Layla McCarthy vs Lynette de Villiers

Layla's hair may have been released, but thanks to her breathless state she was hardly in a position to get awa, let alone retaliate. She hunched over clutching her wounded stomach, a bad position to be in front of the vengeful skantily clad woman. She raised her head to look at Lynette, just in time to see the woman's long bare leg raise itself off the mat. Her eyes widened in horror, and there was no time to get away. Then the leg came down.

No sound came from Layla after the leg slammed against her neck. She fell to the mat and slapped against it with an ugly sound. Layla had been knocked unconscious immediately, and lay prone on the mat before Lynette.

When the signature kick connected, and Layla collapsed to the floor with a sickening, satisfying thud, Lynette felt her own strength give way; her body had been so beaten and bruised throughout the match she didn't have the effort to recover after the devastating foothammer to the back of Layla's neck. Falling to her knees, she wobbled where she knelt, and looked over to Layla's motionless body. Taxed to the point of exhaustion, still the french girl smirked as she gasped to sustain herself; at least she was the one still conscious.

As soon as she could muster the effort, Lynette pressed against Layla, pushing her onto her back, and lay sideways on top of her, even hooking her leg seeming like it required strength that was beyond her grasp. Dizzy eyes glared up at the ref-girl, and urged her to make the pinfall. Layla might have been KO'd after that last move, but Lynette was terrified the girl would get up again on her own, and she only needed to be down for three more seconds...

"1!" The ref decreed with a fair slap to the mat.

Layla's limp body was fliped onto her back without a struggle. She was completely out, the sissor kick having put her right into unconsiousness. She wouldn't move as her leg was hooked and the ref-girl dropped down for the three ount. Hell, Layla probably would have stayed down for the ten count.

"2!" the ref shouted, slamming her hand down a second time.

It felt as if butterflies were alternately fluttering and clinging to the inside of Lynette's chest, as her eyes widened with each falling smack! of the referee's count. Lynette's body was tense and anxious, the fear that Layla would somehow summon the unnatural strength to kick out still very real and very present in the french girl's mind. But as the final count dropped to the mat, Lynette felt everything wash away, everything she had grossly suffered for in the match paying off in the span of three seconds.

"3!"

The moment reverberated as Lynette rolled off of Layla, pleasantly stunned as victory fell over her like the most comforting veil in the world. The crowd was going absolutely bananas; Lynette's debut the combination of both women's malefic tactics, Layla's stripping of Lynette's clothing, and the explosive high-stake progression had delivered what had to be one of the most entertaining matches in recent memory.

Lynette stumbled to her feet only with the referee-girl's help, and raised her arm high to denote the victory.

"Your winner, by pinfall...Lynette de Villierrrrrs!"

It was here, now with a fraction of a moment of rest, that Lynette was reminded how on display she was. Even though the french noble was victorious in the end, Layla had tainted the win by presenting her opponent to the masses as a sultry (albeit malevolent) sexpot, rather than the efficient competitor she was.

Staring coldly down at her grounded, unconcious opponent, Lynette lifted her chin and wrinkled her nose, disgusted. "You are scrappy, ma cher...but you are, after all, just a little, little girl." And with that, Lynette would spit on the girl, the droplet of saliva splattering perfectly right onto Layla's cheek, just over where that red welt from her riding crop had struck her.

Even through the cheers of the crowd for the vitorious Lynette, Layla did not wake up. Her small body had taken much more punishment than it was used to, and it had finally just shut down. It was only after the glob of spit splattered on her cheek that she began to stir. "Ugh..." Layla groaned in a daze. Her eyes slowly fluttered open, trying to blink away the haze. "W-Wha?"

"You lose. Ciao, bichette."

Lynette offered a final frigid stare down at the woman, and then nudged the side of Layla's head with the tip of her boot. It wasn't an attack...just a pompous little gesture of accomplished superiority. And with that, Lynette would shuffle to the edge of the ring, slip out of it as conservatively as possible, aim to collect her clothes and her crop, and make her way up the ramp, the catcalls and applause from the crowd still yet to die down.

Layla grunted as her head was nudged with Lynette's foot, and suddenly it all came rushing bak to her. She had been knoked unconscious by the French slut, and had apparently lost.

With some difficulty Layla proped herself into a sitting position, and immediately clutched the back of her neck from the lingering pain of the scissorkick. She watched as Lynette made her way ut of the ring and down the ramp. While she was annoyed that she had lost, as she watched Lynette walk her half-naked body through the catcalling and jeers, she couldn't help but smirk.

Well, she thought smugly. It wasn't a total loss.


Winner by Pinfall, Lynette de Villiers