FAWN knows no season. Except on rare occasions, there is no playoff. And series of battles between women is the stuff of media and legend, not of relevance to the next battle. Every contest stands alone, the battle of the present the only event that matters to the combatants.

Chrissy Daniel, FAWN World Champion, and Shea London understand this.

Shea London's win over Chrissy Daniel to become FAWN's first champion won't help her tonight.

Chrissy's win over Shea in the Last Woman Standing Match provides no armor for the Champion against the challenger's impending attack.

There is only tonight's match. Past victories won't salve the agony of defeat. Past defeats will not dull the thrill of victory.

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: "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 it.

This was the moment she had been waiting over two years for: another chance at the FAWN World championship.

No. Beyond that. This was the moment she had been waiting almost three years for: a chance to take the belt back from the woman who had ended her reign. While her shot at Portia had been sweet, this was even more special. This had all the makings of being the absolute greatest moment of her entire career...

Provided, of course, that Shea emerged victorious. And that was hardly a given. As much as she despised the Imp, she understood only too well just how dangerous Chrissy was, and how lethal she could be. This wasn't going to be a day at the beach--not that those were particularly pleasant with Chrissy around.

No, Chrissy was not about to allow herself to leave this arena tonight without that belt around her waist. Of course, Shea had been just as determined to keep her belt the last time they had met for these stakes.

Keep a clear head, Shea told herself. Stick to the gameplan, and keep her head in the match. As long as she could do that, she'd have enough answers for the Killer Imp.

And Shea London would be a champion once again.

Before Shea could bask for too long in the adulation of her faithful fans, the lights dim, a hush falls over the crowd, but there is the unmistakable electrical buzz of excitement coursing through the spectators. Then, Van Halen's "Beautiful Girls" erupts from the sound system, the unmistakable sound of Eddie Van Halen's signature riff tearing through the air. Precisely as the drum roll thunders in, a shower of sparks explodes from above, showering the entire arena in momentarily blinding light. Then, at the top of the ramp, Chrissy Daniel appears; hands on her hips, she turns her head to scan the crowd, the corners of her mouth upturned into a smugly mischievous smile, World Championship Title belt snugly around her succulent midsection. Raising her fists in the air to the cheers of her fans, she unbuckles the title belt and holds it aloft. She struts down toward the ring, hips swiveling with every self-assured step. She is clad in a new outfit. Gone is the pleather she used to wear. Instead she is in a black studded string bikini top, straining to contain her hulking hooters, with matching skin-tight, low riding boycut briefs, topped with an integrated studded belt and buckle. She wears mid-calf height black boots with a white CD on them, with her wrists taped in black and black knee pads.

The voluptuous hellion makes her way into the ring, all eyes on her, Chrissy taking the stairs slowly so as to savor the moment. She slips through the ropes in a manner that's almost seductive, the clingy black briefs caressing her succulent ass like a loving glove while the studded string top barely retains her massive cleavage, threatening to spill out of the overmatched fabric. Parading around the ring one circuit with the belt held aloft, she soaks in the cheers and jeers of the capacity crowd. Handing the belt to the referee for safekeeping, she flips her lustrous hair back with her hand, then shadow boxes a couple of punches as she heads to her corner, setting her voluptuous assets a dance, to the delight of the crowd.

Mounting the middle ropes on either side of the ring post and looking out at the throng of spectators, she raises her arms in a sign of impending victory, the waves of cheers and jeers cascading over her. She then jumps down and turns to face the ring, bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet from the crackling energy of her dynamo body. The Killer Imp, Champion of the World and Queen of FAWN is ready for action!

The bell rings, and this pure wrestling match is underway. The two beauties, a contrast in spirit and flesh, circle. Even their demeanors are polar opposite. Chrissy was smug, her lips curled into a malicious and knowing smirk. Shea was stoic, resolute, fearless.

Shea lunges. Chrissy sidesteps, but the lunge was a ruse. Shea's boot slams into Chrissy's vulnerable midsection with a well-placed roundhouse kick.

"Guh!" croaks a surprised champ. She recovers quickly, blocking a second kick and throwing Shea to the canvas. The lithe, athletic challenger rolls to her feet, not quit fast enough to evade a chop to her chest. The heavy, stinging blow drives her into the corner.

No way I'm getting caught by the ropes this early, Shea thinks.

To the champion's surprise, Shea wades right into Chrissy with an elbow to the chops, careful not to forfeit a precious rope break. Chrissy smiles, relishing the prospect of close-in hand-to-hand combat with a woman whom she knows is no match for in terms of raw strength or power. A chop to London's breasts scores points, but Shea pirouettes past the charging Imp and clears the corner. She catches an enraged Chrissy with a hiptoss, then follows with a drop kick, knocking Chrissy into the ropes.

Like greased lightning, Shea is all over the bewildered champ, and in a flash, aided by a stiff kick to the jaw, Shea folds Chrissy up and rolls over into the London Bridge. Chrissy grits her teeth.

"Break!" she calls, burning her first rope break. The crowd howls in delight as Shea releases the Killer Imp, having made her initial volley count against Chrissy. The Killer Imp scrambled to her feet.

"Oh, I'm good and pissed off, now, you RAF morale bitch," snarled Chrissy.

"'At's original, tubby," scoffed Shea. But Chrissy charges, and the onslaught that everyone expected from Chrissy to open the match is right there in Shea's face. A knee lift to Shea's flat tummy doubles her over with an "Oh!" A moment later, Chrissy scoops Shea up and plants her with a body slam, then boots her in the tummy again for good measure.

"I missed ya, putz!" chirped the Killer Imp. Chrissy grabs Shea's head, pulling back on it savagely, adopting half of her dreaded 7-10 split, slipping a finger into each of Shea's nostril. The savage wrenches pay dividends as Shea cries "Break!"

"That's my bitch!" beams Chrissy. She closes, leading with another knee to Shea's stomach. The challenger doubles and immediately finds herself hurled across the ring. The crowd enjoys the fleeting view of Shea's shapely C-cups bouncing within her Union Jack-emblazoned top. Shea careens into the ropes and bounces back. She tries to duck the Killer Imp's clothesline attempt, but the cagey champion aims plenty low, a meaty smacking sound ringing out as Chrissy's fleshy arm smashes Shea's already-abused chest.

"AH!" cries Shea, crashing onto her back, her toned, tawny arms crossed over her chest. The challenger could enjoy no rest, for Chrissy hauls her up immediately. Thrown into the ropes, Shea bounces back into a vicious clothesline once again, this one catching her on her neck. The beautiful, suddenly overwhelmed challenger is unceremoniously knocked flat on her back. Chrissy acts quickly, positioning her catch near the ropes and locking in a camel clutch, which Shea immediately escapes by cashing in her second rope break.

Battling gamely to her feet, Shea catches Chrissy with a weak right to the soft belly. As unexpected as it was, it stings enough to throw the champ off. It buys Shea only a few seconds, but that's all the aerial terror needs to launch her counter assault. Shea leaps onto the middle rope and springs backward, somersaulting into a cross body block that knocks the poorly balanced beach fighter onto her nice, round ass. Shea hooks one of Chrissy's thick legs and the referee slides into position.

ONE

TWO

Chrissy kicks out. Shea scrambles away, then pivots, slicing her foot along the canvas, scoring with a leg sweep that spills Chrissy gracelessly to her ass. Shea is on her feet in a flash and drops an elbow across Chrissy's ample bosom, earning a pained yelp from the winded Killer Imp.

Shea throws Chrissy another curveball. She straddles Chrissy and pistons one, two, three, four, five stiff rights into Chrissy's face, Shea's full lips peeled slightly back, relishing the sound of the dull thuds of her fist smashing Chrissy's cheek, nose, and mouth, full breasts bouncing from her exertions.

Chrissy's vision was a muddled miasma of purple and red splotches as Shea administered her beating. Chrissy tried to rise. She got half-way, she thought, then collapsed.

In reality, Chrissy lifted her head about an inch before it thudded to the mat. Shea flipped the stunned hellion onto her stomach and grabbed her legs, crossing them at the ankles as she locked in a sharpshooter.

In her dazed condition, Chrissy gritted her teeth and groaned. The pressure on her back and knees was potent.

"Guh... Owww... uhhhhh... " Chrissy groans. She tries to lift herself up and escape the hold, but it's no use. Shea has it locked in perfectly, and the only escape is the ropes. In her dazed state, however, Chrissy refuses to reach out for the salvation suspended tightly in front of her face. Loathe to surrender her final rope break, the voluptuous champion allows her most bitter rival to send blade after cruel blade into her knees and back. The two hate-filled beauties remained locked in this bitter tableau for more than two minutes, sweat glistening on both the champion and challenger.

"Damn!" spits Chrissy, her error dawning on her. She reaches out and grasps the rope. "Break, break! Bitch!"

Shea gives the heeled Californian one more wrench for good measure before releasing her. Chrissy scrambles manically back to her feet, glaring at Shea. Her wide eyes narrows as she suddenly sees an opportunity to seize the advantage.

"No problem, limey," huffs Chrissy. "No problem! It's kind of liberating."

Shea cocks an eyebrow, not sure if the Imp was talking sense or had finally lost it. Realization dawns on her in the form of a lightning-quick cobra strike of Chrissy's fist crashing into her cheek. Suddenly reeling, Shea stumbles back into the ropes, finding herself rocked by another fist to her face, this one connecting solidly with her jaw. The Sensational One's knees buckle as her head snaps back in a hail of sweaty blonde hair. Before her senses could return, Chrissy hauls Shea up into a torture rack.

"Fuck the rope break, bitch," Chrissy threatened. "The only break I'm interested in is the one I'm about to do to your back!" Chrissy began bouncing up and down, whip-cracking Shea's spine time and time again.

Shea gasped for air, the waves of pain crashing through her robbing her of her breath. She wasn't going to quit. Not now. Not tonight. She clenched her teeth, trying to seize control of her breathing.

Not a peep, Shea she thought. Not a peep.

After what felt like an eternity, Chrissy dumped Shea to the canvas, thinking that Shea had perhaps passed out, having not been rewarded with even a single whimper or groan. The surprise on her face is evident when she sees Shea hurting, arching her back, her full breasts straining against the dark blue of her sports bra, but maddeningly conscious and defiantly stoic nonetheless.

"Nice tits," Chrissy taunts. "Let's see 'em!" With that, Chrissy begins the second prong of her multi-faceted attack: the psychological one. Chrissy slaps Shea hard across the face and grabs her bra, ripping the garment savagely up and over her head, freeing Shea's luscious breasts yet again.

The tactic is effective. The challenger suddenly finds herself awash in painful humiliating memories, her small, pink nipples leaping to attention as the memories of Chrissy's loveless caress dominate her thoughts. She finds herself helpless as her enemy asserts her decided strength advantage, hauling her up and securing her in a bear hug, Shea's breasts mashed into Chrissy's.

"Mountains and mole hills, crumpet sucker!" taunts Chrissy. Shea's brow furrows as Chrissy's arms constrict, squeezing her midsection, trying to further punish her rival. Shea, fully willing to cough up her final rope break to escape, is afforded no such opportunity as Chrissy bears down with all of her considerable strength.

Chrissy shakes Shea this way, then that, before finally setting her down on unsteady legs.

"You're as steady as the Queen after a good rogering from Jacques Chirac," spits Chrissy.

Reflexively, Shea lashes out with a stiff right hand to Chrissy's nose.

"That's your last break, Shea!" advises the referee. Shea, weakened, gasping for air, stares at him blankly.

"Oh, here comes the pain!" sings Chrissy, driving another punch into Shea's jaw. The pretty blonde staggers into the ropes, and Chrissy is in hot pursuit, pressing the Brit's throat against the top rope and bearing down on the back of her head with all her weight, choking the Sensational One. Shea's arms flail wildly, trying desperately to free her windpipe from the brutal compression against the thinly sheathed steel cable. She turns her head, sucking in some wind, but then she yelps in pain as Chrissy drives a punch into her kidney, stifling London's resistance.

"I think you'll remember this song," says FAWN's most famous little menace. She binds Shea's limp arms between the second and third rope. "It's called 'London Slut is Going Down.'"

Shea writhes, panic brought on by the realization of her helplessness animating her.

"Yeah, Sheasy," groans Chrissy. "Fight it. Try to keep it from me so I can hear the ripping sound when I tear it out of you."

As Chrissy slipped her hand up underneath Shea's briefs, Shea fought.

As Chrissy kicked Shea's feet apart, Shea fought.

As Chrissy worked one hand south of Shea's equator and worked the other on Shea's right breast, Shea fought.

As her body betrayed her and her spirit screamed "NO!" Shea fought.

Shea's abdominal muscles tensed as the crowd roared. It was happening. Chrissy giggles.

"If you weren't such a skank, I bet this'd turn me on," she says, her nose an inch away from Shea's as her hands, wickedly familiar, did the deed.

"If you were any good, I'd have come by now" snarls Shea defiantly. Without warning, the challenger drives her forehead into the bridge of Chrissy's nose. The Imp's brain explodes in pain. Tears fill her eyes, blinding her as she reels away from her prey. Shea, breasts and honey pot dangerously preheated, cries painfully as she pulls her arms free... first the right, then the left. She hikes up her briefs and drives a dropkick into Chrissy's face, making the Imp's suddenly rickety position exponentially worse.

A baseball slide knocks Chrissy into the ropes.

"Let's see, now, tubby," huffs the topless beauty, face red from anger and exertion. "'Ow did this go?" She hefts Chrissy up, ensnaring her meaty arms in the unyielding cables. Chrissy is the one writhing now, sputtering odd strings of obscenity and threats at her victim cum tormentor.

"Well," Shea began, her hand on her chin as she cogitated, the crowd roaring its approval. "I don't want ta tooch ya up 'ere or down there. I'm not convinced ya've 'ad ya shots, besides th' fact that I'd likely need a priest after I finished. And ya smell a bit odd, too. Maybe as long as I don't remove ya togs, I won't catch anything."

Shea grabs Chrissy, who now eyes Shea with just a hint of trepidation.

"Bitch, what the hell are you doing?" Chrissy demands.

"Gettin' a bit o' payback for Juliet, love," Shea says affably. Shea, uncharacteristically, grabs the hard bud poking out from the patch of material covering the Killer Imp's left breast. Taking the bud between her thumb and forefinger...

"Don't you... OWWWWWWWWW!" says Chrissy, as Shea pinches... hard. The Killer Imp's longtime victim smiles ruefully.

"Ooo, what fun," Shea deadpans. She rips a wicked left into Chrissy's orb, flattening it and earning another agonized bellow from the Queen of FAWN.

"And 'ere's one for Kylie," Shea warns, replaying the tune on Chrissy's other tit.

"Fucking lesbo!" Chrissy snarls.

"Oh, go wash ya 'ands," Shea chastises. "While we're at it, this is from Jeanette."

"Twat!"

"Jeanette aims ta please," Shea advises. Then she buries her boot right between Chrissy's legs. The champion's eyes cross as she sags against her bonds. Shea frees Chrissy from the ropes, intent on finishing her with London's Bridge.

"... make... you... pay... " groans Chrissy, who falls to her knees but still has enough to split Shea's wickets.

"UGH guhhh" groans Shea, collapsing to her knees. Chrissy pitches forward, tackling Shea. The referee slides into position.

ONE

TWO

Shea kicks out. The two rivals untangle from the other, Shea beating Chrissy to her feet. The two hell cats stand on wobbly legs and reengage, Shea socking in a head lock, but the Killer Imp scooping her up and dropping back into a suplex. Shea gasps for breath as Chrissy drapes an arm over her.

ONE

TWO

Shea kicks out.

"I hate you," croaks Chrissy.

"But I love you," croaks Shea, rolling over. Chrissy rakes Shea's eyes, but Shea lashes out with her fist, smashing Chrissy in the face. Once again, Shea gets to her feet, this time barely able to see. Chrissy is not far behind. The topless challenger, delectable breasts bouncing with each step, staggers to the corner as Chrissy struggles to her feet. Slowly, Shea climbs the corner post as Chrissy collapses to her knee, shaking her head slowly, as if Shea's last shot to the face did some serious damage.

Shea jumps, the Sensational Leg Drop her weapon of choice.

Suddenly, time slows down for the blonde. Chrissy looks up, eyes gleaming with malicious intent, full lips curled into a sneer.

Flashback.

Shea launches, legs extended. But in her dizzied, hurried blur to finish off the plush dead meat, the champ hadn't noticed Chrissy struggling to one knee and by the time Shea's air mail package had reached the beach cat, she was rising from a catcher's crouch.

Showing incredible strength for her stature, she collects the incoming with only a steadying step back, catching Shea like a baby cradled in her mother's arms. From there, it is but an instant, a quick flip and shift, and once again Shea is dangling over Chrissy's right shoulder. EARTH-SHATTERING POWER SLAM. Shea's body embeds into the mat, Chrissy coming down atop her with all the force she could muster.

History repeats itself. Chrissy catches Shea, staggering back.

I aced history in school Shea thinks. Those who do not study history are doomed to repeat it.

Shea wraps her arm about Chrissy's head and kicks free from her grasp, falling to the canvas, taking Chrissy with her. With an improvised DDT, Shea stuns her longtime nemesis.

Scrambling, her own mind swimming and reeling, Shea hooks Chrissy's leg.

ONE

TWO

Kick by Chrissy, but far too weak to free her.

THREE

DING! DING! DING! DING!

The crowd explodes as Shea rolls off Chrissy, a look of sheer joy fixed upon her beautiful, tired face.

"YOUR WINNER... AND NEW FAWN WORLD CHAMPION... SENSATIONAL SHEA LONDON!"

She rises as Chrissy, stunned, exhausted, disbelieving, lies at her feet. The topless blonde accepts her... her... Championship Belt and raises it above her head.

As the crowd gives her a standing ovation, their cheers and well-wishes drowning out Def Leppard, the radiant smile fades as her face darkens. She drops the belt into a glittering gilt heap at her feet and eyes her most persistent enemy.

"I think ya need s'more, Daniel!" Shea yells, all the beatings, all the humiliation suffered at the hands of this woman coming back to her. Her voice cracks as a sob escapes her. She grits her teeth and straddles Chrissy, who can only shake her head in disbelief and blink dumbly. Shea grabs Chrissy's top and strips it away, exposing Chrissy's phenomenal endowments. Her wrist and elbow pads join the overtaxed breast harness.

"You oughtta know, Daniel," Shea snarls. "'Ow it feels... "

She strips the bottoms off the deposed champion, then her boots, leaving the Killer Imp naked. The newly crowned champion wraps the beach fighter's bottoms around her (Chrissy's) neck and buries a knee in the defeated Daniel's spine, pulling back savagely as Chrissy groans.

"This is fer ev'ry low blow, ev'ry choke, ev'ry stripping, ev'ry violation you ever visited upon me!" Shea yells, lost in catharsis. Chrissy's incredible breasts jut proudly out in front of her as Shea continues, arms trembling from the exertion.

"This is payment fer that little stunt ya pulled with Juliet n' me... riding us like 'orses. You colossal bitch! This is fer labeling me yer property with that lipstick!"

She pulls HARD, earning another agonized groan from Chrissy.

"This is fer where ya put the lipstick when ya were done! If ya ever try ta 'umiliate me or me friends again, I'll give ya ten times worse. Yar a lousy touch, Daniel. Ya lost and ya lost huge! Remember this! Remember 'oo beat ya like this! Remember 'ow I made you 'urt. Remember the pain and the 'umiliation! I 'ope it lives and breathes in ya, Daniel! Like what you did lives an' breathes in me! That's why I'm doin' this!"

Shea moves one of her hands over Chrissy's mouth, pinching her nostrils shut with her finger and thumb. Chrissy's eyes are a big as saucers. She struggles, but to no avail. She's spent.

"An' this is fer Cassie!"

Shea holds her hand there for a full two minutes as Chrissy's eyelids droop and her struggles cease.

At long last, Shea lets Chrissy fall to the canvas, unconscious.

Shea gets to her feet, reclaiming her belt. She'd enjoy this.

WINNER, and NEW FAWN WORLD CHAMPION: Shea London