JMD ELIMINATOR BOUT

Part 1:

Post by Simguy on 9/8/2006, 9:42 pm.

Before:  “I feel I’m tailor-made for JMD brawling,” an upbeat Mish chirps in prefight, “Just because I’m classier than lacey doesn’t mean I don’t like getting down and dirty in a fight—you guys know better than that! I’m just gonna bang this girl out, you know? It’s gonna be fun and I’m gonna dominate this brand of fighting as much—if more—than I ever did the regular FCBA!” Chabert frowning throughout Mishy’s self-aggrandizing speech—Lacey one of the pioneers in the emerging variant of JMD boxing, begs to differ with Williams’ assessment. “Mishy’s jugs are just two disappointing little stepping stones for me,” Lacey blurts, obviously offended at the racy cut of Mishy’s tanktop at the dais. “I’m the queen of JMD—not Mishy—not jess or Jess of any of them. I’m gonna get in Michelle’s rack and give her work she’s never even dreamed of na d when she goes out—oh boy—am I gonna give it to her! Both barrels!”

Mish in leopard print push up, blazing crimson swimsuit bottoms, white mitts, black aerobics shoes. Lacey in ruffled pink bikini top, navy bottoms, white aerobics shoes/socks, white gloves.

No glove touch-up during instructions: girls extend left hands to push gently into one another’s bustlines in ceremonial salute as they turn away.

During R1: Girls rocketing out of their corners: Mishy launching a crazy sweeping right—missing over the top; Lacey hooking hard out her crouch, hoping to brain Mishy, missing as Williams ducks low, eases her right foot back and emerges out of range, only to come leaping back in with her own free-swinging hook. Girls finally pitch themselves into range—Lacey detonating a concussive right/left tic-toc combo off Mishy’s chin to scatter her stomping back on her heels, pushed up jugs a-jiggling in syncopation. JAILBREAK ON MISHY’S RACK! Mish barely righting herself in time as Lacey pours in all bared teeth, blazing eyes—brunette leaning in and POUNDING straight right/lefts into Williams’ jugs with stamping authority. POOR MISHY! Williams ragdolled, pressed up against turnbuckles by the force of Lacey’s jackhammering assault—Mish desperately trying to wing wide lefts and rights only to eat brisk, bumping rights and lefts on her chin. WILLIAMS GOES DOWN! Mishy stunned, staring—sitting upright in her corner, legs outstretched, arms propped in the lower ropes: overheated Lacey drops to her knees in between Mishy’s legs, left hand bracing Mishy’s right shoulder as lace leans her torso in and REAMS AWAY RIGHTY TO RACK! Mish getting ransacked—defibb-punching to her chest has her open-mouthed, blonde curls in her eyes as Williams is completely overwhelmed—ref finally pulls a wriggling, snarling Lacey up and away, leaving Mishy wonderstruck on her backside, Mishy up, nerves badly jangled—she covers up hurt, turning her left side into the ropes and doubling over—GIVING UP HER BACK TO LACEY! Chabert winning position on Mish and plundering Williams accordingly—Chabes bracing her hip against Mishy’s presented left shoulder, riding the right forearm across Mishy’s upper back to make her take weight and plugging away with free, pumping left hands to thigh, hip, ribs, kidney and tum. Ref’s don’t break this kind of thing in JMD—considered legal as Chabert burdens Mish, plows her to the bell. Chabes STRUTTING back to her corner, crowing: Williams blinking back tears, berating the ref, throbbing already after a savage Chabert first.

R2: Crazed bumper-car slugging—Williams quickly finding the insane tempo she needs to compete as Chabert’s swinging lustily for the fences. Crowd roaring every time a random mitt bounces off face or forehead, or takes a girl thickly in her juggs, Trudging attacks mounted mindlessly up the middle—Mish crouching forward, pumping her mitts to Lacey’s trembling brown tummy: Lacey tucking into firm Mishy gutmeat to back Williams up in kind—Chabert snarling as she twists on her hips, shoving and stuffing lefts and rights into blonde body, Impossible to score—each girl suffering tremendous buffeting when it’s her turn, but down the stretch, Mishy makes a statement, Thunderous right hands exchanged to chin, rocking both girls on the spot: Williams able to recover first and beat Lacey to the mop up hook—DROPPING CHABERT TO HER BACK! Mish staggering, chest heaving—she points down, bellowing incoherently as alert ref bodies her away. Chabert sniveling, manages to beat the count, swaying drunkenly at her first serious swig of Mish.

R3: Wind’em up, send’em out—jug-maddened vixens stomp to it, snarling as they reach arms back, lean chest forward and hurl their hardest right hands into one another’s torsos. Furious, slugging sees both girls stamping around off balance, righting themselves, then pouring back into it—clubbing, buffeting, non-stop pitching often sloppy, always eye-catching as fight caroms off ropes, staggers across canvas. Pace slowing about the halfway mark—buxom beauties mouth breathing, starting to take a moment to load up and commit more efficiently and heavily on every shot. By the final minute—girls are mouth-on-shoulder, shrugging shirt, hurtful little uppercuts into one another’s mouthwatering mounds, Mishy’s back touches ropes and stays there in the final moments—enough to convince judges that Lacey was the better vixen in the third. Chabert punctuates it after the bell—sloshing home a cheap late right hand to jugg on a relaxed, unprepared Mish—Williams enraged, pinwheels back at Lacey as ref jumps in.

R4: Girls trying to plant and slug—but throwing so hard they frequently stumble around whether they’re tagged or not: constant jiggle of thighs, backsides, tummies and jugs as both girls look only and always get off. Minute mark-=-girls trade shoving straight rights—Mishy getting the worst of it: Lacey reloads and shoves another pump=action right through the middle, awkwardly connecting on the right side of Williams’ head, bumping Mishy’s face to the left. Mish still dealing with it when Lacey fetches Mish a looping left over the top to send Williams baby-stepping sideways. Lacey bursting forward—pawing her left against Mishy’s open mouth when BUSTING Mish a sweeping right across the face—Williams sent careening into ropes badly loosened, LACEY WANTS JUGG! Mish drooping off the ropes, grimacing her into her mitts: Chabert huffing and puffing, standing up in the stirrups, chin hovering atop Mishy’s overhanging head, brunette lifting both hands up and into treat Mishy’s bra to a horrible pum-pum-pummelling. Lacey reaching in under Mishy’s arms like an expert little JMDer—pulling the Williams guard apart while chesting her into the ropes, rendering Mish vulnerable for more sloshing abuse, bit by but, Williams breaking down—trying to cover up, not answering back: she twists away from the beating, leaning her right shoulder into the ropes as she doubles forward, once again giving up her back. Chabert gleeful, piling in with her left forearm heavy upon Mishy’s upperback, crowding the blonde while plowing midnless right hands into presented flank. Bell: what’s that to Lacey? Chabert bashing away at Mish, working up a shiny sleeve of sweat—ref has to physically pull brunette off her cowering foe.

R5: Mishy’s getting beat up: can’t quite believe it as Lacey pours through the middle with endless, fresh reserves of rights and lefts. Chabert’s thrusting, shoving, occasionally sloppy slugging up the middle successfully turning Mishy’s head to the side, forcing retreat on Williams as Mish is backed up under brisk bumping. Williams covering up FCBA style, tilting forward behind her mitts: Lacey tongue pink between her lips as she widens stance, reaches back and hauls ROBUST swinging right hands in fat arcs loud against Mishy’s flank,. More Lacey bodying up—reaching under Mishy’s arms to wriggle-apart that guard, then stuffing mitt to meat, pushing, punching into tummy and jug as Williams snivels with hurt. Mishy facing into the punishment at least, taking a terrible drubbing head and chest, but blocking more shots than she would if she gave up her back. Chabert effervescent, backside jumping as she stamps and shifts weight, constantly pushing, mauling and slugging at her foe. Pace slackens late—Chabert mouth breathing, unable to sustain the pounding: Mish able to pull Lacey into moist clinches, drawing immediate and angry boos from a jug-lusty crowd. Ref VERY quick to break up clinches if neither girl’s working—official has a mandate to keep the action moving at all costs. “Sucks to be you,” Lacey pants the bell, exhausted herself, but buoyed by Mishy’s slouching body language on the ropes.

CHABERT/WILLIAMS conc.

Posted by Simguy on 9/18/2006, 9:43 pm.

R6: Both girls out of gas—feverish JMD slugging absolutely draining if it doesn’t lead to the expected early stoppage—lots of sloppy flapping and staggering, open-mouthed/shut-eyed clinches as both girls look t rally. Muscular struggles in the clinch as both girls want to be the one to push the other’s back to ropes. Cheapness entering in as both fighters are frustrated by the constant glooming Mish warned for shoulder-butting Lacey’s breast while inside Chabert’s grasp; lacey warned for dropping her forehead down onto Mishy’s chest with thudding butts when Williams has the brunette’s arms tied up. After ref’s breaks, both girls tramp around with heavy steps, arms dangling at sides, mouths gulping at humid big-fight air—only when they fall in together do girls look like fighters again, galvanizing by one another’s flesh.

R7: Agonizing, plodding stuff—both girls tragically ragged and shopworn at this point. Shuffling footwork—open mouths, pawing left hands paving the way for thick, sumptuous right hands thrown to bodies, breasts and chins. Girls just reeling in front of each other, readily available and bit by bit: Mishy’s braking down. Minute mark, Lacey lays a fat strapping right hand across Mishy’s tummy, bodypunching he mouthpiece off Williams’ teeth with a gasping “POOH!” Delayed effect as Mish is all cramped up, then sinks, wincing to one knee! Lacey BEAMING with delight, reveling in Mishy’s distress—brunette nonsensically shrieking “TUMMY!” down at Mish as ref pushes her back. Williams achy-creaky to her feet—bloodless face pinched as she takes a seat in the ropes and CHABERT BOUNCES ON IN! Knockdown buoying Lacey, refreshing her—she leans in close off Mishy’s right shoulder, bumping the blonde a murderous series of pumping right hands thick to paunch. Williams groaning, turning her left shoulder into ropes and folding up: Lacey immediately bodying up as Mish gives her back, Lacey well schooled—right forearm brace applying weight to Mishy’s upper back while marauding, chugging left hands bump and bash at Williams’ exposed right side. MISHY’S BEATEN TO ALL FOURS! Seconds left and poor Mishy can’t take it—panting, eyes shut tight as she sways on hands and knees and LACEY POUNDS A DOUBLE HAMMERFIST OFF MISHY’S WHITE BACK! Gloves bouncing off back with a tangy spank—Mishy tilting her head up and croaking in exhausted outrage as ref moves in a half-step too slow.

R8: Groggy blundering, both vixens—it’s just about pushing the other girl to the ropes and shoving mindlessly at the breasts in a sloshing, tottering, flowing stream of torment. Eyelashes fluttering—when one girl is pushed to a seat in the ropes, she clamps her eyes shut and moans, sulking as her opponent treats herself to stuffing rights to freebie jug or tummy. Mishy giving as good as she gets—frequently wrestling her way on top, then reaming Lacey righty until tied up and muscled to ropes in turn. Girls not shy about simply laying in when they’re too used up to punch—reaching around the waist, mouths open on shoulders, just bodying the opponent into ropes for breaks. Purely instinctive—girls wandering into each other, goaded on by the touch of opposition flesh—may as well sew’em into a sleeping bag for all the boxing artistry shown at this point. Hair: clamped like clingy, sweat-sodden helmets onto skulls, cheeks, necks—girls looking like they’ve just emerged from a sweltering steam bath at the bell.

R9: Lacey puffy and badly beaten, but she’s fresh as daisies compared to poor Mish. Williams unable to hold her canvas—now being routinely walked to ropes and battered. Mish puffy eyed, bleak, hands low as she faces into ruinous, clubbing clouts about her jaw, ears and shoulders. Chabert mustering reserves—squaring away on trembling legs and managing to clobber Mish with authority—Williams beaten into stupor, just sitting in the ropes on widespread legs, hands stacked right on left at her waist, lips parted as a smashing right clocks her face aside, followed by a drifting left. Job of work for Lace—she’s just extending one hand to Mishy’s chest to stabilize her, then plowing her the free mitt, pulverizing the cutest bully in the game with patient, plodding wallop. Bell: Mishy out on her feet, so badly battered it’s impossible to tell if she’s actually got er eyes open. Lacey all used up, blurting “GO DOWN!” in a pleading bleat, swaying in front of the immobile blonde.

R10: Lacey crying on her stool, hands in her lap: she just can’t lift her arms anymore! Mish lifted to her feet and given a wakeful slap on her butt to send her out: Williams instinctively lifting mitts to her lips, stumbling forward on autopilot as sniveling Lacey awaits her tormentress in the Chabert corner, All Mishy—Chabert’s turn to bury her face in her gloves and try to ride this thing out—all a question of what Mish has left. Williams sobbing with the effort of swinging at Chabert’s flanks and hips, then reaching in to squirm her hands in under Lacey’s arms to chest her back for fresh abuse. From the midway point, girls lean forehead-on-forehead in a slugging arch—Mishy tap-tapping lefts and rights, touching Lacey on her brown tummy or nudging shiny jug, then ripping her the payoff hook to the jaw or lifting rights in under left breast. Chabert blubbering softly, no longer responding—just drooping forward or back in response to Mishy’s work. Down the stretch, Williams sets up a groggy little hup-hup,  laying in close and just moving her mitts back and forth, back and forth, pulping Lacey’s helpless jugs to the bell as Chabert slumps there taking it. Bell: ref easily parts willing  beauties—JMD brawl incredibly goes to a decision. UD10 Lacey Chabert!

After: Upset sees Chabert claim JMD primacy over Mish—Williams just in a foggy daze as silent Wolf Packers mince around, not knowing what to say.. “My jugs stopped her jugs!” Lacey blurts, badly battered herself, but wearily upbeat. “I’m chocked I didn’t stop her—my fans expect a lot out of me and that’s one thing I want to deliver every time out—but Mishy was just too stubborn. Still, I totally dominated and I want Jessica Simpson! I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I’m queen; Jessica and her flapjack boobies can’t compete!”

Reposted by Archer 2/15/10.