"TORRRRIIEEEEEEEE WILLLLSSSSOOONNN!"
Torrie Wilson strutted into the ring with tiny black panties and a supple black bra holding back her double D-sized breasts. The crowd cheered as she sauntered into the ring, going back and forth, mesmerizing everyone. The black heels elevated her height and pushed her body forward, especially those big, voluptuous breasts.
"Torrie! Torrie!" the crowd chanted over and over. These were her people. She could not lose, this match was hers and hers only.
She continued to parade proudly as the announcer called out her opponent.
"STAAAACCYYYYYYYYYYYYY KEEEEEIIIIBBBLLLLEEEERRR!"
Torrie blew kisses to the crowd. She fondled her breasts seductively and spread out her legs, dropping into a full splits. Her hands brushed sensually over her crotch.
Stacy made he way into the ring. Torrie laughed. Stacy was wearing baby blue panties and a matching sheer bra. Torrie knew she was going to dominate her. She waved to the crowd and blew kisses some more. She cupped her breasts and spread her legs out wide to say, "I'm sexier than you."
Lost in the euphoria of her own sexuality and the crowd's raucous roaring, Torrie's head was lost in the clouds; failed to hear the referee blow the whistle.
Stacy rushed up to Torrie unnoticed, dropped to her knees, clenched her fist, drew it back, and let go with all her might.
Her fist went up Torrie's spread out legs and into her vulnerable, soft womanhood. Torrie screamed and dropped to the mat in a fetal position, clutching her aching vagina, cupping her soft groin, her womanhood in such excruciating pain. Stacy calmly rolled her onto her back and pinned her.
"One. Two. Three."
The match was over.