Post by alyadmirer on May 15, 2018 2:07:35 GMT
SAMANTHA SINCLAIR
As ideas went, this was not Samantha Sinclair’s best, a state of affairs that she was acutely aware of. Inhaling a deep breath to steady her nerves did little to change her opinion, just as the last minute stretches she was performing did even less to relieve her aches and pains. A challenge had been issued and, true to form, the most Prolific of the Sinclair’s had accepted, regardless of the fact that March to War had played havoc with her back, and the punishing House Show schedule since had only exasperated the problem.
Sometimes, it was better to back down.
It was a skill Sammie had yet to master.
JAIME LONDON
“This is a bad idea,” Jaime London, fellow Upstart and long time friend was fully prepared to point out when the brunette was being an idiot, “you know this is a bad idea.”
Sinclair nodded, chocolate curls bouncing about her slender shoulders as the duo stood before the curtains, the building enthusiasm of the crowd beyond them muffled by the entrance. “I know.”
“That doesn’t,” Jaime sighed, inhaling a deep breath before pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. At a lack of anything better to do, the little redhead folded her arms in annoyance. “That doesn’t make it better.”
“Oh, I agree, but, you know,” Sammie put on her most winning smile, masking the trepidation in her stomach, “deed is done, can’t back out now.”
“You could and you should, you are not ready for this,” Baby London’s annoyance splintered for just a moment, concern bleeding through, “Iron’s is bad news, you know this, I know this, she tried to bury my Aunt! She’s playing you Sam, she knows you were run ragged against Rue Ann, Iron’s is trying to corner you... and you’re letting her!”
“I know, Jaime,” Sinclair snapped at her friend, immediately regretting the sharpness of her tone. Her manner softened almost immediately, agreeing with everything her friend was saying, and yet... she was too stubborn to change course now, too stubborn by far. “I’ve got this.”
For her own part, London’s concern was replaced by mounting frustration, “I could...”
“And I know you would,” Samantha turned about fully, taking the Jaime’s hands and forcing the scowling redhead to unfold her arms, “and I would you love to see you kick Iron’s arse all over this arena. But not tonight.”
“You’re an idiot,” London would not relent, as equally as stubborn.
“Oh yeah,” Sinclair’s suddenly smiled, genuine and heartbreaking, every bit the People’s Princess, “when has that ever been in question? Besides, I seem to recall you picking a fight with Pandora?”
“I never said it wasn’t mutual,” Jaime couldn’t help herself, a smile finding its way onto her own features, regardless of how infuriated she was feeling with her fellow Upstart. Without another word, the two embraced tightly, an eager Gladiatrix Photographer captured the moment, “Someone needs to keep you grounded.”
“Can’t be done!” Sammie grinned, feeling impish, “just ask Wendy.”
Sinclair didn’t witness the fleeting note of sourness that passed the features of Jaime London, gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Hey,” Sammie declared, pulling back on the embrace, “if it makes you feel any better, if any of those Goons that Iron’s calls friends decide to show up...”
“They’ll wish they hadn’t,” London’s expression became deathly serious, meaning every word.
Sammie smiled back, fully prepared, just as she did with all of her Upstarts, to trust the little redhead with her life. The two Second Generation Wrestlers and beloved Lightweights exchanged a frankly adorable fist bump before Sinclair pointed over her own shoulder.
“Anyway, I gotta go,” she informed, Jaime nodding in agreement, “The Legionnaire’s are waiting.”
On the other side of the curtains, the FAWNatics themselves were growing restless, the Spring Break crowd as amped as any to be found in a PPV arena, eager for the nights unplanned addition to begin. Last minute the scheduling may have been, they regardless behaved as though they had been waiting for a year.
Finally the signal was given that proceedings were about to begin...
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer came to centre stage, bringing a microphone to his lips and capturing the crowd’s attention, their anticipation palpable. “The following contest will be for One Fall. Introducing first,” the Announcer began, although he scarcely needed to, the FAWNatics already amped for the appearance of the most Babyfaced of Brits, “Hailing from Nottingham, England and standing in at 5’ 4” and one hundred and ten pounds, she is the People’s Princess, SAMANTHA!! SINCLAIR!!!”
GOOD TIME
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_56H2DJct0
The moment Samantha Sinclair appeared on stage, that was when the FAWNatics truly lost their sh*t, the Leader of the Upstart Nation sporting a new soundtrack and standing as tall as her perfectly petite mass would allow her, catching the light in all the right places as she whipped both her arms up high and waved. Five foot four and one hundred and ten pounds of athletically sculptured, miniature might, Sammie Sinclair was every inch the People’s Princess as she cheered back, shimmering in her golden/yellow attire with her dimple, freckled cheeks flushing a delightful shade of crimson.
Sporting her ever familiar ensemble, family colours bright and on show, Sinclair’s identity was impossible to confuse. Her sports bra remained the same, smoothly curved about her small, proud bosom, leaving her softly sculptured tummy bare and her upraised arms the same way. About her hips snugly sat short skirt which, with a generous slit running up the right side, revealed a wonderful shot of her firm thigh as the baby brown eyed darling hopped up onto her tip toes and spiralled. Her boots were a bright blue and reached upwards to just beneath her kneecaps, tanned from firm leather and sporting lacing right up the front.
With the flourish of her spiral completed, the People’s Princess set her feet apart and kept her fingers wiggling heavenwards, nodding to her followers with a knowing smirk just before she lead them in her usual declaration of intent, a three beat mantra that the Legionnaires watching were always a part of. Once they were ready, she brought her hands together...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
With her statement of intent made clear she pointed directly towards the squared circle, a hearty explosion of pyrokenetics erupting to either side of the stage that she was standing on. Samantha Sinclair was here and, with a joy induced skip she headed down the aisle at a swift sprint, the second generation superstar with chocolate curls bouncing free about her slender shoulders now a little older, a little wiser and a worthy inheritor of her Father’s legacy. The girl was now a young woman, and she was looking all the bolder for it.
Fearless? Perhaps not, but nerve?
She most defiantly had nerve.
The moment Sinclair reached the squared circle, the Golden Girl took her short detour right ways and, much to the delight of those who found themselves closet, Sammie began clapping every outstretched hand that she discovered, paying particular attention to the youngest in attendance. Beating a fast track around the ring, she soon found herself back at start, a run, skip and jump taking her clean up onto the apron. Grasping the top coil with both her paws, the Bright Eyed Wonder leaned back and, following a cheeky shake her pert buttocks, she shot right over the top rope with an applause worthy sault.
Landing lightly on her feet and clapping once more, she headed on over to the farthest corner before turning to lean backwards into the turnbuckles. She stayed there for a moments, earning herself an Oscar as she disguised the spasming of the muscles in her back.
She agreed with her earlier sentiment, as ideas went, this was not her best.
There was to be no turning back however, not as the Announcer resumed his place at centre stage, bringing the mic to his lips before the FAWNatics could bring themselves to calm down. “And introducing her opponent,” he cut straight to the chase, “hailing from Manchester, England, standing in at five foot four and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, the Anarchist of Anarchy, IRMA! IRONS!!”
Let The Bodies Hit the Floor
www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8-sMJZTYf0
The house lights dropped sharply as the sound system began to whisper “let the bodies hit the floor,” before, without warning, they blazed back into renewed life as the audio itself screamed in unison. Deliberately disorientating and vindictively glaring, those watching were already forced to curse long before the instigator of their collective discomfort made herself know.
IRMA IRONS
The Dark Haired Destroyer herself stood near immobile at the apex of the ramp, fingers fitfully spasming into clenched fists as her head remained lowered. With a sudden outburst of action she thrust her head back and screamed, Iron’s rolling her shoulders sharply before she stormed her way down the aisle, inhaling deeply as her malicious glare burned a hole into the ring before her. Not a single f**k was given towards the FAWNatics watching as she marched towards her destination, snorting out a glob of phlegm before she reached her destination and then, without a moment’s hesitation, she ducked and rolled beneath the bottom rope.
She was back on her feet in no time, the Hardbody Lightweight refusing to acknowledge her upcoming opponent before she zeroed in on the nearest corner. She climbed to the middle turnbuckle and then, with a sh*t eating grin, she only fed the jeers of the FAWNatics further by delivering a double, one figured salute to one and all, reminding everyone that she despised them with a passion.
Clad in a black shirt and equally black shorts, they only part of the malcontents ensemble that was not deep ebony in appearance was the ‘belt’ about her waste, a chain wrapped about her hips by way of silent threat, a weapon that had been used to ill effect on more than one occasion. Heavy set boots THUNKED!! as she dropped back to the canvas, grinning with far too many teeth as she revelled in the crowds displeasure.
Her mood, dark tempered as it already was, turned all the more sour soon enough, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance changing their own tune as the People’s Princess stepped up from her own corner. Iron’s turned about to meet the undaunted Sinclair at centre ring, the slighter young woman the focus of much of her frequent ire. The FAWNatics were all too eager to remind her why, Irma scowling in irritation.
“WORLD’S BEST BRIT! WORLD’S BEST BRIT! WORLD’S BEST BRIT! WORLD’S BEST BRIT!”
Sammie couldn’t help but form the smallest smile, feeling empowered by the support of the audience, their belief, as always, filling her with courage. She arched her brow as Irma narrowed her own stare into a seething glare.
“You hear that, Sinclair?” Irons questioned, murderously low with her tone, “Everywhere I go, that’s all I hear, they won’t shut the f**k up.”
“They chant, they do that,” Sammie cocked her head slightly in the direction of the audience, well aware of why it irked her long term Rival quite so vigorously. In Irma’s world, only one of them could succeed. “Would be kind of boring if they didn’t.”
Iron’s right eye twitched, her temperament combustible. “You believe the hype Sinclair?” she sneered, edging closer, Sinclair not backing down, “you think yer better than me?”
Sammie didn’t answer, not immediately, any number of witty rebuttals flashing through her thoughts before, as per her default settings, her embraced the truth. “I don’t know,” she admitted, the Baby Brown Eyed Darling matching the stare of her nemesis, “do you?”
Iron’s didn’t answer, but there was to be no hesitation... not as she bared far too many teeth in a violent grin before throwing her cranium forwards, her forehead CRACKING!! against the stunned Sinclair’s and forcing the smaller young woman’s noggin to whiplash backwards. Sammie stumbled, the FAWNatics gasping audibly following the underhanded strike, a shimmy in their heroine’s athletic stems as her baby browns turned momentarily vacant.
The Former Lightweight Champion was reeling, and Iron’s could smell blood, zeroing in on her chosen victim like a piranha in fresh water. As one, the Legionnaires called fowl, but all the protests in the world couldn’t prevent the Manchester Malcontent from seizing their Heroine by the wrist, Irma spinning sharply on the spot and ripping the bewildered Sinclair along for the ride, dragging her into a blistering Irish Whip towards the farthest set of ring ropes.
Samantha, however, was perhaps not as helpless as she appeared, the petite brunette all but born into the squared circle gathering her wits swiftly enough to turn her back into the waiting coils. The rubber coated steel embraced the beloved baby girl of Rick ‘Golden Goliath’ Sinclair like a lover before snapping taunt and sending her lithe frame right back towards centre ring.
Oozing ruthless aggression, Iron’s waited, forever coiled to explode into violence and, as her propelled victim hurtled back towards her, the Weaponised Wolverine burst into action, tensing her right shoulder and all but exploding into a Clothesline from Hell!!
Only she came up empty, Sammie avoiding the would be devastating impact by ducking low. She slipped beneath her adversaries brutal forearm and kept on sprinting, eating up the canvas with light strides as she darted straight towards the opposite set of ring ropes. These ones she all but leapt into, the Legionnaires howling with delight as the Bright Eyed Wonder reset the scales, the ropes once again rebounding the determined young women back towards her opponent, albeit this time on her own terms!
At least it would have been had Iron’s not been ready; suddenly surging forwards herself and, with a bloodthirsty shout, SLAMMED!! her upraised knee into the trim, utterly exposed tummy of the crowd favourite. The FAWNatics groaned as Sammie exhaled sharply, her Rival’s joint burying itself deep into her softly sculptured abdominals, empting her small body of air and ripping her off her feet. The brunette flipped a full three sixty and landed hard on her firm buttocks, wincing as the hard landing sent a ripple through her vertebrae and convinced her to remain sitting.
Iron’s grin returned, crooked and filled with ill intent, regarding the Legionnaires in attendance with contempt as she rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. With Sammie both grounded and winded, Irma was in no hurry as she turned about, marching over to her shell shocked adversary and flexing her fingers before raising one hand high. She dropped it down sharply, digits sinking in deep into Sinclair’s slender, almost entirely bare shoulder, savagely trapping the exposed young woman with a severe nerve pinch.
The petite frame of the Golden Girl turned rigid in an instant, the crowd sweetheart releasing a heartbreaking cry of anguish as she bucked in misery. At the sound of her distress, Iron’s only piled on the pressure further, adding a second pincer to the first and, with her opponent sitting, leeeeeeeeaned over the top of her to drive all of her bodyweight home.
Sinclair shuddered under the abuse her shoulders were suffering, her noggin curling backwards to both expose her throat and to send the tips of her chocolate curls trailing towards the canvas. In sympathy her firm thighs twitched for her upper bodies torment as the heels of her boots scraped impotently across the canvas, the crowd favourite buckling beneath the pressure as her shivering arms soon lost their lustre.
Finally, the man in Black in White caught up with the here and now and realised that something was amiss. “For God’s sake Irons,” he attempted to step in, “let her go, the match hasn’t even started yet!”
“THEN F***ING START IT!!” Iron’s snapped back, all but foaming at the mouth as she snarled viciously, buckling down all the more on her crippling hold in the face of his admonishment, digging her claws in ever deeper. “Do it now, before I do whatever the f**k I want to this Bitch and get the f**k away with it!!”
Loath as he was to concede the point, the Official had admit that there was some truth to her threat, at the very least he could exert some control over the proceedings before they hit the point of no return. The last thing he wanted to be was to be the second Official who let the People’s Princess be wheeled out on a stretcher. He turned rapidly and called for the bell, and as it chimed across the arena, signalling the beginning of the content, Sinclair was already fading fast.
He dropped to his knees, fully prepared to accept the lesser of two evils and be Official who recorded the crowd favourites swiftest ever defeat. “What do you say Sammie, give it up?”
The Leader of the Upstart Nation was barely inhaling, arms limp at her sides as her noggin lolled forwards, her Rival refusing to let go until she had claimed her pound of flesh. “...N...no...no...” Sammie shook her head, even trying in vain to get back up before Irma drove her back down onto her pert buttocks, “NO!”
“Suit yerself, Bytch,” Iron’s grin could not have been more ruthless as she released her crippling manoeuvre, visible relief flooding through the smaller frame of the downed brunette as she almost slumped over. Irma caught her, unwilling to grant even a moment of laxity, slipping her arms beneath the limp shoulders of her adversary and, after fiercely cupping her palms HARD beneath the base of the ailing beauties noggin, locked in a savage Full Nelson, further punishing her foes already abused neck.
With a victorious heave of effort, the Anarchist of Anarchy stood tall, hauling the lithe frame of her opponent right back up to vertical and, without a moment’s hesitation, ripped the smaller woman off her feet as well. With slender legs flailing, the Tiny Titan’s trapped within Iron’s unrelenting grasp like an adorable ragdoll; Irma retained her momentum by dropping sharply to her own rear end!
While the landing was jarring, it proved to be far worse for the captive, her taunt little toosh DRIVEN!! into the canvas as though she were a nail being driven into hardwood. Sammie bucked with a pained gasp and, as the shockwaves savaged her smaller frame, Irma released her Full Nelson and allowed the brunette to flop bonelessly onto the mat.
Irma followed through, collecting one lithe stem of her opponent before pressing her other palm down hard against the young woman’s cheek, preparing to claim a dominant pinfall.
ONE!
TWO!!
Sinclair kicked out, freeing up her leg from her Rival’s grasp whilst also throwing up a slender shoulder for good measure, the FAWNatics cheering at the sign of defiance.
For just a moment, Irma’s crooked grin faded, a scowl emerging in its place as she sneered down at the struggling Sammie. Dissatisfied with the outcome of her pinfall, the Dark Haired Destroyer spat some manner of profanity before pushing up to one knee, grabbing a full fist of Sinclair’s curls as she did so, forcing a fresh cry from the beloved young woman as she hauled the proud competitor up by her own full mane.
Once they were both vertical, the English Import of Perfectly Petite Proportions barely able to remain that way with a shimmy in her firm thighs, Iron’s retained her cruel grip and mockingly kept the other girl at arm’s length. The Legionnaires booed as Irma milked the moment, clenching her right fist and, as Sammie’s pretty peepers flickered back open, threw a HORRIFIC right hook!! One that caught the blindsided brunette clean across her cheek with an audible THUNK! and spun her a full one eighty! Somehow she remained standing but, with her back to her bloodthirsty rival, her knees looked ready to give out at a moment’s notice.
With shoulders rolling, Irma zeroed in for the kill...
Only for Sammie to spin about, stealing her resolve as, with a sharp pivot of her hips and a (not entirely intimidating) war cry, her athletic right stem shot up high and CRACKED!! the unprotected jaw of Iron’s with a blistering Sammie Kick!! The FAWNatics erupted with jubilation at the sudden reversal, the dark eyes of the Manchester Malcontent turning misty as she sputtered and turned about, stumbling to one knee.
Sammie did likewise, dropping to her hands and knees as she breathed heavily, a long groooooan escaping from her small body as Babyface resilience bubbled slowly to the surface. The Legionnaires began clapping, a rapid three beat mantra that was the Upstarts anthem of war, and the young woman of their delight nodding in understanding.
With Irma still struggling, the Little Sparrow found her own feet and launched into a sprint, one that took her into the waiting ring ropes and, like the allies of Lightweights everywhere that they were, they loyally launched her small frame back into the ring at far greater velocity. Sinclair closed the distance in no time, ready to...
Irons ROARED!! with a blood curdling scream as she LAUNCHED herself into the air from kneeling, almost impaling the baby brown eyed Sammie through her unprotected tummy with a spirit shattering Spear! The People’s Princess folded like a matchbook about the rock solid joint, ripped off her feet with a mournful cry and sent tumbling to the deck in a quivering, winded heap, the young woman unable to gain traction.
Irma ROARED!! again, this time in dark delight, shoving her way back to vertical with arms pumped out to either side and her fists clenched tightly. Her cry was one of domination, and after emptying her impressive lungs, the Weaponised Wolverine marching in a short circle, her crooked grin was back firmly in place, eyes filled with savage malice.
“DO YOU SEE THAT!?!” she cried, standing triumphantly before crumpled remains of the crowd’s precious, Princess. “RIGHT WHERE SHE BELONGS!!” As Iron’s inhaled deeply, the Legionnaires voiced their mounting concern as Irma leaned forwards, vicious eagerness built within every facet of her posture as she stalked her victim, wiping a hand across spittle laden lips as she waited for Sammie to inevitably rise. “Come on, Sinclair,” she urged, “get up, time to make history”
Of course, Sammie did so, the Former Lightweight Champion fighting through the cobwebs as she rolled over onto her hands and knees, an indomitable spirit now working against her. The Legionnaires once again began clapping, desperately hoping that the three beat mantra would function as a lightning rod, spurring their heroine to renewed alertness as staggered ever upwards, one foot... and then another...
...Iron’s pounced, long before the Bright Eyed Wonder could ever recover and, after seizing the girl’s shoulders, Irma shot her forehead forwards to COLLIDE!! with a second headbutt! If anything, this one was even more blistering than the first, the smaller brunette rocked from head to toe as her noggin both whiplashed and then lolled backwards.
‘Fortunately’ it was unnecessary for the gold clad grappler to remain standing under her own power, as the Anarchist of Anarchy was more than happy to keep her that way. Folding Sinclair forwards, Irma tucked the swaying noggin of her reeling rival in tight between her powerful thighs and securing a standing headscissors. A quick squeeze between her hips produced a pleasing groan of suffering from the crowd favourite and Irma wrapped her arms about her fellow Brits slender, quivering waist.
The Dark Haired Destroyer wasted no further time, heaving with her tensed biceps and ripping her opponent’s boots right off the canvas, clasping the smaller girl with her grasp upside down, fists clenched in tightly against an punished tummy. A fresh constriction elicited yet another pleasing sound of compounded misery before, much to the horror of those watching, Iron’s dropped rapidly to the canvas! Sitting out, she SPIKED!! the crown of Samantha Sinclair into the barely yielding plywood with an audible thud, a sharp SPASM running throughout the entirety of her small frame following the brutal compression of her long suffering neck.
Almost immediately released from her opposites grasp, the Golden Girl immediately tumbled and puddled onto the canvas, her eyes scarcely half lidded as a small, pained cough escaped her petite bosom. Iron’s was atop her in a moment, powerful thighs straddling submissive hips and, after grabbing both of the other Brits wrists, planted them both above the brunettes noggin. Leaning in close with clenched teeth, Iron’s breathed in the heady scent of a capitulated Sinclair, daring her to resist as the Official dropped down to begin a new count...
ONE!
TWO!!
THR...
Sammie popped up her right leg, her athletic stem coming to rest upon the bottom rope, her pretty peepers fluttering half open as her lips parted only slightly.
There was only one response on the mind of Irons tonight, a closed fist delivered right to the temple of the defiant young woman beneath her. Sinclair slumped, athletic stems quivering for a moment before Irma was satisfied the smaller brunette had been pacified once more.
With the FAWNatics voicing their displeasure, the Manchester Malcontent flat out ignored the Orlando natives as, with a violent tick cracking her neck, she seized the front of her rivals form fitting top and yanked her fellow Brit up to sitting. Saddling up behind the other woman, she wrapped one possessive arm about her midriff and wrapped the other about her slender neck. With her package secure, Irons hauled the Leader of the Upstart Nation back up to boot leather and all but dragged her almost weight right on over to the hard camera.
“You see this, Wendy?” she questioned over the slack shoulder of her captive, Sinclair ruthlessly reduced into being a trophy, Irma glaring murder into the lens and, ultimately, only speaking to one person. “SMITH!! I’m talking to you!! You see this!?!” she shook the lithe brunette within her constricting coils for good measure, “THIS IS MINE NOW!!”
Samantha chose that moment to turn rigid, the Tiny Titan inhaling deeply as, with one shockingly fluid motion she unleashed a (still not entirely threatening) shout and snapped her right leg into action. WHIPPING the lean stem heavenwards, her flexibility on undeniable display, it came to a stop only as the tip of her blue boot managed to SMACK!! Iron’s clean between her eyes over the top of Sinclair’s own shoulder!!
The Legionnaires fell silent, momentarily at least, caught as flat footed as Irma as she immediately let go, stumbling backwards as though she had been shot, her own eyes blinking in pained shock. Just as she tumbled backwards, flopping onto the canvas, the FAWNatics caught up with the moment, releasing a ROAR!! that almost lifted the rafters.
Recovering as only the most beloved of Babyfaces could, Sinclair was a veritable blur of motion before the cheers of the Legionnaires had even become an echo. Like a bolt lightning she shot forwards, moving with more vigour than she had any right to possess, zeroing in on the nearest corner and grasping the top ropes.
With a skip and jump, her small frame was propelled rapidly upwards, the soles of her boots coming to rest on the top coils either side of the turnbuckle. A hop immediately followed, the young women descending one level as she spread her wonderfully athletic stems into a splits, the firm calves of her stems bouncing off the middle coils, the rubber coated steel flexing and then propelling the lithe lightweight into a crowd pleasing backflip.
With an arc that was graceful, the English Import of Perfectly Petite Proportions spun up and over and, with gravity as her ally, she brought her frame down HARD across the shell shocked body of one Irma Irons with a belly to belly splash!
With a harsh sputtering of forcibly ejected air, Iron’s bucked and folded beneath the spritely mass of her national rival, furious even as she convulsed in pain. With the sheer force of the impact propelling the two combatants away from one another, Irma clutching at her battered midriff as she continued to hack and convulse.
Sammie, for her own part, was the first to find her feet for the first time within this contest. The FAWNatics cheered, albeit with a minor undercurrent of concern as she remained wobbly, a tremor running throughout her slender stems that threatened to betray her. Sinclair stole a moment to relocate the hard camera, sparing her aforementioned girlfriend a cheeky wink as she watched on from elsewhere in the arena, a spritely smirk betraying that she was probably about to do something stupid...
For her own part, Irons had found the ring ropes, the Hardbody Lightweight tucking beneath the bottom coil and arriving on the apron. With a snarl that threatened maniacal intent, she grasped the rubber coated steel with a white knuckled grip before hauling herself back towards vertical.
“F***ing Sinclair,” she swore, baring far too many teeth, “I’m gonna rip out yoffffuuuuUUUCK !!”
Irma’s threat rapidly transformed into a startled curse as Sinclair tore a line across the ring, zeroing in on her objective like Pac Man after pellets. Moving faster that Iron’s could bring herself to track, Sammie leapt onto one set of ring ropes, jumping onto the middle coil and propelling herself high into the air, those closest to the action gasping as the Upstart spun her perfectly petite frame about to tackle her rival.
Iron’s had time to open her eyes wide before Sinclair’s flight effortlessly cleared the top rope and the brunette caught the Weaponised Wolverine on the way past, securing a headlock as she went. With momentum, gravity and surprise all acting in her favour, the smaller young women ripped Irma off her footing and indeed, clean off the apron, DRIVING!! the malcontent towards the barely padded concrete with a high flying DDT!!
Even the camera crew were caught flat footed, failing to switch angles before the duo disappeared from sight beyond the lip of the apron, those watching at home forced to fill in the blanks whilst those closest to the action let out a collective GASP!!
Once the stagehands had finally managed to catch up, both young women were laid out on the concrete, Iron’s sprawled out on her front, right leg twitching erratically whilst Sammie was puddled on her back, petite, proud bosom heaving in deep, pained gasps.
The Legionnaires began clapping, the rapid, three beat mantra that was the rallying cry from Upstarts everywhere and, with one final heave of a deep gasp, the Little Sparrow threw her supporters into a veritable frenzy, the Hometown Heroine all but WHIPPING her lithe, athletic frame right back up to vertical with FAWN’S Favourite Kip Up!!
On her feet again and pumping a fist, the pained Sinclair marched forwards for a few moments as she stifled a fresh groan, turning about to find the ever resilient Iron’s dragging her own way up onto her heavy duty footwear. “For the record, I don’t ‘belong’ to Wendy, not that you would understand the difference,” Sammie scolded, leaning forwards as she prepped herself for a fresh offensive, the Babyface Battler trying (and largely failing) to appear as stern as possible. “And I sure as hell don’t belong to you!!”
Wiping the back of her hand across her bloodied lips, Iron’s was back up to one knee, a snarl curling into a threat...
...which was cut immediately short, Sammie spotting her opening as she sprinted forwards, taking gracefully to the air at the last moment as she jutted out a knee and SLAMMED the solid joint right into the cheek of her long standing Rival with a Golden Wizard!!
Iron’s spun away as Sinclair shot on past, the Anarchist of Anarchy on her feet but reeling, dark eyes unfocused as she swayed this way and that, further disorientated by the heckling of the masses.
Sammie wasn’t done, not by a long shot, the People’s Princess smiling again and breaking hearts left and right, the petite brunette flying high on Babyface adrenaline. With the momentum of her charge taking her clean on over to the railings, the crowd sweetheart was greeted by several welcoming slaps against her slender shoulders before she back peddled. Raising both of her hands up high, Sinclair began to wiggle her fingers, the Legionnaires immediately picking up on the signal. In unison, the Former Lightweight Champion and the Loyalists in attendance clapped...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
...before the small brunette launched herself into a delightful backflip, one that would leave frequent adversary Janel Manning fuming, before landing on her feet and, without missing a beat, leapt into a graceful one eighty spiral, albeit one lead by a spinning elbow, one that SMASHED!! against the temple of the groggy Iron’s.
The stunned Dark Haired Destroyer spun a full three sixty before toppling backwards, spread-eagled on the concrete and blinking in a fugue state.
There was no pause in Sinclair’s own momentum, not even as Irma was tumbling and, almost the very moment her adversary’s shoulders touched the concrete, the Bright Eyed Wonder was adding a final flourish to her out of the ring offensive. Leaping into an award worthy, forward sault, Sammie shapely, right stem was weaponised like a guillotine, the limb brought down HARD across the head and shoulders of her shell shocked opponent.
The Manchester Malcontent convulsed, the sharp spasm that ran throughout her compact, Hardbody frame kicking her own impressive legs up into the air before she rolled over with a fit of coughing. Ordinarily the FAWNatics would emphatically urge an immediate pin, but there was no way for their Heroine to win outside the squared circle, and so instead the cry was for Sinclair to get Iron’s shuddering mass back inside of it.
Obliging of her Loyalist Legionnaires as always, Sinclair flashed them a reassuring smile before collecting her downed Rival. Exerting more effort than she was willing to admit, the brown haired darling managed to shuffle the heavier Irma back up into her feet and shove her beneath the ring ropes, ignoring the chocked out threats being thrown in her general direction.
With the Hardbody Lightweight suitably deposited where she belonged, the Golden Girl inhaled a deep, spirit lifting breadth as she utilised the ring ropes to help pull her own spritely mass back up onto the apron.
“Alright, Sinclair,” the Official uttered from nearby, having been generous with the ring count, “You’ve both had your fun, keep it inside the ropes now, ok?”
“Sure,” Sammie flashed him one of her patented, disarming grins, as innocent as a babe, “why not? Speaking of which,” she commented further as, accompanied by a cheer from the watching masses, Sinclair’s return to the inside of the squared circle could hardly be mundane. Grasping the top coil, her spritely frame surged into a leap, beguiling mass vaulting up onto the uppermost rope to launch into a jaw dropping, Springboard...
The FAWNatics would never know what was to come next as, with a bellow of renewed fury; Iron’s was back on her feet and charging at her opponent. Precariously positioned, there was scarcely even enough time for Sammie to acknowledge a sense of panic as an irate Irma grabbed her by her cranium. An uppercut from hell was immediately released by the Weaponised Wolverine and the Leader of the Upstart Nation was caught flush beneath her chin, an almighty CRACK!! caught by the ringside audio as the ragdolled Sinclair teetered... and then PLUMMETED backwards towards the waiting concrete.
Mercifully for those watching from home, they did not witness the actual collision from such a height, but those at ringside were perfectly positioned to gasp in horror.
Perhaps because of it, or perhaps in spite of it, the rapidly formed protests of the increasingly flustered Official failed to prevent the openly furious Irma from grasping the top ropes and immediately taking the fight right back outside the ring. With a howl that was chilling, and following a heave from her biceps, Irons YANKED herself up and over the top coil and hurled herself into the air, more than happy to allow gravity to take hold as she effortlessly cleared the apron and flattened herself out.
Like a meteor she descended, and like Armageddon she landed, flattening the already grounded Sinclair between a Hardbody Horror and the barely padded concrete, the FAWNatics wincing as the crowd sweetheart convulsed, lithe stems kicking out before she lay immobile.
Predictably, Irons was the first to get up, inhaling deeply as she grinned with savage intent, bottom lip bleeding and tinting her exposed teeth crimson. As if pulled by some primordial force, Irma slowly cranked her head sideways, grinning with vindictive malice as the Legionnaires, filled with mounting horror, realised what had drawn her attention, the steel steps her soul focus.
With Sammie near flaccid, Irma grabbed the Leader of the Upstart Nation by her wrists and hauled the compliant young woman back up to vertical, a low moan escaping from the young woman’s bosom. Releasing her grasp of one of her opponent’s wrists, the Weaponised Wolverine GRABBED!! the smaller brunette by the scruff of her neck, snarling as she turned about sharply and began to SHOVE the gold clad battler towards the waiting steps...
...only for a rapidly blinking heroine to suddenly drop to one knee and, with a (not overly threatening) snarl of her own, wiggle free from her imprisonment to turn about sharply and SHOVE!! the furious Irma towards the steel instead!! With her own momentum working against her, as well as a pair of defiant palms pushing against her backside, the furious black clad warrior expelled a sharp exhale of pain as her knees SMASHED!! against the steel and she folded forwards, her features colliding against the top.
With a frankly unseemly snort, Irma recoiled from the impact all the way back up to vertical, her right eye twitching as she was the picture of pain, the split on her lip growing larger. She staggered about in a half circle, barely keeping herself on boot leather as she stumbled left and the then right, unwilling to succumb to surrender.
She did not, perhaps, have a choice in the matter however as a resurgent Sinclair (adorably) roared, much to the approval of the FAWNatics, as she charged forwards. She leapt, diving through the air with commendable velocity, before spinning her slender frame about in a delightful spiral as she extended one arm outwards. Her pitch perfect Slingblade caught Iron’s clean across her throat with a glorious flying clothesline, which efficiently cut her Rival right down to size.
Both young women hit the concrete, only this time it was only the Tiny Titan who was in any position to do something about it. Back on her feet again with a noticeable shimmy and a barely disguised grimace of pain, her back spasming with insistence, Sammie was well aware of the Officials protests and, commendably enough, did her utmost to both lift and shovel the gasping Iron’s back into the squared circle.
With her cargo suitably deposited back inside of the ring, she went about her own business and headed towards the nearest corner, the Legionnaires in attendance raising their own voices as they surmised what was about to come. With a deft little hop, Sammie returned herself to the apron and, while the Anarchist of Anarchy remained suitably docile nearby, laying across her back, Sinclair ascended the turnbuckles as though she were conquering Mount Everest.
Reaching the top, Sammie took a brief moment to raise both of her hands high, the FAWNatics erupting into a roar, before she measured out her target and leapt! Taking to the skies in crowd pleasing fasion, she tucked into a dive and spun her delightfully athletic frame into a full forward sault before flattening herself out and SPLASHED!! her Rival with a match ending collision!
The canvas itself bucked and recoiled as both young woman gasped out in pain, albeit with Samantha on top. With Iron’s shell-shocked into next month and her own powerful stems spasming, Sinclair collected one of those dangerous limbs to roll her opponent up into a tight pin!
ONE!
TWO!!
THRE....
Irma shoved a shoulder up, Sinclair rolling away in exhaustion.
Neither young women was feeling particularly eager to get back up, and yet both young women were equally aware that to stay down would be in the end of them. Both of them growled and huffed as they rolled onto their respective fronts, and both of them vocally groaned as they pushed themselves slowly up to standing.
The FAWNatics could scarcely contain themselves, willing Sinclair to rise faster, and just as Iron’s was on the verge of winning this most vital of races, Sammie cried out and surged to vertical, just barely beating Irma to punch and launching a blistering Sammie Kick!
No one was quite sure, not even those involved, just how much boot leather the Dark Haired Destroyer had been forced to eat, but while her head had snapped backwards, the now blank eyed battler refused to tumble. Irma teetered, threatening to fall, but gravity was seemingly unable to claim it’s due.
With Baby Faced Dander emerging, the English Import of Perfectly Petite Proportions scrunched up her button nose and inhaled deeply, earning a WOOP!! of appreciation from the Legionnaires watching as she upped the ante. The entirety of her delightfully athletic frame spun about in a jaw dropping, Spinning Sammie Kick, the base of her blue boot whistling through the air to connect with...
Iron’s dropped low, the beguiling stem of her long term Rival sailing harmlessly above her head, the FAWNatics gasping in horror as they witnessed a car crash approaching. Irma charged forwards, releasing a blood curdling cry as she did so, catching Sinclair off balance and grabbing her by the hips. Lifting the much lighter young woman skywards, Sammie was popped into the air, her baby brown eyes opening in alarm.
There wasn’t time to call out a protest, the Upstart Supreme brought back down to earth far too quickly, the Manchester Malcontent PLANTING!! the crowd sweetheart down onto the canvas by way of Spinebuster. Sammie exhaled deeply as she recoiled from the plywood, bouncing a good two inches before settling, every inch of her petite mass rattled, her pretty peepers half lidded, her senses barely registering the world around her.
Iron’s was straddling the submissive Sinclair without needing an invitation, her hips encircling the smaller girl’s thighs, the palms of her strong hands shoved down against the smaller girls shoulders.
ONE!
TWO!!
THRE...
Sammie shoved up a shoulder, the FAWNatics sighing in relief.
“REALLY!?!” Irma screamed at the audience, still straddling their precious Heroine, “DO YOU WANT THIS BYTCH TO GET KILLED!?! TELL HER TO GIVE UP!!”
The Legionnaires refused to do so, instead bringing their hands together, a rapid, three beat rhythm that built steadily in momentum. The Upstart Nation March to War.
Iron’s ground her teeth together, knowing damn well that her temper was getting the best of her, blood pounding in her temples and obscuring her vision. She exhaled deeply, slamming her fists down onto the canvas to either side of Sammie’s exposed noggin, the Weaponised Wolverine fighting to retain her focus.
“Alright, fine,” Irma wiped the back of her hand across her bloody mouth, turning her own teeth crimson as she grabbed a handful of her opponent’s curls and began dragging her up. “I’ll bury her.”
Iron’s was on her feet, Sammie was forced to do likewise... until she cupped the back of her Rival’s unsuspecting noggin and dropped herself down sharply. Irma did manage a curse, short lived as it was, but it did nothing to prevent herself from being YANKED forwards, nor did it stop her chin CRACKING atop the crown of her foes head, the Jawbreaker connecting true.
The Anarchist of Anarchy recoiled as though she had been electrocuted, shooting up to vertical and back peddling once, twice, thrice, nothing but the turnbuckles at her back preventing her from falling in the end.
Sammie was running on fumes, but just as was the case with any Babyface worth her salt, that was more than enough to achieve lift off when the need was greatest. The FAWNatics roared the moment she was on her feet, positively charging towards one set of ring ropes, throwing herself against them before rebounding free, the loyal coils lending her the much needed momentum that she could not summon alone.
Sinclair sprinted across the matt just as Iron’s pushed her was way free from the corner, the Little Sparrow unleashing her own war cry as she took flight, aiming her slender frame to connect with a gorgeous Cross Body Splash!!
The Dark Haired Destroyer caught her!!
The bottom fell out of the FAWNatics watching as the Malcontent braced herself at the last moment and took but a single step backwards, a shit eating grin splintering across her features as she held her Rival securely in place.
With her own reserves seemingly already spent to launch into this Hail Mary assault, there suddenly seemed to be little that Sammie could do get away, the little brunette ensnared in the Rottweiler’s jaws and at her mercy. Sinclair hung in her opponents grasp as she was marched to centre ring, looking shockingly fragile as Irma adjusted her grip and muscled the smaller young woman up, over and onto her shoulders in a Fireman’s carry, the People’s Princess suddenly a trophy.
Irma savoured the moment, the Gladiatrix Photographers capturing it for prosperity (and merchandise), before doing what she had set out to do.
With one final shove and a heave from her biceps, she bodily lifted the slight frame of the Former Lightweight Champion skywards before turning her about. As Sinclair was brought back down to earth, the spritely young woman facing skywards, Iron’s dropped down sharply to one knee, leaving the second posted, Irma crying out triumphantly as she SLAMMED the small of her Rivals back down HARD across her rigid thigh in an utterly brutal Backbreaker!!
Sammie’s own cry was silent as she violently spasmend, shook and then slumped agonisingly backwards over Irma’s unforgiving limb, spine curling the wrong way as her pretty peepers fluttered half lidded.
Sinclair’s athletic legs twitched from misfiring synapses, the heels of her boots scraping the canvas with the smallest of movements before she fell still. She groaned, low and mournfully, the Upstart Supreme limp and all but lifeless upon her perch, her lips left ever so slightly parted.
Samantha Sinclair the first victim of the Iron Driver.
With victorious contempt, Irons unceremoniously dumped her finally pliant foe to the canvas, pulling herself about to forcibly shove her hips between the inviting thighs of her Rival, pounding her sex down hard against that of Sinclair’s several times with short, sharp thrusts, rewarded by a soft moan from the submissive young woman, a pained hiking in the girls chest accompanying each and every drive.
Grasping the brunettes limp wrists, she planted them above her foes head, continuing to pound her domineering pelvis between the open hips of the People’s Princess, fulfilling many a Heels fantasy.
“Like I said,” Iron’s panted, crooked grin in place as she faced the hard camera, exposing bloodied teeth, the Official dropping down beside them.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
“Mine.”
The bell rang not mere moments later, much to the disappointment of those watching, and they continued to voice their displeasure as Irma vacated her perch, pushing herself up to standing and thrusting out her arms wide in both victory and insult. She stomped her right boot down on Sammie’s unprotected bosom as though she were planting a flag, earning last spasm from her defeated Rival in the centre of the ring and making a statement.
“COME ON THEN!!” she screamed, demanding an answer, “WHO IS THE BEST BRIT NOW!?! WHO!?!”
The FAWNatics responded with further boos, unwilling to bestow the honour, and yet Iron’s felt victorious regardless. She had won in every way that mattered.
“Damn straight I am.”
As ideas went, this was not Samantha Sinclair’s best, a state of affairs that she was acutely aware of. Inhaling a deep breath to steady her nerves did little to change her opinion, just as the last minute stretches she was performing did even less to relieve her aches and pains. A challenge had been issued and, true to form, the most Prolific of the Sinclair’s had accepted, regardless of the fact that March to War had played havoc with her back, and the punishing House Show schedule since had only exasperated the problem.
Sometimes, it was better to back down.
It was a skill Sammie had yet to master.
JAIME LONDON
“This is a bad idea,” Jaime London, fellow Upstart and long time friend was fully prepared to point out when the brunette was being an idiot, “you know this is a bad idea.”
Sinclair nodded, chocolate curls bouncing about her slender shoulders as the duo stood before the curtains, the building enthusiasm of the crowd beyond them muffled by the entrance. “I know.”
“That doesn’t,” Jaime sighed, inhaling a deep breath before pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. At a lack of anything better to do, the little redhead folded her arms in annoyance. “That doesn’t make it better.”
“Oh, I agree, but, you know,” Sammie put on her most winning smile, masking the trepidation in her stomach, “deed is done, can’t back out now.”
“You could and you should, you are not ready for this,” Baby London’s annoyance splintered for just a moment, concern bleeding through, “Iron’s is bad news, you know this, I know this, she tried to bury my Aunt! She’s playing you Sam, she knows you were run ragged against Rue Ann, Iron’s is trying to corner you... and you’re letting her!”
“I know, Jaime,” Sinclair snapped at her friend, immediately regretting the sharpness of her tone. Her manner softened almost immediately, agreeing with everything her friend was saying, and yet... she was too stubborn to change course now, too stubborn by far. “I’ve got this.”
For her own part, London’s concern was replaced by mounting frustration, “I could...”
“And I know you would,” Samantha turned about fully, taking the Jaime’s hands and forcing the scowling redhead to unfold her arms, “and I would you love to see you kick Iron’s arse all over this arena. But not tonight.”
“You’re an idiot,” London would not relent, as equally as stubborn.
“Oh yeah,” Sinclair’s suddenly smiled, genuine and heartbreaking, every bit the People’s Princess, “when has that ever been in question? Besides, I seem to recall you picking a fight with Pandora?”
“I never said it wasn’t mutual,” Jaime couldn’t help herself, a smile finding its way onto her own features, regardless of how infuriated she was feeling with her fellow Upstart. Without another word, the two embraced tightly, an eager Gladiatrix Photographer captured the moment, “Someone needs to keep you grounded.”
“Can’t be done!” Sammie grinned, feeling impish, “just ask Wendy.”
Sinclair didn’t witness the fleeting note of sourness that passed the features of Jaime London, gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Hey,” Sammie declared, pulling back on the embrace, “if it makes you feel any better, if any of those Goons that Iron’s calls friends decide to show up...”
“They’ll wish they hadn’t,” London’s expression became deathly serious, meaning every word.
Sammie smiled back, fully prepared, just as she did with all of her Upstarts, to trust the little redhead with her life. The two Second Generation Wrestlers and beloved Lightweights exchanged a frankly adorable fist bump before Sinclair pointed over her own shoulder.
“Anyway, I gotta go,” she informed, Jaime nodding in agreement, “The Legionnaire’s are waiting.”
On the other side of the curtains, the FAWNatics themselves were growing restless, the Spring Break crowd as amped as any to be found in a PPV arena, eager for the nights unplanned addition to begin. Last minute the scheduling may have been, they regardless behaved as though they had been waiting for a year.
Finally the signal was given that proceedings were about to begin...
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Announcer came to centre stage, bringing a microphone to his lips and capturing the crowd’s attention, their anticipation palpable. “The following contest will be for One Fall. Introducing first,” the Announcer began, although he scarcely needed to, the FAWNatics already amped for the appearance of the most Babyfaced of Brits, “Hailing from Nottingham, England and standing in at 5’ 4” and one hundred and ten pounds, she is the People’s Princess, SAMANTHA!! SINCLAIR!!!”
GOOD TIME
www.youtube.com/watch?v=q_56H2DJct0
The moment Samantha Sinclair appeared on stage, that was when the FAWNatics truly lost their sh*t, the Leader of the Upstart Nation sporting a new soundtrack and standing as tall as her perfectly petite mass would allow her, catching the light in all the right places as she whipped both her arms up high and waved. Five foot four and one hundred and ten pounds of athletically sculptured, miniature might, Sammie Sinclair was every inch the People’s Princess as she cheered back, shimmering in her golden/yellow attire with her dimple, freckled cheeks flushing a delightful shade of crimson.
Sporting her ever familiar ensemble, family colours bright and on show, Sinclair’s identity was impossible to confuse. Her sports bra remained the same, smoothly curved about her small, proud bosom, leaving her softly sculptured tummy bare and her upraised arms the same way. About her hips snugly sat short skirt which, with a generous slit running up the right side, revealed a wonderful shot of her firm thigh as the baby brown eyed darling hopped up onto her tip toes and spiralled. Her boots were a bright blue and reached upwards to just beneath her kneecaps, tanned from firm leather and sporting lacing right up the front.
With the flourish of her spiral completed, the People’s Princess set her feet apart and kept her fingers wiggling heavenwards, nodding to her followers with a knowing smirk just before she lead them in her usual declaration of intent, a three beat mantra that the Legionnaires watching were always a part of. Once they were ready, she brought her hands together...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
With her statement of intent made clear she pointed directly towards the squared circle, a hearty explosion of pyrokenetics erupting to either side of the stage that she was standing on. Samantha Sinclair was here and, with a joy induced skip she headed down the aisle at a swift sprint, the second generation superstar with chocolate curls bouncing free about her slender shoulders now a little older, a little wiser and a worthy inheritor of her Father’s legacy. The girl was now a young woman, and she was looking all the bolder for it.
Fearless? Perhaps not, but nerve?
She most defiantly had nerve.
The moment Sinclair reached the squared circle, the Golden Girl took her short detour right ways and, much to the delight of those who found themselves closet, Sammie began clapping every outstretched hand that she discovered, paying particular attention to the youngest in attendance. Beating a fast track around the ring, she soon found herself back at start, a run, skip and jump taking her clean up onto the apron. Grasping the top coil with both her paws, the Bright Eyed Wonder leaned back and, following a cheeky shake her pert buttocks, she shot right over the top rope with an applause worthy sault.
Landing lightly on her feet and clapping once more, she headed on over to the farthest corner before turning to lean backwards into the turnbuckles. She stayed there for a moments, earning herself an Oscar as she disguised the spasming of the muscles in her back.
She agreed with her earlier sentiment, as ideas went, this was not her best.
There was to be no turning back however, not as the Announcer resumed his place at centre stage, bringing the mic to his lips before the FAWNatics could bring themselves to calm down. “And introducing her opponent,” he cut straight to the chase, “hailing from Manchester, England, standing in at five foot four and one hundred and twenty-five pounds, the Anarchist of Anarchy, IRMA! IRONS!!”
Let The Bodies Hit the Floor
www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8-sMJZTYf0
The house lights dropped sharply as the sound system began to whisper “let the bodies hit the floor,” before, without warning, they blazed back into renewed life as the audio itself screamed in unison. Deliberately disorientating and vindictively glaring, those watching were already forced to curse long before the instigator of their collective discomfort made herself know.
IRMA IRONS
The Dark Haired Destroyer herself stood near immobile at the apex of the ramp, fingers fitfully spasming into clenched fists as her head remained lowered. With a sudden outburst of action she thrust her head back and screamed, Iron’s rolling her shoulders sharply before she stormed her way down the aisle, inhaling deeply as her malicious glare burned a hole into the ring before her. Not a single f**k was given towards the FAWNatics watching as she marched towards her destination, snorting out a glob of phlegm before she reached her destination and then, without a moment’s hesitation, she ducked and rolled beneath the bottom rope.
She was back on her feet in no time, the Hardbody Lightweight refusing to acknowledge her upcoming opponent before she zeroed in on the nearest corner. She climbed to the middle turnbuckle and then, with a sh*t eating grin, she only fed the jeers of the FAWNatics further by delivering a double, one figured salute to one and all, reminding everyone that she despised them with a passion.
Clad in a black shirt and equally black shorts, they only part of the malcontents ensemble that was not deep ebony in appearance was the ‘belt’ about her waste, a chain wrapped about her hips by way of silent threat, a weapon that had been used to ill effect on more than one occasion. Heavy set boots THUNKED!! as she dropped back to the canvas, grinning with far too many teeth as she revelled in the crowds displeasure.
Her mood, dark tempered as it already was, turned all the more sour soon enough, the Loyalist Legionnaires in attendance changing their own tune as the People’s Princess stepped up from her own corner. Iron’s turned about to meet the undaunted Sinclair at centre ring, the slighter young woman the focus of much of her frequent ire. The FAWNatics were all too eager to remind her why, Irma scowling in irritation.
“WORLD’S BEST BRIT! WORLD’S BEST BRIT! WORLD’S BEST BRIT! WORLD’S BEST BRIT!”
Sammie couldn’t help but form the smallest smile, feeling empowered by the support of the audience, their belief, as always, filling her with courage. She arched her brow as Irma narrowed her own stare into a seething glare.
“You hear that, Sinclair?” Irons questioned, murderously low with her tone, “Everywhere I go, that’s all I hear, they won’t shut the f**k up.”
“They chant, they do that,” Sammie cocked her head slightly in the direction of the audience, well aware of why it irked her long term Rival quite so vigorously. In Irma’s world, only one of them could succeed. “Would be kind of boring if they didn’t.”
Iron’s right eye twitched, her temperament combustible. “You believe the hype Sinclair?” she sneered, edging closer, Sinclair not backing down, “you think yer better than me?”
Sammie didn’t answer, not immediately, any number of witty rebuttals flashing through her thoughts before, as per her default settings, her embraced the truth. “I don’t know,” she admitted, the Baby Brown Eyed Darling matching the stare of her nemesis, “do you?”
Iron’s didn’t answer, but there was to be no hesitation... not as she bared far too many teeth in a violent grin before throwing her cranium forwards, her forehead CRACKING!! against the stunned Sinclair’s and forcing the smaller young woman’s noggin to whiplash backwards. Sammie stumbled, the FAWNatics gasping audibly following the underhanded strike, a shimmy in their heroine’s athletic stems as her baby browns turned momentarily vacant.
The Former Lightweight Champion was reeling, and Iron’s could smell blood, zeroing in on her chosen victim like a piranha in fresh water. As one, the Legionnaires called fowl, but all the protests in the world couldn’t prevent the Manchester Malcontent from seizing their Heroine by the wrist, Irma spinning sharply on the spot and ripping the bewildered Sinclair along for the ride, dragging her into a blistering Irish Whip towards the farthest set of ring ropes.
Samantha, however, was perhaps not as helpless as she appeared, the petite brunette all but born into the squared circle gathering her wits swiftly enough to turn her back into the waiting coils. The rubber coated steel embraced the beloved baby girl of Rick ‘Golden Goliath’ Sinclair like a lover before snapping taunt and sending her lithe frame right back towards centre ring.
Oozing ruthless aggression, Iron’s waited, forever coiled to explode into violence and, as her propelled victim hurtled back towards her, the Weaponised Wolverine burst into action, tensing her right shoulder and all but exploding into a Clothesline from Hell!!
Only she came up empty, Sammie avoiding the would be devastating impact by ducking low. She slipped beneath her adversaries brutal forearm and kept on sprinting, eating up the canvas with light strides as she darted straight towards the opposite set of ring ropes. These ones she all but leapt into, the Legionnaires howling with delight as the Bright Eyed Wonder reset the scales, the ropes once again rebounding the determined young women back towards her opponent, albeit this time on her own terms!
At least it would have been had Iron’s not been ready; suddenly surging forwards herself and, with a bloodthirsty shout, SLAMMED!! her upraised knee into the trim, utterly exposed tummy of the crowd favourite. The FAWNatics groaned as Sammie exhaled sharply, her Rival’s joint burying itself deep into her softly sculptured abdominals, empting her small body of air and ripping her off her feet. The brunette flipped a full three sixty and landed hard on her firm buttocks, wincing as the hard landing sent a ripple through her vertebrae and convinced her to remain sitting.
Iron’s grin returned, crooked and filled with ill intent, regarding the Legionnaires in attendance with contempt as she rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. With Sammie both grounded and winded, Irma was in no hurry as she turned about, marching over to her shell shocked adversary and flexing her fingers before raising one hand high. She dropped it down sharply, digits sinking in deep into Sinclair’s slender, almost entirely bare shoulder, savagely trapping the exposed young woman with a severe nerve pinch.
The petite frame of the Golden Girl turned rigid in an instant, the crowd sweetheart releasing a heartbreaking cry of anguish as she bucked in misery. At the sound of her distress, Iron’s only piled on the pressure further, adding a second pincer to the first and, with her opponent sitting, leeeeeeeeaned over the top of her to drive all of her bodyweight home.
Sinclair shuddered under the abuse her shoulders were suffering, her noggin curling backwards to both expose her throat and to send the tips of her chocolate curls trailing towards the canvas. In sympathy her firm thighs twitched for her upper bodies torment as the heels of her boots scraped impotently across the canvas, the crowd favourite buckling beneath the pressure as her shivering arms soon lost their lustre.
Finally, the man in Black in White caught up with the here and now and realised that something was amiss. “For God’s sake Irons,” he attempted to step in, “let her go, the match hasn’t even started yet!”
“THEN F***ING START IT!!” Iron’s snapped back, all but foaming at the mouth as she snarled viciously, buckling down all the more on her crippling hold in the face of his admonishment, digging her claws in ever deeper. “Do it now, before I do whatever the f**k I want to this Bitch and get the f**k away with it!!”
Loath as he was to concede the point, the Official had admit that there was some truth to her threat, at the very least he could exert some control over the proceedings before they hit the point of no return. The last thing he wanted to be was to be the second Official who let the People’s Princess be wheeled out on a stretcher. He turned rapidly and called for the bell, and as it chimed across the arena, signalling the beginning of the content, Sinclair was already fading fast.
He dropped to his knees, fully prepared to accept the lesser of two evils and be Official who recorded the crowd favourites swiftest ever defeat. “What do you say Sammie, give it up?”
The Leader of the Upstart Nation was barely inhaling, arms limp at her sides as her noggin lolled forwards, her Rival refusing to let go until she had claimed her pound of flesh. “...N...no...no...” Sammie shook her head, even trying in vain to get back up before Irma drove her back down onto her pert buttocks, “NO!”
“Suit yerself, Bytch,” Iron’s grin could not have been more ruthless as she released her crippling manoeuvre, visible relief flooding through the smaller frame of the downed brunette as she almost slumped over. Irma caught her, unwilling to grant even a moment of laxity, slipping her arms beneath the limp shoulders of her adversary and, after fiercely cupping her palms HARD beneath the base of the ailing beauties noggin, locked in a savage Full Nelson, further punishing her foes already abused neck.
With a victorious heave of effort, the Anarchist of Anarchy stood tall, hauling the lithe frame of her opponent right back up to vertical and, without a moment’s hesitation, ripped the smaller woman off her feet as well. With slender legs flailing, the Tiny Titan’s trapped within Iron’s unrelenting grasp like an adorable ragdoll; Irma retained her momentum by dropping sharply to her own rear end!
While the landing was jarring, it proved to be far worse for the captive, her taunt little toosh DRIVEN!! into the canvas as though she were a nail being driven into hardwood. Sammie bucked with a pained gasp and, as the shockwaves savaged her smaller frame, Irma released her Full Nelson and allowed the brunette to flop bonelessly onto the mat.
Irma followed through, collecting one lithe stem of her opponent before pressing her other palm down hard against the young woman’s cheek, preparing to claim a dominant pinfall.
ONE!
TWO!!
Sinclair kicked out, freeing up her leg from her Rival’s grasp whilst also throwing up a slender shoulder for good measure, the FAWNatics cheering at the sign of defiance.
For just a moment, Irma’s crooked grin faded, a scowl emerging in its place as she sneered down at the struggling Sammie. Dissatisfied with the outcome of her pinfall, the Dark Haired Destroyer spat some manner of profanity before pushing up to one knee, grabbing a full fist of Sinclair’s curls as she did so, forcing a fresh cry from the beloved young woman as she hauled the proud competitor up by her own full mane.
Once they were both vertical, the English Import of Perfectly Petite Proportions barely able to remain that way with a shimmy in her firm thighs, Iron’s retained her cruel grip and mockingly kept the other girl at arm’s length. The Legionnaires booed as Irma milked the moment, clenching her right fist and, as Sammie’s pretty peepers flickered back open, threw a HORRIFIC right hook!! One that caught the blindsided brunette clean across her cheek with an audible THUNK! and spun her a full one eighty! Somehow she remained standing but, with her back to her bloodthirsty rival, her knees looked ready to give out at a moment’s notice.
With shoulders rolling, Irma zeroed in for the kill...
Only for Sammie to spin about, stealing her resolve as, with a sharp pivot of her hips and a (not entirely intimidating) war cry, her athletic right stem shot up high and CRACKED!! the unprotected jaw of Iron’s with a blistering Sammie Kick!! The FAWNatics erupted with jubilation at the sudden reversal, the dark eyes of the Manchester Malcontent turning misty as she sputtered and turned about, stumbling to one knee.
Sammie did likewise, dropping to her hands and knees as she breathed heavily, a long groooooan escaping from her small body as Babyface resilience bubbled slowly to the surface. The Legionnaires began clapping, a rapid three beat mantra that was the Upstarts anthem of war, and the young woman of their delight nodding in understanding.
With Irma still struggling, the Little Sparrow found her own feet and launched into a sprint, one that took her into the waiting ring ropes and, like the allies of Lightweights everywhere that they were, they loyally launched her small frame back into the ring at far greater velocity. Sinclair closed the distance in no time, ready to...
Irons ROARED!! with a blood curdling scream as she LAUNCHED herself into the air from kneeling, almost impaling the baby brown eyed Sammie through her unprotected tummy with a spirit shattering Spear! The People’s Princess folded like a matchbook about the rock solid joint, ripped off her feet with a mournful cry and sent tumbling to the deck in a quivering, winded heap, the young woman unable to gain traction.
Irma ROARED!! again, this time in dark delight, shoving her way back to vertical with arms pumped out to either side and her fists clenched tightly. Her cry was one of domination, and after emptying her impressive lungs, the Weaponised Wolverine marching in a short circle, her crooked grin was back firmly in place, eyes filled with savage malice.
“DO YOU SEE THAT!?!” she cried, standing triumphantly before crumpled remains of the crowd’s precious, Princess. “RIGHT WHERE SHE BELONGS!!” As Iron’s inhaled deeply, the Legionnaires voiced their mounting concern as Irma leaned forwards, vicious eagerness built within every facet of her posture as she stalked her victim, wiping a hand across spittle laden lips as she waited for Sammie to inevitably rise. “Come on, Sinclair,” she urged, “get up, time to make history”
Of course, Sammie did so, the Former Lightweight Champion fighting through the cobwebs as she rolled over onto her hands and knees, an indomitable spirit now working against her. The Legionnaires once again began clapping, desperately hoping that the three beat mantra would function as a lightning rod, spurring their heroine to renewed alertness as staggered ever upwards, one foot... and then another...
...Iron’s pounced, long before the Bright Eyed Wonder could ever recover and, after seizing the girl’s shoulders, Irma shot her forehead forwards to COLLIDE!! with a second headbutt! If anything, this one was even more blistering than the first, the smaller brunette rocked from head to toe as her noggin both whiplashed and then lolled backwards.
‘Fortunately’ it was unnecessary for the gold clad grappler to remain standing under her own power, as the Anarchist of Anarchy was more than happy to keep her that way. Folding Sinclair forwards, Irma tucked the swaying noggin of her reeling rival in tight between her powerful thighs and securing a standing headscissors. A quick squeeze between her hips produced a pleasing groan of suffering from the crowd favourite and Irma wrapped her arms about her fellow Brits slender, quivering waist.
The Dark Haired Destroyer wasted no further time, heaving with her tensed biceps and ripping her opponent’s boots right off the canvas, clasping the smaller girl with her grasp upside down, fists clenched in tightly against an punished tummy. A fresh constriction elicited yet another pleasing sound of compounded misery before, much to the horror of those watching, Iron’s dropped rapidly to the canvas! Sitting out, she SPIKED!! the crown of Samantha Sinclair into the barely yielding plywood with an audible thud, a sharp SPASM running throughout the entirety of her small frame following the brutal compression of her long suffering neck.
Almost immediately released from her opposites grasp, the Golden Girl immediately tumbled and puddled onto the canvas, her eyes scarcely half lidded as a small, pained cough escaped her petite bosom. Iron’s was atop her in a moment, powerful thighs straddling submissive hips and, after grabbing both of the other Brits wrists, planted them both above the brunettes noggin. Leaning in close with clenched teeth, Iron’s breathed in the heady scent of a capitulated Sinclair, daring her to resist as the Official dropped down to begin a new count...
ONE!
TWO!!
THR...
Sammie popped up her right leg, her athletic stem coming to rest upon the bottom rope, her pretty peepers fluttering half open as her lips parted only slightly.
There was only one response on the mind of Irons tonight, a closed fist delivered right to the temple of the defiant young woman beneath her. Sinclair slumped, athletic stems quivering for a moment before Irma was satisfied the smaller brunette had been pacified once more.
With the FAWNatics voicing their displeasure, the Manchester Malcontent flat out ignored the Orlando natives as, with a violent tick cracking her neck, she seized the front of her rivals form fitting top and yanked her fellow Brit up to sitting. Saddling up behind the other woman, she wrapped one possessive arm about her midriff and wrapped the other about her slender neck. With her package secure, Irons hauled the Leader of the Upstart Nation back up to boot leather and all but dragged her almost weight right on over to the hard camera.
“You see this, Wendy?” she questioned over the slack shoulder of her captive, Sinclair ruthlessly reduced into being a trophy, Irma glaring murder into the lens and, ultimately, only speaking to one person. “SMITH!! I’m talking to you!! You see this!?!” she shook the lithe brunette within her constricting coils for good measure, “THIS IS MINE NOW!!”
Samantha chose that moment to turn rigid, the Tiny Titan inhaling deeply as, with one shockingly fluid motion she unleashed a (still not entirely threatening) shout and snapped her right leg into action. WHIPPING the lean stem heavenwards, her flexibility on undeniable display, it came to a stop only as the tip of her blue boot managed to SMACK!! Iron’s clean between her eyes over the top of Sinclair’s own shoulder!!
The Legionnaires fell silent, momentarily at least, caught as flat footed as Irma as she immediately let go, stumbling backwards as though she had been shot, her own eyes blinking in pained shock. Just as she tumbled backwards, flopping onto the canvas, the FAWNatics caught up with the moment, releasing a ROAR!! that almost lifted the rafters.
Recovering as only the most beloved of Babyfaces could, Sinclair was a veritable blur of motion before the cheers of the Legionnaires had even become an echo. Like a bolt lightning she shot forwards, moving with more vigour than she had any right to possess, zeroing in on the nearest corner and grasping the top ropes.
With a skip and jump, her small frame was propelled rapidly upwards, the soles of her boots coming to rest on the top coils either side of the turnbuckle. A hop immediately followed, the young women descending one level as she spread her wonderfully athletic stems into a splits, the firm calves of her stems bouncing off the middle coils, the rubber coated steel flexing and then propelling the lithe lightweight into a crowd pleasing backflip.
With an arc that was graceful, the English Import of Perfectly Petite Proportions spun up and over and, with gravity as her ally, she brought her frame down HARD across the shell shocked body of one Irma Irons with a belly to belly splash!
With a harsh sputtering of forcibly ejected air, Iron’s bucked and folded beneath the spritely mass of her national rival, furious even as she convulsed in pain. With the sheer force of the impact propelling the two combatants away from one another, Irma clutching at her battered midriff as she continued to hack and convulse.
Sammie, for her own part, was the first to find her feet for the first time within this contest. The FAWNatics cheered, albeit with a minor undercurrent of concern as she remained wobbly, a tremor running throughout her slender stems that threatened to betray her. Sinclair stole a moment to relocate the hard camera, sparing her aforementioned girlfriend a cheeky wink as she watched on from elsewhere in the arena, a spritely smirk betraying that she was probably about to do something stupid...
For her own part, Irons had found the ring ropes, the Hardbody Lightweight tucking beneath the bottom coil and arriving on the apron. With a snarl that threatened maniacal intent, she grasped the rubber coated steel with a white knuckled grip before hauling herself back towards vertical.
“F***ing Sinclair,” she swore, baring far too many teeth, “I’m gonna rip out yoffffuuuuUUUCK !!”
Irma’s threat rapidly transformed into a startled curse as Sinclair tore a line across the ring, zeroing in on her objective like Pac Man after pellets. Moving faster that Iron’s could bring herself to track, Sammie leapt onto one set of ring ropes, jumping onto the middle coil and propelling herself high into the air, those closest to the action gasping as the Upstart spun her perfectly petite frame about to tackle her rival.
Iron’s had time to open her eyes wide before Sinclair’s flight effortlessly cleared the top rope and the brunette caught the Weaponised Wolverine on the way past, securing a headlock as she went. With momentum, gravity and surprise all acting in her favour, the smaller young women ripped Irma off her footing and indeed, clean off the apron, DRIVING!! the malcontent towards the barely padded concrete with a high flying DDT!!
Even the camera crew were caught flat footed, failing to switch angles before the duo disappeared from sight beyond the lip of the apron, those watching at home forced to fill in the blanks whilst those closest to the action let out a collective GASP!!
Once the stagehands had finally managed to catch up, both young women were laid out on the concrete, Iron’s sprawled out on her front, right leg twitching erratically whilst Sammie was puddled on her back, petite, proud bosom heaving in deep, pained gasps.
The Legionnaires began clapping, the rapid, three beat mantra that was the rallying cry from Upstarts everywhere and, with one final heave of a deep gasp, the Little Sparrow threw her supporters into a veritable frenzy, the Hometown Heroine all but WHIPPING her lithe, athletic frame right back up to vertical with FAWN’S Favourite Kip Up!!
On her feet again and pumping a fist, the pained Sinclair marched forwards for a few moments as she stifled a fresh groan, turning about to find the ever resilient Iron’s dragging her own way up onto her heavy duty footwear. “For the record, I don’t ‘belong’ to Wendy, not that you would understand the difference,” Sammie scolded, leaning forwards as she prepped herself for a fresh offensive, the Babyface Battler trying (and largely failing) to appear as stern as possible. “And I sure as hell don’t belong to you!!”
Wiping the back of her hand across her bloodied lips, Iron’s was back up to one knee, a snarl curling into a threat...
...which was cut immediately short, Sammie spotting her opening as she sprinted forwards, taking gracefully to the air at the last moment as she jutted out a knee and SLAMMED the solid joint right into the cheek of her long standing Rival with a Golden Wizard!!
Iron’s spun away as Sinclair shot on past, the Anarchist of Anarchy on her feet but reeling, dark eyes unfocused as she swayed this way and that, further disorientated by the heckling of the masses.
Sammie wasn’t done, not by a long shot, the People’s Princess smiling again and breaking hearts left and right, the petite brunette flying high on Babyface adrenaline. With the momentum of her charge taking her clean on over to the railings, the crowd sweetheart was greeted by several welcoming slaps against her slender shoulders before she back peddled. Raising both of her hands up high, Sinclair began to wiggle her fingers, the Legionnaires immediately picking up on the signal. In unison, the Former Lightweight Champion and the Loyalists in attendance clapped...
ONCE!
TWICE!!
THRICE!!!
...before the small brunette launched herself into a delightful backflip, one that would leave frequent adversary Janel Manning fuming, before landing on her feet and, without missing a beat, leapt into a graceful one eighty spiral, albeit one lead by a spinning elbow, one that SMASHED!! against the temple of the groggy Iron’s.
The stunned Dark Haired Destroyer spun a full three sixty before toppling backwards, spread-eagled on the concrete and blinking in a fugue state.
There was no pause in Sinclair’s own momentum, not even as Irma was tumbling and, almost the very moment her adversary’s shoulders touched the concrete, the Bright Eyed Wonder was adding a final flourish to her out of the ring offensive. Leaping into an award worthy, forward sault, Sammie shapely, right stem was weaponised like a guillotine, the limb brought down HARD across the head and shoulders of her shell shocked opponent.
The Manchester Malcontent convulsed, the sharp spasm that ran throughout her compact, Hardbody frame kicking her own impressive legs up into the air before she rolled over with a fit of coughing. Ordinarily the FAWNatics would emphatically urge an immediate pin, but there was no way for their Heroine to win outside the squared circle, and so instead the cry was for Sinclair to get Iron’s shuddering mass back inside of it.
Obliging of her Loyalist Legionnaires as always, Sinclair flashed them a reassuring smile before collecting her downed Rival. Exerting more effort than she was willing to admit, the brown haired darling managed to shuffle the heavier Irma back up into her feet and shove her beneath the ring ropes, ignoring the chocked out threats being thrown in her general direction.
With the Hardbody Lightweight suitably deposited where she belonged, the Golden Girl inhaled a deep, spirit lifting breadth as she utilised the ring ropes to help pull her own spritely mass back up onto the apron.
“Alright, Sinclair,” the Official uttered from nearby, having been generous with the ring count, “You’ve both had your fun, keep it inside the ropes now, ok?”
“Sure,” Sammie flashed him one of her patented, disarming grins, as innocent as a babe, “why not? Speaking of which,” she commented further as, accompanied by a cheer from the watching masses, Sinclair’s return to the inside of the squared circle could hardly be mundane. Grasping the top coil, her spritely frame surged into a leap, beguiling mass vaulting up onto the uppermost rope to launch into a jaw dropping, Springboard...
The FAWNatics would never know what was to come next as, with a bellow of renewed fury; Iron’s was back on her feet and charging at her opponent. Precariously positioned, there was scarcely even enough time for Sammie to acknowledge a sense of panic as an irate Irma grabbed her by her cranium. An uppercut from hell was immediately released by the Weaponised Wolverine and the Leader of the Upstart Nation was caught flush beneath her chin, an almighty CRACK!! caught by the ringside audio as the ragdolled Sinclair teetered... and then PLUMMETED backwards towards the waiting concrete.
Mercifully for those watching from home, they did not witness the actual collision from such a height, but those at ringside were perfectly positioned to gasp in horror.
Perhaps because of it, or perhaps in spite of it, the rapidly formed protests of the increasingly flustered Official failed to prevent the openly furious Irma from grasping the top ropes and immediately taking the fight right back outside the ring. With a howl that was chilling, and following a heave from her biceps, Irons YANKED herself up and over the top coil and hurled herself into the air, more than happy to allow gravity to take hold as she effortlessly cleared the apron and flattened herself out.
Like a meteor she descended, and like Armageddon she landed, flattening the already grounded Sinclair between a Hardbody Horror and the barely padded concrete, the FAWNatics wincing as the crowd sweetheart convulsed, lithe stems kicking out before she lay immobile.
Predictably, Irons was the first to get up, inhaling deeply as she grinned with savage intent, bottom lip bleeding and tinting her exposed teeth crimson. As if pulled by some primordial force, Irma slowly cranked her head sideways, grinning with vindictive malice as the Legionnaires, filled with mounting horror, realised what had drawn her attention, the steel steps her soul focus.
With Sammie near flaccid, Irma grabbed the Leader of the Upstart Nation by her wrists and hauled the compliant young woman back up to vertical, a low moan escaping from the young woman’s bosom. Releasing her grasp of one of her opponent’s wrists, the Weaponised Wolverine GRABBED!! the smaller brunette by the scruff of her neck, snarling as she turned about sharply and began to SHOVE the gold clad battler towards the waiting steps...
...only for a rapidly blinking heroine to suddenly drop to one knee and, with a (not overly threatening) snarl of her own, wiggle free from her imprisonment to turn about sharply and SHOVE!! the furious Irma towards the steel instead!! With her own momentum working against her, as well as a pair of defiant palms pushing against her backside, the furious black clad warrior expelled a sharp exhale of pain as her knees SMASHED!! against the steel and she folded forwards, her features colliding against the top.
With a frankly unseemly snort, Irma recoiled from the impact all the way back up to vertical, her right eye twitching as she was the picture of pain, the split on her lip growing larger. She staggered about in a half circle, barely keeping herself on boot leather as she stumbled left and the then right, unwilling to succumb to surrender.
She did not, perhaps, have a choice in the matter however as a resurgent Sinclair (adorably) roared, much to the approval of the FAWNatics, as she charged forwards. She leapt, diving through the air with commendable velocity, before spinning her slender frame about in a delightful spiral as she extended one arm outwards. Her pitch perfect Slingblade caught Iron’s clean across her throat with a glorious flying clothesline, which efficiently cut her Rival right down to size.
Both young women hit the concrete, only this time it was only the Tiny Titan who was in any position to do something about it. Back on her feet again with a noticeable shimmy and a barely disguised grimace of pain, her back spasming with insistence, Sammie was well aware of the Officials protests and, commendably enough, did her utmost to both lift and shovel the gasping Iron’s back into the squared circle.
With her cargo suitably deposited back inside of the ring, she went about her own business and headed towards the nearest corner, the Legionnaires in attendance raising their own voices as they surmised what was about to come. With a deft little hop, Sammie returned herself to the apron and, while the Anarchist of Anarchy remained suitably docile nearby, laying across her back, Sinclair ascended the turnbuckles as though she were conquering Mount Everest.
Reaching the top, Sammie took a brief moment to raise both of her hands high, the FAWNatics erupting into a roar, before she measured out her target and leapt! Taking to the skies in crowd pleasing fasion, she tucked into a dive and spun her delightfully athletic frame into a full forward sault before flattening herself out and SPLASHED!! her Rival with a match ending collision!
The canvas itself bucked and recoiled as both young woman gasped out in pain, albeit with Samantha on top. With Iron’s shell-shocked into next month and her own powerful stems spasming, Sinclair collected one of those dangerous limbs to roll her opponent up into a tight pin!
ONE!
TWO!!
THRE....
Irma shoved a shoulder up, Sinclair rolling away in exhaustion.
Neither young women was feeling particularly eager to get back up, and yet both young women were equally aware that to stay down would be in the end of them. Both of them growled and huffed as they rolled onto their respective fronts, and both of them vocally groaned as they pushed themselves slowly up to standing.
The FAWNatics could scarcely contain themselves, willing Sinclair to rise faster, and just as Iron’s was on the verge of winning this most vital of races, Sammie cried out and surged to vertical, just barely beating Irma to punch and launching a blistering Sammie Kick!
No one was quite sure, not even those involved, just how much boot leather the Dark Haired Destroyer had been forced to eat, but while her head had snapped backwards, the now blank eyed battler refused to tumble. Irma teetered, threatening to fall, but gravity was seemingly unable to claim it’s due.
With Baby Faced Dander emerging, the English Import of Perfectly Petite Proportions scrunched up her button nose and inhaled deeply, earning a WOOP!! of appreciation from the Legionnaires watching as she upped the ante. The entirety of her delightfully athletic frame spun about in a jaw dropping, Spinning Sammie Kick, the base of her blue boot whistling through the air to connect with...
Iron’s dropped low, the beguiling stem of her long term Rival sailing harmlessly above her head, the FAWNatics gasping in horror as they witnessed a car crash approaching. Irma charged forwards, releasing a blood curdling cry as she did so, catching Sinclair off balance and grabbing her by the hips. Lifting the much lighter young woman skywards, Sammie was popped into the air, her baby brown eyes opening in alarm.
There wasn’t time to call out a protest, the Upstart Supreme brought back down to earth far too quickly, the Manchester Malcontent PLANTING!! the crowd sweetheart down onto the canvas by way of Spinebuster. Sammie exhaled deeply as she recoiled from the plywood, bouncing a good two inches before settling, every inch of her petite mass rattled, her pretty peepers half lidded, her senses barely registering the world around her.
Iron’s was straddling the submissive Sinclair without needing an invitation, her hips encircling the smaller girl’s thighs, the palms of her strong hands shoved down against the smaller girls shoulders.
ONE!
TWO!!
THRE...
Sammie shoved up a shoulder, the FAWNatics sighing in relief.
“REALLY!?!” Irma screamed at the audience, still straddling their precious Heroine, “DO YOU WANT THIS BYTCH TO GET KILLED!?! TELL HER TO GIVE UP!!”
The Legionnaires refused to do so, instead bringing their hands together, a rapid, three beat rhythm that built steadily in momentum. The Upstart Nation March to War.
Iron’s ground her teeth together, knowing damn well that her temper was getting the best of her, blood pounding in her temples and obscuring her vision. She exhaled deeply, slamming her fists down onto the canvas to either side of Sammie’s exposed noggin, the Weaponised Wolverine fighting to retain her focus.
“Alright, fine,” Irma wiped the back of her hand across her bloody mouth, turning her own teeth crimson as she grabbed a handful of her opponent’s curls and began dragging her up. “I’ll bury her.”
Iron’s was on her feet, Sammie was forced to do likewise... until she cupped the back of her Rival’s unsuspecting noggin and dropped herself down sharply. Irma did manage a curse, short lived as it was, but it did nothing to prevent herself from being YANKED forwards, nor did it stop her chin CRACKING atop the crown of her foes head, the Jawbreaker connecting true.
The Anarchist of Anarchy recoiled as though she had been electrocuted, shooting up to vertical and back peddling once, twice, thrice, nothing but the turnbuckles at her back preventing her from falling in the end.
Sammie was running on fumes, but just as was the case with any Babyface worth her salt, that was more than enough to achieve lift off when the need was greatest. The FAWNatics roared the moment she was on her feet, positively charging towards one set of ring ropes, throwing herself against them before rebounding free, the loyal coils lending her the much needed momentum that she could not summon alone.
Sinclair sprinted across the matt just as Iron’s pushed her was way free from the corner, the Little Sparrow unleashing her own war cry as she took flight, aiming her slender frame to connect with a gorgeous Cross Body Splash!!
The Dark Haired Destroyer caught her!!
The bottom fell out of the FAWNatics watching as the Malcontent braced herself at the last moment and took but a single step backwards, a shit eating grin splintering across her features as she held her Rival securely in place.
With her own reserves seemingly already spent to launch into this Hail Mary assault, there suddenly seemed to be little that Sammie could do get away, the little brunette ensnared in the Rottweiler’s jaws and at her mercy. Sinclair hung in her opponents grasp as she was marched to centre ring, looking shockingly fragile as Irma adjusted her grip and muscled the smaller young woman up, over and onto her shoulders in a Fireman’s carry, the People’s Princess suddenly a trophy.
Irma savoured the moment, the Gladiatrix Photographers capturing it for prosperity (and merchandise), before doing what she had set out to do.
With one final shove and a heave from her biceps, she bodily lifted the slight frame of the Former Lightweight Champion skywards before turning her about. As Sinclair was brought back down to earth, the spritely young woman facing skywards, Iron’s dropped down sharply to one knee, leaving the second posted, Irma crying out triumphantly as she SLAMMED the small of her Rivals back down HARD across her rigid thigh in an utterly brutal Backbreaker!!
Sammie’s own cry was silent as she violently spasmend, shook and then slumped agonisingly backwards over Irma’s unforgiving limb, spine curling the wrong way as her pretty peepers fluttered half lidded.
Sinclair’s athletic legs twitched from misfiring synapses, the heels of her boots scraping the canvas with the smallest of movements before she fell still. She groaned, low and mournfully, the Upstart Supreme limp and all but lifeless upon her perch, her lips left ever so slightly parted.
Samantha Sinclair the first victim of the Iron Driver.
With victorious contempt, Irons unceremoniously dumped her finally pliant foe to the canvas, pulling herself about to forcibly shove her hips between the inviting thighs of her Rival, pounding her sex down hard against that of Sinclair’s several times with short, sharp thrusts, rewarded by a soft moan from the submissive young woman, a pained hiking in the girls chest accompanying each and every drive.
Grasping the brunettes limp wrists, she planted them above her foes head, continuing to pound her domineering pelvis between the open hips of the People’s Princess, fulfilling many a Heels fantasy.
“Like I said,” Iron’s panted, crooked grin in place as she faced the hard camera, exposing bloodied teeth, the Official dropping down beside them.
ONE!
TWO!!
THREE!!!
“Mine.”
The bell rang not mere moments later, much to the disappointment of those watching, and they continued to voice their displeasure as Irma vacated her perch, pushing herself up to standing and thrusting out her arms wide in both victory and insult. She stomped her right boot down on Sammie’s unprotected bosom as though she were planting a flag, earning last spasm from her defeated Rival in the centre of the ring and making a statement.
“COME ON THEN!!” she screamed, demanding an answer, “WHO IS THE BEST BRIT NOW!?! WHO!?!”
The FAWNatics responded with further boos, unwilling to bestow the honour, and yet Iron’s felt victorious regardless. She had won in every way that mattered.
“Damn straight I am.”