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29 September 2023 Stephanie McMahon vs Rosie Huntington-Whiteley

Page history last edited by neon 4 weeks ago

OFFICIAL FCBA "SEPTEMBER TO REMEMBER" PPV 2023

Posted by Lookout! Boxing on 29 September 2023 at 8:29 pm

RHW vs Stephanie McMahon

(Results: Lookout / Words: Queens)

Rosie Huntington-Whiteley (RHW)
(36, 5'9", 132lbs, 1:12 FCBA, Queens of Absolution)

Stephanie McMahon:
(46, 5’8”, 143 lbs, 15:1:18 FCBA, Carnation Creations)

BEFORE:

There she was, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, looking like a million bucks and ready to throw down. She was clad in a fierce pink sports bra that emphasized her chiseled abs, each one a testament to countless hours in the gym. The black panties she wore only served to accentuate her powerful and toned legs, which looked as though they were carved out of marble. Her black boots were laced up and ready for action, contrasting sharply against the brilliant pink of her boxing gloves. Each glove looked as though it was ready to deliver a punch that could knock out a horse.

Her golden hair fell over her shoulders, framing a face that was a mix of determination and raw power. The steeliness in her eyes sent shivers down the spines of those who dared to meet her gaze. Every inch of her body radiated an intimidating energy, from the sinewy muscles of her arms to her lean, strong back. She moved with the grace and power of a jungle cat, every movement deliberate and threatening.

She flexed her arms, each muscle standing out in stark relief against her skin. Her pink gloves gleamed under the stadium lights, the color a stark contrast to the raw power they held. She cast a glance towards Stephanie, her eyes filled with unspoken threats. It was clear to everyone watching that Rosie wasn’t there to play – she was there to win. Stephanie might have had the weight advantage, but Rosie had the sheer, unyielding determination of a fighter who knew exactly what she wanted.

Across the ring stood Stephanie McMahon, a formidable adversary in her own right. Her outfit was a striking ensemble, a mix of athleticism and style, making her look like a warrior ready for battle. Dressed in a sleek, black sports bra that highlighted her somewhat athletic torso, she was a sight to behold. The stark red boxing shorts she wore sat low on her hips, revealing her heavier belly and accentuating her muscular limbs. Her boxing gloves were a shocking white, standing out against her tanned skin.

Rosie, perched in her corner of the ring, eyed Stephanie with a critical gaze. Her eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the heftier form of her opponent. An unvoiced question lingered in her mind – was Stephanie's extra weight just an accumulation of fat, or was it muscle masquerading under a deceptive layer? It was a question Rosie knew she would soon answer with her fists. The uncertainty added an extra layer of thrilling suspense to the standoff, a question hanging in the air like the hum of the crowd: Power or puff? Only the brutal dance of pugilists would reveal the truth.

Stephanie knew one thing for sure - there was power in her weight. She may have been less agile and possibly even weaker in raw strength than the Queen's trained Rosie, but she was no pushover. Her heavier frame was not just a lump of mass, but a powerhouse of strength, a weapon waiting to be unleashed. Every inch of her slightly larger form was hardened with the sort of toughness that only comes from years of relentless training and determination to overcome any and all odds. Rosie's lean, sinewy muscles might have looked intimidating, but Stephanie knew that appearances could be deceiving. It wasn't about the size of the fighter, but the size of the fight in them. And Stephanie had a fight in her as colossal as her frame, ready to give Rosie a run for her money. It was the classic standoff of the agile panther against the powerful bear. And in this boxing ring, Stephanie's heavyweight advantage could just turn out to be the winning card.

As the tension in SoFi Stadium grew, the Queens in the stands were all huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. They were all wondering the same thing, how the hell did Amy Acker manage to convince Stephanie to step into the ring? If Stephanie loses, it won't just be a defeat. No, it would be the absolute humiliation of Carnation Creation's CEO, a fall from grace that would be splashed across every tabloid and gossip column in the world. On the other hand, if the Queens lose... well, it's just a loss. No big deal, business as usual in the cutthroat world of high-stakes boxing. It was time for the showdown. The Queens held their breath, their eyes fixed on the ring as Rosie and Stephanie squared off, the outcome of the match still hanging in the balance. No matter what, they were about to find out.

Round 01:

The bell rang out, echoing through SoFi Stadium, and adrenaline surged through the crowd like a flash flood. Rosie, with the lethal grace of a panther, leaped forward, her pink gloves striking out like twin bolts of lightning. Her arms moved with a speed that was almost blinding, her punches landing on Stephanie's stomach with a resounding thud that could be heard over the clamor of the crowd. Each hit seemed to reverberate through Stephanie's body, her layer of fat absorbing the blows, her muscles underneath remaining unmoved, unyielding. The crowd erupted in excitement as Rosie continued to land blow after blow, her fists hammering against Stephanie's abdomen like a battering ram against a fortress wall.

But Stephanie, despite the fierce onslaught, held her ground. Her white gloves were a blur as they blocked and deflected Rosie's punches, her larger frame providing a sturdy barrier. Then came the counter-attack. Like a bear waking from hibernation, Stephanie began to strike back, her meaty fists landing powerful blows on Rosie's toned body. Each hit, each jab, each hook was like a sledgehammer, driving Rosie back step by step. The crowd was on their feet, the roar deafening as the underdog began to turn the tide.

Rosie, despite her raw strength and speedy blows, began to falter under Stephanie's relentless attack. The weight and power behind Stephanie's punches were simply too much, her heavier frame giving her the advantage of mass and momentum. Rosie quickly found herself on the defensive, her pink gloves doing more blocking than punching. Her eyes, filled with fierce determination, remained fixed on Stephanie's, refusing to back down despite the onslaught.

But before Rosie could rally, the bell rang again, signaling the end of the first round. The crowd erupted into cheers and boos, the atmosphere charged with raw energy and anticipation. Stephanie, breathing heavily but standing tall, retreated to her corner, a victorious smile on her face. Rosie, despite taking a beating, still held her head high, her eyes burning with the promise of revenge in the following rounds. The first round had been a thrilling start, a testament to the raw power and determination of these two warriors, and the audience couldn't wait for more.

Round 02:

As the referee signaled the start of round two, an entirely different Rosie emerged from the corner. The Queens had always known Rosie could be a force to be reckoned with, her wrath akin to a storm that could leave untold devastation in its wake. Yet what they saw now was Rosie amplified, her fury radiating off her like a tangible heatwave. The only comparable force on the Queen's NEXT Roster might be Cintia Dicker in an equally foul mood. Rosie's pink gloves became a blur, her punches crashing into Stephanie like a tsunami, the force behind her fists significantly more potent than in the first round. This wasn't just a boxing match anymore, this was a vendetta.

The Queens watched as Rosie transformed the ring into her personal battlefield, her assault relentless and brutal. She targeted Stephanie's torso, her fists leaving a trail of deep bruises on the larger woman's body. After pounding Stephanie's abdomen, Rosie proceeded to launch a merciless attack on her opponent's head. Her fists were like anvils falling from the sky, each punch landing with enough force to decapitate an ordinary person. Despite her apparent power, Stephanie put up a commendable defense, managing to keep the round's points close.

Rosie's assault, however, was a spectacle of rage and precision. Her gloves, a blur of pink, were like relentless missiles targeting Stephanie's body. Each jab was aimed at the torso with surgical precision, the impact reverberating throughout SoFi Stadium as Stephanie absorbed each punch. Rosie’s left hook swung around like a deadly pendulum, targeting Stephanie's head with a fierceness that had the crowd on their feet. Her right, meanwhile, focused on Stephanie's midriff, each punch a drumbeat of impending doom. The crowd roared as Rosie's fists became a cyclone of fury, a storm that threatened to engulf Stephanie. The onslaught was so fierce, so ferocious, that it was as if Rosie was trying to shatter the very core of Stephanie, each punch an echo of her resolve.

However, it was evident that the round belonged to Rosie. Each blow she landed took its toll on Stephanie, leaving her panting and writhing in pain by the end of the round. But even as the bell rang and the crowd rose to their feet in a wave of thunderous applause, Rosie's eyes had a fierce gleam. The message in them was clear: this was just the beginning.

Round 03:

Round three commenced, and the Queens braced themselves for the impending storm. Rosie sprang forward with the energy of a wildcat, her body coiling and uncoiling as she launched a series of jabs at Stephanie. Each punch was a missile of destruction, aimed directly at Stephanie's torso.

But Stephanie was not to be outdone. She moved with the grace of a dancer, parrying Rosie's blows with her white gloves and making use of her superior weight to knock Rosie off balance. The larger woman was like a fortress, her strength and resilience a testament to her unwavering determination. Seeing an opening, Stephanie began to hammer back with a vengeance, her fists crashing into Rosie's long, lean abs.

The crowd gasped as Rosie's body buckled under the onslaught, her face twisted in a grimace of pain. Each of Stephanie's punches was like a punch from a heavyweight, each blow landing on Rosie's midsection with an alarming force that echoed through the stadium. The crowd watched in awe as Rosie's body, so resilient and strong, began to falter under the brutal assault.

Rosie, her abs under relentless attack, struggled to keep her composure. The pain was like a wildfire, spreading through her body and threatening to consume her. But she refused to yield, her pink gloves still moving in a frenzy of punches. However, her attacks were less precise now, her movements more desperate, leaving her vulnerable to Stephanie's counterattacks.

Taking full advantage of the situation, Stephanie increased the intensity of her attacks. Like a shark smelling blood, she moved in for the kill. Her fists were a blur, each punch landing with a resounding thud that seemed to shake the very foundations of the stadium. Rosie, despite her best efforts, was being driven back, her body shaking with each brutal blow.

But just as Rosie's knees were about to buckle, the bell rang, bringing an end to the third round. Stephanie, with a smirk of satisfaction, sauntered back to her corner, her face glowing with triumph. Rosie, meanwhile, remained standing in the ring, her hand pressed to her abs. The pain was evident in her eyes, but so was the determination. This was far from over. The bell had rung, but the fight was just getting started.

Round 04:

As round four began, Rosie, despite the evident pain, sprung from her corner like a lioness pouncing on her prey. Her eyes were aflame with a fierce determination that was simply unyielding. The crowd held their breath as Rosie, with her trademark tenacity, launched an aggressive counter-offensive, her gloves a pink blur of fury and precision. The crack of her glove against Stephanie's blocking hands was like thunder rolling through the stadium, a testament to Rosie's undying resolve.

Still, Stephanie was no pushover, she was like a redwood tree, strong and unyielding. She stood tall, absorbing Rosie's punches with a stoic determination that had the audience on the edge of their seats. Her white gloves were like shields, parrying Rosie's blows with a grace and power that belied her seemingly heftier physique. Every so often, she'd retaliate, her fists landing on Rosie with a force that would've floored a less determined opponent.

Despite the immense pain screaming through her body, Rosie held her ground, the harsh rhythm of her punches unbroken. The crowd watched as Rosie’s gloves met Stephanie's torso again and again, each punch a statement of her unbreakable spirit. Yet, Stephanie was like a rock in the face of Rosie's continuous assault, standing her ground and retaliating fiercely.

The bell marking the end of the round rang out, cutting through the intense atmosphere that had settled over SoFi Stadium. Both warriors were panting heavily, their bodies showcasing the brutal battle they had fought. Yet, by a thin margin, the round was Rosie's. The points were close, but Rosie had managed to edge out just enough to claim the round. However, the look in her eyes spoke volumes. She knew the toll this round had taken on her, she knew this pace wasn't sustainable. But as she retreated to her corner, a determined gleam in her eyes, it was clear. She wasn't done fighting yet.

Round 05:

Round five erupted with a ferocity that had the entire stadium holding its breath. Rosie, her eyes blazing with a fierce determination, launched herself at Stephanie with a brutal intensity that was almost terrifying. Her pink gloves became a whirlwind of destruction, each punch a concentrated blast of raw power that had Stephanie reeling.

Rosie was relentless, her fists pounding into Stephanie's hefty physique with a savage rhythm that echoed through the stadium. Each punch landed with a bone-jarring force, leaving Stephanie staggering under the relentless assault. The crowd watched in stunned silence as Rosie, driven by a desperate determination, unleashed a hurricane of punches that Stephanie seemed unable to fend off.

But then, Rosie changed her approach. Her pink gloves, once a blur of high-speed jabs, started to strike with a power and precision that was chilling in its intensity. Every punch was a calculated, focused attack designed to drive deep into the belly of the unyielding Stephanie. And drive deep they did.

The crowd could almost feel the shockwaves that echoed through Stephanie's body with each of Rosie's punches. Her fists sunk into Stephanie, pushing through the layers of fat and sinking deep into the vulnerable muscles. Each punch was an intrusion, a violation of the fortress that Stephanie had built around herself. Rosie's gloves were like battering rams, relentlessly pounding at the gates until they began to give way.

Stephanie's body started to buckle under Rosie's relentless assault. Her strong stomach, which had been her shield for so long, began to falter under the savage onslaught. They were no longer a fortress; they were a battlefield, and Rosie was claiming every inch of it.

The stadium was silent, the crowd watching in stunned disbelief as Rosie unleashed her wrath on Stephanie. The normally stoic Stephanie was now reeling, her body trembling under the relentless barrage. Each punch from Rosie's gloves was a hammer blow, driving deep into Stephanie's body, causing her to groan in pain. The audience watched as Stephanie's stomach caved in under the pressure, the once proud fortress now a battered battlefield.

With a final, brutal punch, Rosie's glove plunged deep into Stephanie's gut. The sound echoed around the silent stadium, a sickening thud that made the crowd wince. Stephanie's body crumpled, buckling under the force of the punch. She staggered, her strong legs trembling as she fought to remain standing. But Rosie was unstoppable. She was a storm, a force of nature, and Stephanie was caught in the eye of the hurricane.

Suddenly, a particularly brutal uppercut sent Stephanie sprawling. The crowd gasped as she hit the canvas, her body twitching from the impact. The referee started the count, but it was evident that Stephanie was not getting up anytime soon. Her eyes were glazed, her face twisted in pain as she struggled to get to her feet. But her body refused to respond.

As the count reached ten, the stadium erupted in a deafening roar. Rosie, her fists still raised in a defiant salute, was declared the winner. The crowd was on their feet, their cheers echoing through the night as Rosie, a tired but triumphant smile on her face, raised her hands in victory. Despite the brutal onslaught, despite the terrifying power of her opponent, Rosie had prevailed. She had not only survived Stephanie's brutal assault but had managed to turn the tables and claim victory.

Meanwhile, the announcers were on their feet, their voices hoarse from the frantic commentary. "Unbelievable! Unprecedented! Rosie has done it! She has toppled the giant!" they yelled into their mics, their excitement blending with the deafening cheers of the crowd.

The bell rang out once again, but this time, it was a victory bell. The pain, the struggle, the relentless onslaught, it had all paid off. Rosie had won. Against all odds, against a fearsome opponent, Rosie had emerged victorious. And as she stood there, her sweat-soaked body glowing under the stadium lights, her face a mask of exhaustion and triumph, it was clear - Rosie Huntington-Whiteley was a force to be reckoned with.

Official Decision: Rosie Huntington-Whiteley defeats Stephanie McMahon via KO 5!

AFTER:

As the applause thundered through the arena, Rosie stood triumphant over her opponent, her victory still fresh. Her eyes sparkled with a savage glee, her lips curling up in a smirk. She had won, and now it was time for the spoils of war - the humiliation of Stephanie McMahon.

Surveying the fallen Stephanie, Rosie crouched down, her athletic thighs flexing with raw power. The crowd roared in anticipation as Rosie slowly wrapped her legs around Stephanie's waist, her toned thighs forming an unbreakable vice around Stephanie's vulnerable body.

This was not about causing pain; it was about dominance, about humiliation. It was about sending a message to everyone who doubted her. And so, Rosie squeezed, her thighs constricting with a strength that was terrifying in its intensity, cutting off Stephanie's air, her face contorting in pain and surprise.

The audience watched in stunned silence, the only sound in the stadium the panting breaths of Rosie as she squeezed, and the muffled groans of Stephanie as she fought against the vice-like grip. But it was a losing battle.

With each passing second, Stephanie's struggles grew weaker, her face paling under the relentless squeeze of Rosie's thighs. And then, finally, her body went limp, her eyes rolling back in her head as darkness claimed her.

Yet, Rosie did not release her. The crowd watched in horror and fascination as Rosie held Stephanie trapped in her destructive scissor hold. Her thighs, coated in a sheen of sweat, still squeezed slowly but surely, unforgiving and cruel.

The hold was held for what seemed like an eternity, Rosie's thighs still wrapped around Stephanie's unconscious form. Finally, Rosie released the hold and the medics rushed in having learned from when Madelaine Petsch performed the move in Toronto at RE:Ignite that either the Queen is going to let go or they'll have to fight to break the hold. Fortunately, Rosie broke the hold. As they carried Stephanie away, Rosie stood triumphantly in the ring, her smirk still in place. She had not just defeated Stephanie McMahon, she had humiliated her, and in doing so, she had proved to everyone that she was a force to be reckoned with. The Queen had claimed her throne, and she would not be dethroned easily.