[BustyTiffany35]

[The 2300 Arena in Philadelphia]

--Yanking Taeler Hendrix up to her wobbly feet, Tiffany ducks low, hoists the delectable bombshell up onto her shoulders, and PLANTS her with the Flatliner!

[The Cox Convention Center in Oklahoma City]

--Santana Garrett goes for her Shining Star Press, only Tiffany has rolled out of the way, and Garrett hits nothing but canvas! Tiffany quickly runs in to dive on top of Santana from behind, wrapping her up with the Platinum Lock!

[The Gilley's Dallas in Dallas, Texas]

--hoists her up -- and DROPS her with the Hard Goodbye! Belly-to-back double-knee backbreaker! Dixie Clements goes flying off of Tiffany's bent knees, hot searing pain just wrecking her lower back! The Platinum Queen quickly gets to her feet, grabs a handful of hair, and hoists her up onto her shoulders - Flatliner--

[The Odeum Expo Center in Chicago]

--Ivelisse tries for her Disdain Wheelbarrow DDT, but Tiffany reverses it - by DROPPING back-first onto the mat, and RIPPING Ivelisse down over her bent knees! The Hard Goodbye! A few moments later, Tiffany scoops Ivelisse up and DRILLS her deep into the canvas with the Flatliner!

[The Eidon Arena in Osaka, Japan]

--Reiko Hinomato gets to her feet, and Tiffany RAMS her knee into her face with the S-Trigger! Reiko backs into the ropes, Tiffany grabs her, hoists her up - and DROPS her with ANOTHER Killswitch! Tiff is NOT done yet! She YANKS on Reiko's hair, pulls her up roughly, throws her over her shoulders - and WIPES HER OUT with the Furattoraināāāāāā!!!!--

[The Gilt Nightclub in Orlando, Flordia]

--Tiffany smirks at Priscilla Kelly, who's standing outside the ring, leaning against the apron, hanging from the bottom rope as her arms are tied up to it. Beaten, crucified, and semi-conscious. The Platinum Queen leans in close and plants a kiss on the forehead of Hell's Favorite Harlot, then turns around, striding up the entrance ramp, drawing the hood to her jacket over her head as she leaves her defeated foe behind--


Yeah, I've been busy. And I ain't done yet.



[The Viceroy in Los Angeles, California]

It's been months since I've decided to get serious again. In that time, I've been running through a lot of opponents, even managed to settle a few grudges along the way. Meiko Satomura, Jessica Havok, Dixie Clements, "The Cuban Goddess" Eva. Destroying Eva felt really good, and after the Cage Match in New York I've been running through even more women in the months afterward. All so that I could get noticed by the Viceroy.

If you've ever wrestled or fought in Los Angeles, ya would have heard about this place. The Viceroy is a private, upscale nightclub, strictly invite only, frequented by a smattering array of the city's "elite". The parties were unforgettable, the music and drinks often the finest, and because of its exclusivity, there was an extremely high level of privacy that bordered on an almost cult-like Hail Hydrasecret society-level. If ya ever had the chance to come here, nobody would know, but everyone who mattered would. It was also one of the last places you'd expect to host violent, unsanctioned wrestling bouts. But they did, and they have been for a long, long time, we're talking decades here, and for an underground wrestling venue, the ring setup was pretty fantastic. It was located within the "East-Wing" of the massive, sprawling club, which was basically a giant room with the capacity to hold several thousand spectators. Five shallow balconies overlooked the ring area and floor seats. There was even an entrance set, which was mainly a steel octagonal portal accompanied by three large HD video screens, with a long ramp that ran from the portal to connect directly with the ring's north facing apron, similar to Pro Wrestling NOAH's ramp/aisle setup.

The L.A underground fight scene gravitated around the Viceroy. Its main attraction was its much vaunted "Fight Night". On a Fight Night, a single high-stakes pro wrestling match would take place, between two of the best wrestlers that the organizers could find. Usually, those wrestlers were from the underground, but there have been times when even mainstream fighters have competed in the Viceroy. Winning a Fight Night not only meant winning a small fortune, but also that everyone in the LA underground fight scene would know about ya. Hell, the underground fight scene across the country would know about your name. That was the thing about the Viceroy, its organizers were deeply connected. The extent of their influence is really unknown, but they know how to spread the word, and they can always, somehow, make the most improbable matches happen. They can set up any match, between almost anyone in the country, anyone in the world for that matter, so long as they deem it "acceptable" to their standards. And no one could just walk up and request to fight - the Viceroy had to invite ya first. They'd scout ya, learn everything about ya, track your progress for weeks, months even. Their reach isn't just limited to the underground or independent circuits, either. They'll reach all the way to the mainstream promotions from time to time. Most of the time they'd send an invite to both fighters, on rare occasions they'd invite just one and ask that wrestler who she'd want to face. That fighter could chose literally ANYONE to fight. 

And once they noticed what I've been doing in the past few months, they contacted me, and offered me a match to face anyone, anybody in the world.

I asked them to give me "Unbreakable" Rowan Chance.



"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome, to Fight Night! Introducing first of all, fighting out of Las Vegas, Nevada! She stands at 5'8'' tall, and weighed in at 130lbs. She is the Platinum Queen! Ladies and gentlemen, give it up, for TIFFANY!"

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAb5SasJ2Y4

"The Instinct" begins to beat into everyone's ears as it plays over the speakers. The lights have dimmed down until darkness washes over the crowds, with only a few spotlights shining over the entrance set. Clusters of white smoke rise up from the stage, clouding the entrance, while the music builds, and a shapely silhouette appears in the middle of the metallic portal. Loud applause strikes up from the audience as I walk through the smoke, pausing for a brief moment as the spotlights shine down on me. A smirk appears on my full lips as my music builds to a blaring crescendo of pounding drums and guitar riffs, and at that moment I extend my fists to either side of me, tilting my head back, striking my pose for the cheering audience. The spotlights cast over me, showing me in my hooded leather jacket, with the black hood drawn up and over my head. Under my jacket is a black and silver lycra bustier, accompanied by a pair of seamless lycra silver and black booty shorts. The usual items of my ring gear equip my tall, toned and voluptuous body: black boots with the sleek kick-pads, kneepads and fishnet stockings, a black sleeve on my right arm, black tape around my left hand and wrist, a black choker at my neck. My sharp nails are also painted silver. I lower my arms and settle my eyes forward, and saunter to the ring, spotlights following me as I make my way across the ramp. A look of icy focus is etched across my features as the fans in attendance holler and applaud loudly. I slowly step through the ropes, take a full look around as I stand in the center of the ring, then, I whip off my hood and thrust my arms out to my sides once again. My big platinum hair cascades freely, whipping around me as I strike my signature pose yet again for the fans. The masses are on their feet, cheering loudly, rowdily, as the Platinum Queen returns to the Viceroy. My music starts to simmer down.

"And, her opponent--"

[Rowan Chance]

Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center
"Your last two matches saw serious damage to your spine. The first should have ended your career. The second...Ms. Chance, there's no way you should ever wrestle again."

Johns Hopkins Hospital, Baltimore

"No. Absolutely not. I will not clear you for that kind of activity."

Banner Health, New York
"No, Ms. Chance. I don't think you should ever wrestle again."

John C. Lincoln Medical Center, Orthopedics
"Considering the injuries you sustained, I suggest you never wrestle again."

Einstein Medical Center, Philadelphia
"Not a chance. Oh, I'm sorry. No. I can't sign that paper. I'm sorry."

Arizona Spine & Joint Hospital
"Though your back wasn't technically broken, there was a hairline fracture. I have to suggest you never wrestle again."

Hospital for Special Surgery
"Ms. Chance, you just got back on your feet. I'm afraid I can't clear you for anything that strenuous."

Cedars-Sinai Medical Center
"You're joking, right? You do realize you spent six months in traction, another six months in rehab, and you...no. Absolutely not."




Japan, Hōryū-ji Temple
"Lie down. Relax. And breathe."


Two months later...



The doctor peers at the X-Rays, shaking his head. "I...don't understand. You should have some sign of the fracture..."

"So...?" I ask, sitting on the examining table.

"And you feel no pain?" he asks.

I nod. "No pain."

"No numbness in your fingers or toes?"

I nod again. "Nope."

The doctor shakes his head. "Ms. Chance, I know I'm not the first doctor you went to, and I see the recommendations of the others, it just seems...I mean...I can't explain it."

I smile. "I know."

"All right." He puts down the X-Rays and picks up his clip board. "You needed three doctors to sign this. I guess I'm your third."

"Thanks, Doc."

"Just...be careful," he says, handing me the paper. "This is the third time I've seen you with a back injury. I don't want to see you with a fourth."

"It's all right, Doc," I tell him, taking the paper. "Everything's going to be just fine."

* * *

Standing at the gorilla position, I hear the crowd chanting for the blonde bombshell in the ring. Considering the last time these fans saw me, I'm not sure what the reaction is going to be. Boos, certainly. Maybe some little sign of respect. We'll find out.

After my match with Punky (https://www.freecatfights.com/forums/index.php?topic=68759.0), nobody expected to see me again. She's even walking around with a cane and a knee brace. I was unconscious and helpless, bleeding from my head. My spine apparently broken. Hell, I thought my spine was broken. Close enough, I guess. Even a hairline fracture is enough to endanger the rest of your life. But I've got an even deeper wound inside me...

Tantalus: "I grab Rowan's hair from behind and pull her head back. Then, I send a palm strike straight into her spine."


Not a lot of people saw that one. Enough. Son of a bitch Tantalus put me right back into the hospital. I finish the match with Punky, spend almost a year trying to get on my feet, then that bastard fucking sends me right back again. Spend months trying to find a way to get myself into the ring. I found one. And I did it without his help.

That one match with Lisa Starr--fucking Lisa goddamn Starr--nearly ended my career. But here I am. Back behind the curtain. Waiting for the entrance cue.

"And, her opponent--"

All the lights go out. Spotlights flash around the audience. A female voice booms through the loudspeakers.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. And all you marks in the audience..."

I snicker. That should get them riled up.

"...the show... is about...to BEGIN!"

Britney's "Circus" blares into every corner of the Viceroy. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lVhJ_A8XUgc

All the eyes on me in the center of the ring
Just like a circus
When I crack that whip, everybody goin' trip
Just like a circus
Don't stand there watching me, follow me
Show me what you can do

All the spotlights hit the stage, and I'm there. A top hat on my head, hands behind my back, a thick, black (faux) fur coat over my curves. And on the right musical cue, I look up, black glasses on my eyes. My right hand comes around my back, holding a long, black whip (kangaroo hide, because that's the best, and I don't settle for anything less than the best).

And the whip is ON FIRE.

Behind my back, I drop the lighter that ignited the fluid on the leather. Then, swinging it around my head, pulling it down, giving it a good, hard cattleman's CRACK, then whipping it back for a flick CRACK, then a few more twists for a series of hard CRACK CRACK CRACK. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y4uAZ2X9WBw)

I let the whip dangle behind me as I stride down toward the ring, the flames still licking the leather. And when I reach the steps, I saunter up. Standing on the top step, wrap the whip around the post and shrug my shoulders, letting the coat fall away. My gear is classic Rowan Chance: black pleather short pants, tall domme boots and a pleather corset. All tight, tight, tight.

I lift my right leg up high--above my head--and put it over the top rope, swinging my body along behind it, spinning into the corner, arms on the top ropes. My hair tied back just as tight as my pants, my long raven blue black hair in a braid that reaches down to the small of my back.

I smile across the ring at Tiffany, my lips blood red.

And just below my navel, peeking out of those tight shorts, is that tattoo that I made famous.

"UNBREAKABLE."

I initially got it for my sexfighting career, but it's become just as popular in the world of pro wrestling, apparently giving me a new nickname. Because even after everything Megan did to me...

...I'm still fucking here.

UNBROKEN.

[RedEnforcer]

The Viceroy?

Yeah that's a name that brings back memories. Good and bad. In my youth I learned of it and even got a chance to call out an opponent. Toughest fight of my life but the most financially rewarding.  But, it was just too intense. Too much. I've been in fights before but both of us, so young and wanting to get that prize. When I got out of the hospital, I headed back to the Carolinas and never gave that place a second thought. However, winning a match there was like winning the Masters. You're a member for life. So I got the invitations for all the fights and not one interested me. Till this latest. The minute I saw it I picked up my phone. Dialed a familiar number. But there wasn't an answer.

Fuck.

Plane trip. After coming back home from London months ago, I swore off planes forever. And here I am, like a gawddamned idiot boarding another flight.  What do I really think I can do? I mean, she's headstrong and stubborn and apparently has a death wish. She's stabbed me in the back and shoved me away and used me for her own gain as it suited her time and time again.

But still, I'm getting on a plane.

I'm not a doctor. But within the last year I've seen Rowan have her back just devastated, not once but twice.  One in Paris and the other in a smaller venue. Why the fuck am I even bothering with this?  She's signed the match and she's going to do it. Tiffany is no slouch and she was there in Paris too, so it's not like she doesn't know about Ro's back.

I should let this go.

I should.
Just leave this airport and go.

Just then as I'm turning I see the back of a young woman, same height, same walk. I swear it takes me back in time to when I first met Rowan. That bright eyed, eager young woman who just wanted to wrestle. She's still there. Somewhere. Beneath all that angry exterior. Beneath the pain that led her on the path she's on. There's a spark of hope. There's a truly good woman in there. 

I need to help her find it before she ends up crippling herself.

I sigh heavily. I turn and get on the plane.

Soon I'm in LA. Don't like it. Don't like it.

I mean Atlanta is too big for me and LA, holy fuck it's a million times worse.

But here I am. And soon I'm sitting in my spot on the front row. I bet many people even forgot I am a past victor and earned this seat.  I tried to get in touch with Rowan with no response. But she can't deny me what I've earned. I look about and notice I'm alone on this row. I wonder where the others are. I know I get one seat for a guest, and I'm not sure if the invitation I sent will be answered. But aside from that I thought there would be more....

And the entrances happen. Tiffany, amazing as ever. She's one name that's been around almost as long as I have. And she's been tearing it up lately. Which is why I wonder about her calling out Rowan. She's got something in mind.  For now, she looks gorgeous.  I think we need to cross paths soon.

And the Rowan comes out.

I'm not sure what to expect.  This is different. New. She's reinvented herself yet again. And it's just mindblowing seeing her there. The consummate performer. Showing off to the crowd.

I just hope she knows what she's doing. But gawd does she look so beautiful now.

[BustyTiffany35]

My back is turned to the entrance stage as I shed my jacket and toss it over the black steel ring post behind my corner of the ring, when I hear a woman?s voice. A sinful, silken smooth voice, brimming with confidence and bravado, sensual yet dangerous, a siren?s call to all us weary, wayward travellers. Her voice.


I turn to the stage, eyes narrowing at the Unbreakable one standing there at the top of the ramp, while the loudspeakers pump fucking Britney Spears into the Viceroy. A smirk slowly forms on my full glossy lips as I watch her step under the spotlights, in her thick, stylish fur coat and shades. She?s even wearing a top hat. And to top it all off, she?s brandishing a whip - that?s on fire.


She swings the fiery whip high above her head and brings it down HARD, with a slashing cattleman?s CRACK that almost makes me flinch. I can feel the heat of all that fire from where I?m standing inside the ring. And she goes to town, twisting and slashing that blazing whip, the fire seething and trailing behind a slashing leather, the sound of it snapping hard on the metal of the stage leaving the large crowds gasping in awe.


CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.


It?s almost hypnotic, watching her handle that whip with such razor-edged precision and flawless expertise. It reminds me of that one, dark night in Paris, reminds me of how Rowan moves, how fiercely she attacks, how fast she is. Inhumanly fast. My eyes narrow, hands tightening into fists.


Rowan Chance is the kinda woman that once ya see her, ya just can?t take your eyes off of her. Whether ya like it or not, ya follow her every move, and as she saunters down the ramp I do just that, my narrowed eyes following every step that brings her closer to the ring. Until she?s standing by the ropes, wrapping that whip around her post, shrugging that fur coat off to reveal her classic ring attire adorning her luscious body. It?s all tight, all pleather. And those domme boots. Gawd, those fuckin? boots. I watch closely as she enters the ring, in a way that only Rowan would, extending her damn leg high above her head, over the top rope, and swinging herself around to land smoothly into her corner.


Ya know, ya coulda just, stepped through the ropes, but whatever sugah..


But what really catches my attention is the grace in her movements, the effortlessness. She?s moving around just fine, as if her spine wasn?t ever broken at all. That match with Megan in Paris took her out for a year. That match she had, after a year?s recovery, with Lisa gawd damn Starr nearly ended her career. She shouldn?t even be walking, let alone wrestling again. And yet, here she stands, across the ring, smiling at me with those tempting, kissable blood red lips, looking as fresh and poised and ready to fight as ever, without a hint of injury, not a sign of distress. I lick my glossy lips, and grin. Good.


I want ya Unbroken.


I slowly step outta my corner, putting my flowing platinum mane into a tight ponytail, eyes never once leaving Rowan. Your music dies down, and the audience lets out a heavy mix of cheers and boos. The ref waves her hand, signalling for the bell. And as it DINGS loudly, I circle around to the right, inching closer to ya, feet shuffling smoothly, moving almost like a boxer. Toned arms raised up just at eye level, fingers splayed out, I step in quick, looking to tie-up--

[Rowan Chance]

The bell rings and the bombastic bombshell stands on the other side of the ring from me. The last time I was in a ring...it hurt. More than just physically. Losing to Lisa Starr of all people. And Tantalus...I didn't even remember what happened. I had to watch it on video. There's a lot of that happening these days. And I'm tired of it. Sick and fucking tired of it. Lisa was always griping and whining about being abandoned. About everyone making a joke out of her.

The last two matches I had, I lost. One of them was an hour long war that put both of us in the hospital. Punky wears a brace on her knee now and I had to spend more than a year with chronic back pain, unable to compete in either of my chosen professions. Had to relinquish my sexfighting championship because I just couldn't do it. I couldn't be Rowan Chance.

Well that shit stops tonight. 

This crowd should be cheering me, but they're not. They should be happy I can even walk after what Punky did to me, let alone climb back into a wrestling ring. They don't see the subtle weight belt I've worked into my tights. They don't understand my domme boots are built to keep my back straight. They don't know how many pain killers I'll be on later tonight, how I'll be laying in a tub full of ice, how I'll be crying my eyes out as I shiver half to death.

They don't know any of that. And they wouldn't care if they did. What they want to see is me groaning and pleading and crying out as they fulfill their vicarious fantasies of getting their hands on me. The things they imagine they would do to me.

Fuck them. And not in the fun way.

That's the head I'm in when you put up your hands for a classic collar and elbow tie up, Tiff. Maybe you see my eyes narrow. Maybe you see my lips curl. Maybe you hear my throat growl.

You want a villain? All right. Here she comes, bitches.

I make like I'm going for the collar and elbow, but that's not what happens. Sure, I put myself in the position, and you even feel my hand on your shoulder, feel my legs pushing and my hips trying to find the best place to put my center of gravity...but when our arms are crossed, my sharpened thumbnail reaches right in for those pretty eyes of yours. The one I spent an hour filing down, just for you babe.

It reaches just under your eyelid, hoping to scrape the cornea, ripping upward into the eyelid. Twisting as it does. The meat of my thumb pressing against the eye itself, pushing it into your head.

Did you think this was some cheap ass Hogan eye rake, fuckers? Then, you weren't paying attention.

And that's the first rule, kiddos. Pay attention. You break that rule, and you'll be exactly where Tiffany is: in a whole flood full of trouble. And the water is rising.

[BustyTiffany35]

You're a gorgeous woman, Rowan. I've always known that. But standing this close to ya as we're about to lock up, I have to admit I'm taken aback by how beautiful ya are, and it's a lil'.. distracting. My arms still rise up and I still lean forward to tie up with ya with a collar an' elbow, and in that brief moment I see something else besides your beauty. I see this determined look surface on your features, I watch your eyes narrow, I spot your crimson lips curling, and all the noises of the Viceroy crowd seem distant and muted to the growl that emanates from your throat. I see it on your face, caught it in your eyes, even if it's only for a second: you're angry, and you've got something to prove tonight.

I also see your hand, shifting upward the moment we meet in the collar/elbow tie-up. And I see it go right for my face. Specifically, I see your thumb, and that sharp nail, homing in on my eye.

I shut my eye hastily, a hair of a second before your nail could tear into it. I wince as your thumb still pushes hard against my shut eye, and I jerk my head back, hissing loud and angrily. Your eye-rake may not have gotten me fully, but jabbing your thumb into my closed eye still hurts, and it's certainly thrown me into a bit of a loop. We haven't even fully tied up yet and you've gotten the drop on me. But with an attempted eye-rake? Why, ya dirty lil' bitch..

Ain't gonna cry 'bout that now. Not like the ref will do anything, either. Dirty lil' attacks like that are allowed in the Viceroy, since there ain't much for rules. No, there ain't no time to cry or bitch. Gotta roll with it, and retaliate.

I grab your hand, and clutching it deathly tight. My head's jolted back away from your thumb and I'm blinking rapidly, glaring viciously at ya as I grip your hand. My other hand, which was on your shoulder a moment ago, slides up along the curve of your neck, feeling the smoothness of your skin under my palm. I tighten my fingers against the back of your neck, and with a growl of my own, I try to YANK ya toward me while THRUSTING a knee up, hoping it'll SMASH into your naval.

[Rowan Chance]

It isn't that I need to cheat. I don't. Go look at my matches and tell me I'm someone who gets by on cheating.

You go check out that match with Me...I mean, the Purple Volkswagen (short, stout, slow and always in need of repair) and you'll see what I mean. Sure, I lost, but you go 60 minutes with that little psychopath and see how far you go.

I don't need to cheat. But having picked up the skill only recently, I can tell you a truth I learned: cheating makes everything else so much easier.

I didn't want to be in a lockup with Tiffany. Fuck no. She's taller, stronger...bigger. I mean, Jesus, look at those tits. A girl could get goddamn smothered in those monsters.

No, I want to keep as much distance between me and Tiffany as possible. So when she grabs the back of my head and tries for that belly kick, I immediately grab her wrist and scream.

"Ref! Ref! The hair! The hair!"

The referee sees Tiffany's hand at the back of my skull, sees my head "pulled back" and she intervenes. That cuts off Tiffany's little plan of planting her knee into my belly. She steps between us just as Tiffany--that's you babe--gears up for the kick. Pushing us apart. Slapping her hand on the back of my neck.

"Thanks, Ref," I say, smiling sweetly. Even flirting a little. The referee blushes and steps back.

And when the ref is between us, I send a quick slap towards your head, Tiff. Just a love tap, really. I do it nice and slow.

That's because I don't want you see me duck low and spin and send the tip of my domme boot right into the back of your knee. Right where the cartilage and tendons are so vulnerable. That heavy boot, straight in there. Making sure you're paying attention to what I'm doing above, so you don't see what I'm doing below.

Yeah. I'm the villain. Know why?

I'm sweeping the leg.

[BustyTiffany35]

My fingers tighten behind your neck, my other hand clutching the hand that jabbed its thumb into my eye. I'm all set to drill my knee right through your stomach when ya start screaming frantically. I wasn't expecting ya to yell like that, so even I pause the moment. My knee's cocked and ready to fire, but I stall, 'cause I'm trying to figure out what you're hollerin' about. When I finally figure it out I can?t help but roll my eyes.

Seriously..

As if on cue, the ref gets in between us, stopping me from unleashing that knee. I leave that bullet in the chamber for now as the pretty ref swaps my hand away from your "hair", and I just start to boil when I spot ya thanking the ref for breaking us apart.

The ref even starts to admonish me for "grabbing" onto your raven blue braid when outta nowhere, ya slap me! Your hand just snaps off the side of my head, hard enough to get me to perk up, but not hard enough to cause any real pain. And definitely hard enough to piss me off.

I furrow my brow and move forward to grab hold of ya, when ya suddenly drop outta my line of vision! Another moment wasted to figuring out what the hell you're doing, when it quickly dawns upon me that you've ducked down and your body's spinning at my feet. If I had the time to, I'd smirk.

Oh sugah, I never realized you were a Cobra Kai..

I see your sweep kick coming before it even happens, because an attack like this always happens. I'm usually taller than most of my opponents, so naturally, those gals would go for my legs. In virtually every match that I've been in one or both my legs are targeted. I'm not even mad at that, It's the smart thing to do. And I've developed a kind of Sixth Sense about it, anticipating the attack will happen, knowing exactly how to defend against it.

But the difference here is your speed. Kairi was fast. Reiko was, too. Sadie was freakishly fast. Punky was even faster. You though, darlin'? Gawd DAMN, I think ya may be faster than any gal I've ever fought before. You move so swiftly, so smoothly, that sexy leg slicing through the air in such a blinding blur. In less than a blink of an eye, that heavy Domme boot sweeps around and the point of it is about to connect with the back of my knee - that is, if I wasn't prepared for it. You would have gotten me if I wasn't ready, and I would be on the canvas right now, clutching my knee in agony. But I am prepared for it, and I simply lift my foot up as high as I can before your foot can make contact, and with my leg up in the air your foot will just sweep under my boot and then I'll probably stomp down on your prone body--

--except, again, you're so gawd damn fast.

The tip of your boot does hit my leg as I lift it outta the way - it slams into my toned calf instead of the back of my knee, and the force of your sweep kick is enough to send that leg flying up into the air. I lose my balance, and go crashing onto the canvas, right down onto lower back. The bright lights of the Viceroy shine down on me as I lay on my back with my calf now throbbing, stinging painfully from your sharp kick. But I can handle this, it's just my calf that's hurting and not my knee. Uncomfortable as all hell, but I can manage this better than getting my knee clipped. I just narrowly missed that kick, though. I gotta really do something 'bout your speed..

I glance over and see you're still in a crouched position having completed the sweep kick, still very close to me.

With a feral growl, I ignore the throbbing in my calf, turn slightly so I'm facing your side. All the while, bringing both my legs up and together - bundled tight, I bring them close to my chest, then PROPEL my boots forward, hoping they'll smash into your ribs before ya have time to advance on me!

[Rowan Chance]

Those damn long legs...

Boots come flying at my ribs faster than I anticipated. You're big. You're strong. But damn, if you don't have some speed in you, too. We'll have to take care of that.

But in the meantime, those boots connect, kicking me backward, knocking me hard. I fall back on my training as my body falls back, tumbling instead of landing hard. Still, that kick to the ribs hurt. As I tumble backward, landing on my knees, I can't help but grab at my side, my teeth gritting in my mouth, nostrils flaring.

I'm on both knees, close to the ropes. I can hear the announcers behind and below me.

"Chance took a good hit there. A smart strategy from Tiffany: cut off her breathing and you cut off everything else."

I know I'm the only one in the whole building who noticed they called me "Chance" and called you "Tiffany." Just another reason to hate you.

I don't hate you yet, Tiff. But you're earning points.

The stiff pain in my side will fade with time. But until that time, I have to keep you off balance.

Three steps ahead, my sensei taught me. Stay three steps ahead.

I'm on my knees. A glare in my eyes. You're a few steps away, about half a ring. So, I decide to push up to my feet, run across the room and make all the movements I need to telegraph a front face lock. Make 'em bright orange and loud, just like a traffic cone. So loud, there's no way you can't see them.

But that's just a feint. For a big, dumb blonde like you, I shouldn't need anything more than that, but the kick proved I have to keep you at leg's distance. That's why at the very last minute, as I'm charging toward you, aiming for your neck, I'll drop flat on my back and slide, arms outstretched, hoping to hook your ankles. Slide right under you as you brace for the front face lock. Arms outstretched so I can catch your ankles, slide under, throw you face forward.

Flat on the mat, face down. That's where I want you. Because then...oh, Tiffany. Do I have a surprise.

[BustyTiffany35]

I breathe a heavy sigh of relief as my boots connect with Rowan's waist. She's launched back across the ring with the thrust kick, but instead of crashing bodily into the boards, she tumbles smoothly onto the canvas. Graceful even when falling.

I watch her as she rolls fluidly onto her knees by the ropes, and for a brief instance I catch a look of pain that bites her expression. I spot her gritting her teeth, breathing heavy, clutching her side, and I grin, my confidence bolstering. Bet that kick must have stung, Rowan. Good. There's plenty where that came from, and I'm gonna give ya more of it sugah, all night long.. Gotta follow up now, keep the pressure on. Capitalize on that strike, keep pounding on those ribs and keep her breathing hard. If I can cut her air off then I'll be able to slow her down, take away her speed, get her to move like a normal human being. 

There's a far easier strategy that I could initiate. I could always just go after her ba--NO. No, I ain't gonna do that, I don't have to do that to beat her.

I sit up and I see her wipe that pain-streaked expression clean off her gorgeous face with a sharp, deep breath, a look of anger swelling in those dark, fierce eyes. I glare back at her, and start to get up, but she's already moving.

Rowan's already crossed the ring, and already on me. I just 'bout get to my feet when I see her arms shoot out, looking to wrap around my head and neck. She's striking first, trying to wrap me up and keep me under her control before I could even get the chance to go after her and deliver some real damage. Front face lock, huh Rowan? Made that SO obvious! I'll let ya lock me up, so I can get close enough to POUND your side with my fist, or maybe hit ya with a Northern Lights Su--wait. WAIT.

Gawd DAMN, you're slick.

Ya weren't going for that front face lock AT ALL. It was all a setup - like that lil' love slap from earlier, meant to distract me up high before ya spun down low to sweep my legs from under me. I caught on to your sneak attack then, but now - I don't have time to counter ya. You've distracted me enough with that front chancery attempt, only to go low, again, this time sliding between my legs while grabbing onto both my ankles! You pull HARD on my legs and I'm THROWN forward, unable to counter your quick trip, unable to even put my hands up to protect my face before I drop into the canvas, unable to do anything but fall to the ground.

"OWF!" I groan, as the mat rushes up beneath me and I just slam down harshly onto the boards! My breasts take the brunt of the fall, mushrooming agonizingly beneath me, followed up by my face that just smacks off the hard canvas! I'm put in a daze as I crumble onto the mat, laying there in a disheveled heap. Face down, flat on the mat, with Rowan probably up on her feet and looming over me from behind. Despite the pain that's blushing on my chest and face, I'm really more embarrassed than hurt.

I'm a lil' slow in getting my bearings back in order, but I do begin to stir. While I lay there, I can't help but mentally kick myself for falling for another one of this villainess' traps. This time though, she caught me good. That flood of trouble's on the rise again..

[MeganMuscleBarbie]

Wow!  Now this is how board fighting is supposed to be!

[Rowan Chance]

Sliding under you, hooking your ankles, and feeling your body fall face-first behind me.

Yeah, the magic's back.

I move fast, turning and grabbing one of your ankles. I bend your knee, twist it around my leg, grab your other leg and twist that, locking it all together. Then, I fall backward, onto my shoulders, with one hand on your twisted up ankle.

That's right bitch. An oldie but goodie. And with that in mind, a little backstory...

* * *

"You are Lady DDT," the promoter said, handing me the mask. It was a plain black mask with the letters "DDT" along the top.

I wanted to say, "You've got to be kidding me." I wanted to spit in his face and walk away. I wanted to kick his ass and leave him laying in a pool of his own blood and humiliation.

But I took it. I bowed. And I said, "Arigatōgozaimashita."

And for a year, I was Lady DDT. My gimmick was simple: I did DDTs. That's it. Nothing else. Just DDTs. Swinging DDTs, Tornado DDTs, Reverse DDTs. You name it, I did it. I tried to think of this whole year as being in Mr. Miyagi's backyard painting the fence. Up, down. Up, down. Up, down. Maybe they'd change my gimmick to "Lady Suplex." Learn how to do the DDT right and you'll...

...nah. It was a comedy gimmick. After spending months in America learning the basics in Canada at the Lance Storm Wrestling Academy, the only thing I was allowed to do was DDTs. For a year. And I worked it. I figured out how to pull a DDT out of nowhere. Randy Orton had nothing on me. I learned speed. I learned deception. I forced myself to figure out a way to work the one move I was allowed to do into every match. Fuck this promotion. Fuck them in the ear. I was going to get over as Lady DDT.

A goddamn year. Nothing but DDTs. And I got over. People cheered when I showed up. I was the gaijin comedy underdog. They wanted me to win. I was getting over in Japan as Lady DDT.

Then, one night, I had the opportunity to do something I learned in Canada. I saw it. Like someone handing me a gift. It was a move Mr. Evers taught me that I had been saving. And I was getting my ass kicked that night. I mean, hard. My opponent thought I was finished and was taunting the crowd. And when she turned, I did exactly what I just did to you, Tiff. I ran forward, slid between her legs, hooked her ankles and flopped the bitch straight on her face.

Then, I applied the move I worked on with Lance. I bent her knee, twisted it around my leg, grabbed her other leg and twisted that, locking it all together. Then, I fell backward, onto my shoulders, with one hand on her twisted up ankle.

And I pulled.

I didn't have a name for it back then. I just did it. And that bitch tapped in less than three seconds. An inverted, reverse figure four. Her face down, me face up, applying the figure four leg lock.

Less than three seconds.

That's because it's ten times worse than the figure four. It hits all the same spots, but hits them in exactly opposite ways, bending the knees and ankles in every direction they aren't supposed to go. And it isn't just the pain that makes you want to tap. It's the sensation of feeling your knees and ankles about to pop right out of their sockets. That is what makes you want to tap.

I put that move on that bitch and she tapped. Like a one-month rookie, she tapped.

I walked back through the curtain and the promoter fired me. Right there on the spot. I didn't care. I was done being Lady DDT. I walked by him. When he grabbed me, I dropped his fat head on the concrete. With a DDT.

I went right back to my dressing room and sat down. I threw the mask to the floor.

What now? What do I do now?

Looking down at the floor, planning my "triumphant" return home, a pair of expensive shoes entered my vision. I looked up. Expensive slacks. Expensive shirt and tie. Expensive jacket. The whole thing must have cost over a million yen.

I got up to the face and saw an older version of a wrestler I watched on TV when I snuck my brothers' old video tapes into my room.

"Nice move," he said in English, his accent so heavy, his vowels nearly swallowed his consonants. "Let me show you how to do it better."

I was looking up at Keiji Mutoh. The man I spent the next six months training under.

And he taught me how to "make it better," Tiff.

So much better.

Now...


"TAP YOU BLONDE BIMBO BITCH!!!"

[RedEnforcer]

This is a little uncomfortable. We're only a few moves in and Rowan's not Rowan.

Gone is the sultry, seductive vixen who liked to play mind games with you.  The person in the ring now seems...different.

Not just different, scary.

I have no idea what sacrifices Rowan made just to be able to stand in that ring. I know that a while back when she took my mask, she was in pretty damn rough shape.  Pain pills only delay the inevitable.  But this, she seemed back to fighting shape. But she's altered her style.

Eye rakes are more about fear than actual pain. You get the person so distracted hoping you haven't damaged the soft part of their eyes that they end up making their own vision blurry by rubbing them.  But what Rowan tried was much more vicious. It smelt like Muta. I wonder if she went back to him for help. 

And even now, seeing her move so quickly..yes it has shades of the woman I've tangled with in the past, but it's a different...tone.

Gone was much of the sensuality in her movements. No, this Rowan. This person dressed in my...in her body looked like Rowan but with the sex replaced with violence. There's a viciousness to her.  One that has me worried that Tiffany is going to get severely hurt. I don't think Tiffany prepared for this Rowan. I'm sure she thought all she had to fight off was Rowan's erotic stylings.

But this isn't that Rowan. And Tiffany may be able to fend her off, but I don't know....

Ouch.

Shit.

Tiffany's face first. And Rowan's going for her legs.

Not good. Not good. 

Tiffany's gonna need to regroup and restrategize to get back in this. IF she can walk after this hold.

I hear Rowan scream out for Tiffany to tap.

And as much as I'd like to see Tiffany fight up, part of me hopes she listens.

I don't know who that is in that outfit in the ring. She may look like Rowan, but more like a Rowan focused on destruction.

Tiffany's or her own?

At this point, I don't know which it'll end up being.  And that's what scares me the most.

[BustyTiffany35]

Right now, my lovely adversary, Rowan Chance, is shrieking at the top of her very lungs for me to tap. The pretty ref is hovering over my head, asking me if I wanna submit. All around us, dozens upon dozens of fans are wondering if I will give up. Even more people in the audience are thinking it's a pretty good idea that I should tap out now, because this is one sick hold and my legs are lookin' like they'll snap into pieces and this sadistic harlot will NOT let me go until I tap.

And as I start to scream, my voice bellowing into the L.A night, I can't help but think that, in pure disgust I should add, already people want me to quit.

This early in the match, so damn soon in the fight, and people are already telling me I should quit? You people all think I'm already done, don't ya? Finished before I even started? Is that how low your opinion of me really is? You actually believe I have no chance of gettin' outta this hold, that I should just quit now or risk severe injury? Is that what y'all think?

Well fuck y'all.

Ya don't get to be called 'Queen' by letting others tell ya what to do.


Still, this hurts like a fuckin' bitch.

The pain is one thing. The tension in my twisted up and tangled legs is building to the point where every second spent trapped in this insidious hold is pure, searing agony. But it's not just the pain that's overwhelming - it's this sick, dreadful feeling that my joints may just rip apart, that my sockets, which are wailing in sheer torment as they're being pulled in the WRONG directions, could easily pop at any given second. The longer Rowan keeps me here, the more likely that could very well happen - she's not making any of this easier the way she's yanking down on my ankle, too. Gawd damn bitch. It's like I'm slipping, rapidly, down an icy slope, drawing closer to the edge, sliding quickly and helplessly into oblivion.


No. No. FUCKIN' NO..


Stop thinking about the pain, I snap at myself. Stop thinking, fearing, that your sockets will pop or your joints will tear apart or that your legs will break into two. Stop thinking about any of that shit, and just focus. Breathe, focus. And MOVE.


The Viceroy became very loud, very fast. The audience sounds like they're screaming in tongues. Rowan's a banshee, her deafening screams ringing out into the night. But the only person screaming louder than Rowan is ME. The second she locked in this wretched hold I just let my larynx erupt. Shockwaves of my agony spread to every corner of the Viceroy. However, my screams die out quick, replaced by desperate gasps as I clench my jaw, planting my palms into the canvas, and with a mighty breath, I push myself up. Triceps hardening as they extend, shuddering all over, choking back another cry of anguish. The pain, the agony, the fuckin' shit-show that's happening in my legs right now - I can't think 'bout that now. I mustn't. I have to block it out, ignore it, pay it zero attention. Don't think about the pain, instead, think about getting out. Focus on that, and only that. Feverishly, my mind starts to recall Aleister Black's guided meditation - it could work for this, work at keeping the pain at bay. Block it all out so I can just concentrate on crawling. Or, more accurately, clawing and scraping toward the ropes. Fucking dragging myself to a rope break. Cause there ain't no way to break outta a hold like this once it's tied onto ya. You're fucked, unless ya can get to them ropes. 

If you're in a fight with someone taller than ya, their height doesn't mean anything once ya get em' on the ground. I believe that, to an extent. Maybe in an MMA fight, maybe a street fight, maybe in a catfight will that piece of advice ring true - but when you're in a ring having a pro-wrestling match and you're as tall as I am, and you're taken to the ground and tied up in a horrible submission hold, yes, your height and size won't be able to do much for ya now that you're trapped--


However, y'all can get to the ropes a lot quicker, since your taller, bigger body can cover a lot more ground.


The audience is pulsing with sound, screaming loudly, some telling me to TAP, others shouting wild encouragement to NOT. I fuckin' love you if you're the latter. I reach forward, right hand digging into the canvas. Left hand following through a second later, crashing heavily onto the mat. I shake my head and hiss out at the ref that that WASN'T me tapping and she better not mistaken that or I've got a Flatliner ready for her. With a raw, animalistic growl, I pull my weight forward - and ROWAN'S as well!

"NNNGHH!!"

Through clenched teeth I whimper, I scowl, I shake all over. Rowan doesn't weigh that much at all, but in this situation, she's a 2-tonne cement block that's chained to my twisted legs. And pulling on those twisted legs just promises me a thousand worlds of suffering and fury to reign down over my distorted joints. It's excruciating. But I FORCE the pain away, and DIG my elbows into the boards, and with a heaving pull, I WRENCH myself forward, DRAGGING Rowan along with me. Forward. Always. Have to keep going forward, keep crawling forward, keep moving forward..forward..

I glanced up with teary, glossed eyes, ragged breaths barely seeping through clenched lips. Two more feet to go. Looked more like two fuckin' miles. I've dragged the both of us from the centre of the ring, to within reaching distance of the bottom rope. Another pull, another drag, another muffled scream. The past several seconds it took to crawl and claw to this point felt like a hellacious eternity. My legs are hurting, bad. But I'm almost there, they're so close I can fuckin' taste em'.

My twitching hand rises up, reaches forward, fingers grasping for the bottom rope, tightening around it--

[Rowan Chance]

Reaching for the ropes, eh? That's fine, you can do that, Tiff. Your long legs and torso and arms give you a significant advantage in the ring when it comes to breaking a rule so you can escape my hold.

And I tell you that.

"Go on, Tiff. Reach for the ropes. Prove to the world you can't break the hold on your own. Show the world who the better wrestler is."

I yank on your ankle, pulling it, twisting it.

"Show the world who the better woman is."

You're getting closer. Closer.

"Show it to Punky. Show it to Red. Show it to them all. You grab that rope and you prove...you can't take me."

TWIST

"That you're not enough for me."

PULL

"That you're not the woman I am!"

Your fingers are poised to grab the rope. Just an inch above.

"Go on, Tiff. Prove to them all what kind of woman you really are."

YANK
PULL
TUG
TWIST

Your fingers within range.

All you have to do is close your grip.

And prove everything I'm saying is true.