The stadium was packed with an anticipating crowd. The lights from the catwalk swirled around the crowd in various bright hues, and puffs of steam came from the combatant's entrance. It was another electrifying night of Women's Silky and Extreme Wrestling (W.S.E.W).
From its simple formation in dimly lit dive bars and sub-par gyms, W.S.E.W owner, Paul Ranfeild turned his league into one of the most successful wrestling leagues to date. His roster was packed with some of the most beautiful and dangerous women all across North America (and some from other countries), each one ready to put their bodies on the line for a taste of success. And more importantly, they weren't afraid to show some skin to get there.
Paul made it clear that his vision for a wrestling league was for adults only. There wouldn't be any dolls made in the image of his girls (unless they had to be blown up first), and the only posters of them would be hanging on the walls of horny frat boys or high schoolers with questionable parenting. These women weren't just going to be real professional wrestlers, but also hardcore pornstars. And because of that, they had to also dress as such.
The league had several stipulations within the contracts each girl signed, but the most crucial of all was that they could only fight if their combat gear was lingerie or other forms of skimpy revealing clothing. Many saw this as chauvinistic sexism, but it worked. Paul used this tactic as a means to market the uniqueness of his league to phenomenal levels. Soon, the matches were viewed by crowds of men (and a good number of women), all wanting to see his fighters beat (and fuck) each other stupid.
After a year and a half, Paul was able to broker a deal for a primo spot on Brazzer TV on the spice network. The reputable website was no stranger to hardcore fuckings or extreme forms of humiliation and wanted something new to show its customers as they launched their own TV station. To further support their investment, BTV even gave the league their own home stadium in Reno, Nevada with promises of funding for state wide events if they turned a profit.
Here, a few years later, the W.S.E.W was hosting its 23rd away event in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. The night has been an eventful one with four extreme matches, three won by pinfall and one surprising double-count out and some very intense victory fucks. And the crowd was on their seat eating it up. On any other day, Paul would be one happy man... but this wasn't any other day.
Paul paced in the owner's box, glaring down at the ring in concern. Rosie Rocket, the current titleholder for the W.S.E.W championship (called Amazonian Championship though) had no challengers. To fix this, Paul scheduled a number one contender's match between two of the leagues toughest women: Nia Jones and Carmen Rodriguez. Both of them were strong, merciless, and popular with the crowds....and they also hated each other.
From the very first day, both Nia and Carmen had intense distaste for the other. And unlike other grudges in the league, this wasn't because of something simple as an un-expecting backstab, stealing a lover, or even overinflated egos. These two girls hated each other because they were too similar.
Both Nia and Carmen were in their early twenties, both came up in dangerous neighborhoods (Nia in Baltimore and Carmen in San Antonio), and they were both as hot as they were mean. When two alpha lionesses are put in a cage, it's only natural that they'd go at each other's throats.
And indeed they have. Several fights broke out between them in the back, but were always broken up by security. Paul spent a long time opposing to the idea of putting them in a match out of fear of what they would do to each other. But now, he had no choice. Paul needed a contender who could really give Rosie a challenge and show the crowds how unscripted and extreme his league was. So when he proposed putting the two women in a match to determine who would get a shot at the title, they quickly agreed and then some.
Not very surprising to Paul, the both girls agreed to the match only if it could be a no DQ street brawl, with falls counting everywhere and no end until a winner was determined. These two didn't want to go at each other as wrestlers, but the hood rats they used to be. This upset Paul greatly.
Despite its name, Paul liked to keep the extreme to involve very little bloodshed. He had seen in other leagues how matches that involved razor wire, concrete, and nails could affect the wrestlers. His league depended on the pretty faces of his girls, and even with a team of skilled doctors on call, there's a limit on how much surgery could fix. But he needed a challenger and neither of them would budge without this stipulation for their match.
Paul broke down and reluctantly agreed, but only if the girls would agree on a 10% reduction of their fee and the prize money (a regular stipulation for any match where the combatants intentionally draw blood). Both girls agreed, caring more about getting to finally go crazy on the other without anyone stopping them.
Now Paul stood still as the lights dimmed and the ring announcer prepared to introduce tonight's main event. But before he could, the sound of a jet engine roaring played over the speakers, followed by indie rock. It was Rosie Rockets theme music.
The champion came dashing out to the stage to a wave of cheering fans. She was not wrestling tonight, so she wore her civilian clothes. A pair of tight blue jeans that hugged her curvy hips and ass with a teasing black G-string sticking out of the sides, and a white tank top with her iconic rocket logo that held in her supple 39 D bust. Her lips were painted a bright red that contrasted her pinkish white skin but harmonized with her bright red shoulder-length hair with blonde highlights that made it look like it was on fire.
