One of the changes that FAWN had seen since the dawn of the Bethany Christian era had been an increased focus on the tag division. Bethany's thinking was simple: if FAWN's crowds loved seeing two women rip each other to pieces, then they would be utterly delighted to watch four women do the same during the course of one match. And Christian understood that perhaps the most central component to her job performance was giving the paying customers what they wanted to see.

Besides, the FAWN roster was ripe with just the sort of talent to give a tag division the ammunition it needed. There were sister acts like the Daniels, the Mitchells, and the Dennehys. There were cousins in form of Bates and Andrews. And there were kindred spirits, in the forms of Shea London and Kylie Sanders. Though divided in origins by an ocean, their temperaments and fighting styles were wonderfully compatible. Not to mention, the two girls seemed to share a genuine liking for each other. Shea was a former singles champion who had also known past success as part of tag teams, and Kylie Sanders was a budding young star on the cusp of a bright future. There was no doubt in Bethany�s mind that they would be definite players in any tag division anywhere on the planet, if they ever chose to focus exclusively on being a team.

And then there were the likes of Ivy Belle Armstrong and Miriam Gaiman.

On paper, it was unlikely anyone would come up with these two making for a good pairing. Ivy was something of an old school southern belle brawler, while Miriam was a few fries, hamburger and toy surprise short of a Happy Meal, having only an undeniable shake as part of the equation. But the two had apparently become something of an alliance, judging from their joint abduction of Sophie Mitchell.

Both were certainly formidable enough on their own.

Miriam had only tasted defeat once during her time in FAWN, and that had been due more to a loss of focus on her part than her opponent truly defeating her. And Ivy remained poised to be among the first breakout superstars of FAWN�s youth movement. She had bettered just about everyone she had faced of comparable experience, including her resounding victories in her war with her fellow second generation stars, the Mitchells. And outside of one concussion-aided outcome, her losses read like a Who�s Who of the sport�s greats in recent history: twice to Shea London, once each to Jeanette Lansdale and Abby Hoffman, and the latter a tainted loss to be sure. And those loses had been anything but one-sided. Were there any other 18 year olds who could claim to have given names like those the fights she had?

All four of these women had large and dedicated fanbases among the FAWN faithful. Any one individually, or any combination of the two could have justified a main event. But all four together?

The fans simply couldn�t wait. Nor would they have to any longer.

The soft strains of the opening of Blur's "Song 2" waft through the arena. As the song kicks into life with the first "Woo hoo!", two women step out onto the ramp: the British Bombshell, Shea London and Iowa's Girl Next Door, Kylie Sanders. The diminutive Kylie - tousled, shoulder-length, cinnamon-hued hair bobbing as she bounds down the aisle - slaps hands with most anyone she can reach. A bubbling mixture of excitement and nervousness keeps her taut little body in constant motion. Her white tanktop and cut offs now a thing of the past, Sanders once again was in a black, cotton muscle shirt, her little biceps, for lack of a more modest term - bulging; below - yellow-gold satin boxing shorts curve just beneath the taut roundness of her buttocks, the shiny softness clinging tightly.

For her part, Shea has stuck with the variant of her attire used for her previous teamings with Sanders: a deep red sports bra and a pair of matching bikini briefs, the Union Jack in all its glory across Shea's brassiere, no mutiny for her bounty; the remainder of her outfit, a pair of stylish, blue wrestling boots. The British Bombshell is all smiles, darting down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does so.

The two grin in unison at a pocket of Morticia Addams lookalikes, then at each other, the admirers of the FAWN's reigning Mistress of the Night holding various signs aloft including: �SHEA & KYLIE ARE AFRAID OF THE DARK--WITH GOOD REASON!� and �MIRIAM WILL STIFFEN MORE THAN YOUR UPPER LIP, LONDON!�� Meanwhile, not too far away, a cluster of the Daughters of Dixie are keen to join in the taunting. "THE SOUTH WILL RISE AGAIN, FROM KYLIE'S SLEEPING FACE!"

�Everyone's a critic,� Kylie says, apple cheeks pulling wide a pursed grin, the duo reaching the ring area.

Kylie jumps to the apron, her bare feet slapping the canvas, and bends her way over the middle rope, the crowd roaring its approval. Reaching the ring, Shea climbs onto the apron and, gripping the top rope with both hands, propels herself up and into the ring, her cat-like agility on display, the crowd erupting. As she settles into her corner, testing the elasticity of the ropes, her mind continues to contemplate her upcoming opponents. Ivy was always a formidable opponent, but she was also a known quantity. Miriam was the unknown, and therefore the bigger danger.

Kylie hops in place, her hazel eyes darting through the crowd. She shadowboxes to burn off some excess nervous energy waiting for the inevitable fade of Blur.

The lights go out again, and the spotlight returns to the curtain at the head of the ramp. �s .38 Special's "Wild Eyed Southern Boys" pumps through the speakers, and a redhead in denim cut-off's and a cropped dark blue tank T-shirt with the word BRAT in faux diamonds across the front tears open the curtains and begins striding towards the ring, slapping the occasional outstretched hand.

One fan holds aloft a sign that reads �IVY BELLE ARMSTRONG=FAWN'S TRUE CHAMPION�, and he is rewarded with the redhead cupping his cheeks in her hands and planting a kiss on his lips, his knees buckling from the bounty. Ivy saunters up the ring steps and onto the apron. Her cutoffs, already an immodest length, ride dangerously further up as the Southern Belle bends and slips through the ropes and into the ring.

Ivy remains at the ropes for a moment, and then with a wide grin, she sits on the middle cable, extending her right arm back down the ramp.

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. Trailing just behind her is another woman. Her head is bowed, long blonde hair obscuring her face. She is barefoot, and dressed in a black leather bikini top and matching thong.

Only the collar around her neck tips off most of the audience to her identity. After all, it�s the same collar she was wearing when Miriam and Ivy carried her backstage a few short weeks ago.

Miriam Gaiman makes her way down toward the ring, Sophie Mitchell trudging along behind. Gaiman moves 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 the 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 those of her opponents.

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. Meanwhile, Sophie simply takes up residence in the corner.

Kylie turns to her partner, blonde and brunette falling into deep discussion, but each with an eye trained across the ring. There would be no sneak attack. After an extended back-and-forth, it is Shea that smoothly pops through the ropes, quickly grabbing the tag rope. She slaps Kylie�s shoulder.

�We need this one, Ky,� she says, smiling. �Let�s get �er done.�

Kylie shakes her head distractedly and moves out, to be met by�by�

Armstrong and Gaiman gaze at their counterparts� choice to start things off, Ivy�s one of malevolence, Miriam�s, Kylie wasn�t sure what. A lick of her ruby lips sends a chill down Kylie�s spine and she feels oddly comfortable when the pale child of the S&M world slinks out of the ring, leaving Ivy behind. The fire engine redhead squats near the post and pats Sophie on the head, Kylie blanching at the sight.

DING. DING. DING.

Kylie stands frozen in place until the Southern beauty steps forward, no dances around the ring for this girl. Sanders follows suit, Kylie meeting her toe to toe, if coming up slightly short of nose to nose, a little closer to her own corner than mid-ring.

�Back again, are ya?� Ivy scoffs, shaking her head. �I knows you don�t have no problems bein� my doormat, but now you bring Shea-sy down to yur level?�

Kylie�s face blushes beet red. She throws an open hand that Ivy brushes aside. The redhead chestbumps Ky back a couple steps then shoves her the rest of the way to the corner, Sanders� back slamming hard into the buckles just in front of her partner.

�Get in here, limey. Let�s settle this like women without this little pissant under foot.�

Shea makes a move to join the fray, but Kylie holds her back with an arm and a plaintive look. The Brit holds back. Kylie, turning back to her foe, is rewarded with a reverberating backhand slap to her cleavage that brings a reflexive �WOOO� from the sellout crowd. Kylie�s face flashes pain for an instant, but quickly the defiance returns, as does a chop of her own that slaps across Ivy�s bustline, Kylie likewise being audibly exalted by the throng.

Ivy nods and smiles as she glances down at the reddening line across her chest, but the grin quickly turns into teeth bared for an altogether different reason. With a growl, Ivy levels another chop across Kylie�s chest, the brunette forced deep into the corner, her hands grabbing the ropes on either side, leaving an opening wide for another echoing chop, and another, Kylie�s upper body falling back over the top buckle, her legs rising in the air with the force of the blows.

But as the count reaches three, then four, Sanders forces forward, snatching Ivy�s shoulders. Brusquely, the brunette exchanges positions with Ivy, throwing her into the corner, Shea dearly tempted, her tawny arms rising for a moment before falling back to their grasp of the top rope.

Kylie steps to her target and, after a stinging forehand slap to the cleft of Ivy�s bosom, doubles over, and drives a shoulder deep into Ivy�s solar plexus, her midriff giving way to the scythe-like shoulderblade attempting to cut her in two. Again, Kylie forces Ivy�s midsection thrusting backwards, her shapely denim-clad caboose nearly touching the ringpost. And again, Kylie drives the wind and the steam from her opponent, her Southern-fried arrogance momentarily dissipating as well. Kylie cups Ivy�s chin, pulling her eyes up to the Iowa girl�s hazel pools.

�I CAN wrestle just a little, Ivy.�

Kylie tucks Armstrong�s bowed head under her arm, the limb wrapping around Ivy�s long auburn locks. The two move forward in unison, Kylie clearly directing their itinerary and Ivy�s final destination. But just as the cinnamon-hued brunette is about to plant Ivy with a bulldog, the second-generation teen superstar pushes her off, Kylie�s grasp sliding over the top, her momentum, and that provided by Ivy sending her to the far buckles.

However, Kylie maintains her equilibrium, and in a move right out of a certain Brit�s handbook, scales to the top buckle and turns into a flying crossbody block, catching a gaping Ivy completely off-guard. Armstrong drops like a house of cards under Kylie�s catapulted body. The accomplished mat wrestler hastily hooks a leg with the ref simultaneously sliding into place.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT

A startled, disheveled Ivy gasps as she scrambles to her feet. THAT was too close.

Kylie doesn�t afford her much time to consider how close.

THUMMP. WHAM.

The sounds of impact both of Kylie�s clothesline and Ivy�s back and head hitting the canvas are nearly as impressive as the sight. For such a small body, she could bring a lot of torque from out of seemingly nowhere. Certainly, Ivy wasn�t going to disagree. Still, she was up instantly if dizzily. Perhaps, a little downtime would have been well-advised, as her tottering body is easy picking for a fireman�s carry from Kylie into a delayed, modified suplex, the back of Ivy�s skull landing hard on the lightly-covered plywood.

Armstrong flops on the mat, the Alabama Slammer on her back, holding her head and cursing both the pain and Kylie, only stopping when the brunette grabs her bare feet and raises her ivory legs high and wide.

�No, no, no,� Ivy wails, waving her hands wildly. �You�re too good for that.�

�I am?� Kylie says, grinning, a little devil in her cherubic features.

She raises a leg and holds it aloft between those of Ivy for a moment, letting Armstrong imagine the worst, but the satiny gam continues on a step-over course and Sanders flips Ivy to her belly. Kylie stands in a reverse straddle above Ivy�s sweet �Bama buttocks, the redhead�s ankles still in tow, her mind racing, well aware of what Kylie has in mind. As the brunette lowers into a Boston Crab, Ivy sends a shimmying shake down her powerful stems. It�s enough to loosen Kylie�s grip and with a dual buggywhip action, she shakes Kylie off altogether. Ivy scuttles across the mat to the safety of her corner. This bitch�s adrenaline was up. Better to let her �calm down� with Mir. Ivy slaps her partner into the match, leaping through the strands on one side of the corner post as Miriam moves like a limber-limbed, rosy-maned feline joining her little mousy dinner on the other.

Kylie�s charge after and exiting Ivy morphs into a strategic withdrawal upon the tag and Miriam�s entry. She backpedals to the middle of the ring and waits for the beautiful, violent enigma, a kinetic nervousness forcing her to bounce in place as she does so.

Miriam crouches like a panther ready to spring, her arms extended, but then each one is pulled back in turn. The fiery redhead brings each hand to her mouth and, with a long lollypop stroke of her tongue, swathes both from palm to fingertips with a moist, sensuous lick. Kylie, befuddled, turns to Shea who only offers a shrug. Meanwhile, Miriam offers her lubricated digits in a test of strength. The crowd begs Kylie not to accept, but, despite a slight size disadvantage and the possible skullduggery, a nerve has been touched and Kylie cannot say no.

Their fingers interlock, a slight stickiness remaining between their palms and fingers and the two rivals push against each other, both women straining to take control. Slowly, surely, and surprisingly cleanly, Miriam takes charge, doubling Kylie�s wrists back. Her pouting lips and apple cheeks glisten with a sweaty sheen, her teeth clench, as Miriam forces her back a step and down, her legs buckling slightly. Forsaking fairplay, Kylie shoots a kick to Miriam�s breadbasket, but the redhead intercepts and collects the leg between her side and arm.

�Looks like we�ve got a little cheater,� Miriam says, her voice dripping like poisoned honey.

But before she can press the issue, Ky presses her luck and launches into an enziguiri that strikes the back of Miriam�s head like a hammer, surpising the redhead and spinning her 270 degrees, heels over head, to a painful collision with the mat, her back slamming against the canvas.

In a flash, she pops to her feet, lunging at the black-and-gold clad Midwesterner, but a hiptoss introduces her to the mat again. Kylie rushes the downed Miriam, but this time it is Gaiman who�s light on her feet, or has Ky light off her feet, with a monkeyflip that sends Sanders tumbling into a neutral corner.

Even while Kylie is mid-air, Miriam kips to her feet and is following behind. She gathers a rising Kylie around the throat and climbs to the middle buckle, pulling a gagging, flailing Sanders with her. Before Miriam can decide in what manner she wishes to dispatch her quarry, Kylie turns the tables, twisting and turning beautifully into a dazzling tornado DDT that has the audience roaring and Miriam spreadeagled on her chest, gloved hands pointing to two corners, stockinged feet pointing to the other set.

The brunette cutie pumps her fist at the crowd and points at Shea, a moment of sharing between student and teacher. But Shea, always thinking, points back at a weakly stirring Gaiman and Kylie flies to the redhead�s side, pushing her to her back and laying her body across Miriam�s pert, heaving bosom.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT

Sanders slaps the mat in frustration. She looks down at a blinking Gaiman, the barest hint of a smirk emerging at the sight of Kylie�s disappointment.

�You like that do you?� Kylie growls, rising to stand over a rocking Miriam. �From what I hear, you�re gonna love this.�

Like Ivy before her, Kylie grabs Miriam�s ankles and flips her over to her stomach, but for this slender redhead there is no escape, hardly even an attempt. Miriam is putty in Kylie�s hands and she locks in the Boston Crab deep and strong, crouching like a catcher over Miriam�s tight little vinyl-covered ass, pulling her ivory legs back in a painful parabola.

Kylie takes heart in a guttural grunt from Miriam�s lips and she curls Gaiman�s spine even further, showcasing Miriam�s crotch high in the air to a selectively appreciative crowd. But as Kylie redoubles her efforts, Ivy, and even Shea, grimacing at the arc of Miriam�s body, the brunette realizes the throaty chirps emanating from Miriam are an amalgam of pain and pleasure. This was as good a Crab as she�d ever locked on and Miriam seemed to be drinking it in. Kylie had heard of this freakish oddity, even seen it on the tube, but to be a part of Gaiman�s display, to feel her body respond like no body should, her warped mind so utterly controlling.

�Uhhh�UHHHHH�

Kylie releases, Miriam�s body snapping parallel to the mat like a sprung mousetrap. The brunette could scarcely believe her ears, but she thought a sigh of disappointment accompanied the emancipation. Shea, not yet able to join the fun, screams at Kylie for a tag. The brunette beauty nods, but does not leave Miriam�s side, standing over her at the base of her feet. Reaching forward, Kylie gathers Miriam�s arms around the wrists and pulls back, hauling the redhead�s upper body airborne. Next, she locks her ankles tightly around those of Gaiman and falls to the mat, lifting her arms and legs off the canvas. Above her, suspended in the spine-curving arc of a breathtaking ceiling hold, Miriam tries to process pain to pleasure, but even for her this astonishingly picturesque and painful hold is a tough one. She grimaces through an effort to assimilate, even as Kylie�s teeth clench in the effort it takes to maintain Miriam suspended, her four limbs keeping Miriam�s pegged in place overhead.

�NOW,� Kylie screams, her arms and legs starting to quiver from the strain.

Shea, taking in the beauty of this move, and stunned, like everyone else, that it is Kylie producing it, is slow to react, but another frenzied shout wakes the Brit from her stupor. Quickly, the tawny dirty blonde is perched on the top buckle, red sports bra, Union Jack included, and red bikini briefs covering, if an abbreviated fashion, her poised body.

Then, she is off. Reaching a height, perhaps unmatched by any FAWN competitor, she floats through the air, only to come down with a violent double axehandle into the tight, but so very exposed abs of Miriam, her midsection offered up like a sacrifice by Kylie from below. Shea�s fists plow into the pale altar of Miriam�s belly and the exacting tag team effort finally blows Miriam�s circuits as she grunts in anguish upon impact.

Kylie releases her ceiling hold and Miriam flops to the mat, curling into a fetal ball, one arm bracing her back, the other curling around her tummy.

Shea and Kylie look upon their handiwork with satisfaction while from the far corner, Ivy shouts for the ref to open his eyes and do his job. The ref can�t even reach Shea in time to guide her out. The blonde British bombshell is already sliding out of the ring, Kylie cheerily follows to the corner where she officially tags Shea in, London officially in for the first time. The crowd erupts both in anticipation of what they will see from the blonde high flyer, but also in appreciation of Kylie�s impressive display, having left both Ivy and Miriam in her growing wake.

Shea, fresh as a daisy, saunters over to Miriam, the redhead up to her knees, head still bowed, perspiration dripping off the tips of her ruby strands. London mounts Miriam in a standing head scissors, winking at Ivy as she brings the crushing power of her slender, yet forceful legs to bear on Gaiman�s coconut. Shea�s tawny, satiny thighs flex like steel under silk, turning Miriam�s face a hue to match her mane, currently twisted and matted beneath Shea�s bikini briefs.

Miriam�s arms fall to her sides as Shea continues to pour on the pressure and the ref steps in for a check-up, lifting Gaiman�s arm at the wrist, but Miriam�s limb does not fall and, in fact, she snatches the ref�s arm and wrenches it as best she can manage. In an impressive display, the redhead forces her way through the numbing pressure, unsteady feet, and pinpricks of darkness in her vision, and makes her feet, a shocked and alarmed Shea rising as well, still clamped in place, now towering over the mat.

Hastily considering her dwindling options, she drops in front of Miriam into a Victory Roll, ending the tumble with a cradle pin of Gaiman.

ONE

TWO

THR---

NO. NO. The ref holds two fingers aloft and motions that Miriam got a shoulder up. Kylie pounds the turnbuckle in frustration, as a fretting Ivy wipes her brow.

But in the ring, Shea is all business. She hops to her feet and pulls up a tottery, mumbling Miriam next to her. The sweetheart from the Isles whips Miriam to the ropes and sets mid-ring. Gaiman tries to slow, tries to counter, but the long and brutal battering is showing and her body seems to acquiesce. Shea directs her slender pale form through a dizzying spin cycle, London�s hurricarana leaving Miriam spreadeagled and blinking at the lights above, one of the redhead�s pert teats poking out from its tight confinement to take a look as well.

London flashes a �V� to the crowd along with a pearly smile. She hustles to the nearest corner, mounts the top buckle with one springy leap and turns to a lifeless Miriam, several feet out and several feet below. Shea taps the Union Jack on her chest and launches, her legs flying out in fron of her as she soars toward the waiting victim. The Sensational Leg Drop, a fearsome finisher that could claim current champ Portia VanBuren and #1 contender Chrissy Daniel among its victims, falls clean across Miriam�s neck and chest, the crowd �ooohing� as the strike hits home. Miriam flops for a moment then her body shudders to a stop. You could chalk up another in the rogue�s gallery who had been put to an end.

Shea shook a cobweb or two free and rolled atop Miriam, the redhead clearly shocked and awed, was going nowhere.

ONE

TWO

Shea could feel someone grasp her ankle from behind and desperately tried to hang on for the three, but Ivy�s yank is spot on and just in the nick. The Southern beauty spins Shea to her back and drops an elbow onto the Sensational One�s inner thigh before the ref can grab her away and push her back to her corner.

The Brit hobbles to her feet and, not wanting the advantage to sneak away, collects a weakly stirring Miriam and pulls her by the leg to Kylie, rested and raring to go. The e5rstwhile Hawkeye coed lays out her hand and Shea fills it with a meaty �SLAP�.

Kylie pops through the ropes, frisky as a colt, and takes Miriam�s keys from Shea. She rips the redhead to her feet with a tug of her arm as London massages her thigh prior to exiting. The ref warns the Brit to get out, but his attention is soon diverted, as Kylie whips Miriam across the ring and falls back into the opposite set to gain some momentum of her own. At mid-ring, the two women barrel into each other, Kylie leaping into a cross body block meant to flatten Gaiman to the mat once more. IMPACT.

But much to Kylie�s chagrin, Miriam remains standing, having caught her and kept her feet. The cinnamon-hued brunette shakes her head worriedly, a droplet of sweat rolling down the bridge of her adorable nose shakes off the tip. The redhead sways drunkenly, but finally gathers her balance, beaming at a distressed Sanders, but the reprieve is short-lived. Shea, having never left the ring plays cavalry on the move, dropkicking Kylie in the behind, finally finishing the move to her team�s good, Kylie�s body coming down hard across Miriam�s abused midriff when they hit canvas, expunging the air from her lungs with a �wooof�.

A somewhat surprised Kylie takes a moment to gather her bearings, then climbs aboard the gasping Gaiman and hooks a leg.

ONE

TWO

Shoulder Up.

Kylie looks to the skies and rolls her hazel eyes. She flashes three fingers at the ref, but he sends back only index and middle.

A shout from Shea wakes Ky up.

�C�mon luv. Time�s a wastin��

The elfin brunette pushes to her feet and skips to the nearest set of buckles, leaping to the top with as much fluidity as Shea had mustered moments earlier. Steadying and readying, she lifts her arms above her head both to get the crowd one decibel higher and to help her sights get centered. Miriam wasn�t perfectly perpendicular, but a little froggie style would force out enough of her will to grab that third second.

Kylie squats on her pad and leaps, her diminutive body soaring just under stratospheric Shea levels, limbs closing around her midriff then reopening, but WHOOOAAAA�put it in reverse. Sanders does her best to pull out, but gravity and Miriam combine to make a forceful duo. The redhead lifts a stockinged foot high and her heel cracks into Kylie�s jaw, her head snapping back viciously, a gasp collectively escaping the crowd. The Pleasant Valley Princess somehow ends on her feet, ambling around drunkenly for a few steps before coming to a stop. With her eyes on tilt, arms limply at her sides, she flops to the mat headfirst, much of the crowd unable to contain a laugh at the punch-drunk inebriated antics.

Ivy screams at Miriam who struggles to her knees and finally to unsteady feet.

�Let me in. LET ME IN.�

But the S&M expert waves her off fiercely.

�This girl has earned my attention,� Miriam says, an unusual harshness added to her normal sing-song. �She deserves it and now she�s gonna get some.�

The redhead moves toward Kylie, Sanders shaking her head and blinking widely as she massages her jaw. Miriam notices one of her breasts has been bared at some point in the match and always the slave to fashion, she gives herself a little symmetry, pushing the other vinyl cup off to the side.

Gaiman lands a stomp to Kylie�s crotch, twisting her foot into the tight gold satin. Sanders� body jackknifes around the impact, her eyes immediately tearing as she yelps like a puppy swatted with a paper. Miriam�s eerie, syrupy smile returns, as she pulls Ky to just the right spot and sends another stomp to the brunette�s abundant chest, flattening Kylie to the mat.

�Let me show you what you were trying to do. And remember I�m home-schooled.�

Miriam skips to the nearest buckles, clambers up and hits a picture perfect frogsplash across Kylie�s belly, the two bounce off the mat several inches in unison, but with very distinctly different looks on their faces. Miriam, one of the joy on Christmas morning. Kylie, one that looked like she�d just been gutted, which, in a way she had. When they come to rest, Miriam lounging atop her target, Kylie mewls like a kitten, her arms encircling her ravaged tummy. She turns off her shoulders to avoid a 3-count, but can manage little else, as Miriam hovers over her, kneeling at her side, ready to attend.

Miriam draws little circles around Kylie�s navel, the brunette flinching, pushing her hand away for a moment, but quickly the finger returns to its tracing.

�Such a yummy little belly,� Miriam purrs. �Not as tasty as mine.�

Miriam rubs her reddened midsection, the banded swath altered from pale to pink by considerable abuse from both the woman below her and her partner.

�You really did some fine work,� Miriam notes, glancing at her abs, while Kylie, eyes wide with apprehension struggles to get up, only to be pushed back down.

�But now it�s time for me to take a bite.�

Miriam�s right hand forms a ragged claw and digs into the tight, but undefined midriff of Kylie, the redhead pushing up the brunette�s black belly shirt to make more property available. The already battered belly gives way, shooting out waves of pain, as Miriam digs into the smooth lightly tanned expanse.

Not nearly recovered from the frogsplash, Kylie wails in anguish. Unable to remove Gaiman�s claw, her hands reflexively move to her hair, pulling at her own cinnamon strands. Sanders twists her body seeking escape, but the ruby-tipped fingers only seem to insert deeper into her flesh as she flails. Ten, twenty, thirty seconds tick by, each more intensely excruciating than the last, Miriam growing stronger, seeming to suck the energy from Kylie through her fingertips leaving a beautiful, tender husk. Finally, Kylie�s right arm releases from her mane and hovers over the canvas. A shout. But it is not from Kylie.

Ivy screams at her partner, slapping the top buckle. Sophie, a step or two away, cringes at the sound and movement.

�In. IN! LET ME IN!�

Miriam wasn�t much for sharing, but if it ultimately worked to her advantage, allowances could be made. She�d sapped nearly everything out of this girl in any case. Miriam pulls her fingers free, leaving five rosy welts in a ring around Ky�s belly button. Instead of a staccato tap, Kylie�s hand falls to the mat as the muscle tension in her body flies away, her remains limp as a dish rag. Only the gentle roll of her chest remains.

Miriam saunters to her corner like a cat that ate the canary. She eschews slapping Ivy�s hand, instead tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

�She�s yours.�

Ivy gives her partner a resentful stare and enters the ring, sashaying to Kylie. The auburn-haired beauty collects Sanders by the arm and guides her to unsteady feet. Armstrong places her thumb on Kylie�s chin and shifts back a step or two, her thumb still in the air, an artist looking for the perfect picture in her mind�s eye. Apparently having found it, she launches into a textbook standing dropkick that catches Kylie exactly where her thumb had been a moment previous. The brunette sails in the opposite direction, tight little body spreadeagled before she even hits the canvas. Ivy turns to Miriam.

�This is what you leave me?�

The fellow redhead shrugs innocently, perpetual smirk fully loaded.

Ivy reaches down to pick Kylie up by the hair, but suddenly, formerly stilled arms lift from the canvas and pull Armstrong down to the mat, locking her in an inside cradle. The ref can barely get down for a one-count before Ivy has reversed Kylie�s instinctual maneuver and rolled through to a body scissors. The most feared legs in the game encircle Kylie�s ravaged tummy. Kylie squeals at the sight and the thought, even prior to Ivy bearing down.

�No�no�no,� she murmurs. A final �NO� blasts out from between full, trembling lips, as Ivy brings her vise-like lower limbs to bear. Kylie places an index finger in front of her mouth and bites into it, trying to find the will to survive this latest tummy torture. But as Kylie�s finger starts turning purple, Ivy releases her scissors. She slides Kylie�s limp frame within her legs, like a gambler manipulating a playing card in his fingers, ragdoll Ky flipping, flopping, and twisting within the steel bands disguised as shapely, sensual, satiny limbs. Finally, Kylie�s body is in place and, not surprisingly, her head lolls on the scant stretch of denim that covers Ivy�s crotch. The redhead�s legs close on either side, sealing her fate, the Southern Charmer ready to turn boa and constrict poor Kylie into dreamland.

But the split-second Ivy has her victim in place, Armstrong�s legs open wide. Kylie rolls her head free, her dripping locks leaving a swipe of sweat on Ivy�s inner thigh, as she falls to her back. She pushes vainly at the mat with her feet, trying to create some distance as Ivy casually rises. She grabs Kylie by her moist mop and pulls her to her knees where Kylie�s face leans into the crook of Ivy�s inner thigh, an arm absently circling her calf, Sanders upright only by the redhead�s grace. Ivy turns to the audience.

�Y�all know I can �Charm� this pathetic Yankee.�

Ivy hoists Kylie to her feet.

�But I want to �Charm� the Sensation; the Bombshell.�

With that, Ivy tosses Kylie to her corner, the Iowa girl slamming into the buckles chest-first then sliding down like a bug on a windshield.

Shea tags herself in and rolls Kylie gingerly under the ropes, patting her on the cheek.

�Ya did good, luv. I�ll take �er from �ere.�

London wastes no time, striding directly into the line of fire. She locks up in a collar-and-elbow with Ivy, the two women straining for the upper hand. And it�s the Alabama Slammer who wrests the initial advantage, gaining control with an armlock, but ever-agile Shea loops behind in a reversal and follows by sending Ivy off in an Irish whip. The redhead bounds into the ropes and heads back to the Brit out of control, or at least her own. Shea finds it. She chops Ivy down with a spinning leg lariat that nearly decapitates the redhead, her legs still pumping in the air as she�s sent to the mat with extreme prejudice.

A clearly perturbed Blonde Bombshell stands over the stunned Ivy.

�Ya made a big mistake, ya did.�

Shea rings around the rosy-maned beauty with stomp after stomp, by the crowd�s count, it taking a full ten strikes for her to complete the furious journey. Ivy, having rolled into a ball to protect herself from the violent hailstorm of boots, emerges, waving for no more, but Shea plants a final boot to her crotch, bringing a gasp from both Ivy and those seated ringside, though only Armstrong reaches to relieve a throbbing pussy.

Shea gets about her business as Ivy tends to hers, the Brit climbing the nearest set of buckles, one foot up and a leap to the top. The crowd erupts, readying itself for another London Legdrop special, but Shea maintains her stance, looking out toward the vast audience. From that vantage, she launches her nubile body, a raspberry and cream blur moonsaulting heels over head across Ivy�s already jackknifed body, the impact made more impressive by the whiplash action of Ivy�s upper body as it is flattened to the mat, like a nail into a 2x4, Shea providing the hammer head. Acutely aware of Ivy�s tenuous state, the cagey Englishwoman grasps her opportunity and Ivy�s leg.

ONE

TWO

THREE

Kylie, having recovered enough to make it to her knees, wearily holds her hand aloft in triumph, only to be stunned when she looks again. The match was still going, Shea already having pulled Ivy to her feet. That damn ref had some aversion on counting to three. The brunette always tried to give officials the benefit. They made mistakes like everyone else, but this guy was brutal. Kylie pulled up to her feet with the help of the ropes and let the zebra know what she thought.

Shea attempts to send Ivy for the start of another wild ride, but much to Shea and Kylie�s chagrin, this Daughter of the South doesn�t know when to say when. Ivy reverses the whip and Shea sprints into the cables, bouncing back with a look of supreme confidence. Ivy may have reversed, but this was her game. London launches her legs up and out and acquires Ivy around the neck, ready to turn headscissors to hurricarana, but Ivy has something else in mind. She holds tight through the Brit�s futile effort and BOOOM.

The air is taken out of the arena, Kylie, and most importantly, Shea, as the second-generation star plants the tawny blonde superstar nearly through the canvas with a sitdown slam. The Brit�s legs quiver for a moment within Ivy�s grip then are still. Ivy tumbles forward along the course of Shea�s body, brining London�s supple legs with her, pinning her in a unique matchbook, worthy of a Cosette-like cruiserweight. The ref, caught slightly off-guard this time, is a little late.

ONE

TWO

This time Kylie loves the ref and his penchant for holding his threes, Shea getting a shoulder up a split-second before the third slap.

The women struggle to their feet, each using the other as a brace. It appears Shea retains the most gas in her tank, even after her fall to earth. She loads up a right cross and fires, but the punch is blocked cleanly by Ivy, who loads up a return volley. However, the redhead�s backswing is so enormous that Shea fires another across Armstrong�s bow, only to see the smooth-as-silk natural intercept again with her left forearm. Flashing from behind the block comes Ivy�s fist from left field, the heartpunch driving home into the inner portion of Shea�s left breast with sledgehammer force.

Immediately, Shea�s dark eyes cross as her blood pump falls out of beat from the fibrillating power of the blow. Ivy watches on with rapt delight as the lovely Brit turns bobblehead, eyes still out of alignment. Finally she slumps forward into Ivy�s arms, the redhead letting herself and her cargo fall softly to the mat, the googly-eyed Shea resting on her belly. Kylie, seeing her friend�s face gulps down a hard swallow while Miriam bites her lower lip.

Ivy shimmies her body under that of Shea�s, sliding the blonde down her body, Shea sinking, as if in quicksand, between legs closing in an ever-tightening noose. Kylie jumps up and down in her corner shouting at Shea and the Englishwoman does clear her eyes, and to some degree, her head, with several shakes, but just as some hope arises the Charmer closes around her prey.

Squeezing until she herself is blushing with effort, Ivy sends every bit of energy and muscular power into her lithe legs, the pressure on Shea�s head unmatched by any force in all of FAWN. London pounds weakly at the outer half of Ivy�s legs, refusing to go softly into this good night. She is unable to reach the latch that might open the door, her face stuffed into that aromatic keyhole. Another quick shift by Ivy swallows Shea�s mouth under the proverbial waterline and into the dank moistness of warm, wet denim. Her nose remains barely above, her eyes darting fearfully, a shout for help devoured by Ivy�s thinly-covered sex. The incredible pressure is enough to send Shea nighty-night at any second, but when another gulp of Ivy�s legs swallows the Brit�s nose, Kylie can�t hold back any longer.

Kylie flies through the ropes and skids to a halt next to Ivy�s side. Immediately, she takes up Shea�s cause, prying at the flesh prison encasing her friend, her eyes pleading with the brunette, but Ky�s efforts are proving as fruitful as Shea�s own. This Charm is locked tight. Still, Kylie tries to sneak her hands between, disregarding the shouts of the ref for her to leave. Even the count does not dissuade her. But a rip of her light brown locks from behind finally does.

Ivy, having �crunched� her way up to within easy reach, yanks Kylie away from her legs and back to within her waiting arms, the redhead�s upper limbs nimbly wrapping around Kylie�s head and neck in a sleeper.

Sanders can scarcely believe her predicament. What is this woman made of? She was becoming lightheaded from the pressure Ivy is placing on her carotid and Shea, poor Shea, her arms hung over Ivy�s thighs twitching slightly, her eyes fluttering a few last beats. She was going to get them both�AT THE SAME TIME. This couldn�t happen.

Though strong, Ivy�s sleeper couldn�t have its normal ferocity and with a few violent shifts of her body, Kylie has room to maneuver. The brunette sends an elbow behind her that digs into Armstrong�s fleshy globes. Kylie feels a little give and sends another crashing into the auburn-haired beauty�s bosom. It was too much. Ivy had to give up something. It was Kylie.

Gasping and shaking cobwebs, Kylie falls to her shoulder. The ref is immediately upon her, grabbing a bicep and bellowing at her to leave at once. Apparently, Ivy�s sleeper had broken her count and kept the match legal. But the ref�s unwavering demand draws her back to the task at hand. Kylie shoves him off and turns back to Ivy, driving a piledriving punch to her gut, then another, and another. The third loosens Ivy�s legs enough that the rest of Shea�s face emerges from its rabbit hole, London instinctively sucking in deep breaths, her body still flaccid; thoughts, a clouded jumble; moist, glistening head unmoving from its denim platter.

Kylie realizes the job, exhausting as it�s been, is only half done. She�ll have to pull Shea clear and back to the corner for a tag. She walks on her knees down Ivy�s spasming body and lifts Shea�s chin with the palm of her hand.

�Shea. SHEA. We have to get you owwwwwt.�

Another tug of her mane, this one far more powerful, vaults Kylie to her feet with a yelp, Shea�s lolling head dropping back onto its hazardous resting spot.

Kylie feels a warm, wet softness pressed against the soaking cotton covering her shoulderblades, arms encircling her from behind just under her bosom and�and�ewwww�a tongue flitting her right lobe, warm breath entering her ear then a soft voice.

�You didn�t forget about me,� Miriam says with a soft lilt, almost as if talking to an infant. �That wouldn�t be very nice.�

She gives the lobe a quick nibble and spins Kylie in place, the disgust in Sanders� face transforming to shock and panic as Miriam drives the three fingers of her right hand within the brunette�s open maw, clamping on her fearsome mandible claw.

Kylie�s entire body goes into wild spasms and gyrations and she fights to free herself, slapping, punching, kicking; Sanders even clawing at Miriam�s bare breasts, anything to escape. The redhead and the brunette spin in wild pandemonium, a dance of dominance for one, the other seeking simple survival. The crowd seems to plead with Kylie to break free and she gives up one of her breast claws to throw a mandible version down Miriam�s throat in utter desperation. The first sign comes with a shudder, Kylie�s legs buckling ever so slightly. She pushes back up to her full height for a moment, but they buckle again, her mandible claw falling limp, Miriam actually keeping her digits inserted for a moment longer by sucking on Kylie�s fingers. Finally, she lets Kylie�s hand fall from her mouth, the bared fingers indenting her left breast quickly dropping, as well. It is only a matter of moments and Kylie is kept upright only through Miriam�s will, the Iowa girl�s hazel eyes rolling back in her head as Miriam lays her gently next to Shea, seemingly no escape for either woman tonight, save unconsciousness.

A great sigh escapes the crowd as Kylie is laid to rest next to a gurgling Shea, spittle bubbles seeping from the corner of the Brit�s mouth as Ivy reapplies the Southern Charm in all its ferocity, no longer deterred by any further interlopers.

Not to be outdone, Miriam settles her pale, vinyl-covered ass atop Kylie�s panting lips, driving the brunette into a momentary frenzy, her hands slapping at Miriam�s thighs, her legs kicking in the air until Miriam corrals them and bends them back in a matchbook, briefly rising up enough to tuck each leg securely under her shins, Kylie�s golden-encased crotch and booty pointing skyward. Only one final touch need be applied and she delightfully adds it with a licentious grasp of her thinly-covered pussy. Miriam digs in the crotch claw with wild abandon, ecstatic as she feels the tender tissue beneath squish between her digits, Gaiman taking special care to push some of the material within Kylie�s orifice. A final doleful sigh from Kylie escapes unnoticed into Miriam�s crotch a mere second or two after Shea�s droopy lids close for good.

The ref, in a little shock and awe of his own, pushes between the sets of finishers and lies on the mat grabbing Shea�s lifeless arm. However, he doesn�t stop there, deciding to get a little payback on Kylie of his own for her mistreatment of him. Spitefully, he lifts Kylie�s arm as well, Miriam chuckling at the zebra turning against these supposed sweethearts. Raising both arms high, he lets them crash to the mat, their fingers lightly touching, tagging in defeat. Again, he raises and another pathetic descent, the crowd now booing the inevitable. The man lifts one final time, but before he can make it official, Ivy shouts out a warning.

�Everyone get a picture. This here is the birth of yur next tag champions and these bitches are the midwives.�

The zebra checks to make sure he�s OK to conclude the festivities and Ivy gives her approval with a nod. A second later, gravity finishes what Ivy and Miriam�s finishers began.

The PA immediately booms to life, not sparing a second.

�Your winners Ivy Belle Armstrong and Miriam Gaiman.�

With Shea�s head still trapped between Ivy�s thighs, the southern belle leans forward, and gives the slumbering Brit�s hair a playful tousle. The referee hesitates for a moment, but soon his aggravation with Sanders is replaced by a sense that justice had been served. Finally, he breaks up the holds, guiding the redheaded hellions to their feet by raising their arms in triumph.

For a moment, Miriam pouts at being removed from the erstwhile co-ed. But one look at back at her snoozing elfin features brings a predatory grin back to her lips. Ivy, meanwhile, is majestic. For her, this was it. The big time victory against a big time star.

A new day had most assuredly dawned.

WINNERS: Ivy Belle Armstrong & Miriam Gaiman