As much as the FAWN title meant, the �Birthday Bash�s penultimate candle was perhaps its brightest. Shea London. Chrissy Daniel. Together again. Their battles were the cornerstone of FAWN lore, each taking the other to the highest highs and lowest lows. The fans realize tonight will be no different. In fact, if anything, with the destructive Chicago Street Fight stipulations, this match would be a crowning jewel in their long rivalry. The fans are still jumping, waving and caterwauling from the last match and the fact that Sensational Shea and the nasty, bosomy Chrissy may end up in their lap doesn�t seem to have dampened their enthusiasm. A bumping backbeat keeps the joint jumping.

Suddenly, the arena's speakers fall silent. But only for a moment. After the brief hesitation, the sound system booms back to life, posing one question to the amped crowd:

"Do you wanna get rocked?"

Def Leppard's "Let's Get Rocked" pumps over the PA, and Shea London strides from backstage to a thunderous roar from the crowd. The British Bombshell is all smiles, darting down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as she does so. If she feels any discouragement from her recent setbacks, in both the singles and the tag world, she gives no signs of it. The gorgeous blonde wears a dark blue 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, red wrestling boots. The Brit gives a wink to one fan holding aloft a sign reading "THERE'S UGLY, THERE'S HIDEOUS, THERE'S THE FRENCH, AND THEN THERE'S CHRISSY."

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. London beams, bouncing energetically on the balls of her feet. As Shea settles into her corner, testing the elasticity of the ropes, her mind continues to contemplate her upcoming opponent.

Another pay per view, and another impending vicious war with the Killer Imp. This time, there were no titles on the line, nor shots at titles, nor anything other than pride. Shea owned the edge in the record books, but Chrissy arguably held the edge in damage inflicted, broken arm notwithstanding.

That broken arm.

It had given Shea the win when last they met, but it had also certainly given Chrissy a greater desire to repay the blonde Brit in kind. Not that Chrissy needed much in the way of extra ammunition. Only a stranger to FAWN had no knowledge of the intense mutual dislike these two felt for each other. This would be ugly. This would be violent. This would be savage.

And one way or another, it would most certainly settle this blood feud for some time to come.

The lights dim, a hush falling over the crowd, then Van Halen's "Beautiful Girls" erupts from the sound system, the unmistakable sound of Eddie Van Halen's signature guitar intro bursting into the arena. Precisely as the drum roll thunders in, a shower of sparks explodes from above, showering the entire arena in momentarily blinding light. Finally, as the rest of the band joins in, two flares go off on either side of the entry way at the top of the aisle and Chrissy Daniel, the Killer Imp, steps onto the ramp. There's not a trace of playfulness in her step, but her full, luscious lips curl into a mischievous smile. Her voluptuous body is on display as usual, with her full breasts covered by a black leather bikini top with small chrome studs. A matching black leather thong bestows on the crowd a look at one of the roundest asses on the planet. Black boots round out the Killer Imp's ensemble.

She strolls seductively down the rest of the aisle, her big chest bouncing, the crowd buzzing, as the nubile hellion makes her long awaited return to the ring. The former FAWN champion gyrates slowly, cheshire grin still on her face. Egging the crowd on with her sexy body crackling with energy, she makes her way to the ring. She slowly climbs the stairs, allowing the crowd to take her in...a nice serving of sex garnished with some hateful glee, the aroma of violence filling the air. Standing mid-ring, she flips her thick lustrous hair back over her head, bouncing provocatively, shadowboxing a couple punches, big chest bouncing satisfyingly.

Mounting the bottom rope in her corner, she raises her arms. With a smile that would turn the knees of the devil himself into water, she steps down from the ropes, setting her large rack jiggling in the tight skimpy bikini top. As the music dies down, she settles back into her corner, her plushly sexy body hiding all the lust and havoc that could fit into such a small frame.

The ringing of the bell brings both women out of their respective corners, Chrissy with a smile, Shea with a steely determination, the crowd driving itself into a frenzy in anticipation. The renewal of this rivalry was never something to be missed, but both the throngs and the combatants could feel a special air, this Pay-Per-View spectacular was going to settle the score.

Chrissy and Shea circle, each looking for an opening, not easy when they know each other so well. Nor is it a surprise when the Killer Imp moves forward, closing the ring off, Shea still seemingly hesitant to press matters without a clear attack zone.

Finally, no choice is left, Chrissy steadily closes the ring from quadrant to corner. The short, but solid Daniel fires a left that Shea pivots around, but a follow-up right slams into the tawny Brit�s side, her body collapsing around the impact point then forced back into the buckles by a heavy shove.

London�s fans are silent, well aware that Chrissy is already dictating, but their mood lightens when Daniel sends a slow-arriving double axhandle toward Shea�s skull, only to see the Sensational One drive a side kick into Chrissy�s yielding midsection. The blow doubles Daniel over with a great �OOOF�, the ash blonde imp faltering back a step or two.

With the quickness and agility of a trapeze artist, the Blonde Bombshell mounts the top turnbuckle, giving Chrissy only enough time to lift her head slightly. Then London is off.

Launching from her perch, Shea collects Chrissy�s head on the way by and her momentum sends the younger Daniel to the deck with a whiplashing necksnap, Chrissy�s body slamming hard against the mat, her unmatched bosom sent a-giggle.

Most of the crowd roars its approval, though a considerable Daniel faction, in love with her �screw you� attitude and plush little body, waits in silence for the inevitable destruction of the limey crumpet muncher.

Shea rolls to her feet and finds Chrissy in the middle of doing likewise, though at a slower pace; the Killer Imp�s arm curled around her neck.

Shea races across the canvas and delivers a dropkick to Daniel�s dual artillery. Chrissy, caught off-balance, stumbles back into the corner, striking the buckles with enough force to bring a pained chirp from her lips. She sags back into the corner.

After a jittery start, this is Shea�s pace, and the only way to capitalize is to keep the ball rolling.. She backs into the opposite corner and gets a running start. Across the ring, she tumbles like an Olympic gymnast, only with a far different way of sticking her landing, but stick it she does. Shea buries the handspring elbow into Chrissy�s abundant and tenderized tits, the diminutive Daniel driven back into the corner again, this time bouncing out a few steps like a pulverized pinball.

Not missing any opportunity, the sleek blonde gathers some steam and, approaching from behind, harvests Chrissy�s tottering form with a headlock. She dashes forward a couple steps before planting Daniel�s head into the mat with a blur of a bulldog, Shea�s own partisans taking a moment to catch up with her assault and battery of the prone Imp

Shea raises a Churchillesque �V� over her head and rolls Chrissy to her back with a shove of her boot. Daniel�s eyes blink wide, her head on a horizontal see-saw. Ready to go or not, the Blonde Bombshell attempts no pin. Instead, she lifts a leg and lays a boot to Chrissy�s paler arm, the recently removed cast having provided the ultimate SPF along with the stability needed during her recovery.

The former champ wails as Shea sends stomp after stomp to the previously injured wing. Daniel waves a pleading hand skyward, not expecting relief and receiving none. Shea only grits her teeth and sends down another boot. This type of battering wasn�t generally her game, but it was foolish to ignore an advantage and, beyond that, this WAS Chrissy Daniel.

Finally, the busty beauty finds the wherewithal to spin her aching body to the ropes, London continuing the torrent of blows until Chrissy slides underneath the strands, the imp taking a plopping kiester bounce on the lightly-padded cement. Daniel gazes up at Shea with narrowed eyes. Bitch was trying to break her arm, AGAIN. Who knew Shea had the balls?

While her arm throbbed like a son-of-a-bitch, it seemed perfectly useful. That old, perverted Sawbones had done a good job. Lucky for him. And while Shea had the stones to try and put her on the shelf again, she clearly didn�t have enough to join Chrissy on the outside, and really bring the Streefight rules into play. Even with a decided advantage, Shea waits patiently in the ring.

Chrissy rises and beckons Shea onto the floor.

�C�mon putz, let�s raise the game and the stakes.�

But the Brit holds her ground within the confines of the squared circle.

�I�m showin� the fans �ooze got the game.�

Growling, Chrissy slides back into the ring, Shea backing off and allowing her unfettered entrance.

�Moron,� Chrissy mumbles. That type of move was the London she knew and loved.

But as Chrissy hops to her feet and moves forward, the reprieve is over. Shea hurtles toward her opponent, but instead of waiting for her arrival, the Killer Imp takes an extra step toward Shea and it�s enough to throw the Brit�s footwork off. She seems momentarily confused on how to adjust and is easily snatched around the waist mid-stride by Daniel, who turns and hits a resounding spinebuster that brings an �oooh� from the crowd. No matter how many times FAWNactics saw the pound-for-pound power of Chrissy Daniel, they couldn�t help but occasionally be taken aback. Daniel rises with her trademark grin over a spreadeagled London.

�Let�s try something on you, Shea-sy.�

Chrissy drops an elbow to the Brit�s cheek, Shea�s lower body flopping up on impact. With considerable speed of her own, Daniel is up once again�and down, this time dropping an elbow onto the Englishwoman�s Union Jack, Shea groaning as her breasts are bruised from the pointed elbow. Chrissy pops to her feet once more, an elbow to the head, an elbow to the chest follows behind, Shea grunting on both impact and in anticipation of the next.

�Does it look like my arm is still a liability,� Chrissy says, scowling, a slight grimace mixed in.

She pulls London to her feet with a handful of golden locks, then replaces that grasp with one of her neck, throttling the Brit as she guides her back to the nearest corner. Shea gasps and gags, her face turning red as the ref counts to four, enough time for Chrissy to reach her desired location. The big-boobed bully drives a heavy uppercut into Shea�s flawless flat belly, lifting London to tiptoes with the force, her body curling around the impact, eyes bulging. But that was nothing, as Chrissy decides to send her uppercut lower. Dropping to one knee, she sends the next salvo between Shea�s thighs, her forearm finding soft, tender tissue with a meaty smack. Once again Shea rises to tiptoes, but her face bears the difference, her features masked by the excruciating pain throbbing from her pussy, Chrissy pushing her arm into the small patch of blue that covers Shea�s sex.

�How�s that for a wake-up call, putz? You can stop dreaming you�ll beat me now.�

Chrissy removes her intruding appendage and triumphantly traipses to the opposite corner. She raises a hand and her little legs beat across the canvas, the Sensational One only now looking up, a hand buried in her crotch.

For a batter, it only takes one. For Shea London, it only takes a split-second, even in her current condition. The tawny blonde slips out of the corner in the nick and Chrissy�s devastating corner squash finds nothing but air and a whole lot of corner, Daniel slamming in full force.

London painfully struggles, slightly bowlegged, up the buckles as Chrissy stumbles drunkenly out of the corner. Suddenly, she loses her balance and backpedals into the buckles below Shea. The Brit climbs aboard her shoulders and gets to poundin', her left hand grabbing a handful of dirty blonde hair, her balled right, finding homes on Chrissy�s temple and cheek.

With Chrissy�s legs seemingly close to buckling, Shea changes tactics, falling forward and bringing Chrissy with her in a Victory Roll that ends with the Killer Imp�s shoulders pinned to the mat, one leg hooked high. The ref slides into place.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT

Without emotion, Shea gets back to work immediately, driving a kidney punch into Chissy�s spongy flank to keep her on the mat. Daniel grasps her side, cursing at the pain and the slut who provided it. But as she does, Shea continues to keep the tempo turned to 11. She pops to her feet and hustles to the nearest corner, this time climbing for a moonsault, her gaze fixed upon the wildly animated audience as she sets.

They were animated for a reason. Chrissy, as well known for taking extreme pain, as giving it, had shrugged off the kidney punch enough to follow behind Shea and when the Brit high-flyer reaches her launching pad, Chrissy makes sure she�s launched in the wrong direction. Turning slightly to get more leverage, Daniel places a cupped right hand under Shea�s tight, little glute cheeks and heaves her off the ringpost to the outside.

For a seeming eternity, she glides through the air, but there is no control to her flight path, Shea�s face unable to hide her panic as gravity pulls her back to Earth in a most unfortunate manner, her right set of ribs cracking into the steel guardrail. London�s slender, supple form corkscrews away from the impact, her right shoulder, hip, and thigh slapping hard against the lightly-padded floor surface.

Chrissy�s considerable faction climbs to their feet, joyous at Shea�s devastating fall from grace, FAWN�s inaugural champion rolling on the floor in agony, cradling her ribs as she whimpers.

�Looks like the Killer Imp isn�t the only one on a roll,� Chrissy says, gazing down at the sight with utter satisfaction.

Daniel methodically climbs between the cables and drops to the floor, her jaw dropping slightly as she watches Shea slither up the apron with the help of neither arm.

�Damn, you really do want me,� Chrissy notes, absorbing a weak left hook into her shoulder. Shea, protecting her right side, is unable to get any torque into the blow.

With little effort, Chrissy grabs her opponent�s golden mane and pulls Shea into a front facelock, then pounds the injured ribs with short, clipping, yet powerful blows, deep guttural grunts emerging from Shea with each, Chrissy forced to keep her punching bag upright after the first couple pops. One final hard-hearted left to the kidney and the ash blonde bully lets Shea sink to the floor in a crumpled, gasping heap, the glistening Brit curling to hug her right side.

Convinced this English Energizer Bunny�s batteries are depleted, Chrissy goes shopping, pulling up the apron next to Shea. Her face rises with a glowing grin and she nods her head to the crowd. Reaching below, she pulls out a folding chair and tosses it aside before dragging out a conference table, dropping it parallel to the softly rocking Bombshell. But Chrissy isn�t done, having found a full WalMart of weapons available to her. She tosses a metal, red-and-white Yield sign atop the chair and scouring well back under the ring, she emerges with a heavy length of chain that she places on the mat.

Chrissy pushes the sign aside and unfolds the chair, taking a seat, the torn crowd both cheering and booing vociferously. Daniel content to wait as Shea struggles gamely on, finally pushing to her feet, still unable to fully straighten.

Feeling the appropriate moment has come, Chrissy rises from her chair, folds it carefully, and rushes Shea, brandishing the weapon in front of her. But it�s a swing and a miss for Chrissy �Bonds�. Shea sidesteps the effort, and when Daniel turns for strike two, she meets, instead, a spin kick from the energetic Englishwoman. London�s kick first meets metal, but then pushes a doubly destructive blow home, as the chair smacks Chrissy in the mush, Shea�s punt fortified with good ole US steel. Both women tumble to the floor and for a few seconds are unmoving. Their bodies lay next to each other, glistening under the lights, the gentle sway of chests finally joined by flopping arms and legs.

The crowd erupts in universal applause for the effort of the two warriors and it only grows as the exhausted duo struggle to their feet, Shea up first. The tawny Brit, knowing full well where her interests lie, starts to climb back into the ring, her moist, satiny skin leaving a trail of perspiration on the canvas as she has nearly all of her body with the colored cables. Only a tardy foot remains, and that is all Daniel needs. Grabbing Shea by the ankle, she yanks the desperate blonde halfway out with an enormous tug. Shea claws at the mat, regaining some of her lost ground before another jerk slides her out to the floor, and back to Chrissy�s playground. The Killer Imp quickly spins a disheartened London�s back to the apron and drives her spine into the dissecting mat. Shea�s back arches in anguish, a pained yelp escaping her ruby lips, as her eyelids clench.

A second or two later, they open, Chrissy�s backswing complete. London tries to get her hands up in time to block, but she�s a tick slow and the Yield sign creases her noggin with a loud, sickening �THWAAP�. Shea�s eyes cross as she steps forward, one step, two steps, then falls dramatically on her face to Daniel�s delight.

�Oh Shea-sy. Beating you up is so much fun,� Chrissy says, cheshire grin beaming as she yanks a dazed Shea up by her hair with one hand and pulls the length of chain off the apron with the other.

�But I have a feeling this one�s gonna be extra special, way more than breaking that brittle Yugo for my title.�

Chrissy wraps the interlocking steel around London�s graceful neck for all to see. It was all perfectly legal. The ref could do nothing. Despite their protestations, the crowd could do nothing. And most important of all, Shea could do nothing; nothing, but gag and flail weakly as the powerful 5-footer closed the slack and choked the life from her, Chrissy�s soft, yielding melons push into Shea�s back, her midsection and crotch tight against London�s back and bum. Daniel arches Shea back to more efficiently strangle the nubile Sensational One, the Brit�s hands reaching out in front of her, plaintively calling for help.

�Give it up and maybe I stop,� Chrissy whispers in her ear. �MAYBE.�

But Chrissy didn�t seem too concerned about getting a submission quite yet, as she didn�t leave enough slack for Shea to spit out an answer. Instead, she yanks Shea�s head one way then the other, a long red welt growing with each tug. Finally, the Killer Imp pulls her back into a legal, but nearly as devastating reverse bearhug. The chain uncoils from Shea�s neck and falls to the floor as Chrissy�s hands now lock in front of both her and Shea, squeezing the stuffing out of the tawny fan favorite, in a Heimlich maneuver gone very, very wrong.

As London grows more limp within her grasp, Chrissy plays to the crowd, swinging Shea�s body like a rag doll back and forth in her arms. This particular moment of fun complete, she tosses Shea away like yesterday�s garbage and turns to the throngs, perhaps fifty percent now backing her. She grabs a mic from the nearby Nepalese announcer�s table.

�I�m ending the Sensation tonight, the Bombshell goes fuckin� BOOM. Live with it!�

Chrissy turns to place the finishing touches, but there is only a blur and a familiar sounding �THWAAAP�. Somehow, Shea had found a third wind and the discarded street sign. Short-lived breeze or no, it might be enough to make her a winner. She stands over Chrissy, swaying like wheat in the wind, the Killer Imp prostrate on the floor, a trickle of blood flowing from a cut at her hairline. As she props up unstably on her shoulders, eyes blinking wide, the red liquid drips down her forehead, collecting on her brow, before dripping to her cheek and off to her bosom.

Shea puts a boot to Daniel�s chin, London almost toppling with the effort. And suddenly, it is Chrissy who is Shea�s Raggedy Ann. London, with perhaps a last burst of energy, sets the table alongside the apron, picks up the deadweight of her foe and roughly pushes her sacrifice atop, Chrissy�s plush little body draped and dripping on the faux wood grain. Shea ascends both apron and buckles wearily. She gather herself for a moment at the top of her mountain.

�Not exactly what you had in mind,� Shea says, barely loud enough for even herself to hear. �I take you out on your terms. Live with that.�

London launches into the Sensational Leg Drop, her sleek legs extending in front of her, ready to crash across Chrissy�s throat and send her body smashing through the table, the vulgar bully bested once and for all. Alas, Shea was not the only competitor with nine lives and a will to win beyond measure. With Shea committed and in mid-air, Daniel rolls wearily off the table and the acrobatic London finds nothing but a spine-compressing, leg-twisting, splinter-inserting ride to hell, as her finisher looks like it will prove worthy of its designation. The Brit can only groan as she lies amongst the wreckage, her body, tanned limbs akimbo, sends calls of distress from every location, overwhelming Shea�s flagging senses. Even fear cannot register, as Chrissy, an unwelcome rescue worker, digs through the remains, pulling Shea free, only to lift her like a babe in her arms and deposit her on the guardrail, one of Shea�s slender, silky limbs on EITHER side. The modified and steel-reinforced �atomic drop� shoots an unwanted dose of adrenaline into Shea�s body and she feels her annihilated pussy in all its blinding brilliance, colors and noises blending into one as she experiences the sensation of her body being ripped down the middle, her delicate flower demolished.

Atop the rail, she remains, face contorted, hands slipping insider her drawers, Chrissy holding her in place from the front, enjoying every moment, every nuance of pain etched on Shea�s face.

�Are those nasty clothes getting in your way,� Chrisy purrs. She nods Shea�s head for her. �Let me help you.�

With that, she pulls London�s arms out of her crotch-tending, raises them above her head, and, with a practiced skill and veteran savvy, she removes Shea�s dark blue sports bra without so much as a �by your leave�. Wiping her face and armpits with the Union Jack, Chrissy tosses the scrap to the crowd, a small riot erupting around the garment.

Shea�s hands instinctively travel down to her plevis again. Chrissy�s, by contrast, move to the Englishwoman�s succulent mounds of flesh. Almost daintily, she grabs a nipple between each thumb and forefinger and brushes them to attention, for Shea, a brief moment of pleasure intersecting with the indescribable pain from her cunt. Then, with a disdainful backhand slap, Chrissy sends her foe tumbling into the first row, Daniel quickly joining her.

A male fan helps Shea to her feet from behind, cupping each tit, purely to support her in her time of need, but Chrissy angrily pushes the clown away, threatening his twig and berries. Showing the power that so perfectly complemented her determination and amoral attitude, she lifts Shea effortlessly into an inverted piledriver position and falls to her knees. It only takes a couple of quick shimmies and the Killer Imp has a nubby throne worthy of any FAWN queen. The ref slides into place as Chrissy settles with a few shifts of her hips atop her rival�s face, Shea�s attempts to suck in oxygen causing the Beach Cat to purr softly.

ONE

TWO

Chrissy rises from her love seat and pulls Shea�s shoulders up as well, the ref scolding her for prolonging this torture, but unable to do any more.

�No, no, no,� Chrissy says, smiling, her face dropping before Shea�s droopy eyelids and open mouth. �This ends in the ring, where you wanted me all along.�

The heartless beauty pulls London to her feet, tosses her over the guardrail, and, after picking up her trash one last time, rolls her back in the ring. Chrissy follows and immediately ties the vanquished ex-champ up in the ropes, both of London�s arms bound behind her.

�Now that we�re back in the ring, we have to showcase YOUR talents. Sorry, talent.�

With that, Chrissy unties the laces of one boot and pulls it free, taking the time to tickle Shea�s tootsies before moving onto the next piece of footwear, the time required to remove the boots, and indeed the tickling, allowing Shea to rouse from her slumber. By the time Chrissy slips a finger beneath the band of the tawny blonde�s blue bikini briefs, the beaten Brit is an exhausted, demolished, and defeated beauty, but is as fully aware of her surroundings as her body will allow.

�So good to have you back with us, putz. I�ll be taking these, shall I?�

Chrissy removes the remainder of Shea�s clothing, tossing London�s briefs to her corner. She was keeping that piece for her trophy case. Turning back to London, she drinks in the sleek, glistening naked form of her most hated rival, arms tied in the ropes, legs extended in front of her, struggling vainly, at her mercy, a mercy that did not exist.

Chrissy kneels in front of Shea and advances upon her, between her legs, forcing first her calves and then her thighs wide. Daniel holds her hand aloft in the form of a claw.

�We always knew it would come down to this, didn�t we� Chrissy says, the Killer Imp reveling in the fear in Shea�s eyes. She swings her fingers down between Shea� legs, grasping the tenderized pussy with an underhanded claw, the aching tissue gouged by the nails and squeezed by the clenching digits. Shea screams and shrieks, no longer able to hold her composure through the pain. But a moment away from surrender, the pain dissipates and Shea can feel Chrissy inside her, delicately trolling, until��uhhhh�.

�Oh God,� Shea whispers. Just the lack of searing pain was wonderful, but this was so much more. With her emotions and body laid waste, Shea feels every raw tingle, every shudder-inducing inch of pleasure, and the fact that it�s being derived from a person she despised, made it all the more difficult to stop. Quickly, Shea finds herself humping Chrissy�s digits uncontrollably, the shame and humiliation overcome by the base desire Chrissy had expertly tapped, and being an expert Chrissy knew the time was nearing.

"Looks like your luck's run out, Union Jackoff. Time to pay toll to this troll with the Imp in your hole."

The words reached one final strand of hope that stretched from brain to body and Shea bit her lip trying to hold on. If her mind wasn�t playing tricks, it felt like her gyrations had nearly worked her arms free and�and�

Chrissy plunges and rolls inside her, Shea�s eyes forced open from a clench of concentration. The eyes of Chrissy and Shea meet, as they had so many times before, but this time, it was different, this time she had nothing left. The bitch owned her. As Chrissy lowers her head and takes a bite of Shea�s breast, nibbling away at her nipple, she shatters any remaining will. Shea�s chin falls to her chest and an explosive orgasm rocks her body, her sweat-slickened form quivering, trembling, shuddering to a stop, love honey straight from the Isles pouring over Chrissy�s hand and down Shea�s inner thighs, her tanned body limp, drained of its last iota of energy.

Chrissy pulls her fingers free and wipes them on Shea�s belly, soaking in the sight of the previously willful Brit�s pitiable sobs.

�Wow, that was some Big �O�, if I do say so myself,� Chrissy declares, yanking her top off and tossing it aside, her mountainous D-cups finally free and, from their joyful, natural bounce, loving every second. �Still, there is the matter of my big �W�.

Kneeling, Chrissy shoves her soft, satiny, breathtaking weapons into Shea�s wriggling features, her face instantly swallowed whole. Cupping Shea�s head forward into the deadly pillows, the Killer Imp accidentally frees her arms from the strands, but it is far too late. And when the broken Brit feels Chrissy combine another vaginal entry with the consciousness-sucking smother, she can take no more.

The Beach Cat smiles widely as she savors a soft mumble from amidst her enveloping bosom. She�d felt the muffled whisper so many times before, but never from Shea. Peeling her breasts away from Shea�s reddened, glistening, tear-streaked face, she waits.

�I give,� the tawny, naked blonde whispers.

Chrissy cups her breasts and slides in a couple fingertips.

�I GIVE. I GIVE,� she shouts between panting sobs. �YOU WIN. YOU�RE BETTER. NOW�PLEEEASE STOP.�

A groan rumbles through Shea�s supporters, a massive cheer through what is now the majority of the throng.

�That�s all you had to say, Shea-sy,� Chrissy giggles. �It wasn�t that hard. And if you weren�t such a moronic slut, you could�ve done it years ago and saved yourself a lot of trouble.�

Daniel lets London drop to the mat. Rising, she pulls Shea by the ankles to mid-ring. FAWN Monthly did like its cliched pics for it �Winners and Losers� section and who was the next champion to deny them. Chrissy poses coquettishly with her foot atop Shea�s chest, almost looking sorry for leaving her a shattered shell. She then moves her toes down, delving them within London�s soaking pubes, and poses, arms raised, bare chest jauntily shoved forward.

�In case they need a more�mmm�intimate one,� she jokes. �Which reminds me��

Like a hunter on successful safari, Chrissy gathers her �big game� by the ankle and pulls Shea to her corner. She slips outside for a moment, pulling a couple smaller items from below, a pair of handcuffs and a vial of lipstick. Sliding back in, she rolls a cowed Shea to her back and cuffs her hands behind her.

�No more. Pleeease,� Shea begs, but Chrissy ignores her, rolling the Brit to her back.

Unrolling the tube of bright, ruby red, Chrissy scrawls vertically across Shea�s chest and tummy.

�PROPERTY OF CHRISSY DANIEL�

The nasty little imp makes a red exclamation point out of Shea�s strip of short hairs and she dots the punctuation by inserting the tube into Shea�s labia.

Tears stream down London�s face, as Chrissy picks her up like a sack of potatoes, pushes her through the ropes and, with arms still cuffed behind her, suspends her from the corner post, Shea facing the silent crowd in all her humiliation and horror.

�I think that fulfills all my fantasies with you, crumpet muncher,� Chrissy whispers.

The Killer Imp wraps an arm around Shea�s hanging form.

�CONSIDER THIS WAR WON.�

WINNER: Chrissy Daniel