Post by bigfan on Jun 8, 2017 23:36:20 GMT
The MAYHEM crowd already in a frenzy after the night so far, turn it up a notch as the EurAsain Title is about to go on the line. The FAWNatics excited by her return are happy to see the Bikini Teamer back in action, after her victory over the Dubai Diva Zoe Scott last month. The cheers really start to build as the ViQueen’s music begins.
The Hives "TICK TICK BOOM"
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1M02bAWDFkI&ob=av2n
Ingrid pushes through the curtain, a ball of blonde motion. The Bikini Teamer come out to a warm welcome from the FAWN crowd. The Swede is a huge fan favorite, her looks are just the beginning, Halstrom has shown herself to be a real battler even if she doesn’t always come out on top. Stopping at the top of the ramp Ingrid throws her arms in the air and when the next "BOOM" happens in the song the tiny Viking throws her arms down and loud pyro blasts boom on the sides of the stage.
The ring announcer makes the intro for the blondes, “Introducing first… she is 118 pounds of pure Swedish Sex appeal…From Halstad Sweden… Ingrid Halstrom!
Ingrid Halstrom
Ingrid wears a blue bikini with yellow crosses on her breasts and matching bottoms, the flag of Sweden has never looked better. Her pads are black with Swedish flags on the knee pads. Halstrom’s long blonde hair is pulled back in a fighting ponytail, she looks ready for tonight’s battle.
The Swede dances down the aisle slapping the out stretched hands of the fans along the rails, at times stopping to dance with hips flying Ingrid works her way around the ring. Halstrom greets many of the fans, Ingrid stops short as she finds a fan has done a sign for her, excited Ingrid literally bounces as she reads, “The ViQueen will Sack the Empress!”
Ingrid gives her supporter a big hug, she turns heading for the ring and rolls under the bottom rope popping to her feet quick. Ingrid walks back to the ring ropes and steps on the bottom rope, leaning far over the top rope saluting the crowd.
Ingrid moves to her corner allowing the referee to check her pads and boots, even giving the lucky man a little shimmy as he does his job. Halstrom waits for the arrival of champ, the blonde stretching while she waits. The Swedish lightweight’s face scrunches up as she waits for the EurAsian Champ.
With the Bikini Teamer ready in the ring, looking for her second reign as mistress of two continents, the catchy "Exotic” by Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull hits the speakers. The FAWNatics turn to the upper stage to give the EurAsian titleholder what they feel she deserves. Those packing the house let loose with a deafening round of jeers and catcalls toward the expected entrance of the Golden Empress.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
The curtains part, revealing a set of musclebound men, clad in gold loin clothes and sandals. The FAWN Universe immediately lets everyone know how much they despise the despicable champion.
The behemoths carry an ornate bed, where upon the Bollywood Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics batter her with boos.
The copper-skinned beauty, gold around her waist, writhes on her cushioned platform to the sound of the beat. Below, the men’s gaze never leaves the ring, seemingly oblivious to the outstretched hands of the fans and the movements of the bronzed, raven-haired beauty above.
The announcer heralds the arrival of India’s greatest export.
"And her opponent...standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore , India ...the FAWN EurAsian Champion…Amara Singh."
AMARA SINGH
The spectacle halts, having reached its destination. The men lower the ornate bed so it’s even with the apron and Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside. The champ faces the crowd, proceeding to dance seductively to the remainder of PeeCee and the feat’ing Pitbull. Singh slides from beneath a sparkling gold robe and reveals the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She turns and moves through the ropes, keeping a watchful eye on the Scandinavian challenger.
Amara is clad in an ornately designed, gold bra and matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Her raven tresses fall down to just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. Singh does one last twirl for the crowd before taking center stage. She unbuckles her belt and raises it high, beaming. In her opposite palm is a microphone.
“I destroy a superhero and you bring me a miniature model,” Amara hisses. “I realize it is near impossible to find anyone who dares to face me from either Europe or Asia, but this…THIS is the best you can do.”
The crowd buries the gorgeous grappler from the subcontinent under a bevy of boos as a satisfied and smirking Amara turns and strides to her corner. She hands over the ‘stick’ with one hand and the symbol of her championship with the other, a FAWN flunky taking the latter for safekeeping. Singh returns her attention to the former champ and motions to the official she is ready to batter the flaxen-haired peasant before her.
It’s the normal reaction Ingrid expects from the heel of FAWN, her vertically challenged sturdy frame is dismissed often. That makes defeating those women much sweeter for the Bikini Teamer. The Official calls for the bell and the crowd roars, Amara leans in her corner seemingly unconcerned about the blonde across the ring from her. Ingrid strolls out to the center of the squared circle and puts fist on hips, standing defiantly before the Empress, “You going come out and join me, or do I have to come there?”
Amara smirks, “Why do you want to hasten your defeat. I would be embarrassing to be known as the woman to lose a title match in record time for FAWN.”
Halstrom raises her hands and gives Amara the come get me finger flicks as she crouches down ready for the Champ to join her. Singh sneers as she pushes out of the corner, walking slowly at first the Golden Empress charges the last few steps and barrels into the Swede forcing the collar and elbow. Ingrid giving up about fifteen pounds and a few inches is driven backward, she can only stay on her feet, but can’t slow the Indian’s march until the blonde is pressed into the turnbuckles.
The Champ pushes a forearm into the blonde’s jaw forcing her head to the side, the other forearm presses Ingrid’s gurls as the referee steps in to order the break, but Amara waits for the zebra to start the count before she steps back with an extra shove on both Jaw and Jugg at four. Ingrid is clearly upset by the treatment, but she keeps her cool walking along the ropes. Now it’s Amara that waits at mid ring smugly watching the ViQueen as she moves along the ropes and turns to come back in.
The Exotic Empress raises her arms to lock up, but at the last moment the Swede dips under Amara’s arms swinging behind the brunette. Singh expects to be caught in a waistlock, but Ingrid drops to her knees grabbing the champ by the ankles and pulls. Amara’s arms wave as she tries to keep her balance, Ingrid throws her shoulders into the back of the dusky skinned beauties knees sending Amara face first into the canvas. Ingrid jumps on Amara’s back still holding the brunette’s ankles and crosses them pulling on her gams in a leglock.
Singh got her arms up to take most of the impact of her face first fall, but she was left unable to stop the leg lock. Ingrid pulls back on Amara’s crossed legs, leaning back to put more strain on Singh, but it allows the champ to reach back with her left arm wrapping it around Ingrid’s neck. Amara yanks the Swede’s head back, pulling her off the leg lock and into a headlock. Ingrid is turned over to her stomach lying side by side with Amara, the Bikini Teamer squirming not wanting to allow the Empress to get on top of her.
The crowd is just beginning to boo, when Ingrid grabs Amara’s wrist getting just enough to pop her head free. The Ponytail bounces as Halstrom comes up and keeps hold of the champ’s wrist. The tiny blonde yanks the trapped arm into a hammerlock and swings her leg over Singh’s hips taking a seat on the brunette. The Golden Empress growls, but before she can do anything to escape the hammerlock Ingrid chickenwings Amara’s right arm. In a simple move Halstrom dismounts to the left, and starts turning Amara over.
The referee is down on his knee’s watching closely as Ingrid slowly turns Amara over on to her back and slides her body under Amara’s. Finally the champ’s shoulders are on the mat and the referee is ready,
ONE…
TWO…
Amara kicks her legs and slips the Hammerlock and rolls clear. Ingrid pops to her feet as Singh scrambles to make it to vertical at the same time. The Bikini Teamer holds her hand up putting her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, “That close. It looks like the belt wants to come home with me.”
Singh rubs her shoulder growls, “A peasant like you will never touch the belt again!”
To show the blonde she means it Singh launches forward with arm extended, Halstrom ducks the lariat and both women spin around. Ingrid turns right around into the discus punch from the Exotic beauty, the Empress’s fist colliding into the blonde’s jaw knocking her to the canvas. Amara then begins to stomp her bare feet on the blonde’s stomach, breast, shoulder and a final stomp to the side of Ingrid’s head dazing the Swede. Ingrid rolls over covering her head, but the Ponytail is hanging out letting Amara reach down and grab the handle pulling Ingrid back up to her boots.
Amara dips down shooting her right arm between Halstrom’s thighs and grabbing a lusty handful of the blonde’s rump. Singh begins lifting before she hooks her other arm over Ingrid’s shoulder and holds the blonde on her shoulder for a moment letting Ingrid consider the predicament she’s in. The Bollywood Beauty lifts a leg and then turns her load over slamming the Swede into the canvas with a loud crash. Ingrid’s head lifts off the canvas as she coughs the wind knocked out of her. Amara jumps turning in air so she crashes tummy to tummy with the challenger she slides up on to Ingrid’s chest and hooks a leg.
ONE…
TWO…
NO!
Ingrid bucks free, but her face is red as her cheeks puff as she still tries to get her breath back.
Singh delivers a death stare at the official while keeping a possessive hand on one of Ingrid’s shoulders. It seems to be mostly laying a seed for later as the kick free by the Bikini Teamer was closer to two than three, but Amara plays it up enough the ref takes a couple steps back from the accusing almond-shaped peepers.
Turning her attention back to the blonde, the Bollywood Bombshell tugs the Scandinavian up with her and sends a blistering chop across the considerable cleavage of blonde beauty. Halstrom staggers a step from the force of the blow and Singh closes the distance to deliver another, and another, Ingrid reeling all the way to the buckles behind her.
With a rosy welt line growing at the top of her foe’s bust, Amara changes from backhand to forehand, giving her hand a long lollipop lick and applying a wicked, blazing, open-hand smack to the cleft of the tawny-skinned, blonde’s bosom.
Ingrid’s face pinches in pain, but also frustration. She exhibits by growling and grabbing the crook of Singh’s right arm and whipping her by, exchanging positions with the champion. Showing she too can light up a foe, Ingrid provides a three-spot of knife-edges to Amara’s chest, the crowd ‘wooohing’ enthusiastically after each.
With Singh’s lids clenching in pain, the champ pushes the Swede off. Ingrid uses the momentum to skip to center stage and make a u-turn. She races to the cornered Indian and NAILS Singh’s chin with a flawless dropkick snapping the head of the Empress back.
The jawjacker of a kick is an ‘off button’ for Amara’s stems and she plops to the canvas, landing on her ass, legs extended, head bobbling as she leans back into the corner drunkenly.
Halstrom delivers a karate kick to Amara’s bountiful bosom to keep her in place and beats her feet to the opposite corner. She tags the top buckle, spins, and sprints back toward Singh. The blonde leaps from a few feet away and delivers a painful, double leg drop to Amara’s groin. Singh’s features are etched in pain after the impact, her hands reaching instantly for her aching inner thighs.
The Bikini Teamer reverse somersaults out of her seat, popping to her feet several feet away. Again, she surges toward the befuddled Bollywood Bombshell, returning with legs extended. Halstrom’s undercarriage THUMPS into the chest of the Empress. Ingrid grabs the middle ropes on either side and gets to work, slamming her tanned cheeks into Amara’s chest with a reindeer buster. The Swedish beauty thrusts her way to a full ‘ten’, the excited crowd counting along. When Ingrid dismounts, the Empress looks more a puddled peasant at the blonde’s feet.
With the crowd egging her on, an early advantage gathered, Ingrid grabs the champion by an ankle and drags her cavewoman-style out of the corner, tossing the limb aside when making it to center stage.
With Singh positioned, the Bikini Teamer is immediately sprinting to the ropes at her side. She dives into the cables and flies back at her target. A few feet from the splayed, beestung-lipped Indian grappler, the diminutive blonde leaps into a lightning bolt of a front flip. Her legs drop harshly, one across Amara’s already aching orbs and the other across her throat, causing the Empress to go wide-eyed and shuddering as she tries with minimal success to draw in some deep breaths.
Concentrating on getting oxygen, Singh doesn’t seem to notice Ingrid’s short but sinewy stems remain atop her chest and, more importantly, her pinned shoulders for…
ONE…
TWO…
Before the third slap can come down, Amara pushes the blonde’s draping legs up and off and rolls to the side, rubbing at her throat and cursing in Hindi at herself and the pesky blonde.
The curses become a yelp as, from behind, a risen Halstrom dips and sinks her nails into Amara’s locks and hauls the bigger woman to her feet. The Indian tries to jab a thumb in Ingrid’s eye, but the Bikini Teamer manages to block the attempt with a left forearm and follows with a toe kick to the tummy that leaves Singh bent and gasping.
Ingrid uses a European uppercut on the EurAsian titleholder, straightening up the champ while taking a lot of starch out of the Golden Empress. Ripe for the picking, Ingrid shoots an arm between the wobbly legs of Amara and shows she’s got a little pop in those smallish biceps, ‘hupping’ Singh off the canvas and across her shoulders.
It looking as though Amara might be at the weight limit for this part of the Swede’s arsenal, Halstrom nevertheless stabilizes and readies her Samoan Drop. But before she lays out and sends the Bollywood Bombshell crashing to the canvas, Amara wriggles her way out of Ingrid’s clutches and slides down her foe’s back, landing behind her.
Singh quickly wraps a backhand grip of an arm around the blonde’s neck and pulls her backward, Hatttt53tg3lstrom forced into an uncomfortable arch. It initially appears Singh is setting up for a dragon sleeper and she draws the Scandinavian to that position, but just as quickly she barrel rolls to the side as she drops to the canvas, landing on her back. Meanwhile, Ingrid has a much more destructive dive as she lands face and chest first in an inventive spinning cutter.
The brutal impact sends Halstrom flopping to her back in a spreadeagle. Amara crawls wearily the couple feet to the gobsmacked Bikini Teamer and lays a flaccid arm across Ingrid’s chest for a…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The challenger easily if almost tardily forces a shoulder up, the weakness of the pin likely saving Ingrid from losing her chance at a second Eurasian title run.
Both champ and challenger are slow to rise, each making it to all fours then on their knees simultaneously. Glistening from the early fierceness of the battle, the women throw themselves at each other while still lowered. Fingers lace and biceps flex as each battles for leverage and an advantage to use against the other.
In a reverse of the normal test of strength, both wrestlers stand Amara trying to use her height advantage to get the upper hand. Ingrid though pulls their arms out to the side slamming bosom to bosom with the Bollywood Bombshell. Halstrom starts to turn the champ’s wrist and a shocked Amara strains trying to keep the Bikini Teamer from completely twisting her arms and wrenching her wrist backwards. Just as it appears Ingrid might trap Amara, the Exotic Empress’s bare foot shoots up kicking Ingrid between spread legs.
Ingrid’s grip instantly melts as she drops to her knees and wedges her hands between her thighs. The Swede sinks down her buttocks resting on her heels, as her baby blues are rimmed in tears. The referee gives Amara a warning for the low blow, but he can’t even back her off thanks to FAWN rules. Amara shakes out her hands, getting blood flowing back into her fingers before she grabs each of Ingrid’s shoulder straps. Amara jerks up several times making the Bikini Teamer’s juggs jump before she gets Ingrid back up on her boots. The FAWNatics boo and jeer as Amara pushes past the zebra and heads for the nearest corner.
Singh takes Halstrom by the ponytail again, this time bouncing the blonde’s forehead off the top turnbuckle three times. The Golden Empress then repeats the trio on the middle turnbuckle before jamming Ingrid’s head under the middle turnbuckle. Amara stands back looking at her handy work and then lifts Halstrom’s hips just a bit higher before turning and heading across the ring. Amara makes a u-turn at mid ring and charges back, the fans scream warnings, but too late as Singh leaps and delivers a barefoot dropkick to the blonde’s backside.
The concussion of the impact sends Ingrid springing back, she lands several feet from the corner starfished on the mat, her body quivering. Amara rocks back on her shoulders and kips to her feet, her hair flying as she does. Walking around the dazed blonde Amara cocks her right arm up and falls driving the elbow into the cleft of Ingrid’s breast. The blonde is sent into new spasms, but Singh stays on top of the Swede and leans across her body in a lackadaisical cover.
ONE…
Amara holds up her left hand with one finger.
TWO…
She adds the second.
THRNOOOO!
Ingrid’s whole body jolts as her legs kick and her torso twists pulling her shoulder’s off the canvas. Amara spins on the referee glaring again, this time going as far as jumping to her feet and getting in the man’s face for a slow count.
While Amara threatens to have the referee flogged, Ingrid crawls towards the ropes and gets to her knees. The Bikini Teamer leaning over the middle rope here sweat covered face red as she breathes heavy and baby blues blink unfocused. The referee reminds Singh that he’s in charge in the ring, to which the Exotic Empress just huffs. Amara turns her attention back to the wounded challenger, and seeing her vulnerable position heads towards the opposite ropes and charges at the kneeling blonde.
Fans scream warnings, Ingrid can hear the pounding of the running feet and feel the vibrations in the ring and ropes. Amara leaps, and ViQueen rolls to the side, Singh cries out just before her legs are split by the rope and she ends up with one foot in the ring and one on the apron. Amara thinks she’s escaped injury, but then sees Ingrid standing just a foot away. Amara starts to put up a hand and say something, but whatever plea was forthcoming Ingrid cuts it off by kicking the middle strand. Amara wails as the rubber coated steel wire slams up into her undercarriage. Falling back into the ring Singh curls into a fetal position holding her abused nether regions.
To be fair the referee gives Ingrid a warning as well, but the finger wagging helps Amara as much as it had helped the blonde earlier. Halstrom moving gingerly around to Singh’s head reaches down and forces Amara back to her feet. Leaning the bigger woman against the ropes the ViQueen hammer’s a forearm across the Empress’s orbs before taking a wrist and shoulder whipping Amara across the ring. Ingrid waits a moment and follows, when Amara hits the opposite ropes she rebounds right into the flying Swede as Ingrid leaps throwing her body into Singh’s path and takes her to the canvas with a flying crossbody. The referee is about to drop to the canvas for a count, but Ingrid pops to her feet.
Passing on the cover Ingrid goes to the turnbuckles to the right and slips outside the ring and climbs to the top from that side. The ViQueen perches on top like a bird of prey watching for fish in one of the Fjords. Amara starts to stir and climbs back to her feet as Ingrid rises, as Singh begins to turn Halstrom takes flight. The Bikini Teamer pulls her knees up and then fires them like pistons into the Bollywood Bombshell’s gurls as Amara turns into the missile drop kick. Singh is sent flying, and gets the second impact of a hard landing on the thinly padded plywood.
Ingrid scrambles over on all fours and pulls Amara flat to her back hooking the near leg as she goes for the win.
ONE…
TWO…
The ref jumps up pointing at the bottom rope which now has Amara’s foot hanging on it by a toe or two.
Ingrid leans back running her hands over sweat soaked hair, looking like she might cry from frustration. The tiny Swede nods regaining her resolve, Amara scoots over and grabs the bottom rope pulling herself to safety. The referee backs Ingrid off, but only for a moment before the Bikini Teamer marches back in to bring the Empress out of the ropes. Amara starts to complain to the referee, but sees the man is directly behind Ingrid and while still complaining drives a fist into the front of Ingrid’s bottoms. Halstrom is frozen in pain and helpless as Amara grabs the fabric between the blonde ample bosom and pulls Ingrid forward throwing her out of the ring.
The Bikini Teamer hits the ring apron hard before bouncing off and falling to the arena floor. Singh crawls away from the ropes and yells, ‘Count her out!”
The official does as he’s bid by the Eurasian champion, moving to the ropes above the diminutive blonde and dutifully starting his count on the challenger. As Ingrid pushes her way toward vertical, Amara uses the ropes on the opposite side of the ring to pull herself up. She leans heavily into the cables, regaining her composure. The Golden Empress almond-shaped eyes focus on the Swede. Hallstrom is soon up but turned away from the ring. She gathers her balance and begins to turn, setting off the starter’s gun on Amara’s race across the squared circle.
The Bollywood Bombshell dips for a launch through the top and middle ropes in a suicide dive into the Bikini Teamer when Ingrid, perhaps picking up another cue from the crowd, spins and leaps into a head-snapping forearm to the noggin of the charging Amara that halts Singh’s dive before it starts.
The gobsmacked champion lies draped over the middle rope, neck and arms hanging limp over the cable, her dark eyes glazed. Balance regained, Ingrid leaps with cupped hands joined, her paws dropping behind the head of the dazed Indian grappler and hotshotting Amara out of the strands. Singh is sent flying toward center stage, landing on her back and grasping at her throat.
Halstrom hops to the apron and takes a moment to get the crowd amped, turning and waiving her right arm as if swinging an invisible lasso. She moves through the ropes and collects a rising Amara, who’s made it up to one knee.
Ripping the dazed champion into a front facelock. The diminutive blonde shows she’s got some strength in that small frame. She shoots a hand into Amara’s midriff for balance and vaults the bigger, raven-haired beauty up and over, Singh twisting as she heads over the blonde’s shoulders.
As she does, Ingrid drops to her backside and lights up the Empress with her signature Runebuster.
Runebuster
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08mTvu0W9i0 )
Amara’s noggin whiplashes from the jarring impact. Ending on her knees, the copper-skinned grappler sways in a stupor until collapsing to her side when Ingrid gives her a gentle nudge. Singh spreads into a motionless starfish and the Bikini Teamer climbs atop the deflated champion as Ingrid’s second Eurasian title run is…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
With the official’s hand no more than an inch or two from the deck, the Bollywood Bombshell throws a shoulder off the canvas. The crowd groans, having been sure the Scandinavian had taken enough out of the champion from the subcontinent. But Amara survives, even if that survival is tenuous.
Ingrid gives the ref a disapproving sideways glance, but quickly gets back to work, the roar of the FAWNatics driving her on toward victory. She boots a blasted Singh with a meaty ‘smeck’ of a soccer kick to the gut that sends a groaning Amara flat on her back once more.
With Amara served on a platter, the vertically-challenged, busty blonde heads for the nearby corner. She vaults to the top, quickly turning to face a championship in the making. Measuring, the titleholder for a moment, the Swede skies into the Orlando night.
The Bikini Teamer soars toward Singh, revolving through a graceful back flip to SMASH Amara underneath with the Star of Sif finisher. But alas, the Empress escapes, rolling toward the launch point, leaving nothing but empty mat for Halstrom to splash in painful fashion.
Star of Sif
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=x198b7kw3OA )
The tanned Scandinavian hugs her flawless form, perhaps to keep internal organs from being displaced after the disastrous ending. Her face presses tight against the canvas, knees under her slightly, which lifts her pert little ass cheeks into the air.
Watching intently from a few feet away, Amara seems motivated into action despite her disheveled state. She rises and staggers toward the partially penitent blonde. A barefoot boot to the behind sends the aching Halstrom flat to the canvas.
With opportunity knocking, Amara seems determined to step into the express lane. The Indian grappler snags Ingrid’s left ankle, lifting her lower leg, then straddles the lower limb. She moves to a kneeling straddle of the base of the Swede’s spine, collecting her second of Ingrid’s legs, locking them under her arms.
The FAWNatics know very well what Singh has in mind as does Ingrid who starts to dig her nails frantically into the deck to try and pull free. But before she can, Amara scoops her laced fingers under Halstrom’s chin and shows incredible strength, pulling Ingrid off the canvas as the champion drops into a crouch, her BollyKnot tearing into Ingrid’s spine and the muscles surrounding it.
BollyKnot
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hJ1iW-D8Aw&list=PL48AGjs8xVYOwkNCwnSiloVUQnx15FPqF )
Singh even manages to swing the blonde forward and back, if softly, drawing even more agony out of the submission. But for long seconds, Halstrom refuses to tap.
It seems a fait d’accompli even as the crowd’s attention is diverted by some action in the front rows to Amara’s six. But when Lady Fiona Waterford, dressing down for the occasion in a red halter top and tight black jeans, leaps over the guardrail, slides into the ring and pivots for the fullest of superkicks to the back of Amara’s skull, the place explodes in disarray.
Lady Fiona Waterford
:
As Singh lurches forward, the nearly vanquished Swede unfurls beneath her, dropping face first to the canvas with Amara quickly landing atop her.
A mewling Ingrid reaches for the base of her spine, slipping her limb beneath Amara to get there. Singh seems barely in touch with consciousness and she’s sent rolling into a spreadeagle when Fiona grabs a shoulder and sends her flopping off the blonde.
The ref waves his hands wildly, calling for the bell and the timekeeper obliges, dinging a staccato burst that just keeps tolling as Fiona lays into Amara with boot after boot, Fee’s black pumps stomping into copper-skinned flesh; chest, midriff and even a final crunching kick to the kitty.
Amara’s dark eyes go wide as she bolts to a seated position, hands deep between her thighs. Another superkick from Her Ladyship, this to the chin of the champion turns out the lights even as the announcer proclaims Singh the winner and still FAWN Eurasian champion with a DQ win.
Fiona turns toward Ingrid now on her back and in better shape than the Empress. She seems to consider making meatballs out of the Swede but decides against, apparently having made the statement she wanted.
Seeing a FAWN flunky holding the EA belt at ringside, she moves to the ropes and snatches the gold, wrapping it around her waist as she walks back to the splayed Amara.
She mouths “MINE” to the FAWNatics who seem won over, at least to a degree, by their beloved Shea’s tormentor.
Fiona stares down at the demolished Singh and points at the belt.
“ALL MINE,” she shouts before dropping the accessory on the unconscious Amara and heading out.
Message delivered.
The Hives "TICK TICK BOOM"
www.youtube.com/watch?v=1M02bAWDFkI&ob=av2n
Ingrid pushes through the curtain, a ball of blonde motion. The Bikini Teamer come out to a warm welcome from the FAWN crowd. The Swede is a huge fan favorite, her looks are just the beginning, Halstrom has shown herself to be a real battler even if she doesn’t always come out on top. Stopping at the top of the ramp Ingrid throws her arms in the air and when the next "BOOM" happens in the song the tiny Viking throws her arms down and loud pyro blasts boom on the sides of the stage.
The ring announcer makes the intro for the blondes, “Introducing first… she is 118 pounds of pure Swedish Sex appeal…From Halstad Sweden… Ingrid Halstrom!
Ingrid Halstrom
Ingrid wears a blue bikini with yellow crosses on her breasts and matching bottoms, the flag of Sweden has never looked better. Her pads are black with Swedish flags on the knee pads. Halstrom’s long blonde hair is pulled back in a fighting ponytail, she looks ready for tonight’s battle.
The Swede dances down the aisle slapping the out stretched hands of the fans along the rails, at times stopping to dance with hips flying Ingrid works her way around the ring. Halstrom greets many of the fans, Ingrid stops short as she finds a fan has done a sign for her, excited Ingrid literally bounces as she reads, “The ViQueen will Sack the Empress!”
Ingrid gives her supporter a big hug, she turns heading for the ring and rolls under the bottom rope popping to her feet quick. Ingrid walks back to the ring ropes and steps on the bottom rope, leaning far over the top rope saluting the crowd.
Ingrid moves to her corner allowing the referee to check her pads and boots, even giving the lucky man a little shimmy as he does his job. Halstrom waits for the arrival of champ, the blonde stretching while she waits. The Swedish lightweight’s face scrunches up as she waits for the EurAsian Champ.
With the Bikini Teamer ready in the ring, looking for her second reign as mistress of two continents, the catchy "Exotic” by Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull hits the speakers. The FAWNatics turn to the upper stage to give the EurAsian titleholder what they feel she deserves. Those packing the house let loose with a deafening round of jeers and catcalls toward the expected entrance of the Golden Empress.
(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sPhhZg9v9NU ).
The curtains part, revealing a set of musclebound men, clad in gold loin clothes and sandals. The FAWN Universe immediately lets everyone know how much they despise the despicable champion.
The behemoths carry an ornate bed, where upon the Bollywood Bombshell lies. As the ‘exotic’ grappler is carried toward the ring on the curious conveyance, the FAWNatics batter her with boos.
The copper-skinned beauty, gold around her waist, writhes on her cushioned platform to the sound of the beat. Below, the men’s gaze never leaves the ring, seemingly oblivious to the outstretched hands of the fans and the movements of the bronzed, raven-haired beauty above.
The announcer heralds the arrival of India’s greatest export.
"And her opponent...standing 5 feet 6 inches tall and weighing in at 133 pounds from Cawnpore , India ...the FAWN EurAsian Champion…Amara Singh."
AMARA SINGH
The spectacle halts, having reached its destination. The men lower the ornate bed so it’s even with the apron and Singh gracefully slides from bedside to ringside. The champ faces the crowd, proceeding to dance seductively to the remainder of PeeCee and the feat’ing Pitbull. Singh slides from beneath a sparkling gold robe and reveals the curvy form beneath.
The momentary striptease draws a round of rabid applause within the jeers, Singh dropping a pearly sneer upon the peasants. She turns and moves through the ropes, keeping a watchful eye on the Scandinavian challenger.
Amara is clad in an ornately designed, gold bra and matching gold and red, lacy harem pants, her feet bare. Her raven tresses fall down to just past her shoulders in wild waves, dark copper skin glowing under the lights. Singh does one last twirl for the crowd before taking center stage. She unbuckles her belt and raises it high, beaming. In her opposite palm is a microphone.
“I destroy a superhero and you bring me a miniature model,” Amara hisses. “I realize it is near impossible to find anyone who dares to face me from either Europe or Asia, but this…THIS is the best you can do.”
The crowd buries the gorgeous grappler from the subcontinent under a bevy of boos as a satisfied and smirking Amara turns and strides to her corner. She hands over the ‘stick’ with one hand and the symbol of her championship with the other, a FAWN flunky taking the latter for safekeeping. Singh returns her attention to the former champ and motions to the official she is ready to batter the flaxen-haired peasant before her.
It’s the normal reaction Ingrid expects from the heel of FAWN, her vertically challenged sturdy frame is dismissed often. That makes defeating those women much sweeter for the Bikini Teamer. The Official calls for the bell and the crowd roars, Amara leans in her corner seemingly unconcerned about the blonde across the ring from her. Ingrid strolls out to the center of the squared circle and puts fist on hips, standing defiantly before the Empress, “You going come out and join me, or do I have to come there?”
Amara smirks, “Why do you want to hasten your defeat. I would be embarrassing to be known as the woman to lose a title match in record time for FAWN.”
Halstrom raises her hands and gives Amara the come get me finger flicks as she crouches down ready for the Champ to join her. Singh sneers as she pushes out of the corner, walking slowly at first the Golden Empress charges the last few steps and barrels into the Swede forcing the collar and elbow. Ingrid giving up about fifteen pounds and a few inches is driven backward, she can only stay on her feet, but can’t slow the Indian’s march until the blonde is pressed into the turnbuckles.
The Champ pushes a forearm into the blonde’s jaw forcing her head to the side, the other forearm presses Ingrid’s gurls as the referee steps in to order the break, but Amara waits for the zebra to start the count before she steps back with an extra shove on both Jaw and Jugg at four. Ingrid is clearly upset by the treatment, but she keeps her cool walking along the ropes. Now it’s Amara that waits at mid ring smugly watching the ViQueen as she moves along the ropes and turns to come back in.
The Exotic Empress raises her arms to lock up, but at the last moment the Swede dips under Amara’s arms swinging behind the brunette. Singh expects to be caught in a waistlock, but Ingrid drops to her knees grabbing the champ by the ankles and pulls. Amara’s arms wave as she tries to keep her balance, Ingrid throws her shoulders into the back of the dusky skinned beauties knees sending Amara face first into the canvas. Ingrid jumps on Amara’s back still holding the brunette’s ankles and crosses them pulling on her gams in a leglock.
Singh got her arms up to take most of the impact of her face first fall, but she was left unable to stop the leg lock. Ingrid pulls back on Amara’s crossed legs, leaning back to put more strain on Singh, but it allows the champ to reach back with her left arm wrapping it around Ingrid’s neck. Amara yanks the Swede’s head back, pulling her off the leg lock and into a headlock. Ingrid is turned over to her stomach lying side by side with Amara, the Bikini Teamer squirming not wanting to allow the Empress to get on top of her.
The crowd is just beginning to boo, when Ingrid grabs Amara’s wrist getting just enough to pop her head free. The Ponytail bounces as Halstrom comes up and keeps hold of the champ’s wrist. The tiny blonde yanks the trapped arm into a hammerlock and swings her leg over Singh’s hips taking a seat on the brunette. The Golden Empress growls, but before she can do anything to escape the hammerlock Ingrid chickenwings Amara’s right arm. In a simple move Halstrom dismounts to the left, and starts turning Amara over.
The referee is down on his knee’s watching closely as Ingrid slowly turns Amara over on to her back and slides her body under Amara’s. Finally the champ’s shoulders are on the mat and the referee is ready,
ONE…
TWO…
Amara kicks her legs and slips the Hammerlock and rolls clear. Ingrid pops to her feet as Singh scrambles to make it to vertical at the same time. The Bikini Teamer holds her hand up putting her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, “That close. It looks like the belt wants to come home with me.”
Singh rubs her shoulder growls, “A peasant like you will never touch the belt again!”
To show the blonde she means it Singh launches forward with arm extended, Halstrom ducks the lariat and both women spin around. Ingrid turns right around into the discus punch from the Exotic beauty, the Empress’s fist colliding into the blonde’s jaw knocking her to the canvas. Amara then begins to stomp her bare feet on the blonde’s stomach, breast, shoulder and a final stomp to the side of Ingrid’s head dazing the Swede. Ingrid rolls over covering her head, but the Ponytail is hanging out letting Amara reach down and grab the handle pulling Ingrid back up to her boots.
Amara dips down shooting her right arm between Halstrom’s thighs and grabbing a lusty handful of the blonde’s rump. Singh begins lifting before she hooks her other arm over Ingrid’s shoulder and holds the blonde on her shoulder for a moment letting Ingrid consider the predicament she’s in. The Bollywood Beauty lifts a leg and then turns her load over slamming the Swede into the canvas with a loud crash. Ingrid’s head lifts off the canvas as she coughs the wind knocked out of her. Amara jumps turning in air so she crashes tummy to tummy with the challenger she slides up on to Ingrid’s chest and hooks a leg.
ONE…
TWO…
NO!
Ingrid bucks free, but her face is red as her cheeks puff as she still tries to get her breath back.
Singh delivers a death stare at the official while keeping a possessive hand on one of Ingrid’s shoulders. It seems to be mostly laying a seed for later as the kick free by the Bikini Teamer was closer to two than three, but Amara plays it up enough the ref takes a couple steps back from the accusing almond-shaped peepers.
Turning her attention back to the blonde, the Bollywood Bombshell tugs the Scandinavian up with her and sends a blistering chop across the considerable cleavage of blonde beauty. Halstrom staggers a step from the force of the blow and Singh closes the distance to deliver another, and another, Ingrid reeling all the way to the buckles behind her.
With a rosy welt line growing at the top of her foe’s bust, Amara changes from backhand to forehand, giving her hand a long lollipop lick and applying a wicked, blazing, open-hand smack to the cleft of the tawny-skinned, blonde’s bosom.
Ingrid’s face pinches in pain, but also frustration. She exhibits by growling and grabbing the crook of Singh’s right arm and whipping her by, exchanging positions with the champion. Showing she too can light up a foe, Ingrid provides a three-spot of knife-edges to Amara’s chest, the crowd ‘wooohing’ enthusiastically after each.
With Singh’s lids clenching in pain, the champ pushes the Swede off. Ingrid uses the momentum to skip to center stage and make a u-turn. She races to the cornered Indian and NAILS Singh’s chin with a flawless dropkick snapping the head of the Empress back.
The jawjacker of a kick is an ‘off button’ for Amara’s stems and she plops to the canvas, landing on her ass, legs extended, head bobbling as she leans back into the corner drunkenly.
Halstrom delivers a karate kick to Amara’s bountiful bosom to keep her in place and beats her feet to the opposite corner. She tags the top buckle, spins, and sprints back toward Singh. The blonde leaps from a few feet away and delivers a painful, double leg drop to Amara’s groin. Singh’s features are etched in pain after the impact, her hands reaching instantly for her aching inner thighs.
The Bikini Teamer reverse somersaults out of her seat, popping to her feet several feet away. Again, she surges toward the befuddled Bollywood Bombshell, returning with legs extended. Halstrom’s undercarriage THUMPS into the chest of the Empress. Ingrid grabs the middle ropes on either side and gets to work, slamming her tanned cheeks into Amara’s chest with a reindeer buster. The Swedish beauty thrusts her way to a full ‘ten’, the excited crowd counting along. When Ingrid dismounts, the Empress looks more a puddled peasant at the blonde’s feet.
With the crowd egging her on, an early advantage gathered, Ingrid grabs the champion by an ankle and drags her cavewoman-style out of the corner, tossing the limb aside when making it to center stage.
With Singh positioned, the Bikini Teamer is immediately sprinting to the ropes at her side. She dives into the cables and flies back at her target. A few feet from the splayed, beestung-lipped Indian grappler, the diminutive blonde leaps into a lightning bolt of a front flip. Her legs drop harshly, one across Amara’s already aching orbs and the other across her throat, causing the Empress to go wide-eyed and shuddering as she tries with minimal success to draw in some deep breaths.
Concentrating on getting oxygen, Singh doesn’t seem to notice Ingrid’s short but sinewy stems remain atop her chest and, more importantly, her pinned shoulders for…
ONE…
TWO…
Before the third slap can come down, Amara pushes the blonde’s draping legs up and off and rolls to the side, rubbing at her throat and cursing in Hindi at herself and the pesky blonde.
The curses become a yelp as, from behind, a risen Halstrom dips and sinks her nails into Amara’s locks and hauls the bigger woman to her feet. The Indian tries to jab a thumb in Ingrid’s eye, but the Bikini Teamer manages to block the attempt with a left forearm and follows with a toe kick to the tummy that leaves Singh bent and gasping.
Ingrid uses a European uppercut on the EurAsian titleholder, straightening up the champ while taking a lot of starch out of the Golden Empress. Ripe for the picking, Ingrid shoots an arm between the wobbly legs of Amara and shows she’s got a little pop in those smallish biceps, ‘hupping’ Singh off the canvas and across her shoulders.
It looking as though Amara might be at the weight limit for this part of the Swede’s arsenal, Halstrom nevertheless stabilizes and readies her Samoan Drop. But before she lays out and sends the Bollywood Bombshell crashing to the canvas, Amara wriggles her way out of Ingrid’s clutches and slides down her foe’s back, landing behind her.
Singh quickly wraps a backhand grip of an arm around the blonde’s neck and pulls her backward, Hatttt53tg3lstrom forced into an uncomfortable arch. It initially appears Singh is setting up for a dragon sleeper and she draws the Scandinavian to that position, but just as quickly she barrel rolls to the side as she drops to the canvas, landing on her back. Meanwhile, Ingrid has a much more destructive dive as she lands face and chest first in an inventive spinning cutter.
The brutal impact sends Halstrom flopping to her back in a spreadeagle. Amara crawls wearily the couple feet to the gobsmacked Bikini Teamer and lays a flaccid arm across Ingrid’s chest for a…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
The challenger easily if almost tardily forces a shoulder up, the weakness of the pin likely saving Ingrid from losing her chance at a second Eurasian title run.
Both champ and challenger are slow to rise, each making it to all fours then on their knees simultaneously. Glistening from the early fierceness of the battle, the women throw themselves at each other while still lowered. Fingers lace and biceps flex as each battles for leverage and an advantage to use against the other.
In a reverse of the normal test of strength, both wrestlers stand Amara trying to use her height advantage to get the upper hand. Ingrid though pulls their arms out to the side slamming bosom to bosom with the Bollywood Bombshell. Halstrom starts to turn the champ’s wrist and a shocked Amara strains trying to keep the Bikini Teamer from completely twisting her arms and wrenching her wrist backwards. Just as it appears Ingrid might trap Amara, the Exotic Empress’s bare foot shoots up kicking Ingrid between spread legs.
Ingrid’s grip instantly melts as she drops to her knees and wedges her hands between her thighs. The Swede sinks down her buttocks resting on her heels, as her baby blues are rimmed in tears. The referee gives Amara a warning for the low blow, but he can’t even back her off thanks to FAWN rules. Amara shakes out her hands, getting blood flowing back into her fingers before she grabs each of Ingrid’s shoulder straps. Amara jerks up several times making the Bikini Teamer’s juggs jump before she gets Ingrid back up on her boots. The FAWNatics boo and jeer as Amara pushes past the zebra and heads for the nearest corner.
Singh takes Halstrom by the ponytail again, this time bouncing the blonde’s forehead off the top turnbuckle three times. The Golden Empress then repeats the trio on the middle turnbuckle before jamming Ingrid’s head under the middle turnbuckle. Amara stands back looking at her handy work and then lifts Halstrom’s hips just a bit higher before turning and heading across the ring. Amara makes a u-turn at mid ring and charges back, the fans scream warnings, but too late as Singh leaps and delivers a barefoot dropkick to the blonde’s backside.
The concussion of the impact sends Ingrid springing back, she lands several feet from the corner starfished on the mat, her body quivering. Amara rocks back on her shoulders and kips to her feet, her hair flying as she does. Walking around the dazed blonde Amara cocks her right arm up and falls driving the elbow into the cleft of Ingrid’s breast. The blonde is sent into new spasms, but Singh stays on top of the Swede and leans across her body in a lackadaisical cover.
ONE…
Amara holds up her left hand with one finger.
TWO…
She adds the second.
THRNOOOO!
Ingrid’s whole body jolts as her legs kick and her torso twists pulling her shoulder’s off the canvas. Amara spins on the referee glaring again, this time going as far as jumping to her feet and getting in the man’s face for a slow count.
While Amara threatens to have the referee flogged, Ingrid crawls towards the ropes and gets to her knees. The Bikini Teamer leaning over the middle rope here sweat covered face red as she breathes heavy and baby blues blink unfocused. The referee reminds Singh that he’s in charge in the ring, to which the Exotic Empress just huffs. Amara turns her attention back to the wounded challenger, and seeing her vulnerable position heads towards the opposite ropes and charges at the kneeling blonde.
Fans scream warnings, Ingrid can hear the pounding of the running feet and feel the vibrations in the ring and ropes. Amara leaps, and ViQueen rolls to the side, Singh cries out just before her legs are split by the rope and she ends up with one foot in the ring and one on the apron. Amara thinks she’s escaped injury, but then sees Ingrid standing just a foot away. Amara starts to put up a hand and say something, but whatever plea was forthcoming Ingrid cuts it off by kicking the middle strand. Amara wails as the rubber coated steel wire slams up into her undercarriage. Falling back into the ring Singh curls into a fetal position holding her abused nether regions.
To be fair the referee gives Ingrid a warning as well, but the finger wagging helps Amara as much as it had helped the blonde earlier. Halstrom moving gingerly around to Singh’s head reaches down and forces Amara back to her feet. Leaning the bigger woman against the ropes the ViQueen hammer’s a forearm across the Empress’s orbs before taking a wrist and shoulder whipping Amara across the ring. Ingrid waits a moment and follows, when Amara hits the opposite ropes she rebounds right into the flying Swede as Ingrid leaps throwing her body into Singh’s path and takes her to the canvas with a flying crossbody. The referee is about to drop to the canvas for a count, but Ingrid pops to her feet.
Passing on the cover Ingrid goes to the turnbuckles to the right and slips outside the ring and climbs to the top from that side. The ViQueen perches on top like a bird of prey watching for fish in one of the Fjords. Amara starts to stir and climbs back to her feet as Ingrid rises, as Singh begins to turn Halstrom takes flight. The Bikini Teamer pulls her knees up and then fires them like pistons into the Bollywood Bombshell’s gurls as Amara turns into the missile drop kick. Singh is sent flying, and gets the second impact of a hard landing on the thinly padded plywood.
Ingrid scrambles over on all fours and pulls Amara flat to her back hooking the near leg as she goes for the win.
ONE…
TWO…
The ref jumps up pointing at the bottom rope which now has Amara’s foot hanging on it by a toe or two.
Ingrid leans back running her hands over sweat soaked hair, looking like she might cry from frustration. The tiny Swede nods regaining her resolve, Amara scoots over and grabs the bottom rope pulling herself to safety. The referee backs Ingrid off, but only for a moment before the Bikini Teamer marches back in to bring the Empress out of the ropes. Amara starts to complain to the referee, but sees the man is directly behind Ingrid and while still complaining drives a fist into the front of Ingrid’s bottoms. Halstrom is frozen in pain and helpless as Amara grabs the fabric between the blonde ample bosom and pulls Ingrid forward throwing her out of the ring.
The Bikini Teamer hits the ring apron hard before bouncing off and falling to the arena floor. Singh crawls away from the ropes and yells, ‘Count her out!”
The official does as he’s bid by the Eurasian champion, moving to the ropes above the diminutive blonde and dutifully starting his count on the challenger. As Ingrid pushes her way toward vertical, Amara uses the ropes on the opposite side of the ring to pull herself up. She leans heavily into the cables, regaining her composure. The Golden Empress almond-shaped eyes focus on the Swede. Hallstrom is soon up but turned away from the ring. She gathers her balance and begins to turn, setting off the starter’s gun on Amara’s race across the squared circle.
The Bollywood Bombshell dips for a launch through the top and middle ropes in a suicide dive into the Bikini Teamer when Ingrid, perhaps picking up another cue from the crowd, spins and leaps into a head-snapping forearm to the noggin of the charging Amara that halts Singh’s dive before it starts.
The gobsmacked champion lies draped over the middle rope, neck and arms hanging limp over the cable, her dark eyes glazed. Balance regained, Ingrid leaps with cupped hands joined, her paws dropping behind the head of the dazed Indian grappler and hotshotting Amara out of the strands. Singh is sent flying toward center stage, landing on her back and grasping at her throat.
Halstrom hops to the apron and takes a moment to get the crowd amped, turning and waiving her right arm as if swinging an invisible lasso. She moves through the ropes and collects a rising Amara, who’s made it up to one knee.
Ripping the dazed champion into a front facelock. The diminutive blonde shows she’s got some strength in that small frame. She shoots a hand into Amara’s midriff for balance and vaults the bigger, raven-haired beauty up and over, Singh twisting as she heads over the blonde’s shoulders.
As she does, Ingrid drops to her backside and lights up the Empress with her signature Runebuster.
Runebuster
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=08mTvu0W9i0 )
Amara’s noggin whiplashes from the jarring impact. Ending on her knees, the copper-skinned grappler sways in a stupor until collapsing to her side when Ingrid gives her a gentle nudge. Singh spreads into a motionless starfish and the Bikini Teamer climbs atop the deflated champion as Ingrid’s second Eurasian title run is…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOO!
With the official’s hand no more than an inch or two from the deck, the Bollywood Bombshell throws a shoulder off the canvas. The crowd groans, having been sure the Scandinavian had taken enough out of the champion from the subcontinent. But Amara survives, even if that survival is tenuous.
Ingrid gives the ref a disapproving sideways glance, but quickly gets back to work, the roar of the FAWNatics driving her on toward victory. She boots a blasted Singh with a meaty ‘smeck’ of a soccer kick to the gut that sends a groaning Amara flat on her back once more.
With Amara served on a platter, the vertically-challenged, busty blonde heads for the nearby corner. She vaults to the top, quickly turning to face a championship in the making. Measuring, the titleholder for a moment, the Swede skies into the Orlando night.
The Bikini Teamer soars toward Singh, revolving through a graceful back flip to SMASH Amara underneath with the Star of Sif finisher. But alas, the Empress escapes, rolling toward the launch point, leaving nothing but empty mat for Halstrom to splash in painful fashion.
Star of Sif
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=x198b7kw3OA )
The tanned Scandinavian hugs her flawless form, perhaps to keep internal organs from being displaced after the disastrous ending. Her face presses tight against the canvas, knees under her slightly, which lifts her pert little ass cheeks into the air.
Watching intently from a few feet away, Amara seems motivated into action despite her disheveled state. She rises and staggers toward the partially penitent blonde. A barefoot boot to the behind sends the aching Halstrom flat to the canvas.
With opportunity knocking, Amara seems determined to step into the express lane. The Indian grappler snags Ingrid’s left ankle, lifting her lower leg, then straddles the lower limb. She moves to a kneeling straddle of the base of the Swede’s spine, collecting her second of Ingrid’s legs, locking them under her arms.
The FAWNatics know very well what Singh has in mind as does Ingrid who starts to dig her nails frantically into the deck to try and pull free. But before she can, Amara scoops her laced fingers under Halstrom’s chin and shows incredible strength, pulling Ingrid off the canvas as the champion drops into a crouch, her BollyKnot tearing into Ingrid’s spine and the muscles surrounding it.
BollyKnot
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hJ1iW-D8Aw&list=PL48AGjs8xVYOwkNCwnSiloVUQnx15FPqF )
Singh even manages to swing the blonde forward and back, if softly, drawing even more agony out of the submission. But for long seconds, Halstrom refuses to tap.
It seems a fait d’accompli even as the crowd’s attention is diverted by some action in the front rows to Amara’s six. But when Lady Fiona Waterford, dressing down for the occasion in a red halter top and tight black jeans, leaps over the guardrail, slides into the ring and pivots for the fullest of superkicks to the back of Amara’s skull, the place explodes in disarray.
Lady Fiona Waterford
:
As Singh lurches forward, the nearly vanquished Swede unfurls beneath her, dropping face first to the canvas with Amara quickly landing atop her.
A mewling Ingrid reaches for the base of her spine, slipping her limb beneath Amara to get there. Singh seems barely in touch with consciousness and she’s sent rolling into a spreadeagle when Fiona grabs a shoulder and sends her flopping off the blonde.
The ref waves his hands wildly, calling for the bell and the timekeeper obliges, dinging a staccato burst that just keeps tolling as Fiona lays into Amara with boot after boot, Fee’s black pumps stomping into copper-skinned flesh; chest, midriff and even a final crunching kick to the kitty.
Amara’s dark eyes go wide as she bolts to a seated position, hands deep between her thighs. Another superkick from Her Ladyship, this to the chin of the champion turns out the lights even as the announcer proclaims Singh the winner and still FAWN Eurasian champion with a DQ win.
Fiona turns toward Ingrid now on her back and in better shape than the Empress. She seems to consider making meatballs out of the Swede but decides against, apparently having made the statement she wanted.
Seeing a FAWN flunky holding the EA belt at ringside, she moves to the ropes and snatches the gold, wrapping it around her waist as she walks back to the splayed Amara.
She mouths “MINE” to the FAWNatics who seem won over, at least to a degree, by their beloved Shea’s tormentor.
Fiona stares down at the demolished Singh and points at the belt.
“ALL MINE,” she shouts before dropping the accessory on the unconscious Amara and heading out.
Message delivered.