little more torment. “It will be my name she whispers, and not yours...”
The Sublime Serpent gave Shea’s noggin one abrupt shrug, which in turn sent the smaller blonde’s arms flopping into the air... but as they did, London’s eyelids drew shut, another thin, tiny stream of spittle starting to dribble out of the corner of her mouth. For a moment, the official considered simply turning toward the timekeeper and calling for the bell, given Erika’s earlier antics. But, perhaps against his better instincts--and perhaps fearful that Bethany Christian would have his job if he didn’t go through the customary check--he reached out and secured a light grasp around Shea’s wrist. Lifting the Sensational One’s arm into the air, he held it a second before letting go...
It fell ONCE...
It fell TWICE...
Unable to resist, Erika bore down HARD!! for one last squeeze, savoring one final shudder from her victim before letting go, Shea dropping like a brick and the Curvaceous Carnivore rising as a Champion. She took her gold from the Time Keeper as the houselights dimmed, raising it high above her head as the Announcer made it legal, a foot placed imperiously upon her Challenger’s firm thigh as the Age of the Perfect Predator continued to go unchecked...
...with but a single voice in the FAWN hierarchy speaking out against her.