This was perhaps the moment FAWN had been building toward since its inception.

It certainly seemed to be the moment the fans had been waiting for. The arena was filled beyond capacity, and if the previous match between Malenakova and Armstrong had seen raucous applause, the decibel level now was blowing the roof off of the building to an extent never before seen in the young promotion's history. Signs upon signs emerged from the sea of arms in the stands, ranging from the ridiculous ("WHOEVER WINS THIS ONE IS JUST KEEPING THE BELT WARM FOR CAROLINE") to the sublime ("TAKE ME FOR A TEST DRIVE, PORTIA", "FEAR OF A BLACK CHAMP-CAN'T HOLD LAKEISHA DOWN!").

At ringside, Tammy DeVille and Buck Ansome are seated, and seem even more ready than usual.

TAMMY: Well, wrestling fans, up next is our main event. Chrissy Daniel will defend her FAWN championship against Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV, in a match that, at the very least, will test the fans. After all, who do they go with tonight?

BUCK: Bah! Chrissy versus Portia? We're all winners tonight, sweetheart!

TAMMY: This should be a classic, no doubt about it. Chrissy Daniel has been about as close to utterly dominant since rebounding from losing the finals of the inaugural title tournament. And while Portia hasn't had quite the same scale of overwhelming success, she too has been finding ways to win of late. She weaseled her way into this match!

BUCK: Nonsense! She just took advantage of an opening presented by an opponent stupid enough to turn her back on Portia. Simple as that.

TAMMY: I fear you, Buck. Meanwhile, the Daniel Express did suffer a slight derailment last week, as Chrissy chose to take on both Mitchell sisters by herself in the tag team tournament, only to be pinned by Sophie.

BUCK: An utter travesty. Devonshire should have never let Chrissy go out for that match.

TAMMY: He DID try, Buck. But are YOU gonna get in Chrissy's way?

BUCK: Ummmmm

TAMMY: I thought not. Anyways, wrestling fans, we are about ready to get this match underway.

Heavy orchestral chords flow over the darkened arena and a white-hot pin spot breaks the darkness, falling upon fortune's favorite, Portia Ophelia VanBuren, Shirley Manson's distinctive voice surging from all corners of the arena. Portia tosses her shoulder-length mane of strawberry blonde locks and struts down the aisle to the strains of 'The World Is Not Enough' by Garbage, hips swaying as she turns the trip into a sashay down the runways of Paris or Milan. White lace panties flash in a Maxim-like version of Morse code from beneath a tennis skirt sufficiently high as to be outlawed by the WTA. Above, her white lace tank top is sheer enough to be eye-catching on a Monaco beachfront, the ensemble tastefully accessorized with Gucci shades and a diamond tennis bracelet around her left wrist.

Portia, patrician features held high, barely glances to either side as she makes her way, doing her best to ignore the misanthropes and misfits that make up the shock troops of Chrissy Daniel's fan base. They rush the restraining barriers and barrage her with a cascade of insults to her heritage and beyond. Spotting a sign that notes 'Chrissy will find another location for that silver spoon ", Portia inserts her middle finger between her ruby lips, sucks on it for a moment, then pulls it out to flip off the borderline schitzos that the soon-to-be ex-champ seems to have congregate around her. Finally at the ring apron, a look of relief floods Portia's flawless features as she is spared the awful sights and smells of what Daddy called the 'Double Digit-ers', simpletons whose IQ would never see the high side of 100.

At last, away from them, and envious tagalongs like Jeanette, it is once again her time to shine; to create the thrilling mayhem that has been an earmark of both her nightlife and her burgeoning, and now championship-caliber career. She ascends the ring steps and glides through the ropes, proceeding to a gentle bounce in her corner, the occasional stretch pulling at least a few lascivious males in the front rows over to her side, if at most, temporarily.

TAMMY: Portia certainly looks confident tonight, as usual.

BUCK: And it's a rightful confidence. As POV has demonstrated time and again, there are very few women in FAWN who belong in the same ring as her. However, she IS facing one tonight.

Suddenly, the lights go low. Van Halen's "Beautiful Girls" erupts from the sound system, the unmistakable sound of Eddie Van Halen's signature guitar intro bursting into the arena. Precisely as the drum roll thunders in, a shower of sparks explodes from above, showering the entire arena in momentarily blinding light. Finally as the rest of the band joins in, two flares go off on either side of the entry way at the top of the aisle and Chrissy Daniel, the killer imp, bounces in wearing her red pleather string bikini top and matching hipster bikini briefs, cut low at the waist and even with the crotch. Gold shines from her waist as she proudly displays the focus of this evening's fracas around her waist - the FAWN Championship Belt!

Coming down the aisle, her cherubic face lights up the arena. The crowd is mixed in its reaction. Some lover her, some hate her, but none can ignore her! She runs down the rest of the aisle, her big chest bouncing as she runs, the crowd buzzing as the nubile hellion makes her rowdy, energetic arrival. Egging the crowd on with her sexy body crackling with energy, she makes her way to the ring. Taking the ring steps two at a time, she careens through the ropes, her full, rounded ass perfectly framed by the tight red pleather boy-cut bottoms. Standing in mid ring, she flips her thick lustrous hair back over her head, bouncing provocatively, shadowboxing a couple punches, big chest bouncing satisfyingly. Mounting the bottom rope in her corner, she puts her hand to her ear, encouraging the mixed reaction of boos, cheers and whistles. Smiling her playfully innocent smile, she hops down from the ropes, setting her large rack jiggling in the tight skimpy bikini top. As the music dies down, she settles back into her corner, her pushily sexy body vibrant as she waits for the start of the match, shaking her head enough to set the light sparkling off her luxurious hair, her chest straining within her bikini top.

TAMMY: Well, Buck-O, let me put you on the spot. You love Chrissy. You love Portia. Who do you want to see win tonight?

BUCK: Um...which one can't hear me when I answer?

In the ring, Chrissy and Portia circle one another, eyeing an opening that fails to present itself for either. Finally, Portia stops, and raises her right arm, inviting Chrissy into a test of strength. The crowd seems surprised by this. Though taller, Portia had never demonstrated comparable power to the champion. For her part, Chrissy offers a condescending smirk. "You're kidding, right?"

"You know," Baby VanBuren sneers, "I don't know which of your disadvantages is more vast, your physical or your mental. I look at that pudgy body and know it has to be the first, but then you open your mouth..."

"Open yours again, putz," Chrissy replies, "and you'll find my boot inside it." With no further provocation needed, Chrissy extends her left hand to Portia's right, their fingers entwined.

Just as soon as they were satisfied with their grips, both women strike out with their free hands, each swiping their talons across their foe's eyes. Both cry out in pain, Portia's high pitched squeal contrasting with Chrissy's deeper groan as they staggered away from each other. With both already in recovery mode, one thing had been established about this title match to differentiate it from any previous in FAWN: BOTH women would do whatever it took to win, rulebook be damned.

Portia shook her head, her vision clearing to reveal a fuzzy, plush image of a champion still trying to regain her vision. Marshalling her resolve, VanBuren approaches Chrissy, and fires a sharp knee lift directly into Daniel's midsection. Chrissy moaned, doubling over as her arms wrapped around her aching midsection.

With her doubled over, Portia presses her advantage, pulling Chrissy's head close to her side before racing forward. Four strides later, Portia dropped to the mat, slamming Chrissy face first to the mat with a vicious bulldog. Daniel remained face down, spread-eagled, her right leg twitching until Portia rolls her over and hooks her leg.

It was too early for that. The champion manages a quick kickout, one count in.

Scrambling to her feet, Portia takes a healthy handful of ashen locks, and drags Chrissy toward the ropes, the champion crawling along. Portia presses Chrissy's face into the ropes, her eyes directly against the middle cable, before dragging her along the rope.

At this point, it seemed the question of who the crowd would support was being answered, the fans showering VanBuren with a zestful amount of boos and jeers. While still taking Chrissy for her walk, the spoiled socialite looks out at the crowd. "You people cheer this piece of trash?" she asks them, those at ringside giving her the most enthusiastic response. "And you wonder why I think you come out of the same sewer?"

Chrissy grits her teeth, not wanting to give Portia the satisfaction of knowing she was hurting, but it's obvious the champion is not having a good time of it. Reaching the corner, Portia drags Chrissy up to her feet before pulling Daniel into her chest, wrapping her arms around Chrissy's waist. With one mighty heave, Portia uses all of her strength to lift Chrissy into the air. Never a powerhouse, Portia isn't able to keep her aloft long. But she does hold her as long as she needs, before dropping to one knee, and slamming Chrissy down womanhood first across her outstretched thigh.

Chrissy bounces off Portia's knee, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, her mouth open in silent agony. Her legs were clinched together, but she remains on her feet.

Portia rushes backward, bouncing off the ropes and shooting back at the champion. VanBuren launches herself airborne, flying toward Chrissy with a cross body block. But still Chrissy does not go down, instead catching Portia in her arms.

Her eyes widening in panic, Portia kicks her legs and flails her arms, throwing as much movement as she can against Chrissy as she desperately tries to deprive her of her balance. And though the champion does take a steadying step backwards, she does not leave her feet. Or at least, not until she is ready.

Finally dropping to one knee, Chrissy slams Portia down, spine first across her outstretched thigh. Portia screams as her back is bent around Chrissy's limb, but quickly that scream is muffled as Daniel slips a hand under Baby VanBuren's chin, pressing down to intensify the already devastating backbreaker. Portia's left foot stomps against the canvas, her arms waving, but the pain remained intense.

And the pain continued to grow, as Chrissy's left elbow drove violently into Portia's belly, VanBuren sputtering, her jaw pressing against Chrissy's hand in an effort to open and expel air.

Chrissy's left arm, now draped against Portia's shapely things, shifts slightly, her hand journeying toward the hem of Portia's shorter than short tennis skirt. Flipping the garment up, she brings Portia's white lace panties into view for the first time in the match. Portia begins to squirm that much more, but Chrissy's grasp is firm as the fingers of left hand trace across the lace just above VanBuren's sex.

"Just a little taste," Chrissy purrs, just before those fingers sink in a little deeper, Portia groaning just a little louder in response, "of what's in store, Jersey."

Releasing the claw, Chrissy shoves Portia off her thigh, VanBuren flopping to the mat before rolling onto her stomach, her right arm grasping at the small of her back.

Chrissy rose, the picture of triumph as the diminutive standard bearer of FAWN towers above the aching challenger. Chrissy reaches down, and with the aid of Portia's strawberry blonde tresses, she pulls VanBuren up to unsteady legs. Then, wrapping her arms around Portia's back, just above the curve of her glutes, Chrissy pulls Portia off her feet, tightening the vice of the bearhug.

Portia throws her head back as her legs wrap around Chrissy's midsection, her modest bosom overwhelmed by Chrissy's much more ample assets. "Come on, debutwat," Chrissy hisses. "Stop pretending you belong in the same ring with me, because we all know you don't."

The referee moves in. "Alright, Portia," he asks. "Wanna call it a day?"

"Unnggghhh," VanBuren moans, Chrissy increasing Portia's torment by bouncing on her heels. "Wanna! uhhh! suck! ooohh! your breakfast! ahhhh! through a straw?"

"Someone mention breakfast?" Chrissy asks with a mischievous lilt to her voice. "Cause you know, I've been told I make good pancakes."

With Portia still trapped in her grasp, Chrissy charges into the nearest corner, driving Portia back first into the buckles, her weight slamming into VanBuren from the front, flattening her in the corner. As Chrissy released her deadly embrace, Portia's arms hook over the top rope, her body sagging into the buckles, her head lolling toward her chest..

The crowd was on its feet, showering Chrissy with the sort of reaction fan favorites like Sanders and Lansdale and London receive. Chrissy smiles smugly, knowing she has them eating out of her hand, and knowing that she has Portia right where she wants her. Grabbing VanBuren by the right wrist, she whips the challenger across the ring, sending her crashing into the opposite corner. Building a head of steam, Chrissy Daniel charges in behind her, leaping into the air for a corner splash...

...that meets only the turnbuckles as Portia manages to roll herself out of the corner.

Daniel takes the impact chest first, staggering a couple of steps backward out of the corner in clear anguish. Wasting no time in taking advantage of this, Portia drops to the canvas, reaching her arm between Chrissy's legs as she rolls her up for a cover.

One! two! Chrissy shoves Portia off her.

Scowling, but still in the better shape of the two, Chrissy is the first back to her feet. Pulling Portia up, Chrissy backs her challenger into the ropes, and Irish whips her. Portia doesn't reverse it. Indeed, Portia doesn't do anything to stop herself. With a head of steam on the rebound, Portia launches herself at Chrissy, driving her shoulder into Chrissy's abdomen with a powerful spear that sent both women crashing to the canvas.

Portia is the first up this time, but only to all fours as Chrissy rolls on the mat, back and forth, her arms wrapped around her belly as she struggles for breath. Crawling toward Daniel, Portia rolls Chrissy onto her stomach, and with a firm hold on Chrissy's right leg, Portia traps the champion in a half Boston.

Now, it was Chrissy's turn to talk to the ref. "Wanna give, Chrissy?" he asks her.

"Bite me, putz," Chrissy snaps, grimacing as Portia pulls back a little further on her captive leg.

Portia had weathered the storm, and was now beginning to feel her old self again. "On tonight's menu," she muses, her left hand gliding across Chrissy's trapped thigh, heading toward the leg hole of her hipster briefs, "I believe I'll be showing you that a little knowledge and a lot of mouth can be trumped by a lot of knowledge and some little fingers."

Chrissy gasps in spite of herself as Portia's fingers slipped inside, and in more ways than one. "You can certainly dish it out," VanBuren taunts, "but now let's see if you can take it."

With the touch of an expert, Portia teases her opponent, fingers playing the champion like a finely tuned musical instrument. Chrissy clinches her eyes shut and bites her lip, commanding her body to resist the sensations Portia was stirring. One particularly effective thrust of her digits breaks through the walls of Chrissy's self restraint, the champion moaning loudly in pleasure. as her eyelids flutter open. "Mmmm," Portia purrs, "I like that tune."

Chrissy's eyes now open, her gaze focuses on her salvation: the bottom rope, just within her grasp. She strains to reach forward, as far as she can, and her fingers coil around the cable.

"Break it, Portia," the ref instructs.

"I'm trying," Portia replies with a grin. "But it's just so damn stubborn."

Not amused, the official begins to administer the count, reaching four before VanBuren final complies. "Spoilsport," Portia sighed, before pulling Chrissy up and sending her for a ride. Chrissy rebounds off the ropes, and is met on her return with a dropkick from Portia that connects squarely with her D-cups.

With the champion flat on her back, Portia slithers over to her, and straddles her across her waist, facing her legs. Then, the spoiled socialite takes hold of Chrissy's ankles, and begins to push Chrissy's legs apart. This was the second of her four finishers of choice: the Long Island Iced-T.

Chrissy could feel her hamstrings starting to burn as Portia forced her legs further and further apart. She had to act, and act soon. She tried to push her upper body off the mat, but Portia's backside kept her fairly well in place. The fire in her thighs growing more intense, Chrissy digs her nails into Portia's shoulders and tears downward, VanBuren hissing, but also putting another thrust against Chrissy's ankles.

"If you're the Killer Imp," Portia taunts, her delightful derriere sliding up Chrissy's torso, "may I assume your father to be the Sleazy Pimp?"

And with that, Portia slammed her forehead down into Chrissy's womanhood, Daniel responding with an earsplitting scream.

Lifting her head, Portia releases Chrissy's ankles, waving one now-free hand in front of her nose. "And it certainly smells like you've been in his employ, if so."

This was it, Portia thought as she finished sliding upward, coming to rest seated on the champion's face. With victory now all but certain, she sunk her fingers into Chrissy's tenderized womanhood, securing the Portia 911 as Chrissy thrashed and bucked.

"Mmmmmm," VanBuren cooes as she felt Chrissy's moans and gasps against her lace covered sex. "The best ride yeeeeaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

This was no scream of release, though, but rather a scream FOR release. Immediately, Portia releases the crotch claw and attempts to roll off the champion, but Chrissy's teeth do not let go, Daniel turning with Portia as the socialite rolls away.

Only at the last possible second before the referee's count of five is complete does Chrissy let go, and allow Portia some relief, VanBuren's hands instantly flying to and massaging her loins. Chrissy gives herself a couple of moments to catch her breath, but she also knows she needs to act quickly. Her title had come so close to slipping away from her. She had escaped once, but it was unlikely she could escape too many more times. Especially not with her legs feeling like they did now.

Crawling toward Portia, Chrissy reaches out, her hands disappearing under Portia's skirt as her fingers again sink in. Nowhere near recovered from Chrissy's bite, Portia wails in agony, tears beginning to streak down her face as she tried to hold on. Her legs thrashed, one lucky kick catching Chrissy under her chin and knocking the hurting champion loose.

Chrissy was still able to power herself up first, and she limped toward Portia, pulling her to her feet. Gripping Portia's wrist, she whips her into the ropes. As Portia springs back at her, Chrissy ducks her body to backdrop the socialite, but Portia leapfrogs her. As Chrissy rises, Portia strikes. VanBuren leaps onto her back, wrapping her shapely legs around Chrissy's waist as her arms constrict around Chrissy's head in a sleeper.

Ordinarily, the Killer Imp would've been able to keep herself upright, even with Portia clinging to her. But the damage from the Long Island Iced-T still lingered, and Chrissy's slumped to the canvas, Portia coming down on top of her. Already, Chrissy could feel herself growing lightheaded, spots of light clouding her vision as Portia tightened the noose.

"No," Chrissy gasps. Being the champion of FAWN was her destiny, and it could not be over now. Struggling valiantly, Chrissy is able to roll herself, and by extension Portia, over, Portia's shoulders touching the canvas as Chrissy's body strains to hold her down. All she needed was three seconds.

One! Two! Three! At the very last possible moment, Portia extricates herself, rolling Chrissy back over onto her belly. Frustrated but undaunted, Chrissy continues to fight, pushing herself to all fours with Portia still clinging against her back. The champion's fluttering eyes seek out the sanctuary of the ropes, but they appeared nowhere in her hazy vision. Her arms and legs are trembling, straining with all their might to keep her on all fours.

Only seconds later, they gave out.

Kneeling beside the joined bodies, the referee raised Chrissy's arm once, twice, thrive. Each time, the limb dropped lifeless to the canvas.

DING! DING! DING!

BUCK: Um....Um....

TAMMY: Ladies and gentlemen, I for one am speechless. And apparently Buck is, too.

BUCK: Um....Um....

TAMMY: The Chrissy Daniel era has come to a close, and FAWN has crowned a new champion. And Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV is now the third. The third champion in FAWN history. And, surprisingly enough, she did so in relatively clean fashion.

BUCK: Um...

TAMMY: Oh, for God's sake, Buck, spit it out!

BUCK: Wow! Now, I yield to no one in my appreciation for POV. But, I've got to admit, I didn't think she had it in her. I can't believe my Chrissy lost. Still, congratulations to Portia.

TAMMY: Indeed. I'll offer her congratulations myself, but now, her work has only just begun. Jeanette Lansdale and Shea London were already hunting Portia before this. You can bet they'll want her even more now, as will everyone else here in FAWN.

BUCK: Humbug, I say! Portia's a VanBuren. She's used to envious eyes being on her, ever since she was in diapers. This won't be new to her, and if anyone in FAWN is capable of dealing with the pressure, it will be her.

TAMMY: That remains to be seen. But once again, fans, we have a new champion. For Buck Ansome, this is Tammy DeVille. Good night.

Winner (and new champion): Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV