There was a fever pitch in the local independent promotion. This was a pitch that none of the fans were going to see; this was more of a private version. For months, the local “outlaw” promotion had consistently talked heaps of trash about how boring their product was and how no man or woman left their shows feeling "titillated." Their shows appealed more to the strip club demographic, the type that wants to see oil and jello wrestling, not hammerlocks and leg locks. When a referee for the local indie attended a show as part of the bachelor party, the mud show shined a spotlight on him as the announcer sent a series of verbal jabs at him and the promotion. One of the group's top performers came to a post-show gathering, rather imbibed, and agreed (on camera) to step onto their turf for a match. One match, and when that group's promoter found out, they were furious.
The leading lady of the outlaw league was a busty platinum blonde with a body that could make men produce an ocean's worth of drool. Five foot eight, one hundred twenty-eight pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal, or, as some would say, she was sex on legs. A flat-toned stomach, large breasts that most bikinis could barely hold, and shapely thighs that don’t lie with enough meat of them for any man to want them wrapped around their heads. A well-toned ass that looked like a ripe peach and a pair of legs that made men gawk. Her name was Bella the Bombshell, and while she had a “perfect” record, the matches were very basic, not tomention piss awful. Mostly catfights with very little wrestling thrown in; what wrestling was thrown in would make Lou Thesz roll over in his grave. When they occasionally brought in a male, it was more of the guy who lays on the floor and lets Bella do her thing.
Everybody knew what was coming.
That body might be built for sex, but was it a body built for a beating?
The sign-up list at the promoter's office door went three pages deep. A wide variety of wrestlers specializing in all forms of grappling arts signed up. The promoter fantasized about the power wrestlers tossing her around the ring, slamming her voluptuous body on the mat. They could even scoop her up in body-busting submissions! Or the brawlers that could take that pretty face of hers and bruise it up or even smash her with a steel chair. Suplex specialists who could send her all over the ring with their patented throws: Germans, backdrop drivers, belly-to-back, belly-to-body, capture, T-Bone, and when it’s set and done: the crème de la crème. Perch that girl on the top rope and superplex her! Short trip, bad landing. Most of all, the technical wrestlers who could twist that body of hers into a pretzel with their eyes closed. Of course, those outlaw bastards would expect that and pull out.
What they needed was a plain Jane. What they needed was Millie Rose.
In a way, Millie Rose was the inverse of Bella the Bomshell. A rather milquetoast professional wrestler who just happened to be very good at her job at a young age. Millie’s hair was a reddish brown, she was fair-skinned, and she possessed an athletic build and a rather unthreatening disposition. Millie was about five-foot-five, and some would say about one hundred and five pounds. Since she was still a newcomer, her attire was a strict no frills swimmers one piece. Pair that with basic elbow and knee pads, and she didn’t strike fear into the hearts of her opponents. She was absolutely perfect. Millie had come through the dojo system, took her lickings, and got grittier through it. Millie was a second-year wrestler who’d been featured in the early sections of the shows. Millie was going to be a star, possibly a superstar, but not right now. In three years, she’ll be the top dog; she just needs time to develop. And her rise would shine when she destroyed Bella in front of her peers.
There wasn’t an empty seat in the dojo for this; there was an ass every eighteen inches.
Wrestlers stood, trying to get a good look at the action from anywhere in the room. The small mass of humanity transfromed the already warm room into a sweatbox. Bella entered the ring, first reveling in jeers and anger erupting from being in enemy territory. All eyes were on her, and she loved it; even more, those eyes were ones of scorn. She was going to come in, dominate this sad sack, and humiliate her. Her attire most certainly, well, let’s just say that it showed off everything. Bella was indeed wearing a high-cut one-piece like the newcomers wore; it just happened to be a bit more revealing. It was a plunging one piece that showed off her breasts (a swimmer’s one piece would stretch the fabric to a breaking point) and barely covered her ass. It was an intended mockery of her opponent and, in some of the wrestlers eyes, of the profession itself. Bella gave the crowd her finest one-finger salute, spewed endless trash talk, and wiped her feet on the promotional logo in the center of the ring.
Millie entered wearing her normal gear, the dojo erupting in applause and “Millie” chants. Mille was looking less like a killer and more like, well, the wrestler who’d get killed on Saturday mornings. Hair tied in a tight ponytail, black and yellow swimmers in one piece, elbow and knee pads—a look of determination to Bella’s bemusement. Her natural paleness was juxtaposed with Bella’s perfectly tanned body. In Bella’s mind, she was bigger than her, meaner than her, sexier than her, and just plain better than her. They stared down, Millie trying to wear a determined face and Bella staring at her like a wolf eyeing a wounded deer. Arms crossed cockily, visualizing the total humiliation and destruction about to unfold. Bella was going to beat her into the ground, dominate her some, and strip her of that so-called “one piece” that those sadsack newcomers see as a badge of honor. In her mind, she was Goro, and this little pale goblin was going to be Art Lean. When the ref finished the instructions, Millie offered a handshake, and Bella smirked and walked away.
*DING*
Both wrestlers came out of their corner aggressively, with Millie trying to do a quick single leg on Bella, taking the much stronger opponent by surprise. Not enough to take her down, but enough to annoy her. They locked up, and after a second, Millie got behind her and grabbed a waist lock, trying to drag Bella down. It didn’t work, and after a struggle, Bella decided to up the ante. A huge elbow smashed into Millie’s left temple, forcing a break and sending her into a stumble. The newcomer held her head as the crowd unleashed their pent-up scorn. Bella forced the newcomer against the ropes and gave an attendee the finger before sending her into the ropes. Millie rebounded and ate a big shoulder block that sent her to the canvas. Bella sauntered around Millie, who was trying to get her bearings; the elbow had her dazed, and the shoulder block had many pondering if this had been a mistake. Bella dragged the youngster to her feet and dragged her to the corner. The bombshell threw Millie’s head back and smashed her head into the top turnbuckle. Millie let out a cry of pain as Bella reared her head back again and slammed it once more. Millie was struggling to stay upright and blocked another one by putting her foot on the middle buckle. Bella abandoned the CTE-inducing turnbuckle offense by pushing Millie into the same corner. Bella put one hand on her pale throat, keeping her in place, and she unleashed a series of stinging slaps. Each blow traveled throughout the room, Millie crying out as red marks adorned her cheek. Bella undid her bun, threw the hair tie into the crowd to draw scorn, and threw her halfway across the ring by her hair. Millie went flying and crashed onto the mat, the momentum of the throw saw her right side make brutal contact with the ring post. Rose cried out hellaciously upon contact as if the post had impaled her. The throw was so vicious, and the malicious intent left strands of Millie’s hair in Bella’s hand. The crowd peppered her with jeers and chants of “You Can’t Wrestle,” which Bella countered by telling them to kiss her ass.
Millie was flat on her stomach, down in a bad way, as Bella approached her and placed her boot on her neck. Pushing down as her cries of pain filled the room, her boots kicked up and down until the ref forced Bella off. Millie had rolled over as Bella grabbed her legs and looked to try and turn her over for a back-bending Boston crab. Millie fought it, desperately trying to prevent being turned over. Millie got a hand around Bella’s ankle and, in a risky move, began pulling it. Millie got Bella to one knee and was able to wrap her legs around the waist of Bella, squeezing with all her might. The move shocked the bigger opponent as she felt the steel grip of Millie’s pale thighs. Bella went down to her knees from the pain as she yelled out as she struggled to escape. Bella began breathing heavily, a tinge of panic taking over. Millie was wearing a smile as she squeezed away, and the ref asked if Bella wanted out. Millie was trying to obtain wrist control, keeping her in place, but Bella began to slug her way out. Hard shots to the abdomen as her first bounced off Millie’s body. Millie didn’t have the stomach core that veteran wrestlers lacked, so the first blow left her insides feeling aflame. Millie was determined and tried to keep the hold, but the shots finally broke the hold. Bella stood up, moved Millie’s leg aside, and dropped a vicious elbow to Millie’s stomach, holding it in. Millie’s cry of pain was hellacious as Bella taunted her and the crowd repeatedly. Bella got up, placed a boot on Millie’s chest, and demanded that the ref count. Of course, the determined Rose kicked out. Millie once again found herself being dragged off the floor, this time being sent into the corner. Millie quickly reversed, but just as fast, Bella reversed the whip, and Millie's chest looked to be dining on a turnbuckle. Millie managed to block climb the ropes and attempted a reverse crossbody that he once boisterous turned demoralized crowd saw as an opening. Millie possessed perfect form, but Bella caught her out of thin air, walked her around, and smashed her right side over her knee. Eyes closed, teeth exposed, and in quite a deal of pain, Bella didn’t even bother a pin. She wanted to draw this out. Bella wanted Millie’s head above her fireplace. Bella had outright dominated the match and put the exclamation point on the first salvo by hauling Millie to her feet and tossing her over the top rope, and she crashed to the mat below. Millie lay there as the promoter kneeled before her, gave her the nod, and now it was time to turn the tide. Lay here, take a breather, and just barely make it in before the ref counts you out.
The trap had been set.
Millie rose, albeit slowly and groggily, as she rolled into the ring at the nine-count, looking to be in a heap of pain. Bella seemed ready to pounce, but the ref forced her to back off. Millie was slow to rise and gained her bearings in the corner as the ref asked if she wanted out. Wearing a face of determination, seeing her strewn hair strands motivated her. The ref resumed the match as she tepidly left her confines, fists up. Bella sauntered forward, taking this little twerp of an opponent with little seriousness. Bella snapped her into a headlock and yelled “I CAN WRESTLE” to the crowd, showing little technique and focusing more on angering the crowd. Bella didn’t notice Millie’s hands locking around her toned waist, and she was in the air in no time. Walking her much bigger opponent across the ring in a show of strength, Millie dropped Bella on her with an atomic drop. Bella jumped in the air from the impact as the crowd laughed at her predicament. Atomic drops seem comedic, but they suddenly shock up and down an opponent’s tailbone and eventually go up the coccyx. Bella found herself against the ropes as Millie stood beside her, jumped, and took her to the mat with a headscissors takedown. Millie kept the hold on and squeezed away while Boxum blonde began feeling the hold. Millie’s legs looked so damn weak with those generic knee pads, but Bella was feeling a bit loose, like she had one too many drinks. Her head was beginning to feel like it was filling up with a thousand gallons of water from the pressure of the hold. Bella was desperately trying to escape to grab the ropes, but the hold had her in an awkward spot. There was no way she could reach with her hands, and unless she could become Mr. Fantastic, there was no way she could reach with her legs. Then her vision began to blur as she began a full-on panic attack internally. She began thrashing her body about and just barely got her foot on the bottom rope, forcing the break. About ten more seconds, and she would’ve passed out. Her throat felt like a first-time drinker after their first shot of whiskey. Millie let go, ever the sportswoman at the count of one, a luxury that Bella refused to offer. Millie wrapped a handful of Bella’s platinum blonde hair and forced her back up, Bella lucidly staring into her eyes. Millie sent Bella into the corner and followed her as she stood before her. Bella tried to push her off, but Millie refused as she laid into her bigger opponent with a series of European uppercuts, the blow causing Bella’s head to snap backwards, sweat flying off. The right side of her jaw felt the immense pain of the blows, but the jackhammer stomps from Millie did little to ease the pain, each blow causing comical (to the attendees who reveled in this) reactions from her. This wasn’t the rowdy frat club crowd of the shows she was used to; this was the Roman Coliseum, and she was the poor soul being sent out to be executed.
Bella’s abdomen was significantly softened from the barrage of kicks; she felt about five before the ref did anything to intervene. All she could do was use one hand to hold herself up while the other nursed her wounded stomach. Millie approached and got up on the second turnbuckle, holding her head in place while she held her fist up in the air. The crowd cheered as she began punching the wounded Bella in the forehead. The crowd chanted the number of blows as Millie’s fist bounced off her forehead. This was the world’s worst headache times a thousand, as Millie was throwing hard spuds (or potatoes) at Bella’s forehead. Finally, she abstained from turning Bella’s forehead into the world’s bustiest potato farm and settled to send her flying through the air with a monkey flip. Bella was up in the air for mere seconds before landing flat on her already wounded tailbone. Bella had no time to worry about that as Millie took off into the ropes like she’d been shot out of a cannon and killed her with a low drop kick that made brutal contact with her face. Bella took it on the nose and teeth, and it felt like somebody had hit her in the face with a bat. The pain in her mouth could be described as stinging, but that’s being too nice. She moved her tongue around to check for blood and any teeth that were hanging out. Her nose wasn’t bleeding or broken, but it sure as hell didn’t feel good. What in the hell was I thinking was being repeated on loop in her inner monologue? She needed a month in the hot tub and the most powerful drink injected into her veins. Mille flattened her for a pin, but she showed her sadistic side by pulling Bella’s shoulder up at two and dragging her back up. Bella was feeling a bit floaty, despite the massive amount of pain surging throughout her body. Millie moved behind her, wrapped her hands around her aching waist, and lifted her high in the air. Bella’s blurred vision saw the crowd of wrestlers all blurred, but the audio was quite clear. Veracious cheers, insults, and even witty chants champion Bella’s humiliation and Millie’s supremacy.
BOOM!
The back of Bella’s head and neck slammed into the canvas with a perfect German suplex. Millie could’ve bridged for a pin or just let her go, but Millie had other plans. Millie rotated her hips and dragged Bella back up for another head-busting German and dragged the Bombshell back to her feet for a third German and then another as the crowd counted as the near-comatose Bella was dragged up and slammed hard with a fourth and then a fifth German, each slam causing cries of pain. Millie ripped her off the mat and dragged her prone, barely alive body to the middle of the ring. Millie slowly lifted Bella up, dragging the moment out before drilling her with a sixth German. If the seated drop kick was similar to getting hit in the face with a baseball bat full force, the six German’s were akin to getting hit in the back of the head with a cast iron skillet six times. It felt like a sadistic dentist on hallucinogenics was drilling into her temple, believing her brain had a set of rotted teeth that needed extraction. Millie dragged her broken body and withered spirit to her feet one last time. Bella’s limbs had gone limp, and she did little to counter Millie’s next move. Millie planted her with a backdrop driver, planting Bella on her head and shoulder, a force so devastating she sat up before falling on her side, a collapsed heap of flesh. She was going in and out of consciousness and did little to resist as she felt her wrestling boots being undone as her socks were taken off, leaving her hosed feet exposed. She mumbled a few threats that fell on deaf ears and began to feel Millie stripping her of her provocative piece. Bella was left exposed in her black bra and underwear as she was dragged back up her feet.
Millie was parading her battered carcass around the ring, the wrestlers whistling and catcalling her. The bombshell was barely on her feet as Millie sent her into the ropes, jumped, and planted her with a Frankensteiner. Bella’s head spiked into the mat with the move, and she was knocked out upon impact. Millie’s pin was akin to Bella’s schoolgirl pin, a truly humiliating end for the defiant and cocky champion who walked into the lions den drenched in beef broth and was eaten alive. The ref counted her out sarcastically with a ten, expecting her to kick out. There was no miraculous kick out. The match was over, and the promotions owner came in and raised Millie’s hand. The ref handed Millie a flag with the company's logo as she draped the flag over Bella’s husk of a body.
The bombshell had been broken.
