'Thunder' Storm MacIntosh vs. Wendy Winston - The War Below

[BlackAkuma]

Again. Again. Again.

Wendy didn’t just hit Storm once - no, the first felt so good, she just had to triple down on it, bringing it up and dropping the hammer with a relishing cry. Should’ve done this from the start. It had been a long time, too long, since she’d had a proper hardcore match, something she could let loose with, and she had every right to savor it and make the most of things.

Each hit was better than the last, each one gave her a shot of adrenaline. She brought her arm up for the fourth, only to have her arm give out before she could finish the job. Stumbling back, she dropped to a knee and breathed hard, her slick chest swelling. Her brain didn’t want to quit, but her body did.

Just a little more, just a little more.

”WE WANT TABLES! WE WANT TABLES!”

Wendy rose an eyebrow as the audience made their desires known, and while she didn’t give a shit what they wanted, she had to concede that it wasn’t the worst idea. Tempting as it was to put a exclamation mark on the whole thing and bash Storm’s face into oblivion, she had a desire to end things in a climatic way. Destroy her, leave her obliterated.

”Fuck it. Give ‘em what they want, right?” Wendy had a rough, wheezing cackle, then tossed the chair away before she returned to the apron. She ducked under the ring’s skirt and felt around until her hands found wood, then began the table out from the shadows, much to the audience’s delight. Damned thing was way heavier than it had any business being, too.

[hamish1024]

Storm had braced herself for things to get worse, but that hardly helped when trapped in the harsh headlights of Wendy’s focused, feral fury. She felt sick with pain, the first blow pummelling her stomach and leaving her already-aching body numb and helpless. Flat on her back, she flailed around desperately for any kind of reprieve, but unable to move, and barely able to talk, she had nothing to stop the beating that was about to be unleashed on her.

“N...NGHHH!!!” Storm’s eyes widened in fear as the folding chair was raised for another swing, before hammering down into her helpless body again. Her flesh, already tender, hurt ever more with the second blow. The harsh impact flooded down through her frame, piling fiery pain into her spine and shoulders. Her head jerked up, involuntarily, before cracking back down on the concrete.

Poor Storm looked like she was wiped out, but that wouldn’t stop Wendy. Storm knew the Southerner had been itching for a chance to properly brutalize her. The bout had been bad-tempered before, but who knew how low things could sink, now Wendy had sensed blood?

Pretty fucking low, as it turned out. For the next few moments, Storm was cruelly and completely pulverised by solid thwacks from the steel chair, over and over again. Agony gripped the supine Scot, gritting her teeth as she tried to deal with the pain and shock flooding her system, through the ruthless rhythm of the chair strikes.

Eventually, Wendy tired of the battering. Storm was a quivering wreck on the floor, and it took her pain-addled senses a while to realise that the beating had paused. The chair strikes had left harsh, angular welts across her abdomen, she ached down to her bones, and the arena had become a spinning blur.

Many wrestlers would have been finished. Initially, Storm looked to be one of them, motionless on the grimy floor. But, as the break wore on, Storm found her vision returning, and she opened her eyes to try and get a fix on what Wendy was doing.

Shit. Storm felt a fresh jolt of fear as she saw the Southerner doggedly dragging a table out from under the ring, much to the delight of the baying fans. Fucking assholes, Storm thought dimly. Even though she’d probably have leant into the hardcore brutality if she were in control, she was damned if she was going to be on the receiving end.

Storm wasn’t really in a position to do much, but she had to try. Wendy’s back being turned gave her a brief window of opportunity, and the stubborn Scot was determined to take it, even if every inch of her body felt like lead, torturing her with pain at her foolhardy fixation on trying to move.

Move, she did, though. Gritting her teeth, she pitifully, painfully, woozily crawled to the discarded chair. Grunting, she gripped it and used it as a prop to try and haul herself up onto unsteady feet. She staggered, and looked like she would topple over. Miraculously, she kept her balance, although she looked like she was running on fumes. A fierce scowl darkening her features, she shambled towards Wendy like a reanimated corpse, and simply swung the chair at her enemy in a wild, desperate swipe. She only had the energy for one hit, so if it missed, she would be wide open for whatever Wendy had planned.

[BlackAkuma]

Somewhere in the back of Wendy’s mind, in the calm, quiet center of her raging storm, she realized that this wasn’t the optimal play. She had her opponent down, had her beaten to a pulp, a rare moment of vulnerability against an opponent that refused to stay down. Storm was tenacious, insanely so, had managed to get up every time she’d put her down in this match, and she was almost certainly going to do it again given enough time, even after that battering.

As she so often did when she was royally pissed off, though, Wendy told that logical part to shut up. This was happening. Just as soon as she could get this stupid table setup.

It shouldn’t have been that difficult, but it was crazy how getting beaten around for nearly twenty minutes could make even simple things amazingly hard. Getting the damned thing out from under the ring was a struggle, to say nothing of moving it parallel to the ring and bringing up the legs. A lot more effort than she wanted, and it wasn’t doing wonders for her mood.

”Swear to god,” She muttered through her groans as she lifted the table and straightened out the legs. ”Once we’re done here, I’m dragging your ass to the back. You thought I fucked you up last time, hun? That wasn’t shit.” One leg up. Now the other. ”I’m paying you back for all that shit you and your partner did, and I’m taking my fucking time. Just wait.”

And there was the other leg. Done. Finally.

Wendy huffed, relieved, taking a moment to catch her breath, as she leaned on the table for support. With a deep, haggard sigh, she turned around, ready to bring this to an end, and she got her wish - just not in the way she expected. She had all of a split-second to react as the chair - the same chair she’d just used - came swinging around towards her face, landing flush on her features and dropping her flat on the floor. She landed with an unsettling splat and found herself staring at the rafter, dazed and blinking as the taste of blood filled her mouth. ”...what?”

[hamish1024]

It…. It fucking hit!! It took the tired Storm a few seconds for her good fortune to register. The revenge-crazed Wendy had turned her head at the last second, but all that earned her was a steel chair to her pretty face. The metallic clank, and subsequent crumbling of her opponent, was deeply cheering to the dazed brunette. Despite her dizziness, she’d managed to channel a reasonable amount of force into the flailing weapon strike, and now Wendy was flat out at her feet, blinking dimly, a fleck of blood at the corner of her lips. It was a scene to drink in, but Storm was far from done.

“Wh… what was that about payback?” the panting Storm snarled, ignoring the pain in her abdomen. She clenched the reassuringly hard steel of the chair with a white-knuckle grip, and then jabbed the metal down angrily into Wendy’s upturned stomach. “I’ll show you fucking payback…”

Storm gave a cold grin as Wendy convulsed on the floor. The Scot wiped her sweaty brow and cast her eyes around, taking stock of the new situation. Her battered body hurt like hell, and she would barely be standing if it weren’t for the adrenaline. She had a momentary advantage here, but pushing it over the line would still take monumental effort.

“We want tables!!” an insistent fan yelled from the front row. Storm rolled her eyes and grinned despite herself, as the cry built up into a resurgent chant.

“Fine, you fucking wankers,” Storm scoffed. This was a reckless gamble… but gambling was all she really had. The crowd cheered her as she stooped for a handful of Wendy’s hair, to ‘help’ the spreadeagled Southerner back up to her feet. Storm winced; the mere act of bending over sent stabs of pain through her muscles. She’d no idea how she would get the strength to turn the table back on Wendy, so Storm started small, using the hair pull to stand behind her opponent, and RAM her face down into the table’s edge.

“You like that!?” Storm hissed in Wendy’s ear, peeling her up before ramming her face down into the wood again. “That taste like the payback you wanted?” Another table-slam to punctuate her point. “Someone’s getting their ass dragged to the back, but it sure as fuck isn’t me!” Storm finished this flourish of aggression with a final emphatic face-slam, grinding Wendy’s features into the table, rousing herself, and the crowd, whilst hopefully leaving her white-haired foe reeling.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy was awake and aware, but god, did she wish she wasn’t. To no one’s surprise, getting beaned on the skull had a debilitating effect, shutting her entire body down for a spell, and it also gave her the most painful headache on top of it all. Concussions? Oh, Concussions were on the table. Frankly, given her penchant for headbutting, it was a miracle she hadn't gotten one before. She was overdue.

Wendy was driven out of her daze when she heard Storm’s words, growing louder as she drew closer, a clear bad sign. Hissing, wincing hard, she tried to sit up in a vain effort to rise, only for the bitch to drive the chair hard into her midsection, knocking the wind clean out of her. The Backstage Bully wretched and rolled to the side, clutching her stomach and letting a stream of muttered curses flow.

Through it all, though, she could hear the audience’s demand and Storm’s acceptance. She knew what was coming. ”Fuck all of you.”

Storm didn’t leave her laying long, however. Soon enough, too soon for her tastes, the Scotswoman grabbed her platinum locks, lifting her up with a tight grip, fingers digging into her scalp. She tried to put up some small fight, only to have it knocked out of her when her face was rammed against the table.

Twice.

Thrice.

”Fuck you-”

Four times.

The last one took out what little fight Wendy had left for the moment, and she flopped back down to the floor as her legs gave out. Her vision wavered between consciousness and unconsciousness, darkness and light, teetering on the edge.

[hamish1024]

Working Wendy over was proving quite the tonic for Storm, the beleaguered brunette now spurred back to life with this show of brutality, as she slammed her foe’s face into the table over and over again. The crowd certainly appreciated the show, Storm very much back in the bout, positioned firmly behind Wendy’s bikini-clad body, looking dominant as she thrust her victim painfully downwards. Storm was running on instinct, but fortunately for her, the instinct was cruelly effective.

Trembling with bad-tempered adrenaline, Storm took a moment to pause as Wendy went limp in her grip, clearly losing her gruelling battle with the table-slams.

“Hahhh…. Yeah….” she panted as she took stock. “Now…. Let’s fuck you up properly...”

With a grunt of effort, Storm repositioned her grip, grabbing the back of both parts of Wendy’s two-piece, and hauling the white-haired wrester up and forwards, casting her limp body onto the tabletop. In the process, she gave Wendy an almighty wedgie, though that would be the least of the Southerner’s problems if Storm had her way.

Still, Storm was hardly in good shape herself, the staggering savagery she’d suffered at Wendy’s hands (and chair) meaning she was still swaying on unsteady feet. She badly wanted to piledrive her bitch opponent straight through the table, but her aching limbs protested at the thought. Too weak to wreak serious havoc, Storm needed another option.

Luckily for her, Isaac Newton was still a deadly son-of-a-bitch. Alighting on a recklessly violent idea, Storm stumbled over to the adjacent ring, hauling herself up onto the apron… and then beginning a slow climb up the turnbuckle. The crowd cheered their encouragement as she made her way shakily to the top rope, and looked out at the table below her.

Storm might not have enough gas in the tank to properly punish her enemy – but gravity certainly could. Another crazy gamble, but one she needed to take if she wanted to put Wendy away for good. Storm took a breath, and half-leaped, half-fell from the corner post, lifting up her legs to try and hit her laying opponent with a heavy top rope butt-drop on the table.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy flittered between consciousness and unconsciousness, death and undeath, awakening in bursts as her brain decided whether it wanted to work or just take a siesta. It was like someone was flipping a light switch on and off in her head, and every time it happened, she found herself in a different place.

The first time, she awoke to stare up at the ceiling, then winced as a flood of pain exploded through her body. She could hear somebody close saying something, but she couldn't make it out through the crowd's roar. It had a slight Scottish tinge to it, so she assumed it was Storm, though, probably saying more self-righteous bullshit. God, was this woman high on herself.

Fade out. Fade in.

When she came back, she was being lifted up, and she was painfully aware that she had a wedgie - quite the accomplishment, really, considering how deeply wedged the thong was by default. She winched and put up a weak struggle, but there was really nothing she could do as the woman pulled her over the table and laid her out like a spread.

Fade out. Fade in.

The first thing she noticed when she came back this time was the crowd, or rather, their noise - they were loud as fuck, for some reason. Like they were anticipating something. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked from side to side, trying to get a bead on Storm. She didn't’ seem to be on the floor anymore, so where-

Oh, fuck.

Wendy caught sight of Storm at the last moment, just as she was taking flight, soaring through the air with her ass leading the way. That brought new life to the Backstage Bully, and she tried to move, tried to roll, tried to get out of the way…

Too late. Storm came crashing down on her from on high, landing on her stomach with a devastating impact. The table gave way like balsa wood, folding clean in half beneath Wendy and leaving her folded on top of the wreckage. An inhuman, wheezing shriek came out of her lips, as if she was trying to scream but didn’t have the air for it. Her innards were scrambled, her stomach felt like it was burning from the inside out, and every breath she took was a new torture. Utterly devasted, all she could do was beneath Storm with her gaping mouth and her widened eyes, staring off into space.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy flittered between consciousness and unconsciousness, death and undeath, awakening in bursts as her brain decided whether it wanted to work or just take a siesta. It was like someone was flipping a light switch on and off in her head, and every time it happened, she found herself in a different place.

The first time, she awoke to stare up at the ceiling, then winced as a flood of pain exploded through her body. She could hear somebody close saying something, but she couldn't make it out through the crowd's roar. It had a slight Scottish tinge to it, so she assumed it was Storm, though, probably saying more self-righteous bullshit. God, was this woman high on herself.

Fade out. Fade in.

When she came back, she was being lifted up, and she was painfully aware that she had a wedgie - quite the accomplishment, really, considering how deeply wedged the thong was by default. She winched and put up a weak struggle, but there was really nothing she could do as the woman pulled her over the table and laid her out like a spread.

Fade out. Fade in.

The first thing she noticed when she came back this time was the crowd, or rather, their noise - they were loud as fuck, for some reason. Like they were anticipating something. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked from side to side, trying to get a bead on Storm. She didn't’ seem to be on the floor anymore, so where-

Oh, fuck.

Wendy caught sight of Storm at the last moment, just as she was taking flight, soaring through the air with her ass leading the way. That brought new life to the Backstage Bully, and she tried to move, tried to roll, tried to get out of the way…

Too late. Storm came crashing down on her from on high, landing on her stomach with a devastating impact. The table gave way like balsa wood, folding clean in half beneath Wendy and leaving her folded on top of the wreckage. An inhuman, wheezing shriek came out of her lips, as if she was trying to scream but didn’t have the air for it. Her innards were scrambled, her stomach felt like it was burning from the inside out, and every breath she took was a new torture. Utterly devasted, all she could do was beneath Storm with her gaping mouth and her widened eyes, staring off into space.

[hamish1024]

Like Wendy, Storm was hardly a high-flying wrestler, preferring to trust in her strength on solid ground, rather than wildly launching herself through the air. This was the second time in the match, though, that she’d done something so uncharacteristically reckless – which was surely a sign of how much she hated her violent bully of an opponent.

In truth, the butt-drop lacked finesse, and was more of a topple off the turnbuckle than a targeted attack. Storm braced herself as she plunged butt-first out of the ring in a stomach-lurching drop…. before her arse smacked down heavily on Wendy’s upturned stomach!

What followed was absolute carnage.

Storm’s considerable weight crash-landed on Wendy’s gut, squashing the white-haired wrestler against the firm wooden table – which immediately cracked under the violent pressure of the impact, and sent both big brawlers plunging downwards in an explosion of broken furniture. Storm rode her victim downwards, more through luck than skill, meaning that Wendy’s shoulders took the brunt of the bruising table smash, and Wendy’s stomach provided the crash mat for Storm’s falling backside. The crowd roared in ecstatic blood-lust, energised at the spectacular risk-taking on display, and the explosive payoff.

The impact, on the hard, table-strewn floor, was bone-shakingly brutal. Despite her dominant position in the fall, the crash to earth jolted Storm heavily, the force of the impact running up her spine, and sending her sideways, sprawling into the wreckage of the smashed table.

This was nothing, though, compared to the total wipe-out poor Wendy had suffered. Storm sat up amid the debris, heart pounding, wincing in pain but energised by the adrenaline of what had just happened. She was unsurprised to see the Southerner laid out, near-motionless after being hit by that annihilating aerial attack. Storm dimly wondered if she’d actually knocked Wendy out, and how that would play for keeping score in this facesit match… but then an agonised wheeze emerged from her enemy.

Storm was reeling, and could barely move herself, but she knew she had to finish this. Slowly, she crawled over to her devastated foe, and looked down on her handiwork. Wendy was glassy-eyed, and nearly out of it from that table smash. Traditionally, Storm would have capped off such a punishing power move with a trivial pin; the match, though, demanded that the downed girl go through yet another ordeal. Storm got to her knees and shuffled up to Wendy’s head, straddling the supine Southerner.

“You still awake, right?” Storm panted, as she positioned her ass ominously, hovering above Wendy’s upturned face. She decided to ‘check’ her opponent’s vitals by reaching down and giving Wendy’s breast a vicious twist, pinching the nipple with as much strength as she could muster.

“Well, you won’t be for long,” Storm smirked, patting her plump, scantily-clad ass cheeks, before dropping her booty and forcing poor Wendy into a heavy reverse facesit.

[BlackAkuma]

Wendy was dying. Or, at least, she felt like she was dying. She damn sure couldn't imagine that actually dying would feel any worse than this.

She curled up into the fetal position and wrapped her arms tight around her gut, fightin gfor every singel breath she could take, as if her innards had been totally scrambled. Maybe they had. Nothing felt right under the surface. She was painfully aware of organs she’d never even known she had, her ribs were on fire, and there was a sharp spike running up her back. She ordered her body to move, but it stubbornly refused every command. She had never been so utterly done in her entire life, and all she wanted to do was just find a hole in the ground to crawl into. Failing that, it would’ve been nice to just pass out.

But neither of those things were in the cards. Even through her agonized stupor, Wendy was still fully cognizant of what was likely coming next, and she knew there was no avoiding it when she heard Storm’s gruff Scottish tones.

She tried to sit up, but the woman moved in to straddle her chest before she could even come close halfway, pinning her to the floor, the shattered wood pressing against her shoulder. She looked up to find herself staring at Storm’s ass for the third time. A sweaty, hot mass dominated her vision, hovering over her like the headsman’s axe. She clenched her teeth tight, until a sharp twist on her breast brought out the scream.

”Fuck you, Storm!” She cried out in pure defiance and shook her head from side to side. ”Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuck-”

Down came Storm’s ass, spreading over her features with a perfect seal and casting her into a murky hell. Wendy’s enraged echoes reverberated through Storm’s body, but not a single one slipped through, melting into a mess of muttered noise. She weakly kicked about, spasmed, jerked here and there, but it was all a pitiful dispaly. She was completely at Storm’s mercy - something she knew that the Scotswoman had little of.