[Ragnar0k]

AUTHOR'S NOTE:-

Hi everyone! Tangle in Tuscany is the first part in a new story series I've been developing. Tales of sexy, buxom young women who live to fight for kicks, glory, and, well... plenty of prize money. Set during the 1960s heyday of the apartment wrestling movement to provide a suitably retro feel, the complete story, with original commissioned artwork, will be available at a later date.

Apartment wrestlers, also known as "session wrestlers", or "private wrestlers", wrestle an opponent as a service, for money, in a private setting. Although many clients pay to watch such matches, some partake in private wrestling matches themselves for the athletic challenge. Whether they enjoy watching others wrestle, or taking part themselves, most clients engage private wrestlers to pursue a form of sexual fantasy, often fulfilling a desire for domination or submission.

Check out my DA page for art samples... Excalib | DeviantArt
Available works are listed here: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/Ragnar0k





Tangle in Tuscany:  Part 1


Vanessa King examined her face critically for lines and blemishes in the bathroom mirror of the Tuscan hotel room. Fortunately, the 21-year-old’s supple skin had weathered the broken night's sleep well, although her clear blue eyes looked more red-rimmed than usual. Reflecting wryly how she always seemed to lose sleep in proportion to the amount of money involved, the refined Englishwoman picked up her ormolu hairbrush and began tugging out the tousles in her honey blonde locks. The limo would arrive in under an hour, and she knew from experience that these people were never late. That allowed ample time to perform her daily calisthenics regime while picking at the continental breakfast she’d ordered on room service.

As Vanessa applied her make-up she wondered idly what her opponent was doing right now. Probably much the same as she was: preparing for the secretive apartment wrestling match they had both been specially approached to fight. The promoter, Sylvia Caproni, had made clear on the phone that Vanessa and her opponent would be fighting in front of a celebrity couple who shared a penchant for watching buxom women wrestle. As the clients were household names in Italy their identities had to be protected at all times. Vanessa was looking forward to seeing how that worked out, given that in the more intimate apartment matches the wrestlers often spilled over into the audience.

That it would be a high stakes match today was not in doubt as the victor would leave richer to the tune of $800, with the loser pocketing the $150 consolation purse. “Please remember, Miss King,” Sylvia Caproni had said before ending the call, “The sponsor and his… um, lady friend… very much want to see your breasts in action against the other woman’s. Is this acceptable to you?”

“Of course!”

"Good, then you will know when it’s time to remove the brassiere. What you do after is at your discretion…capisci?”

“Sì signora.”  Vanessa had made up her mind that the clients were probably a famous Italian matinee idol and a woman who wasn’t his wife, who both got off on watching pneumatic young things mashing their breasts together in anger. Well, she was perfectly capable of putting on that kind of show, but mustn’t lose sight of the victor’s purse at the same time. Although secure in the knowledge that her opponent would be young and bosomy like herself, Vanessa could only guess the rest for now. Would she face a Swedish blonde or a dark-haired Italian; a French brunette or a redheaded German? That was the curious thing about international matches: often it wasn’t until you were standing in the apartment room waiting for the fight to begin that you came face to face with the competition for the first time.

Vanessa carried on getting ready until the bedside telephone rang. "Miss King? Reception – your limo has arrived."

"Tell them I'll be right down." One last check in the full-length mirror; staring back at Vanessa: a tall, voluptuous vision of feminine beauty in 3" heels and a light blue summer dress; well-trained and fighting fit, both physically and mentally, for the challenge ahead.

----oOo----

Victoria Silva settled back in the comfortable plush leather seat and stared out the window as the limo sped out of town, her alluring brown eyes barely registering the picture postcard Tuscan scenery rushing by. Outwardly calm and self-assured, the Spanish apartment wrestler felt unusually nervy and distracted this morning. She’d never fought in a foreign land before, let alone contested a purse that represented a small fortune in hard currency back home. Enough dinero, to set her invalid mother up in a flat in a far more salubrious district of Madrid than the poor barrio Victoria had been raised in. The complication - and source of anxiety - stemmed from the prospect of having to go through another equally hard bitch to get her hands on the prize she coveted. Signora Caproni had made abundantly clear when last they spoke that the client expected a special show for this kind of outlay: a contest of endurance pitting the wrestler’s breasts and bodies against each other until one woman surrendered to her opponent. Although not fazed by the stipulation, having fought and won such battles before, Victoria nevertheless remained anxious lest her passionate body betray her while held long and hard in the grip of another strong, sensuous woman.

Retrieving the compact mirror she always kept in her purse, the young Spanish woman checked her sultry face, brushing aside a lock of straight, dark hair that had fallen over one eye. It was important to look one's best on these occasions, not only for the sponsor but also to help psych the other bitch out when they first met. Frowning in concentration, Victoria touched up her lipstick and mascara before staring back into her deep, dark eyes, practicing her most venomous stare. Feeling more relaxed now, the alluring dark-haired wrestler settled back in her seat to enjoy the remainder of the journey.

An only child who never had the fortune to meet her natural father, Victoria Silva grew up in a poor barrio of Madrid where children still played barefoot in the streets. Her careworn mother entertained a string of boyfriends to 'make ends meet' and, as young Victoria lay in bed at night listening to occasional cries through the cheap apartment's flimsy wall she formed the unalterable view that men did not always treat women well. As she developed into a grown woman, Victoria's sultry looks became her escape route, gaining the attention of a talent scout who found her bit parts in low-budget movies. But the rebellious, quick-tempered teenager proved unable to accept patronage of kind required in the movie industry, especially when it derived from entitled and leery older men. Proving incapable of being moulded into someone she didn't want to be, Victoria remained on the fringes of the movies, unhappy with the sort of eye candy roles she was being offered yet unable to break into the mainstream.

Salvation came through an introduction at a party to Carmen Velasco, a self-assured blonde in her mid-twenties, who introduced Victoria to an intriguing career opportunity that she took to naturally with her competitive disposition and quickly began to excel in: Madrid's burgeoning apartment wrestling scene. With five years’ experience and a reputation to her name, Carmen became Victoria's manager, trainer and lover; revealing special moves that could make Victoria irresistible to other wrestlers as she fought her way from one victory to the next.

After the limo pulled to a halt outside the large, whitewashed villa, Victoria took several deep breaths to compose herself before stepping out, relieved that much of her earlier anxiety had evaporated on the journey. Even so, the young wrestler found herself wondering avidly what sort of opponent she faced today, and whether the other woman would be as skilled in the submission moves as she.

----oOo----

Vanessa's driver turned down the private drive a few moments later, the Englishwoman feeling pre-fight nerves in the pit of her stomach as security guards waved them on through the big gates leading up to the house. As the vehicle crunched to a halt beside an empty limo parked up with its driver loitering she was forced to entertain the notion that her opponent had beaten her to the punch by arriving first. Thanking her driver as he held the door open impassively, Vanessa stepped out and stretched for a moment in the warm, mid-morning sun before hastening up the bleached stone steps towards the house. Before she reached the entrance, a tall brunette emerged, introducing herself as Sylvia Caproni, the promoter who had contacted her with the special proposal three weeks before.

“Welcome to Villa Anterosa. If I may say Vanessa, you look even more lovely in the flesh than your publicity stills made out," Sylvia peered at her closely over her elegant half-moon spectacles as they stood on the porch.

"Thanks Sylvia, delighted to be here."

The promoter was clearly in a hurry, taking Vanessa's elbow and guiding her inside the villa while subjecting her to a rapid-fire string of questions and comments.

"The hotel was to your liking? Good. Now, let me show you to your dressing room without delay. We mustn't keep the clients waiting!”

“Oh, I’m completely ready, believe me!” Vanessa interjected, causing the Italian woman to chuckle delightedly.

“Eccellente! Now, remember the instructions I gave on the phone? Good. Let me explain as I did for your opponent a moment ago. This is a submission contest, one fall and no breaks; usual rules, but the clients like especially to see hair-pulling and… ahh… breasts in action. That's okay with you?"

"It's fine - happens often enough in regular matches anyway..."

"Good! And remember not to talk to each other before the match begins. Now any other questions?"

"I only wondered how you plan on keeping the clients' identity a secret?"

 “Ah, good question - let me explain further." Sylvia paused for a moment, her eyes searching Vanessa’s face to ensure she was listening carefully. "As Villa Anterosa is used regularly for apartment matches it has a specially-adapted room which you will visit very soon. It's special feature: a floor-to-ceiling mirror of the two-way type along one wall, behind which the clients...”

“...can remain incognito while enjoying the match.” Vanessa finished for her.

"Precisely!" Sylvia meanwhile had led her companion down a long corridor which had four doors leading off and she pointed now to the first door.

“Behind the first door is your opponent getting ready. Second door is your own dressing room. Third is to the fighting room. Fourth is the client’s suite. We will call you when its time to begin! Comprende?”

"Yes, I understand." As the door shut quietly behind her Vanessa was left alone with only her restless thoughts for company.


To describe Vanessa King as a society girl fallen on hard times might have seemed unfair but such was the nature of the gossip circulating in fashionable Kensington circles immediately before the young debutante's career took an unexpected turn. Born and raised in Ealing, London's 'Queen of the Suburbs', the precocious blonde failed to derive much benefit from a private education, proving more adept at turning young men's heads than churning out good exam results. As Vanessa grew voluptuous in her teens her early interest in ballet fizzled out, then the 'Swinging Sixties' liberated her entirely as she moved out of her parents’ home never to return. A string of disastrous relationships followed, culminating in a brief fling with the disinherited son of a baronet who specialized in procuring beautiful young ladies for wealthy clients. Despite her ongoing financial difficulties, Vanessa was not the type to consider sleeping with strangers for money. But she needn't have worried, as Albert Henry Debrett Montgomery turned out to be a pimp of a different kind: an impresario and promoter of London's burgeoning apartment wrestling scene.

Having excelled at sports during her otherwise unexceptional school days, Vanessa remained a very physical, competitive young lady, and quickly discovered that she was a natural in her new vocation. After a string of close defeats at the hands of more experienced opponents, the ambitious blonde found a mentor in June Archer, a veteran brunette several years older than herself, and the two women grew very close while June trained Vanessa to wrestle like a pro. Buoyed by her new skills, the beautiful blonde dispatched her next opponent with ease, gaining a reputation on the London circuit that meant she was soon never short of sponsors and offers to fight. The money was good, and so, finally, was her love life: having discovered the thrill of wrestling attractive women, Vanessa also learned the side her bread was buttered on as she and June began to enjoy intimate, protracted wrestling sessions in bed together.

----oOo----

After recharging their glasses with fine vermouth, the matinee idol Antonio Russo and his lover, the starlet Gina Bartelli, announce they’re ready and both fighters receive the call. Vanessa is let into the room first, turning abruptly as Victoria follows her in, both women’s hackles rising quickly as they look each other up and down. Oddly enough, both feel repelled and attracted to each other simultaneously: two beautiful, voluptuous young women, one blonde, one dark-haired; eyes glinting cat hate at each other.

“Remember ladies, a good show!” Sylvia Caproni’s voice chimes in musically before the heavy door swings shut and locks with a decisive click.

Remaining silent as instructed, the fighters let their roving eyes explore the windowless, white-walled room, noting the faint indentations where furniture has been removed; the plush grey carpet soft under their feet; the gentle humming of the air conditioning grille high on the wall; the faintly acrid odour that all apartment wrestling rooms seem to share. Their eyes stray to the mirror wall opposite, straining to make out something of the room beyond. But the wall refuses to divulge its secrets, and they decide at that moment to forget the audience behind it and concentrate on winning the fight instead: that way, they’ll put on a good show regardless. Facing each other again, they start to undress with a feigned nonchalance that belies their rapidly beating pulses and quickening breaths.

Keeping her eyes on her opponent, Victoria kicks off her heels and loosens the straps of her lime green dress, pulling it over her head to reveal a lithe, voluptuous body with a perfect light olive skin tone. Vanessa meanwhile unzips the back of her dress and shimmies out, casting the expensive fabric aside casually. The English woman is as lissom as her opponent, and her creamy complexion contrasts alluringly with Victoria’s. Finally, the women remove their garter belts and stockings to stand facing each other in their lingerie: pearl-white for Vanessa; plain black for Victoria. Physically, they’re closely matched – similar in height, curvy and big-breasted, the dark-haired woman possibly a few pounds heavier than the blonde.

The wrestlers begin circling warily waiting impatiently for the signal, bare feet padding soundlessly on the thick pile carpet. As the seconds become minutes the beautiful young adversaries continue to pace the room like alley cats with all their feline pride and animosity on display. When the buzzer finally sounds they can hold back no longer, eyes narrowing as they turn to face each other, sensuous bodies tensing up for the fight of their lives.

“Now whore, show me what you’ve got,” Vanessa hisses as they close in, Victoria’s dark eyes blazing as she retorts in accented English: “More'n you can handle, puta.”

Bare flesh slams on flesh as they tussle aggressively, hands raised high, fingers interlocking, struggling to get the initial measure of each other. Then, as neither gives way, Vanessa breaks free and lunges at Victoria, fingers clawing at her adversary’s dark locks with a frustrated cry. The enraged Spanish fighter sinks both hands into her opponent’s hair in retaliation, gasping as they bend each other double, feet shuffling on the carpet, fighting to keep their balance. Eventually the dark-haired woman comes out on top, taking the blonde backwards in a strong headlock; forcing her struggling opponent towards the wall behind. “Oooouff!” Vanessa groans as her back slams into the solid surface; their shapely bodies quickly moulding as her rival presses into her hungrily.

“Fucking bitch!”  The frantic struggle is briefly deadlocked until the Englishwoman manages to push off the wall strongly, hooking a leg behind her opponent’s calf to send them both crashing to the floor.

Landing on top with enough force to wind her opponent Vanessa digs a knee into Victoria’s crotch, locking an arm around the dark-haired woman’s neck to immobilize her. Evidencing honed cat-fighting skills, the blonde presses her palm hard against her rival’s face, securing a vicious hand-smother. Although her mouth and nose aren’t entirely sealed, the Spanish fighter is soon writhing and gasping for air, as her opponent starts to dominate her. “Try this bitch!” Vanessa grunts, trading the smother for a body scissors applied high across the Spanish woman’s chest.

“Aiiiee! coño!” Victoria’s head shoots back in anguish, her hands fighting to prise Vanessa’s thighs apart as her torso is compressed mercilessly. The blonde knows the hold can convert to a submission opportunity if she can trap the other woman’s neck between her thighs and squeeze hard enough. Victoria understands the danger only too well and begins twisting and bridging hard in a bid to escape. Struggling to remain on top of her bucking bronco, Vanessa swears as she is catapulted forward with enough force to graze her chin on the carpet. Victoria rolls clear with a relieved sigh, rising to her knees as they pull apart for a moment to lick their first wounds.
 
“Lucky slut - I had you there!” the Englishwoman taunts.

“Ahhh… that’s such a damn lie!” But the Spanish woman realizes the time is right as she reaches behind to release the clasp of her bra, letting her pendulous breasts swing free. “What’s wrong, inglesa?” she arches her eyebrows with a provocative smile. “My big chichis scare you, huh?”

Accepting the challenge with a confident smile, Vanessa swiftly discards her bra in turn, letting her own prodigious mammaries tumble out. “I’ll see your scrawny bags and raise you a better pair…”

“¡Venga! puta, mine will defeat yours!”

“Come and get it slut!”

Eyes blazing furiously, they leap to their feet and rush forward as one, bringing their heavy breasts together with a resoundingly meaty slap. Each fighter groans lasciviously, gripping her opponent tightly by the hair as they recoil before slamming together, again... and again, feeling the first flushes of sensual pain pulse in their rapidly swelling boobs…



End of Part 1 - to be continued