Welter Weight Interim Championship La Diabla vs The Tarrasque

The live finals. Interim welter-weight title on the line. Mistress Kara had her shot but cracked ribs pulled her out. Penny and Izamar refused to shut up. Twitter lit up with calls of chicken, old wins, busted ribs. Penny rode Kara’s coattails every chance she got. Izamar stayed quiet and sharp. Both walked in with one loss to Kara and the same three-and-one record. Penny needed the belt to force the rematch she still tasted in her mouth. Izamar needed the belt so no one had to wait. Penny came in 5-2 lifetime, five finishes. Izamar came in 5-2 lifetime, three finishes. The ring girl lifted the strap. The two stared each other down, heat already thick before the bell. From the opening lock-up Izamar tried to muscle Penny to the mat, but Penny stayed light and fast. They traded grips until Izamar caught the back, legs clamping around Penny’s waist. Penny rolled them both, came out on top, and dropped her ass straight on Izamar’s face, smothering every breath Izamar tried to steal. Penny grabbed the hips, leaned forward, and sank two fingers straight into Izamar’s ass without warning, working them deep while the facesit cut off air. Izamar bucked, tapped once, twice, then went limp for a second before Penny eased just enough to let her breathe again. The moment Izamar sucked in air Penny shoved the fingers deeper, twisting, owning every tight inch. Izamar reached up, slapped at the ass covering her mouth, but Penny only ground harder, thighs locked, hips rolling in slow circles that said the belt and the rematch were already hers. Every time Izamar tried to bridge Penny answered with another slow, deliberate thrust of her hand, stretching Izamar open in front of the screaming crowd until Izamar’s legs shook and she tapped again, louder this time. Penny stayed planted, breathing hard, eyes locked on the belt hanging just beyond the ropes, already planning the next war with the woman who wasn’t here to stop her.