Battle LA Inaugural Tournament Round 1, Match 4 of 8 by Markus Wolf

Match 4 of 8

Morgan Miller vs Mighty Marissa

Killer Instinct

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are approaching the mid-point of the inaugural Battle Los Angeles tournament. This next match features a face that many of you will recognize. Please welcome to the City of Angels, hailing from Sydney, Australia… the Mighteee—” the announcer paused to take a breath, “—Marisssaaa Davieees!!!”

Marissa took her cue and made her way through the curtains, pushing the heavy black shrouds aside with little effort before striding into the arena as her theme song played, her unsecured hair flowing behind her like a lion’s mane. Emma Anzai’s opening riff from the fitting You’re Going Down struck a chord with the crowd. The tune by Sick Puppies, an Australian band, was perfect for the Aussie champion. 

The Sydneysider took her time to approach the ring, pausing just before she mounted the runway leading to the ring, waving with both hands to acknowledge the crowd’s raucous applause as the chorus lit up. The statuesque brunette was the tallest woman in this tournament, standing an imposing five feet and eleven inches (180 cm) while weighing 154 lb (70 kg), a formidable combination that had earned her the nickname “Australian Amazon.” Her height, combined with her black Asics swimsuit with its glossy finish, made for an imposing figure (33-30-36”). Her black fingerless gloves, black elbow and knee pads, black boots with black laces cut just below the knee gave her the look of a serious professional, and to the casual observer, an intimidating appearance. 

Upon more careful inspection, Marissa’s body language projected confidence but also a distinct lack of tension. The veteran was relaxed and unworried; this was just another rodeo for her. The smile on her face was subdued but genuine. Her attractive features and full lips, which had helped her success as a model, were complemented by straight, dark brown hair that reached just past her shoulders and a healthy, naturally tanned complexion. Marissa was a face, but some would argue that despite being a good girl, she had a sharp edge to her that sometimes resulted in serious beatdowns for her heel opponents.

No one would argue with the fact that Marissa had notched an impressive record of achievements to match her impressive stature. She had held more than one title in the past, both in her native country and abroad. Her recruitment to Battle Los Angeles after a highly successful run at her previous company indicated that she was ready for a new challenge, and to conquer a new field of wrestlers. If the company needed someone capable of carrying the show on her shoulders, Marissa was that person.

Her opponent, in contrast, was unknown to most wrestling fans. Originally from Sacramento but now based in Modesto, the Norcal gal had tried out for a spot in Battle LA along with other newcomers, and had won it on her own merit, wowing the trainers in the process. Standing five feet and seven inches (170 cm) tall while weighing 135 (61 kg) pounds, she boasted a figure (34-26-35”) that most women in the business would be envious of: toned to perfection, hard and fit, yet still feminine and alluring. She had made some minor waves in the past as a competitor on a revival of American Gladiators, participated in the Japanese show Sasuke, and had even competed for a spot on the American version of Sasuke, Ninja Warriors. 

Compared with the reputation of Mighty Marissa, however, Morgan Miller was small fry in this arena. Not many had even recognized the electronic theme she had chosen for her entrance, a ditty that she had first noticed from a “Miller Time” ad for Miller’s non-alcoholic product. 

“All of the fizz, none of the pop,” she could just hear some of the critics now.

Not that any of that bothered her. 

The theme was great. 

There were great expectations weighing her opponent down tonight, and Morgan felt that these was to her own advantage. It was obvious during the press conference last week when the Japanese reporter sent by Battle LA’s parent company had asked the veteran Aussie a string of questions all centered on her past achievements and how confident she was about her ability to win this tournament. Although the reporter had acknowledged Morgan’s participation in Sasuke, she was most interested in whether the rookie was intimidated by the stature and reputation of her opponent.

“HELL NO,” was what Morgan had wanted to shout in reply. Instead, she had managed to catch herself and offer a more polite response.

“I consider it an honor to be facing Marissa, and I welcome the challenge. Honestly, I don’t envy the pressure she must be facing.”

Ms. Sasaki had reacted with a smile, acknowledging the shot that Morgan had taken after setting up a nice cover. 

Marissa had shrugged off her comment, naturally. “Well, shark biscuit, I think most girls wouldn’t envy your position next week.”

Morgan did not fully comprehend but she guessed it was Marissa’s way of putting her down. Refusing to back down, the Californian angled her head upwards as she went nose to nose with the decorated veteran, hands on her hips. “You may have been a champ before, but that’s past tense. You’re yesterday’s news. Time to make way for the new wave before it washes you up.”

“Or…” the Australian Amazon took her time, “maybe it’s time for you to learn how to swim with the big fish, aye?” Marissa pushed back against her nose and while also using her forehead to nudge the smaller brunette back for good measure. They had come back at each other with fists raised in a classic faceoff, looking grim and ready to fight, a scene that had made for the perfect photograph.

Morgan Miller vs Mighty Marissa. 

Rookie Supergirl vs the Queen of the Amazons.

Morgan felt that she little to lose in this contest. Her theme had been upbeat, energetic, combine with a big screen display that declared, “It’s Miller Time.”

The social media response to the interview had been quite savage. 

“Dumb rookie!”

“Who does she think she is?”

“Like she said, shark biscuit.”

Standing inside the ring, Morgan was not privy to the latest of the storm she had unleashed, but she had already predicted the backlash. What would have surprised her would be a dearth of commentary. 

“Mighty Marissa will thrash her.”

“Bring on the pain!”

“F–k her up, Marissa!”

In fact, Morgan may well have deliberately provoked the barrage. She felt nothing of the hate being directed at her; Marissa, on the other hand, was now facing even more pressure. Her legions of fans were expecting her to crush Morgan. Nothing less than complete destruction would be seen as a disappointment.

The California brunette stood inside the ring calmly warming up, crossing her arms in front of her chest, stretching her hamstrings, and even briefly running on the spot, her breasts bouncing inside her skintight boysenberry purple Asics one-piece. Her legs were bare but glowed subtly under the lights, thanks to a little spa treatment the day before. She wore black knee pads, black wrist gauntlets along with black-laced purple boots to match her swimsuit. Her rich, chestnut brown mane was simple but beautiful, made up of soft wavy tresses that caressed her cheeks and her chest gently. She was going to leave her hair down for this match, confident that she could keep it out of trouble.  She looked calm and focused, completely unperturbed by the raucous welcome that her designated opponent was receiving. 

After briefly acknowledging the cheers from her fans, Marissa started to tie up her hair into a neat ponytail, a sign that she was getting down to business. She began warming up as well, her demeanor serious, her eyes focused solely on her opponent. The Aussie veteran realized that Morgan had the benefit of a vast number of recorded matches to study her with, yet she had virtually nothing on her. Quick thinking and improvisation were going to be necessary to adapt to her opponent and defeat her; Marissa had not gotten this far in her wrestling career by taking anyone lightly. 

The referee signaled both women to approach, issued her final instructions and list of prohibitions before gesturing to them to shake hands. Marissa offered her right hand, and Morgan accepted.

“May the better woman win,” the Aussie smiled.

“Don’t worry, she will,” Morgan answered with a smile of her own. 

What a regular FIGJAM (Fuck I’m Good, Just Ask Me), thought Marissa as she let go. She had left more than one arrogant newcomer defeated and disheveled in the ring before, and this one seemed like a prime candidate for such a beating. 

Both brunettes returned to their corners, ready for action. They did not have long to wait as the timekeeper prepared to ring the bell.

 DING! DING! 

The two wrestlers stepped forward from their respective corners, both raising their hands, wiggling heir fingers to signal that they were ready to wrestle. Not bothering to circle, both took a direct path towards the center of the ring. As they closed in, Morgan made the first offensive move. The American lifted her right leg, as if she were going to attempt a kick. Marissa read this as a move as a feint or as an attempt to measure her response time, and decided to simply halt in her tracks, staying just out of what she believed to be her opponent’s kick range. Morgan, though, reacted by throwing her right foot down and taking a step forward, before throwing a swift left-handed jab at Marissa’s face. This punch was deliberately short, calculated to make her opponent flinch and raise her right arm to guard. Morgan quickly followed with a right hook aimed at the jaw as she took another step forward with her left foot. Marissa’s experience helped her to read her opponent’s intent, however. She deliberately ignored the first punch, calling Morgan’s bluff. She parried the second punch with her left forearm, and immediately moved in, using her superior reach to clamp her right hand on the back of Morgan’s neck. The shorter wrestler, expecting a collar and elbow lockup attempt, threw her left fist into the right side of Marissa’s midsection, earning a grunt. The Aussie clapped her left hand clapped on to the American’s right shoulder and pulled her closer, at the same time raising her right knee.

Morgan’s taut abdomen met Marissa’s knee, and the smaller of the two brunettes gasped. She was winded by the physical impact but also shocked by the strength of her opponent. She managed to block a second knee attempt but because she had to send both hands for this purpose, she left her back open to attack. A sharp elbow to the trapezius left Morgan bent at the waist, her left arm wrapped around her tummy, her right arm reaching around to her back where she had been struck. “Dammit,” she coughed, angry at having lost the opening exchange. 

That was, of course, not the end of the Amazon’s offensive. A glancing chop to the side of her head left Morgan stunned, and her taller opponent was able to easily capture her head under her left arm, and get a good grip inside the right leg hole of her swimsuit. Morgan realized from her training that she was being set up for a suplex. The Aussie Amazon had no trouble getting her opponent’s 60 kilos off the mat and lifted her up into a vertical position, turning slowly as she showed off to the crowd. The American newcomer, however, proved less than cooperative in giving Marissa what she wanted. Pushing against the Aussie’s left hip and her back, Morgan angled her legs to unbalance Marissa, and made the taller girl lower her body back down to the canvas. Landing on two feet, the American shrugged off her opponent’s facelock and caught the Aussie with both hands around the back of her head. Next, she fell backwards to a sitting position, trying to pull Marissa into her knee for a facebreaker DDT. The taller black-clad girl, however, pushed her attacker’s body clear of her own and straightened up, avoiding this move altogether. 

The American was undeterred. She put the brakes on, turned, and snagged Marissa’s right arm. Pulling the Amazon’s arm over her right shoulder while turning again quickly to her left, Morgan slammed her left hip into Marissa’s black-clad tummy, trying to execute a shoulder throw. The taller girl refused to budge, however, pressing down on her smaller opponent’s left shoulder with her free hand. A quick jab delivered to her left rib cage caused Morgan to release Marissa’s arm, which gave the Amazon a chance to shove her again, harder this time. Ducking her head and entering a roll, Morgan recovered to a squat. Thereafter, she sprang powerfully back on her feet. 

The audience applauded loudly, delighted at the high intensity of the action so far. The match was living up to its billing from the start and both women had proven to be fierce competitors; Morgan, in particular, had impressed by keeping up with Marissa so far, when many had expected her to be steamrolled. The latter was very slightly irked, but appreciative of the workout.

Both ladies were breathing hard from the early exertion, glaring at each other as they rested briefly. 

“Almost got you there,” Marissa taunted her opponent. She was impressed at how quick Morgan was both in her thinking and her execution, and knew this match would test her  

“Lucky for me that almost doesn’t count,” Morgan swept her hair back from her face. “You grandstand too much.”

“Calling me a showoff, aye?” the Sydneysider remarked, thumbing her nose with her right hand.

“Yeah, something like that,” the Californian replied with a smirk.

“Well, better be ready to back those words up.”

“Sure. Bring it, bitch.”

Marissa raised her forearms to show Morgan that she was ready for a lockup. The latter considered it briefly, bringing her own arms up, but when the Aussie Amazon stepped in towards her, she simply shot her right foot out to catch the taller girl in the belly with a toe kick. As Marissa was stopped in her tracks by the shot to her stomach, allowing Morgan to hop up from the mat, apparently bringing her left foot up towards her opponent’s belly again. Marissa tried to intercept her foot, expecting her to indeed try for her abs, but Morgan was actually in the midst of a bicycle toe kick; her right foot snapped upwards and struck the Aussie in the chin, causing her to stagger a few steps back. Morgan used the opportunity to launch into a standing dropkick that connected with the Aussie Amazon’s chest, knocking her back towards the ropes. 

Marissa, though, was surprisingly quick to recover; she leaned into the ropes and use them push herself off in a rebound. As Morgan got up, she was floored by a massive clothesline across the collarbone. Marissa brought herself to a halt, turned around and seized Morgan by the hair as the latter sat up.

“Get up,” ordered the veteran as she hoisted the rookie to her feet. She threw her left arm over Morgan’s right shoulder, clapping her back tight before ducking her head under the American’s left shoulder and shooting her right arm up between Morgan’s thighs, gripping her firm ass tight as well. Once more, she scooped the shorter girl effortlessly from the canvas, angling her for an authoritative body slam.   

Morgan, though, pushed as hard as she could against her opponent’s left thigh and left shoulder. Slipping out of her opponent’s grasp, she dropped behind the Aussie, landing on both feet. The Aussie immediately turned around, swinging her left arm outwards to deliver a backfist. Morgan managed to block this by raising her own left arm, and jabbed her opponent’s in the kidneys, causing her to yelp in pain. The American followed up by kicking her opponent in the back of her left knee. Marissa dropped down on her stricken knee, and Morgan capitalized on her vulnerability. Wrapping her right arm around the Aussie’s throat, the American leaped up from the mat. Marissa made the mistake of raising her center of gravity by trying to stand up, which only helped Morgan by allowing her opponent to pull her down to the mat, back first. 

BOOM!!!

Thus it was the rookie who landed the first power move of the match, a reverse bulldog.

Marissa lay stunned for a moment, holding the back of her head, while Morgan crawled on top of her to apply a leghook pin. The Aussie veteran kicked out of it soon after the ref slapped the mat, and both wrestlers rolled apart. The early, fast-paced exchanged had tired them both, and they needed a chance to recover and regain some of their energy.

 “Not bad,” Marissa declared reluctantly. She did not appreciate being the first to go down to the mat like that, but she recognized that Morgan might have some talent to go with her attitude after all.

“Yeah? Guess you’re okay too,” Morgan smirked, relieved that she was keeping up thus far with her more experienced foe.

“Time for a proper lockup?” the veteran asked, ignoring the verbal jab.

“If you insist,” the newcomer nodded.

Although Morgan held her own against her taller opponent for a while, Marissa was eventually able to start pushing her backwards, sliding her feet along the canvas until the American was forced to start backpedaling in order to keep herself from being falling over. In a demonstration of her might, Marissa shoved her shorter opponent into the corner roughly, giving her a hard knock against the turnbuckles. Winded, Morgan tried to right herself and get her arms and chin back up. She did so in time only to receive a powerful knife edge chop across her collarbone, which knocked her back against the corner. Marissa’s right arm, having swung out to the side, now swung back in, smash her forearm into Morgan’s chest. Morgan threw her arms over the top rope on either side of her body, using them to help steady herself as Marissa continued the onslaught, using the mass of her perfectly sculpted body to flatten Morgan’s equally impressive figure against the turnbuckles. The mighty Aussie took no chances this time, wanting to thoroughly soften her opponent up. Grabbing the middle rope on either side of Morgan’s sexy waist as she tried in vain to push Marissa away, the Aussie drove her right shoulder into the American’s taut belly, causing her to bellow loudly. Before Morgan could draw fresh breath into her lungs, Marissa speared her again, leaving her doubled up, wheezing and in pain. 

Confident that her foe was now pliable, Marissa wrapped her right arm around Morgan’s head, using a front facelock to pull her away from the corner. Bending over to drape the smaller girl’s right arm around her neck, Marissa slipped her fingers inside her opponent’s right leg hole. Tugging upwards on her suit to keep Morgan uncomfortable, Marissa took a breath before bending both her knees, and hoisting the rookie into the air, holding her vertical. The crowd assumed that this was a suplex attempt. Marissa, in an impressive demonstration of her might, turned slowly around to face the center of the ring while still holding Morgan vertical. The American was feeling sick from the blood rushing to her head, unable to struggle much, but was mentally prepared to be suplexed. After a slight pause, Marissa fell forward instead of backward. The first power move of the match was to be a suplex slam as Morgan was brought down to the mat on her chest and stomach instead of her back. 

After a moment of stunned silence, the astonished crowd erupted in cheers and applause, regardless of who they were backing. Marissa had been made to work for this moment, and the seasoned veteran had claimed it with authority. 

Morgan’s sexy butt was the focus of many a camera as she lay prone, her face turned to her right, the strands of hair lying across her face moving lightly with each breath she exhaled. She could feel every footstep of Marissa’s, circling around her until they stopped. She was hoisted from the mat by the hair and her left arm, which gave her a chance to punch the Aussie Amazon in her black-clad belly. Marissa grunted, but the blow was far from crippling. Throwing the American’s left arm over her right shoulder, the Aussie bent forward to her right and punched the left side of her purple-clad torso. The rookie was rocked by the shot to her ribs, which made her pliable for the Aussie to scoop up and hold aloft. Morgan, her eyes still glazed, kept her right hand on the Amazon’s left thigh as she was swung around. 

“Nice arse, by the way,” Marissa complimented her opponent while gripping her rear end tight, squeezing that firm ass playfully before body slamming the rookie into the canvas closer to one of the neutral corners, which she anticipated using. 

The Aussie veteran proceeded to circle her groaning victim, who was stubbornly trying to sit up after the punishing body slam. The former leaned over to seize the neck of the latter’s swimsuit, hauling the American up to her feet before marching her backwards into the corner. A powerful forearm to the collarbone sent Morgan back-first into the turnbuckles. There was no respite for the rookie as Marissa ducked, grabbed the middle rope on either side of Morgan’s waist, and drove her left shoulder into the smaller girl’s belly. Morgan bellowed in agony, her mouth forming an O as all the wind was forced out her lungs by the powerful spear. The Australian Amazon speared her vulnerable prey once more to loud cheers. The rookie found herself holding on to the top rope to steady herself, her belly aching, and her knees turning weak. She could sense the crowd turning against her. In contrast, the Aussie veteran was being buoyed by the audience. She backed up half a step straightened up, pounding her right fist into her left palm, looking confident now that she had finally broken down her opponent’s defenses. 

Morgan glared through narrowed eyes that were partly obscured by her hair at Marissa. 

“Not so cocky now, are ya?” asked the Aussie Amazon, taunting the rookie that she had found to be aggravatingly arrogant.

“Talkin’—koff—about—koff—yourself?” the American wheezed in reply.

Marissa grabbed a handful of Morgan’s hair with her right hand as her answer, and pulled the American from the corner towards her. The Aussie answered the rookie by driving her left knee into the latter’s belly. 

“Guhhh!!!” groaned the NorCal gal. As tough as her abdominal muscles were, the repeated gut shots were punishing.

“You yanks just looove to talk. A bit too much sometimes,” the veteran admonished the doubled up rookie, digging into her chestnut brown mane with her right hand.

“Yeah… yeah… you’re so fulluvit…” Morgan wheezed, clutching her tortured tummy. Bitch hits like a freaking sledgehammer! 

“Fulla what, exactly?” asked Marissa as she tucked the American’s head between her thighs. She proceeded to pull her opponent’s arms outwards before reaching under her shoulders, hooking one arm before the other. Her opponent’s arms secured, the Aussie went on to lock her hands together behind the smaller girl’s neck. 

“Shit!” Morgan answered derisively, struggling to undo the painful but sexy-looking butterfly hold she had been caught in. Her deltoids bulged as she struggled but failed to overcome Marissa’s raw strength.

The Sydneysider lifted her opponent up into an inverted position, and once more, Morgan felt her blood rush to her head and exert its dizzying effect. She did not stay up for long, however. She considered it a small mercy when Marissa quickly dropped to her right knee instead of keeping her up in the air. The taller girl brought Morgan down across her left knee, executing a violent backbreaker before rolling her battered body on to the mat like a pathetic ragdoll. Thereafter, the Aussie quickly pressed her ample chest down on top of the American’s and got her left hand under Morgan’s right thigh, positioning herself for a leghook pin. Using her right hand to hold down the purple-clad brunette’s right shoulder, Marissa used the crook of her left elbow to hook that shapely right leg of her opponent’s up towards the ceiling from behind her knee.   

The referee dropped to the mat and quickly began her three-count.

“ONE!” 

The counting caused the rookie to stir.

“TWO!”

Morgan needed a diversion, and her right arm, which lay between Marissa’s legs, was in the right place to get her one. Bending her arm upwards at the elbow, she slapped her hand on the Aussie Amazon’s left butt cheek and squeezed, surprising the veteran, who gasped audibly. While her opponent was distracted, the American drew her left foot inwards and planted it firmly on the mat. Morgan yelled as she arched her back, bucking the distracted Marissa’s body upwards while lifting her own shoulders clear of the mat for long enough to interrupt the ref’s counting.  

The Aussie Amazon was surprised by Morgan’s ingenuity, but miffed at her failure to pin the rookie for the win. “Bloody ’ell!” she exclaimed, slapping the mat hard as she sat up before turning over so that she was kneeling on her left leg, glancing at her opponent. 

Morgan tried to roll to her left, away from her opponent, before pushing herself up from the mat. She was in no shape to escape when the Aussie came for her, or perhaps she just wanted to be picked up by the hair. 

“Get up, won’t ya?” 

“Make me!” Morgan replied defiantly. 

“Well, if you insist,” the veteran growled, reaching for her mane.

When the rookie felt her opponent’s fingers against her scalp, she mustered the strength in her glutes, and shot up to her full height, driving the top of her head into Marissa’s chin. As the Aussie’s head snapped upwards, she lost her hold on the American. Morgan turned her body clockwise while keeping her eyes focused on Marissa, getting ready for her next move. Yelling loudly, she swung her right leg upwards, swinging it around in a big arc, eventually connecting with the left side of the Aussie Amazon’s head. Marissa was rocked by the powerful roundhouse, stumbling a few steps to her right. Morgan did not stop as her right foot came down to the mat. Bringing her left leg up now, in one fluid motion, she bent it at the knee before extending it outwards, shooting her boot into Marissa’s belly, doubling the taller girl over. As her opponent was left crunched up and groaning, Morgan, fueled by a surge of adrenaline, ignored her fatigue and the pain of the beating she had sustained. She caught her enemy’s head under her right arm and secured her right wrist with her left hand. Her headlock firmly in place, she went on to fall backwards on to her seat, pulling Marissa’s face into her knees as she had intended earlier. 

The Aussie Amazon rebounded from the facebreaker to an upright position on her knees, but her eyes seemed to roll upwards into her skull. She was seeing stars after that combination, her brain feeling rattled inside her skull. “Ohhhhh…” she groaned, her right arm slack by her side while her left arm cradled the spot where her face had met Morgan’s knee.  

Morgan was still seated, feeling the fatigue from the high intensity of the match thus far. She needed to rest, quickly regain some energy before continuing to take seize the offensive momentum. Both the exhilaration she felt from landing her second big move on the Aussie veteran and the sound of the crowd cheering for her were continuing to energize her tired body. Getting to her feet, she looked past Marissa’s body at the ropes, and started jogging towards them, aiming to use them to help her build momentum. As she rebounded towards the fallen Australian, Morgan slammed her right leg into the amazon’s exposed back. Marissa yelped in pain and rolled over on to her left side, grabbing her back with her right hand.   

The American showed no mercy. She was a roll, and she was going to keep the offensive momentum going as long as she could. Seizing the Aussie’s mane with both hands, she tugged on her brown tresses to make her sit upright, causing her ponytail to unravel somewhat before jerking her head backwards forcefully to smash it into the canvas. Using her right boot heel, she pressed down on Marissa’s left breast, grinding her nipple into her titflesh under the black spandex, making it mushroom under her foot. Morgan’s own nipples swelled as she felt a rush from punishing the fancied veteran. Still keeping her opponent’s boob flattened under her boot, she forced the Aussie to lie flat on her back before grabbing both of her wrists. The rookie repositioned her feet so that she was now standing on Marissa’s splayed out tresses before pulling both her arms upwards.

“Ahhh, oh, you…. nuahhh… get off you—bloody ‘ell!!!” screamed the veteran Australian as she pushed up on her feet and arched her back to try and relieve the tension on her scalp.

“Get off her hair,” warned the referee just before starting a five count. “In one… two… three…”

Morgan ignored the warning, maintaining the tension on Marissa’s arms until the referee had counted the full five seconds. She was aiming to wear the latter down a little, but also aggravate her as much as she could. At that point, she immediately released the Aussie’s wrists, and took her feet off her brown locks. However, not long after Marissa’s arms had fallen to the mat, Morgan had bent over to pick them up again, and once again parked her boots on the veteran’s dark brown tresses. Once more, she subjected her arms and scalp to physical punishment, and pushed her buttons once more. 

“One… two… three… four…”

Morgan appeared cool and calm as she methodically worked her opponent over. In the process, she was working some of the anger that had built up inside her earlier out of her system. The aim though, was to piss the Aussie off. Anger would help distract and cloud her judgement. The rookie threw in a vicious stomp on her opponent’s black-clad belly for good measure before quickly heading for the nearest corner. She showed off the agility she had developed for competing on Sasaki and Ninja Warriors, scaling up to the top rope turnbuckle with little effort, and perfect balance, which she drew a good amount of applause for. When the American turned around, however, she was surprised to see that her opponent was already on her feet, and approaching. 

Thinking on her feet, Morgan abandoned her original plan of attack and slipped her feet down to the middle rope as she took a seat on the top turnbuckle. As Marissa closed in, determined, Morgan folded her legs inwards, bringing her knees up against her chest. She shot her right leg out first, aiming her boot heel at Marissa’s chest, but the Australian captured it both hands around her ankles. Morgan responded by aiming her left foot at her opponent’s chin, but Marissa was quick to dodge her second kick. Drawing her boot back, Morgan shot it out again, but this time, she found both her feet in Marissa’s hands. Throwing those shapely legs over her shoulders, Marissa surged forward and drove her forehead into the American’s midsection. Not expecting such an attack, the rookie was winded, her upper body draped over the Aussie’s head. 

Fans of the Australian Amazon voiced their approval as they watched her work methodically and determinedly. 

Marissa was pissed, and she was eager to finish her less experienced opponent right that instant. Using both hands to grab Morgan’s thighs, she lifted her purple-clad body clear of the ropes. Turning around with the American perched on her shoulders, she faced the the rookie’s back towards the center of the ring before starting to run forward. Upon reaching the ring center, Marissa bent her knees and brought her opponent down, smashing her back into the mat with an impact so violent the entire ring shook. 

The violent powerbomb knocked the fight right out of Morgan, leaving her writhing in pain. The black-clad Aussie proceeded to roll the wrecked rookie up, pressing her shoulders against the backs of the American’s knees while using her hands to hold both of Morgan’s shoulders down against the canvas. A sexy, dominating matchbook using the veteran’s superior body weight seemed to be the perfect ending for this taxing match.

The attentive referee dropped to the mat, and slapped out the first count. 

“ONE!!!” 

“Ohhh—” Morgan moaned, trying to blow out the strands of her own hair that had made their way into her mouth. “—shiiiit…” 

 “TWO!!!”

“Just stay down and it’ll all be over soon,” Marissa cooed gently.

The referee’s hand went up for the third time.

“N-NO!” barked the American as her sweaty body spasmed and she kicked violently out of the pin, landing on her right side. Her hair covered her face as she tried to roll up on her hands and knees, though with difficulty.  

“Bloody ‘ell!” cursed the Amazon, slamming both her palms into the canvas. Infuriated, she quickly pounced on the tired American as got up to a kneeling position, grabbing her right wrist as well as the chest of her purple swimsuit. The Aussie dragged her opponent to her feet, making her suit yawn open as she stretched out the spandex. “Yer a stubborn bitch, yank.”

 “Yeah… well… bite me y—” Morgan shot back. She was silenced by her suit snapping painfully back against her boobs before receiving an additional right-handed punch to the belly that forced the wind out her lungs.

“Remember what I said about talking too much?” Marissa scolded the rookie, still holding on to her right arm. That provided her with the leverage she needed to whip Morgan towards the ropes, shoving her hard against the back to make her gain momentum. Although hurting and short of breath, the rookie reacted reflexively as she dashed across the ring as if she were in training, the boards creaking beneath each step. As she approached the edge of the ring, she turned around to lean into the ropes before rebounding towards the Aussie veteran. Marissa waited calmly as her opponent approached, casually bending over to her right to avoid the American’s attempted forearm smash. Once more, she scooped the Morgan up from the canvas, right hand pressed tight against her purple-clad bum, using her momentum against her this time as she turned and carried the smaller girl over executed a deadly powerslam, aiming to flatten the rookie under her 154 pounds. 

WHAM!!!

Her black-clad body laying on top of the groaning Morgan’s, Marissa slid upward slightly, once more going for the cover, hooking the rookie’s left leg up with her right arm behind the knee. With Morgan’s arms pointing up as if she were surrendering, Marissa was a bit more casual this time, propping herself up confidently on her left elbow while using only her body weight to hold her opponent down.

“ONE!!!”

“Finally,” Marissa sighed, staring at the audience, preparing to deliver them the win they had predicted.

“TWO!!!”

The temptation to just lay there and just accept defeat surprisingly, did not once cross Morgan’s mind. Her body reacted on reflex as she kicked out once more, denying the Amazon yet again.

The Aussie veteran rose on her knees, lowering her head as she sighed loudly in frustration. Morgan lay on her left side, her back presenting Marissa with an outlet for her anger. A quick stomp on the small of her back caused the rookie to roll over and face upwards to protect her back from further attack. When Marissa’s boot came down again, aimed at her chest, Morgan caught it in mid-air using both hands. 

Marissa tried to quickly withdraw her right foot, but Morgan’s grip felt like iron. The Aussie reversed course and now tried to force her boot down, but her opponent was equally quick to react and resist. The Aussie’s attention was so fixated on this struggle that when Morgan’s left boot came up to hit the back of her right knee, the shock left her unable maintain her balance when the rookie finally pushed her right foot aside. Marissa found herself spinning to her left, only getting her balance back when her back was turned towards her opponent. The Aussie crouched forward defensively, and took a step forward before spinning back around, ready to meet any potential threat. Instead she received a standing dropkick to the chest that sent her back two steps. A second running dropkick added to her rearward momentum and sent the amazon stumbling towards the ropes, cursing as her arms went over the top topes to steady herself. 

As Marissa was forced on the defensive, Morgan seemed to be putting herself into overdrive. Buoyed by her two successful strikes, she ran for the ropes, building up momentum as she rebounded towards the Aussie. The black-clad veteran had barely enough time to get her guard up, expecting another dropkick, when instead, the rookie rushed forward to deliver a forceful clothesline across her collarbone. To the crowd, Morgan’s blow matched the Aussie’s earlier clothesline in intensity, the fierce expression on the rookie’s face emphasizing this. 

The sickening smack of Morgan’s right arm across Marissa’s chest stunned the crowd into silence. Fans of the latter either raised their hands in despair, grabbed their heads in frustration, or covered their eyes in fear as the Amazon was sent tumbling over the top rope, her tanned, goddess-like body tipping over and falling face-down towards the floor of the arena.

SMACK!!!  

The favorite lay almost still on the thin padding that had barely cushioned her fall. 

 “YEAAAH!!!” the rookie let loose an excited roar, both her fists clenched, body bent back with her pelvis thrust forward. She felt like Jane of the Jungle having suddenly and forcefully seized control of the match in the blink of an eye. The American stood at the edge of the ring, just behind the ropes, looking down at her prone opponent, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Her nipples jutted out against the purple spandex of her Asics suit, her neckline having turned dark from the beads of perspiration rolling down her face and throat. The underdog finally felt as if she was in control of the match. She swept some of the hair plastered to her sweaty face back before stepping through the ropes and lowering herself to the floor. 

The referee watched Morgan descend to the floor with a sideways glance as she continued with her out-of-bounds count. 

It was now Morgan’s turn to work out some of her accumulated frustration. Two stomps to the back just above her kidneys proved to just be the beginning. Sliding the fingers on her left hand into the U just below the small of her opponent’s back, the rookie gripped the seat of Marissa’s black suit and stretched the elastic fabric out as she lifted the Aussie’s bottom half from the floor, partly exposing the veteran’s cheeks for those fans seated higher in the stands. Her right hand grabbed a fistful of dark brown hair and twisted it painfully, forcing a soft cry of pain from the taller girl’s lips as her head was hoisted. In this way, the American swung her opponent around before sending her flying head-first into the metal railing that divided the ring area from the spectator stands. 

CLANG!!!

There was no sympathy evident on Morgan’s face as Marissa rebounded from the impact and fell backwards on to the floor once more in a crumpled mess of sweaty limbs and damp hair. This time, Morgan gripped both her wrists tight and hauled her straight up, giving the stunned Aussie no time to recover. Sinking her left hand into her hair, Morgan used the taller girl’s height against her as she smashed her forehead forcefully into the ring apron to make sure she continued seeing stars. 

“All due respect for what you’ve achieved, but understand,” Morgan snarled as she caught Marissa by the back of her head, “that’s all in the past.” 

The Norcal gal reintroduced the Sydneysider to the ring apron. The Aussie Amazon staggered along the apron for a few steps after the second face smash, and a strong followup piston kick to the left side of her rib cage sent her down to the floor, the fight having been knocked right out of her. She was in no condition to protest when Morgan dragged her up once more by the hair and the seat of her suit. This time, the rookie sent her rolling under the bottom rope into the ring with a strong push, one hand on her back between the shoulders and the other on her ass, but only after sneaking in a revenge spank and grope. 

 Marissa’s fans were unhappy that the rookie had managed to get away with taking such liberties with their champion, and they made their dissatisfaction known, but Morgan could not care less. 

Boo all you want. You’re scared your precious Amazon’s gonna lose.

She smelled blood.

She was back in the ring even as Marissa lay near the ring center lying on her left side, back facing towards her. Morgan quickly backed up into the nearest corner, and worked her way up to the middle, followed by the top rope, squatting there with both hands tight around the rope. Despite the fatigue and the pain she was experiencing after what felt like a longer and harder race than anything she had done before, she was calm and focused, watching her prey like a bird of prey on her perch. As the Aussie Amazon rose gradually to her full height, she lumbered about to find her opponent. When she finally turned in Morgan’s direction, she looked up to see a blur of purple heading towards her. The rookie’s boots slammed into her still-sore boobs, sending her down to the mat with such force that she bounced up after hitting the canvas back and shoulders fist. The veteran’s tanned, black-clad body flipped over 180 degrees and and landed on her front, her DD cups suffering yet another rough bump.  

Morgan was on top of the spread-eagled Marissa in a flash, standing over her back like a conqueror. She lowered her rear down on to the small of the Amazon’s back before reaching forward to snatch both of the battered black-clad beauty’s limp arms. Pulling those toned, tanned arms back to lift her upper half from the mat, Morgan adjusted her grip so that she now held on to her opponent’s hands. She went on to hook the Aussie’s left arm across her throat before crossing Marissa’s right arm around her left. Leaning back, she pulled the crossed arms back to both choke the veteran and at the same time, punish her spine. 

“Nnnghhh… hrrrkkk… nuahhh!!!” Marissa’s eyes were closed. Her teeth were clenched. Her ponytail was completely unraveled. Strands of her dark brown hair had fallen across and into her mouth, which she tried to blow back out. Her face was slick with sweat. She wore an expression of agony mixed with frustration, exhaustion, and exasperation. Although she had been slow to respond at first to Morgan’s straight jacket, she was now actively trying to resist the submission hold; however, it did not seem as if she could break free or reverse the hold. She was being starved of oxygen, and this shortage was robbing her muscles of energy. Since she had been stricken by Morgan’s missile dropkick, she had not been able to given any answer to the rookie’s constant offense. 

The veteran was fading visibly, and so was the hope of a comeback that her fans were clinging on to.

The referee got down in front of Marissa. She might as well as have been miles from the ropes. There was no realistic hope of relief short of Morgan abandoning her hold. The inevitable question soon came from the referee. 

 “Do you submit?”  

Morgan held her tongue as she tightened the straight jacket further. When she heard no response from her opponent, she added her own ultimatum.

“Give up and walk out of here on your own. Or if you prefer to be stretchered out…” 

Marissa’s eyelids fluttered open when she heard the threat delivered into her right ear. She could feel her strength being sapped the longer she was kept in the hold. Breathing was not getting any easier with her left arm pressing down on her windpipe. Her vision was getting blurry. Her boots kicked weakly at the canvas, but try as she might, she could not get enough traction to move sideways towards the closest ropes.

 “Marissa, do you give?” the referee repeated her question.

The American forced the Aussie to look up at the official’s face. 

“Tell her, now. Or I swear I’ll knock you out.”

“Nnn… nevahhh—!”

Morgan was enraged by the continued stubbornness of her opponent, but she maintained her composure, calmly reminding herself that victory was within her grasp. She continued to tighten the straight jacket as she felt the veteran falter. Her will to resist was waning steadily, and as the rookie pulled her upper body back, she leaned forward to warn the Aussie in her ear, “Think I’ve given you enough warning.”

“Hrrkkk!!!” 

Marissa’s eyelids fluttered and her eyes started to roll up so that only the whites showed. Her world was slowly going dark.

Her attacker did not relent. 

“You’re done.”

Morgan was not exaggerating. Drool began to flow from the veteran’s luscious lips down to her chin as her eyelids gently closed over eyes that had turned upwards.

“Nnnnooo…” moaned the Sydneysider as her vision turned dark, still unwilling to accept defeat.

The referee knew she had to act quickly. 

DING! DING! DING!

It was a resounding victory. Morgan gave Marissa’s crossed arms a final jerk before abruptly abandoning her grip, allowing the nearly unconscious Amazon to fall face forward into the mat. The rookie, still riding an adrenaline and endorphin high, roared as she stood up. She punched her right arm forcefully into the air while parking her left boot on the back of her defeated opponent’s head. 

“HELL YEAH!!!” she yelled, briefly yet loudly, allowing herself to release all the built-up tension inside her body. 

Not that it mattered at that moment to the rookie, but Morgan had just delivered the kind of impact the company needed her to deliver. All that did matter to her was that she had just kicked ass despite all the odds stacked against her, all the support for her opponent, and all the nay-saying. When she lowered her right arm, the referee promptly grabbed her hand and raised it again to formally signal her victory. Morgan smiled, feeling on top of the world, while at the same time raising her left fist in triumph. She felt as if she had just won the title at stake in this tournament, despite the jeering by more than a handful of fans who were disappointed in the outcome of the match.

A soft chant started to be heard inside the arena.

“Kill-er…”

CLAP—CLAP—CLAP!

“Mill-er!”

CLAP—CLAP—CLAP!

Its volume began to rise gradually. Although overshadowed by the boos raining down from Marissa’s legion of fans, Morgan’s ears perked up as she heard and acknowledged those who had developed a new respect for her abilities. She flexed her right arm, mock-kissing her toned bicep while rolling Marissa’s head under her boot in a sexily dominant declaration of her superiority.

 “Kill-er…” 

CLAP—CLAP—CLAP!

“Mill-er!”

CLAP—CLAP—CLAP!

Egged on by her new fans, the triumphant rookie started to push Marissa’s fallen form with her boots towards the ring apron until she lay parallel along the edge on her left side, a rare instance of sensual vulnerability for the accomplished wrestler. 

“Sorry, but this is my ring tonight, has-been,” Morgan declared before literally booting the unconscious Amazon out. Marissa’s body rolled under the bottom rope following the push against her sumptuous rear, and landed unceremoniously on the arena floor once more. Although a medic was quick to reach her side, it seemed as if the vanquished titaness might have to depart the arena on a stretcher tonight. 

Her opponent on the other hand was breathing hard, gradually descending from her adrenaline high. She was finally starting to feel the fatigue, but kept her hands on her hips, chest out and stomach in. Her hair was wet, a bit matted, and partly plastered against her face. Her cheeks were red from exertion, her skin glistening with sweat, but she looked like she could still kick ass. She cut a sexily imposing figure as her head turned about, her nipples taut beneath her sweat-covered swimsuit. It was easy for those watching to imagine her being turned on by her victory. 

Despite a new round of boos raining down on her, Morgan remained impassive and silent. She knew that her actions spoke louder than any words she could yell into a mike, and she had spoken tonight. All she chose to focus on as she finally turned around to quit the ring were the cheers in the background that bestowed upon the departing rookie her newly earned moniker.

“Kill-er…” 

CLAP—CLAP—CLAP! 

“Mill-er!”

CLAP—CLAP—CLAP!

The End.

Looking for Match 5? Its Coming Soon!

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