Post by bigfan on Oct 22, 2017 0:12:26 GMT
Though she hasn’t been anywhere near the top of the FAWN food chain in many years, Chrissy Daniel still has the experience to pull more than one trick from out of her sleeve. One is infuriating and straight out messing with Kylie Sanders enough to goad the Hawkeye into tonight’s FAWNAMANIA showcase. Two is to work the commissioner’s office so thoroughly as to get both Sanders’ manager and partner banned from ringside for the throwback to FAWN’s glorious past. Three is to make the battle a no-holds-barred FAWN ‘Old School’ match.
Whether the political intrigue would be enough to tip the scales in favor of one of Kylie’s biggest thorns when the Iowan was in the running for most beloved roster member would be seen soon enough.
As the platinum blonde bob of FAWN’s foremost traitor and troll pops in and out of a three-woman clinch backstage with Demetria and Jasmine, the FAWNatics test their lung power when Iggy and Charlie belt Hot&Bothered’s anthem throughout the arena.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
‘Fancy’ blares over the speakers as the one and, thank god, only Pleasant Valley Pariah is called to action. She shares a final hug with J-Dogg, pushes through the curtain, and strides to the middle of the stage, looking a bit lonesome without the posse that had been with her throughout the most recent chapter in her long career.
[KYLIE SANDERS]
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Kylie, with her ever present Louis Vuitton clutch in hand, wears a black one-piece, black leather belt around her midriff, black lace covering her shoulders and upper arms, the Iowan in her signature LV. She finishes things with black boots and pads.
Behind, on the FAWNtron, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters.
Chill shakes her head in disgust at the Orlando lowlifes that once made up her Corps. She heads down the ramp and aisle, pointing and talking shyt about Daniel and the biggest mistake Chrissy has ever made in her life.
Reaching the squared circle, the elfin blonde turns a stern gaze to the multitudes heaping their disdain upon her and tossing less than complimentary remarks at the turncoat.
The FAWN original scowls, her cupid’s arrow lips curling. She rises up the steps and enters the ring that had made her famous and infamous through close to a decade and a half. The ring announcer picks up his cue as Kylie moves to a FAWN attendant to grab her own stick.
“Tonight’s next match is straight out of the FAWN Time Machine and is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Ky, microphone raised, waves at the crowd to shut the hell up. They only turn up the volume of their hatred.
“Chrissy. Your desperation knows no bounds,” Kylie shouts.
“You got left in my dust for a reason. I can still beat every member of this roster and I’m not sure you can beat a single one.”
Though Daniel has her detractors in the crowd, it’s not enough to prevent the assembled from jeering Ky’s remarks at jet engine decibels.
“You think you can take my place? Bring it at me old school, bytch,” Kylie demands before dropping the mic with a thud.
The crowd is amidst letting the despised turncoat swim in a sea of enmity when the lights dim and the fans dial down a few levels, their relative quiet the proverbial calm before the storm that accompanies the Beach Cat‘s arrival. Their anticipation ratchets that much higher when the ring announcer intercedes before any accompaniment.
“And her challenger, hailing from Manhattan Beach, California, she stands five foot one inch tall and weighs in at one hundred twenty-four and nine-tenths pounds. She is FAWN‘s original bad girl, the catfighter‘s catfighter, a three-time former World and two-time former Tag Team champion…”
Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’ erupts from the speakers, the unmistakable sound of Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tearing the air itself.
“Ladies and gentlemen, she is the LEGEND, THE ICONOCLAST, THE KILLER IMP HERSELF… CHHHRRRIIISSSYYY DAAANNNIIIEEELLL!!!!!”
A cannonade of pyro explodes from the rafters in time with the thunderous drum roll, their fiery white sparks illuminating the cavernous space in a momentarily blinding light. When it fades Chrissy Daniel stands atop the ramp. Hands on her hips, she turns her head to scan the crowd, the corners of her mouth upturned in a smugly mischievous smile.
[CHRISSY DANIEL]
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Raising her hands overhead, Chrissy makes as if to wave at the FAWNatics before turning it into a set of double birds. Daniel starts down the aisle, her hips swiveling with every self-assured step. The Imp wears a shiny leather two piece, somewhere between silver and black with copious amounts of fringe—at the hips, covering the crotch and bum, from the strap of the top across her back and particularly from her bosom, extending virtually to her waist, but still offering an excellent view of her midsection.
Taking the stairs at a slow stalk, Daniel slips through the strands after a tawdry waggle of her hips. Once inside the squared circle, she flips her lustrous ash blonde hair back with one hand and gives a predatory wink at the woman she’d often made a meal of in FAWN’s infancy and adolescence.
Chrissy moves to the ropes nearest the cameras and ascends to the middle, grabbing the top, perhaps setting a trap the elfin blonde isn’t willing to step into. Daniel glares into a nearby lens.
“This is the last, hell, it’s the only favor I’m doing for you people,” she assures. “Because after I take the urbanized version of Lil Miss Country Mouse and make her beg for release in every way there is to beg AND to release, I’ll make you understand payment is due from every member of this roster and from you, the FAWN Universe!”
The Imp drops off the ropes to the canvas with a sturdy little ‘thwham’ and moves her fireplug frame to the corner opposite the woman she’d dominated back in the day. Chrissy’s eyes remain on Sanders and Kylie seems to shrivel ever so slightly from the heat, her hazel peepers casting downward to avert her gaze until the sound of the bell brings FAWN classic to the palates of today’s audience.
The ash blonde mane of Daniel immediately whips into motion as Daniel sprints across the deck, ready to inflict damage on Sanders. A wide-eyed Kylie, apparently forgetting the rules, slips her upper half through the ropes, demanding a time out from the official.
The man steps aside, his only job tonight to make the pinfall count or call for the bell if there’s a submission. Taking advantage, Chrissy grabs the retreating Sanders before she can fully eject from the ring. Grabbing her long-time foe by a wrist and the scruff of the neck, the Killer Imp tugs Kylie back in.
“No, no, loser,” Daniel growls. “I’m going old school on your ass and let these people remember what you were and what you remain deep down inside, a victim.”
Message delivered, the vertically challenged Chrissy is just tall enough to snake her arms under and around those of Kylie, locking her fingers behind the neck of her fellow FAWN original. The full nelson secured, the smaller but sturdier and stronger Chrissy whips the head of the platinum blonde wildly from side to side with her grip from Ky’s six. Chrissy draws her lips next to Kylie’s left ear.
“I’m making a statement with you tonight, putz. One that will keep me on pay-per-views for a year…at least.”
Chrissy snaps her perfect pearlies forward and chomps onto Kylie’s lobe, drawing a howl from Sanders.
“REFFFFF. She’s BITING me,” the Hawkeye complains.
Chrissy relents, but only to shout “What do you not get about no-holds-barred?”
As if to give her foe another good example, Chrissy bares her claws and RAKES her nails down the back of Vanilla Chill. The Iowan arches in agony, pink welts emerging from her pale skin.
“YOU BYTCH!” Ky screams.
“So NOW you remember,” the fireplug ash blonde retorts.
Chrissy sweeps an arm in front of the curled Kylie in a backhand grip, drawing the platinum blonde further back, capturing Sanders in a dragon sleeper grip. But Daniel isn’t about to try and send Chill to beddy-bye with a Mania moment in the spotlight. Instead, the Imp genuflects and brings the Pleasant Valley Pariah down with her, slamming Kylie’s vertebrae into bended knee.
Kylie yelps in pain and the anguish only increases when Chrissy shoves either side of Sanders’ frame downward, increasing the curve in the blonde’s backbone. One of Chrissy’s palms push down on Ky’s thigh, the other on Sanders’ chest, Daniel taking the opportunity to clench that particular palm and add a breast claw into the agonizing mix of the backbreaker.
The official asks if the Hawkeye wants to give, but, biting her lip, eyes welling, Sanders gives a stern ‘NO’.
Looking almost relieved, Chrissy shoves her showcase off, Kylie flopping to the mat as Daniel rises to her full 61 inches. The Imp stomps a boot into Ky’s gut, and another, and another, Sanders left gagging and pushing away at Chrissy’s ankle when the Beach Cat grinds the sole of her boot into the abs of FAWN’s foremost traitor.
Daniel stumbles a step, catching herself at Kylie’s feet. Moving quickly, the ash blonde places a boot on the inner side of Sanders’ left ankle while reaching down to collect her foe’s right with both hands. Chill is anything but, as the platinum blonde pleads for mercy. Not surprisingly, there’s none to be had and Daniel drops away from Ky’s planted foot, forcing the former leader of Kylie’s Corps into an awfully wide set of splits.
Never known for being among FAWN’s most limber, Ky proves it, shrieking and grabbing at her searing groin muscles. Not satisfied and still in possession of the blonde’s right leg, Chrissy stretches her arms out over her head and sends a wailing Sanders into a nearly full set.
“Are you starting to remember?” Chrissy shouts. “I OWN YOU!”
Daniel releases her grip and pushes leisurely to her feet, already feeling extremely comfortable a few minutes into the match. As the Killer Imp takes a gaze out into the Mania crowd, Ky slowly, tenderly starts pulling her legs back together into a single file, which is their condition when Chrissy plucks both at the ankles then lifts and spreads them wide.
She elevates a right boot high over Kylie’s exposed crotch and Sanders is ‘washing windows’ with her palms. “Please Chrissy. You don’t have to do this.”
“But I so WANT to.”
The diminutive but thick ash blonde STOMPS her boot into the juncture of Kylie’s thighs, the traitor shooting up to a seated position, her jaw dropped and trembling, hands shooting to her undercarriage.
The official hovers, staring intently, knowing the no-holds-barred nature of the fight nearly gives him the night off and the ‘Old School’ theme ascribed the battle, means he is likely to preside over some overtly MA activity.
Chrissy grinds her sole into Sanders’ sex, drawing a throaty groan from Vanilla Chill. Daniel’s beestung lips twist in a smirk and she throws the stems down disdainfully.
“History repeats,” she says to no one in particular, but Ky more than likely gets the message as she drops onto her side and collapses into a fetal ball.
Chrissy lowers to snatch at Sanders’ silvery bob, a little put off Chill doesn’t have the shoulder-length locks of old. Still, she manages to twist her fingers amidst the strands Sanders has available and forces a mewling Ky to make her way up to vertical her knees knocking.
The Beach Cat loads a European Uppercut and THUMPS it in under Kylie’s chin, snapping the head back of FAWN’s Benedict Arnold. Kylie spins in a 180 and staggers away from her tormentor, draping over the ropes. Never one to miss an advantage, Chrissy kicks Ky’s legs out from under her and the Hawkeye drops to her knees. Daniel then lifts one of hers, leaning it against the back of Sanders’ neck, pressing Kylie’s throat down across the middle cable. The blonde’s hazel eyes bulge as the Imp uses her free reign over the nonexistent rulebook to choke the life out of the steamrolled Sanders.
Kylie flails wildly as her windpipe is closed by the Californian. Finally’ grasping the rubber-coated steel, Ky pushes her neck off the strangling wire enough to slip her head underneath and she tumbles through the ropes, spilling onto the apron. But Chrissy isn’t about to let her quarry get away. Reaching between the middle and top ropes, Daniel leans over and corrals Kylie’s braincase, ripping the reeling elfin blonde to her knees.
The Hawkeye’s arms shoot and curl around the back of Chrissy’s neck and the Hawkeye drops to the floor. The pouty-lipped Daniel finally has something to pout about. Though it’s not a full-on hotshot across her neck, having her abundant chest used to violently springboard her off the middle rope and the back of her neck snapping into the one above, lets Chrissy know she’s in a fight for the first time tonight.
Unfortunately for Sanders, she’s on her haunches on the thinly padded cement floor, not in any condition to follow-up. She draws in deep breaths, head hanging. Slowly but surely, the chant of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL” grows in strength and Kylie’s hatred seems to bring her recovery more focus. She rises to her feet and turns to the crowd, yelling at them to shut their pieholes.
From above, a mended Chrissy sinks both sets of nails into Sanders’ scalp and yanks a squealing Ky up to the apron from her foe’s six. Standing on the strip of mat outside the ropes, Vanilla Chill shoots a blind elbow behind her and the point catches the short but sturdy Beach Cat in the temple. It’s enough for Chrissy to forego her grasp of Kylie’s bob and backpedal several steps. Gray-green eyes focused in a rage, Daniel turns and heads for the opposite cables. She rebounds out of the strands and sprints toward a doubled Sanders, now pointed toward the ring.
Closing in on pinballing the platinum blonde off the Mania stage and to the floor below, Chrissy instead finds the stubborn nature of the elfin beauty that had kept her a member of FAWN since its inception (except for a short period of being fired which we won’t get into at this time ). Grabbing the middle cable, Kylie pulls back and uses the tension to springboard forward, SPEARING the holy hell out of the Imp’s abdomen. Kylie’s shoulder guts the ash blonde, Daniel folding around Ky’s tackle.
Sanders’ frame follows Chrissy to the canvas, ending atop her foe in a full body pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Chrissy shoves a shoulder up and Kylie barrel rolls off her long-time rival and tormentor a couple turns to put a little distance between the groaning Beach Cat and a Hawkeye in need of recuperation. Sanders doesn’t give herself too much time, however, pushing up to all fours to keep an eye on Chrissy, Daniel rising to a seated position, but still hugging her tummy.
Reaching her feet with Chrissy’s ass still planted, Kylie hobbles to Daniel and lands a solid soccer kick to Daniel’s substantial chest. The Imp winces in pain as Ky lines up another and thumps her right instep into Daniel’s jugs again and again. Finally raising her sights, Sanders adds a thrust kick to her foe’s chin, flattening Daniel to the canvas.
With Chrissy laid out beneath her, Chill looking and feeling more herself, the platinum blonde moves to a forward-facing, standing straddle of her rival and lifts off, mushroom stomping the ample bosom of the woman looking to “take her place”.
Kylie grinds both boot soles into the ash blonde’s chest before hopping off the Beach Cat and staring down at Chrissy with contempt.
“There’s a reason I’ve stayed relevant, bytch,” Kylie barks. “I’m a survivor and you’re a tub of goo.”
Kylie throws her legs out to the side and lands in a senton drop across Chrissy’s gut. Daniel groans as she jackknifes on either side of the frame of the Hawkeye. And when her head lifts, Ky grabs Daniel by her mop with a left hand and starts raining rights into cheek and jaw of the fellow FAWN original.
Kylie lands five fists and follows up with five forearms that leaves Chrissy a muddled mess, gray-green eyes glassy after the assault. Kylie tosses her foe’s head down, the back of Daniel’s noggin thumping against the deck.
“That’s what I thought,” Kylie adds.
Sanders shifts to another forward-facing straddle, this one on her haunches, undercarriage resting on the waistline of the flatted Imp.
“You wanted ‘old school’, that’s what you’re going to get, dumbass.”
And Kylie starts using Chrissy’s breasts as speedbags, pummeling right-left combos into Daniel’s gurls at a harrowing rate, the black leather containing Daniel’s D-cups somehow containing the contents as they shift with each hammer blow. Chrissy gets her arms up and in to protect, but they’re ripped aside and while Kylie fights to keep the targets free with her left hand, she continues to make hay with her right.
The ref catches himself, stopping his complaint about closed fists, and Kylie helps herself to more, pounding the Beach Cat’s bosom black and blue, Daniel shifting her body but bracketed by the thighs of the platinum blonde. Finally spent, Ky relents. She sits back and takes in the steaming wreckage, Chrissy swaddling her bosom with her left arm and mewling.
Kylie pivots on her “mattress”, the Pleasant Valley Pariah spinning to a backward-facing straddle and slipping her seat up Daniel’s frame, planting her ass on the lower curve of Chrissy’s tits. Sanders takes a smirking look over her shoulder and nods at a wide-eyed Daniel.
“Mmmhmmm,” is all Kylie feels is necessary as she turns and leans forward to start pounding away on Chrissy’s pussy.
But before she’s able, Daniel crunches her aching abs and lifts her stubby, muscular stems, locking her ankles around the back of Kylie’s neck. Sanders’ hands reach for the knotted ankles and, before Ky can unhook them, Chrissy sweeps her legs down to the canvas, sending the Hawkeye somersaulting off her. Kylie skids to a stop, now also seated several feet away from Chrissy, her back to her foe.
More startled than hurt, Sanders scrambles to her feet and scuttles hurriedly to the ropes in front of her, perhaps in her mind Chrissy about to grab her from behind. But when she reaches the cables and turns, Daniel is only up to one knee, angrily massaging her gurls and burning laser-like eyes through Kylie.
Vanilla Chill gulps hard but understands she can’t be timid. Not now. As the little fireplug from Cali rises to her feet, the Hawkeye charges, leaping toward her foe when close, appearing as though she wants to Thesz Press Daniel back to the canvas and pick up where she left off with a series of fists.
For her lack of height, Chrissy’s meaty frame has plenty of power packed into those 61 inches. She catches Kylie in her lap, maintaining her balance. Pivoting in a 180, Daniel delivers Kylie to the deck with a spinebuster that rattles the ring and Sanders’ spinal column. On her knees, Kylie’s legs raised in front of her, Daniel knee-walks forward, pressing down on the back of Ky’s ankles, matchbooking her prey, legs atop chest for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Kylie thrusts her pelvis and twists to the side, managing to unfold from beneath Daniel, sending a glancing blow of a boot to bosom, and keeping the Mania match from coming to a conclusion. Rocked by the impact, Sanders nonetheless struggles to all fours and starts to slowly crawl away while Daniel, on her haunches, collects herself. The Imp collects quickly and snatches a retreating Kylie by an ankle.
“Not when you showed you want to play,” Chrissy grunts, tugging Chill toward her.
Frantically, Kylie tries to shake her ankle free, but one final quick heave from Chrissy brings Sanders directly in front of the Imp. Ky twists to face her foe and quickly wraps her legs around either side of the ash blonde, squeezing a scissors tight over either hip.
While Kylie manages to elicit a grimace when she strains her thighs in an attempt to crush Daniel’s ribs, a motivated Chrissy scoops her arms underneath Kylie’s keister and STANDS UP with Ky in her possession, Sanders curling into a ball, her hands wrapped around the back of Daniel’s neck to hang on.
Sanders levels a series of right forearms into Chrissy’s jaw to try and work her way out of the predicament, but the Killer Imp sits out and powerbombs Vanilla Chill into the canvas. Sanders shudders in the possession of Daniel, legs collected, Kylie’s torso and arms spread out between the abbreviated stems of the Cali fireplug for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOO!
Sanders pushes a shoulder up, barely, the crowd’s usual groan at Kylie’s survival muted by their distaste for the three-time former World Champion. All too well aware of the punishment Sanders could survive, Daniel doesn’t argue. Instead, she shoves Ky’s lifeless legs aside and slides behind Kylie in a seated position.
Chrissy wraps her legs around Kylie’s midriff from behind and clamps on a scissors of her own, drawing Ky back to life, the elfin blonde’s face pinched in pain. Daniel slips her arms under and around those of the hated Hawkeye, lacing her fingers behind Kylie’s neck in a full nelson. With Sanders’ arms secured, Chrissy falls backward, dropping to her back for a moment and tugging Kylie with her, Sanders ending in her lap. A thrust of her pelvis up and forward sends both the Beach Cat and the platinum blonde jerking up, forward, then down, Daniel PLANTING Kylie’s tailbone into the canvas with a keister bounce.
Kylie yips in pain, wanting to cover her cheeks but unable due to the nelson. As Chrissy leans back for another, Kylie shakes her head enthusiastically, pleading out a staccato “no…no…no”. Daniel pays no heed, DRIVING Kylie’s coccyx into the thinly-sheathed plywood a second and third time, the look of anguish on Kylie’s face drawing a smile to the former members of the Corps.
Still stuck in Chrissy’s scissors after the final trip to tailbone, Kylie’s arms are suddenly freed from Daniel’s nelson, but only so Chrissy can put her hands to use elsewhere. Wrapping her palms around the collar of Kylie’s top, Daniel tugs in opposite directions, shredding the upper lace portion of the garment and opening the black spandex beneath until Kylie’s cups nearly overflow.
Realizing Chrissy really does plan to take this match to a different level, the platinum blonde flails and shoves, trying to escape her foe’s plans. But Chrissy secures another grip between Kylie’s burgeoning cleavage and rips wide again, sending Chill’s chest spilling to freedom.
With the Mania maniacs roaring, Chrissy fashions her fingers into talons and sinks them into the bare teats of the ‘troll’, gouging away on the ivory handfuls, twisting and tearing into the flesh. Kylie shrieks in pain, her hands momentarily shooting to her silvery bob and yanking to spread the pain before finding more useful endeavor, like wrapping around Daniel’s wrists and trying to remove the hooked, digging digits to no avail.
With no holds barred, the ref, trying to keep his professionalism in place, asks the hated Hawkeye if she wants to give. There’s a pregnant pause before Kylie shakes her head unconvincingly. The negatory response still counts and is met with another wicked clench of Chrissy’s fingers that wells the hazel eyes of Chill.
Daniel draws Kylie back for another ride to keister-bounce land, but this time Sanders is able to reverse somersault out before the return, painfully breaking free of Chrissy’s double breast claws in the process. Sanders rolls to her feet and staggers in reverse into a corner. She tries to use what’s left of her top to cover her ravaged bosom but it’s too tattered.
Only a second behind, the vertically-challenged fireplug arrives SPLASHING into Vanilla Chill at full speed. Kylie’s body jellies and a quick-thinking Daniel throws the platinum blonde’s arms over the ropes on either side. Keeping possession of each of Sanders’ wrists, she tugs Kylie’s arms toward her under the top cable while lifting and stuffing her right boot sole into Ky’s crotch.
A topless Sanders howls in anguish as Chrissy works her Imp-aler without having to regard a count for being in the ropes. Forced to endure the grinding shoe leather into her already aching center, Chill has to be having flashbacks to her early career, where Chrissy dealt with her more as a prop than an opponent. But like then, Sanders refuses to give up easily, shaking off another offer from the official.
Chrissy unwraps the blonde’s arms and drops to her back, sending Kylie flying with a modified monkey flip. Sanders lands on her already aching posterior, her hands flying to her bruised bum, the FAWNatics loving every second of Chill’s chest-baring comeuppance and it being under the organization's glaring Mania spotlight made it all the sweeter.
Daniel uses the ropes to pull herself to her full 5-foot one-inch and turns to review her masterpiece in the making. She races out of the corner, planning a kickoff into Kylie’s spine. Whether by luck or by awareness of Daniel’s pattering boots, Ky drops to her side to avoid the kick, but not only that, uses her ankles to surround one of the Imp’s, dropping Daniel to a face-first collision with the mat. A cursing Chrissy rolls to her back, both hands shooting to her nose, nasal threats escaping her lips.
Ignoring them, Kylie achingly pushes to her feet and staggers to Chrissy. With Daniel’s eyes still partially blocked by her fingers checking on her beak, the Cali fireplug reacts with shock and horror when Kylie drops a knee to her crotch. Chrissy shoots bolt upright to a seat in front of the genuflecting Sanders, who grinds her kneecap into Daniel’s sex.
“Brave new world, bytch,” Kylie pronounces.
Sanders slips both sets of fingers over and under the top rim of Chrissy’s leather top and yanks it down, releasing Daniel’s more plentiful D-cups to the world, the world seeming agreeable.
With the Imp’s bosom exposed, Kylie delivers a backhand chop to the unleashed teats, drawing a nasty echo and a ‘WOOOO’ from the crowd. A glistening, ivory-skinned Sanders punctuates with a couple more chops then surrounds the head of the grimacing Daniel and tugs the Beach Cat up as she rises.
Dipping, Ky takes a calculated risk with a woman who had a piledriver in her arsenal and tucks her head between Chrissy’s muscular thighs. She wraps her arms around Daniel’s stems and lifts the fireplug off her feet. With the Imp’s upper half extended behind her, Chrissy pressing her palms into Ky’s backside, Kylie drops to her ass and drives Chrissy face and bare chest-first into the deck with her Iowa Waterwheel.
Iowa Waterwheel (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L78bbjcEtWw )
Rising to her feet, the Hawkeye plucks a stunned Chrissy’s ankles off the canvas and mounts Daniel in a standing, reverse-facing straddle. As she sidles toward the Beach Cat’s braincase, Sanders settles into a crouch, curling the vertebrae of her foe with a Boston Crab.
“Give it up,” Kylie demands.
Daniel, biting her lip, isn’t about to and Ky leeeans back further to up the pain quotient. Chrissy mewls as her boots close in on the back of her head. Showing her strength once more, Daniel pushes up on her palms and uses the space now below her to flip, sending Kylie staggering forward, losing her grip on the escaping Daniel.
Ky catches her balance after a few wobbly steps. She strides to Daniel who spins to her chest to push up to all fours. By the time the ash blonde makes it to hands and knees, Kylie hovers above her in a straddle and drops her derriere into the spine of her likewise topless foe, flattening Chrissy to canvas with a ‘guuuuufff’.
Spinning into a reverse kneeling straddle of Chrissy’s waist, Sanders sinks her nails into the nerve bundle where Daniel’s left leg links with the curve of her gluteus. Having not bothered waiting for the former Corps to chant ‘FARM…HAND’, Ky works her signature hammy clamp deep into muscle and nerves, drawing a yelp of pain, Chrissy gritting her teeth in anguish as the Hawkeye works the leg like a maestro, shouting for Daniel to dismiss herself from the competition.
As Kylie adds her left hand on top for extra power and leans forward into her ‘chewing’ Farm Hand, Chrissy’s right palm raises over the canvas but doesn’t fall. Instead, she pushes up again, defying Chill’s determined efforts to get Daniel to quit. She spins violently to the left, sending Daniel to her back and Ky sprawling to her side, ejected from her seat atop Chrissy’s lower back.
Both women are slow to rise, the battle showing its effects on the topless combatants, the bitterness showing in their eyes as they turn to each other and advance. While Kylie bares her nails and reaches for the Killer Imp’s gray-green eyes, Daniel shoots a toe kick into Kylie’s gut, doubling Sanders over with a low moan.
Chrissy tugs Ky’s lowered head between her thighs and collects Sanders’ arms with double underhooks. As Kylie’s bare bosom teardrops, Chrissy forces them and Ky’s features into the canvas with a nasty facebuster. Daniel releases Sanders’ arms and Kylie spasms before falling still, the back of her head under Chrissy’s crotch.
But instead of turning the Hawkeye to her back and doing what comes naturally, Chrissy slides around the face-down Sanders, settling in a kneel between Kylie’s legs. With Sanders stirring, Chrissy uses her knees to spread Kylie’s legs wider, taking away any base, then reaches an arm forward, her right hand sweeping over Ky’s noggin. Daniel hooks her right index and middle finger into Kylie’s nostrils and yanks back, putting the platinum blonde in her signature 7-10 Split.
Kylie, her back arching as Daniel pulls back on her unusual handhold, shows off her bared gurls, chest thrust forward. A snarling Chrissy offers an ultimatum, threatening to rip Ky’s elfin nose off her face, but with Sanders’ mauled features pointed to the rafters, Daniel loses her grip and Chill’s head drops to the mat.
With Sanders splayed on her face and chest, Chrissy reaches beneath the Hawkeye and unhooks her leather belt, slipping it from under Sanders. She tugs what’s left of the upper half of Kylie’s one-piece down to her waist line and doubles the belt over.
Going to work, she whips the black leather into Kylie’s alabaster back, drawing howls from her foe and a mixed bag from the fans, some thinking Daniel is taking things too far. As the Imp shouts at the FAWNatics to keep their collective trap shut, Kylie spins to her back and snatches the belt. The women play tug of war with the weapon, both slowly rising to vertical as they struggle for possession.
There, each takes turns trying to rip it from the hands of the other, until Vanilla Chill adds a devastating punt to Chrissy’s pussy to extremely aid in her efforts with the back-and-forth. Though Daniel somehow continues to maintain her grip, Kylie’s next tug brings the Imp with the belt and the grapplers are bare chest to chest, Daniel’s gurls overwhelming those of the Hawkeye.
Unconcerned, Kylie twists the black leather so the ‘frozen’ Chrissy, crotch kick still debilitating her, is turned away from Chill. Ky draws the belt across Daniel’s throat and cinches tight. Chrissy’s hands immediately shoot to the choking weapon, her gray-green eyes bulging. But with the throbbing from her crotch still sapping her, her windpipe allowing less and less oxygen to reach her lungs, her carotid allowing less blood to her brain, the tension in the Beach Cat lessens in short order.
Kylie stomps the pit of Chrissy’s left knee then her right, dropping Daniel to her knees. Sanders continues to strangle the remaining fight from her foe until the Killer Imp slowly but just as surely goes slack, the crowd groaning as Daniel’s body becomes limp.
Releasing the belt and tossing it aside, a sweat-drenched Sanders shoves Chissy into a semiconscious puddle before her then stretches out the tanned, thick little fireplug into a spreadeagle. Slowly, exhaustedly, the platinum blonde climbs atop her foe in a schoolgirl pin, Chrissy’s chin nestled against Kylie’s crotch, Daniel’s biceps stuck under the shins of hated Hawkeye, Sanders taking a comfortable seat atop the fleshy pillows beneath. One of Ky’s hands sink into the ash blonde’s locks, the other presses imperiously atop Chrissy’s rosy features as the official slides next to Chill and counts out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
Sanders slowly raises her arms in drained triumph, as the ring announcer makes a very special win official.
“Your Mania winner…via pinfall…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Sanders lets out a huge sigh, her bruised body slackening, head drooping to her chin as she drinks in besting a woman who’d made her life hell in her early career when Chrissy had immediately proven herself a top talent and Kylie struggled to keep her head above water with painful humiliation after agonizing embarrassment. Now. The tables had been fully turned.
Scooting down Chrissy’s hillocks, Kylie slides her humid undercarriage onto the dreamy features of Daniel, Ky nuzzling her privates into the nooks and crannies of Chrissy’s face. Daniel spurts to life, pushing weakly against the domineering Kylie’s thighs, but unable to move the platinum blonde.
Even the chants of “TROLL” from the FAWNatics fail to break through this glorious Mania moment as Kylie starts to glide her thinly-covered junk over the squirming mug of her tormentor. Slowly at first, then quickly, Kylie thrusts atop Chrissy, Daniel’s arms falling leaden to her sides as Chill goes to town, biting her lip as she tries to ride the Chrissy Train as long as possible until she releases and goes ‘Total Old School’ on the demolished and now dirtied Daniel.
Kylie arches her back in ecstasy, the crowd too busy gaping to jeer, and flops onto her back still atop her topless mattress. Kylie’s own bared, ivory-skinned pair heave toward the heavens, the dripping Vanilla and the glazed Imp carving another indelible picture upon Mania history.
Whether the political intrigue would be enough to tip the scales in favor of one of Kylie’s biggest thorns when the Iowan was in the running for most beloved roster member would be seen soon enough.
As the platinum blonde bob of FAWN’s foremost traitor and troll pops in and out of a three-woman clinch backstage with Demetria and Jasmine, the FAWNatics test their lung power when Iggy and Charlie belt Hot&Bothered’s anthem throughout the arena.
(http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O-zpOMYRi0w )
‘Fancy’ blares over the speakers as the one and, thank god, only Pleasant Valley Pariah is called to action. She shares a final hug with J-Dogg, pushes through the curtain, and strides to the middle of the stage, looking a bit lonesome without the posse that had been with her throughout the most recent chapter in her long career.
[KYLIE SANDERS]
Kylie, with her ever present Louis Vuitton clutch in hand, wears a black one-piece, black leather belt around her midriff, black lace covering her shoulders and upper arms, the Iowan in her signature LV. She finishes things with black boots and pads.
Behind, on the FAWNtron, ‘‘VANILLA CHILL IN DA HOUSE BYTCHES!’ appears in ten-foot high, gold letters.
Chill shakes her head in disgust at the Orlando lowlifes that once made up her Corps. She heads down the ramp and aisle, pointing and talking shyt about Daniel and the biggest mistake Chrissy has ever made in her life.
Reaching the squared circle, the elfin blonde turns a stern gaze to the multitudes heaping their disdain upon her and tossing less than complimentary remarks at the turncoat.
The FAWN original scowls, her cupid’s arrow lips curling. She rises up the steps and enters the ring that had made her famous and infamous through close to a decade and a half. The ring announcer picks up his cue as Kylie moves to a FAWN attendant to grab her own stick.
“Tonight’s next match is straight out of the FAWN Time Machine and is one fall with a 20-minute time limit. From da space where Da Man ain’t got no place…standing five feet four inches tall and weighing in at 112 pounds…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Ky, microphone raised, waves at the crowd to shut the hell up. They only turn up the volume of their hatred.
“Chrissy. Your desperation knows no bounds,” Kylie shouts.
“You got left in my dust for a reason. I can still beat every member of this roster and I’m not sure you can beat a single one.”
Though Daniel has her detractors in the crowd, it’s not enough to prevent the assembled from jeering Ky’s remarks at jet engine decibels.
“You think you can take my place? Bring it at me old school, bytch,” Kylie demands before dropping the mic with a thud.
The crowd is amidst letting the despised turncoat swim in a sea of enmity when the lights dim and the fans dial down a few levels, their relative quiet the proverbial calm before the storm that accompanies the Beach Cat‘s arrival. Their anticipation ratchets that much higher when the ring announcer intercedes before any accompaniment.
“And her challenger, hailing from Manhattan Beach, California, she stands five foot one inch tall and weighs in at one hundred twenty-four and nine-tenths pounds. She is FAWN‘s original bad girl, the catfighter‘s catfighter, a three-time former World and two-time former Tag Team champion…”
Van Halen's ‘Beautiful Girls’ erupts from the speakers, the unmistakable sound of Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tearing the air itself.
“Ladies and gentlemen, she is the LEGEND, THE ICONOCLAST, THE KILLER IMP HERSELF… CHHHRRRIIISSSYYY DAAANNNIIIEEELLL!!!!!”
A cannonade of pyro explodes from the rafters in time with the thunderous drum roll, their fiery white sparks illuminating the cavernous space in a momentarily blinding light. When it fades Chrissy Daniel stands atop the ramp. Hands on her hips, she turns her head to scan the crowd, the corners of her mouth upturned in a smugly mischievous smile.
[CHRISSY DANIEL]
Raising her hands overhead, Chrissy makes as if to wave at the FAWNatics before turning it into a set of double birds. Daniel starts down the aisle, her hips swiveling with every self-assured step. The Imp wears a shiny leather two piece, somewhere between silver and black with copious amounts of fringe—at the hips, covering the crotch and bum, from the strap of the top across her back and particularly from her bosom, extending virtually to her waist, but still offering an excellent view of her midsection.
Taking the stairs at a slow stalk, Daniel slips through the strands after a tawdry waggle of her hips. Once inside the squared circle, she flips her lustrous ash blonde hair back with one hand and gives a predatory wink at the woman she’d often made a meal of in FAWN’s infancy and adolescence.
Chrissy moves to the ropes nearest the cameras and ascends to the middle, grabbing the top, perhaps setting a trap the elfin blonde isn’t willing to step into. Daniel glares into a nearby lens.
“This is the last, hell, it’s the only favor I’m doing for you people,” she assures. “Because after I take the urbanized version of Lil Miss Country Mouse and make her beg for release in every way there is to beg AND to release, I’ll make you understand payment is due from every member of this roster and from you, the FAWN Universe!”
The Imp drops off the ropes to the canvas with a sturdy little ‘thwham’ and moves her fireplug frame to the corner opposite the woman she’d dominated back in the day. Chrissy’s eyes remain on Sanders and Kylie seems to shrivel ever so slightly from the heat, her hazel peepers casting downward to avert her gaze until the sound of the bell brings FAWN classic to the palates of today’s audience.
The ash blonde mane of Daniel immediately whips into motion as Daniel sprints across the deck, ready to inflict damage on Sanders. A wide-eyed Kylie, apparently forgetting the rules, slips her upper half through the ropes, demanding a time out from the official.
The man steps aside, his only job tonight to make the pinfall count or call for the bell if there’s a submission. Taking advantage, Chrissy grabs the retreating Sanders before she can fully eject from the ring. Grabbing her long-time foe by a wrist and the scruff of the neck, the Killer Imp tugs Kylie back in.
“No, no, loser,” Daniel growls. “I’m going old school on your ass and let these people remember what you were and what you remain deep down inside, a victim.”
Message delivered, the vertically challenged Chrissy is just tall enough to snake her arms under and around those of Kylie, locking her fingers behind the neck of her fellow FAWN original. The full nelson secured, the smaller but sturdier and stronger Chrissy whips the head of the platinum blonde wildly from side to side with her grip from Ky’s six. Chrissy draws her lips next to Kylie’s left ear.
“I’m making a statement with you tonight, putz. One that will keep me on pay-per-views for a year…at least.”
Chrissy snaps her perfect pearlies forward and chomps onto Kylie’s lobe, drawing a howl from Sanders.
“REFFFFF. She’s BITING me,” the Hawkeye complains.
Chrissy relents, but only to shout “What do you not get about no-holds-barred?”
As if to give her foe another good example, Chrissy bares her claws and RAKES her nails down the back of Vanilla Chill. The Iowan arches in agony, pink welts emerging from her pale skin.
“YOU BYTCH!” Ky screams.
“So NOW you remember,” the fireplug ash blonde retorts.
Chrissy sweeps an arm in front of the curled Kylie in a backhand grip, drawing the platinum blonde further back, capturing Sanders in a dragon sleeper grip. But Daniel isn’t about to try and send Chill to beddy-bye with a Mania moment in the spotlight. Instead, the Imp genuflects and brings the Pleasant Valley Pariah down with her, slamming Kylie’s vertebrae into bended knee.
Kylie yelps in pain and the anguish only increases when Chrissy shoves either side of Sanders’ frame downward, increasing the curve in the blonde’s backbone. One of Chrissy’s palms push down on Ky’s thigh, the other on Sanders’ chest, Daniel taking the opportunity to clench that particular palm and add a breast claw into the agonizing mix of the backbreaker.
The official asks if the Hawkeye wants to give, but, biting her lip, eyes welling, Sanders gives a stern ‘NO’.
Looking almost relieved, Chrissy shoves her showcase off, Kylie flopping to the mat as Daniel rises to her full 61 inches. The Imp stomps a boot into Ky’s gut, and another, and another, Sanders left gagging and pushing away at Chrissy’s ankle when the Beach Cat grinds the sole of her boot into the abs of FAWN’s foremost traitor.
Daniel stumbles a step, catching herself at Kylie’s feet. Moving quickly, the ash blonde places a boot on the inner side of Sanders’ left ankle while reaching down to collect her foe’s right with both hands. Chill is anything but, as the platinum blonde pleads for mercy. Not surprisingly, there’s none to be had and Daniel drops away from Ky’s planted foot, forcing the former leader of Kylie’s Corps into an awfully wide set of splits.
Never known for being among FAWN’s most limber, Ky proves it, shrieking and grabbing at her searing groin muscles. Not satisfied and still in possession of the blonde’s right leg, Chrissy stretches her arms out over her head and sends a wailing Sanders into a nearly full set.
“Are you starting to remember?” Chrissy shouts. “I OWN YOU!”
Daniel releases her grip and pushes leisurely to her feet, already feeling extremely comfortable a few minutes into the match. As the Killer Imp takes a gaze out into the Mania crowd, Ky slowly, tenderly starts pulling her legs back together into a single file, which is their condition when Chrissy plucks both at the ankles then lifts and spreads them wide.
She elevates a right boot high over Kylie’s exposed crotch and Sanders is ‘washing windows’ with her palms. “Please Chrissy. You don’t have to do this.”
“But I so WANT to.”
The diminutive but thick ash blonde STOMPS her boot into the juncture of Kylie’s thighs, the traitor shooting up to a seated position, her jaw dropped and trembling, hands shooting to her undercarriage.
The official hovers, staring intently, knowing the no-holds-barred nature of the fight nearly gives him the night off and the ‘Old School’ theme ascribed the battle, means he is likely to preside over some overtly MA activity.
Chrissy grinds her sole into Sanders’ sex, drawing a throaty groan from Vanilla Chill. Daniel’s beestung lips twist in a smirk and she throws the stems down disdainfully.
“History repeats,” she says to no one in particular, but Ky more than likely gets the message as she drops onto her side and collapses into a fetal ball.
Chrissy lowers to snatch at Sanders’ silvery bob, a little put off Chill doesn’t have the shoulder-length locks of old. Still, she manages to twist her fingers amidst the strands Sanders has available and forces a mewling Ky to make her way up to vertical her knees knocking.
The Beach Cat loads a European Uppercut and THUMPS it in under Kylie’s chin, snapping the head back of FAWN’s Benedict Arnold. Kylie spins in a 180 and staggers away from her tormentor, draping over the ropes. Never one to miss an advantage, Chrissy kicks Ky’s legs out from under her and the Hawkeye drops to her knees. Daniel then lifts one of hers, leaning it against the back of Sanders’ neck, pressing Kylie’s throat down across the middle cable. The blonde’s hazel eyes bulge as the Imp uses her free reign over the nonexistent rulebook to choke the life out of the steamrolled Sanders.
Kylie flails wildly as her windpipe is closed by the Californian. Finally’ grasping the rubber-coated steel, Ky pushes her neck off the strangling wire enough to slip her head underneath and she tumbles through the ropes, spilling onto the apron. But Chrissy isn’t about to let her quarry get away. Reaching between the middle and top ropes, Daniel leans over and corrals Kylie’s braincase, ripping the reeling elfin blonde to her knees.
The Hawkeye’s arms shoot and curl around the back of Chrissy’s neck and the Hawkeye drops to the floor. The pouty-lipped Daniel finally has something to pout about. Though it’s not a full-on hotshot across her neck, having her abundant chest used to violently springboard her off the middle rope and the back of her neck snapping into the one above, lets Chrissy know she’s in a fight for the first time tonight.
Unfortunately for Sanders, she’s on her haunches on the thinly padded cement floor, not in any condition to follow-up. She draws in deep breaths, head hanging. Slowly but surely, the chant of “TROLL…TROLL…TROLL” grows in strength and Kylie’s hatred seems to bring her recovery more focus. She rises to her feet and turns to the crowd, yelling at them to shut their pieholes.
From above, a mended Chrissy sinks both sets of nails into Sanders’ scalp and yanks a squealing Ky up to the apron from her foe’s six. Standing on the strip of mat outside the ropes, Vanilla Chill shoots a blind elbow behind her and the point catches the short but sturdy Beach Cat in the temple. It’s enough for Chrissy to forego her grasp of Kylie’s bob and backpedal several steps. Gray-green eyes focused in a rage, Daniel turns and heads for the opposite cables. She rebounds out of the strands and sprints toward a doubled Sanders, now pointed toward the ring.
Closing in on pinballing the platinum blonde off the Mania stage and to the floor below, Chrissy instead finds the stubborn nature of the elfin beauty that had kept her a member of FAWN since its inception (except for a short period of being fired which we won’t get into at this time ). Grabbing the middle cable, Kylie pulls back and uses the tension to springboard forward, SPEARING the holy hell out of the Imp’s abdomen. Kylie’s shoulder guts the ash blonde, Daniel folding around Ky’s tackle.
Sanders’ frame follows Chrissy to the canvas, ending atop her foe in a full body pin for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Chrissy shoves a shoulder up and Kylie barrel rolls off her long-time rival and tormentor a couple turns to put a little distance between the groaning Beach Cat and a Hawkeye in need of recuperation. Sanders doesn’t give herself too much time, however, pushing up to all fours to keep an eye on Chrissy, Daniel rising to a seated position, but still hugging her tummy.
Reaching her feet with Chrissy’s ass still planted, Kylie hobbles to Daniel and lands a solid soccer kick to Daniel’s substantial chest. The Imp winces in pain as Ky lines up another and thumps her right instep into Daniel’s jugs again and again. Finally raising her sights, Sanders adds a thrust kick to her foe’s chin, flattening Daniel to the canvas.
With Chrissy laid out beneath her, Chill looking and feeling more herself, the platinum blonde moves to a forward-facing, standing straddle of her rival and lifts off, mushroom stomping the ample bosom of the woman looking to “take her place”.
Kylie grinds both boot soles into the ash blonde’s chest before hopping off the Beach Cat and staring down at Chrissy with contempt.
“There’s a reason I’ve stayed relevant, bytch,” Kylie barks. “I’m a survivor and you’re a tub of goo.”
Kylie throws her legs out to the side and lands in a senton drop across Chrissy’s gut. Daniel groans as she jackknifes on either side of the frame of the Hawkeye. And when her head lifts, Ky grabs Daniel by her mop with a left hand and starts raining rights into cheek and jaw of the fellow FAWN original.
Kylie lands five fists and follows up with five forearms that leaves Chrissy a muddled mess, gray-green eyes glassy after the assault. Kylie tosses her foe’s head down, the back of Daniel’s noggin thumping against the deck.
“That’s what I thought,” Kylie adds.
Sanders shifts to another forward-facing straddle, this one on her haunches, undercarriage resting on the waistline of the flatted Imp.
“You wanted ‘old school’, that’s what you’re going to get, dumbass.”
And Kylie starts using Chrissy’s breasts as speedbags, pummeling right-left combos into Daniel’s gurls at a harrowing rate, the black leather containing Daniel’s D-cups somehow containing the contents as they shift with each hammer blow. Chrissy gets her arms up and in to protect, but they’re ripped aside and while Kylie fights to keep the targets free with her left hand, she continues to make hay with her right.
The ref catches himself, stopping his complaint about closed fists, and Kylie helps herself to more, pounding the Beach Cat’s bosom black and blue, Daniel shifting her body but bracketed by the thighs of the platinum blonde. Finally spent, Ky relents. She sits back and takes in the steaming wreckage, Chrissy swaddling her bosom with her left arm and mewling.
Kylie pivots on her “mattress”, the Pleasant Valley Pariah spinning to a backward-facing straddle and slipping her seat up Daniel’s frame, planting her ass on the lower curve of Chrissy’s tits. Sanders takes a smirking look over her shoulder and nods at a wide-eyed Daniel.
“Mmmhmmm,” is all Kylie feels is necessary as she turns and leans forward to start pounding away on Chrissy’s pussy.
But before she’s able, Daniel crunches her aching abs and lifts her stubby, muscular stems, locking her ankles around the back of Kylie’s neck. Sanders’ hands reach for the knotted ankles and, before Ky can unhook them, Chrissy sweeps her legs down to the canvas, sending the Hawkeye somersaulting off her. Kylie skids to a stop, now also seated several feet away from Chrissy, her back to her foe.
More startled than hurt, Sanders scrambles to her feet and scuttles hurriedly to the ropes in front of her, perhaps in her mind Chrissy about to grab her from behind. But when she reaches the cables and turns, Daniel is only up to one knee, angrily massaging her gurls and burning laser-like eyes through Kylie.
Vanilla Chill gulps hard but understands she can’t be timid. Not now. As the little fireplug from Cali rises to her feet, the Hawkeye charges, leaping toward her foe when close, appearing as though she wants to Thesz Press Daniel back to the canvas and pick up where she left off with a series of fists.
For her lack of height, Chrissy’s meaty frame has plenty of power packed into those 61 inches. She catches Kylie in her lap, maintaining her balance. Pivoting in a 180, Daniel delivers Kylie to the deck with a spinebuster that rattles the ring and Sanders’ spinal column. On her knees, Kylie’s legs raised in front of her, Daniel knee-walks forward, pressing down on the back of Ky’s ankles, matchbooking her prey, legs atop chest for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Kylie thrusts her pelvis and twists to the side, managing to unfold from beneath Daniel, sending a glancing blow of a boot to bosom, and keeping the Mania match from coming to a conclusion. Rocked by the impact, Sanders nonetheless struggles to all fours and starts to slowly crawl away while Daniel, on her haunches, collects herself. The Imp collects quickly and snatches a retreating Kylie by an ankle.
“Not when you showed you want to play,” Chrissy grunts, tugging Chill toward her.
Frantically, Kylie tries to shake her ankle free, but one final quick heave from Chrissy brings Sanders directly in front of the Imp. Ky twists to face her foe and quickly wraps her legs around either side of the ash blonde, squeezing a scissors tight over either hip.
While Kylie manages to elicit a grimace when she strains her thighs in an attempt to crush Daniel’s ribs, a motivated Chrissy scoops her arms underneath Kylie’s keister and STANDS UP with Ky in her possession, Sanders curling into a ball, her hands wrapped around the back of Daniel’s neck to hang on.
Sanders levels a series of right forearms into Chrissy’s jaw to try and work her way out of the predicament, but the Killer Imp sits out and powerbombs Vanilla Chill into the canvas. Sanders shudders in the possession of Daniel, legs collected, Kylie’s torso and arms spread out between the abbreviated stems of the Cali fireplug for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOO!
Sanders pushes a shoulder up, barely, the crowd’s usual groan at Kylie’s survival muted by their distaste for the three-time former World Champion. All too well aware of the punishment Sanders could survive, Daniel doesn’t argue. Instead, she shoves Ky’s lifeless legs aside and slides behind Kylie in a seated position.
Chrissy wraps her legs around Kylie’s midriff from behind and clamps on a scissors of her own, drawing Ky back to life, the elfin blonde’s face pinched in pain. Daniel slips her arms under and around those of the hated Hawkeye, lacing her fingers behind Kylie’s neck in a full nelson. With Sanders’ arms secured, Chrissy falls backward, dropping to her back for a moment and tugging Kylie with her, Sanders ending in her lap. A thrust of her pelvis up and forward sends both the Beach Cat and the platinum blonde jerking up, forward, then down, Daniel PLANTING Kylie’s tailbone into the canvas with a keister bounce.
Kylie yips in pain, wanting to cover her cheeks but unable due to the nelson. As Chrissy leans back for another, Kylie shakes her head enthusiastically, pleading out a staccato “no…no…no”. Daniel pays no heed, DRIVING Kylie’s coccyx into the thinly-sheathed plywood a second and third time, the look of anguish on Kylie’s face drawing a smile to the former members of the Corps.
Still stuck in Chrissy’s scissors after the final trip to tailbone, Kylie’s arms are suddenly freed from Daniel’s nelson, but only so Chrissy can put her hands to use elsewhere. Wrapping her palms around the collar of Kylie’s top, Daniel tugs in opposite directions, shredding the upper lace portion of the garment and opening the black spandex beneath until Kylie’s cups nearly overflow.
Realizing Chrissy really does plan to take this match to a different level, the platinum blonde flails and shoves, trying to escape her foe’s plans. But Chrissy secures another grip between Kylie’s burgeoning cleavage and rips wide again, sending Chill’s chest spilling to freedom.
With the Mania maniacs roaring, Chrissy fashions her fingers into talons and sinks them into the bare teats of the ‘troll’, gouging away on the ivory handfuls, twisting and tearing into the flesh. Kylie shrieks in pain, her hands momentarily shooting to her silvery bob and yanking to spread the pain before finding more useful endeavor, like wrapping around Daniel’s wrists and trying to remove the hooked, digging digits to no avail.
With no holds barred, the ref, trying to keep his professionalism in place, asks the hated Hawkeye if she wants to give. There’s a pregnant pause before Kylie shakes her head unconvincingly. The negatory response still counts and is met with another wicked clench of Chrissy’s fingers that wells the hazel eyes of Chill.
Daniel draws Kylie back for another ride to keister-bounce land, but this time Sanders is able to reverse somersault out before the return, painfully breaking free of Chrissy’s double breast claws in the process. Sanders rolls to her feet and staggers in reverse into a corner. She tries to use what’s left of her top to cover her ravaged bosom but it’s too tattered.
Only a second behind, the vertically-challenged fireplug arrives SPLASHING into Vanilla Chill at full speed. Kylie’s body jellies and a quick-thinking Daniel throws the platinum blonde’s arms over the ropes on either side. Keeping possession of each of Sanders’ wrists, she tugs Kylie’s arms toward her under the top cable while lifting and stuffing her right boot sole into Ky’s crotch.
A topless Sanders howls in anguish as Chrissy works her Imp-aler without having to regard a count for being in the ropes. Forced to endure the grinding shoe leather into her already aching center, Chill has to be having flashbacks to her early career, where Chrissy dealt with her more as a prop than an opponent. But like then, Sanders refuses to give up easily, shaking off another offer from the official.
Chrissy unwraps the blonde’s arms and drops to her back, sending Kylie flying with a modified monkey flip. Sanders lands on her already aching posterior, her hands flying to her bruised bum, the FAWNatics loving every second of Chill’s chest-baring comeuppance and it being under the organization's glaring Mania spotlight made it all the sweeter.
Daniel uses the ropes to pull herself to her full 5-foot one-inch and turns to review her masterpiece in the making. She races out of the corner, planning a kickoff into Kylie’s spine. Whether by luck or by awareness of Daniel’s pattering boots, Ky drops to her side to avoid the kick, but not only that, uses her ankles to surround one of the Imp’s, dropping Daniel to a face-first collision with the mat. A cursing Chrissy rolls to her back, both hands shooting to her nose, nasal threats escaping her lips.
Ignoring them, Kylie achingly pushes to her feet and staggers to Chrissy. With Daniel’s eyes still partially blocked by her fingers checking on her beak, the Cali fireplug reacts with shock and horror when Kylie drops a knee to her crotch. Chrissy shoots bolt upright to a seat in front of the genuflecting Sanders, who grinds her kneecap into Daniel’s sex.
“Brave new world, bytch,” Kylie pronounces.
Sanders slips both sets of fingers over and under the top rim of Chrissy’s leather top and yanks it down, releasing Daniel’s more plentiful D-cups to the world, the world seeming agreeable.
With the Imp’s bosom exposed, Kylie delivers a backhand chop to the unleashed teats, drawing a nasty echo and a ‘WOOOO’ from the crowd. A glistening, ivory-skinned Sanders punctuates with a couple more chops then surrounds the head of the grimacing Daniel and tugs the Beach Cat up as she rises.
Dipping, Ky takes a calculated risk with a woman who had a piledriver in her arsenal and tucks her head between Chrissy’s muscular thighs. She wraps her arms around Daniel’s stems and lifts the fireplug off her feet. With the Imp’s upper half extended behind her, Chrissy pressing her palms into Ky’s backside, Kylie drops to her ass and drives Chrissy face and bare chest-first into the deck with her Iowa Waterwheel.
Iowa Waterwheel (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L78bbjcEtWw )
Rising to her feet, the Hawkeye plucks a stunned Chrissy’s ankles off the canvas and mounts Daniel in a standing, reverse-facing straddle. As she sidles toward the Beach Cat’s braincase, Sanders settles into a crouch, curling the vertebrae of her foe with a Boston Crab.
“Give it up,” Kylie demands.
Daniel, biting her lip, isn’t about to and Ky leeeans back further to up the pain quotient. Chrissy mewls as her boots close in on the back of her head. Showing her strength once more, Daniel pushes up on her palms and uses the space now below her to flip, sending Kylie staggering forward, losing her grip on the escaping Daniel.
Ky catches her balance after a few wobbly steps. She strides to Daniel who spins to her chest to push up to all fours. By the time the ash blonde makes it to hands and knees, Kylie hovers above her in a straddle and drops her derriere into the spine of her likewise topless foe, flattening Chrissy to canvas with a ‘guuuuufff’.
Spinning into a reverse kneeling straddle of Chrissy’s waist, Sanders sinks her nails into the nerve bundle where Daniel’s left leg links with the curve of her gluteus. Having not bothered waiting for the former Corps to chant ‘FARM…HAND’, Ky works her signature hammy clamp deep into muscle and nerves, drawing a yelp of pain, Chrissy gritting her teeth in anguish as the Hawkeye works the leg like a maestro, shouting for Daniel to dismiss herself from the competition.
As Kylie adds her left hand on top for extra power and leans forward into her ‘chewing’ Farm Hand, Chrissy’s right palm raises over the canvas but doesn’t fall. Instead, she pushes up again, defying Chill’s determined efforts to get Daniel to quit. She spins violently to the left, sending Daniel to her back and Ky sprawling to her side, ejected from her seat atop Chrissy’s lower back.
Both women are slow to rise, the battle showing its effects on the topless combatants, the bitterness showing in their eyes as they turn to each other and advance. While Kylie bares her nails and reaches for the Killer Imp’s gray-green eyes, Daniel shoots a toe kick into Kylie’s gut, doubling Sanders over with a low moan.
Chrissy tugs Ky’s lowered head between her thighs and collects Sanders’ arms with double underhooks. As Kylie’s bare bosom teardrops, Chrissy forces them and Ky’s features into the canvas with a nasty facebuster. Daniel releases Sanders’ arms and Kylie spasms before falling still, the back of her head under Chrissy’s crotch.
But instead of turning the Hawkeye to her back and doing what comes naturally, Chrissy slides around the face-down Sanders, settling in a kneel between Kylie’s legs. With Sanders stirring, Chrissy uses her knees to spread Kylie’s legs wider, taking away any base, then reaches an arm forward, her right hand sweeping over Ky’s noggin. Daniel hooks her right index and middle finger into Kylie’s nostrils and yanks back, putting the platinum blonde in her signature 7-10 Split.
Kylie, her back arching as Daniel pulls back on her unusual handhold, shows off her bared gurls, chest thrust forward. A snarling Chrissy offers an ultimatum, threatening to rip Ky’s elfin nose off her face, but with Sanders’ mauled features pointed to the rafters, Daniel loses her grip and Chill’s head drops to the mat.
With Sanders splayed on her face and chest, Chrissy reaches beneath the Hawkeye and unhooks her leather belt, slipping it from under Sanders. She tugs what’s left of the upper half of Kylie’s one-piece down to her waist line and doubles the belt over.
Going to work, she whips the black leather into Kylie’s alabaster back, drawing howls from her foe and a mixed bag from the fans, some thinking Daniel is taking things too far. As the Imp shouts at the FAWNatics to keep their collective trap shut, Kylie spins to her back and snatches the belt. The women play tug of war with the weapon, both slowly rising to vertical as they struggle for possession.
There, each takes turns trying to rip it from the hands of the other, until Vanilla Chill adds a devastating punt to Chrissy’s pussy to extremely aid in her efforts with the back-and-forth. Though Daniel somehow continues to maintain her grip, Kylie’s next tug brings the Imp with the belt and the grapplers are bare chest to chest, Daniel’s gurls overwhelming those of the Hawkeye.
Unconcerned, Kylie twists the black leather so the ‘frozen’ Chrissy, crotch kick still debilitating her, is turned away from Chill. Ky draws the belt across Daniel’s throat and cinches tight. Chrissy’s hands immediately shoot to the choking weapon, her gray-green eyes bulging. But with the throbbing from her crotch still sapping her, her windpipe allowing less and less oxygen to reach her lungs, her carotid allowing less blood to her brain, the tension in the Beach Cat lessens in short order.
Kylie stomps the pit of Chrissy’s left knee then her right, dropping Daniel to her knees. Sanders continues to strangle the remaining fight from her foe until the Killer Imp slowly but just as surely goes slack, the crowd groaning as Daniel’s body becomes limp.
Releasing the belt and tossing it aside, a sweat-drenched Sanders shoves Chissy into a semiconscious puddle before her then stretches out the tanned, thick little fireplug into a spreadeagle. Slowly, exhaustedly, the platinum blonde climbs atop her foe in a schoolgirl pin, Chrissy’s chin nestled against Kylie’s crotch, Daniel’s biceps stuck under the shins of hated Hawkeye, Sanders taking a comfortable seat atop the fleshy pillows beneath. One of Ky’s hands sink into the ash blonde’s locks, the other presses imperiously atop Chrissy’s rosy features as the official slides next to Chill and counts out the…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEEE!
Sanders slowly raises her arms in drained triumph, as the ring announcer makes a very special win official.
“Your Mania winner…via pinfall…Vanilla Chill…Kylie Sanders!”
Sanders lets out a huge sigh, her bruised body slackening, head drooping to her chin as she drinks in besting a woman who’d made her life hell in her early career when Chrissy had immediately proven herself a top talent and Kylie struggled to keep her head above water with painful humiliation after agonizing embarrassment. Now. The tables had been fully turned.
Scooting down Chrissy’s hillocks, Kylie slides her humid undercarriage onto the dreamy features of Daniel, Ky nuzzling her privates into the nooks and crannies of Chrissy’s face. Daniel spurts to life, pushing weakly against the domineering Kylie’s thighs, but unable to move the platinum blonde.
Even the chants of “TROLL” from the FAWNatics fail to break through this glorious Mania moment as Kylie starts to glide her thinly-covered junk over the squirming mug of her tormentor. Slowly at first, then quickly, Kylie thrusts atop Chrissy, Daniel’s arms falling leaden to her sides as Chill goes to town, biting her lip as she tries to ride the Chrissy Train as long as possible until she releases and goes ‘Total Old School’ on the demolished and now dirtied Daniel.
Kylie arches her back in ecstasy, the crowd too busy gaping to jeer, and flops onto her back still atop her topless mattress. Kylie’s own bared, ivory-skinned pair heave toward the heavens, the dripping Vanilla and the glazed Imp carving another indelible picture upon Mania history.