Posted by Simguy on 7/1/2005, 9:47 am.

Before: WB starlets muscle up for PPV bucks—good spot for both, both eager to capitalize. “People don’t know how I’ve handled Sarah in sparring,” says Beverly. “I’m really anxious to show what I’ve got on pay per view. I’m stronger, lots of times I push her around and bully her—that’s what I’ve got to do to be successful.” Carter a meanspirited minx with Kris Kreuk type moves and an attitude to match—she’s not about to accept Bev on her level. “Mitchell’s a punching bag,” breezes icy blonde in prefight. “One look at her tells you she doesn’t belong in the same ring, or even the same room as me. I’m everything a boxing starlet should be:: Beverly’s a cheap, fat-headed wannabe. I’ll embarrass this punk—I guarantee it!” Sarah in silver/white bikini, messy ponytail—Bev in lavender lace cami tank top and panties—small gloves both vixens.

During R1: Carter luring Bev, peppering her jabs while stepping right, then walking her into the straight right, tapping the left hook, stepping away from receipts, Mitchell brave, walking through it, but the face-punching has her disoriented; hand’re up, she’s sputtering, reacting awkwardly while Carter’s dialing in. Sarah’s eyes glittering chips of hate—straight punching lefts and rights in oily criss cross patterns drilling past Bev’s disorganized guard, spanking away on face. Sarah a pretty puncher: tapping jab, right hand, left, left, right—stepping to the right, keeping her dukes up as Mitchell gamely soak up poke. Ratatatat combos ring up a sharp punching Carter shutout.

R2: More oif that straight, pinpoint potshotting from Carter, shooting from the shoulder  onto Beverly’s available face. Mitchell breaking down, getting ragged—she’s just staring into punches, coming forward and gobbling—Sarah taking all she could want with cold hearted precision. Lead right, another—Sarah leaning in on that front foot to punch Bev’s face. Left, right, left—step to the side: Mitchell’s busting up, bleeding from the nostril. Sarah’s balance exquisite, getting push off the back big toe, weight on her front foot, extending her mitts to Beverly’s face—tic-tac-toe patterns spanking off Mitchell’s mug. Bev stumbling forward: Sarah with a cute-sidestep guides Mitchell into the ropes—blonde heartlessly pounds away criss-cross to jug, then back up against the face as poor Beverly sops up clout. Mitchell a blubbering wreck—confused, helpless—she’s seated in the ropes, hands up, taking withering knock against her face when the ref stes in. Crying Mitchell protesting in the protective grasp,m but she leaves the official no choice: TKO2 Sarah Carter.

After: Carter stomping ‘round the ring, pumping her fists and nodding her head aggressively—she’s every inch the vixen AND CARTER WANTS MORE! Beverly stacked up weepy in her corner—Sarah mounting the corner ropes to loom over the top, her left hand entwined in the damp mop of Mitchell’s soft locks, right hand thrust skyward in supremacy. Poor Beverly choking back tears reaching around Sarah’s wiry thighs with either arm, face pushed to the side by Carter’s oppressing belly, Everything went right tonight for Carter—everything went horribly wrong  for Mitchell—simple as that.

Reposted by Archer 10/4/2009.