by: Hawkeye
Easter Sunday and FAWN. The two weren�t exactly chocolate and peanut butter. Bethany knew that people in a pious mood did not exactly square with her �edgy� entertainment and so this week�s card would be played on the down low. Only people who couldn�t live without FAWN would be showing up this week or tuning in.
She�d already brought Cosette in to face FAWN rookie Lisa Dream and though that was an exciting match-up in its own right. She needed more to fill the card. It was too late to contractually obligate anyone to show for the week�s card, so she�d have to hit people who were willing to run through a wall to get on a mothership broadcast.
It was an off weekend for F2, so that left several of her �shared� workers available that fit that characteristic perfectly. A few phone calls, a few plane fares and the crowd now gathered around the ring was about to be treated to a special unannounced Triple Threat match.
In the ring, already stretching and bouncing in place, taking up three of the ring�s corners, are faces familiar and less so to the general FAWN-following public, though the dedicated throng that nearly fills the arena, certainly seems to know the triumvirate, the crowd bursting into raucous cheers as Kylie Sanders is announced. The cinnamon-hued brunette strides forward clad in a tight black, cotton halter; a wide swath of toned, yet undefined, pale midriff circling above a pair of �painted on� golden satin boxing shorts, Sanders� taut little pair of glutes encased tightly within the second skin.
Kylie raises her hands, twirling 360 degrees to acknowledge all corners of the cheering assembly, then steps back into place.
Next, it is Maiden America�s showcase for a few seconds. The tawny blonde moves forward, receiving a cheer nearly equal to that of Kylie. Clad in a white bikini top trimmed in gold, blue bikini bottoms with golden tassels, and red lace up boots, she salutes crisply, north, south, east, and west. Her slinky body, long blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, not to mention shapely legs, and smooth, flat belly have the crowd saluting in return.
BabyGurl steps forward and pushes Maiden back to her corner, boos showering down upon the Motor City street tough teen. The sassy, sultry brunette struts her stuff in a black baby T and thong. Some wolf whistles join the jeers. BabyGurl pumps her right arm up to meet her left palm in a special �BG� salute of her own. She then recedes to her corner in disgust, Maiden America and Kylie Sanders following suit, though in a more chipper demeanor. The three wait anxiously for the bell, but instead the PA breaks in.
�This will be a Triple Threat match and there will be NOOOOOOO DISQUALIFICATIONS.�
BabyGurl claps enthusiastically, while Maiden shakes her head. Kylie moves forward to claim the middle of the ring without a hint of emotion. �DING. DING. DING.�
Slowly, Maiden and BabyGurl join Kylie in the center of the squared circle. They stare at each other in face-off fashion, eyes dancing to one opponent then the next. Finally, the blazing blues of Maiden and the hazel pools of Kylie meet in recognition and the two turn in unison to face BabyGurl, fists cocking as they do so.
�BAM�
A right from Maiden strikes BG on the cheek, spinning her sideways, only to receive a counterpart left from Kylie that clocks the brunette on the opposite cheek, whiplashing her in the opposite direction.
�WHAM� �BAM� �WHAM� �BAM�.
The would-be superhero and the Iowa girl trade off, blasting BabyGurl, each strike hammering home around a futile defense from the Motor City wildchild. BabyGurl�s eyes glaze as she stumbles to the ropes from the eighth clout in succession, the patriot and her compatriot keeping BG upright with a grasp of her biceps.
Counting to three, the duo sends BabyGurl for the ride, Maiden and Kylie, following behind to the center of the ring, wait for the inevitable canvas-slapping return. Back springs the beautiful, bratty brunette, her long mane flowing behind. However, her journey is brought to a mind-numbing halt with a double clothesline that drops her to the mat viciously, the back of her head and her spine taking the brutal brunt.
Maiden and Kylie continue working as a team, plucking BabyGurl off the mat. The brunette bully, realizing the dire straits she�s gotten herself into, shakes her head violently.
�No fair,� she screams. �NO FAIR.�
The duo send BG off on another trip, ending this one with a double hiptoss and elbow drop that has the crowd eating out of their hand and BabyGurl flopping like a fish out of water on the mat.
Maiden America gets a head start on retrieving BabyGurl. The blonde had been on the bad end of a two-on-one down in F2 just a few days before and being part of the two, rather than the one, was more to her liking. She smiles broadly, waving to the fans, as she grabs the brunette�s wrist and pulls her to her knees.
But suddenly, BabyGurl shows some of the backstreet toughness that got her signed, ripping an uppercut into the star-spangled blonde�s crotch. Maiden yips as she rises to tiptoes, BabyGurl�s arm still lodged deep between her legs. The tawny blonde lists to the right before collapsing onto her side and rolling into a fetal ball, her hands replacing BG�s invading limb.
BabyGurl brushes long brown locks out of her face to fully take in what her effort had gained her and how she could parlay the shuddering blonde at her knees. However, she cannot capitalize as Kylie dropkicks BG crisply on the chin, leaving the brutal brat spreadeagled and glassy-eyed next to her handiwork, Maiden still massaging out the last remnants of pain from her pussy.
Climbing to her feet, Kylie�s eyes shoot first to BabyGurl then to Maiden America. For a moment, she has an embarrassment of riches, and cannot decide which pin to attempt. After a moment�s hesitation, she drops next to BabyGurl and hooks a lean limber leg, pinning the kneecap all the way to BG�s bosom.
ONE
TWO
There is no reprieve courtesy of the Maiden, as she continues to recover, but BG rolls up a shoulder a split-second prior to the final slap and the match continues.
Quick to follow-up while the iron is hot, Kylie pops to her feet and yanks BabyGurl to the same. Sanders slips an arm between BG�s legs, the other secured vertically across the brunette�s torso. With a deep grunt of exertion, Kylie scoops BabyGurl off the mat, cleans and jerks her up, and deposits her back to the mat with a resounding bodyslam. BabyGurl�s face is etched in both anguish and surprise, an arm reaching to her tender back, arched in pain. She slowly settles to the canvas.
Kylie, keeping up her commanding and blistering pace, bounds to the nearest corner, vaulting to the top buckle like she was born to the circus, every match the erstwhile coed becoming more familiar and comfortable with her feet off the mat.
The Iowa girl measures the taut, glistening midriff of the Gurl and with the exchange of potential energy to kinetic, she is off, vaulting to an impressive zenith, where her body closes like a flower at night then reopens to the dawn. Kylie�s frog splash lands clean across BabyGurl�s tummy with a �THWOMP�, Detroit�s delinquent jackknifing around Kylie�s body. Sanders rolls away a foot or two, BabyGurl receding back to the canvas, her arms embracing her tummy, her chest heaving to bring in air, any and all. Kylie takes a moment to regain her bearings and slides across BabyGurl�s breasts in a cross body pin. This Gurl was done and she had a win.
ONE
TWO
From behind, Kylie can feel hands encircle an ankle and she is ejected from BabyGurl�s docile form.
Kicking her way free and hopping to her feet, Kylie spins, tiny fist cocked for a throw down. A couple feet away, in a mirror image, Maiden America strikes the identical pose.
Tension hangs in the air as the crowd explodes to its feet. The two offer abbreviated smiles, Kylie extending a hand that Maiden slowly accepts. The two shake, but, in a lightning flash, Kylie pulls Maiden forward, dips, and flips the would-be superheroine over her shoulder and follows her down to the mat as part of the motion. Two points for a takedown on the Fireman�s Carry and, harkening back to her high school days, she ties up Miss Red, White & Blue in a small package.
ONE
TWO
Maiden pops out of the maneuver after another half-second and both combatants scramble to their feet. Kylie smiles broadly and winks at the beautiful blonde and the Maiden can�t help but grin in return, though she adds a wagging finger.
�You should know better than that,� Maiden America playfully scolds.
�I do. And you should too,� Kylie retorts with a snicker.
The women circle the ring, looking for an opening, each taking a turn landing a kick to BabyGurl�s gut as they pass her, the Maiden�s red boot finding a yielding home, as well as Kylie�s heel, sole, and tootsies.
Having taken a 360-degree spin, Maiden and Kylie come together in a collar-and-elbow tie up. The two petite bodies strain against each other, Sanders seeming to gain a slight advantage, as she bulls the blonde back a couple steps, but Maiden America quickly turns the advantage, spinning and sending Kylie off with an Irish whip. She waits for Sanders� return like a steel spring ready to unload and when the black and gold clad beauty returns to her, she lets loose with a blisteringly fast savate kick that catches nothing but air.
Kylie, having ducked the effort, bounces to the opposite set of cables. Gathering momentum, she vaults into a rotating, off-balance Maiden, flattening her with a flying cross body. The air expunged from her body, the blonde is stunned and vulnerable. Kylie sensing an opportunity, hooks a leg.
ONE
TWO
BabyGurl measures a knee and drops it across Kylie�s temple, breaking the count and drawing an �oooh� from the crowd, the velocity and point of impact reducing them to hushed tones as BabyGurl pushes her first advantage, dragging Kylie�s drooping body skidding along the canvas, to the nearest set of ropes.
Draping her neck across the bottom strand, BabyGurl pushes her knee into the base of Kylie�s skull, pushing the vulnerable windpipe across the hardened cable.
Kylie�s arms fly in every direction as her air supply is violently shut off. The wild thrashing does nothing to extricate her, but a simple rotation of her head, a little too much pressure by BabyGurl, and her knee slides off the side. Still, Kylie is left gagging, BabyGurl having turned her into a real redneck.
The nasty brunette collects her balance then collects Kylie by a handful of her light brown hair, pulling the gasping beauty to her feet. She pushes Kylie�s face against the top rope and drags her along the coarse cable, all the way to the turnbuckle. Reaching the corner, she pushes the yelping Sanders in headfirst, a blinded Kylie rubbing her eyes.
BabyGurl plays to the crowd and receives a burst of boos in reply. She innocently motions as to ask �What did I do?� and turns back to Kylie.
�You two thought I was going to roll over and die? I�m here for a reason, bitch.�
Pushing Kylie�s face into the top buckle with her left hand, BabyGurl snatches the waistband of Sanders� shorts and some of the golden material beneath that crosses the base of Kylie�s spine. Gathering it in a fist, she hauls ass literally, lifting Kylie�s derriere brutally upward with an atomic wedgie; the back side of her tight, satin shorts becoming a g-string flossing her tight, satiny butt cheeks. Kylie rises to tiptoes, but BabyGurl only pulls higher, bringing the ex Hawkeye coed to tears, the droplets escaping clenched eyelids, her face flushing, crotch awash in waves of pain.
�It�s a new fashion statement, sweetie. Des Moines chic,� BabyGurl giggles.
Feeling a tap on her shoulder, the brunette forgets herself and her surroundings, and turns into a right cross form Maiden America that both relieves Kylie from her agony and has BG stumbling drunkenly away.
Gathering the brunette from behind, she lifts BabyGurl off the canvas and deposits her to the mat with a resounding sidewalk slam. BG winces and pounds the mat in both pain and frustration. Maiden does not delay in pushing her advantage, nor pushing Kylie out of her way to get to the top buckle. The cinnamon-hued brunette lurches away delicately plucking the golden material free of a crevice or two.
Reaching the top, the tawny, blonde beauty�s back to the ring and her intended target, Maiden raises her arms in a �V�, bringing an ovation and much flag-waving from the assembled throng. With a slight crouch and a push, she is off, spinning 270 degrees as she floats through the air, a wondrous woman in red, white, and blue. Maiden splashes down across BabyGurl�s exposed midsection, the brunette�s body spasming upon the potent impact then falling still, her head lolling to one side.
The crowd goes crazy as Maiden re-orients, the blonde scarcely able to believe the noise these energized patriots can produce. But as she covers and hooks BabyGurrl�s leg, it is not only her for whom they cheer.
ONE
The count gets no further, as another swallow returns to Capistrano. Kylie, despite moving like she had ridden a horse for the previous three hours, had taken up Maiden�s perch and follows her to the mat with a top rope elbow, FAWN�s beloved girl-next-door breaking up the heroine�s pinning combination, along with putting a knot on the blonde�s head.
Kylie pops to her feet, but showing her trademark endurance, Maiden kips up next to her, dropping Kylie�s jaw in amazement in the process. Apparently, by the look of the writhing brunette on the mat, her blow had found more of its mark on BabyGurl. Sanders is quick to adjust to the blonde�s recovery powers. Before Maiden could shake all the effects free, Kylie crosses in front of her, grabs both napes and twists Maiden down in a spinning neckbreaker.
She looks down on a stunned Maiden. There would be no kip up. In fact, it was time.
Kylie lifts the lithe All-American to her feet and slips behind her in a restrained bearhug. Time for this match to be Over and Done. Sanders braces herself to lift Maiden America into the German Suplex/Matchbook finisher, but before she can get the star-spangled cutie up, then over, then done, Maiden, knowing full well her dire straits, throws back an elbow that catches Kylie flush on the cheek, dizzying her. She stumbles, but keeps the Maiden tight and regains her balance, only to receive the same treatment, this time to her temple.
Maiden America cracks the lock with this one, Kylie�s arms loosening more than enough to escape. The blonde grabs a dazed Kylie�s left wrist and sends her to the far ropes with an Irish whip while bouncing into the near set to gain her own momentum. Speeding at each other like trains on adjacent tracks, they meet mid-ring, Kylie throwing out a clothesline that skips off the scalp of a ducking Maiden. To the opposite sets they careen, bounding back for another fly-by.
However, the blue-eyed blonde with the wardrobe by Betsy Ross alters course and heads directly for a startled Kylie. Trying to soften the collision, the Iowa girl slows, only making Maiden�s effort more certain. The blonde leaps into Kylie, legs elevated and extended, her bronzed thighs clamping around Kylie�s apple cheeks. Using Sanders� momentum and her own strength and agility, Maiden America spins Kylie to the mat faster than a speeding bullet, more powerfully than a locomotive, with the devastatingly explosive Rocket�s Red Glare. Hurracarana becomes schoolgirl pin in the blink of an eye, not that the stunned Kylie�s hazel pools are able. Maiden�s shins settle atop Kylie�s biceps and the ref slides in for the formality.
ONE
TWO
KICKOUT!
In some deep recess, Kylie�s training and instinct combine to take over where her senses cannot and she shifts a slightly high-riding Maiden off, over her head. The crowd is apoplectic in excitement that FAWN�s resident sweetheart breaks free of her rival�s finisher, but she is still far from even ground.
Maiden America slaps the mat in frustration, mouthing the words �She�s good� to a collection of Kylie�s Corps in the first few rows. The blonde rises above Kylie who struggles to do more than roll to her belly.
Catching a blur out of the corner of her eye, the blonde nails an onrushing BabyGurl with a spinning heel kick that catches the Motor City kitty in the shoulder. The brunette wheels back and to the side, tumbling into the ropes, falling halfway through.
With one foe tangled within the relative safety of the ropes, Maiden turns her attention back to the other. Kylie is up to all fours and crawling for her own set of strands, recovery time from the glare of Maiden�s red rockets clearly on her mind, but the blonde has other thoughts. She snatches an ankle and pulls Kylie back to the middle of the ring, Sanders� efforts to jostle her leg free unsuccessful.
Bringing Kylie�s left leg with her, Maiden settles atop her, the Iowa girl collapsing to the canvas under the weight and squealing in pain as her lower limb is bent back in dangerous fashion. The blonde slaps on a crossface and the full destructive force of the STF is engaged.
Kylie squirms for all she�s worth, fighting both waves of agony the All-American girl derives from her body, but her progress is infinitesimal. She softly mewls through gritted teeth, but there is no cry of submission, no staccato tap of the mat, not yet, but she knows she can�t hold out forever. Where was that damn punk when you needed her.
As if on cue, BabyGurl nestles atop Maiden America making a 3-girl tower, the glistening nubile body of BG and the tortured Kylie fashioning an �America sandwich�.
But BabyGurl is not simply lounging, she wraps an arm around the tawny blonde�s throat and begins to choke the life from her unheeded by any count from the ref. Maiden�s blazing blue eyes bulge as she gags, but she does not release Kylie from her torturous STF. If she can just hold on and get Sanders to tap, the match would be over and BabyGurl would be dealt with after the match.
As both the faces of Kylie and Maiden turn from pink to crimson, it is the heroine, with less to lose by giving up her struggle, that does so. She lets Kylie flop out of the STF and rolls to the side taking BabyGurl with her. With the brunette underneath her, she pries BG�s arms from around her neck and sucks in deep breaths with a rasping wheeze. Meanwhile, BabyGurl pushes out from below and pops to her feet. Grabbing Maiden�s long blonde mane, she rips her up next to her.
�You tenderized her,� BG whispers in her ear. �Now, I�m going to eat her up.�
The brunette accompanies Maiden at full speed to the ropes where, with a buggywhip heave, she sends the heroine flying over the ropes to the cement below, Maiden taking the collision with the floor heavily on her shoulder and hip.
The brunette brat from MoTown turns to the limp body that is Kylie, Maiden America�s Rocket and STF having sapped all her strength.
�Now, I make my name.�
BabyGurl lifts Kylie to her feet, then slightly off, securing her in a loose bearhug. With Sanders in front, she thrusts forward a few steps, ramming herself and 110 pounds of pressed meat into the buckles. Releasing her flaccid cargo and stepping back, BabyGurl watches Kylie slide down the corner, slowly and surely, until she reclines against the bottom buckle, her stilled legs extended in front of her.
BabyGurl puts the downed star in a frame made up of her thumbs and forefingers.
�Perfect,� she mutters, backing to the middle of the ring.
The crowd screams for their favorite to escape, the pitch growing as BabyGurl speeds toward the ragdolled Kylie. They are sure. THEY ARE SURE THAT SHE CAN.
The crowd explodes in an enormous �OHHHH� as Kylie cannot offer them what they wish. BabyGurl�s crotch slams home into the battered, reddened, smeared elfin features time and again, the crowd picking up the count at five, despite themselves.
�SIX. SEVEN. EIGHT. NINE. TEN.�
Instead of dismounting her ride at ten, BabyGurl pushes her legs, and by extension, her crotch, forward even further, Kylie�s face enveloped in her moist g-string, her cheeks and temples encased by BG�s thighs, flexing like steel bands. Further forward, BabyGurl�s gorgeous, exceptionally strong legs wrap around the ring post, setting the stage for her Rock-A-Bye, Kylie being the perfectly-placed baby.
BabyGurl elevates herself off the canvas by the power of her legs alone and grinds away at Kylie. Sanders, the victim of several minutes of unintended teamwork and torture, can only resist in a futile fashion, her hands more draped over BabyGurl�s legs than prying, her head more sagging into the dark, dank wetness of BG�s crotch than trying to squirm free. It is less than ten seconds and all pretense ceases, Kylie�s arms falling limp at her sides.
The Detroit street punk, feeling all tension escape Kylie�s body, disengages from a SUCCESSFUL finisher, her thighs peeling with a soft, ripping sound away from Kylie�s flushed cheeks, Sanders� eyes still barely open, but showing only white.
An ecstatic BabyGurl climbs the buckles above Kylie, pointing at her beaten body with one hand, the crowd with the other.
�This is what I�d do all the time if I got the chance. You don�t want to havta deal with BabyGurrrruuhhhahhhh.�
The final word of the brunette�s rant is extended by the fall she takes from the middle buckle. Maiden America, having climbed on the apron, springboards off the ropes coming in and dropkicks Babybooty, sending the teenage tough tumbling over the ropes to the cement she herself had taken a minute or so recovering on.
�Today, I don�t have to do deal with BabyGurl,� Maiden notes calmly, coolly, watching the brunette writhe on the floor, holding an elbow. She turns and walks to Kylie, an almost apologetic look flashing in her baby blues before quickly dissipating. She needed this as much as Kylie and, for a skilled, true-hearted competitor like Sanders, there was no need for pity.
The glistening blonde grabs Kylie�s ankles and pulls her to the middle of the ring where she lowers next to the spreadeagled body and slaps on an iron claw, Maiden�s digits pressuring into Kylie�s cheek, forehead, and temples. The claw draws a spasm from Kylie, the cinnamon-hued brunette rising for an instant, a distant confusion in her eyes, but slowly, inexorably Maiden America increases the force, the constriction, and Ky�s hazel eyes flutter. She recedes to the canvas, the ref sliding into place to start the count. However, she ends her conscious journey on only one shoulder and Maiden motions for him to check the flaccid arm that drapes Kylie�s ivory midriff.
The ref lifts the arm.
ONCE
TWICE
The crowd beckons for Kylie to come back to them. THRICE.
But she cannot.
Maiden America releases her grip and pats Kylie on the cheek, but the light resuscitation efforts will have to be expanded upon by the medical crew.
The blonde wearily climbs to her feet and accepts the ref�s raising of her hand and the roar of an appreciative crowd. The PA kicks in behind the celebration, denoting the obvious.
�The winner of this Triple Threat Match�MAAAAIDEN AMERRRICAAAA.�
