Charlotte Sartre vs London River

Charlotte Sartre's pissed. She should have been in the rookie cup, but they left her out. She beat Isamar and Savanna Fox clean and still got snubbed. Now she's here, boiling mad, staring up at London River. Tall. Big tits. Long legs that eat up the mat. London thinks she's the veteran, thinks she'll just put the little brat in her place. They circle slow, sizing each other up, then hit the mat. London gets on top, pins Charlotte, grinds her down until the rookie can barely breathe. Charlotte fights, but every hold London slaps on her starts to feel good in the worst way. She twists, she strains, her face flushes, she almost lets go and cums right there under the bigger woman. London wins. She doesn't waste time. She grabs Charlotte's face and shoves her cock down her throat, sneering at how sloppy the rookie is. Calls her weak. Calls her nothing. Fucks her mouth until spit runs down her chin, then flips her over and rails her ass hard, every thrust a slap. Charlotte gasps. London laughs, slaps her cheek, rides her face until she's shaking, then sits back, squirts hard, drenches her. Rubs the mess across Charlotte's face with an open palm. "That's why you didn't make it," she says. Charlotte just lies there, soaked, ruined, knowing she's right.