Layla McCarthy vs Lynette de Villiers

There was no small amount of satisfaction in Layla's smile as she watched Lynette make her way back into the ring in such a flustered state. Seeing the annoying and haughty woman like this was ertainly entetaining. Now all she had to do was think of a way to trump this humiliation.

Of coure, through this Layla knew she had to be cautious. Lynette was definately out for revenge now, if her earlier attempt at Layla's pants were any sort of indication. And the French woman still had a significant height, weight, and strength advantage. Even more so now that the ongoing match had worn her down.

Her eyes then widened when Lynette came at her like a bat out of hell, and before Layla could get away she was forced into the close grapple. The difference in strength between the two would immediately be clear, and Layla grit her teeth as she started to be overcome. The feeling of helplessness came upon the smaller fighter, but so did another feeling: defiance.

While lynette whispered in her ear (something else that spurred Layla on), Layla's hands would latch onto both of her French foe's ears, holding her and her head in place. She'd then tuck her head underneath her chin. With everything set up, Layla would grin, and then drop down to her knees, slamming Lynette's jaw on top of her skull. And with the considerable height difference, it wold be quite the impact.

For a few moments, Lynette could feel the fear course through Layla's body, and she revelled in it as she grappled the girl, bearing down on her. However, before she could initiate a move to inflict any wound onto Layla, the smaller foe deftly ducked under Lynette's jaw, and before she could react or lock her knees to prevent the otrocity, she felt herself plummeting like a stone with Layla's drop, and the jawbreaker connected.

It felt like falling onto a cinderblock, and stars bled into Lynette's vision for a hot moment before they were simply replaced by searing pain. Her legs buckled under the impact and Lynette fell to her knees as well, but through sheer force of spite she refused to release her hold on the girl. Her jaw viciously throbbing and her head pounding, Lynette had a fraction of thought of wondering if she'd just suffered a fracture or something, before she blindly lashed out angrily, swinging an sudden haymaker as hard as she could towards Layla's face in a knee-jerk reactionary attack. It was reflexive, and immediately after Lynette would sink to the floor, but in the recesses of her unbalanced consciousness she knew that if she allowed Layla too much freedom without pressure, Lynette would likely find herself in another submission...and she wouldn't be able to escape another, in the state she felt. The match had descended into a street fight, and it couldn't continue on much longer...could it?

The crashing of Lynette's jaw on top of her skull hurt Layla as well, but it was nothing compared to what she just put Lynette through. If the smaller fighter was hurting, she knew her opponant was no doubt hurting ten times as more. Unfortuately, Layla hadn't counted on Lynette to hold onto her even after that fall, and she blinked in surprise. There was then a shifting in the hold, and Lynette's fist slammed into Layla's face.

"AHH!!" Layla cried out, cluthing her already sore nose. For a brief moment she wondered if her attack had done enough damage. Then, as she watched Lynette slump to the mat, she realized he had inflicted the perfect amount. She glared at the French woman's fallen form and scowled.

The first thing she would do with her downed opponant would be to crawl ove to her, grab her by her short hair, and then slam her head into the mat three consecutive times. This was just a ploy to keep Lynette downed, though, and once Layla completed her attacks, she would then reach for the woman's tight shirt, and start to remove that as well, leaving her with nothing but her bra and panties on in the middle of the ring.

Lynette's defenses drained, and through watering eyes the french woman could see Layla crawling after her, and she was admittedly amazed; The shorter foe's endurance was incredible. Lynette had struck a direct teeth-rattling blow to the girl's face, and still she pressed the attack! The debutante, for her part, felt her body beginning to fail, fatigue and hurt sapping her with each passing moment. She gave a weak resistance as Layla took handfuls of her hair, but it was to no avail, and her head was slammed repeatedly to the mat, white flashes of agony exploding before her eyes as her foe took control.

"G-gah..." Lynette wheezed, her focus ablur, her body shuddering in wounded convulsions. She felt deft hands clutch onto her top, then and before she could forge enough strength to push back, she felt her top stripped over her arms and head, and a matching deep-blue lace bra was revealed to all, the tight lace snugly cupping her lucious bust, plenty of delicious cleavage displayed as Lynette's breath caused her chest to rise and fall in a prominant erotic fashion.

It was the last straw. Lynette shrieked with embarrassment and her arms crossed over her chest in vain, color flushing her cheeks in shame. Despite her swimming vision, Lynette would again lash out, those powerful legs fueled by unquenchable fury, and she'd drive both legs together like a battering ram towards Layla's stomach. It was the least she could do; Layla had reduced her to a lingerie-clad vixen in the middle of the ring, and Lynette's mind blazed with violated damage considering what the spectators were imagining about her, in such a state!

And in another violent yank Layla had reduced Lynette to half-naked eye candy for the perverts in the audience to enjoy. With a smug snicker, Layla threw Lynette's top aside much like she had her pants. She could now say that she made Lynette look very foolish in this match. Then, much to her surprise, Lynette's feet came blasting into her stomach, and collided quite solidely. Layla let out a breathless scream, actually rising an inch or two off the mat from the powerful double blow. Instantly she collapsed to one knee, cluthing her stomach with both arms. Even as her tried desperately to catch her breath, she gave Lynette a pained yet arrogant grin.

Lynette fought through her dizziness and ignored her body's pleas to shut down, and scrambled to her feet as quickly as she could manage. She looked like a teasing harlot. Perhaps that was fine for SOME of the women in the AFW, but it had never been Lynette's intention, and here she was, showing off her sexy unmentionables to the perverts in the crowd.

"I HATE YOU!" She screamed, and as Layla knelt breathless a few steps away, Lynette stormed to her and kicked at her again, driving her foot deeply into Layla's ribs like a wrecking ball, and at this point the enraged french minx didn't care if she shattered bone. In fact, the only thing Lynette could think to justify this degradation would be to wipe that smirk off that goddamned face and then perhaps hospitalize the poor girl.

"OOOFFF!!" Layla gagged as another powerful kick nailed her in the stomach. In pushing and pushing the French madame Layla may have sealed her fate. It had always been her goal to humiliate Lynette, but she thought it might demoralize the woman. Instead, it drove her to hurt the smaller fighter. Layla slumped onto her side on the mat, clutching her sore ribs in agony. Luckily it felt like nothing had broken, but damn if it didn't hurt like hell anyway.

Layla had, in fact, been immensely successful in humiliating Lynette and staining her debut match by reducing her to an unwrapped piece of sex candy, but the green-clad girl had underestimated the sort of things that her french foe actually valued. Pride was enormously important...but victory was the most important. And if Lynette could not retain the former, she would attempt to procure the latter at all costs.

Without missing a beat, Lynette watched the rewarding tremors of injury course through her prey, and proceeded to swoop down like a predator and grabbed Layla by the hair with one hand, and by the throat with the other. Jerking up, Lynette would drag Layla to her feet, and before the girl could begin to gather herself, Lynette would deliver yet another knee towards Layla's already abused stomach, driving more and more breath from her.

To ensure that Layla remained on her feet and doubled over, Lynette held tightly to her hair, forcing control over her hated opponent. It was drawing time to end this.

Layla groaned in pain as she was hauled up to her feet, grasping at the arm around her throat. It seemed her actions, while delightfully humiliating to her opponant, had accidently unleashed a caged beast.

Layla' eye widend when yet another blo slammed into her bruised stomach. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Most of her air was driven out of her in that moment, and if it weren't for Lynette keeping a tight grip on her hair Layla would have fallen to her knees. Instead, she clutched her stomach on wobbly knees, desperately trying to get her breath back.

An opening.

Once she felt confident that Layla would remain standing on her own and wasn't aware enough to sense what she was doing, Lynette released the girl's hair, leaving her on her feet and doubled over, and faded just out of Layla's vision for a single moment. Lynette poised herself, and with a flash of violent grace, the french woman kicked off from the floor, one smooth, bare leg rising high only to be used to propell her other higher, until the heel of her boot plummeted directly towards the back of Layla's neck like a guillotine. A split second before impact, a frighteningly calm voice would drift into Layla's ear, if she could even still focus enough to hear it: "Bonne nuit, petit fille."

Lynette's scissor kick was an excellent representation of her as a fighter, and was her favorite signature. Combining flair, elegance, and ruthless, ruthless execution, Lynette would aim to end the match with this one, hoping to finally break through Layla's stubborn enduring way at last and lay her out to completion.