A famous quote from 'Field of Dreams' once noted "they'll all take a trip and they'll go to Iowa City... and they'll think it's really boring." Of course, then they'd all proceed north and east up the road to a baseball field amidst the cornfields. But the 15,500 packed into Carver-Hawkeye tonight were doing no such thing. Their "Mat of Dreams" had been built and they had come, Already, a poor girl named Whitney Whipple had been torn apart by a beautiful Mediterranean brunette, Sascha Savarino, in an curtain-opening, dark match.

No doubt, the many ultraliberal members of the PC police, who continued to picket the arena, were howling and chanting "HEY, HEY, HO, HO. SEXIST WRESTLING HAS GOT TO GO." However, inside, young college-aged Hawkeyes and some well past their salad days ate up the sex and violence that FAWN provided in equal measure. Sascha's climactic Corner Kick had brought the cornfed throng to a high simmer and the next match was sure to heat things to a bubbling boil.

As if on cue, the lights go dim, and a single spotlight fixes upon a lone figure at the top of the ramp. The thumping, soul-rattling strains of Mountain's "Mississippi Queen" plays through the arena's public address system. Lorelei Butler strides down the aisle, clad in a black lace bra and black denim shorts cut high, her smoldering green eyes trained upon the ring, and a self-confident smirk upon her face.

She pays no attention to the fans, despite the many outstretched hands that grasp at her as she passes. But then, just as she is about to enter the ring, she turns and walks to a random fan in black-and-gold at ringside, cups his face between her hands, and plants a long, lingering kiss upon his lips. As the fit 40ish fan's body turns liquid, Lorelei smiles and steps up the stairs to the outside apron. Climbing up the nearest pole, she points in concurrence with a man holding a sign 'Hawkeye for Lorelei'. Balancing herself atop the top ropes, she raises her arms to accept the cheers of the throng, then somersaults through the air, landing like a cat on all fours in the center of the ring, ready for battle.

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. 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. London grins as she catches sight of one particular sign: "MISSISSIPPI QUEEN, PREPARE TO MEET REAL ROYALTY!"

Kylie's peeps aren't holding anything against her for taking away their girl's title many months ago. Shea had learned that the heartland of America held a lot of common sense that was lacking elsewhere in the country. The fact that her win led to a downward spiral, eventually ending in Kylie's firing, was not something to be placed on her shoulders and the roaring ovation being lavished on Shea confirms the locals are in agreement.

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 opponent across the ring.

In many ways, Lorelei Butler is in the same boat in which Shea finds herself. Both are talented workers, used to success, that had experienced more than their fair share of hard times recently. While Shea finds her fortunes starting to change, thanks to her pairing with Juliet Bloodwind, Lorelei is still looking for a way to right her ship. And while Lorelei had known success south of the border, she had yet to find the same level of fame as her opponent this evening. But that would start to change, if she could find a way to beat London.

Not on my watch, Shea thought, as she gave the cables another tug. There was no way Lorelei Butler was making a name for herself at Shea's expense tonight.

The bell brings the proceedings to order and the blonde hardbody in black moves to the center, pleading for Shea to join her. London cuts short her circling and probing and, perhaps surprisingly, accepts a test of strength. The Brit interlocks her left hand then her right with the Butler. Slowly, Lorelei starts to bend back Shea's wrists, gaining control over a grimacing London, but apparently impatient with the battle, Butler releases one hand and spins Shea into an armbar with the other. Unfortunately for her, the wily Shea ducks under almost immediately and turns the tables, pinning Lorelei's arm tight to her back.

Before Butler can return the favor, Shea spins the blonde to face her and lands a reverberating soccer-style kick to Lorelei's abs, the impact making a meaty smack that draws an 'oooh' from the crowd, but very little reaction from Butler. Lorelei simply slaps her rock-hard belly and offers FAWN's first World Champion another shot. Shea accepts, driving her boottop into the tawny plain of Lorelei's midriff. The tanned skin turns a bit pinkish, but again Butler laughs the effort off and adds to her mirth with a driving savate kick into Shea's belly that penetrates London's defenses, doubling over the blonde Brit.

Butler falls back to the ropes, gathers some momentum, and grasps Shea's head on the way by, twisting her violently to the canvas with a spinning neckbreaker, Shea's eyes blinking wide in surprise as she looks up at the cousin of the current FAWN Queen.

Butler measures a knee and drops it between Shea's gray-green peepers, but at the last second, London rolls out of the way and Lorelei's joint finds nothing but lightly-covered plywood. She grabs her knee with a howl as Shea kips to her feet and surveys a limping Butler. Moving side by side with Lorelei, the Brit entwines her left leg with Butler's right and hits a solid Russian legsweep that has the blonde hardbody writhing on the mat, holding her head with both hands, as though some of the contents might leak out.

Shea tries to advance her cause with a legdrop across Lorelei's throat, but this time it's Butler's turn to escape. She evacuates in time for London to find a whole lot of nothing but mat, her ass hitting HARD, sending a shockwave up her spinal column and down, her lower back aching and her butt cheeks stinging. As Shea's lips form a large 'O' and she grasps reflexively at her bum, Lorelei skips to her feet and provides a period to this exchange with a low dropkick that strikes Shea on the right cheek, sending her pinwheeling to the left, coming to a stop after a full revolution and a fall to her back.

Lorelei moves quickly to Shea and launches her to her feet with a tug of hair and wrist.

"Hey there honey, speed and age don't go together," Lorelei says, "an' you're lookin' awful old."

Butler batters the Brit back to the ropes with a couple stiff open-hand shots above the Union Jack on London's top. Pushing into the cables, Lorelei gets a little more into her whip and follows a hurtling Shea to the middle of the ring where she awaits the former champ's return. An out of control London barrels back to Lorelei and the Mississippi Queen lifts her up and over with a back body drop. Looking quite pleased with herself, the Southern stunner turns to survey the damage, but instead gets served with a faceful of Shea's boot. London, having landed on her feet, levels Lorelei with a spinning leg lariat. The sprawled blonde collects her scattered wits and does a tooth check with her tongue. Shea, already on her feet, turns from the lounging Lorelei and backflips across the belly of the tawny hardbody in a standing moonsault. A slight grunt escapes Butler's pouty lips, her body seizing slightly as London hooks a leg.

ONE

KICKOUT

As Butler staggers to her feet, several ticks slower than Shea, the British Bombshell rushes to the nearest set of ropes, hops into the middle strand and springboards into Lorelei with a crossbody. Butler totters but maintains her balance with a flustered Shea held aloft in her curled arms. Thinking fast, and before Lorelei can stabilize, Shea grabs one of the arms and throws her bodyweight forward, sending Lorelei tumbling to the mat with an armdrag takedown.

Butler is up quickly, but is knocked back to the canvas with an expert dropkick to the chin. Quickly, the blonde is up again, but finds more of the same waiting, Shea one step ahead once more, and this time with a little extra 'ooomph', hitting Lorelei in the chest and sending her rocketing over the top rope. Butler bounces off the apron and tumbles with a heavy thud to the lightly padded floor, the crowd marking out for Shea's own brand of artistry.

Butler winces and favors her left set of ribs as she desperately grabs at the edge of the Icelandic announcer's table, trying to pull herself up. Unwilling to allow Butler's recovery to be a smooth one, Shea throws her body into the opposite set of ropes, races across the squared circle and soars over the top rope in a death-defying Suicide Dive that startles the audience, reminds all in attendance of what Shea London is capable of, and crunches Lorelei between 120 pounds of flying British beauty and an unforgiving table, a kneeling Butler's right ribs curling nastily around the edge of the counter. As a somewhat stunned Shea rolls to her side, Lorelei melts to the floor, the shooting pain forcing a hug of her own tummy. Lorelei mewls softly as she rocks back and forth. Shea, having shaken off her portion of the impact, wearily pushes to her feet, the roar of the crowd accompanying her.

The Brit takes a moment to gather her breath, but then gets back to work, pulling a rubber-legged Lorelei into a side headlock. In desperation, the Mississippi Queen shoots a hand to the face of her foe and rakes the eyes of the British beauty. Scooping the blinded Shea up from behind, London's legs pumping wildly in the air, Lorelei literally tosses Shea backward in a modified backdrop, Butler not falling back herself, thus sparing herself the vicious impact on the table that Shea is unable to avoid. The announcers head for the hills as a moaning Shea, grasping at her back is put upon by the blonde darling from Dixie.

Lorelei snatches one of the emptied chairs and folds it. Shea's legs, already draping over the front edge of the table are pulled further forward, until she's almost ready to plop to the ground. But before she can, Lorelei drives the folding chair up between Shea's parted legs, ramming the steel hard into the unfortunate Englishwoman's pussy. The crowd groans collectively as Shea sits bolt upright, a look of pure anguish mutilating her striking features. She emits a pitiful chirp as her hands shoot to the scene of the crime, Shea, no doubt, ruing her decision to take the match outside the confines of the ring. Her tawny body shudders and descends to the table slowly, as if she's sliding into a bath.

Unfortunately, Lorelei is far from done. Laying the steel chair flat on the floor in front of the table, she wrenches a frozen London off and measures her to the steel, Shea shaking her head pleadingly, still unable to remove her hands from her throbbing crotch.. The plea is answered, but with a resounding 'no' when Butler hits an X-Factor faceslam, Shea's forehead bouncing off the steel with a sickening 'thunk'. Shea lies starfished on her face as Lorelei hops to her feet and pumps a fist in the air to a mixed bag of a response from the Hawkeye home crowd. She points down at an motionless London.

"She's got nuthin, y'all," Lorelei shouts. "She got two Queens rulin' her, ole Lizzy in London and the Delta-fied version right here."

Butler places a bare tootsie atop Shea's scantily-clad behind and wriggles her toes as she raises her arms in triumph, this drawing more boos from the crowd than before. The blonde brickhouse offers the Iowans a middle finger before yanking a rousing Shea to her feet and shoving her back in the ring under the bottom rope. Lorelei follows behind and wraps Shea's squirming body up in a cradle.

ONE

TWO

SHOULDER UP... BARELY.

Pulling Shea to her feet with a threatening smirk, Butler propels a knee lift into the gut of the stooping Brit then follows with a version to her bosom, London's bounty bruised, the blow drawing a plaintive yelp from Shea. She remains doubled over as Lorelei floats back to the ropes, leaps into the air, and delivers a nasty scissors kick to the back of Shea's noggin, London dropping to the mat, once again treated to an unwelcome facial. A confident Lorelei slides into place next to the downed former champion and rolls Shea into a tight cradle with the help of a handful of Shea's blue bikini briefs. The referee doesn't notice and goes about his counting.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT.

Lorelei slaps the mat in frustration.

"That's three, ya moh-ron. Didn't your momma send you ta school?"

The ref dutifully holds up two fingers. Butler shakes her head and turns her attention back to London, whom she compels to her feet with a handful of dirty blonde locks. Cinching in a side headlock, Lorelei wrenches the neck of the battered Brit. Shea stumbles as Butler leads her in a circle around the ring, Lorelei occasionally jumping and landing hard on the mat to do further damage. Finally, Shea cocks an elbow and buries it in the tight tawny midsection of Lorelei. The blonde responds with a smile and shake of her head, but the next one erases the smile, and a third elicits a grunt and a loosened grip.

Shea slides her head out of the crook in Butler's right arm and grabs the right wrist as she does so. Gritting in determination, London sends Lorelei off with an Irish Whip, Butler's sparkling green eyes opening wide as she bounces into the ropes and out, now on a return trip to a steamed and seemingly rejuvenated Shea. The Brit slides to the ground as Lorelei comes in range, entangling her feet when the blonde zooms by. Lorelei falls to the mat courtesy of Shea's drop toehold, bumping her chin on the lightly covered plywood.

Moving with lightning speed, Shea takes Lorelei's legs, bends them at the knees, and crosses them, placing one ankle in the other leg's knee-pit. London then turns around so she's facing away from the Mississippi Queen and places one of her feet in the triangle created by the opponent's crossed legs. Shea then skillfully places Lorelei's free ankle under her knee-pit and bridges backwards to reach over the blonde hardbody's head. She locks her arms around Lorelei's head and pulls back. The intricate 'Initiation' knock-off has Lorelei squealing between clenched teeth. London, breathtaking in her bridge, yanks back further still. Lorelei's hands reflexively fly into her own golden locks as the pain in her back grows more alarming. She was at least six feet from the ropes and the bitch had her legs tied up in knots.

"Fummmph," Lorelei growls, realizing that this may have been the one big mistake she seemingly made in every match. Shea gives another pull and Lorelei howls in agony, but refuses to surrender. London keeps the pressure on for fifteen seconds, twenty, thirty, until she no longer has the strength to keep her bridge in place, her body falling flat back to back with Butler's. Releasing her grip under Lorelei's chin, she lets the blonde uncoil the rest of the way, Butler flopping forward, still in pain, but also in relief. Shea unties her leg from Lorelei's and pushes to her feet.

London drops an elbow to the base of Lorelei's spine, and another, and another in rapid fire succession. Lorelei's back arches in agony after each, her eyes welling from the sustained abuse. Shea, still a paramount high flyer, is also a meticulous, seasoned veteran who knows how to work a body part like a violin, and Butler's back is her chosen instrument.

Sensing an opening, Shea turns Lorelei to her back and races for the nearest corner. She scales the buckles with ease and turns to face her foe. To the credit of Shea's intended target, Lorelei had rotated back to her belly and was weakly crawling for the ropes. Audibilizing on the fly, Shea lifts off, and instead of dropping her Sensational Leg Drop across the throat of Butler, she lands the devastating blow across Lorelei's lower back, multiplying the inroads made there several times over.

The Mississippi Queen wails in pain as she flops on the mat, again reaching to her back to somehow assuage the searing, throbbing ache. Already arching in anguish, Shea takes advantage. She drops to a kneel atop Lorelei's back eliciting a cry and a stream of expletives. Then, Shea bends Lorelei's legs up at the knees and crosses her ankles with one hand and reaches around her neck with the other. Rolling to her back, Shea lifts Lorelei off the mat with her devastating London's Bridge bow-and-arrow backbreaker. Immediately, Lorelei panicks. She screams 'no' even as the pain in her back wails 'YES'. Fortuitously, Lorelei's wildly flailing arms find the sanctuary of the ropes and the referee demands a break. Shea accedes with a look of enormous and unrestrained disappointment.

London pulls a whimpering Lorelei to her feet and whips her hard into the far buckles, Butler's spine again taking a cruel shot. Shea takes a moment to measure the distance and sets off on a tumbling run, the crowd roaring its approval for the gymnastic acrobatics. The final handspring elbow result is interrupted, however, as Lorelei moves a couple steps out of the corner before Shea's arival and intercepts the airborne Brit with a reverse bearhug. Butler's guns encircle the flat, undefined and tanned midriff of FAWN's first champion and the squeeze play elicits a look of both pain and surprise from Shea's expressive gray-green pools. Shea can't hold in a grunt as a large exhalation is forced from her body, the pressure and pain building, the need for more oxygen growing. But, in the blink of an eye, the treacherous embrace is brought to a mat-thumping, braincase-battering conclusion, as Lorelei converts the hug into a sitout faceslam that only builds on the concussive meeting of steel and skull Shea had survived from earlier in the match.

The British Bombshell, spreadeagled on her face and chest, is motionless. Lorelei rolls Shea to her back, Butler brushing aside some moist and matted strands of gold to see glazed gray-green eyes.

THIS was the big mistake and it had not been hers.

Butler races to the buckles and vaults to the top almost as gracefully as Shea had minutes earlier. There is no delay or playing to the crowd. She simply launches into the 'Falling Star', Lorelei's destructive Shooting Star Splash, simply crushing a weakened and wavering Shea beneath. London's body involuntarily spasms in a 'V' around the impact point then languidly seeps back to the canvas, almost a viscous tawny liquid for the moment rather than a solid former superstar. Lorelei goes for the crossbody and the ref slides into place.

ONE

TWO

SHOULDER UP!

Lorelei could scarcely believe it. She glares at the referee for assurance and receives it. Only two. She pulls the wet dishrag that is Shea up to her knees and bends the blonde beauty backwards, London's eyes blankly staring to the ceiling of Carver-Hawkeye. Lorelei moves forward from behind in a bow-legged stance, grabs the wrists of Shea's limp arms, and closes her slender, muscular thighs around the faintly shaking head of a teary-eyed and bleary-eyed former champion.

"Nuhhmmph," Shea cries, before her face is swallowed, buried deep in Lorelei's crotch as the blonde hardbody's thighs flex against her temples, cutting off the bloodflow to her brain. With Butler's 'Pray For Mercy' locked in place in the middle of the ring and tremors already shaking Shea's body, it's less than a minute before the overwhelming combination of pressure from the headscissors and oxygen deprivation from the smother leave Shea with only the slightest hint of consciousness. Feeling the fight gone, Lorelei lets go of Shea's wrists and the arms fall to her sides.

"Looks like y'all have gone from being champion of the world to being about a half a step away from followin' Kylie's career path," Lorelei jabs, "but then you two always were the perfect pair... of losers. "

Butler's attention turns to the referee.

"Check her, ref. I do believe she's done done."

The ref kneels next to Shea, grabs a wrist, raises it to shoulder height, and releases. The limp limb drops away lifelessly,

ONE

TWO

THREE TIMES.

The ref waves for the bell as Lorelei raises her arms in triumph and lets out an eardrum-shattering rebel yell that is met with some cheers, but mostly disappointed, demoralized jeers.

Releasing her standing headscissors, Lorelei lets a greasy-faced, consciousness-deprived Sensationless One collapse in a crumpled heap. After a victory lap around the ring, she turns to Shea. It's crystal clear with the glint in her blazing green eyes that Butler means to make an impression and give the locals something as close to a Classic Kylie humiliation as they were likely to ever see.

Working with ease and precision, Lorelei strips her living mannequin of its blue sports bra. Lorelei waves the Union Jack over her head, London's modest but delectable breasts bouncing free, shiny with perspiration, nipples hardening as Butler gives each a soft rotation of the thumb and a pinching tweak, Shea mumbling and cooing back to life.

Grasping Shea's wrists once more, Lorelei binds London's arms behind her with a double knot of the resilient spandex. The discomfort and immobility of her arms and the tender peeling of her blue bikini briefs brings Shea back with a cough and a cry.

"Please... don't," Shea snivels.

"They're already down to your knees darling," Lorelei responds, "there's hardly any point in stoppin' now."

But stop Butler does when the briefs are about London's red boots. She twists the material so Shea's ankles are crossed and bound tight. Rolling the beaten foe onto her back, Lorelei drops down next to her with a naughty grin. An index finger traces softly down the bridge of Shea's nose and rests for a moment on her quivering lips as Butler shushes the sniffling Shea.

"We're going to have some fun. I promise."

Shea shakes her head and closes her eyelids, tears pushed out as she does. She can feel Lorelei's soft touch travel down the nape of her neck, then both hands 'lovingly' fondle her breasts, each growing harder as Lorelei administers her strokes and circles. Shea can feel goosebumps emerge on her skin as Lorelei gleefully manipulates her nipples, the delicate protuberances growing hard even as one hand continues down her midriff, one finger stopping to lightly circle and probe her navel. It was wet. Was she licking her fingertips? Or was it simply from the sheen of sweat that coated every square inch of her failing body?

Shea couldn't be sure, but she could be of the growing inevitability that... uhhh... .guuhhhmmmpphh. She was there AND she was good. Butler was expertly coaxing her womanhood, playing with her lips, slipping inside her, alternately soft and hard, pumping her until she could find no way to stop herself from returning the movement in kind. Shea, cooing and moaning and in Lorelei's complete control, thrusts her hips as best her binding would allow. Her mind momentarily pleads with her body to not respond, to not let Lorelei take everything, but as the Mississippi Queen continues to move inside her, the will collapses and Shea surrenders all, thrusting and moaning without regret. She was Lorelei's. Nothing could prevent that now.

"NUHHHHHAHHHH"

Within seconds, Shea's body burst, her honey flowing freely from between her legs drizzling over Lorelei's hand and coating her inner thighs. The tanned beauty's body tensed one final time then lost all rigidity. Every ounce of energy, will, and repute had been wrung from her by this bitch, forced to come in front of Ky's people and the cameras that would send her ordeal worldwide.

Slack, she could only sob and hope that Lorelei was done.

WINNER: Lorelei Butler