Jeanette felt more like she was getting ready to strip at Amnesia than to wrestle in a FAWN ring again. The ridiculous pink thong that Bethany forced her to wear was riding high between her flawlessly toned ass cheeks and low in front... so much so that she'd have been forced to do extensive work with razor and wax to keep the look clean... had Amnesia not already required such... grooming. Her full, heavy chest strained against the tiny, frilly pink top. She couldn't take more than a dozen steps without having to adjust the top. Either a nipple would peak over the top here, or a breast would drop out from underneath there. The one-time FAWN champ had no illusions about the possibility of such "equipment" surviving her return match. Nor did she have any illusions about the impossibly long, hard road she'd have to travel back to respectability.

Suddenly, it was time, as Bethany's hand-picked music beckoned her for her return.

"I like your pants around your feet
And I like the dirt that's on your knees
And I like the way you still say please
While you're looking up at me
You're like my favorite damn disease"

As the grinding strains of Nickelback play over the PA system, a resoundingly favorable ovation joins the tune, heralding the return of Jeanette Lansdale to the unfriendly embrace of the FAWN jungle. Twin pillars of white pyrotechnics explode at the top of the ramp as Jeanette steps out from the back and walks toward the ring. The butterflies in her stomach are evident as the stunning blonde seems to lack just a bit of the fluid grace her fans remembered. Jeanette's hair is free and flowing, out of its usual tight ponytail, her beautiful face set in a strained smile. She waves to the fans on her way down to the ring, posing seductively with her hands on her hips. The very embodiment of sexy athleticism, she leaps up on the ring and enters. Jeanette stretches in the ring, readying herself for combat. She seems a tad tentative as she prowls the squared circle, eyes darting as she stretches. She was in the throes of a losing streak of personally epic proportions. Brilliant in defeat against Portia, but defeated nonetheless; then game, but overmatched against Anciline, and humiliatingly pathetic against Miriam. Then life really laid the lumber to her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next chapter of her story.

The grinding strains of Nickelback abruptly transition into the jarring, almost industrial opening chords of Melanie C's "You Will See". A few moments later, Trish Lankford strides into view, the novice wrestler showing no signs of the nerves evident in her more experienced opposition.

And though Jeanette was certainly a polished physical specimen, the statuesque Aussie cuts an even more imposing frame. The taller blonde's flawless legs, sculpted by years of work on the grass, clay and hardcourts of the world, are left almost completely bare by a white tennis skirt only slightly more modest than Portia VanBuren's. And though her torso is covered by a matching warm up jacket, the power of her upper body radiates through, along with her overwhelming sense of confidence.

Reaching the ring, Lankford climbs onto the apron, and slips her warm-up bag off her shoulder before making her entrance. She takes but a moment to slide out of her jacket and skirt, the electric blue two piece bringing even more of her toned, defined body into view. Even with whatever she lacked in experience, she was in good enough shape that Jeanette could see her hands would be full.

Trish gave her opponent an appraising glance, smirking as she took in the veteran's uncharacteristic skimpy pink bikini. "Love the outfit," Trish purrs with a knowing smirk. "My compliments to your tailor."

As the bell rings, both blondes stride to the center, Trish with a look of supreme confidence, Jeanette purposeful, but with something less than the swagger of the former tennis star.

"Welcome back, sweetheart," Trish chides. "Why don't I remind you exactly where you stand in the new pecking order."

The tall beauty raises her hands, extending them slightly toward Jeanette. Lansdale realizes that, even in her prime, such a test of strength would be a dicey offer. Trish had height, weight, and now might even have conditioning. But something drives her arms upward, her competitive nature overcoming the doubts, if hesitantly.

"Come on. Come on," Trish implores, the two sets of digits finally interlocking.

Immediately, both sets of arms and shoulders tense, then entire sleek bodies, covered by scant square inches of cloth, seek the leverage they need. Within moments, perhaps predictably, it is Trish who garners the advantage. Jeanette's teeth clench in effort, but her wrists slowly roll back, arms descending under the power of her opponent, body faltering to a crouch as she tries to stay underneath her effort.

Realizing it is time to make good from bad, Jeanette rolls forward, out of her crouch, maintaining each grip, and when she pops back to her feet, she has turned the wrists to an inverted position. Now, it is Trish's turn to purse her lips, Jeanette sending a message 'This won't be as easy as you think'. Lankford's biceps quiver. She gazes incredulously at them, then at the former FAWN World Champion. The 'uh-oh' in her eyes is palatable.

Jeanette decides to make it more 'UNGHH' then 'uh-oh' with a knee lift to the gut that doubles the Aussie over. Lansdale follows with a knee to the chin that sends Trish's arms into pinwheel motion, her noggin whiplashing up, eyes wide. Jeanette reaches through Lankford's long limber legs as Trish struggles to maintain her feet. She scoops up the Amazon, but not without a tremble in her own muscular stems. She pushes Trish up to her shoulder and slams her back to the mat with authority. The effort didn't felt as seamless as it should have to Jeanette, but it seems to have the desired effect on Trish. Lankford's hand reaches to her lower back, her body arching in pain after an authoritative 'THWAP' on the canvas.

Sensing an opportunity to capitalize, Jeanette sends stomp after stomp to the base of Trish's spine. Each time the tall blonde attempts to rise or crawl away, Lansdale sends another foot crashing down upon her. Finally, grabbing Lankford's ankles, Jeanette spins to a reverse straddle of the former tennis star and sits down into a Boston Crab, the buxom blonde dishing out yet more punishment to Trish's curled spinal column. Momentarily, Jeanette makes it a single-leg variety as she adjusts her frilly, barely-there top back across a protruding aureole. She then slips the full version back into excruciating place, eliciting grunts and curses from her captive.

"How's about it, Trish?" the ref queries, between leering looks at the vast stretches of peaches-n-cream skin, briefly broken by the electric blue bikini that was Trish's trademark togs.

"Screw you," she huskily replies.

As if to accentuate the retort, she powers into a painful push-up off the mat that upsets Jeanette's balance, then uncoils her lengthy lower limbs, sending Jeanette stumbling forward; up, off, and down to hands and knees. Lansdale is unable to contain the shock from her expressive brown eyes. Fighting to the ropes is one thing, but powering out of a Crab, her Crab.

The busty Rocky Mountain beauty pushes to her feet and turns to Trish, the blonde wavering on one knee as she massages her lower back and grimaces from the effort. Trish's scowl grows wider when Jeanette grabs her by the hair and pulls her up. But a pointed elbow to Jeanette's impressive rack breaks the grip, again setting one of her tits free of its mooring. Trish wraps her right arm in an arc around her body and sends it hurtling into Jeanette, the knife thrust to the blonde's throat, sending a staggered Jeanette wheeling away in a wide arc, stumbling and gagging to the 'WOOOO' of the crowd.

Unfortunately for the former champ, she completes her trip all the way back to an awaiting Trish, whose right hand encircles Jeanette's throat, her left catching around Lansdale's right hip. With an ease that perhaps only Janneke Kaiser could match, Trish lifts a bug-eyed Jeanette clean off the canvas, Lansdale's head shaking wildly, her body seeming to tense in fearful expectation. Jeanette's anticipation is met, and perhaps several fold. Trish sends her plummeting to the deck with extreme prejudice, the buxom beauty's body somehow not going through the lightly-covered plywood, instead bouncing a full inch off the mat with a horrifying 'THWUMMP'.

Trish looks down appreciatively at the leftovers of her chokeslam. THAT was a good one. She'd caught all of an unsuspecting Jeanette and drove the wind clean out of her. The towering blonde plants a boot amidst Jeanette's hulking bosom, both blossoms now in view. Dominantly, she stands atop the spreadeagled Jeanette and calls for a distracted ref to do his job.

ONE

TWO

Through wide, blinking brown pools, Jeanette finds enough to meekly push a shoulder off the canvas and keep the match in doubt.

But alas, for Jeanette, there is no doubt to Trish's intentions. She yanks the former champ off the mat with a handful of hair and scoops between her legs, lifting Lansdale with ease. Genuflecting to one knee, the tall blonde drops Jeanette across the bony outcropping in a gut-wrenching stomachbreaker, Lansdale groaning and coughing after the deep probing impact into her tight tummy. Trish disdainfully pushes her foe off, as if the mewling Jeanette doesn't have the right to be in contact with her body. Pulling a play out of Bethany Christian's playbook, Trish hops into a double stomp of Jeanette's weakened, trembling midsection. She grinds her boots into a jackknifed and anguished Lansdale, Jeanette pushing uselessly at Trish's shins, then falling flat when Lankford takes her leave, stepping off the battered belly. Jeanette hugs her tummy, the Colorado native's tiny top having joined her cradling arms around her waist. A circling Trish picks the garment clean and offers it to the front row

She saunters back to a besieged Jeanette. Working quickly, she lifts Jeanette's legs and entwines her own between, twisting and shaping, then sitting out into a perfect Figure-Four scissors that swiftly has Jeanette expressing her displeasure. Her hearty chant of 'No. No. No.' slowly turns into sobbing mewls with an occasional shriek when Trish turns the screws. Through progressively blurring vision, Jeanette can see why Trish's effort is so very effective. The towering beauty has a hold of the ropes and is using them for extra leverage.

"REF!" she screams, pointing at the infraction, her voice cracking, as it feels her leg soon will be.

Trish does not hide her trickery, instead holding out for a final four seconds before releasing the ropes. But before Trish can release the hold, Jeanette uses the distraction to her benefit and manages to reverse the situation by rolling to her chest. Immediately, Trish tries to reclaim the ropes, but they are an inch out of her reach. Trish's hands fly to her own golden locks as Jeanette sends a pulse of pain down her stems.

"AHHHH. STAHHHP," Trish pleads, out of reflex more than expectation.

She reaches back to untie the knot, but it's far out of her reach. Sliding like a snail along her coating trail of sweat, Trish manages to make the ropes with one final shift. The ref calls for the break and Jeanette obliges, but only after four more seconds of torture.

Both women roll on the mat, grasping at their aching legs. Slowly, they make their feet and begin to circle, each looking for an opening. But as Trish shakes out in her neverending gams, it's clear to everyone, particularly Lankford, that Jeanette's condition is not as good. She is limping noticeably and is bent over, one arm hugging her belly, her breasts teardropping toward the canvas. As Trish closes the ground between them, the concern in Jeanette's face is clear. Lansdale throws up her hands in what could most accurately be described as a 'don't hurt me' defense. Trish simply snatches one of the proffered arms and pulls Jeanette into a knee to the gut that impales the flagging ex-champ.

Shooting an arm between Jeanette's legs, Trish again scoops up her foe, but this time makes a special example out of her. With one hand immersed in Jeanette's breasts and another clawing into her nether region, Trish pushes Jeanette farther skyward, up into the arena atmosphere with a Gorilla Press. Jeanette shrieks from the grasping digits and shakes her head wildly, knowing all too well what is to come. Liberating her fleshy barbell, Trish allows Jeanette to fall under gravity's pull and the buxom blonde plunges to earth from seven feet in the air, her chin and tender tits taking much of the explosive impact.

Feeling hope and indeed awareness starting to desert her opponent, Trish is quick to haul a slackening Jeanette up once more. Trish lifts what is now the world's most beautiful tackling dummy up across her shoulders and spins in ever-tightening circles. Finally reaching what is apparently the proper speed, Trish uses her 5'10" frame, the muscles therein, and the centrifugal force gathered, to send Jeanette soaring away, her tawny body spinning like a Frisbee until meeting its eventual mat-thumping, body-crunching, crowd-silencing destination. Seemingly no more than semiconscious, Jeanette manages to roll to her back, but can manage no more.

Trish takes a victory lap around the squared circle, arms raised. Returning to her rival, she flexes an upper arm and places a smooch on the slightly bulging bicep, then does likewise to the opposite arm, the crowd voicing their displeasure in rather stark terms. But the insults and cascade of boos will not slow Jeanette's demolition. Trish drags a limp, nearly liquid Lansdale to her feet and lifts her into Torture Rack position, but a sudden writhing desperation grips Jeanette and she slips out the back door. Ignoring her throbbing knee, aching belly and back, and lightheadedness, the busty beauty reaches up and corals Trish's head from behind, snaking an arm around her neck and slipping another beside her temple. With the sleeper hold locked in, but unable to wrestle Trish off her feet, Jeanette climbs aboard, swinging her legs around Trish's midsection in a scissors. Clamping on like a dog with a bone, Jeanette's biceps do some flexing of their own, seeking to cut off the blood supply to the ex-tennis phenom's brain. Knowing the deathly serious position in which she's been placed, Trish panics into survival mode, flailing wildly, dancing drunkenly around the ring, searching desperately for a way to pry the bitch off. But this is not a tiny LeBlanc or Delgado to peel off like a breezy button-down shirt. Jeanette feels like a straightjacket and Trish's vision starts to cloud, pinpricks of darkness seeping in.

Knowing she has mere moments before her knees will buckle, Trish stumbles back into a set of buckles, throwing herself and her rider harshly into the corner, sandwiching Jeanette between. A gust of breath brushes against her cheek and the grip against her carotid loosens. Trish leans forward and drops back again... and again, Jeanette emitting guttural grunts, her arms now no more than loosely draping Trish's features. Lankford pushes the lifeless arms away, shakes out more than a few cobwebs and turns, in stages, to face Jeanette, keeping a set of fingers around the nearby ropes to assure she does not collapse.

A topless Jeanette endures a potent straight right to one breast, the blow cruelly flattening tissue to breastbone, a left quickly follows to the other, the mammaries providing too inviting a target for a peeved Trish to let sit idle. But after the punishment, it was back to business.

Lifting Jeanette from under the arms, Trish places her across the top buckle, as if she's the main course of a holiday meal. The tall blonde carves into the belly meat with a double axhandle that jackknifes Jeanette, if only for a moment, her body falling horizontal once more. Trish pushes Lansdale's head off the ropes, Jeanette's upper body dropping toward the mat, while Lankford secures her legs over the top rope and under the middle with a dip and tuck of her boot tips. With as much energy as remained, Jeanette tries to free herself from the Tree of Woe, but the useless thrashing is quickly curbed by a nasty boot choke. A bound and upside-down Jeanette desperately grasps at Trish's ankle, the electric blue boot effectively collapsing her windpipe. With Jeanette's face turning the shade of a cherry, the ref finally starts his count, Trish relenting at four. The man steps toward Jeanette to free her, but Trish intercedes.

"I put her in. I'll get her out."

"Nuuhhh," Jeanette whimpers, arms flaccid and hanging, the back of her hands curling against the canvas.

Trish climbs up the ropes on either side of Jeanette and the corner. From the middle set, she steps between the spread legs of Lansdale. Far from delicate, Trish makes the stomp as if she's trying to stamp out a fire, slamming her boot down onto the unprotected pussy. Up and down the leg pistons, thumping with incredible force into the crotch until Jeanette's eyes roll over white.

"Out. GET OUT," Trish shouts, facetious in her frustration over not 'being able' to get Jeanette free. Finally satisfied with Jeanette's condition, she effortlessly untucks Lansdale's boots and the buxom blonde's legs flop over her body, her ass cheeks and the pink string between, pointing to the rafters. Trish leaps down beside her, an evil smile curling the corners of her lips. She rips the rag doll to her feet.

"Looks like you've had enough," Trish whispers. She gets no response. "No. Make that way too much... of me."

With that, Trish grasps Jeanette around the throat with her right hand and gathers her under the glutes with the left. Lifting easily, she spins and carries Jeanette's deadweight to the center of the ring.

"Time to finish," she grunts, lifting Jeanette a few inches higher still, then following through from her chokelift to a sit-out powerbomb, Trish nearly sending her cargo through the mat.

Jeanette's body twitches after the thundering impact and falls still, her body starfished between the tall blonde's long luscious legs, Jeanette's own muscular stems draped lifelessly over those of Lankford. Rolling up, Trish matchbooks her foe's legs atop her upper body and sits on the back of Lansdale's knees. Folded like a suitcase and providing Trish her throne of victory, an unconscious Jeanette accepts her place and her defeat without so much as a shudder.

ONE. TWO. THREE.

The ref grabs Trish's wrist and holds it high, Lankford still lounging atop the doubled Jeanette. The PA chimes in behind.

"YOUR WINNER... BY PINFALL... TRISH LANKFORD." With Trish's right hand raised high, her left buries into the upturned crotch behind her. The blonde rips Jeanette's covering free and waves it high to the disapproval of the disappointed gathering. Rising from her seat, she lets Jeanette's bruised body unfold, flopping like a sprung trap then falling still, eyelids fluttering, lips parted, pink tongue poking its tip into view.

"You know," Trish shouts, "let's put this floss where it really belongs."

Dropping to one knee, she stuffs the sweaty thong into Jeanette's mouth. Lansdale gags for a moment, but even this obstruction does not raise her from slumber, so deep it is.

Rising to her feet, Trish plants a boot on Jeanette's softly undulating belly and raises both arms then points at Lansdale with one.

"This is what an ex-champ looks like," Trish bellows.

She then sensually runs her hands up and down her glistening body.

"And this is what a future champ looks like."

WINNER: Trish Lankford