Spotlights dance figure-8s through the crowd as a buzz begins to grow from the mass of humanity. The emotion of another sell-out crowd bubbles under the surface. One match remains before the coupe de grace of the evening. Jeanette Lansdale�s fans, eager for their champion to become FAWN�s, chant her name. The mantra growing to a booming crescendo JEAN-ETTE, JEAN-ETTE, JEAN-ETTE. Signs flash throughout the crowd. �Leash the rich bitch� and �Jeanette � A champion to be proud of�.

But sprinkled amongst Lansdale�s legions, including some crossover votes, are fans of the San Antonio cowgirl Lacey Montoya. One young man pushes his placard into the camera�s roving eye �Lacey is FAWN�s real Lone Star.�

As the arena strobes throb, the sound system drops to a whisper and an expectant hush falls over the audience. Murmuring seconds pass as they await another splashy arrival by the Lone Star vixen�

They aren�t disappointed.

With a blast of pyrotechnics and a flash of light, the sultry brunette appears atop the ramp as the initial guitar chords of Neal McCoy�s �Wink� float out the speaker walls on either side. The throng bursts into whoops and cheers as Lacey struts playfully down the steel ramp, harmonizing every wiggle and jiggle of her white leather outfit by clapping time to the pulsing beat of the long-time honkytonk favorite. Feeling the energy of the screaming mob, a knowing smile touches her lips as she indulges both herself and the crowd in an impromptu two-step with a heavy side of stripper as she finally makes it down to ringside.

Once there the sizzling Texan does her usual lap around the ring, pausing briefly between high fives with the fans for a little suggestive pole dancing at each corner post before making one final stop at the announcer�s table. Straddling Ansome�s �happy to see her� lap, she plants a smoldering �forget me not� on his trembling lips to the disgust of his co-announcer but to the hoots of the crowd. Now done with him for the moment, she saucily slides off and climbs into the ring fully ready for whatever the match will bring.

And she knows it will bring will be an enormous contrast in styles, the tiny Asian high-flyer, a dangerous little Black Widow spider, ready to sink her fangs, in any way necessary.

"Fight Song" by Marilyn Manson washes over the crowd and there she is. Tynia Powers, The Gothic Cheerleader, solemnly presents herself on the upper stage, her diminutive, golden-skinned body attired in a tight, two-piece black and red cheerleading uniform with black boots. The halter leaves much of her slim midriff bare; tiny, pleated skirt doing likewise for her short, supple, slender stems; hair dyed an eye-catching cherry-red. The crowd boos her every step down the runway, Tynia leading them in a chorus by flipping them the bird. Power does slap hands with one teen clad in a black leather trenchcoat. He holds aloft a placard that states �Tynia sucks less than anything else in this shithole�. Reaching the ring, she slides under the bottom rope and taunts the crowd with some arm raising, fashioning the letters U-S-U-X.

She turns and points at Lacey, shouting out a standard cheerleader preamble, but with a twist.

�READY, NO WAY.�

�DING. DING. DING�

Tynia vaults across the canvas in a swift tumbling run, handspringing heels over head a couple of times. A stunned Lacey watches the agile Asian careen toward her. Unsure, Montoya holds her ground and when Tynia pops out the other end of her gymnastic progression, the tough Texan is able to brush aside an off-balance dropkick.

Before Tynia can fully bail away from her aborted effort, Lacey drops an elbow to the base of her spine, the rising Goth Cheerleader drops to the mat, a hand reaching to her back as she grimaces in pain. �That may impress Mistress Miriam, but shug, that just don�t play in my parts,� Lacey informs.

Yanking the diminutive Asian clean off the mat with a tug of her arm, Lacey dips and slips an arm between Tynia�s legs. Scooping up the bite-size Power with ease, she holds the cherry pop upside-down in her grasp, parading in a half-circle before slamming her to the mat with untamed force. Tynia squeaks in protest, her back arching in pain. But the protest is only answered by a ragged white cowboy boot to her ribs, Power rolling into a ball to protect herself as best she can. Another boot causes the ball to shudder and break open a bit, Tynia perhaps unprepared for the �directness� of Lacey�s style.

The dark-complected Montoya already glistens as she continues her Texas two-step, treating Tynia like grapes to be stomped into a fine West Texas chardonnay. Growing weary of her efforts, Lacey lifts Tynia to her feet by a shock of cherry-red locks and sends her for a ride with an Irish whip. Tynia rebounds off the ropes, flying back to her destination. She deftly ducks a clothesline and heads to the other set of ropes. A quick pivot by Lacey and she follows behind, catching a surprised Tynia with a lariat that nearly separates the Asian�s head from her shoulders, the Goth Cheerleader spinning 270 degrees to land face first with a shuddering impact, the bantamweight�s body taking a terrible blast.

Lacey lifts a loopy Tynia to unsteady feet. Again, she is hammerthrown to the far ropes and this time there is no deferment of sentence. Lacey, not looking like the fighter who owns a near 40-pound advantage, vaults into the air upon Tynia�s return, catching the Asian with a cross body block that leaves the soles of Power�s boots pointing to the lights above. She slams to the mat with incredible force, Lacey driving her into the canvas, using her excess of power in a disheartening display for the Goth�s fans, the move, proof once again that life is so totally unfair.

Tynia lies spreadeagled and droopy-eyed, her right arm twitching slightly. Lacey, noticing the vacancy in Power�s dark pools, hooks a leg.

[1]

[2]

Tynia kicks out, short-circuiting the hopes of some Montoya fans who had already leapt to their feet in anticipation.

But Lacey shows no frustration, instead rolling the petite ragdoll to her chest. Squatting atop the back of her little pony, Lacey curls Tynia�s arms over her knees, securing them in place, then, cupping her hands, she clasps the locked digits under the Asian�s chin, pulling Tynia back in an anguish-inducing Camel Clutch. Tynia�s stifled scream hisses through lips pursed by the Texas cowgirl, Lacey curling the smaller girl�s spine up and back. The Texan�s white, leather zip-up halter vest serves as an unpleasant pillow for Tynia�s reddened mop, while Montoya pulls Tynia�s upper torso in reverse like she�s trying to land a trophy Marlin off the Galveston coast. The Goth Cheerleader�s vertebrae are stretched like taffy as high-pitched squeaks emanate from her sealed lips.

�Ask her, ref. Ask her,� Lacey says.

The ref slides in front of Tynia, perhaps not so coincidentally directly anterior to the Asian�s normally modest bosom, suddenly supersized within her stretched and straining halter.

�Do you give?�

Nothing. But the plaintive look on Tynia�s face brings the question again.

�Tynia, do you give?�

Lacey loosens her grip ever-so-slightly to allow her opponent to forfeit verbally, Tynia�s ensnared arms unable to tap, at least demonstratively enough for the ref to see from his current viewpoint.

Defiantly, Power spits out �N-O. That spells NO.�

Lacey violently jerks Tynia one final time, bringing a howl of pain, then releases her hold and throws Power to the mat, her right temple bouncing off the canvas with shocking force.

Lacey dismounts her foe and looks out upon the sea of supporters. She raises an arm and twirls a closed first as if she is swinging a lasso. The call for support brings her most ardent supporters to their feet in an ovation. What had been expected to be a challenge was turning into a domination and both Lacey, a cowboy�s vision in white leather � halter, chaps, and boots and denim - tattered Daisy Dukes, and her fans, basked in the success.

Montoya stomps the mat, the crowd picking up her beat with a steady rhythmic clap as Tynia recovers, rolling a step away from her tormentor and then struggling, despite her screaming back muscles, to all fours and then to one knee. The Goth Cheerleader stares at the crowd confused in her woozy state. What asinine cheer was this?

Rising to both feet, she soon discovers, turning blindly into a superpowered superkick that twists Tynia�s neck around like she was an stand-in for The Exorcist, the tiny Asian cutie drops to the mat in a twirling tumble, her body spinning and dropping as if pulled down a gaping whirlpool. Finally, she rests in a crumpled heap; arms, legs, head covering every direction of the compass.

This time Lacey chooses action over patience, not waiting for Tynia to offer up another bullseye. Sensing the extremeness of Tynia�s muddled consciousness, she gathers the goth�s wrists, pulling her out of her mid-ring jumble, and lays her prostate, legs and arms outstretched, a comfortable distance from her own corner.

Tynia had been overwhelmed, beaten from pillar to post, unable to give the barest of offensives, unable to show her superlative high-flying genius. And now, Lacey would teach her, perhaps in a prelude to today�s final act, that not only can the sparrow take wing, but the eagle as well.

The tough and slightly tawdry Texan leaps to the middle buckle and then hops to the top, spinning to take in the glorious vista below, the nasty little Asian bedbug ready for squashing, Tynia�s only movement the soft roll of her chest and the flutter of her eyelids as they struggled to stay half-open.

Lacey�s white leather chaps squeak as she squats on the top buckle readying herself, then again as her long legs unfold and launch her heavenward. Mid-flight her body folds and unfolds as it plummets toward Tynia�s defenseless midsection, but at the last moment, the Goth Cheerleader rolls up her knees and Lacey is caught in no man�s air. Her belly, instead of crushing the air from Tynia, instead is impaled by Power�s intruding kneecaps. The cowgirl rolls away in agony in a horrible fit of coughing, her arms swathed around her ailing tummy.

Without breath for the first time in the match, she sucks in oxygen in mighty inhales, her dark eyes looking as though they may pop from their sockets. A yard or two away, Tynia fights through her own dilemma, shaking out the cobwebs of a thorough beating. She rolls to all fours, catching sight of Lacey out of the corner of her eye, the cowgirl continuing to squirm in desperate search of O2.

Completely stifled by Montoya�s power game, in the blink of an eye, and because of her quick wit, Tynia was now in a position to show these people and this rodeo dropout what she could do.

Pushing to her feet, she grasps Lacey by both ankles and spreads her legs wide.

�Mistress Miriam did like this one,� Tynia delights in telling a frantically waving Montoya. �But then she always was one for unbearable pain.�

With that said, Tynia drops a knee into Lacey�s crotch, Montoya�s upper torso shooting up as the pain races through her nervous system. The diminutive Asian grinds her knee into Lacey�s sweetmeat, the cowgirl wailing as she tries to push Power away, but Tynia only leaves the Daisy Dukes of her own accord, readying for another salvo.
�NO, NO, NO,� screams Lacey, as she holds her hands up, begging for a little charity, but receiving none. Tynia again drives down into the battered and bruised pussy, Lacey now twisting and turning in desperation as she lets loose with an ear-piercing shriek. She manages to break free from the Goth Cheerleader�s grasp, but only for a moment, Tynia corralling her and yanking her to her feet by her long brunette locks.
Picking the nearest set of buckles, Tynia whips her opponent into the corner, Lacey launched with surprising force and with a half-twist, so her back crumples into the corner. She manages to stay upright for a moment, but slowly sinks to the middle buckle and finally the lowest cushion, her hands engaged between her chaps, kneading the skin-tight denim.

Tynia, already suspecting Lacey�s final resting place, is incoming ordinance, Montoya only partially aware of the charging Power.

But finally, awareness could not be denied, as the Asian�s black panties and the crotch beneath are introduced to Lacey�s face time and time again with a bouncing Bronco Buster, the Texan�s gorgeous features providing Tynia a saddle and a trampoline all in one.

The crowd, caught up in the moment, begins chanting with the Goth Cheerleader�s jolting how-do-you-do.

SIX. SEVEN. EIGHT. NINE. TEN.

Finally, the ride comes to an end, Tynia disengaging from her mount and stepping away. Lacey�s head totters and falls onto her shoulder, her braincase buffeted one too many times by the tiny terror. She can provide no resistance as Tynia lifts her from her stupor and hiptosses her a few yards from the corner.

Like a jungle cat, Tynia surveys her prey for a moment and then bounds to higher ground, taking a position on the top turnbuckle with an effortless leap. But as soon as she does, Lacey clambers to her own pair of boots. She is a bit unsteady, but not nearly the defenseless carcass that the goth had believed.

With Tynia�s back to the mat, setting up for one of her breathtaking moonsaults, Lacey grabs her around the waist. The shocked Power is helpless to stop Lacey from wrenching her down to the middle buckle.

Climbing to the first buckle, Lacey swings her right arm under and around Tynia�s neck, as if she�s flexing her bicep around the base of Tynia�s skull. Leaping forward, she pulls Tynia from her perch and brings a gasp from the crowd with a fearsome neckbreaker, the diminutive Asian taking a horrible impact, her body spasming as Lacey releases her. Her legs twitch once more and she falls still, Lacey rolling to her feet with a look of supreme satisfaction.

The rugged Texas cowgirl snatches Tynia by the ankles and drags the deadweight to the middle of the ring. Again, she swings her imaginary lasso, bringing much of the crowd to its feet.

She then shakes and twists Tynia like a wet towel, cajoling consciousness back into her, the Goth Cheerleader�s sentience reinhabiting her body with a spasmodic shake and a bolt upright. Quickly realizing her predicamanet, it is her turn to plead, as Lacey pulls her supple, golden, abbreviated legs as wide as they will go, Tynia grimacing as she pleads.

But for Lacey, what was good for her goose is good for Tynia�s gander and she falls within the Asian�s spread gams with a double leg spread legdrop. All her weight crashes down on Tynia�s legs, the lithe limbs savagely forced into a split of devastating proportions. Power squeals in pain, her hands immediately reaching for her ripped groin and hammies.

Having landed the first half of her deadly Texas Spread finisher, Lacey, still in possession of Tynia�s ankles, rolls her to her belly without the slightest conflict. Masterfully intertwining her legs with the pliant lower limbs of Tynia, she secures a Texas cloverleaf. The process of wringing out a submission from the overwhelmed Asian is a short one. Tynia�s legs and groin already scream their submission in waves of anguish, sandblasting her brain. It is only a matter of a handful of seconds before the Goth Cheerleader is tapping the mat in agony, screaming for her release.

The ref officially awards Lacey the win and calls for the bell.

�DING. DING. DING.�

Lacey unlocks Tynia from her torture and throws her legs aside. She revels in the victory, her smile beaming wider as the PA blasts the obvious through every speaker.

�Your winner via submission. Lacey Montoya.

Lacey circles the ring, her arms raised in victory as the vanquished Tynia tends to matters below her skirt, the goth scowling at Montoya as she does. But the triumphant Texan is in the thrill of the moment, sharing her victory with a cheering assemblage. She slides through the ropes, slips on her Stetson, and up the ramp she saunters to a well-deserved ovation, slapping hands with as many people as she can reach.

At the upper stage, she raises her ten-gallon in a final salute and then she is gone to party the night away.