Post by samiamnot on Jan 1, 2018 5:31:45 GMT
[OOC Note: A lot of (mostly good) family stuff caused this to be too late for me to turn it in for the PPV that went up today, so I'm posting it here because... well, seasonally, it won't make sense later. Thanks to Jackflash Jump for letting me borrow Desire, and apologies to him and DSB for being so late on it]
The camera pulls back, revealing the Arena that, for over a decade, has been home to FAWN, as well as the Orlando night skyline, glowing with lights. A slow fade cuts to a studio back lot, the same skyline in the distance. The view pans, past warehouses, past lighting, to a cul-de-sac straight out of a Christmas movie. Street lights, mailboxes, snow – or the best facsimile one can dream of in Florida. Yards are decked out with Christmas decorations, snowmen, trees, and children's toys. Thirteen houses – or the facades of thirteen houses – stand, covered in blinking lights and wreathes. In each house's driveway are cars seemingly caked with weeks of snow, sitting just at the lips of their icicle encrusted garages. It's perfect for a postcard.
The camera pans down to the center of the street, where stands… Santa Claus? A fat, rosy cheeked man in a thick white beard and Claus jacket holds his belly and laughs heartily. His jacket is opened to revel a referee's white and black stripes.
“Ho ho ho!” the jolly old elf laughs. “Merry Christmas, one and all! Welcome to FAWN's Caroling Catfight! This is where the Naughty meet the Nice for the ultimate contest to see who can break whose Christmas Spirit!” The throws his head back for a hearty laugh, his belly shaking like a plate of gelatin salad someone's aunt brought to the holiday potluck. “The rules are simple. No disqualification. No pinning. Anything the fighters can find and use is fair game.” He looks back the houses. “And if the fighters want something special, they can go caroling at the doors and the fine folks will reward them with something special. Maybe a weapon, maybe a prize, or maybe,” he grins back at the camera, “a stocking full of coal.
“Now, lets introduce our embattled elves! First, from Bone Gnaw, Indiana, standing five feet, five inches and one hundred nineteen pounds… she's always on the Nice List… SHELBY MUSTANG!”
SHELBY MUSTANG:
“ROCKING AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE” by LEANN RIMES
The camera slowly pans to stage left, where the Trailer Park Princess steps from behind a tree. Donning red leopard print bikini bottoms and a tied-off green babydoll, complete with flickering LED Christmas lights, and a light up star hair clip, she easily the cutest tree any FAWNatic could hope to put up. Even her winter boots have long red gift ribbons on them. She strikes a pose, showing her figure, to the camera before blowing a kiss.
The camera cuts back to Santa. “And her opponent, standing at five feet, eight inches and one hundred eighteen pounds… from Toronto, Ontario and a permanent resident on the Naughty List… DESIRE THE NAUGHTY SCHOOL GIRL!”
DESIRE THE NAUGHTY SCHOOL GIRL:
“SANTA BABY” by EARTHA KITT
As the first “ba-boom” of “Santa Baby” sounds out over the yards, the camera slowly pans to stage right. From between the shadows of two cars, slinks Desire. The leggy blonde wears – well, barely wears – a tube top designed to look like Santa's coat, complete the fur trim. The red velvet strains against the FAWN vet's bust, showing off plenty of cleavage and underboob. Her red velvet booty shorts have a black belt and a garter belt made of holy. Green fishnets stretch down into black ankle boots. The outfit is completed by a Santa hat. Desire sways and shimmies to her holiday entrance music, sliding over to one of the street's two streetlamps. She grabs on and swings around it, showing off some tricks that prove she's no stranger to pole dancing. Finally, she dismounts, bending over so the camera can drink in her tops hidden treasures. She slowly rises, placing a hand on her hip and licking her lip. She curls a seductive smile.
“It's… it's really damned cold,” Desire sputters in a chilled voice, not breaking her look.
“Yeah, I don't think I woulda dressed like this if I'd known,” Shelby speaks up.
Santa Red laughs heartily. “That's because this is real snow, shaved from ice. And, thanks to movie magic, we're able to make it feel like you're fighting in a gentle Christmas breeze.”
Desire looks down at the two poking outlines of her top. “Maybe a little more gentle? I want to beat her senseless, not cut glass.”
“Like I said earlier, there's no DQ, anything goes,” Kris Kringle continues. “The only way to win is by knockout or submission.”
“No,” Desire snaps, glaring at Shelby. “No knockout. Submission only. You agree?” The hate drips from Desire's voice. She still remembers the loss to this upstart brat and it smarts. Sure, she got a little revenge post match, but Desire needs a “W” to slam down on this rookie punk.
Shelby shrugs. “If you're that intent on submitting to me, ya big Christmas Ho.”
Desire's face begins to turn as red as Santa Ref's jacket.
“Good enough for me,” the elf yells. He pulls a large brass bell from his coat pocket and begins ringing. “Ho, ho, ho! Let's get this fight started!”
Desire doesn't need to be told twice. She rushed across the asphalt and locks onto Shelby's arms, but the Trailer Park Princess falls backwards into a monkeyflip. Desire soars into the first yard, landing flat on her back in the snow. She sinks in a good six inches and lets out a shriek.
“THIS IS REALLY COLD!” the ring vet bellows.
“Like your heart, Grinch!” Shelby cackles as she hops up. She runs to Desire and leaps, landing boots first on the embodiment of fantasy's breasts. Desire sputters as Shelby hops up against, bringing her legs up and slamming both knees down into Desire's biggest assets. The Schoolgirl grunts and moans helplessly while Mustang clasps her hands together, raises them in a double ax handle, and slams them into Desire's waiting belly. The Canadian Dream shakes violently before tilting and dislodging her attacker. Desire pushes herself up, coughing and shivering, her backside coated with snow.
This isn't going the way it's supposed to, she thinks to herself.
Shelby gets to her feet and spies the nearby snowman, clutching a broom. She snags it and twirls it like a baton. “Perfect! I got me some trash I need to take care of!” She swings the broom towards Desire, the bristles barely missing as the blonde jerks out of the way. A couple more swipes miss their mark before Desire manages to catch the weapon. Instead of trying to yank it from Shelby's mitts, Desire shoves it back into Mustang. The end of the broomstick stabs into Shelby's gut and the woman gasps. Her grip instantly released, Desire pulls the broom away and stabs again – this time going right into Shelby's throat. As the white trash royal gags, Desire hauls back and cracks the broomstick across her temple. Shelby spins down, landing on all fours, wheezing.
Desire drops to her knees behind Shelby, grinding her crotch against Shelby's plum butt. Grabbing a handful of the rookie's short cropped hair, she cranks her head back as far as she can and shoves the broomstick in her face. “I know it must be hard to not be hot and bothered in the presence of so much woman,” Desire moans into Shelby's ear, “so let me cool you down a bit.” Desire drops the stick and grabs a handful of snow. Immediately, that fistful of snow goes down the back of Shelby's bottoms, finding its way between her thighs.
Shelby shrieks as the ice touches her womanhood. Cold shocks shoot up her abdomen as she howls and reaches to pull the snow out, but Desire has other plans. The Schoolgirl slams a mighty twat-swat, making sure some of the snow gets to know its host inside and out. The Canadian then starts to rise and drives the point, and her knee, home – home, of course, being Shelby's crotch.
Mustang immediately falls face forward into the snow, clutching herself and whimpering, while Desire rises. She admires the handiwork, but feels it just needs… something more. As Shelby rolls onto her back it hits the Canadian beauty. She straddles Shelby's head and drops to a split, her crotch slamming full-force on the rookie's mouth and nose. “Your warm breath feels nice,” Desire says, wiggling. “I'm gonna have to remember that.”
The human fetish looks up at the front door to the house and thinks, remembering Santa Ref's words. Weapons… presents… She stands and walks over to the door. She turns the handle but it's locked. Desire bangs on the door. “Hey,” she yells. “Hey, open up and give me something!”
“That's not how it works,” Santa Ref yells from the street. “This is a Caroling Catfight. You have to carol.”
Desire sighs. “Really? We're doing this?” She inhales sharply. “Fine.” She steps back and belts out a few lyrics.
“Deck the halls with Shelby's folly
Fa la la la la la la la la
She's gonna feel like she was hit by a trolly
Fa la la la la la la la la
I can't wait to strip her of her apparel
Fa la la la la la la la la
She's gonna learn about sexy, sexy peril
Fa la la la la la la la la.”
The door swings open, barely missing Desire. Out pops a mannequin on a track, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. It holds out a tray bearing a mug of cocoa and a long strap of leather – maybe three feet – adorned with sleigh bells. Desire picks up the cocoa and sips, making a sour face. “Instant?” She empties the mug and slings it at Shelby, who's just getting to her feet. The ceramic mug bounces off the younger woman's shoulder blade, making her body seize in pain. Desire holds up the thin leather strap and jingles it. A cruel smile spreads across her face.
Shelby is barely up on shaky legs before she feels the sting against her bare back. Another crack of leather and jingle of bells sounds as Desire slaps her makeshift whip across Mustang's back. Reflexively, Shelby grabs the point of impact. Desire rewards that hand with a slap from the strap, and then rains a series of whips across the back of Shelby's legs.
“This is the best Christmas ever!” Desire chortles. As Shelby stumbles back down to her knees, Desire stands behind her and wraps the leather around her neck, pulling it tight into a choke. The Indiana girl claws at the whip, trying to undo it, but no luck. The Schoolgirl drives a knee between Shelby's shoulders, planting the woman face-first into the snow. “Surrender,” Desire demands. “You're trash. You know you're trash. Just admit it, let me have my fun, and maybe – just maybe – I'll let you enjoy it, too.” Desire giggles. “You'd look good in a harness, pulling a sleigh. How'd you like to be my little reindeer?”
What Shelby replies is too muffled by the snow but, most likely, it's a less than polite version of telling Desire to go stuff her own stocking.
“Suit yours, tramp,” Desire laughs, digging her knee in. “You agreed to no knockouts. That means just more time playing with your prone waste of space.” The strap tightens around Shelby's neck. The trailer park star stops grabbing at the strap and, instead, pushes herself up. She grabs Desire under her legs and hoists the woman for a piggyback ride. The Toronto Tart's been around the ring a few times and knows this isn't good. She immediately begins pulling the strap tighter but Shelby doesn't stop. Instead, she launches into a sprint, barreling into the second yard.
At first, Desire is confused. Then she it hits her.
Literally. Right in the face, as Shelby falls forward and slams the head of her attacker into the roof of a Nativity scene's wooden manger. Desire eats holiness and rolls off of Shelby, cradling her face.
In the street, Santa Ref looks concerned. “Ho… ho… hooo no, let's not do this.”
Too late. Shelby hefts up Joseph from the scene. He's not heavy, but… ceramic? Not quite. Shelby doesn't know a lot about art, but she knows what she likes. And anything she can use to clobber Desire with, she likes.
“Silent night,” Shelby sings as she brings the carpenter's visage across the side of Desire's head. “Holy night!” She hammers Joseph down on Desire's shoulder, a crack forming in his forehead. “All it calm, all is BRIGHT!” She breaks the carpenter into a thousand shards across Desire's back and looks disappointed at the emptiness in her hands. As Desire rolls around in agony, Shelby's eyes drift to the visage of Mary.
“Round yon virgin,” Shelby says to herself.
“THAT COUNTS AS SINGING!” Santa Ref screams. “For God's sake, open the door so she'll spare some of the holy family!”
Dutifully, the house's door swings open and another mannequin in a Christmas sweater rolls out holding a tray. On the tray is a single Christmas ornament. Shelby picks it up and weighs it in her hand. It's not heavy. It's not glass or plastic. It's… paper? Yes, a paper bulb ornament, blue, covered in snowflakes. Mustang holds it up to the light and sees something inside. Something fine and sifting. Shelby's eyes widen.
Oh, this is dirty. She loves it.
“Okay, you little bitch,” Desire roars behind her. “That's how we're playing? I can be an iconoclast, too!” Shelby turns around to see Desire running at her, the baby Jesus raised in her hands and ready to come down and bless the younger fighter across the noggin. In the street, Santa Ref weeps and cries something about everyone going to Hell. Shelby rips the top off the paper ornament and chucks its contents into Desire's face. A bright white cloud of powder sinks into her eyes, blinding the Amazon. Desire shrieks and drops the Messiah as her eyes tear up and redden.
“Let me give you a hand,” Shelby sings. She turns to the mannequin, yanks its arm off, and slams it across Desire's jaw. Flipping the arm around, Shelby looks at Desire's bottoms. “And since it's Christmas, up the chimney we go!” She ramps the shoulder of the dummy's arm straight up between Desire's legs. The Schoolgirl gasps and stumbles back. Tossing the arm aside, Shelby launches at her foe and, ironically enough, schoolgirl pushes Desire backwards over the Nativity scene.
Desire lands on hey and snow, scattering shepherds and animals. Shelby hops on top of the manger and drops an elbow, catching Desire in the chest. “Aw, boo!” the princess whines. “I wanted something with less padding.” She smirks at the downed woman. “But since I'm here, you need a little more red to really be in the Christmas spirit.” Shelby grabs hold of Desire's juggs and rips her nails down the exposed cleavage. Red scratches brighten and the toppled wrestler screams out.
“It's better to give than receive,” Shelby sings as she mauls Desire's rack, “and I have so much I need to give you after last time.” Desire desperately tries to fend the younger woman off but, like a pitbull, Shelby is locked in tight. “This isn't normally my thing but, for you, I'm happy to make an exception.” She twists as she starts to get up, yanking Desire to her feet by her boobs. When Desire's almost to her feet the short-haired woman slams the toe of her boot into Desire's kneecap. The Toronto Tart stumbles forward, only to be caught in a fireman's carry.
“Yes, yes,” Santa Ref laughs nervously. “Now, let's get away from that scene of holy import.”
Shelby shakes her head. “But He's the Reason for the Season, and I want to make sure that message really sinks in.”
“Shelby, no,” Santa Ref whimpers.
“Shelby, yes,” Shelby replies as she drops Desire over the manger, slamming her back down. The shoddy wooden structure gives way and crashes under the Schoolgirl's weight. Desire lies in a jumble, dazed, nearly blind, and on the verge of tears. Shelby leans down. “Want to give in?”
“I… I...” Tears well up in Desire's eyes.
“Yes?” Shelby leans in closer.
“I can't believe how stupid you are!” Desire bellows, shattering a wise man across Shelby's brow. As Shelby stumbles away, cursing, the Schoolgirl crawls from the wreckage and surveys her damage. Scratches all over her back and breasts. Rips in the back of her tube top and bottoms, showing her butt off nicely. Normally Desire would love that but in this manufactured weather it was less than optimal.
Desire storms over to Shelby, grabbing a handful of hair, and slams a fist into her belly over and over, before finally clocking her across the jaw. Shelby spirals away but Desire grabs her by the back of her bikini bottoms and yanks up and back. Mustang's eyes bulge and the fabric vanishes between her cheeks. To make sure it's in there deep, Desire lifts Shelby and drops her crotch across an outstretched knee. The Schoolgirl takes a minute to enjoy Shelby's whimpers before shoving her back into the snow.
Desire looks around the “neighborhood,” trying to see if there's anything she can do to really put the hurt on this pipsqueak. Most of the decorations are inflatable. A lot of snow. Sure, she could toss her against a car but that's not likely to get submission. In the next year, Desire notices something the first two didn't have – a shoveled walkway. That means there's a snow shovel. Again, not a submission tool but it'll take a lot of the fight out of Shelby.
She grabs Mustang by the ankles and drags her through the snow into the next year, all the way to the walk. Desire reaches down and feels it. Real concrete. “Oh, Christmas miracles,” Desire laughs. She hauls the mess that is Shelby up to her feet, tucks her head between her thighs, and powerbombs the Trailer Park Princess onto the concrete. Shelby's head hits snow but her back eats nothing but walkway. Her eyes bulge and she moans instantly. Desire leans down.
“I'll… I'll take you a-apart,” Shelby groans.
“Still too much fight in you,” Desire says, clucking her tongue in disapproval. She cracks a backhand across Shelby's face. “Now you be a good girl. Mama's gonna go look in the garage for a special surprise.” Desire walks towards the third house's driveway, taking care to walk up the length of Shelby's body, where she lifts garage door and vanishes in.
Shelby rolls over onto her hands and knees, pushing up to a wobbly stumble. Her ribs moan. She knows she's going to have a monster bruise on her back. She takes a step and falls to the side. Her body vibrates with pain. Desire… did a number on her. She hates to admit that to herself, that a woman she sees as little more than a glorified fantasy is actually bringing the pain, but it's true. She'd been able to right off their previous meeting as being caught off guard but this time….
Shelby pushes herself up again and walks to the house's door. Then it clicks. She steps back and sings the first few lines of “The First Noel.” Shelby didn't grow up in the most religious trailer so she misplaces words, but she tries her best and apparently it's enough. The door swings open and a third mannequin rolls out on a track. Its tray presents gingerbread cookies and a nutcracker. She shoves a cookie in her mouth but eyes the nutcracker. It's flimsy, cheap wood. One good crack, maybe. It probably won't even hurt. Her head turns as she hears Desire's footsteps in the garage. Shelby looks back at the tray the cookies and nutcracker sit on.
The solid, thick tray.
Desire emerged from the garage holding a large baseball bat, wrapped in lights, with the words “YULE LOG” carved in the handle. “Man, I can't wait to find new places to--” Desire doesn't finish the sentence before the solid wood tray slams into her nose. Desire drops the bat, which lands at Shelby's feet. Tossing the tray aside, Mustang sucker punches the taller woman, getting her to bend down. Shelby reaches up and wraps her arm around Desire's head before launching her into a Jumping Shoulder Jawbreaker!
JUMPING SHOULDER JAWBREATER (at 0:10)
Desire's face meets the Yule Log fast, right between the eyes. She flops backwards, clutching her face and wailing. Shelby pushes Desire's legs upwards and wraps a scissor hold around the Schoolgirl's waist. Immediately, Mustang slaps a crotch claw onto Desire. The sexy blonde writhes in agony, trying to break free but finding no escape.
“End this,” Shelby demands. “Give in and I'll just walk away. No humiliation.”
“I am NEVER submitting to you, redneck!” Desire shrieks. Shelby tightens the scissors and a moan escapes from Desire's mouth. That moan makes Shelby think. This is, after all, FAWN. There are certain things she herself never considered doing in a match. But this is a catfight. And this is Desire. The woman who fondled and played with her on a PPV not a year ago. She owes her, but also she might… respond better to a different type of attack. The mere idea makes Shelby blush, but she decides she should at least try.
Shelby loosens the belt on Desiree's bottoms and slides her hand up the back, along Desire's ass, and seeking out the prize between her thighs. The outline of hand movement can be seen in the crotch of Desire's bottoms. Suddenly, the Canadian's moaning stops. She looks up at Shelby quizzically. Shelby bites her lower lip, trying to be seductive.
“See, this isn't so bad, right?” Mustang says. “Just give in and we can have more of this.”
“This?” Desire asks. “What… what exactly is this?”
“Y'know,” Shelby says with an embarrassed giggle, “doesn't it feel good?”
“No, I really don't--” Desire's eyes widen. “Do you think this is getting me off?”
Shelby's face goes pale. “Well, I mean, I just—”
“It's not a dick,” Desire spits. “You can't just put your hand in the general vicinity and magic happens. Holy hell, how do you not know how to--” The Schoolgirl shakes her head. “We have the same parts! I know this! Have you NEVER gotten a woman off?”
Shelby freezes like a deer in headlights. The truth is, no, she hasn't. Her experiences are… limited to say the least, in both love and fighting FAWN style. The embarrassed rookie stammers, humiliation taking her over. Desire seizes the opportunity to pull her legs back and stomp both feet into Shelby's face. The rookie spills backwards, slamming her head on the driveway. Both women roll backwards, hop up and lock at the shoulders. Desire drives Shelby back into the car parked behind her, but the confusion on her face is now replaced with laughter.
“You REALLY didn't know what you were doing?!” Desire cackles. “Like, do you want me to make a map for you next time?”
“Shut up,” Shelby hisses.
But desire laughs harder. “There are high school seniors who more competently fumble their way to success in the back of cars than you, a grown woman, did – ON TELEVISION!”
“I assumed someone as old as you clinging to the name 'Schoolgirl' would like it confused and fumbling,” Shelby spits back.
But Desire guffaws. “No, honey, there's no going back from this!”
“How about this?” Shelby slams a headbutt Desire right into the bridge of her nose. The Schoolgirl swears as Mustang connects to the bruise the bat made. Another headbutt slams against Desire's face but this seems to only enrage her. The older fighter brings her knee up into Shelby's crotch and, again, into her stomach. Mustang loosens her grip and Desire plunges her thumbs into the rookie's eyes. Desire rips Shelby's head sides to side, grinding her thumbs in until she feels tears. She pulls away from the car and slings the rookie into the next yard. Mustang lands on her side, blinded.
Desire kicks her onto her back before dropping a knee onto her stomach. She slides her hand past the waistband of Shelby's bottoms, seeking out the sweet meat. She knows she found it when Shelby's eyes light up and her mouth rounds. “That, my dear, is what you were looking for,” Desire purrs. “So much pleasure.” She watches Shelby try to hold herself together at Desire's gentle, welcoming touch. But then, like a cat, Desire sinks her nails in and rips. “And so much pain!” Shelby howls like a wounded animal.
“Oh, don't use up all your screams,” Desire growls as she dives her talons into Shelby's top. She begins grinding them like she's trying to make hamburger patties. “You sniveling, insignificant little worm! I've busted my ass here for years and little waifs like you show up, bat your eyelashes, and get everything you want!” She twists Shelby's orbs likes she's trying to unlock a safe. “Well, that big-boobed blonde hooker and her little goth toy aren't here to save you tonight! You will belong to me!”
Desire feels a kick in her back and realizes how limber the little punk is. It infuriates her. She hoists Shelby up by her tits and flings her backwards into the car they struggled against. Shelby head bounces off the passenger side window. Desire rises, cups the side of Mustang's head, and slams her face into the car's door over and over and over until Shelby stops struggling and just slumps.
Desire looks down, triumphant. But her smug smile vanishes. “Oh, goddamnit, I made her go with submissions only.” She looks at the slumbering beauty and sighs. As she steps back, FAWN camera crews swirl around and zoom in on Shelby.
“You guys are seriously going to just document her… being out like a light?” Desire asks, but she's ignored. Their headpieces are piping in ringside commentary and production demands. Desire steps back, annoyed, and then remembers the doors of the houses. She looks at the one near her. She walks towards it and belts out, half-hearted:
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
May your blah be blah blah blah open up.”
Nothing.
At first.
There's a kick on the other side of the door. A second and the door pops open. The mannequin stands there, but doesn't roll out. It's track is disabled. Its hands, outstretched, are missing the tray. Desire blinks, looks back to Santa Ref and the camera men and slowly moving Shelby… no one pays attention to her. She shrugs and steps into the doorway.
As a facade, it's supposed to be nothing more than a backdrop and some lights. She peers in and sees that.
And a shapely redhead in sexy Santa lingerie, sitting on a stool.
RUE ANN MACKENNA:
Rue Ann MacKenna raises a mug of eggnog to her lips and sips. “Don't mind me, cutie pie. I just needed a break from the family. You know how holidays get.”
Desire freezes. She has not had the best record with other “villains” in FAWN. She's seen this little firebrand around and knows she's unpredictable. She studies her, half expecting the hillbilly to launch off the stool off of her.
Instead, Rue Ann looks down at her own generous cleavage to see a bit of eggnog spilled. “Oh, no!” she says in a coquettish voice. She looks back up at Desire and licks her lips. “Be a dear and get that for me?” Desire doesn't react, but Rue only smiles sweetly. She glances at the mannequin. “It was a Rudolph doll, by the way. Kinda stupid. I guess that was the point. But I think you deserve better than that.” She pulls a stocking from behind her back and dangles it. “C'mon, pretty. Gotta see what Santa Rue brought you.”
Desire nervously looks back at the commotion outside. Still, she's unnoticed. It would normally bruise her ego but this time? She slides into the fake house and approaches Rue Ann, who hands her the stocking. Desire looks into it.
“Coal,” she says, almost offended.
Rue Ann's fingertips trace Desire's side. “Well, you're a Naughty girl, aren't you?” she teases. “Me, too. And we naughty girls know, coal is more useful than candy.” Rue Ann's fingers glide up Desire's body, making her hair stand up with mixed feelings of excitement and worry. Their eyes lock. She traces a finger along Desire's lip. “Nice girls are meant to be sweet but we naughty girls, we're meant to burn the world down.” Rue's eyes flash with an evil glee but not directed towards Desire.
“Why are you doing this?” Desire asks.
Rue Ann shrugs. “No one should be alone at the holidays, right? Or maybe I'm your secret Santa. Or maybe,” the pixie smile returns, “I'm hoping we'll have a really happy New Year.”
Desire weighed what Rue Ann was saying. “And if I say no?”
“Then you say no,” Rue Ann replies, putting the stocking in her hands. “But if you say yes, you'll be able to contact me.”
“Just like that?” Desire says, not trusting the situation.
“Presents come with no strings attached, otherwise they aren't presents. They're bribes,” Rue offers. “I'm not here to bribe you. I'm not here to do anything but offer… my friendship.” Desire again feels the hand trace down the side of her body before resting on her hip. “Remember, though, the best stuff is always in the stocking's toe. Merry Christmas, Desire.”
“Merry Christmas, Rue Ann,” Desire replies. She glances down at the eggnog on Rue Ann's breast. Then, leaning down, she gently licks it off. The two look back at each other once more. Rue Ann presses her forehead to Desire's. “The runt's getting up, sweetheart. Spread her Christmas Cheer wide open.” Desire can smell her perfume – it's a mix of cinnamon and something she can't quite place, but it burns into her nose. As she turns to leave the facade, Desire feels a gentle swat on her rear. She looks back and sees Rue Ann beaming. “Look, it's practically hanging out of that hole,” the hillbilly giggles.
Desire stumbles out of the facade, eying the stocking.
“Okay, bitch, “Shelby says, stumbling over, cameramen in tow. “We're gonna end thi--” The Indianan stops, seeing what's in Desire's hands, and starts laughing. “You got coal? Wow, did the real Santa plan this out?”
Desire cocks her head to the side, then smiles. “Know what's funnier than that?”
“What?” Shelby asks.
“Physical humor,” the Schoolgirl replies, slamming the stocking upside the runt's head. To her shock, Shelby drops like a ton of bricks. The FAWN vet eyes the coal. Sure, it's hard, but….
The best stuff is always in the stocking's toe, Rue had said.
Desire shoves her hand into the bottom of the stocking and fishes around. She yanks out… mistletoe. Desire smiles wickedly at the insinuation and possibilities, but still it's hardly a match ender. She reaches in once more and feels and feels…
… something cold and hard. Something solid, with four holes that perfectly fit her fingers.
Oh. Oooooooh. Desire's eyes light up light a Christmas tree. It really is going to be a holly, jolly Christmas.
Shelby gets to her feet, wobbling, and obviously barely able to hold herself up. Something is in that sock. The fabric and something else cushioned the blow a little, but it hurt bad and nearly took her out. She looks at Desire, who's already grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “This isn't over yet, bitch,” Shelby hisses.
“Of course not,” Desire chimes. “Christmas isn't over until I unwrap the last present. Granted, I usually prefer my toys to be better wrapped but, it's the thought that counts.”
Shelby launches at the older woman, arms outstretched for a catch. Desire slams her stockinged fist across Shelby's jaw and the younger woman spills back into the snow. She clutches her jaw. Desire can hit hard but not that hard. She looks back up at the woman, who shakes the sock off. In her coal-covered hand is gripped a pair of brass knuckles, painted red and white like a candy cane. Across the bridge are engraved the words, “HO HO HO.”
“That's not what that house has,” Santa Ref yells, dropping his Father Christmas affectations. “There aren't supposed to be brass knuckles in any of the houses. This ends--”
“When she submits,” Desire yells back as she throws a punch down, barely missing Shelby's knee. The blonde sweeps her long hair from her eyes and looks hungrily at Mustang, but answers the ref. “No DQs, remember?”
“That wasn't mean--” He trails off. There's no answer he can offer. “Where did you get that?”
Desire launches at Shelby, who rolls and tries to sprint from a seated position. The Canadian manages to slam the knuckles into Shelby's right calf, full force, and the young rookie yells out in pain. Her unarmed hands dives into Shelby's hair and cranks her head back. Desire looks up and, across the cul-de-sac, she sees a shapely shadow skulking between the house facades, seeming to blow her a kiss. “A guardian angel came to remind me it's a wonderful life.” She rips Shelby backwards, dropping her onto her back. Dropping to a seat on Shelby's face, Desire raises her fist. “And every time a little slut loses, an angel gets her wings.”
A steady stream of blows slam down onto Shelby's gut. Bruises begin darkening her pale skin immediately. With her hands pinned under Desire's knees there's little the rookie can do but take the pounding and offer muffled screams into Desire's sound-absorbing ass.
“That looks bad,” Desire laughs, admiring the blue and purple spots she's made on Shelby. “You're gonna need some ice.” She grabs a handful of snow and spreads it around, soliciting more shivers from her trapped prey. Then, ripping off Mustang's top, exposing her b-cups to the cold winter air and making sure her nips stand to attention. Desire begins pounding on them, trying to make their complexion matches her stomachs. Again, frantic screams are muffled from below. Tears of pain begin pouring from Shelby's eyes and she's humiliated this tramp has managed to put her in this situation.
If you don't submit, Shelby tells herself, she can't win. Don't submit. It's just pain. Eventually they have to end the match or you'll get a chance to turn the tables.
After three solid minutes of punching, couples with twisting and scratching, the Schoolgirl's attention trains on Shelby's bottoms. The Royal Redneck flails with renewed vigor at the mere thought of what those brass knuckles are going to slam against now, but the struggle aggravates her battered body and the soreness fights against her. Desire finally just rips the bikini bottoms from Shelby's body. She feels the knuckles gentle trace the lips of her womanhood.
There's a muffled mumble from under Desire. It's not a scream like the others. The taller woman raises herself just slightly and the night breeze chills the tear-damp shredded fabric of her own bottoms. “Repeat that?” Silence except for heavy breathing. Desire traces the knuckles along Shelby's crotch again. “I don't ask twice.”
“Please don't,” Shelby whimpers.
“Awww, is baby scared?” Desire growls. She looks down at the spread legs before her. “It looks like it could take a pounding. I bet it has.”
“Please,” Shelby whines, more desperate. “Please don't.”
“Is that a submission?” Desire asks.
No answer.
“Is that--”
“No,” Shelby replies, angry, but terrified. Desire raises the knuckles, but stops. No, this isn't how she ends the match. She was wrong about what the match ender was. She rises, looking to the shadows across the way. The same figure stands in the shadows, watching her. The Schoolgirl slings the knuckles over the facade behind her, well out of reach of herself and, more importantly, Shelby. She stands and goes to the stocking, laying in the snow. Kneeling, she pulls out the mistletoe. She looks back at the shadow, who steps slightly into the light between houses. Rue offers a smile, a nod, and vanishes into the darkness behind her.
Shelby is to her knees, cringing. The shame of begging hurts almost as much as the deep bruises in her ribs. And it's recorded. It's broadcast. She tries to rise but falls back into the snow. Mustang looks back at the camera men, training their tools and lights on her. She tries to look away, to hide the flush of her face. She tries to stand again, and this time falls face forward, flat.
Naked, face down in fake snow, crying. It's not the first time she's rang the new year in like this, but it's the most painful and embarrassing.
“Up and at 'em,” Desire says, yanking Shelby up by her arm. She drags her to the closest streetlight. “We end this now. I have shit to do.”
Mustang musters her most defiant voice possible. “Beat me all you want but I'm never giving in to you.”
Desire smiles. “Oh, sweetheart, breaking your bones and leaving you bloody ain't my style. I've got a secret weapon.” She raises the mistletoe from her side and holds it over Shelby's head. “Merry Christmas.”
Shelby opens her mouth to ask just what her foe plans to do with that plant but a long, passionate kiss from the Schoolgirl shuts her up. Shelby's eyes pop as she slaps at the taller woman, trying to push her off. Desire leans the wounded fighter up against the streetlamp, wrapping her arms tightly around the woman and pressing her close, breast to breast. The kiss is unexpected… and warm… and… nice?
Shelby feels her ears warm and tingle as the kiss grows more intense. Desire's lips trail from her trail from her mouth, down her neck, biting her gently. Shocked mewling escapes Shelby's lips as the arms around her begin exploring her body. The Canadian slides her toy around, aiming Mustang's naked front at the camera men and a blushing Santa Ref. As she sinks her teeth gently into Shelby's neck, one hand teases her nipples and the other glides south, caressing her O Holy Night. The touch makes Shelby gasp.
“I can stop,” Desire giggles. Shelby opens her mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. “You don't want me to, though,” the Schoolgirl says.
Shelby can only mouth a silent, “No.”
Desire falls back into the snow, landing on her butt, and pulling Mustang into her lap. She laces her legs over Shelby's, prying them open to make sure nothing isn't in view as her fingers intimately dive into and explore Shelby. For her part, the Rookie's body feels like it's melting in Desire's arm and what little energy she has goes into writhing and moaning, riding the hand pleasuring her. Desire whispers into her ear things she can barely understand but the mere hiss and warmth of her words hypnotizes Shelby. She's never felt… this before. And she wants more. She wants all of it. She needs it. She gives in completely to the woman controlling her.
Finally, Mustang's breathes get shorter and harder. Her breasts heave hard and she begins to shudder. She's close. So close to releasing for the world to see, but she needs that burst. She rides harder and just when she's about to… Desire pulls her hand away.
Shelby gives Desire a look both frantic and wearing. Her body is done from the beating it's taken but her libido has never been so hungry. Desire reads her mind.
“No. You don't finish unless you submit.”
Shelby's face flashes with rage. Rage that Desire thinks she'd just give in for a quickie. But Desire's fingers touch her once more, in the perfect spot and her body seizes. That's when it hits her. Desire's been playing her like a fiddle at a concert, and she let her. But worst of all, she needs to hear the song's end.
Desire bites her earlobe. “Submit and I finish you, toy. Don't submit, and I beat you senseless and use you to finish myself and you're just clam-jammed. Either way, we both know you're losing tonight.”
Shelby wants to argue but the deep bruises in her body seem to corroborate Desire's assessment. And her body screams for Desire's touch. Still, she stares into the unblinking eyes of the camera, ashamed.
But the shame can always be worse. And it will be.
Shelby hangs her head. “I submit,” she whispers.
Desire cups her jaw and raises it so Shelby is looking into the cameras. “Louder for the peanut gallery.”
“I submit,” Shelby whimpers loudly.
The familiar clang of a handbell sounds from Santa Ref. “Your winner, by submission – DESIRE THE NAUGHTY SCHOOLGIRL!” Desire stands, beaming, looking across the way but not seeing Rue's form – just FAWN security with flashlights. Still, cryptic messages and the kindness of hillbillies can be pondered later. She won. Desire licks the fingers, tasting Shelby's delicious defeat. She looks down at the woman naked, seated at her feet. Desire leans down and coos into her ear. “Good girl. Do you still need me to finish you off?”
Shelby nods her head, her eyes full of want. Desire smiles, then slams a kick into the back of Shelby's head. The attack sends Mustang forward, her face slamming into the streetlamp. The very much metal and not a plastic prop streetlamp. The Trailer Park Princess falls to her side, unconscious.
The cameras train on her as medics run to her aid. Typical, Desire thinks as she plods away. But she hears feet in the snow. Looking back, one camera is following her.
Desire is the focal point of attention. She grins, and continues to walk away, making sure to give a seductive exit full of hip swagger. She stops again, looks to the camera man and whistles, then points down before walking past the facades and off the dark lot. The camera pans down to the coal stained stocking, face up in the snow. For the first time, the camera sees the design on the front. It zooms in.
Santa, riding his sleigh. Common, simple. But the words underneath him offer a message not normal for the season.
“Hedonism Is Coming To Town.”
The camera pulls back, revealing the Arena that, for over a decade, has been home to FAWN, as well as the Orlando night skyline, glowing with lights. A slow fade cuts to a studio back lot, the same skyline in the distance. The view pans, past warehouses, past lighting, to a cul-de-sac straight out of a Christmas movie. Street lights, mailboxes, snow – or the best facsimile one can dream of in Florida. Yards are decked out with Christmas decorations, snowmen, trees, and children's toys. Thirteen houses – or the facades of thirteen houses – stand, covered in blinking lights and wreathes. In each house's driveway are cars seemingly caked with weeks of snow, sitting just at the lips of their icicle encrusted garages. It's perfect for a postcard.
The camera pans down to the center of the street, where stands… Santa Claus? A fat, rosy cheeked man in a thick white beard and Claus jacket holds his belly and laughs heartily. His jacket is opened to revel a referee's white and black stripes.
“Ho ho ho!” the jolly old elf laughs. “Merry Christmas, one and all! Welcome to FAWN's Caroling Catfight! This is where the Naughty meet the Nice for the ultimate contest to see who can break whose Christmas Spirit!” The throws his head back for a hearty laugh, his belly shaking like a plate of gelatin salad someone's aunt brought to the holiday potluck. “The rules are simple. No disqualification. No pinning. Anything the fighters can find and use is fair game.” He looks back the houses. “And if the fighters want something special, they can go caroling at the doors and the fine folks will reward them with something special. Maybe a weapon, maybe a prize, or maybe,” he grins back at the camera, “a stocking full of coal.
“Now, lets introduce our embattled elves! First, from Bone Gnaw, Indiana, standing five feet, five inches and one hundred nineteen pounds… she's always on the Nice List… SHELBY MUSTANG!”
SHELBY MUSTANG:
“ROCKING AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE” by LEANN RIMES
The camera slowly pans to stage left, where the Trailer Park Princess steps from behind a tree. Donning red leopard print bikini bottoms and a tied-off green babydoll, complete with flickering LED Christmas lights, and a light up star hair clip, she easily the cutest tree any FAWNatic could hope to put up. Even her winter boots have long red gift ribbons on them. She strikes a pose, showing her figure, to the camera before blowing a kiss.
The camera cuts back to Santa. “And her opponent, standing at five feet, eight inches and one hundred eighteen pounds… from Toronto, Ontario and a permanent resident on the Naughty List… DESIRE THE NAUGHTY SCHOOL GIRL!”
DESIRE THE NAUGHTY SCHOOL GIRL:
“SANTA BABY” by EARTHA KITT
As the first “ba-boom” of “Santa Baby” sounds out over the yards, the camera slowly pans to stage right. From between the shadows of two cars, slinks Desire. The leggy blonde wears – well, barely wears – a tube top designed to look like Santa's coat, complete the fur trim. The red velvet strains against the FAWN vet's bust, showing off plenty of cleavage and underboob. Her red velvet booty shorts have a black belt and a garter belt made of holy. Green fishnets stretch down into black ankle boots. The outfit is completed by a Santa hat. Desire sways and shimmies to her holiday entrance music, sliding over to one of the street's two streetlamps. She grabs on and swings around it, showing off some tricks that prove she's no stranger to pole dancing. Finally, she dismounts, bending over so the camera can drink in her tops hidden treasures. She slowly rises, placing a hand on her hip and licking her lip. She curls a seductive smile.
“It's… it's really damned cold,” Desire sputters in a chilled voice, not breaking her look.
“Yeah, I don't think I woulda dressed like this if I'd known,” Shelby speaks up.
Santa Red laughs heartily. “That's because this is real snow, shaved from ice. And, thanks to movie magic, we're able to make it feel like you're fighting in a gentle Christmas breeze.”
Desire looks down at the two poking outlines of her top. “Maybe a little more gentle? I want to beat her senseless, not cut glass.”
“Like I said earlier, there's no DQ, anything goes,” Kris Kringle continues. “The only way to win is by knockout or submission.”
“No,” Desire snaps, glaring at Shelby. “No knockout. Submission only. You agree?” The hate drips from Desire's voice. She still remembers the loss to this upstart brat and it smarts. Sure, she got a little revenge post match, but Desire needs a “W” to slam down on this rookie punk.
Shelby shrugs. “If you're that intent on submitting to me, ya big Christmas Ho.”
Desire's face begins to turn as red as Santa Ref's jacket.
“Good enough for me,” the elf yells. He pulls a large brass bell from his coat pocket and begins ringing. “Ho, ho, ho! Let's get this fight started!”
Desire doesn't need to be told twice. She rushed across the asphalt and locks onto Shelby's arms, but the Trailer Park Princess falls backwards into a monkeyflip. Desire soars into the first yard, landing flat on her back in the snow. She sinks in a good six inches and lets out a shriek.
“THIS IS REALLY COLD!” the ring vet bellows.
“Like your heart, Grinch!” Shelby cackles as she hops up. She runs to Desire and leaps, landing boots first on the embodiment of fantasy's breasts. Desire sputters as Shelby hops up against, bringing her legs up and slamming both knees down into Desire's biggest assets. The Schoolgirl grunts and moans helplessly while Mustang clasps her hands together, raises them in a double ax handle, and slams them into Desire's waiting belly. The Canadian Dream shakes violently before tilting and dislodging her attacker. Desire pushes herself up, coughing and shivering, her backside coated with snow.
This isn't going the way it's supposed to, she thinks to herself.
Shelby gets to her feet and spies the nearby snowman, clutching a broom. She snags it and twirls it like a baton. “Perfect! I got me some trash I need to take care of!” She swings the broom towards Desire, the bristles barely missing as the blonde jerks out of the way. A couple more swipes miss their mark before Desire manages to catch the weapon. Instead of trying to yank it from Shelby's mitts, Desire shoves it back into Mustang. The end of the broomstick stabs into Shelby's gut and the woman gasps. Her grip instantly released, Desire pulls the broom away and stabs again – this time going right into Shelby's throat. As the white trash royal gags, Desire hauls back and cracks the broomstick across her temple. Shelby spins down, landing on all fours, wheezing.
Desire drops to her knees behind Shelby, grinding her crotch against Shelby's plum butt. Grabbing a handful of the rookie's short cropped hair, she cranks her head back as far as she can and shoves the broomstick in her face. “I know it must be hard to not be hot and bothered in the presence of so much woman,” Desire moans into Shelby's ear, “so let me cool you down a bit.” Desire drops the stick and grabs a handful of snow. Immediately, that fistful of snow goes down the back of Shelby's bottoms, finding its way between her thighs.
Shelby shrieks as the ice touches her womanhood. Cold shocks shoot up her abdomen as she howls and reaches to pull the snow out, but Desire has other plans. The Schoolgirl slams a mighty twat-swat, making sure some of the snow gets to know its host inside and out. The Canadian then starts to rise and drives the point, and her knee, home – home, of course, being Shelby's crotch.
Mustang immediately falls face forward into the snow, clutching herself and whimpering, while Desire rises. She admires the handiwork, but feels it just needs… something more. As Shelby rolls onto her back it hits the Canadian beauty. She straddles Shelby's head and drops to a split, her crotch slamming full-force on the rookie's mouth and nose. “Your warm breath feels nice,” Desire says, wiggling. “I'm gonna have to remember that.”
The human fetish looks up at the front door to the house and thinks, remembering Santa Ref's words. Weapons… presents… She stands and walks over to the door. She turns the handle but it's locked. Desire bangs on the door. “Hey,” she yells. “Hey, open up and give me something!”
“That's not how it works,” Santa Ref yells from the street. “This is a Caroling Catfight. You have to carol.”
Desire sighs. “Really? We're doing this?” She inhales sharply. “Fine.” She steps back and belts out a few lyrics.
“Deck the halls with Shelby's folly
Fa la la la la la la la la
She's gonna feel like she was hit by a trolly
Fa la la la la la la la la
I can't wait to strip her of her apparel
Fa la la la la la la la la
She's gonna learn about sexy, sexy peril
Fa la la la la la la la la.”
The door swings open, barely missing Desire. Out pops a mannequin on a track, wearing an ugly Christmas sweater. It holds out a tray bearing a mug of cocoa and a long strap of leather – maybe three feet – adorned with sleigh bells. Desire picks up the cocoa and sips, making a sour face. “Instant?” She empties the mug and slings it at Shelby, who's just getting to her feet. The ceramic mug bounces off the younger woman's shoulder blade, making her body seize in pain. Desire holds up the thin leather strap and jingles it. A cruel smile spreads across her face.
Shelby is barely up on shaky legs before she feels the sting against her bare back. Another crack of leather and jingle of bells sounds as Desire slaps her makeshift whip across Mustang's back. Reflexively, Shelby grabs the point of impact. Desire rewards that hand with a slap from the strap, and then rains a series of whips across the back of Shelby's legs.
“This is the best Christmas ever!” Desire chortles. As Shelby stumbles back down to her knees, Desire stands behind her and wraps the leather around her neck, pulling it tight into a choke. The Indiana girl claws at the whip, trying to undo it, but no luck. The Schoolgirl drives a knee between Shelby's shoulders, planting the woman face-first into the snow. “Surrender,” Desire demands. “You're trash. You know you're trash. Just admit it, let me have my fun, and maybe – just maybe – I'll let you enjoy it, too.” Desire giggles. “You'd look good in a harness, pulling a sleigh. How'd you like to be my little reindeer?”
What Shelby replies is too muffled by the snow but, most likely, it's a less than polite version of telling Desire to go stuff her own stocking.
“Suit yours, tramp,” Desire laughs, digging her knee in. “You agreed to no knockouts. That means just more time playing with your prone waste of space.” The strap tightens around Shelby's neck. The trailer park star stops grabbing at the strap and, instead, pushes herself up. She grabs Desire under her legs and hoists the woman for a piggyback ride. The Toronto Tart's been around the ring a few times and knows this isn't good. She immediately begins pulling the strap tighter but Shelby doesn't stop. Instead, she launches into a sprint, barreling into the second yard.
At first, Desire is confused. Then she it hits her.
Literally. Right in the face, as Shelby falls forward and slams the head of her attacker into the roof of a Nativity scene's wooden manger. Desire eats holiness and rolls off of Shelby, cradling her face.
In the street, Santa Ref looks concerned. “Ho… ho… hooo no, let's not do this.”
Too late. Shelby hefts up Joseph from the scene. He's not heavy, but… ceramic? Not quite. Shelby doesn't know a lot about art, but she knows what she likes. And anything she can use to clobber Desire with, she likes.
“Silent night,” Shelby sings as she brings the carpenter's visage across the side of Desire's head. “Holy night!” She hammers Joseph down on Desire's shoulder, a crack forming in his forehead. “All it calm, all is BRIGHT!” She breaks the carpenter into a thousand shards across Desire's back and looks disappointed at the emptiness in her hands. As Desire rolls around in agony, Shelby's eyes drift to the visage of Mary.
“Round yon virgin,” Shelby says to herself.
“THAT COUNTS AS SINGING!” Santa Ref screams. “For God's sake, open the door so she'll spare some of the holy family!”
Dutifully, the house's door swings open and another mannequin in a Christmas sweater rolls out holding a tray. On the tray is a single Christmas ornament. Shelby picks it up and weighs it in her hand. It's not heavy. It's not glass or plastic. It's… paper? Yes, a paper bulb ornament, blue, covered in snowflakes. Mustang holds it up to the light and sees something inside. Something fine and sifting. Shelby's eyes widen.
Oh, this is dirty. She loves it.
“Okay, you little bitch,” Desire roars behind her. “That's how we're playing? I can be an iconoclast, too!” Shelby turns around to see Desire running at her, the baby Jesus raised in her hands and ready to come down and bless the younger fighter across the noggin. In the street, Santa Ref weeps and cries something about everyone going to Hell. Shelby rips the top off the paper ornament and chucks its contents into Desire's face. A bright white cloud of powder sinks into her eyes, blinding the Amazon. Desire shrieks and drops the Messiah as her eyes tear up and redden.
“Let me give you a hand,” Shelby sings. She turns to the mannequin, yanks its arm off, and slams it across Desire's jaw. Flipping the arm around, Shelby looks at Desire's bottoms. “And since it's Christmas, up the chimney we go!” She ramps the shoulder of the dummy's arm straight up between Desire's legs. The Schoolgirl gasps and stumbles back. Tossing the arm aside, Shelby launches at her foe and, ironically enough, schoolgirl pushes Desire backwards over the Nativity scene.
Desire lands on hey and snow, scattering shepherds and animals. Shelby hops on top of the manger and drops an elbow, catching Desire in the chest. “Aw, boo!” the princess whines. “I wanted something with less padding.” She smirks at the downed woman. “But since I'm here, you need a little more red to really be in the Christmas spirit.” Shelby grabs hold of Desire's juggs and rips her nails down the exposed cleavage. Red scratches brighten and the toppled wrestler screams out.
“It's better to give than receive,” Shelby sings as she mauls Desire's rack, “and I have so much I need to give you after last time.” Desire desperately tries to fend the younger woman off but, like a pitbull, Shelby is locked in tight. “This isn't normally my thing but, for you, I'm happy to make an exception.” She twists as she starts to get up, yanking Desire to her feet by her boobs. When Desire's almost to her feet the short-haired woman slams the toe of her boot into Desire's kneecap. The Toronto Tart stumbles forward, only to be caught in a fireman's carry.
“Yes, yes,” Santa Ref laughs nervously. “Now, let's get away from that scene of holy import.”
Shelby shakes her head. “But He's the Reason for the Season, and I want to make sure that message really sinks in.”
“Shelby, no,” Santa Ref whimpers.
“Shelby, yes,” Shelby replies as she drops Desire over the manger, slamming her back down. The shoddy wooden structure gives way and crashes under the Schoolgirl's weight. Desire lies in a jumble, dazed, nearly blind, and on the verge of tears. Shelby leans down. “Want to give in?”
“I… I...” Tears well up in Desire's eyes.
“Yes?” Shelby leans in closer.
“I can't believe how stupid you are!” Desire bellows, shattering a wise man across Shelby's brow. As Shelby stumbles away, cursing, the Schoolgirl crawls from the wreckage and surveys her damage. Scratches all over her back and breasts. Rips in the back of her tube top and bottoms, showing her butt off nicely. Normally Desire would love that but in this manufactured weather it was less than optimal.
Desire storms over to Shelby, grabbing a handful of hair, and slams a fist into her belly over and over, before finally clocking her across the jaw. Shelby spirals away but Desire grabs her by the back of her bikini bottoms and yanks up and back. Mustang's eyes bulge and the fabric vanishes between her cheeks. To make sure it's in there deep, Desire lifts Shelby and drops her crotch across an outstretched knee. The Schoolgirl takes a minute to enjoy Shelby's whimpers before shoving her back into the snow.
Desire looks around the “neighborhood,” trying to see if there's anything she can do to really put the hurt on this pipsqueak. Most of the decorations are inflatable. A lot of snow. Sure, she could toss her against a car but that's not likely to get submission. In the next year, Desire notices something the first two didn't have – a shoveled walkway. That means there's a snow shovel. Again, not a submission tool but it'll take a lot of the fight out of Shelby.
She grabs Mustang by the ankles and drags her through the snow into the next year, all the way to the walk. Desire reaches down and feels it. Real concrete. “Oh, Christmas miracles,” Desire laughs. She hauls the mess that is Shelby up to her feet, tucks her head between her thighs, and powerbombs the Trailer Park Princess onto the concrete. Shelby's head hits snow but her back eats nothing but walkway. Her eyes bulge and she moans instantly. Desire leans down.
“I'll… I'll take you a-apart,” Shelby groans.
“Still too much fight in you,” Desire says, clucking her tongue in disapproval. She cracks a backhand across Shelby's face. “Now you be a good girl. Mama's gonna go look in the garage for a special surprise.” Desire walks towards the third house's driveway, taking care to walk up the length of Shelby's body, where she lifts garage door and vanishes in.
Shelby rolls over onto her hands and knees, pushing up to a wobbly stumble. Her ribs moan. She knows she's going to have a monster bruise on her back. She takes a step and falls to the side. Her body vibrates with pain. Desire… did a number on her. She hates to admit that to herself, that a woman she sees as little more than a glorified fantasy is actually bringing the pain, but it's true. She'd been able to right off their previous meeting as being caught off guard but this time….
Shelby pushes herself up again and walks to the house's door. Then it clicks. She steps back and sings the first few lines of “The First Noel.” Shelby didn't grow up in the most religious trailer so she misplaces words, but she tries her best and apparently it's enough. The door swings open and a third mannequin rolls out on a track. Its tray presents gingerbread cookies and a nutcracker. She shoves a cookie in her mouth but eyes the nutcracker. It's flimsy, cheap wood. One good crack, maybe. It probably won't even hurt. Her head turns as she hears Desire's footsteps in the garage. Shelby looks back at the tray the cookies and nutcracker sit on.
The solid, thick tray.
Desire emerged from the garage holding a large baseball bat, wrapped in lights, with the words “YULE LOG” carved in the handle. “Man, I can't wait to find new places to--” Desire doesn't finish the sentence before the solid wood tray slams into her nose. Desire drops the bat, which lands at Shelby's feet. Tossing the tray aside, Mustang sucker punches the taller woman, getting her to bend down. Shelby reaches up and wraps her arm around Desire's head before launching her into a Jumping Shoulder Jawbreaker!
JUMPING SHOULDER JAWBREATER (at 0:10)
Desire's face meets the Yule Log fast, right between the eyes. She flops backwards, clutching her face and wailing. Shelby pushes Desire's legs upwards and wraps a scissor hold around the Schoolgirl's waist. Immediately, Mustang slaps a crotch claw onto Desire. The sexy blonde writhes in agony, trying to break free but finding no escape.
“End this,” Shelby demands. “Give in and I'll just walk away. No humiliation.”
“I am NEVER submitting to you, redneck!” Desire shrieks. Shelby tightens the scissors and a moan escapes from Desire's mouth. That moan makes Shelby think. This is, after all, FAWN. There are certain things she herself never considered doing in a match. But this is a catfight. And this is Desire. The woman who fondled and played with her on a PPV not a year ago. She owes her, but also she might… respond better to a different type of attack. The mere idea makes Shelby blush, but she decides she should at least try.
Shelby loosens the belt on Desiree's bottoms and slides her hand up the back, along Desire's ass, and seeking out the prize between her thighs. The outline of hand movement can be seen in the crotch of Desire's bottoms. Suddenly, the Canadian's moaning stops. She looks up at Shelby quizzically. Shelby bites her lower lip, trying to be seductive.
“See, this isn't so bad, right?” Mustang says. “Just give in and we can have more of this.”
“This?” Desire asks. “What… what exactly is this?”
“Y'know,” Shelby says with an embarrassed giggle, “doesn't it feel good?”
“No, I really don't--” Desire's eyes widen. “Do you think this is getting me off?”
Shelby's face goes pale. “Well, I mean, I just—”
“It's not a dick,” Desire spits. “You can't just put your hand in the general vicinity and magic happens. Holy hell, how do you not know how to--” The Schoolgirl shakes her head. “We have the same parts! I know this! Have you NEVER gotten a woman off?”
Shelby freezes like a deer in headlights. The truth is, no, she hasn't. Her experiences are… limited to say the least, in both love and fighting FAWN style. The embarrassed rookie stammers, humiliation taking her over. Desire seizes the opportunity to pull her legs back and stomp both feet into Shelby's face. The rookie spills backwards, slamming her head on the driveway. Both women roll backwards, hop up and lock at the shoulders. Desire drives Shelby back into the car parked behind her, but the confusion on her face is now replaced with laughter.
“You REALLY didn't know what you were doing?!” Desire cackles. “Like, do you want me to make a map for you next time?”
“Shut up,” Shelby hisses.
But desire laughs harder. “There are high school seniors who more competently fumble their way to success in the back of cars than you, a grown woman, did – ON TELEVISION!”
“I assumed someone as old as you clinging to the name 'Schoolgirl' would like it confused and fumbling,” Shelby spits back.
But Desire guffaws. “No, honey, there's no going back from this!”
“How about this?” Shelby slams a headbutt Desire right into the bridge of her nose. The Schoolgirl swears as Mustang connects to the bruise the bat made. Another headbutt slams against Desire's face but this seems to only enrage her. The older fighter brings her knee up into Shelby's crotch and, again, into her stomach. Mustang loosens her grip and Desire plunges her thumbs into the rookie's eyes. Desire rips Shelby's head sides to side, grinding her thumbs in until she feels tears. She pulls away from the car and slings the rookie into the next yard. Mustang lands on her side, blinded.
Desire kicks her onto her back before dropping a knee onto her stomach. She slides her hand past the waistband of Shelby's bottoms, seeking out the sweet meat. She knows she found it when Shelby's eyes light up and her mouth rounds. “That, my dear, is what you were looking for,” Desire purrs. “So much pleasure.” She watches Shelby try to hold herself together at Desire's gentle, welcoming touch. But then, like a cat, Desire sinks her nails in and rips. “And so much pain!” Shelby howls like a wounded animal.
“Oh, don't use up all your screams,” Desire growls as she dives her talons into Shelby's top. She begins grinding them like she's trying to make hamburger patties. “You sniveling, insignificant little worm! I've busted my ass here for years and little waifs like you show up, bat your eyelashes, and get everything you want!” She twists Shelby's orbs likes she's trying to unlock a safe. “Well, that big-boobed blonde hooker and her little goth toy aren't here to save you tonight! You will belong to me!”
Desire feels a kick in her back and realizes how limber the little punk is. It infuriates her. She hoists Shelby up by her tits and flings her backwards into the car they struggled against. Shelby head bounces off the passenger side window. Desire rises, cups the side of Mustang's head, and slams her face into the car's door over and over and over until Shelby stops struggling and just slumps.
Desire looks down, triumphant. But her smug smile vanishes. “Oh, goddamnit, I made her go with submissions only.” She looks at the slumbering beauty and sighs. As she steps back, FAWN camera crews swirl around and zoom in on Shelby.
“You guys are seriously going to just document her… being out like a light?” Desire asks, but she's ignored. Their headpieces are piping in ringside commentary and production demands. Desire steps back, annoyed, and then remembers the doors of the houses. She looks at the one near her. She walks towards it and belts out, half-hearted:
“Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
May your blah be blah blah blah open up.”
Nothing.
At first.
There's a kick on the other side of the door. A second and the door pops open. The mannequin stands there, but doesn't roll out. It's track is disabled. Its hands, outstretched, are missing the tray. Desire blinks, looks back to Santa Ref and the camera men and slowly moving Shelby… no one pays attention to her. She shrugs and steps into the doorway.
As a facade, it's supposed to be nothing more than a backdrop and some lights. She peers in and sees that.
And a shapely redhead in sexy Santa lingerie, sitting on a stool.
RUE ANN MACKENNA:
Rue Ann MacKenna raises a mug of eggnog to her lips and sips. “Don't mind me, cutie pie. I just needed a break from the family. You know how holidays get.”
Desire freezes. She has not had the best record with other “villains” in FAWN. She's seen this little firebrand around and knows she's unpredictable. She studies her, half expecting the hillbilly to launch off the stool off of her.
Instead, Rue Ann looks down at her own generous cleavage to see a bit of eggnog spilled. “Oh, no!” she says in a coquettish voice. She looks back up at Desire and licks her lips. “Be a dear and get that for me?” Desire doesn't react, but Rue only smiles sweetly. She glances at the mannequin. “It was a Rudolph doll, by the way. Kinda stupid. I guess that was the point. But I think you deserve better than that.” She pulls a stocking from behind her back and dangles it. “C'mon, pretty. Gotta see what Santa Rue brought you.”
Desire nervously looks back at the commotion outside. Still, she's unnoticed. It would normally bruise her ego but this time? She slides into the fake house and approaches Rue Ann, who hands her the stocking. Desire looks into it.
“Coal,” she says, almost offended.
Rue Ann's fingertips trace Desire's side. “Well, you're a Naughty girl, aren't you?” she teases. “Me, too. And we naughty girls know, coal is more useful than candy.” Rue Ann's fingers glide up Desire's body, making her hair stand up with mixed feelings of excitement and worry. Their eyes lock. She traces a finger along Desire's lip. “Nice girls are meant to be sweet but we naughty girls, we're meant to burn the world down.” Rue's eyes flash with an evil glee but not directed towards Desire.
“Why are you doing this?” Desire asks.
Rue Ann shrugs. “No one should be alone at the holidays, right? Or maybe I'm your secret Santa. Or maybe,” the pixie smile returns, “I'm hoping we'll have a really happy New Year.”
Desire weighed what Rue Ann was saying. “And if I say no?”
“Then you say no,” Rue Ann replies, putting the stocking in her hands. “But if you say yes, you'll be able to contact me.”
“Just like that?” Desire says, not trusting the situation.
“Presents come with no strings attached, otherwise they aren't presents. They're bribes,” Rue offers. “I'm not here to bribe you. I'm not here to do anything but offer… my friendship.” Desire again feels the hand trace down the side of her body before resting on her hip. “Remember, though, the best stuff is always in the stocking's toe. Merry Christmas, Desire.”
“Merry Christmas, Rue Ann,” Desire replies. She glances down at the eggnog on Rue Ann's breast. Then, leaning down, she gently licks it off. The two look back at each other once more. Rue Ann presses her forehead to Desire's. “The runt's getting up, sweetheart. Spread her Christmas Cheer wide open.” Desire can smell her perfume – it's a mix of cinnamon and something she can't quite place, but it burns into her nose. As she turns to leave the facade, Desire feels a gentle swat on her rear. She looks back and sees Rue Ann beaming. “Look, it's practically hanging out of that hole,” the hillbilly giggles.
Desire stumbles out of the facade, eying the stocking.
“Okay, bitch, “Shelby says, stumbling over, cameramen in tow. “We're gonna end thi--” The Indianan stops, seeing what's in Desire's hands, and starts laughing. “You got coal? Wow, did the real Santa plan this out?”
Desire cocks her head to the side, then smiles. “Know what's funnier than that?”
“What?” Shelby asks.
“Physical humor,” the Schoolgirl replies, slamming the stocking upside the runt's head. To her shock, Shelby drops like a ton of bricks. The FAWN vet eyes the coal. Sure, it's hard, but….
The best stuff is always in the stocking's toe, Rue had said.
Desire shoves her hand into the bottom of the stocking and fishes around. She yanks out… mistletoe. Desire smiles wickedly at the insinuation and possibilities, but still it's hardly a match ender. She reaches in once more and feels and feels…
… something cold and hard. Something solid, with four holes that perfectly fit her fingers.
Oh. Oooooooh. Desire's eyes light up light a Christmas tree. It really is going to be a holly, jolly Christmas.
Shelby gets to her feet, wobbling, and obviously barely able to hold herself up. Something is in that sock. The fabric and something else cushioned the blow a little, but it hurt bad and nearly took her out. She looks at Desire, who's already grinning like the cat who caught the canary. “This isn't over yet, bitch,” Shelby hisses.
“Of course not,” Desire chimes. “Christmas isn't over until I unwrap the last present. Granted, I usually prefer my toys to be better wrapped but, it's the thought that counts.”
Shelby launches at the older woman, arms outstretched for a catch. Desire slams her stockinged fist across Shelby's jaw and the younger woman spills back into the snow. She clutches her jaw. Desire can hit hard but not that hard. She looks back up at the woman, who shakes the sock off. In her coal-covered hand is gripped a pair of brass knuckles, painted red and white like a candy cane. Across the bridge are engraved the words, “HO HO HO.”
“That's not what that house has,” Santa Ref yells, dropping his Father Christmas affectations. “There aren't supposed to be brass knuckles in any of the houses. This ends--”
“When she submits,” Desire yells back as she throws a punch down, barely missing Shelby's knee. The blonde sweeps her long hair from her eyes and looks hungrily at Mustang, but answers the ref. “No DQs, remember?”
“That wasn't mean--” He trails off. There's no answer he can offer. “Where did you get that?”
Desire launches at Shelby, who rolls and tries to sprint from a seated position. The Canadian manages to slam the knuckles into Shelby's right calf, full force, and the young rookie yells out in pain. Her unarmed hands dives into Shelby's hair and cranks her head back. Desire looks up and, across the cul-de-sac, she sees a shapely shadow skulking between the house facades, seeming to blow her a kiss. “A guardian angel came to remind me it's a wonderful life.” She rips Shelby backwards, dropping her onto her back. Dropping to a seat on Shelby's face, Desire raises her fist. “And every time a little slut loses, an angel gets her wings.”
A steady stream of blows slam down onto Shelby's gut. Bruises begin darkening her pale skin immediately. With her hands pinned under Desire's knees there's little the rookie can do but take the pounding and offer muffled screams into Desire's sound-absorbing ass.
“That looks bad,” Desire laughs, admiring the blue and purple spots she's made on Shelby. “You're gonna need some ice.” She grabs a handful of snow and spreads it around, soliciting more shivers from her trapped prey. Then, ripping off Mustang's top, exposing her b-cups to the cold winter air and making sure her nips stand to attention. Desire begins pounding on them, trying to make their complexion matches her stomachs. Again, frantic screams are muffled from below. Tears of pain begin pouring from Shelby's eyes and she's humiliated this tramp has managed to put her in this situation.
If you don't submit, Shelby tells herself, she can't win. Don't submit. It's just pain. Eventually they have to end the match or you'll get a chance to turn the tables.
After three solid minutes of punching, couples with twisting and scratching, the Schoolgirl's attention trains on Shelby's bottoms. The Royal Redneck flails with renewed vigor at the mere thought of what those brass knuckles are going to slam against now, but the struggle aggravates her battered body and the soreness fights against her. Desire finally just rips the bikini bottoms from Shelby's body. She feels the knuckles gentle trace the lips of her womanhood.
There's a muffled mumble from under Desire. It's not a scream like the others. The taller woman raises herself just slightly and the night breeze chills the tear-damp shredded fabric of her own bottoms. “Repeat that?” Silence except for heavy breathing. Desire traces the knuckles along Shelby's crotch again. “I don't ask twice.”
“Please don't,” Shelby whimpers.
“Awww, is baby scared?” Desire growls. She looks down at the spread legs before her. “It looks like it could take a pounding. I bet it has.”
“Please,” Shelby whines, more desperate. “Please don't.”
“Is that a submission?” Desire asks.
No answer.
“Is that--”
“No,” Shelby replies, angry, but terrified. Desire raises the knuckles, but stops. No, this isn't how she ends the match. She was wrong about what the match ender was. She rises, looking to the shadows across the way. The same figure stands in the shadows, watching her. The Schoolgirl slings the knuckles over the facade behind her, well out of reach of herself and, more importantly, Shelby. She stands and goes to the stocking, laying in the snow. Kneeling, she pulls out the mistletoe. She looks back at the shadow, who steps slightly into the light between houses. Rue offers a smile, a nod, and vanishes into the darkness behind her.
Shelby is to her knees, cringing. The shame of begging hurts almost as much as the deep bruises in her ribs. And it's recorded. It's broadcast. She tries to rise but falls back into the snow. Mustang looks back at the camera men, training their tools and lights on her. She tries to look away, to hide the flush of her face. She tries to stand again, and this time falls face forward, flat.
Naked, face down in fake snow, crying. It's not the first time she's rang the new year in like this, but it's the most painful and embarrassing.
“Up and at 'em,” Desire says, yanking Shelby up by her arm. She drags her to the closest streetlight. “We end this now. I have shit to do.”
Mustang musters her most defiant voice possible. “Beat me all you want but I'm never giving in to you.”
Desire smiles. “Oh, sweetheart, breaking your bones and leaving you bloody ain't my style. I've got a secret weapon.” She raises the mistletoe from her side and holds it over Shelby's head. “Merry Christmas.”
Shelby opens her mouth to ask just what her foe plans to do with that plant but a long, passionate kiss from the Schoolgirl shuts her up. Shelby's eyes pop as she slaps at the taller woman, trying to push her off. Desire leans the wounded fighter up against the streetlamp, wrapping her arms tightly around the woman and pressing her close, breast to breast. The kiss is unexpected… and warm… and… nice?
Shelby feels her ears warm and tingle as the kiss grows more intense. Desire's lips trail from her trail from her mouth, down her neck, biting her gently. Shocked mewling escapes Shelby's lips as the arms around her begin exploring her body. The Canadian slides her toy around, aiming Mustang's naked front at the camera men and a blushing Santa Ref. As she sinks her teeth gently into Shelby's neck, one hand teases her nipples and the other glides south, caressing her O Holy Night. The touch makes Shelby gasp.
“I can stop,” Desire giggles. Shelby opens her mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. “You don't want me to, though,” the Schoolgirl says.
Shelby can only mouth a silent, “No.”
Desire falls back into the snow, landing on her butt, and pulling Mustang into her lap. She laces her legs over Shelby's, prying them open to make sure nothing isn't in view as her fingers intimately dive into and explore Shelby. For her part, the Rookie's body feels like it's melting in Desire's arm and what little energy she has goes into writhing and moaning, riding the hand pleasuring her. Desire whispers into her ear things she can barely understand but the mere hiss and warmth of her words hypnotizes Shelby. She's never felt… this before. And she wants more. She wants all of it. She needs it. She gives in completely to the woman controlling her.
Finally, Mustang's breathes get shorter and harder. Her breasts heave hard and she begins to shudder. She's close. So close to releasing for the world to see, but she needs that burst. She rides harder and just when she's about to… Desire pulls her hand away.
Shelby gives Desire a look both frantic and wearing. Her body is done from the beating it's taken but her libido has never been so hungry. Desire reads her mind.
“No. You don't finish unless you submit.”
Shelby's face flashes with rage. Rage that Desire thinks she'd just give in for a quickie. But Desire's fingers touch her once more, in the perfect spot and her body seizes. That's when it hits her. Desire's been playing her like a fiddle at a concert, and she let her. But worst of all, she needs to hear the song's end.
Desire bites her earlobe. “Submit and I finish you, toy. Don't submit, and I beat you senseless and use you to finish myself and you're just clam-jammed. Either way, we both know you're losing tonight.”
Shelby wants to argue but the deep bruises in her body seem to corroborate Desire's assessment. And her body screams for Desire's touch. Still, she stares into the unblinking eyes of the camera, ashamed.
But the shame can always be worse. And it will be.
Shelby hangs her head. “I submit,” she whispers.
Desire cups her jaw and raises it so Shelby is looking into the cameras. “Louder for the peanut gallery.”
“I submit,” Shelby whimpers loudly.
The familiar clang of a handbell sounds from Santa Ref. “Your winner, by submission – DESIRE THE NAUGHTY SCHOOLGIRL!” Desire stands, beaming, looking across the way but not seeing Rue's form – just FAWN security with flashlights. Still, cryptic messages and the kindness of hillbillies can be pondered later. She won. Desire licks the fingers, tasting Shelby's delicious defeat. She looks down at the woman naked, seated at her feet. Desire leans down and coos into her ear. “Good girl. Do you still need me to finish you off?”
Shelby nods her head, her eyes full of want. Desire smiles, then slams a kick into the back of Shelby's head. The attack sends Mustang forward, her face slamming into the streetlamp. The very much metal and not a plastic prop streetlamp. The Trailer Park Princess falls to her side, unconscious.
The cameras train on her as medics run to her aid. Typical, Desire thinks as she plods away. But she hears feet in the snow. Looking back, one camera is following her.
Desire is the focal point of attention. She grins, and continues to walk away, making sure to give a seductive exit full of hip swagger. She stops again, looks to the camera man and whistles, then points down before walking past the facades and off the dark lot. The camera pans down to the coal stained stocking, face up in the snow. For the first time, the camera sees the design on the front. It zooms in.
Santa, riding his sleigh. Common, simple. But the words underneath him offer a message not normal for the season.
“Hedonism Is Coming To Town.”