TheCrimsonRisk
Ryonani Teamster
- Joined
- Jun 10, 2010
I usually have two dozen different fantasy wrestling matchups bouncing around in my head at all times. This is one of them and thanks to an assist from the brilliant ColorVirus, I was able to get this one out of my system and share it with all of you.
Liv Morgan, beautiful babyface. Jazz, the nastiest of heels. Let's make it happen with a little tale, I like to call...
Liv Morgan Faces The Music
Liv Morgan had been working her way towards an actual world title opportunity and she wanted to look her best for the night’s main event. A former model, cheerleader, (and yes) Hooter’s waitress, she still couldn’t believe how far she’d come since deciding to become a pro wrestler. The past few years had just flown by.
During her time with the WWE, she’d had a number of different looks. Personas. It was essential to land on just the right one as she felt she was gaining legitimacy with the hardcore fans, many of whom had jeered and booed her in the past. Not that she blamed them. She was just another pretty face when she started off. Now she was a legitimate contender and she was coming for that No. 1 spot.
The gorgeous blonde was one of the earliest to arrive at the arena, not only to get an extra workout in to calm her nerves but to give herself the chance to run through different outfit choices. New age goth girl was always a hit. Or she could update the athletic and sporty look she debuted with. Sexy rollergirl maybe? None of those felt quite right.
She dug deep into her wardrobe collection until a hint of shiny material caught her eye. It was a strap from one of her favourite outfits. The lightbulb went off and she knew it was perfect for the opportunity that was ahead of her. Tonight, she’d cement herself as the top challenger for the Raw Women’s Championship and she’d look fabulous doing it.
To say that Liv was nervous was an understatement. These weren’t normal fight night jitters. She felt a lump in her throat as she watched a monitor and waited for her cue to enter. Her opponent for the night was already in the ring, the legendary Jazz.
A former WWE champion, Jazz was in incredible shape. She was at least 20 years older than Liv, but it was clear that she’d put in the work for what most fans figured would be a one-off return and a showcase match for Liv. They didn’t know how Jazz’s competitive fire was set ablaze when officials called her with an offer to put over their rising star. How she hit the gym with a fury, twice a day for six weeks to get back into game shape. How much she hated the idea that the next generation had passed her by, especially if that included blonde bimbos like Liv.
In short: Jazz was ready to rock.
Once Liv’s music hit, her anxiety washed away, replaced by that trademark confidence. The crowd gave her a rapturous welcome when they saw her as she stepped out of the entranceway decked out in an absurdly suggestive black leather outfit. The long-sleeve leotard left her upper body exposed up the middle, revealing a matching black sports bra that seemed to glow under the arena lights. Her stunning legs were adorned with the shiny material as well, all the way up to her thighs, which themselves were covered by the thinnest of fishnet stockings. She added a charming musical note necklace that she snatched out of a jewelry bin at the last second, only later realizing how appropriate it was given her opponent.
“You look like an idiot.”
With five simple, cruel words, Jazz made Liv flinch. It was normal for Liv’s opponents to try and break her down mentally, so she shouldn’t have cared, but hearing such a brutal assessment from a respected veteran like Jazz, it stung. Bad.
Shaken right out of the gate, Liv fell prey to a classic sneak attack as Jazz faked a test of strength and then drove the point of her boot into Liv’s belly. The attack knocked the wind out of her and Jazz followed up by grabbing a handful of the rear of her gear and driving her headfirst into the corner turnbuckle. Liv’s forehead smashed against it and she fell back onto her ass in a daze.
“I gotta admit, the outfit ain't bad. Best thing you got going for you, Liv, because it definitely ain’t your wrestling,” Jazz taunted, before yanking on Liv’s hair to bring her to her feet.
Two brutal knees to Liv’s midsection followed as she was backed up against the ropes. Jazz shot her to the opposite side of the ring and waited for Liv to rebound before meeting her with a stiff clothesline that connected with the wannabe contender’s sternum. Liv fell on her back, clutching at her already reddening flesh.
Jazz gave her no time to recover. She stomped down on Liv, letting heavy leather rain down on her, then picked up her up and scooped her belly-down over her shoulder like she was nothing. Liv’s boots kicked behind Jazz as she tried to shake free, but she couldn’t avoid a devastating power slam! Liv groaned as her body bounced before settling onto the canvas.
A single boot was placed on Liv’s chest. The most disrespectful of pins. She threw up her shoulder at the count of one, which just made Jazz laugh.
“Here I am, offering you the easy way out and you’re being a little bitch about it. Fine, have it your way.”
Liv found herself trapped in a double chickenwing hold next, her elbows painfully bent back behind her by Jazz’s more muscular arms. The former champion made the hold ten times worse by lifting Liv high into the air, an adjustment that sent agonizing tremors from Liv’s fingertips all the way up to her shoulders. She let out a gut-wrenching scream, but shook her head when the referee asked if she wanted to submit.
“What are you even supposed to be? The dominatrix look doesn’t suit you, blondie.”
She relaxed the chickenwing hold for moment, then hoisted Liv up again, sending a fresh shock through her system. This time, Liv squealed.
“Yeah, you’ve got basic bitch written all over you. Just like everyone says backstage.”
Jazz’s wicked hold was perfect for putting Liv on display. The trapped beauty’s stunning body was wrapped tightly in her shimmering outfit, which tightened further as she strained and squirmed. The double armlock forced Liv’s chest and crotch to thrust forward awkwardly. She knew that hold was meant to embarrass her as much as hurt her.
Finally, Jazz released her, letting Liv fall towards the corner once more where she slumped down face-first onto the middle turnbuckle. The nearest camera caught a crystal clear shot of Liv’s face looking drained and depleted.
Jazz didn’t let up for a second. She leapt at Liv before driving another vicious stomp right between her shoulder blades. The impact badly jarred Liv’s back and neck and she crumbled farther down into the corner. Another handful of leotard brought Liv back to her feet and into Jazz’s clutches. Next, Liv was lifted up and dropped down hard with an explosive back suplex.
Jazz went for a pin, making sure to hook one of Liv’s legs and force the blonde into an alluring spread. Kickout at two.
“I see why you’re wearing this slutty getup, Liv. Gotta get these losers’ attention somehow.”
A whimpering Liv was dragged back to the centre of the ring. Jazz held Liv’s leg up for a moment, letting the anticipation and anxiety build for her infamous signature submission, the STF.
Jazz dove down on Liv like a puma, sitting down on Liv’s left leg to ensnare it between her thighs and then reaching forward to latch her fingers over her victim’s mouth and chin. She’d beaten legends with this hold: Trish Stratus. Lita. Molly Holly. What chance did Liv have?
Liv’s whole body tensed up and she would have let out another loud scream if Jazz’s hands weren’t partially covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide with pain and fear, her cheeks turning red as it dawned upon her what a one-sided beating Jazz was delivering.
*I’m supposed to be a champion…?* Dark thoughts overwhelmed Liv.
Still, she hadn’t tapped, nor had she verbally submitted, even after a full 30 seconds of Jazz stretching her out. It was an encouraging, if distressing sight for her rabid fans. She tried to draw upon their support, but her whole body just hurt and the more they cheered, the harder Jazz cranked on the hold.
“Just quit and go back to playing dress-up, Liv,” Jazz said coldly. “You will never be champion.”
“Can’t… give up…”
The nearest rope was at least two feet away. Liv reached out desperately, her efforts only increasing the strain being put on her body. She was tempted to just give in to Jazz’s torture. A few taps of the mat. A verbal submission. A nod to the referee. Anything but another second in that horrible STF.
But Liv held on and the distance between her fingers and the ropes became shorter. She shook violently as she dragged herself along the rough mat, her arm lunging and still falling just short. Jazz cackled as she twisted Liv’s neck and knee, but in truth the heel’s strength was slightly fading. Liv made more progress. She kept fighting. Until…
“ROPE BREAK!” the ref shouted. “She’s on the ropes, break it up, Jazz. 1… 2… 3… 4…”
Jazz let go before the referee administered a five-count, not wanting to risk disqualification with victory so near. She detached herself and stood up to glare at the official, also taking the time to catch her breath and shake her muscles loose.
“Alright, alright, I’m giving her a break. Shut up!” Jazz barked at the referee and the jeering fans. “It’s time for the fat lady to sing.”
Jazz snatched Liv’s wrist and pulled her up. The scrappy babyface responding by firing a few ineffectual punches into Jazz’s hard abs. It was at this moment that Jazz took notice of Liv’s musical note necklace, which amused her to no end, and she reached forward to yank it off her neck.
“Stop… give that back…” Liv whined.
“Show’s over,” Jazz said as she crushed the necklace in her hands and threw it at the referee. He was momentarily distracted as he caught it, which gave Jazz an opening to punt Liv right between the legs! The blatantly illegal low blow turned Liv’s knees into jelly. Jazz could do whatever she wanted now.
With a throat-slash gesture, Jazz bent Liv forward in a front facelock and then captured her leg before lifting her upside down into the air. She took a few steps around the ring before falling back and spiking Liv headfirst into the mat with a fisherman’s buster. The impact was more than enough to knock Liv out… but not enough to satisfy Jazz.
She easily lifted Liv up and repeated the maneuver, driving the now limp doll into the mat with frightening force. The referee wanted to just step in and call the match, but Jazz froze him with a stare and raised a finger to signal, “One more time.”
*WHOMP*
A third fisherman’s buster left Liv splattered on the canvas. The ensuing three-count barely drew a reaction from the crowd, most of whom were simply stunned at what had transpired. Liv had been on the fast track to a title shot. Now she looked like a she’d been tied to the train tracks and run over.
Jazz relished the moment. Beating up blondes was as fun as ever and she’d waited a long time for the chance to do it again. She struck an impressive double bicep pose and planted her foot on Liv’s cheek, really grinding her heel on the beaten jobber’s pretty face.
“The bitch is back!” Jazz roared, before turning her attention to Liv one last time. “You ever want a rematch, you know where to find me, ha ha!”
Liv just lay there, spread-eagle, eyes shut, silently praying that she didn’t cross paths with Jazz again anytime soon.
Liv Morgan, beautiful babyface. Jazz, the nastiest of heels. Let's make it happen with a little tale, I like to call...
Liv Morgan Faces The Music
Liv Morgan had been working her way towards an actual world title opportunity and she wanted to look her best for the night’s main event. A former model, cheerleader, (and yes) Hooter’s waitress, she still couldn’t believe how far she’d come since deciding to become a pro wrestler. The past few years had just flown by.
During her time with the WWE, she’d had a number of different looks. Personas. It was essential to land on just the right one as she felt she was gaining legitimacy with the hardcore fans, many of whom had jeered and booed her in the past. Not that she blamed them. She was just another pretty face when she started off. Now she was a legitimate contender and she was coming for that No. 1 spot.
The gorgeous blonde was one of the earliest to arrive at the arena, not only to get an extra workout in to calm her nerves but to give herself the chance to run through different outfit choices. New age goth girl was always a hit. Or she could update the athletic and sporty look she debuted with. Sexy rollergirl maybe? None of those felt quite right.
She dug deep into her wardrobe collection until a hint of shiny material caught her eye. It was a strap from one of her favourite outfits. The lightbulb went off and she knew it was perfect for the opportunity that was ahead of her. Tonight, she’d cement herself as the top challenger for the Raw Women’s Championship and she’d look fabulous doing it.
To say that Liv was nervous was an understatement. These weren’t normal fight night jitters. She felt a lump in her throat as she watched a monitor and waited for her cue to enter. Her opponent for the night was already in the ring, the legendary Jazz.
A former WWE champion, Jazz was in incredible shape. She was at least 20 years older than Liv, but it was clear that she’d put in the work for what most fans figured would be a one-off return and a showcase match for Liv. They didn’t know how Jazz’s competitive fire was set ablaze when officials called her with an offer to put over their rising star. How she hit the gym with a fury, twice a day for six weeks to get back into game shape. How much she hated the idea that the next generation had passed her by, especially if that included blonde bimbos like Liv.
In short: Jazz was ready to rock.
Once Liv’s music hit, her anxiety washed away, replaced by that trademark confidence. The crowd gave her a rapturous welcome when they saw her as she stepped out of the entranceway decked out in an absurdly suggestive black leather outfit. The long-sleeve leotard left her upper body exposed up the middle, revealing a matching black sports bra that seemed to glow under the arena lights. Her stunning legs were adorned with the shiny material as well, all the way up to her thighs, which themselves were covered by the thinnest of fishnet stockings. She added a charming musical note necklace that she snatched out of a jewelry bin at the last second, only later realizing how appropriate it was given her opponent.
“You look like an idiot.”
With five simple, cruel words, Jazz made Liv flinch. It was normal for Liv’s opponents to try and break her down mentally, so she shouldn’t have cared, but hearing such a brutal assessment from a respected veteran like Jazz, it stung. Bad.
Shaken right out of the gate, Liv fell prey to a classic sneak attack as Jazz faked a test of strength and then drove the point of her boot into Liv’s belly. The attack knocked the wind out of her and Jazz followed up by grabbing a handful of the rear of her gear and driving her headfirst into the corner turnbuckle. Liv’s forehead smashed against it and she fell back onto her ass in a daze.
“I gotta admit, the outfit ain't bad. Best thing you got going for you, Liv, because it definitely ain’t your wrestling,” Jazz taunted, before yanking on Liv’s hair to bring her to her feet.
Two brutal knees to Liv’s midsection followed as she was backed up against the ropes. Jazz shot her to the opposite side of the ring and waited for Liv to rebound before meeting her with a stiff clothesline that connected with the wannabe contender’s sternum. Liv fell on her back, clutching at her already reddening flesh.
Jazz gave her no time to recover. She stomped down on Liv, letting heavy leather rain down on her, then picked up her up and scooped her belly-down over her shoulder like she was nothing. Liv’s boots kicked behind Jazz as she tried to shake free, but she couldn’t avoid a devastating power slam! Liv groaned as her body bounced before settling onto the canvas.
A single boot was placed on Liv’s chest. The most disrespectful of pins. She threw up her shoulder at the count of one, which just made Jazz laugh.
“Here I am, offering you the easy way out and you’re being a little bitch about it. Fine, have it your way.”
Liv found herself trapped in a double chickenwing hold next, her elbows painfully bent back behind her by Jazz’s more muscular arms. The former champion made the hold ten times worse by lifting Liv high into the air, an adjustment that sent agonizing tremors from Liv’s fingertips all the way up to her shoulders. She let out a gut-wrenching scream, but shook her head when the referee asked if she wanted to submit.
“What are you even supposed to be? The dominatrix look doesn’t suit you, blondie.”
She relaxed the chickenwing hold for moment, then hoisted Liv up again, sending a fresh shock through her system. This time, Liv squealed.
“Yeah, you’ve got basic bitch written all over you. Just like everyone says backstage.”
Jazz’s wicked hold was perfect for putting Liv on display. The trapped beauty’s stunning body was wrapped tightly in her shimmering outfit, which tightened further as she strained and squirmed. The double armlock forced Liv’s chest and crotch to thrust forward awkwardly. She knew that hold was meant to embarrass her as much as hurt her.
Finally, Jazz released her, letting Liv fall towards the corner once more where she slumped down face-first onto the middle turnbuckle. The nearest camera caught a crystal clear shot of Liv’s face looking drained and depleted.
Jazz didn’t let up for a second. She leapt at Liv before driving another vicious stomp right between her shoulder blades. The impact badly jarred Liv’s back and neck and she crumbled farther down into the corner. Another handful of leotard brought Liv back to her feet and into Jazz’s clutches. Next, Liv was lifted up and dropped down hard with an explosive back suplex.
Jazz went for a pin, making sure to hook one of Liv’s legs and force the blonde into an alluring spread. Kickout at two.
“I see why you’re wearing this slutty getup, Liv. Gotta get these losers’ attention somehow.”
A whimpering Liv was dragged back to the centre of the ring. Jazz held Liv’s leg up for a moment, letting the anticipation and anxiety build for her infamous signature submission, the STF.
Jazz dove down on Liv like a puma, sitting down on Liv’s left leg to ensnare it between her thighs and then reaching forward to latch her fingers over her victim’s mouth and chin. She’d beaten legends with this hold: Trish Stratus. Lita. Molly Holly. What chance did Liv have?
*I’m supposed to be a champion…?* Dark thoughts overwhelmed Liv.
Still, she hadn’t tapped, nor had she verbally submitted, even after a full 30 seconds of Jazz stretching her out. It was an encouraging, if distressing sight for her rabid fans. She tried to draw upon their support, but her whole body just hurt and the more they cheered, the harder Jazz cranked on the hold.
“Just quit and go back to playing dress-up, Liv,” Jazz said coldly. “You will never be champion.”
“Can’t… give up…”
The nearest rope was at least two feet away. Liv reached out desperately, her efforts only increasing the strain being put on her body. She was tempted to just give in to Jazz’s torture. A few taps of the mat. A verbal submission. A nod to the referee. Anything but another second in that horrible STF.
But Liv held on and the distance between her fingers and the ropes became shorter. She shook violently as she dragged herself along the rough mat, her arm lunging and still falling just short. Jazz cackled as she twisted Liv’s neck and knee, but in truth the heel’s strength was slightly fading. Liv made more progress. She kept fighting. Until…
“ROPE BREAK!” the ref shouted. “She’s on the ropes, break it up, Jazz. 1… 2… 3… 4…”
Jazz let go before the referee administered a five-count, not wanting to risk disqualification with victory so near. She detached herself and stood up to glare at the official, also taking the time to catch her breath and shake her muscles loose.
“Alright, alright, I’m giving her a break. Shut up!” Jazz barked at the referee and the jeering fans. “It’s time for the fat lady to sing.”
Jazz snatched Liv’s wrist and pulled her up. The scrappy babyface responding by firing a few ineffectual punches into Jazz’s hard abs. It was at this moment that Jazz took notice of Liv’s musical note necklace, which amused her to no end, and she reached forward to yank it off her neck.
“Stop… give that back…” Liv whined.
“Show’s over,” Jazz said as she crushed the necklace in her hands and threw it at the referee. He was momentarily distracted as he caught it, which gave Jazz an opening to punt Liv right between the legs! The blatantly illegal low blow turned Liv’s knees into jelly. Jazz could do whatever she wanted now.
With a throat-slash gesture, Jazz bent Liv forward in a front facelock and then captured her leg before lifting her upside down into the air. She took a few steps around the ring before falling back and spiking Liv headfirst into the mat with a fisherman’s buster. The impact was more than enough to knock Liv out… but not enough to satisfy Jazz.
She easily lifted Liv up and repeated the maneuver, driving the now limp doll into the mat with frightening force. The referee wanted to just step in and call the match, but Jazz froze him with a stare and raised a finger to signal, “One more time.”
*WHOMP*
A third fisherman’s buster left Liv splattered on the canvas. The ensuing three-count barely drew a reaction from the crowd, most of whom were simply stunned at what had transpired. Liv had been on the fast track to a title shot. Now she looked like a she’d been tied to the train tracks and run over.
Jazz relished the moment. Beating up blondes was as fun as ever and she’d waited a long time for the chance to do it again. She struck an impressive double bicep pose and planted her foot on Liv’s cheek, really grinding her heel on the beaten jobber’s pretty face.
“The bitch is back!” Jazz roared, before turning her attention to Liv one last time. “You ever want a rematch, you know where to find me, ha ha!”
Liv just lay there, spread-eagle, eyes shut, silently praying that she didn’t cross paths with Jazz again anytime soon.
