Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV NEEDED this win. Her recent victory over Leah "Who the Fuck Cares About" Montoya was not the sort of triumph to put her back on the pathway to title contention, and the loss she suffered at the hands of Janneke Kaiser was a humiliating setback. No, POV needed a 'W' over a genuine headliner, and that meant she had to do whatever it took to beat Miriam Gaiman tonight.

Heavy orchestral chords flow over the loudspeakers until Shirley Manson�s distinctive voice blares into the arena atmosphere. The FAWN fanatics rise as one to jump on a rich bitch when she�s down. And then, there she is, a torrent of boos loosed upon one Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV. The Omaha rabble, perhaps deciding they want both women to lose in this match, let Baby have it. Fortune�s Favorite, her shoulder-length mane of strawberry blonde is tossed with a haughty flip. She struts down the aisle to the strains of 'The World Is Not Enough' by Garbage, looking more perturbed than arrogant, steamed than superior. Her hips sway, as she turns the trip into a sashay down the runways of Paris or Milan, or better yet, her beloved Big Apple.

The crowd still buzzes about her attire, VanBuren again forsaking her customary tennis skirt and white lace tanktop for a simple, but far from understated black bikini. Portia accessorizes with matching black boots, green dollar signs on the sides of her footwear and, as cameras get a shot of her exquisite ass, there, in green sparkling letters POV3. Again absent, the knee brace, Portia walking without any discernible problem.

Patrician features held high, she barely glances to either side as she makes her way to the ring, doing her best to ignore the flyover farmhands that push against the restraining barriers with a cascade of catcalls, gleefully loosing their emotions and letting the Long Islander know she�s a star no longer. One hater pushes close, shoving a sign in Portia�s face. "Portia:The next addition to Miriam�s harem". A man in black suggests it's time for Portia�s physical, including a gyno exam from Dr. Gaiman, or words to that effect. Portia suggest the fans bite her and the man seems more than willing to oblige. Finishing her trip down the aisle, Portia is relieved to arrive ringside, distance restored between her and the hordes of wannabes and losers. The strawberry blonde ascends the ringsteps and slides into the squared circle between the ropes. She saunters to each corner, seeming to revel in the fact that, she was still an object of hatred and scorn. But tonight, she might be an object of lust. The thought makes her swallow hard. It was one thing to deal with idea of such an attack, another to see its living embodiment. The slender socialite shakes the idea out of her mind. It would be Miriam learning a thing or two about debauchery tonight and learning there was only one Portia 911.

Immediately, the ring is Portia's personal property. She saunters to each corner, raising her hands high at each to a chorus of boos. All eyes drawn to her, Portia was in her element, the center of attention and envy. She waits mid-ring, having reestablished an air of confidence that bordered on supremacy. This was her domain, and woe be to any woman foolish enough to challenge her.

That very woman was now prepared to make her own entrance.

And quickly it comes, as without warning, the arena plunges into total blackness. For a moment, there is silence. Just a moment. And then the PA system explodes into life...

"Forfeit the game/Before somebody else/Takes you out of the frame/Puts your name to shame. Cover up your face/You can't run the race/The pace is too fast/You just won't last... "

As Linkin Park's "Points of Authority" fills the arena, the lights come back up, and two figures are visible at the top of the ramp. One is a beautiful girl, in an odd, ghostly sort of way. Her skin is pale, accentuating her unnaturally bright red hair and deep haunting green eyes. Her nails are painted blood red. A black vinyl "one piece" scarcely covers her breasts and crotch, the midsection left bare save a network of thin straps in a spider web pattern. The backside of the garment is open, save for the straps supporting the top half and the thong of the bottom. She accessorizes with matching fingerless, elbow-length gloves, black silk stockings with garters, and a black silk choker. In mockery, perhaps, of her wealthy opponent, a gaudy tiara filled with zircon "diamonds" sits perched atop her head. Miriam Gaiman, as always, knows how to dress for the occasion.

The other woman is also beautiful, in an erotically exotic manner. It is Kiora Donavon, garbed in a black babydoll T-shirt with CHERRY MASTER emblazoned across the front, and a pair of tattered denim shorts slung low enough to display her red thong panties. Miriam pulls the brunette to her, until their bodies are almost as one. Kiora wraps her leg around one of Gaiman's, and the two engage in a deep, passionate kiss. But to the trained eye, it is also a struggle between the two to determine who rules the other. It ends in a stalemate, both beauties smiling saucily at one another. The redhead takes the tiara from her hair and hands it to Donavon, then turns her attention to the ring as the Eurasian walks back behind the curtain to await her beloved in her dressing room.

Miriam makes her way down toward the ring, slowly at first, keeping to the middle of the aisle--assuring a healthy distance between her and any hands that might try to touch her. As she nears the ring, she picks up the pace, though not as quickly as usual, diving under the bottom rope as she reaches the apron, sliding to a halt on all fours, her tight backside elevated, drawing more than a few hoots and hollers, her eyes locking on her opponent's.

There's a glint to those eyes as she smiles unnervingly, appearing to almost hump the canvas a moment before backing herself into the nearest corner to await the bell. Manic, yes, but more than that: vengeful. The crowd rises to a fever pitch with the overt sensual nature of every movement of the feline predator and the nearness of the hour when she might strike.

The referee goes over some perfunctory pre-match remarks, then calls for the bell. Both wrestlers begin to circle, but in a sauntering, casual sort of way. To most, it perhaps looks as if Gaiman and VanBuren are supremely unconcerned about one another, but looks are deceiving. For all of their outward calm, both are coiled tight and ready to spring.

Seeking to rattle her famously snobbish adversary, Miriam coos, "Is that Japanese cherry blossom lotion you're wearing, Portia? Oh, that's going to taste just delicious when we're done with this little ritual foreplay. I've been looking forward to getting you out of that little skirt for quite some time now."

Unfazed, the socialite sneers, "Stick to your pathetic fantasy world, you freak... because that's the closest you're ever going to get to being one-tenth of the woman... or wrestler... that I am."

And with that, they lock up, two powerful bodies straining against one another. Suddenly, VanBuren twists, snaring her opponent in a Side Headlock. But it's only a matter of seconds before the redhead escapes, and then she traps POV in a Hammerlock.

Baby VanBuren had been escaping such holds since long before she ever stepped into a FAWN ring, and it's only in the space of heartbeats that she frees herself. But none of this has been about overpowering the other; indeed, the two proud warriors are merely testing one another.

After a few more minutes of this, each decides it's time to get down to serious business. Miriam scores first blood, so to speak, when she hits POV with a Handspring Elbow, following it up by applying a Stomach Claw on the prone beauty. VanBuren's traditional sheer top might have offered some protection, but a bikini provides none as Gaiman's fingers gouge deep into the blonde's abdominal muscles.

And yet, mere minutes later, the scene is reversed, as now Portia nails her adversary with a Swinging Neck Breaker, then does further damage with dual Nerve Pinches to the redhead's neck.

And so it goes, with both women expertly subjecting one another to a series of complex technical moves, each tinged with a bit of maliciousness. Each hurts the other, and each suffers. But every pain endured only seems to prompt both of them to struggle all the harder.

Inevitably, exhaustion begins to overtake the two of them, and they switch from high-energy moves to maneuvers that wear down the other while allowing them to rest. At one point, the New Yorker has her foe trapped in an Armbar, applied in such a way that, should Miriam attempt too strenuously to break free, she would risk serious injury.

Giving the arm another twist, Portia viciously increases the pressure on her opponent's shoulder, which Miriam slaps at in order to dull the pain. But then, still holding fast to the redhead's wrist, she loosens her hold. But instead of releasing it entirely, she uses their proximity to the ropes to inflict an unusual bit of damage to her foe: spreading Gaiman's second and third fingers, she rakes the tender flesh between them along the top rope, burning her skin. With a shriek, Miriam pulls herself free and steps back, clutching her aching hand. For an instant, the look on her face is not that of a seasoned wrestler used to receiving... indeed, enjoying... pain, but rather than of a schoolgirl who's just been tormented by the class bully; it is a look of fearfulness. VanBuren catches that look, and smugly places her hands on her hips and purses her lips into a smile. For in that instant, she was the mistress, and Gaiman was little more than her slave.

That thought infuriated the redhead, and with a savage roar, she drives at her adversary, slamming her back into the corner. Mounting the bottom ropes for leverage, Gaiman then jackhammers ten punches into Portia's patrician face, the socialite's eyes going glassy and rolling from the pounding. Jumping back down to the mat, Miriam then grabs VanBuren by the hair, pulls her roughly out of the corner, spins her around, and slams her battered face three times into the top turnbuckle. The heiress slumps forward, knees buckling, held aloft only by her arms over the ropes. From behind, Miriam snakes one hand around Portia and her fingers begin to gently fondle a breast. Then, her other hand slips under the New Yorker's brand spankin' new bikini bottoms--Miriam licking her lips at the thought of making that description more literal--fingertips playfully stroking her womanhood. "Mmmmmmmm," the redhead whispers. "My Sophie would always go all doe-eyed when thinking about you, but I could never figure out why... until now, I think. You're a bit butch, but there's sugary sweetness underneath, no?" She punctuated her remark with a sultry chuckle. "Let's you and me find it, princess."

The redhead's insolence was met with a savage elbow to the side of her face, causing her to stagger back. "Get your hands off of me, you perverted whore!" VanBuren angrily demands. Calming herself, she adjusts her new gear back to its intended way of being worn, and she says, "You don't get to handle the merchandise unless you can afford it... and Jersey Girl, you most definitely can't afford this."

Grabbing her foe by her flaming mane, POV tosses her through the air and down to the mat. "We used to have an upstairs maid at our Hobe Sound summer home," Portia says almost conversationally. "She was much like you... an over-sexed, under-class tramp who forgot her place. I reminded her, just like I'm going to remind yoiiiieeeeeee!" With a yelp, the strawberry blond crashes unceremoniously on her butt, courtesy of a Russian Leg Sweep.

With a blur of motion, the redhead locks her opponent into her "Face of Death" Crippler Crossface. Under normal circumstances, she could be assured of having her victim scream her submission within moments. However, due to her haste in applying in, Gaiman failed to take into consideration how close to the ropes they were... but Portia knew full well. Desperately reaching out with her right hand, she manages to clutch at the bottom cable, and the official order Miriam to break her hold.

With a nonchalant sigh, Miriam unlocks her finisher and gets to her feet, impatiently waiting for POV to likewise stand up, so that she could drag her to the center of the ring. But when the blond doesn't rise fast enough for her, the redhead grabs her foe by the arms and hauls her upright.

And in that precise instant when Gaiman's guard is down, VanBuren reaches back, wraps her hands around her adversary's head, drops to a sitting position, and nails Miriam with a crude Stunner! Both warriors lay on the canvas, marshaling what strength they have left as the ref slowly counts to twenty. At nineteen, each rises, and they square off against one another, both knowing that the end was nigh. The two beauties trade judo chops to the chest, showers of perspiration raining from them with each blow. Then, without warning, the redhead suddenly drives her knee up deep into her opponent's lower belly, causing POV to double over.

Grabbing the heiress by the arm and wrist, Gaiman proceeds to whip her toward the corner... but suddenly, Portia is able to spin around, and it's Miriam who suddenly finds herself flung toward the turnbuckle in a reversal. However, instead of hurtling helplessly, she actually picks up her speed and bounds at the corner, her feet hitting the middle ropes, thus propelling herself backward through the air, and sailing like a missile straight back at the blond. With only the barest fraction of an instant to react, VanBuren makes the most of it, suddenly grabbing the nearby referee by the arm and jerking him forward... and placing him directly in the path of Miriam Gaiman! Wrestler and ref impact with a sickening thud, and both collapse to the canvas. Gaiman, running on sheer adrenalin, wills her body to rise, and she regains her feet. But from her unsteadiness, it's plain that she's still badly dazed. And a small, cruel smile creases POV's lips.

The referee suitably stunned and Gaiman momentarily dazed, Portia's hand slips behind her back and reaches into the secret pocket in the waistband of her skirt, there to retrieve a 14k gold plated pair of brass knuckles.

Slipping the weapon upon her right fist, she drops to one knee and drives un uppercut squarely into Miriam's groin. The redhead's eyes go wide as saucers and her mouth twists into an agonized 'O', a silent scream the most she can muster.

A solid punch to the head would put Gaiman away, the Socialite knows... but merely KOing the redhead and pinning her holds no interest to VanBuren. So, by next drilling her fist into Miriam's left breast, she causes her opponent severe pain, but she does not leave her unconscious. A third blow, this one to the kidneys, causes the embattled Gaiman to stagger to the ropes, where she hopes that by escaping the ring, she can gather her strength and strike back.

But POV would have none of it. Another punch, again to the crotch, leaves the redhead painfully curled on the mat. And with the official at last stirring, Portia knows it's time to finish this once and for all, even as she deftly slips the knucks back into their hiding place.

Rather than employ one of her four incomparable finishers, she has a new maneuver she has devised specifically for this match in mind... one that makes Gaiman's point of pride, her womanhood, her greatest vulnerability.

First, the lethal Long Islander strips her adversary of her black vinyl bottoms. Then, rolling the redhead over onto her stomach, VanBuren sits upon the small of foe's back, grabs Gaiman's legs, holding the right limb with her own left arm, and using her right leg to pin back Miriam's left leg back; in addition to subjecting the victim to a modified Boston Crab, it also leaves her crotch wide open for attack.

That's when the strawberry blond sinks her stilleto-like fingers into the essence of Miriam Gaiman, applying a clawhold with all of the power and viciousness she can muster. The sudden blinding pain in her groin shocks the redhead out of her daze, and she struggles to free herself... but to no avail.

No stranger to pain... indeed, she almost seems to thrive on it... Miriam nonetheless swiftly realizes that this is agony even beyond her own expansive limits. She also knows that the longer VanBuren applies her crab hold, the greater the risk of the redhead suffering lasting spinal damage.

Yet, she refuses to submit, instead using the last dregs of her strength to try everything she can think of to escape. But her efforts prove futile, and she is soon too weakened to do anything more than growl in pain.

Realizing escape is impossible and serious injury is looming, Miriam defies her own iron will, and with her left hand begins to slap at the canvas to signal her submission. She will give VanBuren this victory... she will not give her the satisfaction of being the woman who cripples Miriam Gaiman and drives her from the sport.

The ref instantly called for the bell, and after one last, maliciously unnecessary squeeze of her adversary's very public privates, Portia released her hold and stood up. Planting one boot upon the back of Gaiman... whose hands were occupied massaging her throbbing groin as well as clutching at her aching lower back... POV allowed the official to raise her arm in victory.

This was the victory she needed. This was the win that puts her back in the game. And it's a game she intends to rewrite the rules to.

WINNER: Portia Ophelia VanBuren IV