No Holds Barred in Boston

'Well she was. I doubt many people could hear her for the noise everyone was making, but she was singing Ding Dong The Witch Is Dead.'

'Let's get this straight,' said Spenser, as pompous as ever. 'Your deadly rival Victoria caught you completely off guard in the middle of a title fight. She as good as knocked you out . . . and you never saw it coming.'

'We'd been quite friendly of late,' Trish said ruefully. 'The rehearsals couldn't have gone better. With hindsight I can see she was conning me. At the time I didn't suspect a thing.'

On the screen music had just started up; very loud music that drowned out everything else. Some lackey had given Victoria the treasured belt. She was waving it in the air with one hand, the bra with the other, conducting the audience, getting them to join in with We Are The Champions.

Sickened, Trish turned away. She didn't want to see her rival proclaiming she was champion not only of the city, not only of the country, but also OF THE WORLD!!!

The Commissioner had had enough too. He stopped the tape and sent the screen back up into the ceiling. 'I spoke to her afterwards,' he said. 'She just laughed and said what was done was done. And she told me she was keeping the belt for as long as she could. That she'd follow our scripts if they have her winning, write her own if they don't.'

'Put me in the ring with her again,' said Trish. 'I won't need any script to get back my belt.'

'We had a poll,' said the Commissioner. 'Bearing in mind that very few people know she was not supposed to win, we asked how popular she was. She scored very highly.'

'Higher than me?'

'You polled eighty-seven per cent. She's still a way to go to catch you.'

'Hmmm, that's down a bit. Thirteen per cent mustn't like the sight of my tits.'

'Don't think that. We had another poll about your . . . ahem, chest. Ninety-eight per cent were in favour. And don't ask about the other two. Perhaps they were visibly challenged.'

Trish laughed then leant forward in her chair. 'So when do I get another go at her? Anytime in the next fortnight's good by me.'

'It won't be as soon as that,' the Commissioner told her. 'I have an elaborate trap to set. And you are going to have to disappear.'

*****

The mansion of a house belonged to "a friend" of the Commissioner's, who was currently out of the country. The two female guests were invited to overnight, ahead of their rearranged flight the next day. Spenser, however, was dispatched "back to the office" to "study Victoria's contract; with a microscope if necessary."

Sadly, the girls were given separate bedrooms. Less sadly, Trish had no intention of sleeping on her own. She wanted to repay The Sioux for her massage and lovemaking. And the poor girl had to be tired after last night; it would be a pleasure to do deeds on her while she just thought happy thoughts and enjoyed herself.

And she's not "The Sioux", she reminded herself. When we're fucking she's just "Sioux".

Two minutes after getting there, Trish left her room and tiptoed along a wide corridor to Sioux's. And holy crap on a cracker, wasn't it exciting! Creeping about like a naughty schoolgirl after lights out. She was dripping already. God only knew what she'd be like when they got going.

Knocking just once, she slipped inside and locked the door behind her. Sioux was in the en suite, wearing only a bath robe and examining her face in the mirror.

'I thought you might show up,' she said, not quitting her examination. 'I suppose you've come to turn these shadows into bags.'

'No,' said Trish, 'I've come to make sure you have your best ever night of sleep.'

She gently turned the girl around, knelt before her and parted her gown.

'This is sleep-inducing, is it?' Sioux was chuckling and heavy breathing at the same time.

'It is if you have enough of it.'

Trish pushed her face against Sioux's pussy. It was warm and wet already. There was nothing she loved more than rubbing her face on a warm, wet pussy. Using her nose first, she ran it all the way up, starting at the bottom of her vagina and finishing right at the top of her hood. She then ran it all the way down again, inhaling some of her juice.

'More, more, more,' Sioux gasped.

Trish was happy to oblige. She repeated the process a few times before substituting her nose, replacing it with her tongue.

Sioux liked that a lot. And she wouldn't just stand there and take it. Oh no, not her; she began to gyrate her lower body. That worked well for Trish too. Instead of licking mostly straight lines up and down her, she was suddenly licking a meandering sort of a sine wave, getting a good taste of all her best bits.

The bad news was that Trish's tongue had a mind of its own. She would have happily meandered the night away but, as it completed a down stroke, it unexpectedly darted inside Sioux. The good news was that it made the blonde beauty cum immediately.

Gripping her by the buttocks, Trish thrust her tongue repeatedly in and out, really going for it, not caring about the strain on her extrinsic muscles. And she was getting more than just a taste of the other girl now; she was gushing almost continuously.

Gushing and gyrating.

Then Sioux's hands landed on Trish's shoulders. 'Wait a moment,' she said breathlessly.

Trish waited while Sioux discarded her robe and eased herself up onto a fancy cabinet beside the sink. Facing Trish, smiling at her, she opened her legs as wide as she could.

'More of that deep tonguing, please,' she said. 'It's very addictive.'

Trish never stopped to consider her extrinsic muscles. She dived back in there, quick as a flash.

*****

The Commissioner was downstairs, sipping Bushmills and watching a monitor showing an empty bed. The "friend" who owned this place had CCTV almost everywhere. He'd once been on an IRA hit list and, although times had changed for the better, he still took every precaution he could.

'Okay,' he'd once said, 'so covering the bedrooms is a bit excessive, but if anyone ever leaves a horse's head in one of my beds, I want to see who he is.'

The Commissioner's eyes moved to the corner of the screen, checking the time display. He had seen Trish vacate her room and furtively approach this one; the one occupied by The Sioux. She had locked them in then immediately disappeared into the en suite, where there wasn't a camera. That had been nearly an hour ago, so it wasn't a quick goodnight kiss.

He poured more whiskey and tried not to feel guilty about spying. I'm confirming suspicions, he told himself, not playing at being James Bond.

At last the two women reappeared, both of them now naked. No red-blooded man could fail to be aroused by the sight of them. And the things Trish was doing! It should have only taken seconds for them to reach the bed; instead it took three or four minutes.

The Commissioner watched as The Sioux was pushed onto the bed and Trish boarded her. Then, before they actually started to trib, he reluctantly aborted the coverage.

Reluctantly? Of course he was reluctant. In spite of his steadily advancing age he was still a very virile man. And he had nothing against lesbians whatsoever. But didn't want to spy on these two anymore. He quite liked The Sioux and felt paternal about Trish. And he'd certainly seen enough; watching one moment longer would have been an intrusion.

'There,' he said, saluting the blank screen with his glass, 'suspicions well and truly confirmed.'

*****

Monday night in Calgary had always sounded good to Victoria. It was going to be fun parading her talents in her great rival's homeland. No, it was going to be better than fun; it was going to be a gas. And who cared if she got a few boos and catcalls? She'd been getting them for years. A few more wouldn't hurt.

Not that her great rival would be around to see her. She'd dropped out of sight ever since that glorious night in Belfast. Right now she was probably holed up somewhere, sulking. Hopefully she would see the show on TV and sulk even harder.

Victoria's first match in two weeks was against a relative newcomer called Mari-Lynn. Mari-Lynn had had a similar start to her career as The Sioux, winning a whole string of fights and making a big impression. Amusingly enough, when tonight's bout was set up, a shock result was supposed to happen. Fresh from her losing title challenge, the established star was going to be beaten by the novice.

"You've already gone way up in folks' estimation," they'd told her, "this will endear you even more. Everyone will be rooting for you to keep trying."

The storyline had changed now, of course. The match wasn't merely "a match" anymore, it had become Victoria's First Title Defence . . . and she'd made it abundantly clear she wasn't about to come second. Fortunately the Commissioner had seen sense and ordered the scriptwriters to try for a happier ending.

Glaring across the ring at her opponent, she wondered if she really had been fortunate. Mari-Lynn hadn't just copied The Sioux's career path, she was almost a body double. And the muscles on her! Victoria feared no-one but accepted this young lady might be almost as strong as she was.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, too. Her hair was a wonderful coppery red but she didn't have the pale skin normally associated with such a colour. Not her. No, this girl didn't need to avoid going out in the sun; she was tanned to an exotic caramel shade of brown.

Fight her? Victoria thought. I'd much rather fuck her.

Sadly that wasn't in the script, so she got on with it and played her part to perfection.

And so did Mari-Lynn, especially in the opening exchanges when she easily thwarted Victoria's best moves. Gradually, though, experience and stamina told. After a convincing bout with several dramatic swings of fortune, the established star prevailed. Naturally! Just like it should be!! As the loser pounded the canvas in frustration, the winner snatched her belt from her lackey and went round all four corners of the ring, standing on the ropes and showing it off.

The audience applauded her generously. That pleased her, as did the lack of abuse. Canadians were okay people, she reckoned. Good losers. Or maybe Calgarians liked folk from Toronto as little as she did . . .

'It's my belt,' she yelled, knowing they couldn't hear her and not caring. 'It's my belt and I'm going to keep it forever.'

Then the lights went off. All of them at once. All except for two spots: one illuminating her there up on the ropes, the other darting about the audience, picking individuals out, giving then their one or two seconds of fame.

A hush fell over the arena. Then music blared. It was the trumpet introduction to Fanfare for the Common Man.

Victoria instinctively looked towards the entrance. The lights were off there, too, but she could just make out the silhouette of a woman at the top of the walkway. As she stared at it the silhouette suddenly disappeared, presumably as whoever it was made her way to the ring.

It's a challenger, she thought, hopping down from the ropes. Then, angrily: I should have been told this was going to happen.

The music had stopped as abruptly as it began. The audience was still hushed but voices could be heard, mostly asking "Who is it?" or "What's going on?"

Then the trumpets blared again and Victoria felt the canvas move as her challenger jumped into the ring. 'Who the fuck are you?' she hissed. 'And why wasn't I told?'

Silence once more, eventually broken by a familiar voice.

'It's me,' it said.

The flying boot caught Victoria completely unaware. It arrived an instant after all the lights came back on. Momentarily dazzled, she automatically blinked. And then she saw Trish, spinning like a taekwondo expert. Next thing he knew she was on her ass, seeing stars.

Trish had some sort of fancy mike on her. Her voice could be heard by everybody in the arena.

'Now, now Victoria,' she scolded. 'Don't you know a champion has to be ready to defend her belt at all times?'

Victoria tried to sit up but Trish pushed her down again. 'I wouldn't normally elbow a woman when she's floored,' she said, 'but for you I'd gladly make an exception.'

Snatching up the belt she went to the nearest corner and got up on the ropes. 'Fellow Canadians, fellow sports fans,' she cried. 'This belt was taken from me by trickery and deception. And I'm not going to take it back in a sneaky way.'

So saying, she tossed the belt towards Victoria who, knowing it was heavy with potentially sharp metal bits, cringed away from its path.

'I value that belt more than I value life itself,' Trish told everybody, 'but I will not cheat to possess it. I have to go now, but one day I will return. Yes, I will return and win it again, fair and square.'

She hopped down then athletically vaulted the top rope, landing neatly ten feet below, waving to all sides as she went up the walkway.

'Don't go,' folk were yelling. 'Please Trish, don't go.'

Victoria rubbed her jaw and winced. Was that a big retirement speech she'd just listened to? And what was the witch doing, publically accusing her of cheating?

A section of audience started chanting "Trish, Trish, Trish." It was immediately taken up by just about everyone.

'Trish, Trish, Trish.'

Yes, Victoria decided, she's going out on a high.

'Trish, Trish, Trish.' The chanting was getting louder and louder, becoming frenzied.

Then Trish reached the top of the walkway, turned and held her hands aloft, commanding an instant silence.

'I have to go,' she said. And then, sounding more Arnie than Arnie himself: 'But trust me, I'll be back!'

Fuck, thought Victoria. Not a retirement after all.

*****

Trish's escape from the arena had been planned in fine detail. Fred and his team had her out of there and into one of a fleet of limos within seconds. Perhaps half an hour later she was escorted into a private lounge at the airport. The Sioux was there already, waiting for her.

'What a brilliant performance,' she said, pointing to a nearby TV. 'And you've made it just in time for the encore. The Commissioner's going to speak any minute. We should catch it before we fly off in his jet.'

Trish accepted a glass of wine and watched as the head of WWE spoke to a mob of reporters and would-be interviewers, all of them crammed into what looked like the men's locker room. His voice was calm as ever but his eyes were continually moving. For once he appeared to be ever-so-slightly nervous.

There again, he was as good at acting as he had been at wrestling.

'First things first,' he began, ignoring a torrent of uncoordinated questions. 'Victoria is champion of the world. Technically Trish beat her tonight, but she refuses to accept the belt on a technicality.'

'So when's she gonna win it back for real?' asked a woman with a Brooklyn accent, getting in well ahead of everyone else.

'I do not have the answer to that question.'

'Has Trish retired?' a guy asked, thrusting a mike under the Commissioner's nose.

'No,' he replied, pushing the microphone away but keeping his cool. 'This is her contract here.' He waved a sheaf of paper at the mob. 'She's signed up for another two years. No way can she retire before this expires.'

Back in the private lounge The Sioux and Trish exchanged glances and giggled. They both knew it wasn't a contract. It was the script that Victoria had so arbitrarily changed.

'So when's she gonna get back in the ring?' the Brooklyn accent persisted.

'I told you already; I do not have the answer to that question.'

'Where is she then?' a new voice enquired. 'All that guff about leaving; is she taking a sabbatical or what?'

'That remains to be seen,' the Commissioner said, cryptically.

*****

The girls' top secret destination was a remote log cabin up in the wilds of Montana. Owned by the Commissioner, it was "the place I go to get away from it all". And he wasn't kidding when he said it was "remote". They landed at a tiny airport which hid behind the name of "International", getting off the plane and through Immigration in two seconds flat.

'Where's this again?' The Sioux wondered. 'I thought Canada had all the wide, open spaces.'

'It's exactly what I need,' said Trish. 'Not a reporter in sight.'

'I only hope this cabin has electricity and running water.'

'It's not as primitive as the boss makes it sound,' Fred assured them as they climbed into a 4x4 that probably could have gone up Everest, 'but it's a bit of a drive.'

'So you keep saying,' The Sioux said, smiling at him. 'Are you sure you can't come with us?'

'I wish I had the job of sharing a few Rocky Mountain highs with you two. But I have business to see to in Sacramento. This crew will take care of you, though. They look after the Commissioner often enough.'

A memory suddenly surfaced in Trish's mind. 'This isn't the place with all the snakes,' she asked as they set off.

'No,' said their driver. 'The grizzlies ate all the snakes.'

*****

It was impossible not to be impressed by their accommodation. They were dog-tired when they finally got there, but still found the energy to explore.

'It's like a Swiss ski lodge,' Trish marvelled. 'My God, it's even got a pool!'

The Sioux, meanwhile, had located the gym. It was enormous and included all the equipment a diva could ever wish for (and some she wished she'd never seen in her life). Running machines, rowing machines, weights in all shapes and sizes, hanging bags . . .

Karl had been waiting for them to arrive. Introducing himself as head of cabin security, he briefly told them what to expect during their stay.

'Isolation is the key to your safety. You won't ever see them, but there are men patrolling the boundaries all the time. And before you ask, this place comes with a lot of land. As long as you remain in sight of the cabin, you are inside the boundary and secure.'

'How safe is it inside the boundary?' said Trish. 'I heard rumours about bears.'

'Grizzlies tend to go wherever they like, but they're inquisitive rather than ferocious. If you see one just give him a wide berth. He'll move on soon enough.'

Trish and The Sioux exchanged glances.

'I'll let you put out the garbage,' said Trish.

'Within the cabin you have complete privacy,' Karl went on. 'There's no CCTV and the glass in the windows is one-way. You will get two security visits a day: eight am and six pm, usually from me. I'll bum a cup of coffee off you and be out of your faces inside ten minutes. And I'll let you know in advance if it's going to be a different officer. If anyone else shows up, use one of the landlines to dial 911. It'll go through to me, not the police. I'll have men on the scene before you replace the receiver.'

*****

Routines were quickly established. They would wake at six o'clock and fuck for an hour before going for a swim in the indoor pool. Dressed and presentable, they would breakfast at eight, as Karl drank his coffee. They would then spend the rest of the day naked, using the gym and the pool in-between fucking. Then, presentable again, they would chat with Karl when he made his second visit. And then they'd fuck about until they were ready for bed.

Although they did do a lot of hard training, they also did a lot of slow, leisurely sex. It was a very agreeable existence and they were soon both chilled to the core. And it helped that the grizzlies stayed away.

A week flew by. Then, on their second Wednesday, Karl announced that the Commissioner had convened a video conference. It took place at nine that same morning and Karl attended, mostly because he was the only one who knew how the link worked.

The Commissioner was in an office, behind a gigantic, highly-polished desk. 'Good morning,' he began. 'Sorry to interrupt your sabbaticals, but things are moving at this end. Did you watch the show on Monday?'