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: "IF YOU NEED ANY HELP DEFLATING THE BLOW UP DOLL TONIGHT, SHEA, I GOT A NEEDLE FOR YOU!"

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.

This was beyond big. Beating Portia had gotten a lot of people talking, and impressed a fair few. But even still, there were whispers. "Portia wasn't Portia." "She was hurt, and rusty. Shea was just in the right place at the right time."

Holly, meanwhile, had never gone anywhere. Holly had no rust, and was still at the very top of her game--game good enough for some to consider her FAWN's best ever champion. A victory over her would go a long way in shutting the mouths of those still skeptical of Shea's prospects in FAWN.

This was beyond big. It was monumental. And it would require every ounce of Shea's fighting spirit to be up to the task. Fortunately, she was prepared to give every ounce--and more, if necessary.

Suddenly, A HUGE T&A pop resounds through the crowd as "Milkshake" by Kelis begins to play and Holly Hotbody steps from behind the curtains. Holly wears a red, satin, bikini top, barely containing her ample cleavage, and red, satin, thong. On the back of the thong is written the words "Caution: Extremely Hot". She completes the look with red, vinyl, knee-length, platform boots. Her auburn hair falls straight down her back. She surveys the crowd and performs a bump and grind, getting a favorable reaction from the men. Pleased, she saunters to ringside, a smirk on her face, barely paying attention to the fans.

Holly gingerly walks up the ringside stairs before making a show of seductively entering the ring through the top and middle ropes, the crowd catcalling and whistling. The seductress mounts the second turnbuckles and runs her hands along her sexy figure. She then hops down and blows a kiss to the fans.

The welcome to her fellow competitor is not so loving, as Holly flips Shea the bird and struts to her with attitude and then some, her knee-high boots made for walking and, among other things, kicking Shea's ass. London, far from backing down, meets her in the middle of the ring. The ref hurriedly motions for the bell and receives a clanging answer to his request.

"I have a little message from Tiffany for you," Holly says.

Shea waits for the barbed slur, but instead receives a slap to the face that spins her 90 degrees. London returns with a look of composed anger.

"An' I... "

Holly holds up an index finger.

"Nina has one, too," Holly interrupts.

'THWAP'

A backhand blow twists Shea in the opposite direction.

"And this one's a personal gift from me," Hotbody continues.

A balled fist sweeps in from the right to put an emphatic exclamation point on the trifecta, but Shea ducks the punch. The British Bombshell pivots on her right foot and sends a spin kick deep into Holly's flat, tawny midsection, doubling over the vision in red. Moving with a speed and efficiency few could match, Shea sets Hotbody up for a Rocker Dropper and the leg-driven bulldog facecrusher sends Holly's flawless features SPLAT to the mat.

It's early, but Shea realizes she's hit the spot perfectly, Holly's sparkling blue eyes vacant.

" 'ows 'at fer a message," Sheas chides.

She rolls a stunned Holly to her back and hooks a leg.

ONE

TWO

Holly kicks out, shifting to her side and shaking out some cobwebs. So much for a psychological advantage. The calling cards of her Sisters fall flat. Now, Holly just wants to find some breathing room, but Shea will have none of it, pulling Hotbody to her feet with a yank of her wrist. Shea attempts to whip Holly for the ride, but the Latina sensation reverses and it's London rocketing to the ropes. When London returns, Holly lifts for a side slam, but the former exotic dancer can't fully control the Brit's momentum and Shea whips around Holly's body, flipping Hotbody violently to the canvas with a tilt-a-whirl headscissors takedown. Keeping the pressure on, Shea kips to her feet and collects the woozy Holly.

The blonde buggywhips her fellow former World Champ to the far corner, Holly's back driven harshly into the lightly-padded buckles. Slumping slightly, Holly's left hand trails to the base of her spine, her eyelids clenching. As usual, it's a bad idea to take your eyes off the veteran. Proving the point, Shea races into a tumbling run from the opposite corner and ends the show with a crowd-pleasing handspring elbow that finds the cleft of Holly's considerable cleavage. Holly grunts her displeasure, even moreso when Shea corrals her noggin in a side headlock and wrenches away. The nasty transition changes into a headlong sprint to the far ropes by Shea, Holly in tow beside her. London lifts off, her sleek tawny legs folding into the top rope and pushing away. But before Shea can complete the springboard bulldog, Holly loosens her grip and tosses Shea off, the Brit landing hard on her back and bum.

Holly moves to a wincing Shea, grabbing a handful of her dirty blonde locks, but as she does, Shea grabs an arm and pulls Holly to the mat, rolling her up in a small package.

ONE

TWO

Holly forces her way out of the tangle JUST in time, shouting to the ref about cheating as she scrambles to her feet. But the auburn-haired beauty finds her shoe leather a tick after Shea and London drops Holly to the mat with a pinpoint dropkick that catches Hotbody on the tip of her chin. Just as determined, but slightly more slowly, Holly pushes up, only to be met with the same fate, Shea keeping her opposite number grounded with a whiplashing dropkick, the blow striking flush on Holly's cheek.

With the crowd going bananas and Shea as a hot as a steak-and-kidney pie right out of the oven, Holly rolls under the bottom ropes for a much-needed timeout. Dropping to the floor, Holly weaves drunkenly, massaging her jaw, waving her free hand in the air to the crowd, letting them know Shea had done no real damage. From their roar, either the crowd isn't buying or something is happening. Holly turns to see what has captivated them and is presented with a faceful of Shea's lower abdomen. London, having hopped to the top rope, springboards into a suicide leap, a wicked and wild version of the Thesz press that Lou could have never imagined. The back of Holly's head smacks hard against the thinly-padded cement. A rain of blows from London doesn't help the ex-stripper's situation, Hotbody desperately trying to ward off the balled digits, but only partially successfully. Holly pleads with the ref to peel Shea off, perhaps realizing the Brit's reputation and her success against Tiffany did have some basis in fact.

Shea complies with the official's request to bring the match back into the ring. She ceases her barrage and pulls a bewildered Holly to her feet. Then, with a glittering, satisfied smile, she flings Holly into the squared circle, Hotbody's luscious but increasingly bruised form barrelrolling to a stop on her back, eyes glassy, legs vaguely trying to push her somewhere, but without success.

Sensing an opportunity, Shea does not slide in behind, but instead hops to the apron and eagerly clambers up a set of buckles. The crowd pops big-time as she moves from middle buckle to top, not knowing what's to come, but knowing they are about to see Shea' famed aerial magic. Measuring the distance to Holly as she climbs, London turns her back to the ring, crouches slightly and leaps, her slinky form flipping back in a wide arc, reaching the famed skyscraping altitude. But while the flight of the moonsault is beautiful and breathtaking, the landing is something else. Holly, though woozy, remains wily enough to lift her knees and Shea impales herself, the joints driving into the tawny plain of the Brit's midsection. Disaster is averted for Holly. Shea has seemingly brought it upon herself.

Both women roll on the canvas trying to recover. Holly moves side to side as she tries to gather her wits, Shea into a ball as she hugs her battered belly, dark eyes wide, sucking in great inhales as she tries to find her wind. The competing fanbases urge their favorite to respond and it is Holly who finds the wherewithal to push to hands and knees, crawling to Shea. Her foe's tummy protected by swaddling arms, Holly rises to her knees and drives home a double axhandle to Shea's breastbone, the blow dissecting London's perky bosom. Shea's eyes widen further still, then roll back slightly, before returning from tilt.

Holly, now on one knee, pulls Shea to her feet as she rises. The auburn-haired hottie tries to whip Shea, but the gritty London reverses, sending a startled Holly racing to the ropes. She sprints back to an awaiting Shea who lifts Holly with bad intentions, but is unable to make them come to fruition. This time it is Holly who uses her momentum to change destiny's course, wrapping completely around her foe, coming out the opposite side, then swiftly and violently planting Shea's head to the canvas with an astonishing tilt-a-whirl DDT. London spasms up to her knees with a fierce tremor then falls flat, legs spread, arms limp at her sides, palms upturned.

"Now that's more of a position you're accustomed to," Holly says, pushing down on Shea's slightly elevated butt cheeks with her red leather knee-high. "Time to show the Sisters what I can do AND what I can do with you."

Holly snatches Shea off the mat with a handful of hair, London swaying in her grip barely able to remain upright. Holly sends her to the ropes and, on her return, Hotbody leaps into Shea, her legs flying forward, around either side of the Brit's head. Falling back, Holly flips Shea over in a hurricarana, finishing on top of the dizzied London in a schoolgirl press.

TWO

SHOULDER UP.

Holly cocks a fist. But just as she is ready to throw, Shea bucks her up and off, Holly falling forward, her crotch trailing over Shea's features, letting the Brit sneak out the back door. Both women scramble to their feet, Holly's eyes widening at Shea's resilience. But London's charge is still somewhat shaky and Holly drops her to the mat with a Mexican armdrag. Shea tries again, but is a victim of the same maneuver, Holly showing the crowd she can match Shea in a show of tactician's talent. A loopy London wobbles drunkenly as she pulls herself up with the help of the ropes. She leans into the strands for a moment to collect her thoughts and balance. She turns to find her foe and is met with a superkick from Holly, her platform boot smashing into Shea's temple, sending FAWN's first champion flying over the ropes, clipping the apron on her way to the floor below.

Holly celebrates within the ring, providing the FAWN fanatics with her specialty, a sensual bump-and-grind that has the mouths of the males, and some females, watering. On the outside, Shea struggles to her feet. She leans back against the apron trying to focus on the screaming fans in front of her.

Racing across the ring, Holly baseball slides under the bottom rope nailing Shea, her boots slamming into London's spine. Shea vaults forward, completely out of control. With a loud metallic crash, she bangs into the guardrail, the fans in the front row first flinching, then, a few envelop her, eager to touch a gorgeous legend. A couple of the fanatics slap her on the back, eliciting a groan. One, ballsy enough to cop a feel of the Union Jack covering her bounty, receives a retaliatory slug to the chin that sends him tumbling over the back of his chair. Clearly, these scum are fans of the stripper, Shea recognizes, expecting something they aren't going to get... FROM HER.

Shea peels herself out of the scrum only to be captured from behind in a bearhug by the late-arriving Hotbody. Holly squeezes the stuffing out of the Brit, lifting Shea off the floor, the blonde's arms flailing for a handhold, chirpy grunts escaping when the pressure is on, heavy breaths in between. Suddenly, Shea is lifted higher still, her back leaning against Holly's body as the former tag champ leans back. London's legs bicycle in the air, as she prepares for the inevitable suplex, but instead Holly shifts to the right and drops Shea forward, one sleek satiny leg on either side of the guardrail. Shea's cunny is crushed by the steel-reinforced, modified Atomic Drop, sending incalculable anguish flowing through London's entire, sweat-soaked body. London's ruby lips form a silent, quivering 'O', hands dropping to her bikini briefs as she tries to push off the offending iron.

"Admit it, Shea-sy. That's the most action you've had in months," Holly jokes, the nearby crowd laughing with her and at Shea. "All good things have to come to an end, though."

Holly clotheslines London off her painful perch, picks her balling body off the floor and throws the mewling loser back in the ring. Holly's body tingles, the excitement of dominating Tiffany's nemesis bringing a sensual satisfaction. Hotbody follows her prey in, kicks Shea to her back, and stands in a straddle above London's tummy.

Holly's hips waggle seductively, her red satin thong shifting in delicious Figure-Eights as her fingers run through her long auburn tresses. Satisfied she's dropped enough tongues in the audience, Holly drops her tight, tempting booty into Shea's breadbasket, London's breath escaping in a great gust as her dissected body jackknifes around Holly's wiggling seat then falls flat. The ref steps in as Shea's shoulders slump to the mat

ONE

TWO

SHOULDER UP

"Makes me wonder how Tiffany ever lost to you," Holly snaps, the lovely Latina rising with another shimmy. "Maybe she'll be wondering that even more after I polish you off."

Holly's standing straddle moves from the Brit's waist to her face, Holly's grinding stagework enthralling everyone but the wide-eyed blonde below her. But before Hotbody can repeat the butt drop and give Shea an unwelcome facial, London's left arm circles around Holly's right thigh. Shea pulls herself in range and drives a right fist hard into the tiny, red satin triangle tightly covering Holly's pussy. Hotbody's teasing swivel grinds to a halt, Holly whimpering as she collapses in stages from the ballistic bombshell of pain bursting forth from between her legs. Falling to her knees above Shea's ducking head, Holly lists then tumbles to her side, both hands burying in her crotch. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe Shea would do anything. The throbbing pain from her nether regions made the case there was no maybe about it.

Both women roll on the mat fighting through the abuse the other had inflicted upon them. In an odd dance, they use each other to slowly rise; both glistening, weary warriors grabbing at each other's arms, heads leaning on shoulders. Both take deep breaths as they try to recover first and it is Holly that seizes the initiative, grasping Shea's wrist. She tries to throw the blonde off in an Irish whip, but Shea reverses beautifully and it's Hotbody who dashes to the far ropes. She bounces back to FAWN's first champion and is met with a spinning leg lariat that nearly removes her head from her delectable body, the lovely Latina sent to the mat as if shot, the back of her skull bouncing off the canvas-covered plywood. Shea yanks Holly to her feet and pulls her close.

"Ya tarts are all the same," Shea whispers. "An' ya all end the same. Lemme show ya."

Shea rotates her body and gets everything into a wild Irish whip, sending Holly absolutely rocketing into the far corner. Hotbody's spine explodes into the light-padded buckles, Holly absorbing every iota of the brutal collision. The succulent Latina's eyes clench, her lips falling wide. She tries to remain upright, but can't help but slide down the corner ending on her perfect posterior, arms draping over the middle ropes, head wobbling, then falling back.

Shea raises her arm with an enormous grin as she circles back to the far corner, the crowd noisily delighting in their shared idea. Racing forward, Shea lunges into the corner, her blue bikini briefs leading the way. Holly's crystal blue eyes widen, but she can only move forward a few inches before London's undercarriage smacks her in the face, driving her head back into the corner. The tawny blonde Brit grabs a rope on either side of the corner and rides atop Hotbody's flawless features rubbing them rosy as Shea busts her bronco. The crowd counts along as Holly's body becomes flaccid, her face slackjawed under Shea's cheeky pounding.

SEVEN. EIGHT. NINE. TEN.

The British Bombshell dismounts to survey the damage and she seems as happy as the roaring crowd. She points at Holly.

"There's ya Sister'ood," she shouts. London lifts a limp and shellshocked Holly to her feet. She collects the Latina lovely under the armpits and hoists her to a seat on the top buckle, Hotbody's head lifelessly drooping into her liberal cleavage. Shea mounts the middle ropes on either side and ushers a spent Holly to the heights, quickly joining her, tucking Hotbody's head under her arm. As the crowd rises to a crescendo in preparation of the spectacular top-rope DDT, Holly's body jerks into action, sending a quick, clipping right cross into Shea's ribs. The Brit shudders from both shock and pain, her grip loosening slightly. Another blow pounds into her kidney and Holly slips free. Her hands flash to Shea's eyes and she rakes the deep brown pools, London shrieking in pain as her hands reflexively react and fly to her face.

Showing some high-wire talent of her own, Holly slips her fingers under Shea's sports bra and jerks it up over her pert and perky tits, the dark blue spandex catching on Shea's elbows. Her reddened, watering eyes now gaining some competition for her attention, Shea wobbles in front of Hotbody. Instinctively, her arms raise higher still, this time to keep her balance, but the effort soon proves to be a mistake. Holly utilizes the elastic covering, pulling it higher, then using to slingshot Shea off her perch, London plummeting to the mat with a crashing 'THWUMP', the beautiful Brit dazed, starfished and topless, her bra remaining in Holly's raised hand. The former tag champ gleefully twirls it around a raised index finger and lets it fly off into the front row.

The lovely Latina lifts both arms, reveling in the large pockets of supporters rallying for their heroine. Holly acknowledges them with a twist of the wrist then tenses like a jungle cat, her tawny body crouching slightly then exploding into the heavens above the weakly stirring Shea. One lofty revolution, then, with some watching in disbelief, another, and a perfect crushing landing atop Shea's open and now pancaked midsection, her bare breasts dancing jauntily as Holly enjoys the destructive wake of her 360 splash. Sliding up Shea's body, squashing her bosom beneath, the new member of the Sisterhood of Seduction presses tight against their enemy in a cross-body pin.

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT.

Weak, but enough.

Holly smiles, her head shaking, dripping auburn tendrils framing her face.

"I love it when a girl wants to believe she has something left," Holly notes softly, as she pulls Shea to her feet, "but knows, in her heart, it's just a matter of time."

The Latina sensation whips Shea toward the ropes, but the blonde battler somehow reverses, only to be reversed again, Holly this time ready for Shea's indomitable spirit. But who isn't ready is the man in black-and-white stripes. The ref, completely confused over the defensive do-si-do, is frozen in his tracks as Shea rockets into him at full speed from close range. A startled London has time to throw her arms up in protection, but the ref has no such luck and he's flattened by the full-force collision. Holly peels Shea out of the wreckage and pushes at the slightly-stirring zebra with her boot.

"Wake up, shit for brains," she shouts. "I need you to see this."

The exotic dancer captures a doubled London in the noose of her arms, setting up for a devastating double-arm DDT, but Shea blocks with a grapevining leg and sends Holly tumbling to the mat with a back body drop. As Holly rolls to her chest, hand reflexively reaching to her bruised backbone, Shea skips into action, hopping over Hotbody, flying into the ropes and soaring back to her target with a precisely modified lionsault. For, instead of a crushing belly-to-belly contact, Shea pulls both knees into a tuck position and drives the bony joints into Holly's spine. Hotbody cries out, her vertebrae smashed by the innovative creation. The lovely Latina's body arches in agony, presenting Shea with the perfect opportunity. Crossing Holly's legs with her left arm and scooping under her chin with the other, London kneels atop Hotbody. The Brit rolls to her back, lifting Hotbody into the air, the tawny, golden-brown vision in red brutally curved around Shea's skewering knees. The London Bridge is locked into place, Holly the unwelcome beneficiary of the backbreaking bow-and-arrow.

The crowd roars to life, their frenzy fueled by Holly's frantic flails and squeals of anguish. The Latina's arms whip wildly at first as she ties to find a way out, but as the pain overwhelms every coherent thought but one, they slow, and, in much the same manner that Portia had been forced to see the light, Holly taps in a staccato burst on Shea's thigh. The threat of being an outcast among her Sisters did not matter in the moment, only Shea's backbreaking labor and her breaking back.

The beautiful blonde Brit holds Holly in place, waiting for the bell, or at least a tap on the shoulder, but none comes, only Holly's continued beat and an accompanying plea for release. London's head moves on a swivel to find the match's arbiter, then it sinks as she sees the man barely stirring. With her own arms and legs starting to spasm from the effort of keeping Holly in the torturous grip and the ref in need of some sort of assisted revival, Shea disgustedly gives up her finisher and rolls to the man, while Holly's hot body straightens into a position it is actually meant for.

"Sir," Shea shouts, pushing at the man's shoulder and lightly tapping his cheek. "Ya 'afta get up. WAKIES!".

The man seems to be making some progress, but the rest he'll have to do on his own, as a red blur flies in from London's peripheral vision. Shea can feel hot breath on her shoulder as an enraged Holly climbs aboard her back and starts choking her out. Somehow, London forces her way from one knee to her feet. The Brit tries to find a handhold, reaching behind her, but she's met with a narrowing noose for her efforts. Holly's glossy body is glued to Shea's, her legs wrapping around London's waist as she continues to throttle away, screaming slurs, her blazing blue eyes as wild as Shea's brown pools are bugged, the Brit's appealing features turning from tan to pink to crimson.

"I'M GONNA KILL YOU, BITCH" Holly screams.

The two weave into the corner, Shea's gait unsteady, her legs trembling. Holly can hear the ref in the distance, as if he's miles away. He had proved himself of no consequence and so she let the lust of Shea's destruction retake her. As London becomes limp in her grip, held upright only by the buckles, Holly dismounts from her ride to the cacophonous clanging of the bell. Had Shea tapped her somewhere she hadn't felt through the rage? Maybe, her mind was playing tricks. Hotbody releases her choke and tosses a gasping, semi-conscious Shea to the canvas, then twists London's broken form 90 degrees and places her carefully, just so, spreading her limbs wide.

Holly clambers up the buckles with a speed and ease that nearly matches London's ability. She stands far above the grease spot that is the remains of her opponent. She could feel it, the power, the seduction of the Sisterhood. Nothing and no one in FAWN could stop it, least of all this has-been. She'd destroyed Shea, as promised, but one final gift is worth presenting her new siblings. Leaping off the corner in a graceful swan dive, Holly crushes Shea's open and receptive midsection with Tiffany Lane's ultimate calling car, the 'Bombshell Bomb', an explosive, body-demolishing senton bomb. Shea's body involuntarily jackknifes around the shattering impact, eyes bulging, lips forming a squeaking 'O'. Slowly, she fades under the lounging Holly who deftly strips Shea of her top, dabs her brow dramatically, and recedes atop Shea's glistening breasts, the ex-champ hooking both of London's legs into a tight cradle.

No count. NO FUCKING COUNT!

ONE... TWO... THREE times Holly slaps the mat.

She searches the ring, finally finding the zebra as he exits through the ropes. She glares back down at the mewling Brit, shoulders plastered to the mat and unmoving. The PA blasts to life from behind.

"YOUR WINNER TONIGHT... BY DISQUALIFICATION... SHEA LONDON."

"Wha... wha," Holly stammers, rising from the topless Shea in a fit of rage.

She races to the ropes and shouts down at the official timer for an explanation.

"Choke!" he shouts, surrounding his own throat with his hands. "You had the choke for more than five. Heck, more than fifteen!"

"BULLSHIT," Holly screams.

The man only shrugs in response.

"SCREW JOB," the fiery Latina roars as she returns to London, her fury barely contained. Standing in a reverse straddle above Shea's face, Holly's gorgeous, tawny body lowers toward the dirty blonde's blinking brown eyes, Shea beginning to grasp her position and condition. She pushes at Holly's thighs as the 'victor' kneels, her thinly-covered sex barely hovering over Shea's face. Slowly, sensually, Holly lowers.

"No. Nnmmmmph," Shea pleads.

But Holly claims her uneven throne, celebrating her dominance, if not victory, in a grinding, heaving hump of Shea's chin, lips, nose; Holly sliding her reverse facesit across London's softly meandering struggles for escape.

There would be none.

Reaching forward, Holly collects Shea's sleek, satiny legs and pulls them high. With the ease of the practiced exotic dancer she is, Hotbody relieves Shea of her moist, blue bikini briefs, sliding them up and off, exposing Shea, wholly and completely, to the spellbound murmuring crowd. Still sitting on Shea's raw and reddened features, Holly spreads London's legs wide, striking a number of humiliating and provocative poses, Shea's pink-petaled flower blooming for all to see... and capture for the blossoming blogosphere.

Pleased that she's wrung all of the attention and humiliation she can out of her English cushion, Holly rises, clips Shea's bottoms under her own, strides to the ropes, and slides through. She drops to the floor, pulls Shea's briefs free, and angrily tosses them into the crowd, Hotbody reveling in the chaos she creates, a hard-fought battle for a hard-won gift.

"You can have what's in the ring, too," she shouts. "It's not worth as much, but you might be able to squeeze something out of it."

WINNER, by DISQUALIFICATION: Shea London