Lizaxzc vs. Jennifer “The Better Woman” from FCF
Our faces appear on the big screen above the brightly lit ring, and the audience to the arena starts cheering, as this is the main event of the evening. There has been a lot of hype around this match, as we are both amazing competitors in every sense of the word. You, being the reigning queen of the ring here, but me having had a meteoric rise in this world. When it comes to dishing out punishment for opponents, none are more ruthless than us, and we both add our own special flavor to our matches. Our faces fade from the screen, and are replaced with big bold pink letters… “PIN MATCH.”
My hands run up my long smooth torso and cup my perfect 38Ds as I take a deep breath, studying myself in the mirror backstage. Visions of slamming you, splashing on you, pinning you, posing on you, embarrassing you flutter through my mind, and before I realize this, I’m smiling at my reflection. My athletic, sunkissed 5’7 125lbs body looking amazing as ususal. My sexy eyes highlighted by black eyeliner and blue eye shadow. My finger nails and toes coated with white nail polish, which contrasts nicely with my black thong bikini. “I’m going to own this bitch.” I say to myself before leaving my room. As I walk down the hallway which leads to the main ring area, I pass several high definition photos taken from over the years here. The photos seems to all be taken from the climax of previous matches. I pass one photo of one woman seemingly effortlessly facesit pinning her opponent while she fixes her hair. Her body glistening with sweat both under the lights of the ring, and the camera flashes from the crowd. Walking further, I see another photo which pictures a hot full body pin… The woman on top clearly thrilled with her victory grinning wickedly in her obviously humiliated opponent’s face. I stop and admire another photo… “Oh my God… It’s her.”
Behind a heavy metal door, scarred by aged paint, and donned with a printed-out piece of paper with a bright red border, I kiss my partner. My lover. My rival, and then when her lips and mine part, I begin to move. Towards the sign on the door, the words of which declare loudly, though in near exhausted ink: Private Locker Room of The Better Woman and The Doll.
A sign that suddenly flutters up into the air, as the door on which it rested pulls open. A 5’4”, 125 lbs ball of charisma, technical ability, and quirkiness bursting through the opening left in its wake. And though I am not accompanied by security or Ralphus, I do wear a smile, both genuine and wide as I make my way through the back. Greeting friends with cute little waves, and jumping requests for hugs. And though that does slow me down, eventually I make it to Gorilla Position, the curtain out to the arena, and then the entrance ramp. My modern, techno remix of Eddie Guerrero’s music hitting as I skip and hop down the ramp. My hands reached out, and slapping against all the fans I can reach. Their love and support always helping me get through matches like this, and opponents like you.
But my fans and the ramp eventually run out, and when they do, I roll into the ring and take to my corner. Waiting for the match to begin.
Making my way through the hallways that leads to Gorilla Position, I finally reach the back curtain just in time to see your bubbly body bounce into the ring. The place erupts when you finally roll through the ropes and onto the canvas. A pang of jealous strikes me, seeing you in front of your adoring fans showboating in the corner already. Hands on my hips, I close my eyes. This is why I’m here. To make sure these fans know who the true better woman is.
My music plays, a deep thumping baseline underneath drums and high hats. I strut my stuff out from behind the curtain and down the ramp. As I approach the ring, I exaggerate the swinging and swaying of my hips, as I blow kisses and winks to lucky fans. And when I reach the bottom of the ramp, I squat down and spring up on the side of the ring in a graceful and athletic move. Taking my sweet time to bend over in between the top and bottom rope, I spin and twirl striking a pose in the middle of the ring.
I face you and blow you a kiss. It’s no wonder why you are so popular. You look incredible, and you have this charismatic, positive aura to you that fans, foes, and friends find infectious. Looking past you, I see one woman in particular who seems more nervous than the people around her. Hmmph, that must be Doll. I’ll remember which corner she’s in so I can intentionally finish Jenn off right in front of her. Giggling wickedly as I rest my arms on the top ropes. I take a deep breath, and at the end of my exhale, I hear to oh-so-sexy “DING! DING! DING!”. Time to wrestle.
I was the new girl. The timid untested. Making my way around the locker room and shaking the hand of every wrestler on the roster. Not a strong, confident handshake, but a soft, demure one. That being the tradition of the business. One meant to tell those who might have to work with me that I will protect them. That my ego and their place either above or below me was less important, than keeping them safe.
You aren’t new, but I’ve never shaken your hand. You’ve had a few matches and made a name for yourself, and yet in the back, you act like you’re better. Hotter. And DESTINED to be the best — the champ.
I’m no enforcer, or even a locker room leader. But I know the business. Respect the business, like those in my family before me. And so even as I smile and bounce around the ring, my real personality shining through, I know I have to teach you. Not how to wrestle, but how to respect.
It’s something I don’t show for even a glimpse as I make my way to the center of the ring. My eyes soft, and arms crossed in front of me, the thumb and index finger on my right hand gently holding onto the pinky finger on my left. My every step being more like a skip than a stride. Skips that take me to the center ring. A ring I will share with you tonight. Under these wicked hot lights, and in front of all of these cheering, jeering, and leering fans.
They watching us move and comparing our beautiful bodies. Bodies that near as we begin to sidestep and circle one another. The Better Woman and the hottest rising star in the business. A title I look to take from you, as in the white-glow of cellphone flashes I lunge towards you, looking to see how good you are at tying up.
My eyes bobbing up and down in their sockets as they follow your skipping body to the center of the ring. You have the reputation which just magnifies that bright personality of yours. Smirking as my eyes narrow. The word I heard through the grapevine was you were a little confused as to how I even got a match with you in the first place. As if I haven’t already made a name for myself in the ring. Talking trash like someone has to TEACH me respect. Of course Doll, your little “Yes-Woman” encouraging the trash talk/fuel to the already brewing flame between us… Well, We’ll see how much respect you can teach me IN an actual grapevine.
My back foot kicks off of the middle turnbuckle which propels me forward, and once I get within striking distance, we both crouch down and start circling each other. My toned legs and ass flex as they allow me to crouch down even more. Having a height advantage on you actually works to my disadvantage for tying up, so I lower my center and lunge forward! Just as my finger tips touch yours, I swat your arms, both of them to my right, while darting to your left. Slapping my right hand against your flat stomach, and keeping it there as I spin around your back. Wanting to press my tits and abs against your back and lock my hands up on your lower belly. If I can lock you up, I have a plethora of tricks up my sleeve that can dim your bright personality.
All the ones who didn’t grow up in the business and around the business think it. They’re too talented, too experienced, too much of a guaranteed success to pay their dues or do their paying. I saw it every week in Chavo’s gym. The hot shots with six packs and product-drenched hairdos. The girls who started as fitness models and decided to wrestle to start their movie careers. Yeah, they were the ones Vince and Rheena came for first. The ones who looked good on an event poster. But they’re also the ones complaining on Twitter when their push ends and TV time drops.
I don’t know you. I haven’t heard you’re one of those. But you look like them. Sound like them. And as you dodge our customary lock-up, drop beneath my grasp, and then spin around me, I am almost sure of it: your place in the business. Temporary. A cup of coffee in the big time.
Your hands closing in around my lower abdomen as I hop up in your arms, leaving your tighting embrace to surround not my tummy, but my waist. A hinge I bend at, as I drop my upper body forward, down, and then roll. The back of my thick and yet muscle-written Latina thighs catching behind your armpits and pulling you forward. MY hands reaching out and grabbing the back of your calves, as over we flip, and to the mat your shoulders go. The crowd gasping and then popping in cheer as the referee drops to the mat and counts “1…” You kicking out with force, and breaking my quick and instructive pin emphatically.
Barely able to contain my smirk as I begin to constrict your tight abs – I’m holding onto your waist… Wha- “UUGH!!!” Your body hinges forward away from me in lightning quick speed, followed by what feels like two powerful hooks pulling my arms down from underneath my arm pits… And before I know it, I’m being count out??
Flat on my back, in an awkward position, momentarily pinned by my rival. Before my brain can even register what just happened, I kick my strong legs away from your hands, while flexing my abs, violently bridging out of this hold. My body flops to the canvas, and instinctively I flip over onto my stomach. Getting on all fours shaking my head. I can feel my cheeks blush. She drew first blood, I think to myself. I push off the canvas and stand up tall, walking around you in a circle. My eyes focused on you, but in the background I see hundreds of people shouting and taking pics on their phones. Wiping my hair out of my eyes… She’s quick, she’s skilled, she now has momentum on her side. I’m going to have to push myself to my limits this match.
“Cute move Jenn.” I say matter of factly… “Very impressive.” Just as that last word leaves my mouth I spring forward looking to catch you off guard and lock up with you!
I was never going to get it. A count of three off a victory roll done in the first few seconds of the match. But that wasn’t my goal. To catch a quick one, and slide out of the ring while you plant your palms on the back of your head and demand answers from the ref.
No, because I want this match. I want you. All of you. For as long as you can keep up with me. To see what you’ve got. To see what you can offer not only me but the other girls in the back. To see if your attitude and overconfidence is worth putting up with.
But still I got something out of the pin. A message to you — one sent without words. One that tells you that at any moment, I can flip it. The script. Our position. And even the match, if you aren’t careful.
It’s a lesson I see you processing as you shoot back to your feet, and straighten your back. Your eyes looking to the crowd, only a few feet away I smile at you sweetly.
Then you say it, admitting how nice the move was. And despite all my assumptions about you, and plans in the match, I still respond with a cute and genuine, “Thanks!”
A response of returned appreciation I offer only a second before you, and I in response dive into each other and a steel-hard lockup. My right hand moving to the back of your neck, and left to the inside of your right elbow. You doing the same to the sound of our bare feet planting hard on the mats. Our lips letting out soft, effort-born grunts as with all the strength we can muster, we push into each other.
Your height and strength advantage working to your benefit, as after only a few seconds I start stepping back. The dichotomy of our might making me think back to The Doll, and how even we were. How the only movement we could earn was through chance, cheating, or distraction. A far cry from the speed at which you push me backwards and towards the corner.
The ref, in the silver bikini dances to our side to get a good look at us. Our arms struggle for supremacy as my eyes pierce yours. Face to face and body to body now with one of the greatest competitors that’s ever graced this ring. You made your point with that little victory roll, and now it’s time for me to make a point of my own. My bare feet push off the canvas as I power into you, forcing you to step back, little by little, until finally…
I thrust my hips forward, slamming my abs and tits into your body, pinning you up against the turnbuckle! Blowing you a little kiss right in your face as I do so. I quickly bring both of my hands to the back of your neck and hop up onto the middle the ropes, intentionally pressing my abs into your face. In this moment, I look out, and catch Doll in the audience, shooting me a baleful glance. I teasingly stick my tongue out at her and wink. This all happens in the blink of an eye, and it’s back to business…
I bring both of my feet to your hip crease and allow myself to roll back and down to the canvas, while pulling on the back of your neck. Looking to make a point of my own by tossing your sexy body over mine in a graceful and incredible monkey flip! Aiming to put your body right in the middle of the ring!
I know The Doll is watching me. Watching us. And yet as you put your mind to it — your strength to it, I have no way of bringing an end to our long march to the corner, and then my hard slam into it. One that leaves me dazed long enough for you to press your hot, bikini-clad body into mine and then after a mocking kiss blown from lips to air you climb me. Pause for a moment, and then drive your feet into my stomach as you grip my neck.
I had the answer before. The reversal and the trick to your deft little move. But this time I have nothing. Nothing other than the air beneath me as into it I fly high. Out of the corner, over your body, into a flip into the air, and then a crash onto my back and ass. My bare feet coming down last, as for a moment I lay stunned on the mat. Knowing that I am in a match, but not where I am, or more importantly, where you are.
Admiring your sexy body and face as you fly over me… As satisfying as it is to woman-handle you like this, nothing is as satisfying as the sound of your body crashing into the canvas. That couldn’t have felt good! I do a backwards roll, and pushing my hands down on the canvas, I spring my body up into a handstand! Balancing perfectly in style and grace, making sure I position myself correctly…
Concentrating on your momentarily stunned body, I wait until my head is about a foot away from yours, and that’s when I allow myself to topple over. When I splash on top of you, I will land chest to chest, stomach to stomach, and hips to hips. It will be utterly spectacular. Even if I can pin you, I won’t allow the ref to count to three. No, I just want to let you know that at any point in time I too can flip the script.
The overhead lights of the arena beaming down make it hard to refocus my eyes as I stare up at them. The first beads of sweat sliding down my bikini-clad body and dripping onto the mat, just as, out of the corner of my eye, and as my focus returns, I see you. My beautiful and sexy opponent, springing up and onto your palms in a full-on handstand.
A sight that makes the crowd gasp and then clamour with both respect and awe. It being a physical feat almost no one alive could pull off, let alone any in our company. I can hear it now, the commentators calling you the best “pure athlete” we have. And they wouldn’t be wrong — you proving it with every hand-made step towards me that you move.
And though I am not that kind of wunderkind, as closer and closer you come, I go from wounded to playing possum — out of it, to waiting for you. A wait that comes to an end when you are so close, I smell you. Your perfume. Your sweat. And hear your half-labored breathing from the physical toll of your flashy handstand.
One you try to turn into offense by bringing yourself parallel with me, and your head just above mine. And though you are only a millisecond away from crashing down upon me, with a happy smile, I bend my neck suddenly to look into your eyes. Yours going wide as suddenly, and as the ref hops around us to get into position to count a pin, I gouge you in the eyes. Then, as you collapse forward onto your stomach, I roll out from beneath you to the right, and then back in to the left and atop your back. My breasts pressing into your upper back, and hard nipples stabbing into the inner curves of your shoulder blades. My every effort thereafter spent trying to lock you into a crossface chickenwing. MY arms and hands searching for yours, to lock you in the submission.
Not to earn that, a crying out of uncle. But instead to weaken you, as between my wrapping thighs and binding arms I try to trap you. Knowing full well you still have the energy and strength to resist me.
The sly and confident look in my eyes fades away quickly, as it becomes apparent to me that you are playing possum. That thought swims through my mind briefly, before being interrupted by you gouging my eyes, and squirming away from my full body splash at the last second! My body lands hard in the middle of the ring. Much harder than if you had been my landing cushion like I intended. I don’t even have time to assess how dazed I am before my left arm is yanked out towards my side and then compressed in what feels like a vice grip. “Oh God.” I gasp as I feel your chest press down on my back. I instinctively try to duck my head and bring my free hand up to block it, but I’m too late….
Shrieking in pain as you wrench on my face which at the same times pulls my head back in hyperextension! Your hands block the pained expression on my face. “Bitch!” I shriek, which comes out muffled through your hands… I see the toned ref squat down next to me, in her shiny silver bikini with a concerned look on her face. I wag my pointer finger side to side, the universal sign for “No.”
My right hand begins to pry at your grasp on the front of my pretty face, while I do everything I can to flex my left arm. My left arm can’t overpower two of your legs, but I can use my trapped left arm as leverage to support my body as I bend my knees, bringing them under my hips. Pushing off the mat, underneath the weight of your chest, trying to get to get to a standing position!
Just as our lock-up, trip to the corner, and perfectly executed monkey flip work for you, my little trick works for me. My gouge of eyes leaving you almost blind as you crash down into the mat hard. So hard that by the time I return to lock you in a crossface chicken wing, you are seemingly helpless to resist. My right arm snaking under your chin, just as my left sneaks beneath yours, bends it at the elbow, and then traps it as my hands just above your left shoulder meet and clasp with hooked fingers.
That’s when I hear you curse at me. Angry that I have you, and that you didn’t see it coming until it was too late. The excitement of the entire moment and your comment pushing even sweet little me to respond in a brag, “got you….”.
But even as the words leave my lips, you are fighting me, at first trying to forcefully separate my legs and then by pushing against the mat to stand up. I would resist you, but I am too busy, too firmly clamped around you. My ankles locked in front of you, and my hands still clinging tight to my arm-wrenching submission.
Undaunted however, you then fight to a stand. Up from the mat and in a wobble to your feet — even as I remain wrapped around you like a snake. I know you could hurt me. Know you could wreck me, if you found the right plan. But I’m holding on. Not to get you to submit, but to show you that I will drain you completely if I can — if you can’t stop me.
You are truly fearless and stronger than you look. The pain radiates from my neck down my spine… But, I’m as stubborn as you are sneaky, and I’m as strong as you are fearless. My wobbly knees get underneath my hips. I push off the mat and begin to straight out my spine, even though my neck is contorted back in an awkward angle. Hoping that the sweat on our bodies helps me shake you off, but you are wrapped around my arm and face like a rabid animal!
As my legs straighten out under me, the crowd’s volume raises along with my height. Standing in the center of the ring now, grimacing through the pain, with you clinging on to me! I’m barely able to make out the crowd through your hands… My legs beginning to tremble. I know that I simply cannot be in this position for much longer. It’s hard for me to formulate a plan when I can barely see and in moderate to severe pain! “Grrrrrr… uuggghhh….” I decide to let the dice roll and fling myself backward as quickly and as hard as I can, knowing that when I land, I will be landing on top of you, and this fall will undoubtedly hurt you more than me! Even if you have the slightest moment where you loosen up your grip on me, just a second, I can flip the script on you. Please God, just give me one little moment to get out of this…
You stumble beneath me. Your one free hand pawing at the arm of mine that I leave draped hard across your face. Keeping you from seeing. From strategizing. And yet still, I know it is coming. Whatever move of desperation you come up with.
Will you sprint toward the nearest rope and try to hang me across it? Stagger with me on your back towards the corner behind us? As I sift through your possible options you choose one. One I am not ready for. As instead of risking a move, and the possible collapse that might follow, you leap into the air and back, carrying me with you, until in a brutal, wind-stealing landing, we crash into the mat. Your wait awkwardly slamming into my tummy, breasts, pubic mound, and all else sensitive. At the collision of canvas and precious Jenny, all of my grips loosen, holds ebb, and strength evaporates.
The impact makes the ropes dance along the sides of the ring, as if excited by the show we are putting on. I brief a sigh of relief as I blink my eyes wildly and shaking my left arm and wrist out. Flat on my back and breathing heavily, I can’t help but laugh out loud… “That was very surprising, wasn’t it? Haha!” I quickly – or as quickly as I can sit up. On my butt, I look over and see you writhing in pain. And it’s quite an exciting sight. Crawling over to you, slowly and sexily perpendicular to your body, I grab your hair and tug your head up to mine so we are face to face. Locking eyes with you the entire time I pull you up until you are standing up tall with me in the center of the ring.
Both of us sweating profusely now, my chest heaves up and down. I finally, and violently pull your head down and towards my side, locking you in a standing headlock. Making sure I press your face against the side of my sweaty abs as I wrench on your neck. “Pay back for the stupid crossface!” Holding you towards my right side, I hinge my upper body forward, and then I fling myself backwards holding onto your neck as I do so, hoping I land a devastating DDT on the one and only Jennifer!
The lights flicker, and sound of the crowd fades in and then cuts off. Not because the lights of the arena are failing or because the fans beneath them are caught between excitement and indifference, but instead because of the severity of our landing. And the way that the back of my head bounced off the mat when we made impact.
With me in such a barely-there stare, you grab my hair and pull me face to face with you. Our foreheads pressing and eyes connecting, though I am in no state to convey anything other than confusion and weakness. Still, it is the first time I have seen you or you me. In more than a passing, shallow sense. Each of us having already taught the other several lessons in respect, in overconfidence, and how evenly we matched we may in fact be.
And though that all may come across in a glint and a sparkle shared, you have more to teach. More to inflict. Doing so by pulling my head down, throwing beneath your arm, and then after a quick shift forward, dragging me forward and slamming my head hard into the mat.
A second blow to the head that I was in no position to take. Though it leaves me in the perfect position to be taken. By you, for whatever nefarious move you have planned.
Your head slams into the mat with tremendous force, and as I lay on my back I take a moment to smile. Never one to take any opponent lightly, I quickly turn to you and violently push you over onto your back. You are in another world. That’s two huge power moves I executed on you, and now you are seemingly mine. I don’t believe this is you playing possum either. Hands on the canvas, I swing my leg over your waist and allow myself to splash on top of you. I land body to body with an emphatic “SLAP!” The sound of one wrestler slamming down on another.
My legs wide, just in case you try to rock me off to your side, I grab your arms and pin them over your head. Smiling genuinely, as I flex my abs against yours, flattening your tits down against your chest. I lower my face down to yours until the tips of our noses touch. “Looks like I’m the better woman now.” I teasingly say. Making sure when I do taunt you, my nose lightly bends yours down so my lips brush against yours while talking.
The reliable ref slides near us to take a look as she always does. She slaps her hand down while sweetly singing “ONE!” My smile grows wider as I know this must look amazing to everyone. I bet even your precious Doll thinks this is the best you’ve ever looked in the ring. Underneath me.
As if the world, the arena, and all those watching have been wrapped in a wet blanket, everything is muted and flat. I had you! Stumbling, staggering, and on the verge of collapsing! Until you did collapse. On top of me hard, only to bury my forehead into the mat a moment later.
You are in firm and undeniable control as you roll over and crawl atop me. You pinning my arms above my head, my breasts down with your own, and anchoring yourself atop me with your bikini-covered mound against my own. Then you lower your face to mine, bending the tips of our noses with contact and pressing your lips in part against mine as you speak.
Telling me that you are the better woman. I wish I could answer you. Reject your claim and take firm control of this battle and you. Making this moment of sheer, brutal, sensuality and dominance mine to both inflict and convey.
But as our sexy ref counts “2….” with a slamming hand and booming voice, I just lay. My eyes blinking open to look into yours only a flash before with all the force I can muster, I kick out! MY right arm, powering through your left and up into the air. Your unrelenting grip on that side allowing me to lift you half off of me and into the air, only for both to crash back down into the mat. You still atop me. Pinning me with your body. My shoulders down on the mat once more.
In a quick, spastic motion, your right arm leaps off the mat, and in turn, your right shoulder comes off the mat. The ref exclaims “Kick out! That’s 2!” I’m jerked a little to your left, sliding my sweaty tits and abs against yours, and then peering down into your eyes again as your arm falls to the canvas. “Still have some fight left in you? That’s cute!” My tone sweet, but sadistic. I push off of your wrists and straddle your chest. Taking a moment to fix my bikini top. Glaring down into your eyes, my hands quickly finding the back of your head, interweaving my fingers in your hair as I force you up to standing again. My eyes leave yours so I can look at the ref. “Don’t worry, next time it’ll be for 3.” The ref can’t suppress her smile…
I am just loving how this match is going for me. Gaining confidence second by second. The cross face and victory roll seems like distant memories now. I grab your right wrist with both of my hands, pivot my hip away from you, and with all my strength, I launch you towards the corner. The very same one you came out of in the beginning of the match!
I remember where I am. Who I am in the ring with. And most distinctly what has been done to me over the last 40 seconds, and yet as I’m thrown towards and with force slam into the corner, I can’t remember the last time I had gotten in any offense.
The feeling of lost control uncommon since my rise to fame and locker room standing alongside Kat. But the rarity of my plight couldn’t seem less significant as through my quarter-open, bleary eyes I see you coming. Running at me with a mind filled with malice.
Your speed steady, until as you near me you suddenly spin, looking to drive your toned ass and muscled back into me. Your intent focused on crushing me behind you in the corner. A crushing that will truly put the match in your hands and hope perhaps out of my reach
A knowledge that pushes me, drives me to muster my strength and leap up to the second rope with my feet and then after a quick hop, to the top rope in a sit. That movement up, a multi-tiered reversal of fortunes. The first being your hard slam into the Jennless turnbuckles.
The second being my legs lifting and wrapping around your neck, as you face out into the ring.
And then the third, me hoping over from the corner and then straight down on the outside of the ring, my back facing the ropes. Ropes my ankles pull the back of your neck into, hanging you brutally on the top metal-cored strand, as I land outside the ring on the palms of my hands, in my own version of your earlier showy handstand. One that ends as I fall forward to all fours and then focus on breathing and recovering, as in the ring you writhe.
My back hits the turnbuckle with tremendous force. My entire body writhes in pain as I arch my back, and as my head is thrust upwards towards the bright white lights over the ring. Where did she go? A question that is answered with the death lock of a headscissors you put on me. As my hands raise up to begin working on your ankles, I’m pulled down and back with what feels like twice the strength of what I’d expect from wrestling the likes of you! For a moment, I panic. My eyes wide in terror as my neck snaps back violently, coupled with the agonizing headscissor which constricts my breath. Before I can begin to fully understand how you got out of the corner in time, and how you were able to pull off this move, I am released….
I flop to the canvas on my knees, then flat on my face. My hands absently massaging my neck as I gasp for air. Beads of sweat trickle down my toned body. She hurt me… She embarrassed me… I’m going to take her down, and this time, there will be no kick out for her… Vicious thoughts swim through my mind as my trembling arms and legs struggle to support my body as I try to stand up.
I am hurt, my head aching and vision still partially blurred, and yet into the ring I move. Chasing you. Knowing I can’t time to rest and recover without handing you the same. And so I leap up onto the apron, roll into the ring under the bottom rope, and then move just behind you. A position from which I reach down, grab your hair, and pull you into a seated position – only a moment after you had begun an attempt to make that journey yourself.
There, as you wobble, still trying to get your bearings I believe, I drop to a single knee, wrap my right arm around your chest and underneath your chin. Then, in a sudden and simultaneous attempt to lock you in a deep sleeper hold, I try to tighten that right arm, all while my left drops atop your shoulder on that side, and the palm thereupon looks to press down against your forehead.
Your chance to escape at its peak, as I whisper a soft and yet mocking comment to you. “In your dreams you’ll be able to beat me.”
Your arms constrict my neck, and my eyes suddenly widen! I’ve awoken your vicious side it seems as you try to choke the life out of me right after you practically decapitated me against the ropes! My arms, burning with fatigue reach up, trying to pull your right arm down from my neck, but you have me locked in tightly. I feel your lips against my ears, and that sweet cheery voice of yours echoes throughout my mind. “In your dreams…”
I command my legs to do their job. I pivot my hips, turning my body towards you. It actually makes the sleeper much tighter for the moment, but I don’t even care. I get to one knee, turning into you. I get to both knees, turning into you. Now I am starting to see black stars in my vision, and I don’t even care. I am possessed to get out of this at any means necessary. Using all of my strength and will power, I get us both standing. I turn my body to the side, which finally eases up the sleeper. I gasp for air, but still in your arms. I wrap my left arm around the small of your back, my right hand clasps with the left at the left side of your abs. I bend my knees, and begin to lift! Wanting to get you above my head and slam you down backwards with authority!
I want it. So bad that I can taste it. My arms around you, and your breath cut off as in front of all of these fans, the girls in the back, and The Doll who watches closely, to put you to sleep. Not quickly, but slowly. Having you there in the center of the ring and leaning hard against your back. Putting all of my weight and strength into draining you. Into stealing your energy and strength as you struggle. At first ferociously and then weakly. Until the sexy ref who bounces around us like a bunny raises your arm once, twice, and then three times — each such raise followed by a precipitous fall.
But again you are so strong — so infused with fire and vigor that even as I coil around you with the intent to put you out, you rise. You fight. Undaunted. Unaffected, it would seem. But that perception, as my jaw opens wide in shock and the crowd gasps in amazement, crumbles. As what you know doubt meant to be an authoritative and beautiful back suplex hitches mid-air as I struggle to resist you. The result of our contrary wills and efforts leading to not just I, but we, in an off-kilter, leg-buckling breakdown of execution, to slam head-first into the mat together. My arms falling limp around you as we thereafter lay. Groaning and moaning together in a clump of flesh, sweat, and shattered dreams on the mat.
Our chests heave up and down and sweat drips off of our bodies. The ref dancing around us in circles to check up on us. Air has never tasted better! My hands rubbing my neck, I can tell I’m not going to be able to turn my head for days. Ugh… That bitch… Rolling over and see you, panting heavily flat on your back. That’s it, I’m about to end this. There have been weeks of hype leading up to this match as to who the better woman truly is, and now it’s my time to make my mark.
I get to my knees, barely. Feeling a little lightheaded as I straighten out my spine. My right hand grabs you by the hair as I tug you up to sitting. Then my left arm scoops under your right armpit as I squat down and clumsily bring you up to your feet. Once we are both standing, I slide my other arm underneath your left arm pit and hold you tightly. Flexing my abs against yours and glaring in your face. Smiling wickedly as I look past you and see The Doll. “Want a closer look?” I sincerely ask under the volume of the crowd… I walk us back to your corner, and before turning my back on The Doll, I offer her a sympathy smile, knowing that when I land my sexy and spectacular belly to belly suplex, I’ll be facing her for the final pin. Glancing at the ref, making sure she’s ready, and then focus my gaze on your face, right up to mine. “MMUAH!” I give you one last juicy kiss on the lips before I bend my knees, pivot my hips, and begin the belly to belly suplex!
Despite our cruel, mat-slamming landing, and as I still see stars, you rise once more like the Phoenix. Your hands rubbing your neck, before they reach for my hair and drag me to my feet. Then you pull me to the corner I started the match in, and my body tight against yours. Your rippling abs jutting into my soft tummy.
Then you kiss me, lift me, and after a spin, planting me into the mat hard with a belly-to-belly suplex. One that knocks the wind out of me, and leaves me once more lost in the sum of damage done.
I land on top of you with an emphatic SLAM! The whole ring shakes, and I smile ear to ear. Laying on top of you, our sweat mixing. Grinning down into your face and I can see you are totally rocked. My arms still wrapped around your upper back holding you tightly. I look up and see The Doll, right in the middle of my field of vision. Keeping my body pressed to yours, and while maintaining eye contact with your bitter-looking Doll, I simply unwrap my arms, just so I can bring them over your arm pits, and then behind your head.
Wrapping your pretty little head in my forearms, I scoot my body forward until my chest is directly over your face. Slowly, I start rotating my upper body left and right, intentionally slapping your face with my breasts… Once, twice, and then I lower down. Grinning at The Doll as I smother you, oh, and let’s not forget about pinning you…
The ref kneels by me and slaps the mat. “ONE!”
At the crash of my body into the mat, you atop me and as jackhammer driving me down, I expel all of the oxygen in my body in a single, hard exhale of pain. One that you steal from me like a thief in the night. My body going limp, as above me you post and preen. Eyeing my partner and lover with a cruel and vindictive smile. Your placement moving from the aftermath of a devastating maneuver, to burying my face between your tits and then with them, gently slapping me.
It is a message to me, just like all those I meant to send you, as to who the better woman is. A message to The Doll that it is she who might be next. To the locker room that you are the new force to be reckoned with and a message to those that watch us from management that you’re the next big thing.
And with that communique of dominance sent, you cover me for the pin. Not firmly, and desperately, but with all the certainty of a champion vs. a jobber. The ref kneeling next to you and counting as her tits giggle. “One!” She shouts, as The Doll slams her hands on the mat and turns away. Unwilling to watch you smirk a second longer.
“Two!” Her voice comes again, like an announcement of your coronation. Your every fiber of being ready to take the crown and my moniker as soon as the woman official counts three.
And though you expect it, not as a probable but a fact yet made real, at the very moment that same ref opens her mouth to count three, and with all the strength I have left to muster, I kick out. Shooting my right arm up, though without the energy to do more.
Already anticipating posing on you, glorifying my dominance, and relishing in my victory. I can actually see myself perched on top of you, striking an oh-so-sexy pose in front our audience. The pained look on your lover’s face, the opportunities that will present themselves to me in the weeks to come… I can taste victory. My eyes follow the ref’s hand down to the mat. And it touches. There’s just one issue…
I’m bucked slightly to the left as your right arm comes shooting upward with less than a split second before the ref’s hand touches the canvas. My tits graze off your face as I lean towards my side, still on top of you, but in complete astonishment. Glaring down into your face, your eyes barely open with your mouth wide open gasping for air… I look over at the ref, then back at you… I grab your wrists and force them over your head, and in a complete haze of frustrated rage, I raise my hips up and SLAM my abs and tits down on yours. I then lift up and belly flop on you again. A third time, and then a fourth and final time. As soon as my body collides with yours I spring on up to my feet.
I grab you by the ankles and drag your body so you are directly in line with the turnbuckle. Letting your legs fall in front of me, I turn my back to you. Hands on my hips I sexily strut to the corner and climb the ropes backwards so I’m facing you. One at a time, with each ascension I turn to the crowd for approval. I am at the very top. The crowd is about to explode. I have lined you up so that when I land, it will be a true full body splash. Hips to hips, and chest to chest and everything in between. Striking one final double bicep flex, I take my leap of faith, and your kiss of death for this match!!!
My vision is doubled and then blurred — tripled and then painted with fog.
My mouth dry, save for a small dot of white, foamy saliva that clings to the right corner of my lips. Leaving me looking like Owen Hart during his famous Wrestlemania X promo.
Then there is my hair, which is matted and tossed. I am a hot mess if there ever was one. But still, I kicked out. Still I got a shoulder up by the count of 10. Barely. In the nick of time, and yet it was enough. Enough to break the count.
A fact that drives you mad with rage. A rage that pushes you to lift up and then slam your hot body down on mine again and again. Your sweat coming down atop me, like I had shaken the leaves on a tree after a long, rainy day. And though you could try to pin me again, after soaking me in your effort-earned liquids. You instead get up and drag me to the face of the corner. Leaving me there, as my strengthless crash down atop the mat.
Then you climb slowly. The crowd behind not you, or me, but us. Our pairing giving them an intense and incredible match that they are all too happy to receive. But still you offer to give them more. A dive! A leap from the top rope and upon me. And why wouldn’t you? I am desolate and devastated. A better woman handled, by the fit new star of the company.
A truth you bask in as once more, and atop the top turnbuckle you celebrate. Devouring every bit of the crowd’s growing admiration for your skills. Skills which then take you up into the air, above me like dove casting a shadow upon a wedding, and then down.
Down atop me and my body, though not how you imagined. For mid-way through your descent, I raise both of my bare feet, and then as you come down, bury them in your stomach. Using them, just as you did before to monkey flip you back, over my head, and then HARD into the mat on your back.
Then, with you there, and as quickly as I can, I lean forward and then roll back. Not away from you, but atop you in a straddle. My hands moving behind my back and untying my bikini top, thereafter letting it fall down to the mat, as I drop down atop you, bury your face between my tits, and wrap my arounds tightly around your neck.
My powerful Latina legs wrapping around yours and cinching them in a grapevine as I demand the ref count — your shoulders on the mat. “Count! Count!”
And so she does , offering a, “1….” as I cling to you ever so tightly. Counting the move as not only a pin but a smother. One you teased me with, though with your bra.
In mid air, you bring your legs up. I only have time to flex my abs, which I suppose eased the impact, but to dive off of the top rope and onto a pair of feet at the end of two strong legs knocks the wind out of me instantly. My face contorted in pain, you manage to flip me over you. I see the mat rushing up at me, and then the next moment, I am staring up at the ceiling. The impact knocks me silly.
My face grimaces at the overall impact. I lay flat on my back a sweaty mess, making pathetic weak gasping noises desperate for air. Air that doesn’t come. Your body rolls on top of mine, and I am staring up at you. I see your body. Your flat tummy glistens with sweat, which leads to your ample chest. I see your arms working quickly and ferociously. You have a menacing look on your pretty face that I haven’t seen yet in this match, or any other match that I’ve seen you in… And off comes your bikini top. I see this happen in slow motion… Your proud chest bared for all to see comes crashing down on my face. The impact stings and crushes. You seal off my oxygen with an emphatic breast smother pin.
Acting on instinct, I bend my knees to get my feet flat on the mats to bridge up. I’m going to bump my belly up into yours and buck you off of me. Only, that doesn’t happen. You have me grapevined! Panic floods my veins. Flexing my legs, but they are immobilized. I try to turn my face to breath, but your arms fix my face so I’m nose up into your tits. I taste nothing but your hot, slick skin on my lips… My abs aching like crazy, my entire numb from leaping off of the top rope and onto my back… Reaching up to pull on your hair…. You can’t see this but my eyelids are fluttering… A muffled “TWO!” I shouted from far, far away…
Something about you. Something about this match has made me snap. Your overconfidence. Your attitude. Your willingness to tease me with your body and lips whenever you have me at your mercy. And so I forget, for a moment that we’re in front of a crowd. Block out the fact that the crowd in the arena is watching. Instead focusing on taming you. On breaking you. Not with a hold, but my body and breasts. My arms and legs coiled around you and flexing as hard as they can. No wasted attention or focus. The fact that weakly, you get your left arm to raise just a centimeter off the mat to break the count seems to happen in a dream.
The ref thereafter telling me it was two and demanding I release so she can check on you, falling on def ears. As instead of doing what she tells me, I hold on to you. Leaning in and pressing my warm cheek to the top of your hair as I shift left and then right. Snuggling your face deeper and deeper between my sweaty tits with every moment. My pubic mound pressed to your tight abs, as I continue to cling. The bell beginning to ring a few moments later, the ref starting to pull at my right shoulder. Trying to get me off of you. Trying to free you from my desperate titsmother.
But I refuse, both to release and acknowledge her. My mind lost between a fear that you will rise again and battle me, and a desire to extinguish your rising flame before you take my spot. Doll’s spot. Or become the champion you are no doubt destined to be.
In fact it is only Doll, sliding into the ring and begging me to let go of you that gets me to come back to reality. To let my straining arms loosen, and my tits to pull back from your face.
She placing a hand on my cheek and whispering to me as suddenly my entire world goes from being just you to just her. My shaking body moving to a stand, while the crowd begins to boo loudly. Not you, but me. They feeling betrayed and throwing their drinks at me. The cold, disgusting liquids dripping down my still bare tits as Doll leads me to the back and I leave you int the center of the ring.
I awake to seeing a very pretty and familiar face. Melinda, the ref… The blonde strands of her hair hanging down onto my face as she pulls my head up. Kneeling beside me, stroking my face as her other hand rubs my stomach up and down. Dizzy and lightheaded, my heart broken at the fact that I just lost this match. I lost to…. The Better Woman…
Melinda, clad in her super sexy silver bikini helps me stand up, and when I do, she raises my arm. “WINNER BY DQ, LIZA!!!” The crowd erupts, cheering for me louder than I have ever heard an audience here cheer for a wrestler. She presses her cheek to mine, lips to my ear to tell me what happened… But I already know. I got inside of her head so much to the point where she let her emotions get the better of her.
My hands on my hips now, dripping with sweat. Half mine, half Jenn’s. Although I technically won this match, I’m beyond humiliated that I was smothered out by the hands of another woman. If that’s how she’s going to be, than so be it. We will go our separate ways for now. I’m sure I will be at her next match, I’m sure she will be at mine. But when we do meet again, our next match will be NHB. I long for the day I get my revenge.