Battle LA Inaugural Tournament Round 1, Match 2 of 8 by Markus Wolf

Chelsea Summers vs Brandi Martin

Imitation is the Sincerest Form of Envy

Chelsea sat on the bench in her blue and yellow Tornado swimsuit, white elbow pads, white knee pads, and white Converse boots with blue laces. A blue TYR track warmup jacket was pulled over her slender shoulders, its hood down at the moment. She wore a touch of blue eyeliner to match her outfit and mascara to make her lashes seem longer but otherwise kept her makeup to a minimum. She was undeniably attractive in a girlish way, with a heart-shaped face, arresting ice blue eyes, a perfect set of pearly whites, round lips that formed into a natural, playful smile. Her naturally wavy summer blonde mane hung just past her shoulders, with just the right number of dark highlights blended among her bright blonde locks to make its color visually appealing. All of these features together rendered any additional embellishment unnecessary. The San Diego native’s eyes were closed, and she was rocking gently back and forth on her seat. Her head nodded along to the song playing from her old but beloved MP3 player. It was a pre-match ritual, one she had first started during her school days when she played volleyball. It had served her well in the past, allowing her to clear her mind and focus only on the match to come. Behind those eyelids, she was visualizing her victory tonight.

She opened her eyes when she felt a tap on her right shoulder. “Sorry to interrupt, but you’re up in three minutes, Miss Summers. You’ll be entering the arena first.”

She looked up and saw redheaded Amanda Curtis, one of the professional PAs that the company had hired to keep things moving on the ground. Gosh she’s sooo tall. Five eleven, at least. Six, maybe? Being borderline petite, Chelsea often felt inadequate in the presence of taller women. Especially ones as tall as Amanda.

“Gotcha. Thanks, Amanda.” The petite blonde removed her earbuds from her ears and wound their wires around her MuVo before tucking it away inside a small gym bag that she handed to the redhead, who wore her hair stylishly short. “Please keep that safe.”

“Of course!” the redhead nodded and smiled, tucking the device into her blazer pocket and patting it for emphasis. “Don’t worry about a thing back here. Good luck out there!”

“Thank you, but hopefully I won’t need any. You know me!” Chelsea replied cheerfully, her head bobbing as she jogged on the spot for a bit, her small but perky breasts bouncing inside her suit. She inhaled, puffed up her cheeks, and exhaled, waiting to take her cue from the staffer standing by the curtains. As she repeated her breathing exercise, she zipped her jacket up and pulled her hood up. She shook her head from side to side as she warmed up her neck muscles, allowing her blonde locks to fall out of her hood on either side of her head. Hands on her hips, she started to do waist circles, slowly and deliberately warming up her glutes. On the other side of the divider that ran down the middle of the waiting area, she knew that her opponent was probably warming up as well. She could feel the butterflies in her tummy; she was just a little bit nervous about making her stateside debut after her three-month stint in Japan. Expectations were high given the amount of attention she had garnered in Japan as a rookie ace, as she had been reminded during last week’s pre-tournament interview by Sasaki-san, the reporter. She had developed a strong fan base over there, and she was determined not to let them down as they watched from afar.

Minna-san, ouen shite tsuzuketekudasaine (Everyone, please continue to cheer for me)!” Chelsea had declared with a cheesy smile and V sign made with her left index and middle fingers across her face, just in the way her fans loved. The short video had been filmed at the end of her interview and garnered hundreds of likes and reposts immediately from her personal feed as well as the Battle LA feed. It amused her to recall the silliness of what she did, but at the same time, she knew that was what the fans over there desired of her. That level of cute was not going to get her considered seriously for the championship over here, however. She had a plan for showing the stateside folks her championship mettle, and could feel the adrenaline building inside her as she got ready to do battle. She cleared her mind using the meditation techniques she had picked up as an athlete and focused her thoughts solely on victory and advancing to the next round.

Sorry Brandi. She had not met her designated first-round opponent at the interview, having arrived late after being jetlagged for a while since her return from Japan. She had not read the text of her interview either, although she gone over her bio and watched a match video so that she had some idea of what to expect. They were both relative newcomers with similar high-flying styles looking to make their mark, but Chelsea was confident she would be doing so at Brandi’s expense this evening. Her stint in Japan had honed her ring skills to a level she had never imagined she could achieve, and frankly, she felt powerful.


“You’re up, Miss Summers!”

Chelsea nodded, bit her lower lip, and pushed her way through the heavy black curtains separating the waiting area from the arena. When she emerged, she found the lights in the arena had been dimmed, and stood still, letting her hood hide her face as the opening of a familiar song began to play, a piano’s keys sounding in the background.

Like a small boat, in the ocean.

Setting big waves, into motion.

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

Will I win? Some say nay

You’ll be wrecked, dropped on your head

I don’t care ‘bout them tonight

I will make that victory mine!

Chelsea looked up as the chorus of her theme song began. She turned about, raising both arms as she did a full rotation, allowing the audience to see the “Its Always Summertime!” logo on the back of her jacket. When she was facing to the front again, the audience could see that she was flashing V signs, just as her song built up to its climax. On the large screen above her, her self-designed logo was displayed, with lyrics to the chorus running along the bottom. Many in the audience had obviously come to see her, judging from the number who began singing along.

This is my fight song

Take off and fly song

Show them my might song (ohhh)

My power’s turned ON!

Starting right now I’ll be strong

I’ll play my fight song

And I don’t really care if nobody else believes

‘Cause I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are getting ready for the second match in our tournament tonight. First in the ring, standing five feet and three inches tall, weighing one hundred and twelve pounds… coming straight to us from San Diego, Californiaaa… please welcome Chelseaaa Summers!!!”

A roar rose from the stands when Chelsea dropped her hood to reveal her blonde mane and the entirety of her face. She proceeded to skip across the runway to the ring apron, blowing kisses and waving to her fans, beaming like the summer sun. Leaning against the top rope, she did a backflip into the ring, springing back to land on both feet before posing like a gymnast at the end of her routine. Though girlish in appearance and demeanor, Chelsea was undeniably sexy in her skintight suit. Her perky butt in particular was the subject of more than one photo.

Without missing a beat in her song, Chelsea began to back up towards the red corner, Chelsea continued to wave to the crowd with both hands without missing a beat. Once she had arrived at her corner, the blue, applied the brakes and shed her jacket, passing it to a staff member on the floor. She took a moment to get her hair out of her face and make it stay behind her shoulders before doing some warmup exercises to keep her muscles from tensing up.

“The next contestant to enter our ring for match number two, also standing five feet, three inches as well, also weighing one hundred and twelve pounds… aaand also hailing from the Golden State, heeere’s Brandiii Martin!!!”

The lights in the arena dimmed as the music playing changed over to a dark, brooding, bass-heavy piece that would be more at home in a club setting. Laser lights played over the black curtains through which Brandi would enter. Some recognized the song playing as being the main theme from the TV show, La Femme Nikita.  When the curtains parted, a lady dressed in the style of the show’s femme fatale emerged. She wore a black, wetlook mini dress with long sleeves, and black, knee-high boot covers. Her dark blond ombre curls partly obscured her left eye. Her exposed right eye was done up with winged eyeliner and dark blue eyeshadow that gave her a dangerous, assassin-like aura. She sashayed across the runway with hands on her swaying hips in time to her theme song from La Femme Nikita, playing up her curvy lower half and drawing a number of wolf whistles from the stands in the process.

Chelsea viewed this entrance routine with deep suspicion. In Japan, she had encountered “assassins” who would show up at a company to challenge and take down a particular wrestler on her home turf. She felt that kind of vibe from her opponent as she crossed the runway.

Brandi stopped with one foot inside the ring and the other on the apron, her body leaning against the middle rope. She rubbed her body along that middle rope, opening her mouth in a tantalizing silent moan before straightening up and bringing her other foot into the ring. Chelsea could sense a cold hostile towards her despite Brandi dispassionate face, and responded with as hot a glare as she could muster. The new arrival slowly peeled her boot covers off and flung them towards the stands. Beneath them she wore blue wrestling boots with white laces, and she received white kneepads in exchange for the covers. The Japan-trained babyface almost felt her jaw drop, however, when her opponent unzipped her dress, pulled her arms free of its sleeves, and peel it down to her waist. As she shimmied it down her hips, everyone could see that Brandi was wearing her swimsuit. Same brand, same print, same cut. Her dress was traded to a staff member for white elbow pads.

Her costume was almost an exact mirror of Chelsea’s. Immediately, everyone watching asked themselves who wore the look better. Not that anyone should mistake Brandi’s dark blonde mane for Chelsea’s summer blonde. Still it irked the light blonde babyface all the same, being copied like that. This suit had been her signature in Japan. It had seen her through the best of times and the worst of times.

“Not cool,” Chelsea pouted, tapping her boot against the canvas, hands on her waist as she glared at the approaching Brandi. “Sooo—not—cool,” she continued, tapping her boot with each word spoken. The babyface was a wee bit annoyed. She decided to stalk about her corner in a tight orbit impatiently at first, glaring occasionally at her identically-dressed opponent as she came towards the ring. Instead of simply staying annoyed, however, she allowed this calculated slight to instead motivate her to win.

Some clamored for a catfight to happen on social media as pictures of the “swimsuit twins” went up.

“Ohhh snap, it’s definitely on now!” tweeted one fan, instantly garnering multiple likes.  

“Bitch fight!” another fan captioned her photo.

On paper, Brandi’s 32–25–33” looked like a slight disadvantage compared with Chelsea’s 33–25–34”, but in reality, it was difficult to tell, especially given their identical suits.

In the meantime, Brandi had scaled up to the middle rope and stood on the apron silently for a while, looking down towards the arena floor. She was sure that wearing her opponent’s outfit, and wearing it better than her, had struck a psychological blow even before the opening bell had been rung. Slowly, she began raising her right arm skyward, drawing the attention of the crowd to the index and middle fingers she had extended. Once she had their attention, she turned her head to glare at Chelsea before suddenly lowering her raised arm to point at the blonde in the opposite corner, her right hand mimicking the shape of a pistol.  

Chelsea was not amused, but she played along. She pretended to pick a bullet out of the air, place it on her palm, and blow it away harmlessly. It was Brandi’s turn to show displeasure as she hopped down to the mat.

“Ya knowww, they say imitation’s the sincerest form of flattery…” Chelsea called out at first, but her voice trailed while she shrugged exaggeratedly, “but seriously?”

She held her hands up while rotating them about the wrist, fingers spread. She rolled her eyes as she glanced upwards at the ceiling. Her body language was explicit: I dunno ‘bout that. Her point made, she parked both hands on her hips and screwed up her lips for effect before continuing to address her opponent, “Sooo, you get, like, zero points for the Chelsea cosplay, fangirl!”

Brandi rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest. “Like I give a crap about flattering you. I think everyone can see who’s the Brandi cosplayer and who’s the real thing,” the dark blonde sighed, “cuz anyone can see that I wear it better.” With that, she swept her right arm across the lower half of her body before folding it across her chest once more.

“What???” Chelsea looked incredulous, but still adorable despite her furrowed brows. “You know what, that’s fine. You do you, girl. Go ahead, be a cheap imitation,” she fired back, waving her opponent away.

Brandi grinned. She knew she was getting on the babyface’s nerves, and continued to stoke the fire. “Says the cheap imitation.”

“Who are you calling an imitation?” Chelsea’s head snapped back towards the dark blonde. She returned her hands to her hips, puffing her chest out as she took a few steps towards Brandi.

You of course.”

“Geez, how rude!”

“Geez, how bimbotic.”

“Wha—?” Chelsea’s eyes widened, not amused by the insult directed at her intelligence.

“You started it, bitch, and tonight, I’ll finish it by showing all these folks as well as the management that they made the wrong decision sending you to Japan.”

Chelsea had no idea what Brandi meant by her having started this, but she took the latter part of what her opponent said as an insult. An insult directed not only at Chelsea herself, but at everyone who had invested their time, energy, effort, and money on training her, imparting their skills and knowledge to her, in grooming her to be the best wrestler she could be. That was a putdown but also a calling out that she had to answer.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll be super happy to show them the returns on their investment, plus some!”

“Izzat right?” Brandi sneered, putting her hands on her hips just like Chelsea, doing a model’s walk towards her until they were standing face to face. The dark blonde thrust her chest outwards into her opponent’s, pushing her back a step before the light blonde caught herself, flustered by this blatant challenge.

It should’ve been me. They just wanted a freaking kawaii pinup girl to score points with the Japanese fans. I’m just as good as this bitch. No, I’m better. Brandi was seething inside but she chose not to say any more.

Chelsea quickly resumed her former position and leaned forward, bumping her chest against Brandi’s in response to her challenge. The two equally-sized wrestlers shifted their feet as they compressed their chests against each other’s, their foreheads meeting as they both tried to stare their opponent down.

“You bet.” the blonde babyface replied in a low tone while bringing her hands up to fighting position. Neither fear nor hesitation was evident either in her voice or on her face. “Let’s go, girl.”

“Let’s,” the blonde heel answered confidently, her hands also going up. “I can’t wait.”


“Can’t wait to get your ass handed to you huh?”

“Why don’t I–“

“AHEM! Ladies,” the referee interrupted the faceoff, urging the two petite combatants to step back and receive her final instructions. Both girls kept their eyes on each other the entire time instead of listening. The ref had to ask explicitly for verbal confirmation before returning them to their respective corners. Both turned to glare at the other, impatient to begin.

The timekeeper glanced at his watch. They did not have long to wait.


The two petite wrestlers started circling around the ring almost simultaneously following the opening bell; Chelsea began moving to her right at first, and Brandi immediately started in the same direction. Even as they moved briskly in a counterclockwise circle, they were simultaneously tightening their orbit, moving inexorably toward the ring center. At one point, about midway in, Chelsea abruptly switched direction, skipping sideways before resuming a crab walk to test her opponent’s reaction time. Brandi was quick to respond, making sure to mirror her opponent’s speed and direction; her eyes had been fixated on the blonde babyface all this time. As they closed to within striking distance, both wrestlers’ eyes narrowed as they realized one of them, if not both, was going to have to make a move shortly.

Chelsea decided to take a gamble and draw first. Braking suddenly, she shifted her weight to her right foot, lifted her left foot and hopped up from the mat. As she took off, she immediately began spinning half a turn anticlockwise, and extended her left leg, aiming to catch Brandi in the belly. Spinning sole kick! she cried out in her head, mimicking Street Fighter’s Chun Li, a smile on her face.

Except all she caught with her left foot was thin air.

Chelsea landed, looking befuddled. She had not expected to miss her target by a literal mile. She was sure that she had seen Brandi pass by in a blur. She quickly tried to turn her body to face towards her enemy again, but as fast as she was in her recovery—


Laughter and provocative cries of “OOOHHH” rose from the crowd. Chelsea yelped, feeling the burn from a blow that had landed square on her butt. She stumbled forward two steps, mouth and eyes wide open in surprise, having reached backwards for her ass with both hands. The Japanese name of the move she had missed, rolling sole butt, had always tickled her.

Ugh, the irony.

Brandi smirked as the two blondes continued their orbit about the center of the ring. “Y’know,” she mimicked Chelsea’s usually chirpy voice, “that felt good.”

Chelsea, naturally, was not amused. “Oh, you think you’re sooo smart doncha, miss?”

Brandi shrugged. “Smarter than you at least.” She smiled sheepishly as she held her palms up. “But I just couldn’t resist ya know? Always did wanna kick your butt.”

Chelsea scowled at her attacker. She clenched her fists briefly before relaxing them, reminding herself to stay focused and flexible in this fight. “Yeah? Well, Imma kick yours!”

The two started their circling back up. Again, they went clockwise around the ring. Both blondes moved further apart, widening the circle. This time, Brandi decided to make the first move, betting that landing the first blow had given her an early psychological advantage. She hopped forward on her left leg, threatening to unleash a super kick aimed at Chelsea’s jaw. When she saw the babyface skip to her left, she lowered her leg and swept it towards her right hip. As Chelsea’s hands went low for the block block, Brandi saw an opening to go high with a followup. Planting her right foot, she used it as a pivot as she unleashed a spinning heel kick to catch Chelsea in the face with her left boot if she stuck her head up. But the babyface stayed low, waiting for the heel’s back to face towards her before bringing her left boot up…


“Told ya!” Chelsea quipped as Brandi turned to glare angrily at her, her open mouth betraying her surprise. Chelsea’s well-aimed kick to her buns had obviously been calculated to win back the audience. The tension in the air continued to build between the two blondes as they continued to circle each other.

“Stop pussyfooting and let’s get down to business, bitch,” Brandi snapped testily.

“Hey, call me whenever you’re ready to stop being a pussy,” Chelsea thumbed her nose at her opponent a la Bruce Lee, trying to goad her into attacking again.

Brandi’s eyes narrowed. Rather than continue the verbal sparring, she decided to attack immediately. The heel rushed forward, throwing her right forearm forward, smashing it into Chelsea’s collarbone before the latter could get her guard up. The babyface cried out after taking the shot, but was quick retaliate with a side kick aimed at her opponent’s left hip. Brandi, who had her arms up, expecting Chelsea to go high, cursed her mistake. As she bent over to her left, Chelsea found an opening to club the right side of her head with her left forearm. Brandi stumbled backwards from the follow-up, but swung her right arm outwards in a wide arc, hoping to catch her opponent with a chop to the chest. The babyface, however, hopped back a step to avoid this, and immediately followed up with a rolling sole butt, spinning and shooting her right boot into Brandi’s abs.


The dark blonde shuffled backwards a few steps, doubled over and gasping for air. Her opponent reacted and turned immediately to run for the opposite ropes. Leaning deep into them for the rebound, Chelsea used the potential energy in the ropes to build up considerable momentum as she hurtled back towards her target. Recognizing the danger, Brandi wasted no time dropping to a prone position. Chelsea was just as quick to hurdle over her body, and run into the ropes once more. Brandi got up tentatively, anticipating a rebound, and prepared to catch her opponent with her right forearm, aiming it for her waistline. Seeing this, Chelsea spun around and launched herself into the air, spreading her legs outwards as she bent her upper half forward and tucked her chin inwards. Brandi could barely utter a protest before her opponent’s blue-clad buns smashed into her face.

The dark blonde heel was sent reeling from the flying hip attack, holding her face as she stumbled and fell backwards against the ropes. She gagged exaggeratedly and spat to the side, not amused that she had been made to taste her opponent’s perky ass. The audience, however, clearly was.

“Shut up! Stop laughing!” Brandi yelled at the audience. Her cheeks turned red as Chelsea encouraged the crowd to laugh, clapping loudly to stir them.

The dark blonde scowled. Impatient to get back at her opponent, but wary of her speed, Brandi raised her hands up, inviting the babyface to lock up. Chelsea hesitated to accept, but raised her hands, readying for action. Brandi put her left foot forward, gauged her opponent’s response, and in an instant, threw her right foot forward in a front thrust kick that connected with her opponent’s belly despite Chelsea’s quick reaction and attempt to block with both hands. As she knocked her opponent backwards, almost dropping her to her knees, the heel rushed forward, hopping up from the mat. She intended drive her left knee into Chelsea’s sternum but the babyface was quick to sidestep, and Brandi sailed past without making contact. As the dark blonde flew past her towards the ropes, Chelsea thrust her left foot backwards in a mule kick, connecting with her opponent’s right hip and imparting additional momentum to her.

Chelsea turned to see if she had helped propel Brandi either through or over the ropes. As luck would have it, Brandi did neither, catching herself in time and reducing her forward momentum to zero as she gripped and held on to the ropes. She, was, however, braced against the ropes for the moment, making her a ripe target for a lightning quick counterattack.

Brandi spun about, fully expecting her opponent to be charging towards her. Chelsea, however, had decided to leave it alone. The dark blonde’s eyes narrowed, suspicious of her enemy’s intentions.

“Your mistake, Summers. You’re gonna wish you made use of that opening cuz you won’t get another like it,” warned the heel warily.

“I make my own opportunities, Miss Martin,” Chelsea replied sweetly, sounding aggravatingly polite as she mocked her opponent with a faux curtsy.

Brandi, less than amused, made her way back towards her, and Chelsea stepped back to give her opponent room. The two started to make a tight counterclockwise circle again, their hands raised, eyes narrowed, focus placed solely on their opponent. Their initial range game had turned into a close quarters contest. Brandi made a tentative grab for Chelsea’s left forearm, but the summer blonde reacted quickly, bobbing and hopping out of the way. She responded with a right-handed jab at Brandi’s chest that was swatted aside, but closed in regardless while bringing up her left knee. Brandi skipped to her left, avoiding Chelsea’s strike, and fired an open palmed strike at her neck. The babyface raised her left arm to block, and the two girls now found themselves in position to lock up.

They quickly entered a mutual C&E lockup, looking like twins in a sexy fraternal struggle. Each had her right hand were clamped on the other’s neck, left hand on the other’s right elbow. Each understood that she had to keep her head up and her knees bent while locked up. Equally matched, there was little either girl could do to overpower the other. Brandi could care less about overpowering her identically dressed opponent, however. Instead, she tried to kick at Chelsea’s shins with her right foot and force an opening that way. The babyface was, however, able to keep them circling about, making her legs harder for the heel to hit, and counter by shooting her right leg forward, hooking the back of her knee around the back of Brandi’s. This allowed her to throw Brandi down to the mat, landing her on the left side of her body. Bent over at the waist, Chelsea still had her opponent’s right arm in her grip, and looked ready to go for the crossbody armbar, but she was interrupted when she felt a strong tug on her mane.

“Yeowch!” cried out the light blonde. She fell over but caught herself with both hands, Brandi using the opportunity to slide away in the meantime. “Shoot!” Chelsea exclaimed as she picked herself up, turning her head to the left, intending to go after her opponent. She was not expecting to run smack into Brandi’s booty when she did.

“Hah!” Brandi cried out, a big smile on her face when she turned around. Chelsea looked miffed, but she knew the heel was just playing tit-for-tat like she had earlier. She simply resumed her offensive, firing her right forearm into Brandi’s collarbone before the latter could resume a fighting stance. The dark blonde was sent stumbling back a step, arms flailing. A repeat forearm sent her back two more teps, but she managed to block a third such attack that would otherwise have knocked her against the ropes. “Don’t push your luck,” hissed the heel as she swept Chelsea’s arm aside and responded with a big backhand across the babyface’s chest. Chelsea’s eyes closed tight from the backhanded slap and she howled in pain as her breasts bounced inside her suit.

Having created a valuable opening, Brandi raised her right arm and charged forward to try for a clothesline. Chelsea, though, managed to recover in time. Lowering her upper body, the light blonde drove her right shoulder into her opponent’s belly. The spear left the dark blonde doubled over and gasping for air. In this state, she proved an easy target for Chelsea. The babyface proceeded to grab her by the head with both hands before leaping up to the bottom rope. What followed was a flawless springboard; as Chelsea spread her legs outwards in a V shape, she pulled her opponent facedown into the mat while she herself landed on her butt in a sitting position. The daring acrobatic attack left Brandi lying facedown, groaning into the canvas.

For the first time in this match, one of the two wrestlers had seized control for real.

Chelsea did not stop there. Running back to the ropes, she again leapt up for a springboard attempt, this time, bringing her right leg down across Brandi’s back. The heel’s body jackknifed from the impact of her opponent’s leg drop, her limbs sticking outwards like an X briefly.

“C’mon, get up, you!” Chelsea dragged a groaning Brandi up by her suit straps and by her right arm. When she had gotten the dark blonde to stand, the Japan-trained rookie continued to hold on to her opponent’s right arm, while now grabbing her left shoulder as well, pushing her roughly against the neutral corner they were closest to. While Brandi tried to straighten herself up, Chelsea now grabbed her swimsuit’s collar, pulling her towards herself.

“If you put a target on my back—” Chelsea warned her foe while wearing a fierce scowl on her face, “—you better be ready.”

Next, she drove her fist deep into Brandi’s belly, causing the dark blonde to groan out loud.


The babyface released her collar next, causing her suit to snap back against her chest painfully. Brandi lurched backwards from the recoil, trying to hold on to the ropes to stay upright. Chelsea made hopped up to the bottom rope, and steadied herself using Brandi’s shoulders before grabbing her dark blonde curls with her left hand. With the grip on her opponent’s mane, the babyface yanked Brandi’s head backwards before smashing the flat of her right hand against her nose. Brandi yelped from the blow; her head snapped backwards violently. The babyface standing high above her grabbed her hair again to steady her for another strike, but Brandi had other ideas. She threw her left fist forward in a counterattack that her would-be attacker had not anticipated. Chelsea doubled over, her perch on the ropes now looking precarious, but she managed to maintain it, hitting back at Brandi with another open palm strike to the side of her head. Stunned, the heel could only whimper as Chelsea pulled her in for a front facelock. The babyface stepped up to the middle rope before transitioning into a side headlock on her opponent. What followed next was a leap from the ropes as Chelsea brought her opponent’s face down to the mat using a diving bulldog that drew astonished gasps as well as cheers from the stands.


The arena erupted in cheers.

It seemed as if Brandi might not get up again.

But Chelsea was not finished. She hopped up to her feet after catching her breath, and started for the neutral corner closest to her. Not long after, she had her right foot on the top rope, her left on the middle rope. She was signaling to the crowd her intention to end this contest, raising her right arm into the air, flashing a V sign as her chest heaved up and down from her breathing. Beads of sweat glistened on her face and skin from the exertion of the match. Having roused the audience, she turned and mounted the top rope with both feet, staring down at Brandi, whose arms were starting to move, scratching at the canvas. Beads of sweat glistened on her back where it wasn’t wrapped in spandex. Chelsea did not dwell on studying her identically dressed enemy, though she was sure the fans were ogling Brandi’s bubble butt.

Gotta go! The babyface told herself. Without fear or hesitation, she took off in a somersault from the top rope, grabbing the backs of her her knees, tucking her head, and spinning about a full turn and a quarter more before she landed. Her perfect 450 splash had fans roaring in delight while her victim screamed in pain, her head lifting up briefly from the mat along with her hands and feet as Chelsea’s body landed on her back. The two beauties looked like a sexy sandwich in their identical swimsuits, one wearing a brilliant smile while lying on top of the other who wore a mask of pain and suffering.

After allowing the hungry cameras some time to devour the scene, Chelsea pushed herself up, smiling some more before she proceeded to roll the suffering Brandi over on to her back. She climbed on top of her opponent, pressing Brandi’s breasts flat under her perky ass while grabbing her wrists and holding on to them.

“Ref!” Chelsea called out, but there was no need. The referee was already down on the mat, ready to slap out the first count.


Brandi was starting to stir.


She struggled when she found her wrists in her assailant’s grip. “L-let go! Get off me!” she protested weakly.

“Patience!” Chelsea smiled as she looked down at Brandi’s face. “Just one more second!”



“There, all done!”

Not long after the bell was rung, Chelsea’s theme began to play again throughout the arena. The victorious blonde released her defeated opponent’s wrists. She tossed her hair back over her left shoulder, and flashed a sideways V sign over her grinning face with her right hand. She had pulled it off, and she was ecstatic. There had been naysayers aplenty during her time in Japan, who felt it was premature to invest so much in her unknown potential. Brandi was obviously one of them. Glancing downwards, she shifted her weight on to her knees and lifted her butt from the heel’s chest briefly. Her fallen opponent gulped in air, able to breathe unimpeded again. Chelsea allowed her a few moments to get her breath back before sitting back down, forcing the air out her lungs again.

“Got something you wanna get off your chest?” the babyface asked her defeated opponent playfully, reveling in her pun.

“Wha–“ Brandi blabbered at first, incoherent. “F-fuck you!” Brandi growled in reply, slapping at Chelsea’s thighs. “Get off me, you BITCH!”

“Geez, wash that mouth will ya?” Chelsea replied, messing with Brandi’s hair before rising up slightly and plopping her butt down on her fellow San Diegan’s girls again, wiggling it as she smooshed them under her bottom. “That’ll teach ya, you lil’ copycat!”  

“UGGGHHH!!!” Brandi had the breath squeezed out of her as her victorious opponent made a seat cushion out of her girls. She was crushed by the outcome of the match, and not just figuratively.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by submission, and the second contestant to move on to the second round of this tournament, Chelseaaa Summersss!!!”

Chelsea felt her right arm being raised and looked up to see the ref motioning for her to stand. She patted Brandi on her right cheek with her left hand and relinquished her seat, allowing the official to declare her the winner. Beaming for a little while, waving with her left hand to show her appreciation for their cheers, she went on to take a bow to thank her fans. Rose stems flew into the ring as the jubilant babyface blushed. She stepped out on to the apron, and descended to the arena floor, doing a victory lap around the ring before climbing back up to wave to the crowd with both hands, blowing appreciative kisses as she did. She had envisioned this victory earlier when she was sitting in the locker room with her eyes closed, and was delighted that she had achieved it.

In the meantime, Chelsea’s defeated opponent lay hurting in the ring. A staff member was poised to alert a medical team in case she needed attention, but more than the physical injuries she had sustained, Brandi was hurting from the psychological battering she had just received. The vanquished heel groaned, covering her face with both hands as she brought her feet inwards, and lay on her back with both legs held together, bent at the knee. A moment of silence was what she craved, but the ecstatic audience was not going to let up at the moment. When she eventually sat up, she saw through the dark blonde curls partly obscuring her view the tail end of Chelsea’s victory lap. Her conqueror climbed back up on the ring apron, back facing towards her, waving one last time to the crowd before she proceeded across the runway towards the black curtains with roses in hand. Brandi could only watch in anguish mixed with a twinge of envy in her heart. She had wanted to show everyone tonight that she could match this so-called rookie talent move-for-move in the ring. She had wanted to show off the results of her own training and hard work, even if she had not been given the opportunity to travel halfway round the world for training and exposure. That bitch had just denied her everything she desired.

“Its Always Summertime!” declared the big screen. To Brandi, it was like a big splash of salt and vinegar on her wounds.

“Better watch your back, Summers,” she growled as she sat up, resting her elbows on her knees. When she finally got up on her feet, Brandi rubbed her sore boobs, angry at the way the exuberant Chelsea had sat on them and humiliated her in the process.

And I don’t really care if nobody else believes


“This is not over. You and I… we’re just getting warmed up.”

The End

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