Pandemonium hangs over the crowd like a heavy blanket, those in attendance unable, and frankly unwilling, to let the sights and sounds of Kylie�s destruction leave their minds and voices. It had been a dreadful humbling and a glorious conquest wrapped into one sweet, delectable package and the thundering herd was clearly preparing for�no�demanding more.

Sharing a love for mayhem and domination, but introducing their own distinctive method in reaching this objective, the two redheads to follow are a virtual guarantee to satiate the throng�s growing bloodlust and skinlust, and the crowd pulses in this realization. With Kylie, the appetizer, having been properly served, they were ready for the main course, so as to gorge themselves.

The lights dim, the Coliseum readies for its next set of gladiators.

As .38 Special's "Wild Eyed Southern Boys" blasts over the PA system, Ivy Belle Armstrong tears open the curtains at the top of the ramp, and with a wicked smile, saunters down to the ring with plenty of swivel in her hips. She acknowledges a pair of mulletheaded, wifebeater-wearing Sons of the South with a wink and a pucker, closing ranks with them, giving them hope for just a moment that they might actually touch her and make their year. But before their dream can come true, she pulls up short, wiggle-waggles in a honky-tonk version of a pirouette, and moves on to torture the next set of bumpkins. And she�s perfectly attired for the task, in denim cutoffs, so short and so tight, they�d make Daisy Dukes look positively Victorian. Her pink and white checkered halter is tied off just below her bountiful bosom, plenty of tight, ivory midriff between her curvaceous checkerboard and the low-riding Levi�s.

As she ascends the ring steps, a handkerchief with a Confederate flag design flutters from the confines of a miniscule back pocket. Stepping through the ropes, she gives the crowd a thrill with an ass that brings new meaning to �The Solid South�. In the ring, Ivy pulls out the kerchief, dabs imaginary sweat from her forehead and bounteous cleavage before throwing it out to the crowd.

As if by magic, the Stars and Bars returns to the ring super-sized, an Armstrong fan from below the Mason-Dixon having tossed a full-size version into the squared circle. Ivy retrieves it from a corner and proudly parades around the ring one lap, then two, then three, drawing a mixed reaction from the crowd.

Without warning, the arena descends into blackness. For a moment, there is silence. Just a moment. And then the PA system explodes into life...

"Forfeit the game/Before somebody else Takes you out of the frame/Puts your name to shame Cover up your face/You can't run the race The pace is too fast/You just won't last..."

As Linkin Park's "Points of Authority" fills the arena, the lights come back up, and a figure is visible at the top of the ramp. She is a beautiful girl, in an odd, ghostly sort of way. Her skin is pale, accentuating her unnaturally bright red hair and deep haunting green eyes. Her nails are painted blood red. A black vinyl "one piece" scarcely covers her breasts and crotch, the midsection left bare save a network of thin straps in a spider web pattern. The backside of the garment is open, save for the straps supporting the top half and the thong of the bottom. She accessorizes with matching fingerless, elbow-length gloves, black silk stockings with garters, and a black silk choker

Miriam Gaiman makes her way down toward the ring, slowly at first, keeping to the middle of the aisle--assuring a healthy distance between her and any hands that might try to touch her. As she nears the ring, she picks up pace, diving under the bottom rope as she reaches the apron, sliding to a halt on all fours, her tight backside elevated, drawing more than a few hoots and hollers, her eyes locking on her opponent's.

There's a manic glint to those eyes as she smiles unnervingly, appearing to almost hump the canvas a moment before backing herself into the nearest corner to await the bell. The crowd rises to a fever pitch with the overt sensual nature of every movement of the feline predator and the nearness of the hour when she might strike.

�DING. DING. DING.�

Both women approach the center of the ring slowly, Miriam rising from all fours as she moves forward, a pale panther to Ivy�s huffing bull. Armstrong�s hand flashes out, slapping Miriam across the cheek, Gaiman�s head torqueing sideways then returning, this time with a grin. She licks her ruby lips and looks to return the favor, but Ivy nimbly blocks with a forearm and snatches the proffered arm. She twists Miriam�s arm, cinching the limb behind her back, ratcheting the pressure as the two spin in unison.
�Mmmm. Ummm.�

Ivy�s ears deceive her, as it sounds as though Miriam almost enjoys the tension in her tendons from the hammerlock. Finding she can not ignore the delighted purrs nor stand them, Ivy twirls out of the armbar and sends Miriam for the ride, whipping her into the far strands and planting the slender Gaiman to the mat with a dropkick with which even Momma would have been proud.

Ivy springs to her feet, leading the multitudes in a rebel yell, before returning to the task in front of her. The twisted smile had been knocked clean off Miriam�s otherwise adorable features. She shakes out the cobwebs and props up on her shoulders, trying to regain her bearings, but quickly the Southern belle is upon her, Ivy realizing the need to maintain the early momentum.

She lifts the erstwhile dominatrix with a handful of Miriam�s fire-red hair, her hands then encircling Gaiman�s graceful, ivory throat, Ivy throttling her foe as she backs her to the ropes, Miriam�s sparkling green eyes becoming even more prominent.

�THWAP�

Ivy smacks the meat of Miriam�s cleavage with a blistering Tomahawk Chop that almost immediately turns her chest a tender, pinkish hue.

�THWAP. THWAAAP.�

Backhand and forehand smack home, the crowd providing Ivy the customary �wooo� after each reverberating blow, Miriam bending the ropes slightly as she�s forced back by Ivy�s thrust, then forward by the taut cables into another accelerating open hand.

Having tenderized Miriam�s modest, but delectably pert bosom, to both her, and oddly Gaiman�s satisfaction, Ivy sends FAWN�s S&M mistress hurtling across the ropes once again. And again, Ivy sends a brutal, bone-crunching message with a shoulderblock that separates Miriam�s soles from the canvas, her back and head cracking against the lightly padded surface. Ivy looks down upon the wide emerald eyes with satisfaction.

�Hey now, girlie. If yer likin� what I�m doin� so far, yer gonna luv me layta.�

Ivy stomps Miriam�s tight, little abs, bringing a gurgle from her fellow redhead. She snatches a handful of the long strands laying below Gaiman�s right cheek and pulls the reluctant dominatrix to her knees.

�Looks like lil� kitty�s meow is worse than her bi��

The second-generation superstar never gets to finish. Though Miriam�s head lolls to the right, tongue poking from between parted lips, she is not nearly as depleted as she would have Ivy believe, the driving shaft of her right arm finding a clean path between Ivy�s now rubbery legs, proof aplenty. Armstrong�s lips form a silent �O� as she drops to the canvas in stages, finally curling into a fetal ball, her hands softly massaging the contents of her denim shorts as Miriam pushes to her feet.

Now, it is Miriam grasping Armstrong�s auburn locks, dragging The Alabama Slammer out of her cocoon and to her feet. She hiptosses Ivy to the mat, one arm leaving her aching crotch, if only to tend to her embattled back.

Immediately, Miriam is upon her again, turning Ivy to her chest. One of Miriam�s slender, supple, ivory stems bends at the knee and drives into the small of Ivy�s back, so far that one could imagine Ivy�s upper vertebrae crushed to granules. Armstrong can�t help but less loose with a stifled yelp as Miriam grinds the genuflection between her shoulderblades. Miriam yips in pleasure, having gathered her first pained vocalization of the day from her opponent.

�So you like this, do you?�

Reaching forward, Miriam slips an arm around either side of Ivy�s head, the two sets of filled fingerless gloves interlocking in a cup under Ivy�s chin, forming some sort of mutated version of half-surfboard, half-camel clutch. Nonetheless, for Ivy, it was full-on pain.

�Fffmmmbbbchhh,� Ivy mumbles between a jaw snapped shut by Miriam�s joyous efforts. Her muffled demand disregarded with a giggle, Armstrong rocks from side to side, and, taking advantage of the unsteady base of Gaiman�s innovative design, rolls to her side, sending a stubborn Miriam to the mat as well. Sensing she�s gotten all she can from this hold, the pale, redheaded freakazoid, unclasps her hands, her knee already having fallen out of its strategic hollow.

Proving maxims can be stood on their head, Miriam�s busy hands make for the devil�s playthings. Ivy could feel the digits rummaging all over her body as she struggled to all fours, only to be forced back down, her cheek, instead of finding the coarse canvas, falling across the warm, satiny inner thigh of Miriam�s lithe lower limb. For the barest of moments, it was a pleasant sensation, but when the clapboard of Gaiman�s companion thigh closed around her opposite ear, Ivy knew better than anyone, she was in trouble. Though no �Southern Charm�, she could feel the power course through Miriam�s loins as she brought all of the crushing power of her headscissors into play. Wrapped in from behind, the moist softness of Ivy�s mane tickles her upper reaches, enough for Miriam to open the rim of the vinyl patch that covered her crotch and stuff a handful of flowing auburn in. Gaiman grunts as she grins, her stockinged legs flexing, ankles locked and grinding.

�I can be pretty Charming, when I want to be,� Miriam quips. �And with you, I really, REALLY do.�

The dominatrix sends another burst of intensity down her legs, Ivy�s efforts to extricate herself momentarily shutdown as she deals with the distress, the tiniest of chirps escaping her lips.

That was a powerful bolt, Miriam thought. It�d be making that little morsel of a farmgirl cry. But her fellow redhead was fighting through it, as best she could, though she would fall eventually.

Miriam feels a tap on her shoulder and turns to see the ref already counting. Daydreaming through what would happen to Ivy, the pale mistress had completely missed that Armstrong, having given up on trying to pry her way free, had managed instead to grasp a cable and force the break.

�Three�Four,� the ref screams into her cheery disposition, Miriam breaking before the fifth shout can come.

Still in her ideal environment, IN CONTROL, Miriam grabs an ankle and drags Ivy, on her considerable chest, from her grip on the rope, pulling her to the middle of the ring so as to continue her indulgences without further distraction.

Ivy tries to mule kick free of Gaiman�s clutches, but the effort only brings retribution in the form of a pointed elbowdrop to the back of her neck, Armstrong�s squirming brought to an instant halt. Like a spider immobilizing her prey before moving in for the kill, Miriam rolls Ivy to her back and kneels next to her.

�There are just so many things I could do with this yummy body,� Miriam declares with a sparkle in her eye, the focus bearing in on the Southern girl�s open midriff.

�How about some of this creamy pudding?�

Miriam sinks in a stomach claw that buries into the tight, but grudgingly yielding belly; Ivy, still woozy, unable to offer any resistance, her only movement, hands ruffling through her auburn mane reflexively. She bites her lip, holding in the scream that Miriam continues to work for, Gaiman twisting her fingers, flexing, her gloved palm becoming a jaw of misery, their fingerless feature, allowing the �teeth� to remain bared. Miriam daintily drops her ear to Ivy�s pelvic mound, cupping her free hand around it.

�I haven�t hear any screaming, but I know there�s one in here, just pleading to come out.�

She gives the pelvic swell a little peck, as if trying coax it free, but the only thing induced from Ivy is a lifted knee that catches Miriam in the jaw, her head swinging away like a batted ball, her claw simultaneously undone, five pink welts in a circle around Ivy�s navel the remains of her labor.

Digging deep, figuratively, as opposed to Miriam�s literal interpretation, Ivy pushes the pain aside, as she had learned to do so many times in her yet young career. Despite, the shrieking nerve endings lighting up her back and gut, she rolls slowly to her feet. However, having shaken free of her cobwebs, Miriam has beaten her to her feet. She lunges at Ivy, once again, claws bared, but Ivy catches her clean coming in with a boot to Miriam�s belly that doubles over the sexy, redheaded siren. Feeling a little payback is in order, Ivy rakes her nails across redhead�s perpetually dancing eyes, effectively blinding her, but it is an odd giggle that meets the maneuver instead of a grimace or groan.

Turning her back to Miriam, Ivy wraps a right arm around her neck from below and drops into a stunner, Gaiman�s head dropping to Ivy�s shoulder then snapping back in a whiplash turn of direction and speed. Miriam bounces to her feet for a split-second, but the momentum is too much and she flops to her back, sans giggle, smile, or even smirk. Her body lays lifeless, spreadeagled, her face blank, eyes vacant.

Ivy climbs aboard, hooking a leg to make her audience captive, as the ref slides into place.

1

2

Miriam kicks out an instant before her inaugural defeat, but she is clearly the worse for wear and a determined Ivy appears ready to put Gaiman�s borderline bizarre abilities to the test, swallowing Miriam�s tight, little vinyl-banded midsection with her renowned �pneumatic press� set of gams. The legs that had �Charmed� so many now had another body part to chew on, digging into Miriam�s flat tummy with relish, squeezing until it seemed her back might meet her belly, the fiery redhead sliced in two.

But as beads of sweat build on Ivy�s brow and upper lip, the steel bands in her legs tightening around her lunch, Miriam only let loose with groans, not of pain, but of orgasmic delight. Ivy pressed her internal organs into pancakes again.

�Uhhhh. Yeah�unggh.�

Miriam bit her lip, eyes again dancing, hands stripping herself of her top, fingers proceeding to circle her aureoles then dawdling across her nipples, bringing the already blossoming nubs to a heightened stiffness.

Ivy clasped her thighs to the edge of complete muscle failure, but it was more of the same, Miriam�s throes only becoming louder and more intense.

Enough. Ivy released her scissors, drawing her sweat-slicked legs clear of Miriam, Gaiman close to being ready for a cigarette, but in her own satisfied way, looking somewhat depleted nonetheless.

Grabbing Miriam under her arms, Armstrong lifts her to her feet and tosses her into the nearest turnbuckle, Miriam�s back crashing hard into the corner. Still, she remains upright, her body, only now, seeming to come down from its rib-crunched high.

The nasty Alabaman backs to the middle of the ring and sprints forward, jumping at the last second for full effect and nailing Miriam with a resounding squash, her breasts buffeting Gaiman�s head, the rest of her body pounding Miriam below. The pale dominatrix droops into the corner, head drooping to her chest, the concussive force having made its mark. But as Ivy drops back to the mat and she bodies up with Miriam�s slinky form, forcing Gaiman�s head and body back, bullying and pressing her as close to the post as she�ll go, there is a response, Miriam seeming to gain strength from the skin-on-skin contact. Gaiman gathers her balance and grinds her body back into Armstrong�s, Ivy staring into a face dripping with an odd combination of pain and pleasure.

She steps back in confusion, while continuing to keep a grinning Miriam pinned in place with a stiff left forearm tight against her pert, bare bosom. Regaining her composure, Ivy lets the left slide up under Miriam�s neck, keeping her bolted in place, and unloads a heart punch that flattens Miriam�s left breast to the bone beneath and gives her cardiac muscle a few fibrillations.

Ivy inspects the success of her blow, Miriam robotically stepping from the corner, all trace of mirth gone, her face blank and perhaps even paler, eyes rolling white. She stumbles one step then two and falls to her face like a plunging lawndart.

Ivy is quick to follow, turning her victim and lowering her bodyweight perpendicular across Miriam�s shoulders.

1

2

Miriam slides out underneath the pinning attempt, Ivy�s admirers erroneously jumping to their feet in celebration, only to raise a chorus of boos when the ref jumps to his feet holding two fingers aloft.

On her knees, straddling her foe, and pissed at the ref�s decidedly - in her judgment - slow count, Ivy lowers her head to Miriam�s, her locks framing both her head and Gaiman�s. Ivy offers a smirk that would be unsettling to any right-minded individual, lets her lips glide across Miriam�s upper counterpart, and tucks her perfect pearlies into the tip of Miriam�s nose, chomping down with her incisors, the adorable beak, a mid-match snack. Miriam responds without a word by sinking dual claws into the soft sides of Ivy, just above her hips, apparently trying to remove her kidneys with the force she digs her fingers in. Release is simultaneous, as both women decide they want none of what the other is offering. Ivy flops atop Miriam, body-to-body, Gaiman�s face buried in Ivy�s cleavage, but she pushes Armstrong off and away before the ref can get more than one slap down.

The women crawl away in opposite directions, looking for recovery time. Both, after a dozen seconds or more, use the ropes to wearily climb to their feet and stare each other down with what might have been described as a look of grudging respect, though, of course, Miriam added a smarmy smirk and Ivy an intimidating growl.

They move to the center, circling each other as they traverse a 360, the crowd rising into hysterics in appreciation. Both women reach for each other and lock into a collar-and-elbow that quickly turns into a side headlock from Miriam. But the mundane quickly turns sublime, Miriam sinking in the mandible claw from out of nowhere, the three middle fingers of her right hand delving into Ivy�s now hanging jaw. Armstrong�s eyes bulge in both pain and the realization of her dire straits. Her arms wave wildly, trying to find anything to strike, but the glancing blows are not enough, and soon she finds her mind and her legs drifting, barely realizing that Miriam has reduced her to her knees. Still, the teenager, thanks in great part to Momma, has a wherewithal far more than most and she derails Miriam�s victory express with an earringer that forces the intruding fingers out and around their owner�s boxed ears, Gaiman looping away in a semi-circle.

The combatants, all but consumed, gather a breath. Miriam reacquires Ivy, who remains on one knee, the taste of Miriam�s digits still in her mouth. The aberrant redhead strides to her vicious counterpart and grabs her long red waves. Ivy cocks her right arm and sends a low blow toward Miriam�s vinyl-covered privates, but as one who is often on the giving end of such a tactic, she anticipates. Releasing Ivy�s hair, she leapfrogs the kneeling beauty, spins, and as Ivy rises to her feet, she slaps on a surprisingly textbook sleeper. The Southern Belle frantically reaches behind to find a handhold, but there is none.

Not fully recovered from the mandible claw, the pinpricks of light and dark return to her blurred vision quickly, as Miriam skillfully cuts off her carotid. Armstrong reaches for the ropes, but they remain several feet away, Miriam careful to keep both redheads planted in place as she bears down. Ivy�s arms swing without any seeming direction now, wildly, then, as the seconds pass, less so. Her once powerful legs, suddenly lethargic, can no longer support her weight and she drops to her knees, giving Miriam yet more leverage.

�Don�t worry. I wouldn�t deprive you and me a fan-fucking-tastic finish,� Miriam whispers, dipping her lips to drop the news directly in Ivy�s ear, accompanied by a brush of warm breath. �Anyway, you have something to tell me.�

Gaiman releases her sleeper and forces Ivy the rest of the way down to the mat with scant resistance. When down to the canvas, she nimbly and violently twists and turns Ivy�s body into a repository of torture, turning her equally delectable form into the instrument, with an STF. Ivy�s consciousness shoots to the surface with the help of the crisp, clear, and continuous waves of pain circuiting through her nervous system as Miriam torments both her upper and lower frame; legs, back, neck, head; few body parts left without abuse.

Miriam drops some unheard advice into Ivy�s ears and receives a shake of the head. Positively beaming, ivory skin glowing, her spirit clearly on an climactic high, again she queries her futily struggling victim.

�NOOOOO,� comes an animalistic scream that is Ivy�s answer. The rebuttal reverberates through the entire arena, spectators and Miriam alike, taken aback with the ferocity.

Miriam releases her flaccid foe from the predicament, then centers Armstrong in the ring, caveman-style, pulling Ivy behind her like tonight�s dinner of gazelle. She lets the Southern girl�s head fall to the mat, Ivy still pushing against the exhaustion of both body and consciousness, hoping against hope, but as her face is enveloped in vinyl and satiny, soft cheeks, hope is reduced to a non-entity, breath barely more, some miniscule molecules found in the dark, dank prison this bitch would make her last memory of the match. Still, Ivy slaps weakly at Miriam�s thighs, as she vaguely feels her own legs being matchbooked beside her conquerors, the zippered teeth of her Dukes pulled wide.

No.

It was the last coherent thought Ivy could manage. The final touch of Miriam�s �Cruel and Unusual�, the crotch claw, sinks into her sweetmeat between the opened denim. This would allow no other and within scant seconds Miriam was alone, without her submission, her fingers clenching and unclenching within the soft, tender tissue without effect.

In victory, she still had been denied. Impressive.

She let Ivy�s legs snap back to the mat, her oh-so-tight denim, still mostly in place; her top somewhat askew, but denying what much of FAWN�s demo craved. Miriam waves the ref in and he obediently complies, raising Ivy�s arm once, twice, thrice. He motions for the bell and the PA is quick to follow the ringing chimes.

�Your winner of the match�MIRIAM GAIMAN.�

Miriam cares little that this victory would be considered an upset or that it could launch her to bigger and better things within the organization. As she rises to her feet and looks down upon the slumbering Armstrong, the crowd waiting with baited breath for more delightful unwrapping and destruction, she cares that she had found someone willing to accept pain at a level very nearly her own.

Moving to Ivy�s corner, she snatches the Confederate flag and stalks back to the devastated Armstrong, draping the flag over her partially exposed womanhood. She kneels next to Ivy and slaps her harshly on the cheek, spinning Ivy�s lolling head away. No response.

�Whap, Whap, WHAP.�

Ivy�s eyes slit open, her mouth moving, though no words emerge, her arms and legs spasm then, at least partially, obey her weakened will.

Miriam rises to her feet and, to both cheers, jeers, and confused silence, slips through the ropes, leaving nary a word for Ivy, nor the fans. She makes her way up the aisle, as enormous an enigma as ever she�d been, but a victorious one.