No Holds Barred in Belfast

Trish speared a mushroom with her fork. 'Okay, you've got a deal.'

*****

The Odyssey Complex was in Belfast's Titanic Quarter. The taxi driver told Trish it was absolutely brand-spanking new and then laughed heartily. 'Mind, so was the ship.'

Trish was apprehensive when she went into the complex. The Commissioner had assured her Vic was cool, but he didn't have to spend time with her, did he? His personal universe was cocooned and wrapped in cotton wool.

So was Trish's, to some extent. There was no more slumming it with other divas in their shared locker room; nowadays she was allocated a room of her own. Today's even had a gold star on the door, under her capitalized name . . . as did Victoria's, a little farther down the corridor.

Their slot was booked for two o'clock. Arriving early, quickly changing into baggy cargoes and a skimpy brown top, she studied the script someone had considerately left for her. It was easy for her to picture the fight and, as the Commissioner had pointed out, she and Vic knew each other's moves very well. A walk-through and a physical rehearsal would be all they needed.

Assuming Vic stuck to the role she'd been handed.

Stop thinking of her as "Vic", she chided herself. A few days from now she'll be sticking pins in my wax image, casting spells and wishing I were dead.

A knock on the door roused her from her thoughts. It was Victoria, smiling and, by her standards, as approachable as it ever got.

'Hi,' she cried. 'You're looking good. Let's go kick those hairy asses out of our ring.'

The hairy asses belonged to Booker and Matt, neither of which seemed to be in any hurry to go. Not that they were actually rehearsing. No, they'd done as much as they intended to do and were talking girls.

'What's with you two?' Matt said in greeting. 'I thought the bra and panties featured Torrie.'

'We've got a special coming up,' said Victoria, not noticing Trish's wry smile. 'It's highly confidential so you two better run along and drink Guinness or something.'

'You don't fancy a little mixed tag in an empty arena?'

Victoria laughed as she ushered the guys away. 'Some other time,' she called after them. Then, to Trish: 'Have you got an evening gown lined up? I'm going for a black one, as you've probably already guessed.'

Trish laughed with her. 'I haven't picked mine yet, but it'll be in dazzling white.'

'Very symbolic: the goody and the baddy, before the big role reversal.'

'Are you okay with the role reversal?'

'There's no such thing as bad publicity, is there? And I've got nice tits. I don't mind showing them off. Now, have you got our script?'

Time quickly passed as they walked through their fight, taking advantage of opportunities left for them to improvise and improve. Trish couldn't help but be impressed by the professionalism they both showed: professionalism and warmth. Victoria was being so friendly and understanding! And she was so freaking sexy . . .

'We've got it just right,' she said as they headed back to the dressing rooms. 'As long as you don't wear a padlocked bra, we can't go wrong.'

'Do I get to see your dressing room?'

Trish's heart started beating a little harder. 'Okay,' she said, 'you're welcome to compare it to your own.'

'It's identical to mine.' Victoria closed the door behind them as she spoke.

Trish opened her mouth to say something witty. Victoria stopped her with a kiss. And what a kiss! They hadn't done much necking before . . . hardly any, in fact, apart from that one mouth-mash in London . . . and Vic was making up for lost time. The passion she was putting into it!

My God, Trish thought dizzily, I'm going to swoon.

Then her own passion began to build. Suddenly she was equally hot. She kissed fiercely back at the taller woman, matching her hunger, eager for more.

Vic's hand was in her cargoes and inside her tiny, almost non-existent panties. Trish had no idea how it got there but certainly knew what it was doing: it was massaging her sex thoroughly, from top to bottom. Everything down there was swollen and throbbing; swollen, throbbing and probably very, very wet.

She tried to groan appreciation but their mouths were still locked together, their tongues fighting a duel like swashbuckling heroes.

Oh fuck, I'm going to cum.

As if triggered by the thought, she started to spasm. Juice was flowing out of her . . . lots and lots of juice. And still Vic's fingers massaged her sex, stroking her hood, making swirly circles around her clit, softly rubbing her increasingly sensitive lips.

The orgasm simply wouldn't stop. Trish had never known anything like it. She could cum multiply and often did . . . but usually there were distinct gaps. Not right now. Right now she feared she'd never have another gap if he lived to be a hundred.

And still Vic stroked, swirled and rubbed.

At last Trish tore her mouth free. Staring into a merciless pair of brown eyes she shook her head.

'Too much,' she gasped.

Vic responded by thrusting two fingers into her. Trish bit into her shoulder to stifle a scream. Had she been afraid she couldn't stop? Well not anymore she wasn't. She had finished cumming and was building down there again, building to something that was going to be enormous.

'I'll teach you rip my bra off,' Vic murmured, pressing ever deeper.

This time Trish didn't just flow, she gushed and squirted and erupted. Her latest cum was biggest and best. And it genuinely was enormous. She yelped, hollered and whimpered, her sounds of sincere appreciation mostly muffled by Vic's shoulder and cap-sleeved T-shirt.

Omigod! Oh my God! My God!! My God!!!

Somehow she managed not to pass out. Gripping her rival by her arms, needing to hang on for support, she stared at her. Those dark eyes were still merciless but they were also triumphant. Vic's fingers were still buried deep, held in place, not thrusting anymore, steadily curling and then uncurling instead. She seemed to have found a super-responsive area. There again, every last bit of Trish was super-responsive at that moment; every bit of her, inside and out.

'Cum again,' Vic commanded.

'Not yet . . .'

'Don't protest, cum again. It's what you really want, isn't it?'

It was so Trish did, producing something even bigger and better, yet again muffling her appreciation and somehow fending off wave after wave of lightheadedness.

This time Vic's eyes weren't just triumphant, they were jubilant.

'Again,' she said.

Trish wanted to resist but couldn't. 'Last one for now,' she gasped, 'I mean it.'

'Okay. Cum right away, this very second.'

Once more Trish produced a new biggest and best, once more she survived and stayed on her feet. The sense of relief when Vic withdrew from her was massive. Somehow she survived that as well.

Let her have her little victory, she thought. Her day of reckoning is nigh.

Then, out loud: 'My God, do you think anyone heard?'

'I don't know and care even less.' Vic tossed her long black hair. 'Have you got anything?'

'What?' Trish's head was still spinning. She didn't understand the question.

'Have you anything I can use on you?'

'No, I came for a rehearsal, not an orgy.'

'Okay,' we'll have to go to my dressing room. Can you make it that far?'

Trish wasn't sure she could. And she wasn't sure she should. She was, however, determined not to show any weakness. 'Sure I can,' she said. 'What . . .'

'Just wait and see,' said Vic. 'Let it come as a pleasant surprise.'

*****

Sneaking along the corridor made Trish feel like a naughty schoolgirl, up to no good. They only had to cover ten yards but she expected to be caught every step of the way. God knew who she thought would do the catching . . . maybe a squad of uniformed referees, making like they were bravely breaking up a staged catfight.

Breathing heavily, wondering what she was letting herself in for now, she watched Vic close and lock the door then root in her sizeable black leather bag.

'I didn't bring a harness,' she said, 'but I've got these.'

'What are they?' Trish's eyes were wide as she looked at the objects in Vic's hand.

'They're quite obviously dildos. This red one's going up your ass. Then you can choose what we do with the double-ended one. Okay?'

'Red and blue,' Trish hedged, 'what happened to black?'

'I'm saving them for later, when you visit me in my hotel. You're coming to "re-read our script".' Vic made quote marks with her free hand. 'These are for now, though. Okay?'

'Okay,' Trish gulped, 'if you insist.'

'I do insist. And go on then, show me how much you want it.'

They both stripped, never taking their eyes off each other. 'How are we doing this?' Trish asked nervously.

'You get on all fours, on that treatment table.'

The "treatment table" was actually a low wooden bench. Trying to replicate the way Vic had offered herself in London, Trish got on it as instructed, her ass in the air.

'What a lovely, sexy sight.' Vic climbed on the bench behind her and began applying lube. 'I wish I'd remembered the harness,' she continued. 'I love the feel of my hips banging up against a sexy fat ass.'

'My ass is not fat,' Trish protested. Then, as fingers probed inside her, 'Oh yes, that's good.'

Vic wasn't in any hurry. She frigged Trish's ass digitally for quite a while before inserting the red dildo. Pushing it in oh-so slowly, making it wiggle as it went. Trish sighed, telling herself it was relatively small and wondering why she felt so full. Then she sighed some more when Vic left the toy in situ and ran both her hands over her moist skin.

'Oh, the things you do to me.'

Vic's hands arrived at her pussy. One of them paid attention to her clit while the other burrowed its way inside her. And now she really did feel full. That burrowing hand was putting deliberate pressure on the back of her vagina. She was briefly afraid that would cause the dildo to pop out, but it didn't; the toy stayed exactly where she wanted it to stay.

'Oh yes,' she moaned, 'the things you do to me!'

Vic did all sorts of things to her; all sorts of wonderful, sensual things. Then, after bringing her to another of those never-ending cums, she used both hands to manipulate the sex toy.

In and out it went, in and out; shallowly for a while, then a little deeper. And then it went shallowly again before going deeper still. In and out; in and out. Never too roughly, always at the right angle and never, never, never too deeply.

The inevitable cum was immense. Trish couldn't tell where it originated from, exactly. The stimulation was all up her ass, but the cum . . .

Clitoral? Anal? Vaginal? All three?

And of course Vic didn't stop at just one. Oh no, Vic carried on and on and on.

And this time Trish's yelps, hollers and whimpers weren't muffled. The refereeing squad would have had to be deaf not to hear her.

*****

Vic pulled on a silk robe before answering the knocking at her door. Absolutely spent from a few more mighty orgasms, Trish stayed where she was, wet and naked on the bench. Getting some air in her lungs was the only thing that mattered right then.

Not that Vic was admitting visitors. 'What do you want?' she demanded rudely, using the half-open door to screen most of her room.

'We're Security,' a man said in the local twang. 'We heard screams.'

'We're rehearsing for next week,' Vic replied, 'of course you heard screams.'

'Ach, are you sure everyone's all right?'

'There's only me and Trish here. Trish . . . tell him you're all right.'

'Never better,' Trish obliged. From her position she couldn't see "him" and assumed he couldn't see her. That was for the best because she probably didn't look all right. Not unless Belfast security men were into sweaty girls with just-got-fucked hair.

The guy at the door said something about "keeping it down". Vic insincerely promised they would and then locked up again.

'Right,' she said, turning back to Trish. 'What shall we do with the double-ender?'

'Why don't we go to your hotel while I think about it?'

'Had enough already?'

'No! Never! But we don't want some rent-a-cop posting us on the Internet, do we?'

'Might do wonders for our ratings.' Vic laughed. 'You do realize you'll have to wait if we go to my hotel. As soon as we get there I'm getting into my harness.'

'You do realize that's what I want: your hips banging up against my small, ever-so-shapely ass.'

'I might want to do that for a long time.'

'I might want to let you.' Trish grinned. Vic was still a dormant volcano but she was very addictive. And getting fucked by her was no hardship. Well, it could be exhausting, but she wasn't going to complain too much about that.

Her day of reckoning is nigh.

The sudden, unbidden thought chilled Trish. Could she really go through with her plan? Come to that, how could she possibly change the storyline?

'This role reversal,' she ventured, 'who knows what they'll come up with while I'm the heel?'

'It'll be interesting,' Vic agreed. 'Who knows?' Then grinning at her (actually grinning at her), she pointed to Trish's neck. 'There's only the faintest trace left. The others have all gone. And nothing showed on Saturday; I watched TV in the locker room, just to be sure.'

'To be sure,' said Trish in a bad attempt at the local accent. 'I watched the recording three times without spotting any trace of a hickey. And Sio -' She snapped the word off before any more came out. 'And so did the Commissioner,' she hastily ad-libbed. 'I told him I got bruised in the fight, but he said he couldn't see anything.'

Vic looked at her a while, still grinning. 'I hope you didn't let the Commissioner examine your tits,' she said eventually.

'I'd already got us our storyline,' said Trish. 'So I kept my tits to myself. Look, I need to nip back to my room. Meet me there in five?'

'Wring your cargoes out first.'

'What?'

'Your cargoes are sopping wet and you can't go out naked; Security might be watching my door.'

'I see what you mean.' Trish started to wring. 'Do you know what happened to my panties?'

'You left them in your room but they're beyond repair. Unless you've replacements it's commando for you, girl.'

*****

The grin left Vic's face as soon as the door closed, blocking out the sight of Trish's small, ever-so-shapely ass. Digging out her phone, she went back over her text messages to Monday. And there it was: the damning evidence.

The Monday afternoon text from herself to The Sioux:

WANNA FUK?

Then, three hours and no reply later:

CALL ME ASAP.

And finally a response, timed at 7:09 today, Tuesday:

IDBI! I FELL ASLEEP.

2NITE INSTEAD?

They'd spoken earlier this morning. Sioux had claimed jetlag caught up with her. She'd also said she'd had "good career news" without going into details. At the time Victoria had been pissed at her and not inclined to ask. In fact she'd thought it would be no more than a pic in some glossy magazine. But now . . .

Now it was fucking obvious. Sioux had been unreachable last night because she'd been putting out for Trish. And Trish was writing storylines with the Commissioner . . .

The character "Victoria" would have flown into an insane rage at such treachery. Here and now, off-camera, she was able to keep calm and plan. That tiny slip of the tongue was going to cost Trish her title. Good actress that she was, Victoria was going to play the part of a girl in love for the next few days. She'd do anything and everything Trish asked of her.

But come Saturday's evening gown match . . .

The grin resurfaced on Vic's face. She was bigger and stronger than Trish and always had been. Add in the element of surprise and she was guaranteed a win. And she could get the element of surprise by deviating just once from the script, a bare second or two before the expected happy ending.

Trish fucked by her own script in a live show! There'd be no going back when her conqueror was standing on the ropes in every corner of the ring, holding the belt high above her head. How sweet was that going to be? Bring it on!!