Music from the feature film Gladiator plays as the FAWN logo appears on the screen.

�One week ago, bitter rivals met��

Picture of Shea London defeated by Ivy Belle Armstrong�s Southern Charm finisher right next to Kylie Sanders succumbing to Miriam Gaiman�s Cruel and Unusual.

��with decisive results. Now, last week�s victor��

Scene snaps to an image of Ivy Belle Armstrong, arm raised in victory.

��takes on a NEW heroine�who has set FAWN on fire with her beauty and her stunning arsenal of breathtaking, high impact weapons��

Scene snaps to Holly Hotbody pinning LaKeisha Bates.

�For the winner, a chance to challenge for FAWN�s championship is sure to follow, while a former Champion��

Scene snaps to Shea London holding her hands aloft in victory.

��looks for a chance to rebound against one of FAWN�s most dangerous and devious Sirens��

Scene snaps to Shannen Dennehy lying atop a vanquished Juliet Bloodwind.

�They�ve met before,�

Scene of Shea London drop kicking Shannen Dennehy.

�And they�ll meet again�tonight! New challengers and wrestling legends vie for power as FAWN nears its first anniversary�and you�ll see it, right here�next!�

As the highlight montage fades into a live shot of the FAWN Arena, the crowd is abuzz with excitement, both from Bethany Christian�s earlier announcement and from the anticipation of the evening�s forthcoming matches. The joyous mass of humanity is sprinkled with the occasional sign, including �HOT FOR HOTBODY�, �THIS IVY IS THE TYPE OF POISON I WANT TO CATCH�, and, most inventively, a mock up of the side of a milk carton, the �MISSING� notice enquiring about the whereabouts of Midori Tanaka.

A HUGE T&A pop resounds through the crowd as "Milkshake" by Kelis begins to play and Holly Hotbody steps from behind the curtains. Holly wears a red, satin, bra top, barely containing her ample cleavage, and red, low-cut, high-rise, satin, boy-cut shorts. On the back of the shorts is written the words "Caution: Extremely Hot". She completes the look with red, vinyl, knee-length, platform boots. Her auburn hair falls straight down her back. She surveys the crowd with a grin before sauntering to ringside.

Along the way, she slaps hands with the fans. She gingerly walks up the ringside stairs before making a show of seductively entering the ring through the top and middle ropes, the crowd catcalling and whistling. With her hands on her hips, Holly blows a kiss to the fans, awaiting the start of the match.

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 slightly tattered white wife beater 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 ULTIMATE HOT BODY�, 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.

The California Doll and the Daughter of Dixie meet in the middle of the ring as the referee goes over the preliminary instructions, Hotbody and Armstrong staring each other down, each on the other�s eye level. As the ref finishes his speech, Holly smirks dismissively at her opponent. �Oh, give it up, honey. You can�t��

�Put a sock in it, sugah,� Ivy interjects, offering an equally condescending smirk of her own. �And find another catchphrase, would ya? You get stuck more often that one of my daddy�s old vinyl Skynard EPs.�

As the bells sounds, the two women lock up. With both equal in height and just about in weight, it proves to be a difficult, back and forth struggle, each warrior managing to turn the tide just as the other seems to be asserting her will.

Finally, though, it is Holly who gains the upper hand, backing the �Bama beauty into the ropes before unloading with a knife edged chop that the crowd greets with an obligatory �WHOO!� Ivy�s right leg lifts off the canvas, her right arm reflexively flying to the already aching portion of her chest. Ignoring Ivy�s right arm, Holly instead takes hold of her left wrists, and sends her via an Irish whip into the ropes. As Armstrong involuntarily races back toward her foe, Hotbody spins on her left heel, whipping her right leg airborne and driving her boot into Ivy�s chest. Ivy moans on impact, Hotbody�s foot landing with a bull�s-eye to the red welt already forming from the chop under her wife beater.

The southern belle flops to the canvas, but Holly is hardly inclined to allow her any moment�s respite. Instead, taking firm hold of Ivy�s flaming locks, Hotbody yanks Armstrong to her feet, and quickly sends her for another ride. This time, Holly propels herself into the air, wrapping her legs around Ivy�s neck before snapping her off her feet with a flawless hurricarana. In an impressively display of agility, the former exotic dancer lands astride the �Bama brawler�s chest, her knees on either side of Ivy�s head, Holly�s shapely thighs framing Ivy�s vacant face as Hotbody tries to secure the schoolgirl pin.

But before she can grasp Ivy�s legs, the redhead is able to buck free at the one count, rolling to her side and desperately trying to catch her breath. Holly had been in charge almost from the outset, running Ivy ragged with an unyielding assault. She needed some time to rest and recover. But again, as Armstrong feels fingers wrapping around her hair, it seemed Holly�s experience allowed her to know not to give Ivy a moment to recover.

Ivy decides to take matters into her own hands, quite literally. If Holly would not give her a chance to get a second wind, the southern belle would take one from her, Holly shrieking as Ivy�s nails tore across her eyes, blinding her. As Hotbody staggers away, rubbing at her eyes, Ivy climbs to unsteady feet. She fires a kick that drives deep into the breadbasket of FAWN�s newest sex sensation, and as Holly doubles over, Ivy pivots, clutching Hotbody�s head and dropping her with a stunner.

Holly flops over onto her back, spread-eagled, as a gasp runs through the crowd. By now, Holly had wrestled in FAWN enough for almost everyone to realize that Armstrong had hit the Seductress with a version of her own finisher. At first, though, the redhead is unable to capitalize, rolling from a sitting position to her side, her chest heaving as she sucks in air. But as more time passes, Ivy regains her strength, and moving up to her hands and knees, she crawls over to her foe. Straddling her waist, the ref slides down to count the pin, but it quickly becomes apparent that a pin is not on Ivy�s mind.

Instead, Armstrong wraps both her hands around Ivy�s throat, squeezing with all her strength. Instantly, the former catfighter is revived, her arms and legs thrashing as Ivy pours on the pressure. Her mouth hangs open, eyes bulging and tongue lolling as the referee threatens Ivy with an altogether different count than the one he had initially intended to deliver.

Ivy simply laughs at the threat, and indeed winks at the official as he raises his arm to begin the process. The referee�s ire only grows as, instead of breaking the hold, Ivy quickly lifts Holly�s head from the mat, only to slam the back of her skull down into the canvas, in time with the official�s warning count. Four counts result in four slams, but before he can get to the fifth and final one, Ivy releases her grasp.

�Spoilsport,� Ivy pouts, still sitting astride Holly�s midriff.

Shaking her head, Ivy decides it�s time to return a few earlier favors. Grabbing Hotbody by her locks, Ivy tugs the wheezing and gagging veteran to her feet. Holly hardly resists as Armstrong shoves her back into a corner, and then fires a chop of her own to Holly�s chest.

The crowd offers another �WHOO!� in true Pavlovian fashion, Holly�s breasts dancing on impact within their red satin confines. Another chops elicits another �WHOO!� from the crowd and a moan from Ivy, her chest now growing almost as red as her ring togs.

Ivy eyes the building bruise for a second, and then in a tactic her friend Miriam would approve of, Ivy leans forward, her teeth sinking into the abused flesh. Holly howls in anguish, her platform boots stomping the mat as Ivy chows down hungrily, stopping only once she again reaches the cusp of disqualification.

Ivy raises her head from Holly�s cleavage, glaring into eyes that now well with moisture. �What�s the matter, darlin�?� Ivy drawls. �Has yur time goin� legit made ya forget how to fight dirty? Cause trust me, babycakes, I haven�t forgotten.�

Ivy reaches for Holly�s arm, intent on whipping her across into the opposite corner. But Holly still has some life in her, and puts on the breaks. Ivy, caught off guard, is unable to slow her momentum before her back crashes into the buckles, and the impact scrambles her senses enough to prevent Ivy from dodging the handspring elbow that drives almost through her sternum. With a loud groan , Ivy plops to her denim clad backside in the corer, her head resting against the middle buckle.

Holly almost skips away from the impact zone, giving herself room to build a running start. And build one she does, sprinting at the downed �Bama brawler. But any in the audience who expected a bronco buster were mildly disappointed, Hotbody instead launching herself into a dropkick that, while lacking in height, lacks nothing in terms of power.

Ivy�s arms fly away from her body as Holly�s platform boots drive into her chest, forcing her back harder into the buckles, the redhead�s near lifeless limbs flopping over and hooking the middle rope. Ivy�s head snaps forward and first, but then again lolls back and to the right.

Regaining her feet, Hotbody looks down at Ivy�s crumpled body. �So you know how to fight dirty?� Holly taunts. �Good for you. I know how to fight, period.�

With that, Holly lifts each of Ivy�s legs, tucking a bare foot under each arm. As Hotbody backs away from the corner with Ivy in tow, Armstrong begins to regain her wits. �No, no, no,� she mutters, fingers coiling around the middle rope with all her remaining strength.

�Yes, yes, yes.�

Beaming, Holly falls backward, and Ivy�s grasp can�t hold out. The redhead sails up and over Hotbody, flying through the air with the greatest of ease, until landing chest and stomach first several feet from Holly. And there she lies, face down, her right leg bent slightly away from her body. The only sign of life from the �Bama beauty is a pained mewl.

Holly takes a moment to roll the redhead onto her back, and then slips through the ropes. Her movements are brisk, wasting no time as she scales the ropes to the top turnbuckle, the crowd�s excitement growing palpable in anticipation of a display of acrobatic prowess. They are rewarded as Holly launches herself into the air, her body rotating a full 360 degrees as she descends upon Armstrong.

And Holly is �rewarded� for her efforts as her stomach connects with Ivy�s raised knees.

Hotbody writhes away from Ivy, arms hugging her stomach tightly. Ivy remains too dazed to rise from the mat, but then, she doesn�t need to regain her feet to unleash her most feared of weapons. Slithering across the canvas to Holly, Ivy wraps her legs around the former exotic dancer�s chest, Armstrong�s succulent thighs constricting around Hotbody�s ample bosom.

�Gaaawwwd!� Holly moans, clawing at the redhead�s vice-like thighs in an effort to regain her freedom. Instead, Holly simply became the next to learn what many in FAWN had before: few could match Ivy in terms of leg power, Hotbody�s eyes widening as her chest continued to be crushed.

�Gawd�s not here right now,� Ivy purrs, planting her hands and the mat and leaning her upper body closer to Holly. �Which makes your soul�as well as your ass�mine.�

Another pulse of her thighs causes Hotbody�s head to snap backward, her eyes closing, Holly again moaning in agony. Ivy removes her hands from the canvas, instead slipping her arms under Holly�s. Then, the �Bama brawler rocks backward, raising Hotbody into the air before roughly returning her with a keister bump.

Holly�s eyes almost shoot out of her head, but in a strange way, Ivy has done Hotbody a favor. As her widen eyes stare outward, she sees that she and Ivy are closer to the ropes than Ivy could possibly wish. If only she could�.

Another keister bump brings another groan from Holly, but also manages to move the duo closer still to the ropes. Shoving her pain out of her mind, Holly extends her long legs, and hooks her boots around the bottom rope.

Once more, the official moves in to administer a five count, Ivy�s boa-like scissors constricting a couple more times around Holly�s ribcage before she finally complies. With a slight bit of help from the ropes, the exhausted southern belle pulls herself up to her feet. Looked down at Hotbody, gulping down air as fast as possible, Ivy simply shakes her head, slamming her bare foot down onto Holly�s left breast.

�Why��

A stomp to the right breast.

�Don�t��

Left breast.

�You��

Right breast.

�Just��

Left breast.

�Die?�

A final stomp to the stomach ends the barrage, Armstrong bending over to peel Holly off the mat. Armstrong pushes her back into the ropes for one second, and then takes her wrist for an Irish whip. To her surprise, Holly is able to stop her momentum, and instead snap Ivy around. Instead of sending Ivy for the ride, though, Holly brings her flying back toward Hotbody. Before Ivy�s mind can fully grasp what is happening, Holly�s boot shoots up into her undefined midsection, Hotbody smoothly and flawlessly transitioning into a Hot Spot that robs Ivy of her remaining consciousness.

Running on fumes herself, Holly drapes herself across Ivy, deftly hooking her right leg.

ONE�

TWO�

THREE!

The crowd erupts, Holly still too winded to do little more than roll onto her back, reclining against Ivy�s sweat soaked body. Her head hanging back, her eyes closed, Holly extends her arms triumphantly over her head. It wasn�t an easy win, by any stretch of the imagination. But it was still a win.

Holly Hotbody was indeed FAWN�s newest bona fide sex sensation.