No Holds Barred in Munich

'Don't tell me, yellow's where I'm badly in breach; red's where it's terminal.'

'That's a fair reading of Spenser's mentality, but not strictly true in this case. Yellow is where you are in breach, red is where you would have been if Spenser had got his wording more exact.'

'Oh dear,' Victoria said insincerely, 'please tell me Spenser isn't in trouble.'

'Spenser's going to find himself working as second fiddle to Mr Abrahams, for a while at least. But that's enough about him. We have to decide what to do with you, don't we?'

Maybe Victoria's heart wasn't buried under the ring after all. She felt a tiny flicker inside her.

Is there hope for me yet? Surely there can't be . . .

'I will do anything to make amends,' she said, at last looking the Commissioner in the eye, 'absolutely anything.'

She meant it, too. Even if he wanted carnal favours she'd do whatever he asked. Hell, she liked the guy, old as he was. With hindsight the way she'd acted was unbelievable. He'd always been kind to her and she'd . . .

She'd . . .

'As of now very few people know you defied me,' he said. 'I had intended to make an example of you after tonight. But there is an alternative.'

'Anything,' she said again, 'absolutely anything.'

'First you have to swear you will never go your own way again.'

'I do. I do, I do, I do.'

'Second, you have to sign a new contract that will bankrupt you if you ever ignore a script again.'

'I'll sign it right now.'

The Commissioner drew out another sheaf of paper. 'I'll give you a few days for your own people to go through it.'

Ignoring him, Victoria signed on the dotted line.

'What's the third thing?'

'Third, you have to fight Trish again.'

Chapter Four

Erin grinned to herself. She'd forgotten how good it was to fuck with another woman. Once upon a time, back at university, she'd fucked lots of different women. But that had been long ago. Since then female bedfellows had been rare.

Silly me, she thought. Note to self: in future correct that omission at least once a month.

The two of them were still connected by handcuffs and dildo. Erin was still on top, wide awake, not likely to sleep anytime soon. Mickie was under her, snoozing like a baby. Acting on impulse, Erin kissed her on the nose and chuckled. That was such an unlike-Erin thing to do! Much more of that and she'd be losing her ballsy, brash reputation!!

As far as snoozing babies went Mickie was a big, beautiful one, she decided. As soon as she got some energy back she'd have the harness off her and do some fucking of her own. No, make that plenty of fucking.

Her Colorado trip hadn't been a disaster after all. Okay, so the scoop wasn't much of a scoop, but it was better than the one she'd expected. And it was well worth keeping schtum about being held as a hostage. Face it: she wasn't really going to sue two famous wrestlers. That wasn't her style. When it came to law suits she was a taker, not a giver. She would never live it down if the world found out she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

Yes, getting an exclusive and being satisfactorily fucked was settlement enough.

Content with her lot, she glanced about her. The lighting in the master bedroom was on but low. Fortunately it was state-of-the-art lighting, so it didn't leave patches of shadow. Strange and awful things could lurk in patches of shadow.

Liver-eating ghosts, for instance.

Erin was a sharp cookie. She knew Mickie had picked up on the Axe Murder House. And she also knew Mickie had wanted an excuse to fuck her. And she also, also knew she'd fallen for a made-up spook story hook, line and sinker.

Thing was though, she really had spent a night in the Axe Murder House. And she really had had an other-worldly experience in there.

And she'd once seen a painting called The Trapper's Bride, or something very similar. It was true that mountain men would trade for squaws with Native Americans. Usually they wanted them for what Mickie had called the "obvious": to cook and suck and fuck. But was it totally beyond the bounds of possibility that love could blossom?

Erin had to conclude that it wasn't. She'd never done love personally, but she had seen it often enough elsewhere.

As a level-headed reporter she assured herself she'd bought Mickie's story to get fucked. But that was a half-truth at best and she knew it. If she'd stayed where she was her imagination would've sent her crazy.

Assuming the ghost hadn't got her first.

*****

Victoria shook her head in disbelief. 'Wake me up,' she said, 'I'm dreaming.'

'Boston is going to be called "The Fight of the Century",' the Commissioner told her. 'We already have reporters primed to use that as a headline. Not that it will make the front pages. It will be in the usual entertainment sections. No, the real headlines are going to come on Monday, when the fight is revealed to be unscripted.'

'I can't see that making the front pages.' Victoria frowned. 'Or even the sport sections.'

'Monday's headlines are being written by Erin Brook.' The Commissioner smiled for the first time so far. 'Erin only does internal pages after she's filled all the fronts.'

'I thought you hated Erin Brook.'

'I've sued her half a dozen times but I don't hate her. Socially, she's quite a nice person. And she just happens to have involved herself in Trish's disappearance. Tonight she probably thinks she's got a minor exclusive; which is all she has, to be honest. But things have changed. When I speak to her tomorrow she'd think all her Christmases have come at once.'

'I don't understand.'

'Please take this with a pinch of salt because it sounds brutal. The original plan was to make you a scapegoat however it went with Trish. If you had won I'd have sacked you and given Erin all the background on your Belfast fight. And it would have been pretty much the same if you lost, I must admit. She doesn't know it yet, but Erin now has two exclusives. Monday's, which will praise the fight for being real and make no mention of Belfast. And Tuesday's, which will suggest both of the fights were real but to some extent biased.'

'I'm not with you.'

'Without knowing about your, ah, disobedience, Erin's going to imply you had an advantage in the first fight and Trish had one in the second.'

'It doesn't need implying; it's the truth.'

'All the best deception plans are based on the truth. And Erin knows how to stir things. Aided by those other tame reporters of ours, we're going to run the story all week. Then I'm going to do a live broadcast with Erin; with a pre-arranged line of questioning, of course.'

'Do you mean on TV?'

'I mean on every form of media going. And don't worry about Erin, by the way; she's even bitchier on screen than she is in print.'

Victoria's heart was back where it always should have been. She was up for this; still mystified, but definitely up for it.

'So what's the plan?'

'She's going to get me on the ropes, accusing me of finally having "real" fights but still fixing them. I'm then going to announce the solution; end of next month in Sacramento. No holds barred, no gimmicks and most certainly no script. And there will be no suggestion of anyone being taken by surprise, either. It's going to be Trish versus Victoria headlining the show.'

'I thought Kurt was headlining in Sacramento.'

'I'll tell him it's a joint double-header, but the ladies get their names up first. He's very polite. He will accept that.'

'And I suppose I'll have to accept Trish's name before mine.'

Victoria had been joking, speaking out of relief without really thinking. The Commissioner took her seriously.

'I really was going to sack you,' he said, 'it was Trish who came up with the revised plan.'

'Fuck me, I didn't expect that.'

'I don't think it is love, I think it's her idea of Ali versus Frazier III; The Thrilla in Sacramento. And I think she's intending to be Ali.' He chuckled. 'What do you think, Victoria? Can you beat her in a fair fight, both of you given weeks to prepare?'

'You bet I can,' she replied, sounding more confident than she actually felt. 'I was in shock tonight and she was hyper. Sacramento will be totally different.'

The Commissioner got out his hip flask and refilled her glass.

'The essential part of all this is that you never once vary from the party line. If you do exactly as I ask, I will honour the result in Sacramento. And whatever that result may be, I suspect there will be other rematches. Do we have a deal?'

Victoria chinked her glass against his flask.

'Oh yes,' she said, 'we have a deal.'

Chapter Five

Trish and The Sioux spent the next five days locked away in the presidential suite of yet another plush hotel, naked most of the time, frequently fucking (or, as The Sioux had started to think of it, making love). Yes she'd been frequently making love because she was in love.

Crazy but true: she was in love!

She wasn't sure what to feel about the situation. It was a new one for her. And she didn't know if Trish was feeling the same way. Oh, she'd used the L-word more than once, but only as she was coming down after a mighty orgasm, at a time when she was apt to say all sorts.

Surprised by her cowardice, The Sioux had decided not to broach the subject. She'd also decided it was best to stick to Trish's choice of sex games, even if she did fancy playing a few of her own.

I'd better not remind her of London, she'd thought, not while everything's going so well.

It was now Friday and they'd just flown into O'Hare, hot on the heels of the WWE Universe. Not that they were in town for the Saturday show. Trish had an appointment with the Commissioner and Erin Brook; she was going to be on TV.

Again.

They held hands in the back of the limo and talked all the way to the studios. Without mentioning their future, The Sioux let it be known she was sad their latest time together was coming to an end.

'Don't be sad,' said Trish, 'you've got a couple of big months coming up. And you get to win most of your bouts.'

'It's opportunities with you I'm sad about,' The Sioux replied. 'I might never get any more.'

'You haven't seen the last of me.' Trish grinned. 'I'll whisk you away on vacation for a week or so. Somewhere hot and with no grizzly bears.'

The studios were nearly as plush as their hotel. Fred met them as the limo eased to a halt and led them inside. After Trish suffered the attention of a makeup artist and had been told what to expect in front of the camera, she re-joined her companion in the waiting area.

'Dry white wine,' Trish said when asked if she would like a drink. Then, laughing at The Sioux's glass of club soda, 'I'm starting intensive training tomorrow. This is the last chance I'll get.'

The Sioux laughed with her but stopped as she saw the figure approaching them. 'Oho, here comes trouble.'

Victoria was wearing faded designer jeans and a gypsy-style white blouse that showed off a lot of tit . . . and knee-length black leather boots, of course. She looked absolutely stunning.

'Good evening Trish,' she said, smiling politely and completely ignoring The Sioux.

'Evening Victoria,' Trish replied, 'you've scrubbed up well.'

'I could say the same about you, except you always look good.'

The Sioux couldn't believe the civility between the two deadly rivals. She half-expected Victoria to suddenly revert to type, snarl and clobber Trish with a forearm smash.

She didn't. Instead, holding eye contact and obviously sincere, she said, 'I understand I owe you my eternal gratitude. Thank you, Trish. I will never forget your decency.'

Trish chuckled. 'Does that mean you'll let me win in you-know-where?'

'Not on your life. I'll do you almost any other favour, but not that!'

They both chuckled at that then, surprising The Sioux anew, Victoria briefly embraced her fellow diva.

'See you later,' she said as she departed.

'I thought you hated her,' The Sioux said when Vic's sexy ass was safely out of range.

'I do.' Trish was still watching that sexy ass. 'But that doesn't mean we can't be friends.'

*****

Erin was in her element. Some sort of producer had tried to lecture her on "interview tactics". She had reduced him to a gibbering wreck in ten seconds flat and had been flying ever since.

'So, Mr Commissioner,' she began as the cameras rolled, 'you've brought back-up.'

Seated between the two divas he smiled his film star smile at her. 'You're my back-up, Ms Brook. If these two start anything I'll be relying on you.'

'Okay,' she said briskly, 'let's start with the new champion. Trish, do you agree with the company stance; that your two recent fights were for real?'

'There's no stance about it. Both results were for real.'

'What about you, Victoria? Are you following the company line too?'

'There is no company line. Both results were for real.'

For the next half hour Erin hammered away at the three of them, asking all the same questions in twenty different ways, and doing it well. She was sure everyone watching would believe she was slaughtering the opposition, particularly the Commissioner. He was going to great extremes to avoid revealing how many (if any!) productions were for real.

'E stands for "Entertainment",' he said several times. 'We give our audiences what they want to see.'

He was also evasive about the "edge" that his divas had had in their respective wins. So too were his divas, especially about that first match.

Getting more furious by the second, knowing she must look like a demented elf, Erin finally gave the Commissioner his cue. And, as she was being rewarded handsomely for the prompt, she gave it in style.

'What can you say to convince me and the viewers?' she asked, her very voice an insult. 'Being the head of an "Entertainment" organization renowned for rigging results?'

'I'll say the obvious solution is to have a third match. No gimmicks, no evening gowns or sudden, unexpected appearances, and very few rules. We have Sacramento coming up at the end of next month. Let's agree it here and now. I'll headline it "Trish versus Victoria" and we'll make it for the undisputed championship of the world.'

'That sounds good to me,' said Trish.

'Bring it on,' Victoria agreed.

'How will we know it's for real?' Erin objected.

'You'll know when you see me smash her face in,' said Trish.

'In your dreams,' Victoria countered.

Chapter Six

The Sioux lay on her hotel bed and sighed. She'd been on the road for three weeks now and was losing track of where she was. She was also losing the ability to satisfy herself. Even her favourite vibrator wasn't doing the trick.

She closed her eyes and thought of Trish as she reapplied the bullet directly to her clit. Her mind conjured up images of Trish naked, laughing and in her arms. And she pictured Trish gasping and trying her best not to cum, even though she desperately needed to.

It was no good. The other pictures kept creeping in; the ones she didn't want to see.

The ones that just might make her toy do its job.

Giving it up as futile, she checked the time. It was close to midnight here in Germany; back in Los Angeles it would be mid-afternoon. Trish would probably be working out, preparing for the big showdown.

The Sioux frowned. Trish wasn't taking individual bouts before the fight in Sacramento. She still had to be in possession of the title and the Commissioner didn't want to run any risks, scripted or not. Tag team matches were, of course, permitted but she'd opted to have only one; in a week or so's time in Oakland.

Victoria was taking a different approach. She seemed to be fighting every other night, individually and in tags. She was winning all the time too. And she was here in Munich.

Here in this very hotel.

Try as she might, The Sioux couldn't get Vic out of her head. Vic was blatantly blanking her. Ever since the TV studio in Chicago she'd been taking opportunities to act as if she didn't exist.

It wasn't fair! Vic was treating her like dirt because she'd sided with Trish yet how'd she been with Trish herself? Polite and civil, that was how. She'd not been averse to a hug and air kisses either.

And they'd been air kisses with intent, hadn't they? She'd seen all sorts of air kisses, most of them empty or even full of venom. The ones in Chicago had been full of lust. Vic wanted to fuck with Trish again . . . and Trish was tempted to oblige.

Meanwhile here The Sioux was, alone in her hotel room, itching for it but unable to properly cum.

Oakland was twelve days away. It would be a dozen more days without a decent orgasm. And even then she'd only be cumming via vanilla sex. Okay, it would be very good vanilla sex . . . but still plain old vanilla.

Hating herself, The Sioux reached for her mobile.

*****

Trish had rented a property in an exclusive area that had a very visible security presence. The big house had extensive grounds and its own well-equipped gym. It went without saying that it also had its own sizeable outdoor pool.

She'd already done her training for the day and was currently "relaxing" by churning out lengths. As she was living alone and adequately screened from neighbours she was swimming topless, covering her decency with the briefest bikini bottoms ever manufactured.

The sound of a slamming car door made her smile. It must be her personal trainer. Armand was the only person authorized to visit and it was typical of him to show unexpectedly. He was a good visitor to have, too. Tall, bronzed and absolutely ripped. It was just a shame he was as gay as Old Dad's hatband.

Trish's smile became a grin. No way was she putting on her top for Armand. He'd openly admired her semi-naked body often enough. Maybe he wasn't beyond converting. Maybe seeing just a bit more would do the trick.

'I'm round here,' she called, 'in the pool.'

She finished a length away from the patio and tumble-turned, ready to give her trainer an eyeful. But it wasn't him.

'Oh,' she said, 'what the heck are you doing here?'

'You and your effusive welcomes,' said the new arrival. 'This time I've flown even farther to see you and what do I get?'

'Hello, Erin,' Trish corrected herself, climbing out of the water. 'It's good of you to drop by.'

'Nice tits,' the reporter replied.

'I thought the world would be bored of them by now.'

'Don't worry too much about that. And don't put them away on my account.'

Trish sat on a sun lounger and swigged water from a bottle she'd kept in the shade. 'Take a seat,' she said, indicating a nearby table complete with chairs.

'What's a girl gotta do to get a drink round here?'

'The poolside bar is over there. Feel free to help yourself.'

'Don't you have a barman?'

'No, there's only me here. I'm entirely self-sufficient.'

Erin strolled across and poured a large glass of chilled white. 'Do you want one while I'm at it?'

'No thanks. I'm in training.'

'I bet Victoria's on her tenth stein by now.'

'I hope she is. I want every edge I can get. That's why I'm drinking water and blaming her for every sip.'

She got up and joined Erin at the table. 'How did you get past Security?' she wondered.

'Come on, Trish. I'd burn a source before I'd answer that.'

Trish thought she probably would. 'How are things in New York?' she asked instead.

'It's gone pretty quiet; so quiet I'm taking a break.'

'I thought you never took vacations.'

'Well maybe it's what the Brits call a "busman's holiday". I reckoned I could get some background research on you and collect my debt at the same time.'

*****

There was a hotel security officer on the top floor, close to the elevators. The Sioux nodded to him as she passed. He smiled at her and, in perfect English, said he'd enjoyed her recent fight.

Normally The Sioux revelled in receiving recognition. In fact it was happening more and more and her inner glow was getting brighter and brighter. Tonight she was too stressed to be pleased. She walked along a corridor and came to the room she was after. The door wasn't locked.