Angel Versus Poor Richard


US Angel runs to the ring of a rival promotion in a short white cape, the hem of which bounces about her powerful shimmering thighs. She carries a red white and blue staff that she uses to vault from the floor to the apron. She lays the staff down and removes cape as she is announced. "And from SHOCK at 114 pounds we have Olympic gymnast, television superheroine and exciting young women's wrestler, US Angel!"

Paul Richards makes his way down to the ring about a half-minute after you make your entrance, letting the cheers of the crowd build before he starts his strut down the entry ramp, dressed in his black wrestling tights with black boots to match, sneering as he's showered with boos. "And our champion, undefeated for three months, weighing in at 165 pounds, Paul Richards!" Paul Richards slips under the ropes and moves to his corner, giving you a steady glare, trying to intimidate you.

US Angel shakes back her wavy blond locks and returns the stare, anxious to demonstrate that she is women's champion of her promotion and not intimidated. She points a blue-gloved finger and grins. "I'm going to thump you!" The crowd roars its approval and she looks up with a grin and waves to them.

Paul Richards laughs. "SHOCK - sounds like something you'll be feeling once I demolish you tonight," he glares, giving you a dismissive wave as he shakes out his neck, strutting to the centre of the ring, the bell ringing as he gets into a slight crouch, open hands beckoning you forward. "Come on, let's see what you got, Champ."

US Angel circles cautiously to her right on blue footies that match her gloves, the stout legs clad in shimmering pecan tights, powerful curves filling out a long-sleeved white leotard with a flag emblem over her heart. Suddenly she runs forward and launches herself into a flying drop kick, shimmering legs churning as they aim to walk her kicking footies up chest to chin.

Paul Richards sees you flying towards him, expecting something like that knowing that you wouldn't lock up with a much larger opponent. His eyes narrow as he twists to the side while chopping his arm downwards at your extended legs, seeking the put you down on the mat early.

US Angel makes a face as she sees her opponent twist out of the way, using his arms to knock her kicking legs aside. She tucks and rolls as she hits the canvas, coming back up to her legs in the corner, blowing a loose strand of hair from her face as she narrows her eyes and takes a deep breath.

Paul Richards strides quickly towards you as you roll away to the corner, not wanting to let you escape. As he approaches, he stops, planting his right leg as he lifts his left boot up towards your abdominals, seeking to cave them in with a single brutal front kick.

“Ooooph!” US Angel has no sooner taken that deep breath and looked up than she is exhaling it in a loud grunt, eyes bulging as she doubles over the snap kick to her midsection, her gloved hands reaching for her midsection as she drops to shimmering knees.

Paul Richards smirks as he sees you kneeling before him, reaching down for your head, pulling you up to your feet by your shoulder-length blonde hair, keeping you bent over as he locks his left bicep around your temples, squeezing hard in a front facelock, pulling you into his ribs.

US Angel squeals as she is hoisted by the hair. She can barely hear the gasping oohs and aahs from the crowd past the press of the arm locked about her head, and she can see even less as she gets a face-full of his sweaty midsection. Still bent over as she struggles, the crowd is treated to a nice view of her plump rump as she tries to wriggle free.

Paul Richards gives his left arm a jerk with his right arm, tightening the hold as he walks the both of us out of the corner, parading you around the ring and earning a fresh round of boos from the crowd. "You've been a very bad girl to step in," he sneers, releasing his right hand and using it to give you a generous swat on your rump.

US Angel yelps as she is struck and dances about as best she can while still locked in the humiliating hold, tights riding up, exposing more and more of her round bottom in the shimmering tights. She stomps the heel of a foot down at the top of his boot.

Paul Richards looks around at the crowd, gauging their reaction to his dominance so far, caught off guard as you send a sharp heel down onto the top of his boot, wincing in pain as he lets you go, shifting his weight to his other foot as he stands beside you, stunned for a second.

US Angel stumbles back a step, shaking her head as she straightens, sweat flying from mussed hair. Her face is red and her recovery time quick. She clenches her fists and flicks a sidekick at his midsection. The crowd cheers.

Paul Richards can only watch as you shoot your strong leg out, catching him in his gut with more force than expected, letting out a gust of air as he staggers back a step. Glaring at you, he gets his open hands up, swinging an open right at your temples.

US Angel brings up her left arm in a flash of white, brushing the blow past the flare of blond hair as she spins into a backfist with her right, aiming to catch up under the chin. “Not this time!”

Paul Richards grunts as you knock his blow away, leaving him open as you quickly spin and slam your fist into his jaw. "Unnnngggghhh!" he groans, seeing stars as you turn his head to the side, standing there as he tries to regain his focus before you strike again.

US Angel has no intention of letting up, running over to, and up, the ropes one two three, launching herself back across the ring, spreading her arms as she flies, aiming to hit your chest with her own and take you down with a flying crossbody tackle. The crowd seems to hold its breath as they watch the execution of this high-risk move.

Paul Richards sways on his feet, seeing double as you run away from him, seeing you run up, not against the ropes and leap towards him. Instinctively, he raises his arms and manages to catch you by your shoulders and legs, but your momentum is too great as he staggers back several steps before collapsing down to the mat under your weight.

US Angel feels a sense of satisfaction as the ring bounces a bit under the impact, quickly trying to lock one of your arms between the scissor of her powerful legs while grasping at the other with her gloved hands. She looks up at the ref and grinds down as she attempts to stretch out your arms and get the pin while you're stunned. “Count!”

Paul Richards grunts as you lock your body across his, feeling your grip around both his arms... unable to budge you as he hears the ref count "1", gritting his teeth and kicking his legs up at the "2", attempting to flip his lighter opponent off and get back up to a sitting position.

US Angel is not heavy enough to prevent the kickout, rolling across his face as she flies off his chest. She rolls across the canvas and back to her feet, again racing up the ropes, this time back flipping from the top rope, balling up to rotate one and one half times, aiming to land her bottom back on top of your chest, an acrobatic move called the "ass-sault," once made famous by Chickfighter.

Paul Richards groans, lying on his back, blinking up at the bright lights of the ceiling, shaking his head as he's taken aback by your quickness, beginning to sit up when you fly through the air, twisting, his eyes widening as your butt crashes into his sternum, driving him back down to the mat under your weight with a loud "Unnnnnggggghhh!"

US Angel pumps her gloved fists in the air as the audience roars its approval. Then she reaches back for your ankles, wanting to grasp them so she can go for a schoolboy pin. "I've got you now!"

Paul Richards glares up at you as you stand in front of him, holding his ankles. "Ugh...not just yet," he growls, tensing his legs and twisting them violently, seeking to shake you off him and cause you to tumble to the mat.

US Angel wraps her arms about your ankles as she slides forward, thighs and crotch about to cover your face when she is thrown aside by your violent movement, once more rolling across the ring, this time stumbling backwards into the corner as she rolls to her feet, grabbing the ropes to catch her balance. She swats the rope in frustration.

Paul Richards rolls up to his feet, glaring at you, chest heaving a bit as he wipes a trickle of sweat from his forehead. Enraged at having a much smaller female have the clear upper hand so far, he charges at you in the corner, sticking his right arm out at your chest level, seeking to crush you against the turnbuckle with a brutal clothesline.

US Angel looks up to see you up and charging at her. She instinctively sidesteps, but doesn't account for the outstretched arm. The clothesline nearly takes her head off, flailing legs flying up in the air as they go out from under her, leaving her to crash to the mat in a prone position. “Nnnnngh.”

Paul Richards takes a step back as he looks down at you lying on your chest, reaching down for your head to pull you back up to your feet. One hand grasps your shoulder, the other goes between your legs as he hefts your 114 pounds up, turning back to the centre of the ring, as he attempts to plant you into the mat with a bodyslam.

US Angel shakes her head as she at first lifted by the hair, her face contorting in dismay as she feels a hand on her ass, hoisting her high, squirming helplessly in the air as she falls, limbs sprawling out as her impact rattles the ring, groaning, "OooooOOOoooohhhhh..."

Paul Richards brushes his hands off after slamming you to the mat, then dropping to his knees beside you, pressing his chest on top of yours, casually hooking one of your legs as he sneers at the ref, who begins the count.

US Angel squirms frantically as her leg is hooked, shimmering leg straining, unable to kick out with it trapped like that. She hears the count of "one" and "two" and desperately snaps her free leg upwards to break the hold so she can bridge up.

Paul Richards curses as you manage to kick him off, getting up to one knee and glaring at the ref for a few seconds, protesting the slow count. He grabs your head and pulls you up to a sitting position, trying to wrap his right arm around your chin in a rear chinlock as he kneels behind you.

US Angel gasps for air and at her close call, but manages to get to hands and knees before being grabbed from behind. Her gloved hands fly up to the arm across her face, trying to push it upwards and slip away.

Paul Richards lets out a surprised grunt as you give his arm a good shove, loosening his hold before he can really cinch it in, pushing it off you and giving you time to roll away. "You aren't going anywhere," he growls, getting up to his feet and stalking after you.

US Angel rolls to her feet, realizing how close she came to getting pinned. She can't afford to get caught close fighting down on the mat again. She nods to herself and backpedals away, rebounding off the ropes and leaping into air, flying at him butt-first in a move known as the moonshot.

Paul Richards curses as he staggers after you, seeing you running away from him, before launching yourself into the air, twisting around as your ample rump comes flying at him, catching him in his chest, knocking him to the mat with a soft thud... "Unnngggghhh!" he groans, trying to roll away from you and get up to a knee.

US Angel also scrambles up to her feet, gloved hands grasping at your head, attempting to take you with her as she runs back to the ropes and up two of them, before throwing herself toward the center of the ring in an effort to give you what she calls a "facial," better known as a bulldog off the second rope.

Paul Richards gets helped up to his feet, still smarting from your moonshot, dragged along behind you as you run to the ropes, letting out a yell as you flip in the air, causing him to twist around before getting planted on his face, body shuddering from the impact, groaning from the facial.

US Angel gets up a bit slowly herself, shaking her head, chest heaving. Last time she went for a pin it was a mistake so she tries something different. She reaches to grab one of your ankles and then sits on your back and reaches for the opposite wrist.

Paul Richards holds his face, probing it gingerly after the impact, only faintly aware of your weight planted on his back. Feeling you grab his ankle and your fingers grasping at his wrist, he tries to twist under you to shake you off before you can secure your grip.

US Angel grips ankle tightly, her stout little body straining with all her might as she reaches for the wrist, hoping to lock in her "skateboard" submission hold. But before she can get a hold of the wrist she spills over on the canvas as you roll, releasing her hold of the ankle.

Paul Richards feels your grip and weight slip off him, rolling away a foot or so, near the ropes as he shakes his head, knowing he was close to possibly submitting, taking a few seconds to catch his breath to reach for the second rope, attempting to pull himself up to his feet.

US Angel rolls over and pulls herself up on the ropes, swatting at the top one as she hears the audience let out a collective sigh, knowing how close she was. She takes a deep breath, spins, and runs across the ring, once more launching herself into a trademark flying angel drop kick.

Paul Richards makes his way up to his feet, sagging on the top rope as he glares at the cheering crowd, turning around to face you only to see your blue-slippered feet flying at him full-speed, unable to dodge as they connect with his chest and chin, grunting as he's knocked back against the ropes, kept from falling only by grabbing the rope with both hands.

US Angel delivers her kicks 123 and drops awkwardly to the canvas as you hold onto the ropes. She lies still for a stunned instant, blinking. Then she rolls to hands and knees, chest heaving as looks up at your black boots.

"Uuunggggh... oooohhh... uuugggghhh..." Paul Richards stays standing, weakly holding onto the ropes, and sees you down in front of him, your tightly fitting costume accentuating the curves of your body, but unable to take advantage as he looks at you through slitted eyes, finding it difficult to breathe deeply due to the pain in his chest.

US Angel is sweaty from all her exertions, making the white leotard even more clingy and translucent than when the match began. She reaches out with both gloved hands, grabs for your ankles and attempts to yank them out from under you.

Paul Richards looks down at you, seeing a hint of your nipples becoming visible from under your white costume, distracting him, allowing you to jerk his legs out from under him, forced to relinquish his grip on the ropes and land hard on his upper back with a resonating thud...."Unnnngggghhh!"

US Angel hangs on to those ankles and drags you to the center of the ring, bulging chest muscles making the shape of her breasts protrude even more. Then she dives on top you, grinding her sweaty body down on your face as she goes for the pin once more.

Paul Richards lets out a soft grunt as you drop your firm body on top of his, part of him enjoying your toned muscles and soft chest grinding on top of his face... however the "2" of the ref was just enough to get him to refocus, using most of his remaining energy to bridge, sliding you off his face onto the mat just before the three-count.

US Angel rolls off as you bridge up, looking at the ref and smacking the canvas three times as she scrambles to her nylon-clad knees. "Come on! Like that shoulda been three!" She sighs and makes a face as a few of the crowd agree with her.

Paul Richards takes his time as he rolls over to his side, seeing you argue with the ref, your back turned to him for a second. Noting a brief opportunity, he reaches for your shoulder from behind and pulls backwards, trying to roll you up in a surprise pin attempt.

US Angel eeps, caught by surprise as she is grabbed from behind, pulled down on her back with knees bent, lower legs trapped beneath her, leaving her no leverage as hands hold her shoulders down. She squirms frantically, the shape of her breasts beneath soaked white leotard rolling tightly about.

Paul Richards leans on top of you, your wriggling legs pumping against his chest as he spreads out his arms, trying to pin you... hearing the "1" of the ref....feeling his grip begin to slip as he hears the "2", your toned, struggling body proving to be quite difficult to control, fighting an urge to touch your chest as he tries to hang on for the final count.

US Angel plants her footies and bridges up just before the referee can count three, the crotch of her leotard pulling tight over the clefted shape of her bulging sex as she thrusts her loins upwards to keep from being pinned, shaking with effort as she barely gets her shoulders off the canvas.

Paul Richards eyes bulge as he look downward at your protruding lips, barely covered by your skin-tight and damp clothing, cursing as you power him off of him, staggering backwards a few paces to land on his butt...his own tights developing a bulge between his legs.

US Angel had no idea her bridge was that powerful, but is thankful to get you off of her. She collapses in exhaustion, taking advantage of the moment to rest and catch her breath, chest heaving.

Paul Richards gasps as he sits on his ass, getting much more than he bargained for out of this match, staring at you, sweat dripping down his forehead as he struggles to get to a knee, glaring at you.

US Angel rolls to hands and knees, sweaty hair dangling in her determined face, still panting as she drives forward, coming up into a desperate shoulder tackle into your ribs, aimed to drive you back into the turnbuckle behind.

"Unnnngggghhh!" Paul Richards groans, getting up to his feet when you charge at him, your shoulder slamming into his ribcage, driving him back several feet into the corner, ring shaking from the impact, leaning over you as you impale him in the corner.

US Angel keeps her shoulder lowered, driving you into corner not once or twice, but three times to knock the wind out of you. She then wraps her arms about your waist and lifts, not letting go as she tosses you up and over her shoulders, her back arching unbelievably, attempting to finish you with a bridging German suplex.

Paul Richards gasps three times, your solid shoulder knocking the wind out of him, bending over as he grasps his belly. His hands reach down for your arms as you lock them around his waist, squeezing tightly for a second, before being lifted up by his much smaller opponent, letting out a yell as you plant him into the mat with a loud THUD... legs hanging limply over his upper body.

US Angel shudders with the strain of holding this arched position, the shape of jiggling breasts pointing at the bright lights above the ring. But hold you down she does as she listens for the three count from the referee.

Paul Richards struggles weakly, only faintly aware of the count as he looks at you between his parted legs, getting a good view of your heaving, rounded chest as he lies there, stunned after your suplex... weakly kicking his legs and trying to shift to the side after hearing the "2", trying to escape before you can secure victory.

US Angel refuses to give with even as her back grabs and her muscles burn with the strain, not collapsing aside until she has heard the count of three. She is nearly too spent to stand as the referee lifts her arm to the wild sounds of the crowd, mostly applauding the victory, a few catcalling at the sight of her, a few yelling at the defeated champ.

Paul Richards slips from your grip, defeated as he rolls over to his side, holding his back and facing you, looking up at your triumphant body, seeing the muscles of your upper body and abs well-defined under your damp costume, though his eyes are more or less fixed on your chest... feeling equal mixtures of lust and pain as he gazes at you.

US Angel raises her hands and shakes fists at the crowd as she bounces to each corner in turn and blows kisses to her fans, bouncing past you each time she changes corners. Finally she blows you a kiss, thrusts a hip out in your direction, and gives her ass a pat before snatching up her staff and strutting to the dressing room.

Paul Richards glares at you as you prance around him, his body too beaten to resist, vowing revenge as you mock him and leave the ring...

(Jan 2010)