The FAWNtron flickers from highlights of the last fateful moments of the previous match to the inside of a Cancun penthouse. The crowd roars to life. They may be disappointed to not have the Television Title match in living color in front of them, but a quick array of four separate camera angles assuage them.

Only the cream of FAWN backers are in attendance in the designated apartment, along with some close personal associates of Bethany Christian, the camera crews, a few grips, and medical personnel.

For those at the beachside ring, Rage Against the Machine's "Killing in the Name of" blares through the speakers and the crowd reacts, but back in the penthouse, there is no fanfare, just a cue for the challenger. Bethany Christian, in a far back corner, schmoozing a sponsor, steps all over union rules and announces the entry into her 'wrestling space'

"Ladies and Gentleman, winner of the Fatal Four-Way and contender for our TV Title, Juliet Bloodwind."

Tempe's Native American temptress, Juliet Bloodwind, emerges from an anteroom. The pigtailed Juliet looks uncomfortable with her surroundings, but moves to the middle of the 'clearing', her imitation deerskin string bikini leaving very little to the imagination, her usual footwear gone on this occasion. She ignores the glitterati and gets accustomed to the set-up. Two sturdy stucco walls close off half of the 'ring'. On one hangs a large plasma monitor showing Juliet in endless iterations. The other half opens into the remainder of the apartment, but is closed from those assembled by a long sofa, a dinner table and black leather chair on one side, by a low coffee table and an oddly placed brass bed on the other.

Juliet eyes the bed with suspicion. Bethany always played all the angles. But the only work that furniture was going to see was DeCyr going night-night and her claiming the championship.

Bethany clears her throat, drawing everyone's attention.

"And our Television Champion, easily the greatest ever, from the center of European civilization, the beautiful, distinguished, and indomitable Anciline DeCyr.

The dirty blonde enters from a cordoned bedroom of her own, strolling comfortably, also barefoot, to within a few feet of her prey. Anciline, garbed in ornate black-and-silver lingerie reminiscent of Old World 19th Century style, but cut to even more lascivious 21st Century tastes, stakes her territory with a condescending smirk, the Television belt draped over her left shoulder. DeCyr hands over the hardware to a lackey with a menacing 'don't dare scuff this' look. Juliet gazes at the gold longingly.

"This is not a shiny bead, savage," Anciline says, grabbing Juliet's increasingly angry stare. "I will not be trading with you for your home. I will simply make you wish you had never left there."

"In case you weren't noticing," Juliet responds, "I almost beat you last time and you can bet whatever you call that contrived heritage of yours that you won't have that belt later tonight."

Anciline growls, that one had hit home, her normally controlled emotions bursting through. She snatches Juliet's pigtails, not waiting for a bell, if there was to be one, and pushes a startled Bloodwind back to the cream-colored stucco.

"WHAM."

Using Juliet's raven 'hair handles', Anciline slams the back of her head into the wall. ONCE. TWICE. THRICE. Released, a wide-eyed Juliet shakes her head, unsteadily leaning against the wall to keep her balance, only to lose it when DeCyr drives a knee into the small patch of faux deerskin covering the tawny beauty's crotch. Juliet sinks to one knee, kept there only by a quivering grip of Anciline's ivory thigh, Juliet moaning as her free hand drops to her bruised sweetmeat.

DeCyr retrieves Juliet from the carpet with a disdainful scowl, pulling her to her feet. She swallows the Arizonan up in an engulfing front bearhug and shows off power many continued to underestimate, despite her unprecedented championship run. Pulling Bloodwind close and cinching the hug, Anciline adjusts Juliet's spine with a harsh flex of her biceps, Juliet's head falling back, her legs grapevining around DeCyr's. The tawny beauty shakes her head mumbling in the negative. But the incoherent babbling is brought to an instantaneous end when Anciline lifts the beautiful Native American/French mix and deposits her on bended knee with an inverted Atomic Drop. Bloodwind skooches off the inserted joint, her face contorted, lips silently roundeed, knees knocking. DeCyr, a technical genius, is letting Juliet know she's in over her head or at least up to the lower portion of her waistline. The delectable Bloodwind could be renamed 'Sitting Duck" in her statue-like condition and Anciline takes advantage with a vicious shortarm clothesline that decks the tawny warrior.

DeCyr drops to the carpet beside Juliet, the black lace of a garter-pinned stocking sliding under Juliet, Bloodwind having rolled to her side. Having previously swallowed Juliet's tenderized midriff with her arms, she does so with her legs, the black sheen of calves and knees joined by the ivory muscle of thighs, surrounding Juliet's middle above either hip, then rotating her body so the squeezing can commence in earnest against flat tormented tummy and arching back.

"Paisan, you are not in with fellow scum," Aniciline boasts. "One of me is worth much more than four of you and your like."

DeCyr grits her teeth as she pours more pressure and power into her legs, breaking down Juliet's abdomen, chirpy grunts escaping the Arizonan's lips as Aniciline forces then rests, forces and rests, Juliet prying uselessly at the steel trap. But Anciline's control is not yet complete. Using her questionable ethical standards and her apartment wrestling background to full effect, DeCyr grabs the cord of a garish floor lamp and pulls it free from the socket. Grabbing an arm to pull Juliet's upper body closer, she nimbly wraps the wire around Juliet's throat and pulls it tight, Bloodwind immediately gasping and gagging. Anciline controls Juliet's flailing body like a master, placidly focusing on collapsing her windpipe while avoiding jerking legs and arms. Juliet's panic-stricken face turns rosy, dark eyes popping, a line of drool dripping from the corner of her mouth when it seems Anciline becomes bored with the status quo, wordlessly releasing her garrote and disengaging from her scissors. She climbs to her feet and brings a gurgling Juliet with her.

The champ lifts Juliet into a stalled suplex position, as if she were a feather from an Indian headdress. Delighting in her control, she turns to the audience and Bethany, favors them with a superior affirmation and drops Juliet to the floor Northern Lights-style. The back of the Tempe Temptress arches in agony after hitting its unforgiving home.

Anciline rises in front of Juliet and again turns to the crowd letting them know Juliet's place with a silent but telling 'this is all she is' look.

For her part, Juliet pushes to an elbowr and lets the Frenchwoman know that is not all she is. Lurching from her spot on the carpet, she drives a forearm between DeCyr's legs, finding black satin panty and the tender tissue beneath.

As Anciline offers the stunned attendees a completely different expression, her blue-gray eyes watering, mouth wide, legs nearly buckling, Juliet takes a moment to catch her breath and massage her still reddened neck. She climbs to her feet in stages, though rapid ones, and rakes her nails down Anciline's supple ivory back, leaving ten pink trails for Anci to remember her by.

Collecting Anciline's head in a side lock, Juliet races forward the few steps she has available. But instead of bulldogging DeCyr to the mat, she hops off the carpet and into the fast approaching wall. Slender, but muscular legs spring closed then open, as she pushes away and lands an apartment-style springboard bulldog. With Anciline still struggling weakly within her grasp, Juliet rises and repeats. However, this time, instead of bouncing to meet the wall with her legs, she simply cuts out the need the go horizontal and bulldogs DeCyr's head battering-ram style into the stucco.

Anciline drops to her well-padded backside, a look of considerable vacancy in her eyes. Still, she pushes against the floor, trying her best to respond to this change in fortunes. She gets to her feet and spins to locate Juliet only to find her with a painting extended over her head. The two-foot by three-foot impressionist work is a calm pastoral scene, but it is used in a not so calming fashion, Juliet sending it crashing down over the aristocrat's skull, Bloodwind bringing canvas into this apartment-style match for the first time. DeCyr's head splits through the artwork, her noble braincase now framed by the Arizona upstart.

Juliet pushes a stunned, wobbling champion to the floor and joins her, sliding her sleek tawny stems around Anciline's head, despite weak struggles to prevent her. Shifting DeCyr's head further up her legs, like a croc consuming its meal, Juliet soon has Anciline's head deep within the uppermost reaches of her thighs, the Frenchwoman's face tucked tightly against the deerskin she had such fun in battering earlier. With Anciline's arms on the other side of her framing, she could not even reach to free herself. A DeCyr house divided could not defend itself and she weakly squirms, well-trapped within the pressure cooker, the Tempe Temptress occasionally eliciting a pained grunt from her foe when she bares down. After a minute's worth of effort, Anciline's eyelids flutter, her visage damp from sweat and pink from pressure, grows sluggish, but she seems no closer to surrender as Juliet's legs feel a cramp. With Anci shopworn, there are other ways to cause damage that would let her legs recover. Juliet releases her scissors. She pushes to her feet and, with a grip on Anciline's frame, pulls her up as well.

"There you are," Juliet says, holding up her own border with extended thumbs and forefingers, "the perfect picture of an EX-champion."

Fashioning a Russian legsweep around the wooden and canvas impediment, Juliet sends DeCy crashing to the carpet and crashing through the frame, the back of her head cracking violently against the lightly-padded surface. There Anciline lays, unmoving. Bloodwind searches for an arbiter of some kind to decide if Anciline has been KOd, but as Bethany inches toward the edge of her seat, the champion stirs. Juliet hops up, standing at the aristocrat's feet, considering her next move, when Anciline makes it for her, her foot flying upward with a familiar target in mind. But this time, Juliet reacts just as quickly, blocking then seizing DeCyr's leg around the ankle.

Dragging Anciline along the coarse carpet, almost cavewoman-style, Bloodwind moves to the long sofa, some sort of cream-colored cloth affair that was surely worth as much as the destroyed artwork. Keeping the ankle in her possession, Juliet climbs on the couch, drapes Anciline's leg over the front edge of the furniture, and jumps off in reverse, her backside landing across DeCyr's knee. Anciline curses in pain, the French expletives flying more freely when Juliet replicates the process a couple more times.

Juliet, perhaps getting greedy, goes up for another, but this time DeCyr sends her free leg up with her captured one, lodges it between the butt cheeks of the Tempe Temptress, and sends Juliet flying forward instead of back, Bloodwind losing her grip on Anci's other ankle and partially flopping over the back of the sofa, her upper body draped behind, pigtails brushing against the floor below, tight little golden derriere pointed to the ceiling. Juliet tries to reel herself back in, but another boot to the backside sends her tumbling over, where a quickly recovering champ soon joins her, landing an elbow to Bloodwind's sternum when she drops off the sofa.

Both women huff and puff next to each other, gasping for their second wind and it's the slightly limping Anciline who makes her feet first. She pulls Juliet up with the help of some raven locks and whips her into the back of the couch. The tawny beauty's spine dissected, she lays bent back in a gruesome curvature, groaning with each breath. Scooping up her feet, Anciline pushes her parallel and rolls her over to the seat surface, face-down. The Frenchwoman climbs to the top of the backrest, steadies for a moment then splashes on top, full body-style. The cushions muffle a deep grunt from Juliet, who turns her head to find air. But Anciline grasps complete control when she slips her arms under those of the Native American and slides them behind her neck, fingers interlocking in a full nelson. After yanking Juliet's neck back, the Arizonan's arms rising as part of the deal, DeCyr slams her head forward. The softened blow is not telling, but Juliet's beautiful features are now hidden amongst the cushions. As the seconds pass and the inscrutable Anciline rides her furiously bucking filly, it becomes clear a smother job is at work. Reaching a minute, with her opposition apparently put to sleep, DeCyr releases her hold. She motions for Bethany to attend, but as the boss does, Juliet coughs back to life, her head turning and finding much needed oxygen. Anciline, appearing somewhat perturbed at the fortitude of her defeated opponent, takes a seat on the back of Juliet, Bloodwind's spine once again bowed forward, painfully so when the champ scoops an arm under Juliet on either side and lifts, curling her in an ingenious, tortuous bow-and-arrow.

Juliet bites one of the pillows, trying to send the anguish somewhere, but when Anci lets her lower body drop and instead reaches between her legs to claw at the ravaged remnants of what Dirty Cathy had left, the wails fly without reservation.

"NOOOO. NAW GAWWWD"

Anciline flexes her digits, the thin deerskin sheath providing little protection. Quickly, however, with her lower body freed and with the added motivation, Juliet slips out from under Anci's seat.

Upon the melting Juliet within a split second, Anciline pulls the flagging challenger into a tight, wrenching front facelock. The dirty blonde nobility tries to lift Juliet up for a suplex, but Bloodwind blocks, grapevining a leg around one of DeCyr's. Defense becomes offense with a knee lift to Anciline's lower abdomen, then another, lower still, allows Juliet to readily reverse out of the facelock and spin into a side headlock of her own, the color draining from the Frenchwoman's face with the devilishly low blow.

With Anciline incapacitated, Juliet races forward with DeCyr in tow and again gracefully executes the modified springboard bulldog to perfection, planting the champ's head with definitive authority. A buzz travels through the room as the denizens realize Anciline is spreadeagled, face down, unmoving, and in trouble. Another Bloodwind upset seems brewing. Even Juliet is feeling the good times, so much so that she spots a large pitcher of water on the coffee table and takes an enormous swig, spilling some down her front to the enjoyment of many. Another pitcher, this of margaritas, sits next to the water. Juliet gathers it up, but not for refreshment. She rolls a semi-conscious Anciline to her back with a push of her tootsies, lifts the pitcher high over the champ's head and, with a smirking Bethany gazing with glee, she dumps the sticky, icy mixture on Anciline's face, chest, and junk, bringing the dirty blonde aristocrat back to Cancun and consciousness with a shrieking squeal.

DeCyr, for several seconds, mightily confused as to her surroundings, shivers, as she shakes off the green, frosty concoction, wiping her eyes clear, blowing some out of her nose and shaking her body to rid herself of more, but definitely not all.

"Wha... I... wha?"

"I know," Juliet chides with a Cheshire grin, "you prefer cognac, but they didn't have any."

The VIPS are stunned. Who is this confident, almost cocky Bloodwind taking it to a champ widely debated as more fearsome than the World Champion. As far as Juliet is concerned, they are about to find out. She forces a staggering Anciline to her feet and slips an arm between DeCyr's legs. Shifting her weight and heaving with a guttural 'ummph', Juliet has Anciline up for a slam, but instead of depositing her in the remains of the pitcher, the raven-haired beauty tosses her into the black leather recliner, Anci landing ass over tea kettle, her feet and calves dangling over the top, arms draping over the side.

Juliet smiles mischievously and immediately everyone in the room is a mind-reader, Bethany even whispering an inaudible 'do it'. Whether on her own, or guided by Bethany's wish, Juliet takes a seat on Anciline's wide-eyed face, the champ muttering some French curse before the universal language "mmmppphhh" is all that can be heard from betwixt the Native American/French beauty's moist but progressively cooling, sticky undercarriage. Anciline thrashes for an escape, but the challenger is in the catbird seat, Juliet even getting so bold as to rub her barely covered pussy forward and back over the features of the gasping DeCyr, the fan favorite surprised at how good it feels, both physically and psychologically.

As she revels in the delightful nuances of brow, eyes, and nose; lips and chin; Juliet doesn't notice that Anciline's spastic heaves get the chair rocking and one final grunt-inducing shift sends the chair over backwards, both women spilling out, like the contents of a warm pitcher of scantily-clad women. Both women, disheveled and smarting, try to push to their feet, but while Juliet is slow to rise, Anciline's arms shudder and fail, the dirty blonde falling back to the floor. The major players, promoters, and sponsors, there at Bethnay's special invite, buzz excitedly. When did DeCyr ever look in such dire straits? The Tempe Temptress picks up the pale beauty and tosses her over the fallen chair, Anciline tripping over the furnishing, cracking her chin on a slender section of hardwood hallway.

Juliet hops over the chair in hot pursuit and collects the flagging Frenchwoman, again yanking her to unsteady feet with a tight grip on her wrist. Turning her body, Bloodwind gets a little extra buggy in her whip and sends Anciline rocketing into the wall, her forehead and distinguished patrician features taking the brunt of the fierce collision, a slight indentation left where French beauty meets Spanish interior. A stumbling Anciline turns toward whence she came. Blue-gray eyes vacant, she takes a wild swing and a miss, tries to collect her wobbling form and consciousness, before dramatically flopping face-first to the carpet.

The crowd can scarcely believe their eyes, even less so when Juliet rolls DeCyr to her back, scoops an arm under DeCyr's neck and lifts her into a dragon sleeper, Anciline trying to fight her way free of the scrappy underdog, but unable. Certainly the strongest will, perhaps the strongest mind, some even said the strongest body, all are collapsing under the scalding onslaught of the Arizona firebird. Bloodwind still controlling, forces Anci to crabwalk with her toward the edge of the 'ring'. Juliet measures, raises her free arm in a signal of the destruction, then makes it happen with a Scorpion Death Drop onto the edge of the hardwood coffee table. Anciline's neck is savagely driven against the frame, her head whiplashing forward after the brutal impact. Juliet casually releases and Anciline slumps forward, chin to considerable chest, her champion's body flaccid, arms at her side.

Still, Juliet knows enough to realize this woman in particular is not finished. With an arm under her shoulderblades and another scooping her legs at the knee, Julie cradles the curvy, ivory frame of Anciline in her arms, then tosses it up as far as she can, the Frenchwoman slamming hard against the unforgiving oak, her body losing the battle with the sturdy timber. Lying spreadeagled on her back and unmoving, save the swell of endowed chest, the flutter of eyelids, and the soft burble of pouting lips, Anciline tries to find some form of locomotion through the thickening daze. But it is Juliet, once more, finding the way, propelling her body, leaping onto the lofty down mattress of the brass bed and spectacularly moonsaulting in an astonishing version of the Bloodhawk Drive that leaves the attendees in astonishment at Juliet's coming out party. It was the move of a superstar and it left the one beneath Juliet unable to fight this force of nature any longer. The Queen releases a breathy sigh and seems ready to accept her fate.

Juliet slaps the table once, twice, thrice. She stands and motions to Anciline's deadweight. Bethany is ready to break in, but Juliet holds up a hand.

"I know, boss. Just trying to make a point before my final one."

With that, Juliet scoops Anciline off the table and moves her to the billowing bed, plopping the barely conscious DeCyr down and tucking her legs under the tight covers. Feeling an uncomfortable metal clip of her hip, Juliet finds an indispensable playtime toy, a pair of handcuffs. In an instant, the raven-haired, pig-tailed beauty has Anciline's left wrist cuffed and quickly the companion is around one of the bars of the ornate brass headboard. Pausing to catch her breath, a smile blossoms on Juliet's soft features. It is one of mischief. Seeing the space between the brass bars are of just the right width, Juliet grabs Anci by either nape and squeezes her head through... just... DeCyr squealing back to life, as her crown and temples, ears and cheeks, are momentarily compacted, Juliet forcing the round peg through the keyhole.

For a split-second, Anciline tries to press her way out, but feels one arm secured, up and away. In any case, the way out is much more difficult and painful than the way in. The champion screams in frustration. The savage had trapped her. And quickly, 'the savage' shows Anciline, she means to do more.

Pulling Anciline's legs from under the covers, Juliet kneels between the blonde's thighs spreading them wide.

"You can blame Dirty Cathy for this one," Juliet snaps. "I need to convince you of something and she showed me how convincing these can be."

"Jamais," Anciline hisses defiantly, her head swinging one way then the other, her left arm clanging the cuffs against the brass frame.

Juliet slips her fingers beneath Anciline's lingerie, forgoing any squeamishness that might have kept her claw on the outside of the satin. Slowly, she curls her fingers, sweat collecting on the champion's brow as her defiance falters ever-so-slightly.

"Animal," she shouts, raising her head to see Juliet teasing her with a tickle. But the insult does not sit kindly with Bloodwind and she tears her talons into the soft, malleable French pastry, scraping and squeezing, pinching and yes, thrusting, moving part of the deadly grasp inside. That was how Cathy had forced her capitulation, Juliet only being saved by the ropes.

And, after holding on for ten, fifteen seconds of throaty chirps and grunts, Anciline wails in anguish.

She could not lose to this peasant... hold on... .uhhhhh... .hold... not to this savage... AHHHHH, but what... what... could... no escape.

Juliet tenses her digits closed, her fingers nearly meeting her palm, a handful of Anci's royal pussy between.

"NONNNNAHHHHH"

Unable to deny Juliet her victory any longer, DeCyr taps on the bed with her free hand in wild abandon, but Juliet does not release her throttling grip.

"J'ai stoppe. J'AI STOPPE," Anciline cries, the pain blinding her to anything but the wish for relief.

Bloodwind, well-versed in her mother's tongue, realizes the champion has surrendered. Giving the blonde one final brutal twist, she releases her grip, DeCyr's body, tensed in almost a rigor state, falls limp, Anciline simpering as she tends to her ravaged sex.

Juliet, feeling a tap on her shoulder, turns for another attack. It is Bethany, not with cocked fist, but with ten pounds of gold and leather.

"Someday, you're going to regret winning," the boss warns, "BUT not today."

Bethany motions Juliet to turn which, still kneeling on the bed, she does. The FAWN CEO slips the Television Title belt around Juliet's flat, golden-brown tummy and straps it in back.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your new FAWN Television Champion... Juliet Bloodwind."

The Tempe Temptress raises her hands, ecstatic. All of the work, all of the struggles, they'd paid off like she could have never dreamed.

A boiling Anciline, having watched her title and hardware say au revoir, uses the anger to momentarily disregard her pain.

"Off me, half-breed," she shouts, staring murderously at Juliet then gazing pleadingly at Bethany for assistance.

The boss shrugs. People that let her down deserved what they got and what Juliet now had in her eyes was not good to get. The Native American/French knockout slides down atop Anciline in a full body pin.

"This is for Krystal, and me, but most especially a woman who will always be better than you... Shea London."

Before Anciline could retort, Juliet cups her bosom forward and swallows noble nose and mouth under a desert dune of succulent flesh, DeCyr spitting an sputtering, trying to keep the cleavage at bay until she can no longer. Unwilling to loose her breasts from their confinement to garner the full effect of her considerably shortened Maginot Line, Juliet lets the seconds of humiliating control be her reward before rising off a greasy-faced Anciline.

"You can go now, Anci. Say hi to Domi at the back of the line."

WINNER, and NEW FAWN TELEVISION CHAMPION: JULIET BLOODWIND