Post by bigfan on Oct 22, 2017 0:19:43 GMT
The Eurasian title seemed as geographically strange in its designated boundaries as a gerrymandered district, but it came with a shiny belt and the right to be introduced as the champion. For that, Anna Sharpe wanted it badly.
Waiting in back, the stamina-laden Brit had spent the duration of the previous match pacing like she might wear a hole in the ground. She'd played big stages before – back when she had been considered a prospect she was given a wildcard into Wimbledon three years running, but three defeats and a locker room brawl put an end to all that. Plus, at the All England Club they'd been able to stick her out on Court 19 and forget about her. Here, the music, the announcer, the deafening howl of the 'Mania crowd were for her alone.
And now here they were.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the Eurasian Championship. Introducing first, from Islington, London, standing five feet seven inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and thirty pounds, she is the current FAWN Rookie of the Year... ANNA SHARPE!”
[ANNA SHARPE]
True to form, the challenger had made no alterations to her attire to mark the occasion of her first match on FAWN's biggest stage. So grey shorts and racerback tank it was. Still, a close observer would likely have noticed that her roll underneath the bottom rope didn't match up with the music in quite the way it usually did, and she let out a long calming breath before raising a mic to her lips.
The fans launched into another round of booing at the sight of the stick, but Anna waited them out. “Before Fiona gets here,” she said, “I just wanted to remind you all to show her your affection on what might very well be her last appearance in the ring.”
In the confused buzz of noise that followed, she put down the mic and kicked it under the ropes.
With her challenger situated, the booming orchestral chords of Fiona’s entrance music spread through the arena ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDI9HuVduDI&feature=related ) heralding the former Intercontinental and Lightweight champion and now Eurasian title holder.
The crowd, appreciative of her holding back the hated Invasion from claiming two titles at RW&B, provides a healthy ovation for the legendary Lady as she pushes through the curtain.
Looking simultaneously threatening and glorious, gaudy gold belt around her waist and the FAWNatics in her corner, Her Ladyship strides to center stage.
Fiona is resplendent, the long-time veteran of wars inside and outside FAWN pushing back against the growing tide of the New Era, most especially her victim tonight. Destroying the so-called Rookie of the Year would be another perfect example the Duchess could even defeat Father Time.
The Brit reviews the boisterous crowd with something less than her usual disdain, occasionally flashing a quick grin at the positive reaction. She starts down the ramp as the ring announcer makes her arrival an official one.
“And the champion 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.”
[FIONA WATERFORD]
The athletic build of the Englishwoman remains very much appreciated, 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.
Reaching the ring, Fiona rises up the ring steps and slides through the cables. She moves to the center, seemingly taken aback by the continued support of those assembled. Waterford raises a microphone to her ruby lips, both eyes planted on her fellow Brit and Rookie of the Year a few steps away.
“I’d like to thank one and all for the support afforded me,” Fiona announces. “But just like when I showed your beloved Shea London for the worthless tosser she is and just like when I pummel the next generation of losers thrown at me like this worthless wench, I don’t need the rabble and I don’t want the rabble. This woman is right down there with you. Both of you should kiss my feet. But unlike you scum, she’s going to get the chance.”
Any love the Duchess garnered prior to her pronouncement evaporates into the Orlando night, the boos reverberating. Fiona unstraps her belt and raises it overhead then pushes it toward her foe for a better look.
“Closest you’ll ever get, rookie. Ever.”
Her Ladyship backpedals to her corner, not allowing her Mania opponent out of her sight. Even when she hands her belt over the ropes to a FAWN attendant, her eyes remain fixed on the rookie.
“Since it's the big show, how about we make things a bit more interesting?” Sharpe calls over and gets a raised eyebrow of acknowledgement from the Duchess, inviting her to continue. “You win, I'll kiss your foot. I win, you kiss my arse.”
The offer gets the crowd murmuring, mostly in approval at the chance to see one of the two women brought low. Waterford, having only just rid herself of the support of the masses, hesitates to agree to something they're likely to favor, but in the end the chance to deliver some humiliation to her countrywoman tips the scale and she nods her head.
“Deal.”
Anna snorts in derision. “Careful Waterford, I've watched some of your tape. Agree to it too fast and these people are going to start thinking you like it.”
Fee's age-defying frame had seemed to relax the moment she shook off the weight of the fans support, however tepid it might have been. She doesn't respond to the teasing, and at the sound of the bell she marches forward purposefully, rather than take the decaying orbit approach to first contact.
The two Brits lock up in an initially even collar-and-elbow, grunting and jostling for control. Anna flashes her grim smile at how things have started out. A single evening on the couch watching Her Ladyship's back catalog had been enough for Sharpe to see the fathoms-deep reserves of Waterford's arrogance, so it's no surprise that the Royal Pain in the Backside chooses to come at her challenger with the hard-charging directness that is Anna's strength. Play the other tramp's game, and be better than her at it, might as well have been written in Latin across Fiona's bum.
It takes a few seconds, but Anna is soon able to get her powerful legs pumping with enough force to drive Waterford back toward the corner. Fee tries to dig in and fight it, but the momentum is all with the younger woman. They're almost at the turnbuckle when Fiona pivots on her back leg, suddenly it's Anna's muscular lumbar stuffed into the corner.
Sharpe shouts out in surprise as she's suddenly left taking Waterford's weight. “You're awfully old for a rookie,” Fiona tells her trapped countrywoman. “How embarrassing that you still make the same stupid mistakes the brats do.”
The Duchess breaks the hold and backs off, except of course she doesn't, she lifts her knee into that area of uncertain legality around the waistband of Anna's shorts. Sharpe doubles over with a groan and is quickly reeled into a front facelock, a handful of cotton allowing Fee to give her Snap Suplex plenty of pop.
The groaning challenger sits up, plants her palm on the mat and pushes to her feet, only to eat Fiona's Standing Dropkick. Staggering to the ropes on wobbly stems, she's more or less defenseless when Waterford follows up with a Clothesline that sends her rotating around the cable like laundry on a windy day before dumping her on the floor.
All told, from the initial reversal in the corner to going ass over shoulders on the mat takes less than twenty seconds. A dominant start for the champ, and as Fiona steps between the ropes out onto the apron, she knows it. “Feel free to offer her your pity,” she calls into the throng, gesturing in Anna's direction. “The poor thing is madly out of her depth, as you can see.”
But Her Ladyship has underestimated Sharpe's powers of recovery. The dirty blonde is already alert to the danger she's in. She scampers across the mats on all fours and has hold of Waterford's ankles in a flash.
“Take a seat, Your Cuntness,” she mutters, in too much of a hurry to get smart with the trash talk.
Her legs pulled out from under her, Fiona is dropped to her regal tush and immediately set upon by her jackal of a younger rival. Anna sacrifices a few little grey cells to the cause of her first title, headbutting the seated royal over and over, until Fee's head is lolling on her neck, her eyes glazed over.
“Eight!” the official shouts from on high, reminding Anna she's working with a time limit.
“Caity's parents live on the same street as your surgeon out in LA, Waterford,” Anna spits. “Supposedly he's a full-on alcoholic now, so it might be a good idea to make him take a breathalyser before he fixes what I do to your face.”
“You slanderous whOOOWWW!” Fiona's objection lasts as long as it takes for Sharpe to pop her in the mush with a European Uppercut. Filling her hands with some of the Duchess' dark hair, Anna drags her off the apron then swings her round in a circle that leads right back into it. “GAWWWW!” Fee slaps the canvas, hunched over her roiling belly.
“Got to give you credit, this is the first decent arse I've seen in FAWN.” Anna gives Waterford's booty an appreciative slap, using the blue lace panties to lift and roll her back under the rope.
With gold twinkling in her eyes, the younger woman goes straight for the cover, but Fiona has no intention of relinquishing the symbol of her return from obscurity, she has her shoulder off the mat before the count can get past...
ONE..
TWO…
Her ladyship shoves a shoulder up, rolling to her chest. Waterford slithers back toward the ropes she’d rolled under, at least until Sharpe latches onto an ankle with both hands. The pale-skinned Brit tugs a yipping Fee along the canvas, Waterford’s chest dragging across the mat until Anna and her cargo reach the middle. The Rookie of the Year spins Waterford to her back and spreads Fiona’s legs wide, lifting a boot above the veteran’s vulnerable crotch.
Plaintive palms rise as Fiona begs off, the possibility of Anna splitting the wickets putting fear in Fiona’s peepers.
“No…no…no,” the brunette rattles off in a staccato burst. “If you have any respect for royalty…”
It’s clear the crowd doesn’t, Waterford’s momentary good graces with the FAWNatics gone. They cheer for a stomping kitty crusher. Anna shrugs and slams her boot sole into Fiona’s nethers.
Lady Waterford sits bolt straight, her jaw dropping open as waves of anguish radiate out from her undercarriage to her entire body. The grinding of Anna’s boot leather doesn’t help the situation as the Duchess howls in pain, her hands wrapping around Sharpe’s ankle.
Desperately, Fiona twists her body to the left, scissoring Anna’s leg between hers and she trips the challenger. As Anna tumbles several steps away, Fiona collapses into a fetal ball, hands buried between her thighs, looking very much ready for a changing of the guard, not only in FAWN but as Best Brit in the States. Maybe the world.
Regaining her balance, Islington takes aim at Finsbury Park and delivers a kick to Waterford’s spine worthy of a spot on Chelsea’s eleven. Fiona’s back arches in pain from the impact, her body already collecting a surplus of tender locations.
Anna peels Fee out of her ball with a handful of dark locks and a wrist, tugging the struggling champion to her feet and bullying the wobbling, wincing titleholder to a corner.
“I know you can’t run anymore,” Anna barks, “let’s see if I can help.”
Pivoting, she whips Waterford for the ride and Fiona, still a serious hitch in her giddy-up from the pussy-stomp moments before, guns it across the squared circle, turning into a collision, her back feeling the brunt. She manages to throw arms over the top rope on either side to keep herself upright.
The champ keeping her feet seems to be Sharpe’s cue. She races across the deck and launches from a few feet out only to find Fiona isn’t frozen in place. Using the ropes to balance, Waterford sends her legs shooting out in front of her and they catch Anna flush in the bosom.
Sharpe totters as she turns in a 180 and strides to center stage where she collects herself and charges again. This time, when in range, Fiona lifts her legs and snaps them shut around the neck of her fellow Londoner.
Dropping her propping elbows from top ropes to middle, Her Ladyship pulls her legs forward and draws Anna’s head with them, slamming Sharpe’s features into the top buckle with a bang.
Waterford quickly tumbles to the canvas, giving up her vise to scramble away from her challenger. Anna pushes out from the corner and gives her noggin a rattle to shake out any lack of clarity from the collision.
Before her foe has all her wits, Her Ladyship grabs a wrist and heaves Anna to the ropes. Sharpe rebounds toward Waterford, the Duchess stationed dead center of the ring. As Anna approaches, the crafty veteran slides between the ivory-skinned stems of her challenger and trips Sharpe to the deck. Rolling into a backward somersault with one of the fallen Brit’s legs in her grasp, Waterford pops into a half-Crab and starts the torturous attack on Sharpe’s leg and back.
Rolling Half Crab (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHSASf05imc)
A snarling Fiona backpedals with Anna’s stem in tow, determined to wring as much pain out of the submission as she can. Waterford settles into a deep crouch to amp up the pressure, but Sharpe has nothing but a disdainful swipe at the official when he asks the challenger if she wants to surrender.
Instead, the Rookie of the Year digs her nails into the canvas and starts pulling both herself and Her Ladyship to the ropes. Only able to slow Anna’s progress, and make it awfully painful, Fiona gives up her Crab a few feet from the cables, standing straight and THROWING Sharpe’s knee into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Anna yelps in pain, pulling her throbbing kneecap close, threatening the Duchess above and below her breath.
“You didn’t really believe a rookie of the year or anything else would beat me, did you?” Fiona responds.
Waterford punctuates her statement with a couple wicked stomps to the side of the aching joint, working the limb like a pro while considering her next move.
To her credit, Sharpe is showing a stiff upper lip, pushing up to her knees before a hovering Waterford comes in for another kick. Anna’s quick with a block, however, corralling Waterford’s stem with both hands. The swift-thinking Duchess spins around the lowered Sharpe even with one leg under control at the ankle. She ends in a standing head scissors, thighs clamping down around Anna’s head from behind as Lady Fiona takes a seat on the back of the ROY’s neck and shoulders.
Flexing her sinewy stems, Waterford sinks her nails into Sharpe’s mop and gives Anna’s braincase a violent tug from side to side, all the while Her Ladyship turns Anna’s features from pale to pink to rosy with the pressure of her cinching scissors.
“Give it up, commoner!” Fiona demands. “Or I’ll pop it clean off.”
But instead, Anna wraps her arms around Fiona’s clenching thighs and starts to power up, Warerford’s visage turning from disbelief to fear as she rises higher, Sharpe forcing her to a full electric chair position high above the ring.
But before the Rookie of the Year can turn it into something destructive, Waterford reaches forward and draws her nails across Anna’s baby blues. Squealing in pain, Sharpe gives up her arm-hooks around Fiona’s legs and the Duchess slides down Anna’s back.
When the blinded challenger spins to face her foe, Waterford is ready, sending a toe kick deep into Sharpe’s gut, doubling the rookie over at the waist. The regal collects a pair of underhooks, trapping Anna’s arms. Fee spins so she’s nearly back to back with Sharpe before sitting out and giving her foe a hell of a neck snap.
Doible Underhook Neckbreaker (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLbxYtMLSf0 )
A grimacing Anna flops to her back, cradling her head with both hands while Fiona drops her body across her fellow Brit, hooking both legs for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Yet to learn a dignified way of escaping a pin, Sharpe avoids defeat with a spasm of movement that gets her shoulder off the mat only when the official's hand is well into its last descent. By her standards, Waterford's protest is perfunctory, she's quickly knuckle deep in Anna's dirty blonde mane, hauling her challenger back upright.
“All those visits I made to the Royal Box and I never got to see you play.” The Duchess nearly drowns that last word in contempt, knowing Sharpe never got within sniffing distance of Centre Court in her brief Wimbledon appearances.
She tries to right that wrong by gatecrashing Fiona's royal box with her knee, but the older woman brings her thigh up and takes the shot there, wincing a bit at the impact but still finding it preferable to the alternative. When she retaliates with another rake of Anna's eyes the ref stays quiet, seemingly figuring Anna had that coming after the low blow attempt.
Backing into the ropes, Her Ladyship picks up speed and delivers a low dropkick to the Rookie of the Year's already hurting knee. Sharpe goes down on her back with a yell, both hands flying to the increasingly painful joint, but instinct tells her to get her ass off the canvas and get back on her feet.
Instinct is fucking with her.
Fiona's eyes sparkle with malevolence as she watches the boot push herself back upright. Anna's eyes sparkle too, with tears she's working hard to keep in. “AWWWWSHHIITTT!!!!” she screams, Waterford having chop blocked her back to the canvas.
The sweat soaked champ keeps up both her torrid pace and her laser focus, dropping her elbow onto Anna's knee, the younger woman showing she's still got some learning to do by not getting the vulnerable limb tucked under her body.
There's an uncertain buzz in the arena at the methodical nature of the beating Fiona is dishing out. The Duchess picks up on it and smiles. “That's right, you should be nervous,” she calls out into the crowd. “This hapless slut should never have been given such a chance as this. You might consider making the front office aware of your feelings.” Dropping to her knees alongside her opponent, Waterford seizes Anna by the scruff of the neck, forcing a humiliating eye contact. “Be sure to enjoy the sympathetic applause these fat fucks will give you when you come back from your layoff,” Fee spits.
Pain shooting through her leg with each breath, Sharpe nevertheless manages to force her lips into a leering grin. “Hit a nerve with that one, didn't I, bitch?”
Her Ladyship’s retort would surely have been a denial, but Anna gives her no chance to offer it. The dirty blonde’s hand shoots out, she clamps it around Fiona’s throat and uses the choking grip to drive Waterford to her back. Climbing into a straddle, she gasps at the renewed pain in her knee, and makes a fist out of what to that point has been her open hand. The damage Her Ladyship has done deserves more than a bitch slap in response.
“Hey! No-” The official reaches for Sharpe’s wrist but she shakes him off and starts to pound punches down into Fee’s suspiciously age-defying features. The piston-motion gets her to double figures in the time it takes the ref to count ‘Four’, and leaves the champ glassy-eyed.
“Fiona here really loathes the thought of being your favorite.” Anna wastes no time keeping the pressure on the older woman, sure she can empty Fee’s tank. While she’s talking she pulls the brunette to a seated position by her damp hair and shuffles in behind. Sliding her arms in under Waterford’s pits to capture her in a full nelson, Anna then wraps her thighs round the Duchess’s waist.
The bite of the bodyscissors brings Fiona out of her stupor fast. “Let go of me, you….failure,” she hisses, tossing her head back where she hoped Sharpe’s nose might be.
Anna stays safe and rolls with her prize, settling in on her right side, shaking Fee like the secret to her eternal youth might rattle loose. “Like I said,” she calls out again. “The old hag hates feeling like she has your support.”
It’s a couple of Anna’s compatriots who finally get the message. Arsenal supporters delighted just to be away from theme park hell, they begin to shout “Fe-Oh-Na Whoah Oh Oh, Fe-Oh-Na Whoah Oh Oh,” an old soccer chant adapted for the Duchess. The locals finally cotton on and take it up and the repetitive call reaches deafening proportions inside the arena.
“You blasted slut.” Fee wriggles and writhes in Anna’s grasp, once again left stuck with the fans support, though they’re mocking her this time. “Stop encouraging them.”
“You started it,” Sharpe grunts. "Submit, if you want it over."
When Waterford refuses, Sharpe decides to get further up her foe’s butt. Leaning back, Anna lifts Lady Fiona off the canvas with both scissors and full nelson tight. The Grande Dame of FAWN is left in the lap of the ROY when Sharpe’s shoulderblades hit the mat for a split-second. With a thrust of her hips, Anna changes directions and Fiona leads the way, shooting up then forward then most assuredly down, her bum THUMPED into the deck with a keister bounce.
The shockwave enters the royal tailbone and travels up Her Ladyship’s spine, drawing a wince from the champion. Not satisfied with the response, Anna repeats the process and again jerks Fee up and SLAMS her back down, the regal ass cheeks not providing nearly enough of a bumper. Fiona yelps on her second impact. She tries to break her arms free of the nelson and massage her aching coccyx, but Sharpe continues to keep the limbs flailing above.
“Feel like one more, my Lady?” Anna asks with a whisper in the brunette’s ear.
“No…no…no,” Fiona yips.
Ignoring the answer, Anna pulls back again and, once both women face toward the rafters, a pelvic thrust sends them back into motion, Fiona’s tailbone again stuck into the deck like a lawn dart, the champ moaning and cursing.
Having had her fun, Anna gives up her nelson and barrel rolls to her chest, in so doing, turning Waterford over within her scissors and stacking the Duchess of East Anglia on her shoulders. Fiona bicycles her legs wildly through the…
ONE…
TWO…
Finally, her throes pay dividends and she’s able to break the scissors, flop to her side, and stop the count one slap short of turning over her belt with a Mania loss.
Waterford struggles to her feet But Anna’s already there and lays into her fellow Brit with a simple but effective forearm shot to the chest, sending Fee into a backpedal that’s only stopped when her spine collides with the set of buckles behind her. Waterford throws an arm over the top rope on either side to assist her in staying upright then pays for it when a following Sharpe ducks and grabs the middle cable on either side. She RAMS shoulder after shoulder into the royal’s breadbasket, folding Fiona deeper between the top and middle buckle each time until a fifth leaves the lithe frame of the ageless wonder a gasping, doubled mess.
Anna turns and disdainfully hip-checks the lowered cheek of the Duchess then strides confidently out to center stage to the sound of mixed reviews. Reaching the middle, she turns and links thumbs and forefingers to create a frame around the reeling champion, Waterford prying her way free and standing groggily in the corner.
Sharpe pulls her finger-frame down and charges Fiona, leaping, ready to bury her foe figuratively and literally under an avalanche splash of Islington goodness.
But there’s some life in the ‘old girl’ yet. Lady Fiona drags herself free of the line of fire with a tug of the ropes to her right, leaving Sharpe to find nothing but buckles at the landing. Her chest THUMPS into the top version, the corner spitting her out in a wicked u-turn.
As Anna staggers toward her, Fiona dips and ‘hups’ Sharpe across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Taking only an instant to steady herself, Lady Waterford heaves the commoner’s legs off her right shoulder toward her left and genuflects. The flipping Anna tumbles off, the back her skull and neck CRACKING into the champ’s bended knee, the Rookie of the Year presented Fiona’s signature Waking Nightmare.
Waking Nightmare (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OCCuWlEcvU ) 00:14
Anna ends in a slumped seat, arms hanging loosely at her side, gobsmacked from the maneuver. Fiona isn’t yet fully refreshed and she takes a beat before following up with her challenger. Perhaps understanding that extra second has taken away any chance for a three-count, she passes on the attempt.
Instead, she unleashes a flurry of kicks to Sharpe’s rack, cracking boot after boot the challenger gamely absorbs. Finally, at somewhere past a half dozen, Waterford loads up a big one and swings through like Harry Kane. Wisely, Anna lowers the stiff upper lip façade and drops to her back, letting the boot scoot over the top of her, Fiona pirouetting to keep her balance. Anna quickly rises back up to her seat and curls her right arm around the turned Fee’s left leg. She takes it out from beneath the champ, Her Ladyship stumbling backward over Sharpe and bundled into a small package by the Rookie of the Year for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOO!
The Duchess’ frame explodes out of its ball, Fiona shoving Anna off in the process. Ending up to one knee, Waterford takes a quick glance toward the official and sighs in relief at the two raised fingers.
The delay is enough for Sharpe to land a head-snapper of a European Uppercut, dulling the senses of the Duchess. Anna grabs a wrist of the Eurasian champion and aims her at the far corner. She whips the Grande Dame in that direction, or at least that’s the plan. However, Waterford anchors and reverses, sending Sharpe scurrying cross the canvas, Anna turning into a back-first collision with the corner.
Fiona charges in after, but Sharpe leans her shoulders over the top of the cables and lifts both boot soles to meet the chest of the advancing champion. Waterford stumbles back a few steps while FAWN’s ROY hops to the middle ropes.
Before Sharpe can launch, Fiona attacks again. Swinging an arm between the raised legs of the challenger, Her Ladyship tugs Anna off her perch and into another fireman’s carry. Facing away from the corner, Waterford throws her back toward the buckles and sandwiches Sharpe’s body into the top buckle. Her foe’s squirming settling, Fiona shows she’s still got strength in those old beautiful bones, climbing perilously to the middle ropes with Sharpe still strapped to her like a backpack.
With the FAWNatics no longer sure who they want victorious, they at least cheer for mayhem and Fiona’s Channel Plunge is most definitely that. Fearlessly, Lady Waterford dives in a front flip, carrying Sharpe down with her and DRIVING Anna into the deck with style and grace.
Channel Plunge (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NR9RH1sORmU )
While Fiona ends on her bruised behind, wincing, Anna finishes in a semi-aware starfish, having learned there’s a lot more to battling a woman over twenty years in the game than beating down fresh-faced if energetic noobs.
The overwhelming brightness of the overhead light is blotted out by the overbearing champ. “Still think I'm the easy option?” Waterford is panting hard but triumphant when she gathers up Anna's legs, folding Sharpe in half for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!!
It's close, but Anna prolongs the contest, with Fee not quite able to hold those powerful limbs down for the count. Sharpe rolls to her belly and pushes right back to all fours, pride poking at her to keep things moving even after absorbing some of Her Ladyship's heaviest artillery.
Part way through a crawl to the ropes, the Rookie of the Year groans when Fiona swings a boot into her ribs. Wincing, she looks up through eyes half closed with pain. The champ is glistening under the big event glare, her underwear soaked with the effort she's put into staying wrapped in gold, but she makes it look good, like she's giving the finger to even the very concept of aging.
I'll bend that finger back until I've got you begging and pleading, bitch, Anna thinks. Reaching out, she snags the middle rope and uses it to clamber back to her feet as the ref steps in to keep Fee back. The thought enters the younger woman's head that it wasn't long ago she scorned this kind of strategy. She pushes that away quickly, raking some dirty blonde strands off her face and... walking straight into Fiona's toe kick.
"Rookies. Ha!"
The challenger's head is swiftly corralled and the ring rattles with the crisp impact of Waterford's DDT. Anna wraps both hands round her aching skull, left foot trying to stomp away the pain.
Realizing she's come up on the wrong side of her victim for the big finish she has planned, Fiona takes the hilly road to the corner, walking over Anna's body and making sure to step down hard on the soft parts, the Duchess's weight getting a groan from her prone countrywoman. Sharpe sits up holding her tit, in time to see Fiona starting her climb to the top turnbuckle.
Given her determination to rid herself of their affection, the crowd sees no reason to warn Her Ladyship of her jeopardy, and so the first she knows of the danger is when a charging Anna SLAMS an elbow into her spine. Caught with her feet on the second rope, Fee arches in agony. The big screen shows a perfect close up of her beautiful features, no amount of botox able to prevent the pain expressing itself on her stretched face.
“Don't turn your back on me, you fucking old bitch.” Sharpe ignores her aches and goes to town on the champ's lower lumbar and pantied ass, beating them numb with forearm and fists. The official starts a count and at 'FOUR', Anna ducks between Waterford's legs and turns around.
“Hey, what are you doing? Unhand me.” Fee is lifted off her perch and Anna finally gets to visit the royal box as Waterford's crotch bumps in her face, Her Ladyship's thighs draped over Anna's shoulders. On one good knee after the punishment of the match, the Rookie of the Year heads in what she hopes is a straight line for the opposite corner. After counting out the number of steps that should put her in the right spot, she hurls the champ into the corner. The powerbomb slams the back of Fiona's skull into the top turnbuckle, the violent descent leaving the Duchess propped against the ringpost like a broken doll, chest heaving, glistening legs splayed open in a v shape, head bowed.
Anna get up off her knees, having fallen after depositing her cargo. She takes a deep breath, the arena lights starting to shine a little more gold colored than white as she takes Fee by the ankle and drags her across the canvas. The Duchess leaves a sweaty track, her dark hair trailing behind her. In fact, such is the champ's unresponsiveness that the ROY considers going straight for the cover. But memories of old cooking shows prevail, and she decides Fee's mutton needs a little more time in the oven to make it tender.
Grabbing Her Ladyship's other ankle, Anna starts setting up her signature Sharpeshooter. She steps through Waterford’s legs, folds them in a familiar figure four and rolls the Duchess to her belly, the legs still locked.
Sharpeshooter (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYdIJZBtzf0&t=33s )
The maneuver secured, Fiona howls back to life, screaming ‘NO’ to the official who’s dropped in front of her and asks if she wants to surrender the belt to the rookie. Perhaps to prevent using her hands to tap the canvas, Waterford stuffs them into her long dark locks and tears at her mane to spread the pain. From the look on her face, it isn’t working.
Changing tactics, Fiona digs her fingers into the canvas and starts dragging her body toward the ropes, hoping to break the agonizing hold with a palm around the bottom cable. As she starts to inch her way, Anna supersedes the ref’s offer to quit with a demand the Duchess do so, leaning back further on the submission to convince Her Ladyship.
Waterford yelps in pain and a flattened palm wavers over the canvas, the crowd chanting for her to ‘TAP’. But instead of the hand falling, it curls and she digs in for another slow drag to the strands, finally gripping the lowest rope and pleading with the official to force Sharpe to break her shooter.
Unsurprisingly, Anna takes the available four seconds before dismounting, the frustrated ROY, keeping one ankle in her possession. She lifts the leg high and SLAMS the knee into the deck, drawing another shout of pain from the royal. Lady Fiona draws the limb in close with one arm while keeping the other tightly coiled around the cable.
“GET HER AWAY!” the brunette demands and the official intercedes, keeping Anna back a few steps, the challenger hovering as Waterford pulls to her feet and limps a few steps to the side, still holding on.
“I’m not ready. Keep her back,” Fee insists, but Anna can only be held for so long. She wedges her way past the referee, bullying the retreating Waterford to a corner, where Sharpe dips and drives a series of shoulderblocks into Waterford’s midriff, folding Fiona further and further between the top and middle buckles with each.
Finishing the set, Sharpe withdraws, straightens and sucks in some deep breaths as she looms near the still doubled and drained Duchess.
“Can you feel the end of your reign coming?” Anna asks in a growl. Sharpe leans in close, pushing a shoulder into Waterford’s chest. She grabs a wrist, whispering. “I know you do.”
Truth imparted, Anna whips Fiona out of the corner and toward the opposite set of buckles. The flagging Fiona is unable to counter or even slow her progress as she turns and literally flies into the far corner, hitting with the incredible momentum the motivated challenger provided her. Waterford bounces out of the buckles and drunkenly staggers back toward center stage, but she never gets there.
Sharpe is on the way, dipping and nearly cutting Fiona in half with a brutal spear, Her Ladyship matchbooking around Anna until Sharpe PLANTS the champion into the mat just as harshly, the crowd groaning in a momentary sympathy pain for the arrogant titleholder.
Fiona spreads into a wide starfish from the dual impacts, Anna on all fours next to her after the vicious tackle. The challenger swipes her arms in opposite directions, proclaiming Fiona finished. She presses her body into Waterford’s in a tight perpendicular pin and the FAWNatics chant along with the slaps of the mat.
ONE…
TWO…
And while the crowd cheerily proceeds to THREE, the ref’s hand halts inches short when the stubborn Waterford slips a shoulder off the mat no more than an inch. The man jumps to his feet making sure everyone knows it’s ‘TWO’, not ingratiating himself with the pissed Rookie of the Year.
Anna lets the ref have an earful, demanding he not be so deferential to his elders. While the younger Brit continues to press her point home, Fiona stirs, slowly pushing to a seated position. The movement is enough to regain Anna’s attention and she strides to the champ, lifting Fiona by the hair, but keeping her doubled so she can insert Waterford’s head between her thighs. As Sharpe wraps her arms around Fiona’s gulping tummy, the crowd immediately tweaks to Waterford’s impending doom.
But before they can enjoy Lady Fiona’s ruthless end, Waterford batters away with rights and lefts into Anna’s ribs. They might as well be fleabites at first but as they accumulate quickly, they’re clearly an annoyance that halts Anna from her lift. Sharpe unwraps her arms to pound a forearm hammer into Waterford’s spine, dropping the regal brunette to her haunches.
Her back arched in pain, features twisted for the same reason, Fiona feels her scalp burn when Anna tugs her up to a full kneel by her hair. But Fee brings a little gift with her as she rises, namely an underhanded uppercut forearm SLAMMING into Anna’s pussy.
Sharpe’s eyes cross in anguish as she lifts to tiptoes. Her knees knock together as many in the crowd groan then jeer at Her Ladyship’s ‘ends justify the means’ tactic. With a mewling Anna ‘frozen’ before her, jaw dropped, Fiona uses her foe to reach her feet. Breathlessly, she croaks, “Can you feel your blown chance?”
Anna’s hands are reflexively buried between her thighs and Fiona borrows one of them, draping a limp arm over her shoulders while slapping her left arm more forcefully over the neck of her challenger. Waterford presses her right hand into Sharpe’s waist and takes a deep breath before vaulting the aching Anna into the air. Sending her to vertical, Her Ladyship adds a customary twist to her attack, spinning into her brutal brainbuster.
Spinning Brainbuster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYl3kwAM4fc )
Anna’s frame explodes from the impact, falling still on its side, Sharpe gobsmacked from the collision. Lady Waterford isn’t in the best shape herself and she lies next to the challenger for a few seconds before dragging herself to Anna, pushing her flat, and dropping flaccidly atop her foe for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Sharpe shows she’s alive for the first time since the impact with a relatively convincing shoulder shove, Fiona pushed up to all fours. A startled Waterford glances at the official more in disbelief of the fight left than the count. He shows his two fingers and Waterford shuts her dropped jaw as she pushes to vertical. She moves to Anna and scrapes up both legs at the ankles, pulling the lower limbs wide.
“Let me show you how this is done,” Waterford says, stepping through the limbs to provide her modified sharpshooting finisher the ‘Turn of the Screw’, but before Fiona can lock it in, Anna summons her remaining reserves to twist her legs free. She wearily pushes to her feet as Waterford regains her balance.
Both on their feet, the combatants move to each other and Anna unloads with a European Uppercut that rocks the champion. A reenergized Sharpe lands another and Lady Waterford stumbles into a backpedal that puts her spine against the buckles. With the crowd urging the Rookie of the Year on, she lifts Fee to a seat on the top buckle and climbs to the middle ropes to inflict more punishment on the fading titleholder.
But a royal right cross below the waist stops Anna in her tracks, Fiona quickly flings an arm over the back of Sharpe’s neck and, before the ROY can think to counter, Fiona launches Sharpe high into the Orlando sky. Simultaneously, Her Ladyship takes flight from her elevated position and SPIKES Anna into the canvas with her Clock Tower.
Clock Tower (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3lZ7mNPvQc )
The ‘BOOM’ of the impact is stomach-churning for the fans and Anna’s motionless body tells the tale of the aftermath, the tenacious rookie left a smoldering pile by Her Ladyship. It takes a moment for Fiona to regain her bearings but she throws her body over Anna’s, hooking a limp leg for good measure. But there’s no need after that fall from grace and it’s a perfunctory…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!
…for the champion.
Waterford releases the leg and turns to lounge on the stilled Sharpe, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Slowly, she raises her arms as the ring announcer makes her Mania success official.
“Your winner…and STILL FAWN Eurasian champion…Lady Fiona Waterford!”
Fiona willingly accepts an assist from the referee who helps the champ to her feet and hands over the gold. She raises the belt high with both hands to a chorus of boos and transfers it to one so she can flip off the less than adoring crowd.
Moving to a stirring Anna, she settles in a standing forward straddle of Sharpe’s chest. Speaking in hushed tones, she offers “You might be title worthy someday, some day when I’m on a beach in Monaco having retired as the champion.”
Per their pre-match agreement, Fiona puts the toe of her boot to Anna's lips, but luckily for the beaten blonde, she seems happy to leave it at that. She steps atop Anna’s tummy, pressing down with all her body weight (and the weight of the belt) on her departure, Sharpe coughing back to life as Her Ladyship exits, still the Queen of two continents.
Waiting in back, the stamina-laden Brit had spent the duration of the previous match pacing like she might wear a hole in the ground. She'd played big stages before – back when she had been considered a prospect she was given a wildcard into Wimbledon three years running, but three defeats and a locker room brawl put an end to all that. Plus, at the All England Club they'd been able to stick her out on Court 19 and forget about her. Here, the music, the announcer, the deafening howl of the 'Mania crowd were for her alone.
And now here they were.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and is for the Eurasian Championship. Introducing first, from Islington, London, standing five feet seven inches tall and weighing in at one hundred and thirty pounds, she is the current FAWN Rookie of the Year... ANNA SHARPE!”
[ANNA SHARPE]
True to form, the challenger had made no alterations to her attire to mark the occasion of her first match on FAWN's biggest stage. So grey shorts and racerback tank it was. Still, a close observer would likely have noticed that her roll underneath the bottom rope didn't match up with the music in quite the way it usually did, and she let out a long calming breath before raising a mic to her lips.
The fans launched into another round of booing at the sight of the stick, but Anna waited them out. “Before Fiona gets here,” she said, “I just wanted to remind you all to show her your affection on what might very well be her last appearance in the ring.”
In the confused buzz of noise that followed, she put down the mic and kicked it under the ropes.
With her challenger situated, the booming orchestral chords of Fiona’s entrance music spread through the arena ( www.youtube.com/watch?v=sDI9HuVduDI&feature=related ) heralding the former Intercontinental and Lightweight champion and now Eurasian title holder.
The crowd, appreciative of her holding back the hated Invasion from claiming two titles at RW&B, provides a healthy ovation for the legendary Lady as she pushes through the curtain.
Looking simultaneously threatening and glorious, gaudy gold belt around her waist and the FAWNatics in her corner, Her Ladyship strides to center stage.
Fiona is resplendent, the long-time veteran of wars inside and outside FAWN pushing back against the growing tide of the New Era, most especially her victim tonight. Destroying the so-called Rookie of the Year would be another perfect example the Duchess could even defeat Father Time.
The Brit reviews the boisterous crowd with something less than her usual disdain, occasionally flashing a quick grin at the positive reaction. She starts down the ramp as the ring announcer makes her arrival an official one.
“And the champion 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.”
[FIONA WATERFORD]
The athletic build of the Englishwoman remains very much appreciated, 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.
Reaching the ring, Fiona rises up the ring steps and slides through the cables. She moves to the center, seemingly taken aback by the continued support of those assembled. Waterford raises a microphone to her ruby lips, both eyes planted on her fellow Brit and Rookie of the Year a few steps away.
“I’d like to thank one and all for the support afforded me,” Fiona announces. “But just like when I showed your beloved Shea London for the worthless tosser she is and just like when I pummel the next generation of losers thrown at me like this worthless wench, I don’t need the rabble and I don’t want the rabble. This woman is right down there with you. Both of you should kiss my feet. But unlike you scum, she’s going to get the chance.”
Any love the Duchess garnered prior to her pronouncement evaporates into the Orlando night, the boos reverberating. Fiona unstraps her belt and raises it overhead then pushes it toward her foe for a better look.
“Closest you’ll ever get, rookie. Ever.”
Her Ladyship backpedals to her corner, not allowing her Mania opponent out of her sight. Even when she hands her belt over the ropes to a FAWN attendant, her eyes remain fixed on the rookie.
“Since it's the big show, how about we make things a bit more interesting?” Sharpe calls over and gets a raised eyebrow of acknowledgement from the Duchess, inviting her to continue. “You win, I'll kiss your foot. I win, you kiss my arse.”
The offer gets the crowd murmuring, mostly in approval at the chance to see one of the two women brought low. Waterford, having only just rid herself of the support of the masses, hesitates to agree to something they're likely to favor, but in the end the chance to deliver some humiliation to her countrywoman tips the scale and she nods her head.
“Deal.”
Anna snorts in derision. “Careful Waterford, I've watched some of your tape. Agree to it too fast and these people are going to start thinking you like it.”
Fee's age-defying frame had seemed to relax the moment she shook off the weight of the fans support, however tepid it might have been. She doesn't respond to the teasing, and at the sound of the bell she marches forward purposefully, rather than take the decaying orbit approach to first contact.
The two Brits lock up in an initially even collar-and-elbow, grunting and jostling for control. Anna flashes her grim smile at how things have started out. A single evening on the couch watching Her Ladyship's back catalog had been enough for Sharpe to see the fathoms-deep reserves of Waterford's arrogance, so it's no surprise that the Royal Pain in the Backside chooses to come at her challenger with the hard-charging directness that is Anna's strength. Play the other tramp's game, and be better than her at it, might as well have been written in Latin across Fiona's bum.
It takes a few seconds, but Anna is soon able to get her powerful legs pumping with enough force to drive Waterford back toward the corner. Fee tries to dig in and fight it, but the momentum is all with the younger woman. They're almost at the turnbuckle when Fiona pivots on her back leg, suddenly it's Anna's muscular lumbar stuffed into the corner.
Sharpe shouts out in surprise as she's suddenly left taking Waterford's weight. “You're awfully old for a rookie,” Fiona tells her trapped countrywoman. “How embarrassing that you still make the same stupid mistakes the brats do.”
The Duchess breaks the hold and backs off, except of course she doesn't, she lifts her knee into that area of uncertain legality around the waistband of Anna's shorts. Sharpe doubles over with a groan and is quickly reeled into a front facelock, a handful of cotton allowing Fee to give her Snap Suplex plenty of pop.
The groaning challenger sits up, plants her palm on the mat and pushes to her feet, only to eat Fiona's Standing Dropkick. Staggering to the ropes on wobbly stems, she's more or less defenseless when Waterford follows up with a Clothesline that sends her rotating around the cable like laundry on a windy day before dumping her on the floor.
All told, from the initial reversal in the corner to going ass over shoulders on the mat takes less than twenty seconds. A dominant start for the champ, and as Fiona steps between the ropes out onto the apron, she knows it. “Feel free to offer her your pity,” she calls into the throng, gesturing in Anna's direction. “The poor thing is madly out of her depth, as you can see.”
But Her Ladyship has underestimated Sharpe's powers of recovery. The dirty blonde is already alert to the danger she's in. She scampers across the mats on all fours and has hold of Waterford's ankles in a flash.
“Take a seat, Your Cuntness,” she mutters, in too much of a hurry to get smart with the trash talk.
Her legs pulled out from under her, Fiona is dropped to her regal tush and immediately set upon by her jackal of a younger rival. Anna sacrifices a few little grey cells to the cause of her first title, headbutting the seated royal over and over, until Fee's head is lolling on her neck, her eyes glazed over.
“Eight!” the official shouts from on high, reminding Anna she's working with a time limit.
“Caity's parents live on the same street as your surgeon out in LA, Waterford,” Anna spits. “Supposedly he's a full-on alcoholic now, so it might be a good idea to make him take a breathalyser before he fixes what I do to your face.”
“You slanderous whOOOWWW!” Fiona's objection lasts as long as it takes for Sharpe to pop her in the mush with a European Uppercut. Filling her hands with some of the Duchess' dark hair, Anna drags her off the apron then swings her round in a circle that leads right back into it. “GAWWWW!” Fee slaps the canvas, hunched over her roiling belly.
“Got to give you credit, this is the first decent arse I've seen in FAWN.” Anna gives Waterford's booty an appreciative slap, using the blue lace panties to lift and roll her back under the rope.
With gold twinkling in her eyes, the younger woman goes straight for the cover, but Fiona has no intention of relinquishing the symbol of her return from obscurity, she has her shoulder off the mat before the count can get past...
ONE..
TWO…
Her ladyship shoves a shoulder up, rolling to her chest. Waterford slithers back toward the ropes she’d rolled under, at least until Sharpe latches onto an ankle with both hands. The pale-skinned Brit tugs a yipping Fee along the canvas, Waterford’s chest dragging across the mat until Anna and her cargo reach the middle. The Rookie of the Year spins Waterford to her back and spreads Fiona’s legs wide, lifting a boot above the veteran’s vulnerable crotch.
Plaintive palms rise as Fiona begs off, the possibility of Anna splitting the wickets putting fear in Fiona’s peepers.
“No…no…no,” the brunette rattles off in a staccato burst. “If you have any respect for royalty…”
It’s clear the crowd doesn’t, Waterford’s momentary good graces with the FAWNatics gone. They cheer for a stomping kitty crusher. Anna shrugs and slams her boot sole into Fiona’s nethers.
Lady Waterford sits bolt straight, her jaw dropping open as waves of anguish radiate out from her undercarriage to her entire body. The grinding of Anna’s boot leather doesn’t help the situation as the Duchess howls in pain, her hands wrapping around Sharpe’s ankle.
Desperately, Fiona twists her body to the left, scissoring Anna’s leg between hers and she trips the challenger. As Anna tumbles several steps away, Fiona collapses into a fetal ball, hands buried between her thighs, looking very much ready for a changing of the guard, not only in FAWN but as Best Brit in the States. Maybe the world.
Regaining her balance, Islington takes aim at Finsbury Park and delivers a kick to Waterford’s spine worthy of a spot on Chelsea’s eleven. Fiona’s back arches in pain from the impact, her body already collecting a surplus of tender locations.
Anna peels Fee out of her ball with a handful of dark locks and a wrist, tugging the struggling champion to her feet and bullying the wobbling, wincing titleholder to a corner.
“I know you can’t run anymore,” Anna barks, “let’s see if I can help.”
Pivoting, she whips Waterford for the ride and Fiona, still a serious hitch in her giddy-up from the pussy-stomp moments before, guns it across the squared circle, turning into a collision, her back feeling the brunt. She manages to throw arms over the top rope on either side to keep herself upright.
The champ keeping her feet seems to be Sharpe’s cue. She races across the deck and launches from a few feet out only to find Fiona isn’t frozen in place. Using the ropes to balance, Waterford sends her legs shooting out in front of her and they catch Anna flush in the bosom.
Sharpe totters as she turns in a 180 and strides to center stage where she collects herself and charges again. This time, when in range, Fiona lifts her legs and snaps them shut around the neck of her fellow Londoner.
Dropping her propping elbows from top ropes to middle, Her Ladyship pulls her legs forward and draws Anna’s head with them, slamming Sharpe’s features into the top buckle with a bang.
Waterford quickly tumbles to the canvas, giving up her vise to scramble away from her challenger. Anna pushes out from the corner and gives her noggin a rattle to shake out any lack of clarity from the collision.
Before her foe has all her wits, Her Ladyship grabs a wrist and heaves Anna to the ropes. Sharpe rebounds toward Waterford, the Duchess stationed dead center of the ring. As Anna approaches, the crafty veteran slides between the ivory-skinned stems of her challenger and trips Sharpe to the deck. Rolling into a backward somersault with one of the fallen Brit’s legs in her grasp, Waterford pops into a half-Crab and starts the torturous attack on Sharpe’s leg and back.
Rolling Half Crab (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fHSASf05imc)
A snarling Fiona backpedals with Anna’s stem in tow, determined to wring as much pain out of the submission as she can. Waterford settles into a deep crouch to amp up the pressure, but Sharpe has nothing but a disdainful swipe at the official when he asks the challenger if she wants to surrender.
Instead, the Rookie of the Year digs her nails into the canvas and starts pulling both herself and Her Ladyship to the ropes. Only able to slow Anna’s progress, and make it awfully painful, Fiona gives up her Crab a few feet from the cables, standing straight and THROWING Sharpe’s knee into the thinly-sheathed plywood.
Anna yelps in pain, pulling her throbbing kneecap close, threatening the Duchess above and below her breath.
“You didn’t really believe a rookie of the year or anything else would beat me, did you?” Fiona responds.
Waterford punctuates her statement with a couple wicked stomps to the side of the aching joint, working the limb like a pro while considering her next move.
To her credit, Sharpe is showing a stiff upper lip, pushing up to her knees before a hovering Waterford comes in for another kick. Anna’s quick with a block, however, corralling Waterford’s stem with both hands. The swift-thinking Duchess spins around the lowered Sharpe even with one leg under control at the ankle. She ends in a standing head scissors, thighs clamping down around Anna’s head from behind as Lady Fiona takes a seat on the back of the ROY’s neck and shoulders.
Flexing her sinewy stems, Waterford sinks her nails into Sharpe’s mop and gives Anna’s braincase a violent tug from side to side, all the while Her Ladyship turns Anna’s features from pale to pink to rosy with the pressure of her cinching scissors.
“Give it up, commoner!” Fiona demands. “Or I’ll pop it clean off.”
But instead, Anna wraps her arms around Fiona’s clenching thighs and starts to power up, Warerford’s visage turning from disbelief to fear as she rises higher, Sharpe forcing her to a full electric chair position high above the ring.
But before the Rookie of the Year can turn it into something destructive, Waterford reaches forward and draws her nails across Anna’s baby blues. Squealing in pain, Sharpe gives up her arm-hooks around Fiona’s legs and the Duchess slides down Anna’s back.
When the blinded challenger spins to face her foe, Waterford is ready, sending a toe kick deep into Sharpe’s gut, doubling the rookie over at the waist. The regal collects a pair of underhooks, trapping Anna’s arms. Fee spins so she’s nearly back to back with Sharpe before sitting out and giving her foe a hell of a neck snap.
Doible Underhook Neckbreaker (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLbxYtMLSf0 )
A grimacing Anna flops to her back, cradling her head with both hands while Fiona drops her body across her fellow Brit, hooking both legs for the…
ONE…
TWO…
Yet to learn a dignified way of escaping a pin, Sharpe avoids defeat with a spasm of movement that gets her shoulder off the mat only when the official's hand is well into its last descent. By her standards, Waterford's protest is perfunctory, she's quickly knuckle deep in Anna's dirty blonde mane, hauling her challenger back upright.
“All those visits I made to the Royal Box and I never got to see you play.” The Duchess nearly drowns that last word in contempt, knowing Sharpe never got within sniffing distance of Centre Court in her brief Wimbledon appearances.
She tries to right that wrong by gatecrashing Fiona's royal box with her knee, but the older woman brings her thigh up and takes the shot there, wincing a bit at the impact but still finding it preferable to the alternative. When she retaliates with another rake of Anna's eyes the ref stays quiet, seemingly figuring Anna had that coming after the low blow attempt.
Backing into the ropes, Her Ladyship picks up speed and delivers a low dropkick to the Rookie of the Year's already hurting knee. Sharpe goes down on her back with a yell, both hands flying to the increasingly painful joint, but instinct tells her to get her ass off the canvas and get back on her feet.
Instinct is fucking with her.
Fiona's eyes sparkle with malevolence as she watches the boot push herself back upright. Anna's eyes sparkle too, with tears she's working hard to keep in. “AWWWWSHHIITTT!!!!” she screams, Waterford having chop blocked her back to the canvas.
The sweat soaked champ keeps up both her torrid pace and her laser focus, dropping her elbow onto Anna's knee, the younger woman showing she's still got some learning to do by not getting the vulnerable limb tucked under her body.
There's an uncertain buzz in the arena at the methodical nature of the beating Fiona is dishing out. The Duchess picks up on it and smiles. “That's right, you should be nervous,” she calls out into the crowd. “This hapless slut should never have been given such a chance as this. You might consider making the front office aware of your feelings.” Dropping to her knees alongside her opponent, Waterford seizes Anna by the scruff of the neck, forcing a humiliating eye contact. “Be sure to enjoy the sympathetic applause these fat fucks will give you when you come back from your layoff,” Fee spits.
Pain shooting through her leg with each breath, Sharpe nevertheless manages to force her lips into a leering grin. “Hit a nerve with that one, didn't I, bitch?”
Her Ladyship’s retort would surely have been a denial, but Anna gives her no chance to offer it. The dirty blonde’s hand shoots out, she clamps it around Fiona’s throat and uses the choking grip to drive Waterford to her back. Climbing into a straddle, she gasps at the renewed pain in her knee, and makes a fist out of what to that point has been her open hand. The damage Her Ladyship has done deserves more than a bitch slap in response.
“Hey! No-” The official reaches for Sharpe’s wrist but she shakes him off and starts to pound punches down into Fee’s suspiciously age-defying features. The piston-motion gets her to double figures in the time it takes the ref to count ‘Four’, and leaves the champ glassy-eyed.
“Fiona here really loathes the thought of being your favorite.” Anna wastes no time keeping the pressure on the older woman, sure she can empty Fee’s tank. While she’s talking she pulls the brunette to a seated position by her damp hair and shuffles in behind. Sliding her arms in under Waterford’s pits to capture her in a full nelson, Anna then wraps her thighs round the Duchess’s waist.
The bite of the bodyscissors brings Fiona out of her stupor fast. “Let go of me, you….failure,” she hisses, tossing her head back where she hoped Sharpe’s nose might be.
Anna stays safe and rolls with her prize, settling in on her right side, shaking Fee like the secret to her eternal youth might rattle loose. “Like I said,” she calls out again. “The old hag hates feeling like she has your support.”
It’s a couple of Anna’s compatriots who finally get the message. Arsenal supporters delighted just to be away from theme park hell, they begin to shout “Fe-Oh-Na Whoah Oh Oh, Fe-Oh-Na Whoah Oh Oh,” an old soccer chant adapted for the Duchess. The locals finally cotton on and take it up and the repetitive call reaches deafening proportions inside the arena.
“You blasted slut.” Fee wriggles and writhes in Anna’s grasp, once again left stuck with the fans support, though they’re mocking her this time. “Stop encouraging them.”
“You started it,” Sharpe grunts. "Submit, if you want it over."
When Waterford refuses, Sharpe decides to get further up her foe’s butt. Leaning back, Anna lifts Lady Fiona off the canvas with both scissors and full nelson tight. The Grande Dame of FAWN is left in the lap of the ROY when Sharpe’s shoulderblades hit the mat for a split-second. With a thrust of her hips, Anna changes directions and Fiona leads the way, shooting up then forward then most assuredly down, her bum THUMPED into the deck with a keister bounce.
The shockwave enters the royal tailbone and travels up Her Ladyship’s spine, drawing a wince from the champion. Not satisfied with the response, Anna repeats the process and again jerks Fee up and SLAMS her back down, the regal ass cheeks not providing nearly enough of a bumper. Fiona yelps on her second impact. She tries to break her arms free of the nelson and massage her aching coccyx, but Sharpe continues to keep the limbs flailing above.
“Feel like one more, my Lady?” Anna asks with a whisper in the brunette’s ear.
“No…no…no,” Fiona yips.
Ignoring the answer, Anna pulls back again and, once both women face toward the rafters, a pelvic thrust sends them back into motion, Fiona’s tailbone again stuck into the deck like a lawn dart, the champ moaning and cursing.
Having had her fun, Anna gives up her nelson and barrel rolls to her chest, in so doing, turning Waterford over within her scissors and stacking the Duchess of East Anglia on her shoulders. Fiona bicycles her legs wildly through the…
ONE…
TWO…
Finally, her throes pay dividends and she’s able to break the scissors, flop to her side, and stop the count one slap short of turning over her belt with a Mania loss.
Waterford struggles to her feet But Anna’s already there and lays into her fellow Brit with a simple but effective forearm shot to the chest, sending Fee into a backpedal that’s only stopped when her spine collides with the set of buckles behind her. Waterford throws an arm over the top rope on either side to assist her in staying upright then pays for it when a following Sharpe ducks and grabs the middle cable on either side. She RAMS shoulder after shoulder into the royal’s breadbasket, folding Fiona deeper between the top and middle buckle each time until a fifth leaves the lithe frame of the ageless wonder a gasping, doubled mess.
Anna turns and disdainfully hip-checks the lowered cheek of the Duchess then strides confidently out to center stage to the sound of mixed reviews. Reaching the middle, she turns and links thumbs and forefingers to create a frame around the reeling champion, Waterford prying her way free and standing groggily in the corner.
Sharpe pulls her finger-frame down and charges Fiona, leaping, ready to bury her foe figuratively and literally under an avalanche splash of Islington goodness.
But there’s some life in the ‘old girl’ yet. Lady Fiona drags herself free of the line of fire with a tug of the ropes to her right, leaving Sharpe to find nothing but buckles at the landing. Her chest THUMPS into the top version, the corner spitting her out in a wicked u-turn.
As Anna staggers toward her, Fiona dips and ‘hups’ Sharpe across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Taking only an instant to steady herself, Lady Waterford heaves the commoner’s legs off her right shoulder toward her left and genuflects. The flipping Anna tumbles off, the back her skull and neck CRACKING into the champ’s bended knee, the Rookie of the Year presented Fiona’s signature Waking Nightmare.
Waking Nightmare (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OCCuWlEcvU ) 00:14
Anna ends in a slumped seat, arms hanging loosely at her side, gobsmacked from the maneuver. Fiona isn’t yet fully refreshed and she takes a beat before following up with her challenger. Perhaps understanding that extra second has taken away any chance for a three-count, she passes on the attempt.
Instead, she unleashes a flurry of kicks to Sharpe’s rack, cracking boot after boot the challenger gamely absorbs. Finally, at somewhere past a half dozen, Waterford loads up a big one and swings through like Harry Kane. Wisely, Anna lowers the stiff upper lip façade and drops to her back, letting the boot scoot over the top of her, Fiona pirouetting to keep her balance. Anna quickly rises back up to her seat and curls her right arm around the turned Fee’s left leg. She takes it out from beneath the champ, Her Ladyship stumbling backward over Sharpe and bundled into a small package by the Rookie of the Year for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOO!
The Duchess’ frame explodes out of its ball, Fiona shoving Anna off in the process. Ending up to one knee, Waterford takes a quick glance toward the official and sighs in relief at the two raised fingers.
The delay is enough for Sharpe to land a head-snapper of a European Uppercut, dulling the senses of the Duchess. Anna grabs a wrist of the Eurasian champion and aims her at the far corner. She whips the Grande Dame in that direction, or at least that’s the plan. However, Waterford anchors and reverses, sending Sharpe scurrying cross the canvas, Anna turning into a back-first collision with the corner.
Fiona charges in after, but Sharpe leans her shoulders over the top of the cables and lifts both boot soles to meet the chest of the advancing champion. Waterford stumbles back a few steps while FAWN’s ROY hops to the middle ropes.
Before Sharpe can launch, Fiona attacks again. Swinging an arm between the raised legs of the challenger, Her Ladyship tugs Anna off her perch and into another fireman’s carry. Facing away from the corner, Waterford throws her back toward the buckles and sandwiches Sharpe’s body into the top buckle. Her foe’s squirming settling, Fiona shows she’s still got strength in those old beautiful bones, climbing perilously to the middle ropes with Sharpe still strapped to her like a backpack.
With the FAWNatics no longer sure who they want victorious, they at least cheer for mayhem and Fiona’s Channel Plunge is most definitely that. Fearlessly, Lady Waterford dives in a front flip, carrying Sharpe down with her and DRIVING Anna into the deck with style and grace.
Channel Plunge (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NR9RH1sORmU )
While Fiona ends on her bruised behind, wincing, Anna finishes in a semi-aware starfish, having learned there’s a lot more to battling a woman over twenty years in the game than beating down fresh-faced if energetic noobs.
The overwhelming brightness of the overhead light is blotted out by the overbearing champ. “Still think I'm the easy option?” Waterford is panting hard but triumphant when she gathers up Anna's legs, folding Sharpe in half for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!!
It's close, but Anna prolongs the contest, with Fee not quite able to hold those powerful limbs down for the count. Sharpe rolls to her belly and pushes right back to all fours, pride poking at her to keep things moving even after absorbing some of Her Ladyship's heaviest artillery.
Part way through a crawl to the ropes, the Rookie of the Year groans when Fiona swings a boot into her ribs. Wincing, she looks up through eyes half closed with pain. The champ is glistening under the big event glare, her underwear soaked with the effort she's put into staying wrapped in gold, but she makes it look good, like she's giving the finger to even the very concept of aging.
I'll bend that finger back until I've got you begging and pleading, bitch, Anna thinks. Reaching out, she snags the middle rope and uses it to clamber back to her feet as the ref steps in to keep Fee back. The thought enters the younger woman's head that it wasn't long ago she scorned this kind of strategy. She pushes that away quickly, raking some dirty blonde strands off her face and... walking straight into Fiona's toe kick.
"Rookies. Ha!"
The challenger's head is swiftly corralled and the ring rattles with the crisp impact of Waterford's DDT. Anna wraps both hands round her aching skull, left foot trying to stomp away the pain.
Realizing she's come up on the wrong side of her victim for the big finish she has planned, Fiona takes the hilly road to the corner, walking over Anna's body and making sure to step down hard on the soft parts, the Duchess's weight getting a groan from her prone countrywoman. Sharpe sits up holding her tit, in time to see Fiona starting her climb to the top turnbuckle.
Given her determination to rid herself of their affection, the crowd sees no reason to warn Her Ladyship of her jeopardy, and so the first she knows of the danger is when a charging Anna SLAMS an elbow into her spine. Caught with her feet on the second rope, Fee arches in agony. The big screen shows a perfect close up of her beautiful features, no amount of botox able to prevent the pain expressing itself on her stretched face.
“Don't turn your back on me, you fucking old bitch.” Sharpe ignores her aches and goes to town on the champ's lower lumbar and pantied ass, beating them numb with forearm and fists. The official starts a count and at 'FOUR', Anna ducks between Waterford's legs and turns around.
“Hey, what are you doing? Unhand me.” Fee is lifted off her perch and Anna finally gets to visit the royal box as Waterford's crotch bumps in her face, Her Ladyship's thighs draped over Anna's shoulders. On one good knee after the punishment of the match, the Rookie of the Year heads in what she hopes is a straight line for the opposite corner. After counting out the number of steps that should put her in the right spot, she hurls the champ into the corner. The powerbomb slams the back of Fiona's skull into the top turnbuckle, the violent descent leaving the Duchess propped against the ringpost like a broken doll, chest heaving, glistening legs splayed open in a v shape, head bowed.
Anna get up off her knees, having fallen after depositing her cargo. She takes a deep breath, the arena lights starting to shine a little more gold colored than white as she takes Fee by the ankle and drags her across the canvas. The Duchess leaves a sweaty track, her dark hair trailing behind her. In fact, such is the champ's unresponsiveness that the ROY considers going straight for the cover. But memories of old cooking shows prevail, and she decides Fee's mutton needs a little more time in the oven to make it tender.
Grabbing Her Ladyship's other ankle, Anna starts setting up her signature Sharpeshooter. She steps through Waterford’s legs, folds them in a familiar figure four and rolls the Duchess to her belly, the legs still locked.
Sharpeshooter (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LYdIJZBtzf0&t=33s )
The maneuver secured, Fiona howls back to life, screaming ‘NO’ to the official who’s dropped in front of her and asks if she wants to surrender the belt to the rookie. Perhaps to prevent using her hands to tap the canvas, Waterford stuffs them into her long dark locks and tears at her mane to spread the pain. From the look on her face, it isn’t working.
Changing tactics, Fiona digs her fingers into the canvas and starts dragging her body toward the ropes, hoping to break the agonizing hold with a palm around the bottom cable. As she starts to inch her way, Anna supersedes the ref’s offer to quit with a demand the Duchess do so, leaning back further on the submission to convince Her Ladyship.
Waterford yelps in pain and a flattened palm wavers over the canvas, the crowd chanting for her to ‘TAP’. But instead of the hand falling, it curls and she digs in for another slow drag to the strands, finally gripping the lowest rope and pleading with the official to force Sharpe to break her shooter.
Unsurprisingly, Anna takes the available four seconds before dismounting, the frustrated ROY, keeping one ankle in her possession. She lifts the leg high and SLAMS the knee into the deck, drawing another shout of pain from the royal. Lady Fiona draws the limb in close with one arm while keeping the other tightly coiled around the cable.
“GET HER AWAY!” the brunette demands and the official intercedes, keeping Anna back a few steps, the challenger hovering as Waterford pulls to her feet and limps a few steps to the side, still holding on.
“I’m not ready. Keep her back,” Fee insists, but Anna can only be held for so long. She wedges her way past the referee, bullying the retreating Waterford to a corner, where Sharpe dips and drives a series of shoulderblocks into Waterford’s midriff, folding Fiona further and further between the top and middle buckles with each.
Finishing the set, Sharpe withdraws, straightens and sucks in some deep breaths as she looms near the still doubled and drained Duchess.
“Can you feel the end of your reign coming?” Anna asks in a growl. Sharpe leans in close, pushing a shoulder into Waterford’s chest. She grabs a wrist, whispering. “I know you do.”
Truth imparted, Anna whips Fiona out of the corner and toward the opposite set of buckles. The flagging Fiona is unable to counter or even slow her progress as she turns and literally flies into the far corner, hitting with the incredible momentum the motivated challenger provided her. Waterford bounces out of the buckles and drunkenly staggers back toward center stage, but she never gets there.
Sharpe is on the way, dipping and nearly cutting Fiona in half with a brutal spear, Her Ladyship matchbooking around Anna until Sharpe PLANTS the champion into the mat just as harshly, the crowd groaning in a momentary sympathy pain for the arrogant titleholder.
Fiona spreads into a wide starfish from the dual impacts, Anna on all fours next to her after the vicious tackle. The challenger swipes her arms in opposite directions, proclaiming Fiona finished. She presses her body into Waterford’s in a tight perpendicular pin and the FAWNatics chant along with the slaps of the mat.
ONE…
TWO…
And while the crowd cheerily proceeds to THREE, the ref’s hand halts inches short when the stubborn Waterford slips a shoulder off the mat no more than an inch. The man jumps to his feet making sure everyone knows it’s ‘TWO’, not ingratiating himself with the pissed Rookie of the Year.
Anna lets the ref have an earful, demanding he not be so deferential to his elders. While the younger Brit continues to press her point home, Fiona stirs, slowly pushing to a seated position. The movement is enough to regain Anna’s attention and she strides to the champ, lifting Fiona by the hair, but keeping her doubled so she can insert Waterford’s head between her thighs. As Sharpe wraps her arms around Fiona’s gulping tummy, the crowd immediately tweaks to Waterford’s impending doom.
But before they can enjoy Lady Fiona’s ruthless end, Waterford batters away with rights and lefts into Anna’s ribs. They might as well be fleabites at first but as they accumulate quickly, they’re clearly an annoyance that halts Anna from her lift. Sharpe unwraps her arms to pound a forearm hammer into Waterford’s spine, dropping the regal brunette to her haunches.
Her back arched in pain, features twisted for the same reason, Fiona feels her scalp burn when Anna tugs her up to a full kneel by her hair. But Fee brings a little gift with her as she rises, namely an underhanded uppercut forearm SLAMMING into Anna’s pussy.
Sharpe’s eyes cross in anguish as she lifts to tiptoes. Her knees knock together as many in the crowd groan then jeer at Her Ladyship’s ‘ends justify the means’ tactic. With a mewling Anna ‘frozen’ before her, jaw dropped, Fiona uses her foe to reach her feet. Breathlessly, she croaks, “Can you feel your blown chance?”
Anna’s hands are reflexively buried between her thighs and Fiona borrows one of them, draping a limp arm over her shoulders while slapping her left arm more forcefully over the neck of her challenger. Waterford presses her right hand into Sharpe’s waist and takes a deep breath before vaulting the aching Anna into the air. Sending her to vertical, Her Ladyship adds a customary twist to her attack, spinning into her brutal brainbuster.
Spinning Brainbuster (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KYl3kwAM4fc )
Anna’s frame explodes from the impact, falling still on its side, Sharpe gobsmacked from the collision. Lady Waterford isn’t in the best shape herself and she lies next to the challenger for a few seconds before dragging herself to Anna, pushing her flat, and dropping flaccidly atop her foe for the…
ONE…
TWO…
THRNOOOO!
Sharpe shows she’s alive for the first time since the impact with a relatively convincing shoulder shove, Fiona pushed up to all fours. A startled Waterford glances at the official more in disbelief of the fight left than the count. He shows his two fingers and Waterford shuts her dropped jaw as she pushes to vertical. She moves to Anna and scrapes up both legs at the ankles, pulling the lower limbs wide.
“Let me show you how this is done,” Waterford says, stepping through the limbs to provide her modified sharpshooting finisher the ‘Turn of the Screw’, but before Fiona can lock it in, Anna summons her remaining reserves to twist her legs free. She wearily pushes to her feet as Waterford regains her balance.
Both on their feet, the combatants move to each other and Anna unloads with a European Uppercut that rocks the champion. A reenergized Sharpe lands another and Lady Waterford stumbles into a backpedal that puts her spine against the buckles. With the crowd urging the Rookie of the Year on, she lifts Fee to a seat on the top buckle and climbs to the middle ropes to inflict more punishment on the fading titleholder.
But a royal right cross below the waist stops Anna in her tracks, Fiona quickly flings an arm over the back of Sharpe’s neck and, before the ROY can think to counter, Fiona launches Sharpe high into the Orlando sky. Simultaneously, Her Ladyship takes flight from her elevated position and SPIKES Anna into the canvas with her Clock Tower.
Clock Tower (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3lZ7mNPvQc )
The ‘BOOM’ of the impact is stomach-churning for the fans and Anna’s motionless body tells the tale of the aftermath, the tenacious rookie left a smoldering pile by Her Ladyship. It takes a moment for Fiona to regain her bearings but she throws her body over Anna’s, hooking a limp leg for good measure. But there’s no need after that fall from grace and it’s a perfunctory…
ONE…
TWO…
THREEE!
…for the champion.
Waterford releases the leg and turns to lounge on the stilled Sharpe, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. Slowly, she raises her arms as the ring announcer makes her Mania success official.
“Your winner…and STILL FAWN Eurasian champion…Lady Fiona Waterford!”
Fiona willingly accepts an assist from the referee who helps the champ to her feet and hands over the gold. She raises the belt high with both hands to a chorus of boos and transfers it to one so she can flip off the less than adoring crowd.
Moving to a stirring Anna, she settles in a standing forward straddle of Sharpe’s chest. Speaking in hushed tones, she offers “You might be title worthy someday, some day when I’m on a beach in Monaco having retired as the champion.”
Per their pre-match agreement, Fiona puts the toe of her boot to Anna's lips, but luckily for the beaten blonde, she seems happy to leave it at that. She steps atop Anna’s tummy, pressing down with all her body weight (and the weight of the belt) on her departure, Sharpe coughing back to life as Her Ladyship exits, still the Queen of two continents.