Post by bigfan on Jul 23, 2017 21:18:07 GMT
The Duchess of East Anglia made sure she would not be denied a rematch with FAWN’s Golden Empress. Having beaten Amara at Heartbroken albeit via a desperate disqualification Singh provoked to save her reign, Lady Waterford made the perfect second impression during Amara’s Mayhem match against Ingrid Halstrom. Superkicking Singh into a stupor had given the Indian beauty a successful defense via a DQ win, but the violent prodding by Fiona convinced a furious Amara to demand another chance at the Brit after growing rumblings Waterford is her kryptonite.
Now, at Summer Swelter, Waterford had the perfect chance to prove it’s she who’s England’s greatest ever export to FAWN, not Sammie or Shea. What’s more she could simultaneously break the will and reign of an Empress to take the Eurasian title.
Appearing as though she could personally reverse the hands of time, Her Ladyship looks simultaneously threatening and glorious as the booming orchestral chords of her familiar entrance erupt ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDI9HuVduDI&feature=related ) heralding the former Intercontinental and Lightweight champion, now ready to claim the Eurasian title on her second and likely final attempt.
The FAWNatics seem in her corner, the crowd apparently looking past the wars with their beloved Shea, enjoying how the veteran forced the hated Singh’s hand. They rise and provide mostly cheers as Her Ladyship strides to center stage, Fiona resplendent. The Brit reviews the boisterous crowd with her usual disdain, the positive reaction not affecting her in the slightest. She starts on her way down the ramp when the ring announcer makes her arrival an official one.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Eurasian Championship. First, the challenger, from Finsbury Park, London, England, standing 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing in at 8 stone 13… the Duchess of East Anglia…Lady Fiona Waterford.”
LADY FIONA WATERFORD:
The athletic build of the Englishwoman remains very much appreciated, seemingly a deal with the devil having been struck to keep Waterford in such fine fettle, women half her age green with envy. Her regal beauty is accentuated by a striking midnight blue lace set of bra and panties with red bows on either hip and a royal coat of arms on her taut bum en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_coat_of_arms_of_the_United_Kingdom. The attire leaves just the right amount to the imagination, which in this case is little. As a perfect bit of flair, red fishnet stockings reach up from midnight blue boots, red garters ending the stockings at mid-thigh.
Fiona strides down the aisle and hops to the apron. The Brit slides through the cables and moves to the center, seemingly taken aback by the continued support of those assembled. Waterford raises a microphone to her ruby lips.
“So you use me as a port in the storm of Empress Amara? That’s fine,” Fiona announces. “But never forget. I was, am and always will be Shea’s better.”
Perhaps a little surprisingly, the crowd doesn’t instantly shower Her Ladyship with boos, perhaps the FAWNatics feeling she deserves some respect for outlasting the legendary London, even if she couldn’t match Shea’s resume.
Her Ladyship turns to the upper stage.
“Are you ready for the end, Amara?” Waterford asks. “And did Bethany tell you this is a no disqualification match?” The crowd roars. “We will find out who is royalty and who is belongs back working the Bolly circuit on the subcontinent.”
Fiona’s final words are immediately followed by the catchy groove of "Exotic” by Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull. The FAWNatics turn as one, giving the Eurasian titleholder what she deserves. They 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 catchy 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."
The spectacle halts, having reached its destination. The men lower the ornate bed so it is 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.
AMARA SINGH:
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 Her Ladyship.
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 at Fiona. In her opposite palm is a microphone.
“Do not make a fatal mistake, old woman,” Amara hisses. “Even with all your titles, those born to and those gained in the ring, you remain nothing but a peasant to your Golden Empress.”
Singh smirks at the steaming royal and that sets Waterford’s blood at the boiling point. Unable to contain herself, the Englishwoman charges and SPEARS the startled champion.
Microphone and belt go flying as Fiona lands atop Singh in a kneeling forward straddle of the champ. She grabs Amara’s long ebony locks, pulls her head up and batters away with a swabbing right fist.
A panicked ref calls for the bell and quickly realizes he cannot disqualify Waterford for any amount of fisticuffs she plans on using. Luckily for Singh, Fiona starts riding a little high on her straddle and Amara sends Her Ladyship somersaulting over and off.
Champion and challenger scramble to their feet, each poised for battle.
Lady Waterford, having struck first, uses the initiative to close the gap with the champion and throws her body into that of Amara with abandon, locking up in a collar-and-elbow. With momentum on her side, the English royal pumps her pistons and walks Singh back to the ropes. The official calls for the break and surprisingly, Fiona releases her grip instantaneously. She shoves Amara’ s hands from her own and takes a step back only to instantly take the step back and paintbrush the cheek of the champion with a whistling open hand.
Amara’s noggin whips to the side and when it returns a smirking Duchess has stepped out of reach of return fire. Waterford motions the Indian beauty forward.
“You knew you couldn’t beat me last time,” Fiona informs. “You know you can’t beat me now. I, hell even Shea London, are on a different level than the likes of you.”
A fuming Empress pushes off the cables behind her and charges only to be sent sprawling with an arm drag. Amara scrambles to her feet and hustles back at the waiting Brit. The Duchess handles the champion in the same manner with a perfect arm drag. And again the Bollywood Bombshell fights to her feet, turns and races at the challenger. This time Fiona flips the copper-skinned grappler with a Japanese version, Singh’s spine thumping against the canvas. Amara arches her back, grimacing as she scurries up to one knee and watches as Fiona, already on her feet, spins to survey.
“As I was saying,” Waterford chuckles.
Amara grinds her perfect pearlies but remains more careful when she rises this time. Singh closes the gap and raises her right hand high, extending it toward Fiona for a test of strength. Waterford glances up and nods, clearly unconcerned. There is no substantial size difference in the two and Lady Waterford laces her left fingers with the right set of Amara, showing she believes herself as strong or stronger.
Immediately, she starts to roll her wrists over those of the Eurasian champion, forcing Amara to lower to keep from losing complete control of the test. Singh drops to one knee, shaking her head in disbelief as she pays homage to the Duchess of East Anglia.
Amara accedes to the loss to break her hands free of Fiona’s grips. She shoots and arm between Waterford’s glossy stems and scoops Her Ladyship off her feet. For a moment Fiona is across the shoulders of the Indian beauty, but she quickly spills off in the opposite direction, landing solidly on the canvas.
Scrambling to her feet, Singh aims a quick elbow drop at the cleft of Fiona’s chest and lays out, but the Englishwoman rolls out from under and Amara spikes her elbow into the thinly-sheathed plywood instead. Yelping, she pulls the injured wing close as Fiona somersaults to her feet, not at all looking over forty. As Amara rises, still bent at the waist, she’s met with a punt to the chest. The champ wobbles backward, arms windmilling to keep her upright. The Indian grappler uses the ropes to catch her balance and shoot toward Waterford. Amara dips a shoulder and plows into Fiona’s chest, knocking the Duchess flat to the canvas, Fiona looking up at Amara, wincing.
“Only the beginning, peasant,” Singh hisses.
Amara skips over the splayed Waterford, apparently heading for the ropes to return with some steam, but the champ never makes it there. Instead, her ankle is hooked by Fiona and Singh trips to the canvas. Seamlessly, Fiona rolls up into a backward-facing straddle of Amara’s hips with the champ’s left leg still in her grasp, finally securing it in a half-crab.
Rolling Half Crab
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHSASf05imc )
Her Ladyship lowers into a crouch, slipping further up Amara’s body in order to draw the bare foot of the Bollywood Bombshell toward the dark locks that cover the crown of her head. Singh yelps in pain as her leg and back are curved into a brutal ‘C’ shape, Fiona whispering less-than-sweet-nothings to the woman currently in possession of the Eurasian belt.
“You’re a fraud, dearheart,” Lady Waterford assures. “And as loathsome as these fans are, even they know enough to know that.”
The words draw a growl of protest from the champ and before the ref can ask if she wants to give in, Singh powers into a roll to the side, sending Fiona flipping to the canvas, landing hard on her backbone. Freed, Amara does her best to ignore the pain from her back and pushes to vertical only to find Fiona there. The Brit shoots a toekick toward the coppery tummy of the Empress but Amara manages to catch Fiona’s boot before it can find purchase.
Singh has Waterford hopping on her plant foot, but quickly gives up the right she has in her possession, throwing it away from her as hard as she can. The force of the pendulum Fiona’s right leg becomes is enough to rocket the royal off her left and she crashes to the deck, face and chest-first. After the impact Waterford’s hands fly to her face and she rolls to her back, cursing a blue streak. The expletives are cut off when Amara sends a barefoot blast of a stomp into Fiona’s abdomen, one, two, three times. On the third, she grinds her heel into Her Ladyship’s gut.
Fiona, having risen in a pained jackknife, wraps her palms around Amara’s ankle, futilely trying to remove it, but it’s Singh who chooses to do so, only to soccer kick Waterford in the chin to put the brunette beauty flat to the canvas once more, Fiona staring blankly into the rafters.
The husky, raspy voice of Amara makes one thing clear as she moves to a standing straddle of the dazed Brit.
“I am no fraud.”
The Bollywood Bombshell throws her legs out in front of her and drops a butt bomb into Lady Fee’s belly, her backside gutting the suddenly vulnerable veteran. The force of the impact forces double at the waist and Singh quickly slips an arm behind and around the neck of the reeling Duchess, capturing the Brit in a guillotine choke. Fiona’s survival instinct kicks her out of her stupor as she flails for her freedom but with Amara on her lap and the Indian’s snaking arm constricting, Her Ladyship is in a load of trouble.
The ref drops to one knee to ask if the challenger wants to give up her opportunity. Fiona chokes out a ‘no’ as she fruitlessly pushes at the chest of her foe. Only when Waterford curls her fingers from flattened palms to the clenching digits, sinking them into Amara’s breasts does her effort to escape find any headway.
Singh grimaces her way through the first clawing squeezes of her ‘gurls’, but Fiona’s continues feistiness, put enough slack in the Indian’s choke to slip free and roll out of immediate trouble, Waterford giving up her breast mauling to put some space between herself and the champ.
However, the Empress has no desire to give up her hard-won advantage and she catches Fiona on the way up with a knee lift the sternum. Waterford backpedals into the ropes and is ejected out of the rubber-coated steel back to the waiting Amara who absolutely LEVELS Waterford with a spinning heel kick to the tip of Fiona’s regal chin. The Duchess hits the deck as if shot, the back of her skull cracking against the canvas.
Pirouetting to a stop, Amara drops her copper-skinned frame across Her Ladyship’s blasted body in a lateral press, hooking Fiona’s far leg for good measure to retain her title with the…
ONE…
TWO…
And Waterford shoves a shoulder up, the stubborn veteran not giving up what might be her last chance for a title run so easily.
Singh moves to one knee beside the beleaguered Brit. She pushes Fiona to her back and drops her raised knee across the throat of the Duchess in a blatant illegal choke. The ref starts to raise his voice but Amara holds up an index finger.
“No disqualifications, peasant,” the Bombshell reminds the official. “Just the way the Lady wanted it.”
Beneath Amara’s shin, Waterford’s windpipe is reduced to nearly none of its normal capacity and Fiona flails wildly, pushing at the Indian grappler’s leg. The FAWNatics make their great displeasure known, testing the ability of their own throats, lustily booing the Empress.
Amara throws her hands in the air, very much as if she just doesn’t care, though she does also lift her leg from the reddened throat of the Brit, only to bring the point of her knee back down between the eyes of the brunette. Fiona’s hands flash to her face as she turns to her side, body spasming in pain, hands checking if she has a bent beak.
Feeling at home at last, a confident Amara walks a circle around the fidgeting challenger, making sure the crowd understands their current positions in the ring. Making sure she’s understood to be superior, Singh sends her digits delving into Fiona’s flowing dark locks and the Golden Empress drags the struggling Englishwoman to her feet.
Exchanging her grip for a wrist, Amara flings Her Ladyship to the far buckles, Fiona CRASHING into the corner, throwing her limp arms over the top rope on either side to help in her fight to stay vertical. Singh is quickly on the move, racing in after her foe. She leaps from a few feet out and SPLASHES her body into the Brit’s, tenderizing the challenger. Fiona sags limply after Amara bounces away from the collision.
The Bollywood Bombshell trots out to mid-ring before coming in again. This time, the copper-skinned beauty hops her bare feet onto the upper legs of the English stalwart. Singh wraps laced fingers behind Fiona’s neck and throws her bodyweight backward. The result is a perfect monkey flip that sends Waterford flying out of the corner and landing on her tailbone.
Lady Fiona, finally looking her age, grasps at her beautiful behind, massaging the aching ass as Amara swoops into motion. Singh comes in from behind, driving a knee in between Fiona’s shoulderblades while locking cupped hands under her chin and reefing back on the neck of Her Ladyship.
“This feel like I’m the Empress of both continents?” Amara asks.
Singh pulls back further, forcing Fiona to stare into the rafters as her spine brutally put to the test. Waterford mewls in pain, her hands prying at Singh’s grip. Amara releases of her own accord after a dozen seconds of the torture. Raising a pointed right elbow, she rams the tip into the forehead of Her Ladyship, Fiona’s dark eyes crossing as she pools to horizontal.
The subcontinental superstar pushes to her feet and drinks in the jeers. It had taken time to subdue Waterford, but the domination of the royal peasant was made all the more sweet.
Singh saunters to the corner and climbs to the middle ropes to ‘share’ her success with the unhappy fans. Satisfied, they know she s the Empress of the English wreckage behind her, she climbs to the top and turns, Amara offering a rare look at her aerial arsenal.
Or so that was likely the plan, but a resolute Duchess, having been given a little extra time to recuperate, throws herself into the ropes beside the buckles. Unfamiliar with the environment and unready for Fiona’s brief convalescence, Singh loses her balance and drops atop the uppermost cable, one leg on either side.
Amara’s almond-shaped eyes bug wide, her lips forming a silent ‘O’. Her hands press against the rubber-coated steel to try and carefully remove the strand from her privates, but a furious Fiona has different ideas. Grabbing the rope, she thrusts it up and down, sending Singh on a wildly uncomfortable ride. Singh yelps in pain, pleading with the referee to get Waterford away and her out of this predicament, but the man shrugs.
“You know the rules, Empress,” he says, more than a hint of karmic enjoyment in his voice.
Her Ladyship, after ‘pogo-ing’ Amara on her crotch a dozen times, takes pity on the ravaged Singh and ‘hups’ the Indian grappler off the cable and across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The Duchess walks her whimpering cargo to center stage without a hint of resistance and launches the Bombshell HIGH in a front flip off her right shoulder to bring her down ruthlessly across bended knee in her Waking Nightmare.
Waking Nightmare @ :15
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHSASf05imc )
The impact leaves a dazed Singh seated, legs extended, smoky glazed eyes staring into the cheering throngs. Lady Fiona seems a bit confused at the support received but she doesn’t pooh-pooh the crowd’s enthusiastic adulation. Shoving Amara flat to the mat, Waterford spreads her body across in a lateral press and commands the official make her champion. The man slides to the canvas and slaps the mat for…
ONE…
TWO…
The champion kicks her way free, rolling to her chest in the process. With a full second between her and victory, the Brit doesn’t press the unfortunately slow count of the ref. Realizing, the champ is made of some pretty tough stuff, Her Ladyship sinks her nails into Singh’s scalp and tugs Amara up as she rises. With both women reaching vertical, Singh swats Fiona’s grip away. The grapplers simultaneously go for, and hit, gutting toe kicks that leave Fiona and Amara bent and gasping for air.
Singh responds first with an echoing open hand to the cheek of her Ladyship, but Waterford responds with a jawjacking European Uppercut that straightens Singh and loosens her musculature considerably. Fiona sends another toe kick in deep to Amara’s midriff and collects both lowered arms in underhooks.
Amara wriggles for her freedom, but Fiona won’t have it, twisting her foe until they’re back to back. Waterford pulls Singh’s neck across a shoulder and sits out, giving Singh’s neck a wicked snap.
Double Underhook Neckbreaker
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLbxYtMLSf0 )
Amara cradles her pounding noggin and has the wherewithal to roll under the nearby ropes. She remains on the apron’s edge until the Duchess RAMS her boots into Singh’s side with a baseball slide that delivers the Bollywood Bombshell to the outside.
Taking a risk of sending Amara farther out of the squared circle, where she needs the champ within to claim the EA crown, Lady Fiona lands on her feet next to a splayed Singh and claims a handful of ebony locks to pull Amata’s head up enough the dark glazed eyes of the titleholder gaze blankly into the challenger’s hazel pools.
“You’re not leaving the ring without me, mealticket,” Waterford purrs, a sly grin following behind.
She yanks a deteriorating Amara to unsteady feet, Fiona assisting Singh into a higher level of coherence with a stinging bytch slap to the champ’s copper-skinned cheek. Singh comes right back with one of her own, putting Her Ladyship’s head on a momentary swivel.
Waterford returns fire with a right cross that rocks the Indian grappler, nearly dropping her.
“Still think you can crown yourself royalty?” asks the Duchess of East Anglia.
Amara leaps out of her crouch and THUMPS a forearm smash to Fiona’s cheek, Waterford sinking to one knee, a look of bewilderment on her patrician features. The royal rises only to have Amara charge her and RAM the Brit’s spine into the apron’s edge.
Fiona yelps in pain, her back arching. The Golden Empress straightens her, and then some, with a kick to the abdomen. Singh grabs a shoulder and trunks on the hip and spins Waterford into a toss under the bottom rope. Amara rolls in behind her foe, using the ropes to climb to her feet as Waterford crawls away, gasping as she tries to make space.
The champ isn’t interested in giving Fiona time to recover. She adds to Waterford’s spinal woes with a barefoot stomp to the base of the Brit’s spine that flattens the royal then leaps into a spearing elbow smash to the same location. Fiona’s frame spasms, the sore spot enflamed by the precise attack. Perpendicular to the challenger, Amara wraps a crossface grip in place and violently wrenches at Her Ladyship’s head and neck.
“You will bow before the night is through,” Singh grunts. “Peasant,” Amara adds with another twist of Fiona’s noggin, a reminder no family bloodline can change Waterford’s true subservient position in comparison to the Empress.
Rotating but keeping Fiona’s braincase under her control, the confidence is clearly growing in the Bollywood Bombshell as she lifts and secures a front facelock then DRIVES a knee into the chest of the doubled royal. Momentarily lifting Fiona’s boots clean off the canvas with the force of the balled joint.
Bullying the battered Brit to a set of buckles, Amara snatches a wrist and sends Lady Fiona for the ride. The brunette beauty sprints across the canvas, turning into a heavy collision with the opposite corner. The impact sends Waterford sagging deep within, arms laid over the top rope on either side, her head bobbling.
The Empress is off in an instant and chases after the dazed Englishwoman. The Bollywood Bombshell blows up all over Waterford, landing in a copper-skinned avalanche of pulchritude atop the challenger. As Amara bounces off her flattened target, a flaccid Fiona plops to her bum, legs extended in front of her, eyes glassy.
Perfect pearlies flashing, Singh turns her derriere to the seated Fiona and stuffs her ample backside into the face of the Duchess. With Waterford’s features enveloped by subcontinental booty, Amara starts to swivel her hips and swab Fiona’s mug in sensual fashion, the champ clearly loving every second of her signature Harem Shake, working some of her best Bali moves into painting the Duchess’ face with her behind.
With the ref starting to scold her for keeping Waterford in the buckles too long, Fiona ends her grind and rises to the familiar scorn of the FAWNatics, giving them a double-barreled, one-finger salute.
Amara moves to the middle of the ring to drink in the bubbling hatred of the crowd and watches, chuckling, as Fiona slowly uses the ropes to pull her way up. Singh turns on the jets and charges her foe. She leaps to the front of Waterford’s thighs, her laced fingers wrapping around the back of the Brit’s head. The Bombshell lays out and sends Fiona flying in a monkey flip, up and over, the Duchess landing HARD on her tailbone.
As the royal’s face twists in pain, her hands reaching to her bruised backside, the champ hops to her feet and stalks her challenger, staying safely in Fiona’s six as Her Ladyship struggles to her feet. Sidling in from behind, Amara sweeps her right arm in a backhand grip around the throat of Fiona, tugging her head back and forcing Fiona to bridge as Singh secures her a dragon sleeper.
“Time to prove who really rules this division,” Amara informs, drawing Fiona further into the bridge that would lead to a failed title test. Waterford’s arms flail, wildly at first, but they slow and become less coordinated. Perhaps showing impatience, Amara lifts a leg and drapes it over Her Ladyship’s neck then lets the Brit drop to the canvas, her guillotine-like leg SLAMMING down on Waterford’s throat. Amara keeps the lower limb in place, Fiona in a motionless starfish beneath her for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Fiona shoves the limb off while rolling to her side, keeping hope alive for the moment.
A frustrated Singh stares lasers at the official from beside Fiona’s head but quickly gets back to work, grabbing a shoulder of Lady Waterford and pushing the Brit to her back. Amara gets up close and personal with the Duchess, as she scoots atop Fiona’s face, straddling her foe’s features then dropping atop them in her signature Bollywood Ending reverse facesit. Beaming as she stares down the length of Waterford’s flailing frame, her legs bracketing Her Ladyship’s head, Singh raises her arms in victory. All that remains is riding out the veteran to victory.
But the celebration proves premature when Fiona crunches her abs and jackknifes her lithe legs under the raised arms of the champion. Curling them around Amara’s back, Waterford thrusts them forward and Singh is sent flipping off her mount, tumbling off the greasy-faced and gasping Duchess.
As Amara rolls up to her knees, facing away from the recovering Englishwoman, the Bollywood Bombshell slaps the canvas in exasperation. The FAWNatics, cheering loudly at the turn of events, draw Amara’s ire and she curses at them as she slowly rises, emphatically berating them.
Singh turns to track her prey and finds out why the crowd’s been so enthusiastic as Fiona stands at the ready not two steps from the champion, the embarrassment of being used as a love seat seemingly reviving her faster than the Indian grappler could have imagined.
Waterford says ‘hello’ with a flashing toe kick to the copper-skinned tummy of Amara, freezing her while bending her at the waist, then follows with a brutal punt to the privates that pushes Singh to tiptoes, her face twisting in agony, dark eyes welling as her hands drop to her crotch.
“If you’re going to humiliate royalty,” Waterford hisses, “you better finish the job.”
Fiona shoves Amara and the champion stumbles in a waddling backpedal to the nearby ropes. Singh bounces back to the waiting Waterford who collects Amara on her hip and launches the Empress onto her right shoulder, half of Singh’s frame draping on either side.
Fiona pins both of Amara’s arms behind her and the crowd’s energy peaks as they understand what’s coming. Fiona spins her cargo and SLAMS Amara to the mat, splashing down atop her with her ‘Long Live The Queen’ finisher.
Long Live The Queen
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8YueVTcOj4 )
The crowd erupts as Fiona hooks a leg, staying tight to the blown up Bollywood Bombshell for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOO!
Amara slips a shoulder up at 2 7/8 to a huge groan from the crowd. But surprisingly, Her Ladyship doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she rises to her feet and gathers up both of Amara’s legs at the ankles. Working precisely and quickly, Her Ladyship steps through Singh’s stems and crosses them in a figure four. As the assembled roar, Waterford slowly but surely spins the champion toward her chest, finally forcing Amara over after several seconds of fight from the Indian grappler. As the Duchess widens her base, the crowd comes to its feet in anticipation of her ‘Turning the Screw’
A Turn Of The Screw
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsHarywoKBE )
Amara groans in agony, her knee feeling like it’s being shredded. Waterford remains silent, letting the referee offer the opportunity for the torture to stop while she bears down on the Empress. Amara writhes in agony but escape seems unavailable and Fiona only increases the pressure when she drops to one knee.
Singh yelps in misery, sobbing as she continues to fight for freedom when THE DAM BREAKS and Amara begins tapping the canvas urgently and enthusiastically. The watchful eye of the official catches her submission immediately and he waves for the bell. It quickly tolls to the delight of the FAWNatics.
The striped-shirt returns his attention to the women, desperately trying to work his way in between as Lady Waterford continues to make her point regarding who is real FAWN royalty. Finally, under threat of forfeit, Fiona releases her ‘Screw’ and disdainfully tosses the unknotted legs of the loser aside.
Immediately, Waterford is searching for the physical manifestation of her success. She moves to the ropes and greedily snatches the Eurasian title belt from a FAWN flunky. Raising it high with one hand, she strides back to the puddled Amara who mewls as she cradles close her wounded knee.
Fiona places a boot atop the former champion for her money shot. Singh tries weakly to push her off but is unable.
“Back to your wrestling hovel, peasant,” Her Ladyship gleefully announces. “And enjoy your last opportunity to revel in my regal brilliance.”
Amara seems to consider a response but notices the look of ferocity from Fiona and decides against it, averting her eyes and accepting the humiliation and usurpation.
“This is why I came back,” Waterford shouts to the crowd as she smooches her EA gold. The currently adoring fans provide her a standing ‘O’. Fiona revels, no doubt sure their love is fleeting and fickle, likely changing against an opponent not so universally despised as the beaten Bollywood Bombshell at her feet.
Now, at Summer Swelter, Waterford had the perfect chance to prove it’s she who’s England’s greatest ever export to FAWN, not Sammie or Shea. What’s more she could simultaneously break the will and reign of an Empress to take the Eurasian title.
Appearing as though she could personally reverse the hands of time, Her Ladyship looks simultaneously threatening and glorious as the booming orchestral chords of her familiar entrance erupt ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDI9HuVduDI&feature=related ) heralding the former Intercontinental and Lightweight champion, now ready to claim the Eurasian title on her second and likely final attempt.
The FAWNatics seem in her corner, the crowd apparently looking past the wars with their beloved Shea, enjoying how the veteran forced the hated Singh’s hand. They rise and provide mostly cheers as Her Ladyship strides to center stage, Fiona resplendent. The Brit reviews the boisterous crowd with her usual disdain, the positive reaction not affecting her in the slightest. She starts on her way down the ramp when the ring announcer makes her arrival an official one.
“Our next match is scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit and is for the FAWN Eurasian Championship. First, the challenger, from Finsbury Park, London, England, standing 5 feet 7 inches tall and weighing in at 8 stone 13… the Duchess of East Anglia…Lady Fiona Waterford.”
LADY FIONA WATERFORD:
The athletic build of the Englishwoman remains very much appreciated, seemingly a deal with the devil having been struck to keep Waterford in such fine fettle, women half her age green with envy. Her regal beauty is accentuated by a striking midnight blue lace set of bra and panties with red bows on either hip and a royal coat of arms on her taut bum en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Royal_coat_of_arms_of_the_United_Kingdom. The attire leaves just the right amount to the imagination, which in this case is little. As a perfect bit of flair, red fishnet stockings reach up from midnight blue boots, red garters ending the stockings at mid-thigh.
Fiona strides down the aisle and hops to the apron. The Brit slides through the cables and moves to the center, seemingly taken aback by the continued support of those assembled. Waterford raises a microphone to her ruby lips.
“So you use me as a port in the storm of Empress Amara? That’s fine,” Fiona announces. “But never forget. I was, am and always will be Shea’s better.”
Perhaps a little surprisingly, the crowd doesn’t instantly shower Her Ladyship with boos, perhaps the FAWNatics feeling she deserves some respect for outlasting the legendary London, even if she couldn’t match Shea’s resume.
Her Ladyship turns to the upper stage.
“Are you ready for the end, Amara?” Waterford asks. “And did Bethany tell you this is a no disqualification match?” The crowd roars. “We will find out who is royalty and who is belongs back working the Bolly circuit on the subcontinent.”
Fiona’s final words are immediately followed by the catchy groove of "Exotic” by Priyanka Chopra and Pitbull. The FAWNatics turn as one, giving the Eurasian titleholder what she deserves. They 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 catchy 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."
The spectacle halts, having reached its destination. The men lower the ornate bed so it is 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.
AMARA SINGH:
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 Her Ladyship.
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 at Fiona. In her opposite palm is a microphone.
“Do not make a fatal mistake, old woman,” Amara hisses. “Even with all your titles, those born to and those gained in the ring, you remain nothing but a peasant to your Golden Empress.”
Singh smirks at the steaming royal and that sets Waterford’s blood at the boiling point. Unable to contain herself, the Englishwoman charges and SPEARS the startled champion.
Microphone and belt go flying as Fiona lands atop Singh in a kneeling forward straddle of the champ. She grabs Amara’s long ebony locks, pulls her head up and batters away with a swabbing right fist.
A panicked ref calls for the bell and quickly realizes he cannot disqualify Waterford for any amount of fisticuffs she plans on using. Luckily for Singh, Fiona starts riding a little high on her straddle and Amara sends Her Ladyship somersaulting over and off.
Champion and challenger scramble to their feet, each poised for battle.
Lady Waterford, having struck first, uses the initiative to close the gap with the champion and throws her body into that of Amara with abandon, locking up in a collar-and-elbow. With momentum on her side, the English royal pumps her pistons and walks Singh back to the ropes. The official calls for the break and surprisingly, Fiona releases her grip instantaneously. She shoves Amara’ s hands from her own and takes a step back only to instantly take the step back and paintbrush the cheek of the champion with a whistling open hand.
Amara’s noggin whips to the side and when it returns a smirking Duchess has stepped out of reach of return fire. Waterford motions the Indian beauty forward.
“You knew you couldn’t beat me last time,” Fiona informs. “You know you can’t beat me now. I, hell even Shea London, are on a different level than the likes of you.”
A fuming Empress pushes off the cables behind her and charges only to be sent sprawling with an arm drag. Amara scrambles to her feet and hustles back at the waiting Brit. The Duchess handles the champion in the same manner with a perfect arm drag. And again the Bollywood Bombshell fights to her feet, turns and races at the challenger. This time Fiona flips the copper-skinned grappler with a Japanese version, Singh’s spine thumping against the canvas. Amara arches her back, grimacing as she scurries up to one knee and watches as Fiona, already on her feet, spins to survey.
“As I was saying,” Waterford chuckles.
Amara grinds her perfect pearlies but remains more careful when she rises this time. Singh closes the gap and raises her right hand high, extending it toward Fiona for a test of strength. Waterford glances up and nods, clearly unconcerned. There is no substantial size difference in the two and Lady Waterford laces her left fingers with the right set of Amara, showing she believes herself as strong or stronger.
Immediately, she starts to roll her wrists over those of the Eurasian champion, forcing Amara to lower to keep from losing complete control of the test. Singh drops to one knee, shaking her head in disbelief as she pays homage to the Duchess of East Anglia.
Amara accedes to the loss to break her hands free of Fiona’s grips. She shoots and arm between Waterford’s glossy stems and scoops Her Ladyship off her feet. For a moment Fiona is across the shoulders of the Indian beauty, but she quickly spills off in the opposite direction, landing solidly on the canvas.
Scrambling to her feet, Singh aims a quick elbow drop at the cleft of Fiona’s chest and lays out, but the Englishwoman rolls out from under and Amara spikes her elbow into the thinly-sheathed plywood instead. Yelping, she pulls the injured wing close as Fiona somersaults to her feet, not at all looking over forty. As Amara rises, still bent at the waist, she’s met with a punt to the chest. The champ wobbles backward, arms windmilling to keep her upright. The Indian grappler uses the ropes to catch her balance and shoot toward Waterford. Amara dips a shoulder and plows into Fiona’s chest, knocking the Duchess flat to the canvas, Fiona looking up at Amara, wincing.
“Only the beginning, peasant,” Singh hisses.
Amara skips over the splayed Waterford, apparently heading for the ropes to return with some steam, but the champ never makes it there. Instead, her ankle is hooked by Fiona and Singh trips to the canvas. Seamlessly, Fiona rolls up into a backward-facing straddle of Amara’s hips with the champ’s left leg still in her grasp, finally securing it in a half-crab.
Rolling Half Crab
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHSASf05imc )
Her Ladyship lowers into a crouch, slipping further up Amara’s body in order to draw the bare foot of the Bollywood Bombshell toward the dark locks that cover the crown of her head. Singh yelps in pain as her leg and back are curved into a brutal ‘C’ shape, Fiona whispering less-than-sweet-nothings to the woman currently in possession of the Eurasian belt.
“You’re a fraud, dearheart,” Lady Waterford assures. “And as loathsome as these fans are, even they know enough to know that.”
The words draw a growl of protest from the champ and before the ref can ask if she wants to give in, Singh powers into a roll to the side, sending Fiona flipping to the canvas, landing hard on her backbone. Freed, Amara does her best to ignore the pain from her back and pushes to vertical only to find Fiona there. The Brit shoots a toekick toward the coppery tummy of the Empress but Amara manages to catch Fiona’s boot before it can find purchase.
Singh has Waterford hopping on her plant foot, but quickly gives up the right she has in her possession, throwing it away from her as hard as she can. The force of the pendulum Fiona’s right leg becomes is enough to rocket the royal off her left and she crashes to the deck, face and chest-first. After the impact Waterford’s hands fly to her face and she rolls to her back, cursing a blue streak. The expletives are cut off when Amara sends a barefoot blast of a stomp into Fiona’s abdomen, one, two, three times. On the third, she grinds her heel into Her Ladyship’s gut.
Fiona, having risen in a pained jackknife, wraps her palms around Amara’s ankle, futilely trying to remove it, but it’s Singh who chooses to do so, only to soccer kick Waterford in the chin to put the brunette beauty flat to the canvas once more, Fiona staring blankly into the rafters.
The husky, raspy voice of Amara makes one thing clear as she moves to a standing straddle of the dazed Brit.
“I am no fraud.”
The Bollywood Bombshell throws her legs out in front of her and drops a butt bomb into Lady Fee’s belly, her backside gutting the suddenly vulnerable veteran. The force of the impact forces double at the waist and Singh quickly slips an arm behind and around the neck of the reeling Duchess, capturing the Brit in a guillotine choke. Fiona’s survival instinct kicks her out of her stupor as she flails for her freedom but with Amara on her lap and the Indian’s snaking arm constricting, Her Ladyship is in a load of trouble.
The ref drops to one knee to ask if the challenger wants to give up her opportunity. Fiona chokes out a ‘no’ as she fruitlessly pushes at the chest of her foe. Only when Waterford curls her fingers from flattened palms to the clenching digits, sinking them into Amara’s breasts does her effort to escape find any headway.
Singh grimaces her way through the first clawing squeezes of her ‘gurls’, but Fiona’s continues feistiness, put enough slack in the Indian’s choke to slip free and roll out of immediate trouble, Waterford giving up her breast mauling to put some space between herself and the champ.
However, the Empress has no desire to give up her hard-won advantage and she catches Fiona on the way up with a knee lift the sternum. Waterford backpedals into the ropes and is ejected out of the rubber-coated steel back to the waiting Amara who absolutely LEVELS Waterford with a spinning heel kick to the tip of Fiona’s regal chin. The Duchess hits the deck as if shot, the back of her skull cracking against the canvas.
Pirouetting to a stop, Amara drops her copper-skinned frame across Her Ladyship’s blasted body in a lateral press, hooking Fiona’s far leg for good measure to retain her title with the…
ONE…
TWO…
And Waterford shoves a shoulder up, the stubborn veteran not giving up what might be her last chance for a title run so easily.
Singh moves to one knee beside the beleaguered Brit. She pushes Fiona to her back and drops her raised knee across the throat of the Duchess in a blatant illegal choke. The ref starts to raise his voice but Amara holds up an index finger.
“No disqualifications, peasant,” the Bombshell reminds the official. “Just the way the Lady wanted it.”
Beneath Amara’s shin, Waterford’s windpipe is reduced to nearly none of its normal capacity and Fiona flails wildly, pushing at the Indian grappler’s leg. The FAWNatics make their great displeasure known, testing the ability of their own throats, lustily booing the Empress.
Amara throws her hands in the air, very much as if she just doesn’t care, though she does also lift her leg from the reddened throat of the Brit, only to bring the point of her knee back down between the eyes of the brunette. Fiona’s hands flash to her face as she turns to her side, body spasming in pain, hands checking if she has a bent beak.
Feeling at home at last, a confident Amara walks a circle around the fidgeting challenger, making sure the crowd understands their current positions in the ring. Making sure she’s understood to be superior, Singh sends her digits delving into Fiona’s flowing dark locks and the Golden Empress drags the struggling Englishwoman to her feet.
Exchanging her grip for a wrist, Amara flings Her Ladyship to the far buckles, Fiona CRASHING into the corner, throwing her limp arms over the top rope on either side to help in her fight to stay vertical. Singh is quickly on the move, racing in after her foe. She leaps from a few feet out and SPLASHES her body into the Brit’s, tenderizing the challenger. Fiona sags limply after Amara bounces away from the collision.
The Bollywood Bombshell trots out to mid-ring before coming in again. This time, the copper-skinned beauty hops her bare feet onto the upper legs of the English stalwart. Singh wraps laced fingers behind Fiona’s neck and throws her bodyweight backward. The result is a perfect monkey flip that sends Waterford flying out of the corner and landing on her tailbone.
Lady Fiona, finally looking her age, grasps at her beautiful behind, massaging the aching ass as Amara swoops into motion. Singh comes in from behind, driving a knee in between Fiona’s shoulderblades while locking cupped hands under her chin and reefing back on the neck of Her Ladyship.
“This feel like I’m the Empress of both continents?” Amara asks.
Singh pulls back further, forcing Fiona to stare into the rafters as her spine brutally put to the test. Waterford mewls in pain, her hands prying at Singh’s grip. Amara releases of her own accord after a dozen seconds of the torture. Raising a pointed right elbow, she rams the tip into the forehead of Her Ladyship, Fiona’s dark eyes crossing as she pools to horizontal.
The subcontinental superstar pushes to her feet and drinks in the jeers. It had taken time to subdue Waterford, but the domination of the royal peasant was made all the more sweet.
Singh saunters to the corner and climbs to the middle ropes to ‘share’ her success with the unhappy fans. Satisfied, they know she s the Empress of the English wreckage behind her, she climbs to the top and turns, Amara offering a rare look at her aerial arsenal.
Or so that was likely the plan, but a resolute Duchess, having been given a little extra time to recuperate, throws herself into the ropes beside the buckles. Unfamiliar with the environment and unready for Fiona’s brief convalescence, Singh loses her balance and drops atop the uppermost cable, one leg on either side.
Amara’s almond-shaped eyes bug wide, her lips forming a silent ‘O’. Her hands press against the rubber-coated steel to try and carefully remove the strand from her privates, but a furious Fiona has different ideas. Grabbing the rope, she thrusts it up and down, sending Singh on a wildly uncomfortable ride. Singh yelps in pain, pleading with the referee to get Waterford away and her out of this predicament, but the man shrugs.
“You know the rules, Empress,” he says, more than a hint of karmic enjoyment in his voice.
Her Ladyship, after ‘pogo-ing’ Amara on her crotch a dozen times, takes pity on the ravaged Singh and ‘hups’ the Indian grappler off the cable and across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. The Duchess walks her whimpering cargo to center stage without a hint of resistance and launches the Bombshell HIGH in a front flip off her right shoulder to bring her down ruthlessly across bended knee in her Waking Nightmare.
Waking Nightmare @ :15
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHSASf05imc )
The impact leaves a dazed Singh seated, legs extended, smoky glazed eyes staring into the cheering throngs. Lady Fiona seems a bit confused at the support received but she doesn’t pooh-pooh the crowd’s enthusiastic adulation. Shoving Amara flat to the mat, Waterford spreads her body across in a lateral press and commands the official make her champion. The man slides to the canvas and slaps the mat for…
ONE…
TWO…
The champion kicks her way free, rolling to her chest in the process. With a full second between her and victory, the Brit doesn’t press the unfortunately slow count of the ref. Realizing, the champ is made of some pretty tough stuff, Her Ladyship sinks her nails into Singh’s scalp and tugs Amara up as she rises. With both women reaching vertical, Singh swats Fiona’s grip away. The grapplers simultaneously go for, and hit, gutting toe kicks that leave Fiona and Amara bent and gasping for air.
Singh responds first with an echoing open hand to the cheek of her Ladyship, but Waterford responds with a jawjacking European Uppercut that straightens Singh and loosens her musculature considerably. Fiona sends another toe kick in deep to Amara’s midriff and collects both lowered arms in underhooks.
Amara wriggles for her freedom, but Fiona won’t have it, twisting her foe until they’re back to back. Waterford pulls Singh’s neck across a shoulder and sits out, giving Singh’s neck a wicked snap.
Double Underhook Neckbreaker
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLbxYtMLSf0 )
Amara cradles her pounding noggin and has the wherewithal to roll under the nearby ropes. She remains on the apron’s edge until the Duchess RAMS her boots into Singh’s side with a baseball slide that delivers the Bollywood Bombshell to the outside.
Taking a risk of sending Amara farther out of the squared circle, where she needs the champ within to claim the EA crown, Lady Fiona lands on her feet next to a splayed Singh and claims a handful of ebony locks to pull Amata’s head up enough the dark glazed eyes of the titleholder gaze blankly into the challenger’s hazel pools.
“You’re not leaving the ring without me, mealticket,” Waterford purrs, a sly grin following behind.
She yanks a deteriorating Amara to unsteady feet, Fiona assisting Singh into a higher level of coherence with a stinging bytch slap to the champ’s copper-skinned cheek. Singh comes right back with one of her own, putting Her Ladyship’s head on a momentary swivel.
Waterford returns fire with a right cross that rocks the Indian grappler, nearly dropping her.
“Still think you can crown yourself royalty?” asks the Duchess of East Anglia.
Amara leaps out of her crouch and THUMPS a forearm smash to Fiona’s cheek, Waterford sinking to one knee, a look of bewilderment on her patrician features. The royal rises only to have Amara charge her and RAM the Brit’s spine into the apron’s edge.
Fiona yelps in pain, her back arching. The Golden Empress straightens her, and then some, with a kick to the abdomen. Singh grabs a shoulder and trunks on the hip and spins Waterford into a toss under the bottom rope. Amara rolls in behind her foe, using the ropes to climb to her feet as Waterford crawls away, gasping as she tries to make space.
The champ isn’t interested in giving Fiona time to recover. She adds to Waterford’s spinal woes with a barefoot stomp to the base of the Brit’s spine that flattens the royal then leaps into a spearing elbow smash to the same location. Fiona’s frame spasms, the sore spot enflamed by the precise attack. Perpendicular to the challenger, Amara wraps a crossface grip in place and violently wrenches at Her Ladyship’s head and neck.
“You will bow before the night is through,” Singh grunts. “Peasant,” Amara adds with another twist of Fiona’s noggin, a reminder no family bloodline can change Waterford’s true subservient position in comparison to the Empress.
Rotating but keeping Fiona’s braincase under her control, the confidence is clearly growing in the Bollywood Bombshell as she lifts and secures a front facelock then DRIVES a knee into the chest of the doubled royal. Momentarily lifting Fiona’s boots clean off the canvas with the force of the balled joint.
Bullying the battered Brit to a set of buckles, Amara snatches a wrist and sends Lady Fiona for the ride. The brunette beauty sprints across the canvas, turning into a heavy collision with the opposite corner. The impact sends Waterford sagging deep within, arms laid over the top rope on either side, her head bobbling.
The Empress is off in an instant and chases after the dazed Englishwoman. The Bollywood Bombshell blows up all over Waterford, landing in a copper-skinned avalanche of pulchritude atop the challenger. As Amara bounces off her flattened target, a flaccid Fiona plops to her bum, legs extended in front of her, eyes glassy.
Perfect pearlies flashing, Singh turns her derriere to the seated Fiona and stuffs her ample backside into the face of the Duchess. With Waterford’s features enveloped by subcontinental booty, Amara starts to swivel her hips and swab Fiona’s mug in sensual fashion, the champ clearly loving every second of her signature Harem Shake, working some of her best Bali moves into painting the Duchess’ face with her behind.
With the ref starting to scold her for keeping Waterford in the buckles too long, Fiona ends her grind and rises to the familiar scorn of the FAWNatics, giving them a double-barreled, one-finger salute.
Amara moves to the middle of the ring to drink in the bubbling hatred of the crowd and watches, chuckling, as Fiona slowly uses the ropes to pull her way up. Singh turns on the jets and charges her foe. She leaps to the front of Waterford’s thighs, her laced fingers wrapping around the back of the Brit’s head. The Bombshell lays out and sends Fiona flying in a monkey flip, up and over, the Duchess landing HARD on her tailbone.
As the royal’s face twists in pain, her hands reaching to her bruised backside, the champ hops to her feet and stalks her challenger, staying safely in Fiona’s six as Her Ladyship struggles to her feet. Sidling in from behind, Amara sweeps her right arm in a backhand grip around the throat of Fiona, tugging her head back and forcing Fiona to bridge as Singh secures her a dragon sleeper.
“Time to prove who really rules this division,” Amara informs, drawing Fiona further into the bridge that would lead to a failed title test. Waterford’s arms flail, wildly at first, but they slow and become less coordinated. Perhaps showing impatience, Amara lifts a leg and drapes it over Her Ladyship’s neck then lets the Brit drop to the canvas, her guillotine-like leg SLAMMING down on Waterford’s throat. Amara keeps the lower limb in place, Fiona in a motionless starfish beneath her for…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOO!
Fiona shoves the limb off while rolling to her side, keeping hope alive for the moment.
A frustrated Singh stares lasers at the official from beside Fiona’s head but quickly gets back to work, grabbing a shoulder of Lady Waterford and pushing the Brit to her back. Amara gets up close and personal with the Duchess, as she scoots atop Fiona’s face, straddling her foe’s features then dropping atop them in her signature Bollywood Ending reverse facesit. Beaming as she stares down the length of Waterford’s flailing frame, her legs bracketing Her Ladyship’s head, Singh raises her arms in victory. All that remains is riding out the veteran to victory.
But the celebration proves premature when Fiona crunches her abs and jackknifes her lithe legs under the raised arms of the champion. Curling them around Amara’s back, Waterford thrusts them forward and Singh is sent flipping off her mount, tumbling off the greasy-faced and gasping Duchess.
As Amara rolls up to her knees, facing away from the recovering Englishwoman, the Bollywood Bombshell slaps the canvas in exasperation. The FAWNatics, cheering loudly at the turn of events, draw Amara’s ire and she curses at them as she slowly rises, emphatically berating them.
Singh turns to track her prey and finds out why the crowd’s been so enthusiastic as Fiona stands at the ready not two steps from the champion, the embarrassment of being used as a love seat seemingly reviving her faster than the Indian grappler could have imagined.
Waterford says ‘hello’ with a flashing toe kick to the copper-skinned tummy of Amara, freezing her while bending her at the waist, then follows with a brutal punt to the privates that pushes Singh to tiptoes, her face twisting in agony, dark eyes welling as her hands drop to her crotch.
“If you’re going to humiliate royalty,” Waterford hisses, “you better finish the job.”
Fiona shoves Amara and the champion stumbles in a waddling backpedal to the nearby ropes. Singh bounces back to the waiting Waterford who collects Amara on her hip and launches the Empress onto her right shoulder, half of Singh’s frame draping on either side.
Fiona pins both of Amara’s arms behind her and the crowd’s energy peaks as they understand what’s coming. Fiona spins her cargo and SLAMS Amara to the mat, splashing down atop her with her ‘Long Live The Queen’ finisher.
Long Live The Queen
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C8YueVTcOj4 )
The crowd erupts as Fiona hooks a leg, staying tight to the blown up Bollywood Bombshell for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRENOOOO!
Amara slips a shoulder up at 2 7/8 to a huge groan from the crowd. But surprisingly, Her Ladyship doesn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she rises to her feet and gathers up both of Amara’s legs at the ankles. Working precisely and quickly, Her Ladyship steps through Singh’s stems and crosses them in a figure four. As the assembled roar, Waterford slowly but surely spins the champion toward her chest, finally forcing Amara over after several seconds of fight from the Indian grappler. As the Duchess widens her base, the crowd comes to its feet in anticipation of her ‘Turning the Screw’
A Turn Of The Screw
( www.youtube.com/watch?v=nsHarywoKBE )
Amara groans in agony, her knee feeling like it’s being shredded. Waterford remains silent, letting the referee offer the opportunity for the torture to stop while she bears down on the Empress. Amara writhes in agony but escape seems unavailable and Fiona only increases the pressure when she drops to one knee.
Singh yelps in misery, sobbing as she continues to fight for freedom when THE DAM BREAKS and Amara begins tapping the canvas urgently and enthusiastically. The watchful eye of the official catches her submission immediately and he waves for the bell. It quickly tolls to the delight of the FAWNatics.
The striped-shirt returns his attention to the women, desperately trying to work his way in between as Lady Waterford continues to make her point regarding who is real FAWN royalty. Finally, under threat of forfeit, Fiona releases her ‘Screw’ and disdainfully tosses the unknotted legs of the loser aside.
Immediately, Waterford is searching for the physical manifestation of her success. She moves to the ropes and greedily snatches the Eurasian title belt from a FAWN flunky. Raising it high with one hand, she strides back to the puddled Amara who mewls as she cradles close her wounded knee.
Fiona places a boot atop the former champion for her money shot. Singh tries weakly to push her off but is unable.
“Back to your wrestling hovel, peasant,” Her Ladyship gleefully announces. “And enjoy your last opportunity to revel in my regal brilliance.”
Amara seems to consider a response but notices the look of ferocity from Fiona and decides against it, averting her eyes and accepting the humiliation and usurpation.
“This is why I came back,” Waterford shouts to the crowd as she smooches her EA gold. The currently adoring fans provide her a standing ‘O’. Fiona revels, no doubt sure their love is fleeting and fickle, likely changing against an opponent not so universally despised as the beaten Bollywood Bombshell at her feet.