Post by alyadmirer on Mar 14, 2016 21:46:06 GMT
WINTER FYRE:
“Hey Winter, my buddy says you’re frigid but I say you must f*ck like a demon. You sure as shyt can’t wrestle – there’s gotta be some reason they keep givin’ you work.”
Assholes. Winter stayed smiling and acted like she hadn’t heard. The reason FAWN kept giving her work was for nights like this, so she could get her still perfect booty kicked by women the company had decided were destined for bigger things. At least this time the other chick was in the same ballpark, size wise – the last few had been over six foot, and they’d treated Winter more like a piece of exercise equipment than an opponent.
FAWN had been promoting Anna Sharpe’s debut with a series of videos of her working out in an empty gym, the camera swooping close to show the display on a stationary bike, the number of miles she’d pedaled, then panning up and holding on her face, totally devoid of fatigue. Another one had her hitting a heavy bag, rapid-fire punches and kicks and the occasional knee, her dirty blonde ponytail bouncing. Winter had watched them all – the diligence hadn’t been beaten out of her yet – and come away thinking that Anna would kick her ass for sure if they were running a marathon but that maybe she had a chance in a wrestling match. She bounced on her feet as she waited for her opponent.
Backstage, Anna got a nod from a guy with an earpiece and then she was pushing through the curtain, walking down the ramp to the sound of Reverend and the Makers ‘Heavyweight Champion of the World’. The music, like almost everything about her career, was still a work in progress, but right now it felt right.
“Ladies and gentlmen, our opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, in the corner to my right, WINTER FYRE!“ The hardworking brunette bounced out of her corner and raised a fist to the FAWNatics, who cheered for her enthusiasm, if not her record.
“And introducing her opponent, Making her way to the ring, from Islington, London, England. She is five feet seven inches tall and weighs one hundred thirty pounds, please welcome… ANNA SHARPE!”
ANNA SHARPE:
There wasn’t much of a reaction. Anna was hardly dressed to evoke one, either – her black racerback tank and shorts were conservative by FAWN’s standards, though the tank would show off the muscles in her back and the shorts fitted tight – she noticed a couple of fans lean out over the barrier ready to get a photo of her ass after she’d walked past. She climbed through the ropes and bounced a couple times, comparing the give to the training ring she'd become used to.
“You’re the wrestler who thinks wrestling sucks, right?” Winter said. A scripted prompt. The FAWN staff who’d picked her for Anna’s debut hadn’t given much by way of information about the little brunette – a single email with a couple of links to Winter’s matches and a brief description was the sum of it. Too small to hurt you, takes a beating better than my liver, can hold her own as a talker. Looks sexy as all hell in a one-piece!! Tonight that one-piece was white and patterned with flames; Anna thought she was in agreement with the first and the last points. She’d find out soon enough about the other two.
Winter’s open had got a couple of boos directed Anna's way. At least some people are paying attention. The Brit nodded in answer to the question, raising the mic to her lips. “Wrestling is a fraud. Be honest. How many of the women here could win a real fight? How many could win any kind of legitimate athletic competition? Not many. So they compete in this bullshit hybrid, where you can't fight properly because of the rules” - she gave the word a derisory tone - “and judged on the physiques of some of them you aren't required to be much of an athlete either. Unfortunately so many people are stupid enough to want to pay to watch that it's the most popular game in town. So to my shame here I am.” She gave the mic to someone at ringside and the finger to a bunch of fans booing her from the front row. A “Let's go Winter” chant started up as the bell rang.
Not bad for someone who supposedly hates wrestling, Winter thought, when Anna locked up like a pro, bending her knees and driving Winter back to the ropes. She broke clean too, though she rather spoiled any perception of sporting behavior by lifting her knee into Winter's crotch. Winter groaned, offering no resistance when Anna took her by the hand and whipped her hard into the turnbuckle.
Unspoken in the talk before Anna's debut was that it wasn't enough to just beat Fyre. Almost anyone could do that. Anna knew she had to win big. Like the well trained vet that she was Winter had turned into the buckle so as to hit it back first. Anna ran at her, lowering her shoulder late and driving it in Winter's gut. She felt Winter's breath spray out over her back. She stepped out and then came in again, and again, the speed of the shots preventing Winter from slumping to her butt. After eight shoulder blocks Anna pulled the smaller woman out of the corner and sent her bouncing off the ropes, only to scoop her up and over and down in a tight Power Slam.
Scornful though Anna might have been about the efficacy of some of the moves she'd been taught, the slam's impact was undeniable. She rolled off Winter's twitching bod, not trying for a pin just yet, in case that could be construed as feeling threatened. Instead she pulled Winter up by the hair and whipped her back to the ropes, intending to bury her on her return with a Powerbomb that the creative team were calling the A-Bomb. But Winter made it a one way trip by wrapping her arm around the top rope. She hung there, slumped almost to her knees, her free arm across her gut.
“Wearing her down Winter,” a lone voice shouted optimistically.
Shaking her head scornfully, Anna strode over and pulled the brunette loose. She set her feet, ready to fling Winter back the other way, only for the smaller woman to put things in reverse. Instead it was Anna being whipped into the ropes, her trip across canvas accompanied by a buzz from the crowd at the prospect of a momentum change.
Winter braced, wide-eyed, for the oncoming Sharpe, who was running full speed and with evident bad intentions toward Winter's position. Internally she counted down, the rhythms of a match coming back to her fast, and at the last second, right as Anna's knee came up, aimed at her ribs, she dived to one side and pulled down on the center rope. With a grunt of surprise Anna spilled through the newly created space and crashed to the floor.
"Yeah!" Shouting with a combination of exhilaration and relief, Winter navigated the ropes in a more controlled fashion and waited on the apron for Anna to push to her feet. Trying not to think of when she was last legitimately on offense past the opening moments of a match, she did a couple of squats to reassure herself her body was still capable of what she had planned. “Turn around bitch,” she muttered. “Time to show you what wrestling is.”
The dropkick didn't have the grace or elevation or clarity of form of some of FAWN's true stylists, but it ended with Winter's feet impacting Anna's chest all the same. The debuting Brit stumbled back, landing on her butt and bumping her head against the barrier. Feeling the adrenaline surge through her body Winter forced herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her arm from her awkward landing, and hurried over to where Anna lay prone. She gripped the barrier and started to stomp away on Anna's chest. “Not an athlete, huh?” she panted. “Couldn't handle herself in a real fight? What does that say about you then Sharpie?”
Beneath her, Anna winced at the scrape of the vet's boot across her tit. She felt her face flush red with embarrassment. Gritting her teeth, she hooked the ankle of Winter's standing leg and twisted, dragging the Yank to the floor. Anna rolled on top of her, pounding Winter's head with both fists flailing and then seizing her hair and bouncing her head off the mats by it. Somewhere above and behind her she was aware of the ref stopping his count to shout a protest.
“F*ck off,” she muttered. But amongst the many rules she found so vexing was the one regarding count-outs and subsequent disqualifications. As the ref started up again she dismounted and dragged Winter back to the apron before heaving her back in the ring with a handful of one-piece and another one of sweaty dark hair. “There. Everything by the book.”
“Sure. Just keep out of her hair Anna,” the official said.
Winter was pushed up on her hip trying to pick her costume out of her ass when Anna got to her. After the smaller woman's unexpected moment of supremacy Anna felt like she needed to make a statement or risk looking underwhelming. Lifting Winter's ankles off the mat she put her left leg between Winter's two. The crowd, recognizing the set-up of the Sharpshooter although unaware Anna's spelling of the move involved an additional 'e', got louder in an effort to encourage Fyre, but Anna was too strong. She crossed the brunette's ankles and twisted her over onto her stomach before sinking down and leaning back. Winter screamed. Slowly, she clawed at the canvas and dragged her way toward the ropes.
Anna let herself be shuffled across the mat, trusting that the awkward-looking hold was doing as much damage to Winter's back as the screaming implied, but with a different plan in mind for how she could end things.
“Ah shyt.” An extra little wrench had Winter sobbing but she kept going. Anna looked over her shoulder, watching as Winter's outstretched fingers grasped for the bottom rope and curled around it, earning her a few cheers for her effort. Like that'll help. When the ref reached three in his count, Anna dropped Winter's ankles and quickly pulled her up and into a standing head-scissors. Even with someone as small as Winter the Piledriver took some effort – Anna grunted as she inverted the little brunette, looking out into the crowd with a snarl of triumph before dropping to her knees and spiking Fyre's head.
THUD!
Winter folded up in a limp shape, like balled up newspaper. Anna pushed her flat, rolled her over and hooked a leg. As a hand slapped against canvas the Brit closed her eyes through the count that officially made her the winner of her first ever match. A pulse pounding in her temples, she stood up and pushed a few of the hairs that had escaped her ponytail from out of her face.
“Give me a mic,” she said. She waited till she was sure her breathing was under control before starting to speak. “So that's wrestling? That's what you're prepared to pay money to watch? This woman has no business trying to compete with me. It's dangerous, and every one of you who came here tonight is an enabler of her pain and her humiliation.” Boos. Anna knelt beside her beaten opponent, resting a hand on the brunette's warm thigh. She switched the mic to her left hand so as to pull Winter over her knees with her right. She tugged the one-piece between the American's buttocks and told the ref to piss off when he briefly tried to play the hero. “From what I understand Winter doesn't have much of a following. But perhaps there are a couple of you out there who like her. She certainly has a wonderful bum.” Briefly distracted, Anna ran a finger across the brunette's exposed rump until the unwanted cheers snapped her mind back into focus. “At any rate I'm sure everyone can agree she doesn't deserve to be embarrassed. And yet...”
Anna held the mic next to Winter's butt and started spanking. The sound echoed through the building—smack, smack, smack, smack—past the initial cheers, past the subsequent boos, until Anna's hand was stinging and Winter was weeping and begging and the skin on her ass was as warm and red as her last name. “Anna please. Please!” she yelled.
Finally, Anna stopped. She blew on her spanking hand, shoved Winter off her lap and stood up, shaking her head. “Sharpie,” she muttered. “You deserve it for that.” Suddenly worried that some idiot in back might try naming the spanking Permanent Marker, or some other foolishness, she hurried on. “You might not give a shit about Winter. Fine. But next time it will be someone else. And I'll beat and humiliate them to. And perhaps they will be one of your favorites. Perhaps you'll own an overpriced shirt with their picture on. And then maybe you'll realize that by supporting wrestling, supporting this fraud of a sport, all you've been doing is leaving these women wholly unequipped to compete with someone who truly understands how to fight. Me.”
She climbed through the ropes and walked back up the ramp.
Backstage…
CAITY MASON:
“Anna. Oh my God that was so awesome.” Caity Mason ran at her from the wings, enveloping her in a hug. Leaning in, Caity whispered in her ear. “Except for when you complemented her butt. Then I got jealous.”
Anna tried not to blush as she disentangled herself from her friend. “It wasn't awesome it was a joke. This whole place is a joke.”
“Tell me about it.” Caity wrapped an arm round Anna's waist. “Aren't these chicks supposed to be hot? Because all I've seen so far are sloppy racks and saggy asses.” She sighed. “Still, we're here now. And when you're the champion we can make whatever changes we like.”
“Hey Winter, my buddy says you’re frigid but I say you must f*ck like a demon. You sure as shyt can’t wrestle – there’s gotta be some reason they keep givin’ you work.”
Assholes. Winter stayed smiling and acted like she hadn’t heard. The reason FAWN kept giving her work was for nights like this, so she could get her still perfect booty kicked by women the company had decided were destined for bigger things. At least this time the other chick was in the same ballpark, size wise – the last few had been over six foot, and they’d treated Winter more like a piece of exercise equipment than an opponent.
FAWN had been promoting Anna Sharpe’s debut with a series of videos of her working out in an empty gym, the camera swooping close to show the display on a stationary bike, the number of miles she’d pedaled, then panning up and holding on her face, totally devoid of fatigue. Another one had her hitting a heavy bag, rapid-fire punches and kicks and the occasional knee, her dirty blonde ponytail bouncing. Winter had watched them all – the diligence hadn’t been beaten out of her yet – and come away thinking that Anna would kick her ass for sure if they were running a marathon but that maybe she had a chance in a wrestling match. She bounced on her feet as she waited for her opponent.
Backstage, Anna got a nod from a guy with an earpiece and then she was pushing through the curtain, walking down the ramp to the sound of Reverend and the Makers ‘Heavyweight Champion of the World’. The music, like almost everything about her career, was still a work in progress, but right now it felt right.
“Ladies and gentlmen, our opening contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit. Introducing first, in the corner to my right, WINTER FYRE!“ The hardworking brunette bounced out of her corner and raised a fist to the FAWNatics, who cheered for her enthusiasm, if not her record.
“And introducing her opponent, Making her way to the ring, from Islington, London, England. She is five feet seven inches tall and weighs one hundred thirty pounds, please welcome… ANNA SHARPE!”
ANNA SHARPE:
There wasn’t much of a reaction. Anna was hardly dressed to evoke one, either – her black racerback tank and shorts were conservative by FAWN’s standards, though the tank would show off the muscles in her back and the shorts fitted tight – she noticed a couple of fans lean out over the barrier ready to get a photo of her ass after she’d walked past. She climbed through the ropes and bounced a couple times, comparing the give to the training ring she'd become used to.
“You’re the wrestler who thinks wrestling sucks, right?” Winter said. A scripted prompt. The FAWN staff who’d picked her for Anna’s debut hadn’t given much by way of information about the little brunette – a single email with a couple of links to Winter’s matches and a brief description was the sum of it. Too small to hurt you, takes a beating better than my liver, can hold her own as a talker. Looks sexy as all hell in a one-piece!! Tonight that one-piece was white and patterned with flames; Anna thought she was in agreement with the first and the last points. She’d find out soon enough about the other two.
Winter’s open had got a couple of boos directed Anna's way. At least some people are paying attention. The Brit nodded in answer to the question, raising the mic to her lips. “Wrestling is a fraud. Be honest. How many of the women here could win a real fight? How many could win any kind of legitimate athletic competition? Not many. So they compete in this bullshit hybrid, where you can't fight properly because of the rules” - she gave the word a derisory tone - “and judged on the physiques of some of them you aren't required to be much of an athlete either. Unfortunately so many people are stupid enough to want to pay to watch that it's the most popular game in town. So to my shame here I am.” She gave the mic to someone at ringside and the finger to a bunch of fans booing her from the front row. A “Let's go Winter” chant started up as the bell rang.
Not bad for someone who supposedly hates wrestling, Winter thought, when Anna locked up like a pro, bending her knees and driving Winter back to the ropes. She broke clean too, though she rather spoiled any perception of sporting behavior by lifting her knee into Winter's crotch. Winter groaned, offering no resistance when Anna took her by the hand and whipped her hard into the turnbuckle.
Unspoken in the talk before Anna's debut was that it wasn't enough to just beat Fyre. Almost anyone could do that. Anna knew she had to win big. Like the well trained vet that she was Winter had turned into the buckle so as to hit it back first. Anna ran at her, lowering her shoulder late and driving it in Winter's gut. She felt Winter's breath spray out over her back. She stepped out and then came in again, and again, the speed of the shots preventing Winter from slumping to her butt. After eight shoulder blocks Anna pulled the smaller woman out of the corner and sent her bouncing off the ropes, only to scoop her up and over and down in a tight Power Slam.
Scornful though Anna might have been about the efficacy of some of the moves she'd been taught, the slam's impact was undeniable. She rolled off Winter's twitching bod, not trying for a pin just yet, in case that could be construed as feeling threatened. Instead she pulled Winter up by the hair and whipped her back to the ropes, intending to bury her on her return with a Powerbomb that the creative team were calling the A-Bomb. But Winter made it a one way trip by wrapping her arm around the top rope. She hung there, slumped almost to her knees, her free arm across her gut.
“Wearing her down Winter,” a lone voice shouted optimistically.
Shaking her head scornfully, Anna strode over and pulled the brunette loose. She set her feet, ready to fling Winter back the other way, only for the smaller woman to put things in reverse. Instead it was Anna being whipped into the ropes, her trip across canvas accompanied by a buzz from the crowd at the prospect of a momentum change.
Winter braced, wide-eyed, for the oncoming Sharpe, who was running full speed and with evident bad intentions toward Winter's position. Internally she counted down, the rhythms of a match coming back to her fast, and at the last second, right as Anna's knee came up, aimed at her ribs, she dived to one side and pulled down on the center rope. With a grunt of surprise Anna spilled through the newly created space and crashed to the floor.
"Yeah!" Shouting with a combination of exhilaration and relief, Winter navigated the ropes in a more controlled fashion and waited on the apron for Anna to push to her feet. Trying not to think of when she was last legitimately on offense past the opening moments of a match, she did a couple of squats to reassure herself her body was still capable of what she had planned. “Turn around bitch,” she muttered. “Time to show you what wrestling is.”
The dropkick didn't have the grace or elevation or clarity of form of some of FAWN's true stylists, but it ended with Winter's feet impacting Anna's chest all the same. The debuting Brit stumbled back, landing on her butt and bumping her head against the barrier. Feeling the adrenaline surge through her body Winter forced herself to her feet, ignoring the pain in her arm from her awkward landing, and hurried over to where Anna lay prone. She gripped the barrier and started to stomp away on Anna's chest. “Not an athlete, huh?” she panted. “Couldn't handle herself in a real fight? What does that say about you then Sharpie?”
Beneath her, Anna winced at the scrape of the vet's boot across her tit. She felt her face flush red with embarrassment. Gritting her teeth, she hooked the ankle of Winter's standing leg and twisted, dragging the Yank to the floor. Anna rolled on top of her, pounding Winter's head with both fists flailing and then seizing her hair and bouncing her head off the mats by it. Somewhere above and behind her she was aware of the ref stopping his count to shout a protest.
“F*ck off,” she muttered. But amongst the many rules she found so vexing was the one regarding count-outs and subsequent disqualifications. As the ref started up again she dismounted and dragged Winter back to the apron before heaving her back in the ring with a handful of one-piece and another one of sweaty dark hair. “There. Everything by the book.”
“Sure. Just keep out of her hair Anna,” the official said.
Winter was pushed up on her hip trying to pick her costume out of her ass when Anna got to her. After the smaller woman's unexpected moment of supremacy Anna felt like she needed to make a statement or risk looking underwhelming. Lifting Winter's ankles off the mat she put her left leg between Winter's two. The crowd, recognizing the set-up of the Sharpshooter although unaware Anna's spelling of the move involved an additional 'e', got louder in an effort to encourage Fyre, but Anna was too strong. She crossed the brunette's ankles and twisted her over onto her stomach before sinking down and leaning back. Winter screamed. Slowly, she clawed at the canvas and dragged her way toward the ropes.
Anna let herself be shuffled across the mat, trusting that the awkward-looking hold was doing as much damage to Winter's back as the screaming implied, but with a different plan in mind for how she could end things.
“Ah shyt.” An extra little wrench had Winter sobbing but she kept going. Anna looked over her shoulder, watching as Winter's outstretched fingers grasped for the bottom rope and curled around it, earning her a few cheers for her effort. Like that'll help. When the ref reached three in his count, Anna dropped Winter's ankles and quickly pulled her up and into a standing head-scissors. Even with someone as small as Winter the Piledriver took some effort – Anna grunted as she inverted the little brunette, looking out into the crowd with a snarl of triumph before dropping to her knees and spiking Fyre's head.
THUD!
Winter folded up in a limp shape, like balled up newspaper. Anna pushed her flat, rolled her over and hooked a leg. As a hand slapped against canvas the Brit closed her eyes through the count that officially made her the winner of her first ever match. A pulse pounding in her temples, she stood up and pushed a few of the hairs that had escaped her ponytail from out of her face.
“Give me a mic,” she said. She waited till she was sure her breathing was under control before starting to speak. “So that's wrestling? That's what you're prepared to pay money to watch? This woman has no business trying to compete with me. It's dangerous, and every one of you who came here tonight is an enabler of her pain and her humiliation.” Boos. Anna knelt beside her beaten opponent, resting a hand on the brunette's warm thigh. She switched the mic to her left hand so as to pull Winter over her knees with her right. She tugged the one-piece between the American's buttocks and told the ref to piss off when he briefly tried to play the hero. “From what I understand Winter doesn't have much of a following. But perhaps there are a couple of you out there who like her. She certainly has a wonderful bum.” Briefly distracted, Anna ran a finger across the brunette's exposed rump until the unwanted cheers snapped her mind back into focus. “At any rate I'm sure everyone can agree she doesn't deserve to be embarrassed. And yet...”
Anna held the mic next to Winter's butt and started spanking. The sound echoed through the building—smack, smack, smack, smack—past the initial cheers, past the subsequent boos, until Anna's hand was stinging and Winter was weeping and begging and the skin on her ass was as warm and red as her last name. “Anna please. Please!” she yelled.
Finally, Anna stopped. She blew on her spanking hand, shoved Winter off her lap and stood up, shaking her head. “Sharpie,” she muttered. “You deserve it for that.” Suddenly worried that some idiot in back might try naming the spanking Permanent Marker, or some other foolishness, she hurried on. “You might not give a shit about Winter. Fine. But next time it will be someone else. And I'll beat and humiliate them to. And perhaps they will be one of your favorites. Perhaps you'll own an overpriced shirt with their picture on. And then maybe you'll realize that by supporting wrestling, supporting this fraud of a sport, all you've been doing is leaving these women wholly unequipped to compete with someone who truly understands how to fight. Me.”
She climbed through the ropes and walked back up the ramp.
Backstage…
CAITY MASON:
“Anna. Oh my God that was so awesome.” Caity Mason ran at her from the wings, enveloping her in a hug. Leaning in, Caity whispered in her ear. “Except for when you complemented her butt. Then I got jealous.”
Anna tried not to blush as she disentangled herself from her friend. “It wasn't awesome it was a joke. This whole place is a joke.”
“Tell me about it.” Caity wrapped an arm round Anna's waist. “Aren't these chicks supposed to be hot? Because all I've seen so far are sloppy racks and saggy asses.” She sighed. “Still, we're here now. And when you're the champion we can make whatever changes we like.”
