Frankie stood over Rosy's crumpled form, her massive shadow swallowing the smaller woman. The crowd was still buzzing from the wedgie driver, and Frankie placed her hands on her wide hips, her chest heaving with satisfaction as a smug, crooked grin spread across her sweaty face. "Y'know what, puddin' pop?" Frankie taunted, her voice dripping with contempt as she nudged Rosy's side with the toe of her boot. "I think I'm gonna win this whole damn thing. Not just beat you—no, no, no—I'm gonna destroy you. Make you wish you'd never stepped into this ring with a real woman."
The big-bellied brute reached down and grabbed the hem of her top, pausing for dramatic effect as she locked eyes with the hard camera. The lights glistened off the sheen of sweat coating her pale, doughy skin. "But first," she growled, "I gotta get comfortable.~~"
In one swift motion, Frankie peeled the sweat-soaked top over her head. What remained was a stained, too-small pink leopard print bikini top that barely contained her heavy, pendulous breasts—her tanned flesh spilling over the edges, dimpled and slick with perspiration. Thick rivulets of sweat traced lazy paths down the valleys of her stretch-marked belly, pooling in the deep crater of her navel before continuing their descent.
But Frankie wasn't done.
She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, and shimmied them down her thick, tree-trunk thighs, kicking them off into the ringside area. Now she stood in nothing but her pink bikini thong, which disappeared into the generous curve of her flabby ass, the fabric strained to its absolute limit. The musky aroma that had been tormenting Rosy earlier now intensified tenfold—a potent cocktail of stale beer, body odor, and the unmistakable funk of a woman who'd been throwing her weight around for ten solid minutes.
Frankie ran her hands down her greasy torso, Frankie smirked, her greasy, sweat-slicked body glistening as she reached down and hauled Rosy up by the back of her head with one meaty hand. "C'mere, you little brat," she growled, yanking the dazed shortstack to her feet.
With smug satisfaction, Frankie raised her thick arm high, exposing her plump, glistening armpit—completely bare, coated in a thick layer of stale sweat and grime. The dark, damp hollow reeked of hours of exertion and body funk. "Time to take a trip to Pitty City, population: YOU!" Frankie cackled, before looking to shove Rosy's face deep into the sweaty crevice. If it worked, She mashed Rosy's nose and mouth against her wet underarm, rubbing her back and forth like she was cleaning a dirty window. The musky, salty stench flooded Rosy's senses instantly—thick, humid, and utterly suffocating. Frankie flexed her bicep, trapping Rosy's head tighter as she laughed. "Sniff deep, sweaty ass! That's what a REAL bitch smells like!"
