Some time later, Lyanna was chatting amiably with a middle aged couple, a stage actor and his corporate lawyer girlfriend, when their conversation was interrupted by a loud ringing that brought a hush over the room. All heads turned expectantly to the source of the sound – a wine glass being tapped firmly with the edge of a spoon. It always surprised Lyanna that such a small thing could make such a loud noise. She wondered if it was some kind of special glass.
“Ladies and gentlemen...your attention please!” The speaker was a man in his fifties, balding with wire-rimmed glasses. He looked slightly out of place among the elegantly dressed party guests, in blue jeans, a loafers and an open necked white shirt under a tweed jacket. He belonged here no less than they did however. His name was Andrew Scribbs. He was the Society’s business manager and, in Lyanna’s role as gym manager, her boss too.
“It’s time to commence the evening’s entertainment,” he announced, adding somewhat unnecessarily, “Tonight we have two strong and lovely contenders to do battle for your enjoyment.”
He looked in Lyanna’s direction and met her return gaze. “The first will be familiar to all of you. She’s fought numerous times here in the Society and has an impressive record of wins. From Florida, put your hands together for Lyanna.”
There was widespread applause as Lyanna strode, smiling, toward the windows where Scribbs stood. She walked with her head up, shoulders back, her chest thrust out. Her hips undulated and her skirt swirled around her long, powerful legs with each step. She radiated strength, power and confidence. The entertainment – and the battle – started well before the actual fight commenced. She took her place at Scribbs’ elbow and turned to face the audience.
“Facing Lyanna tonight is a relative newcomer to the Society, though she’s certainly proved her worth both here and elsewhere,” continued Scribbs. “From the west coast, please welcome Sherrie.”
Amid matching applause from the audience, Lyanna followed his eyes to where a slender blonde picked her way through the crowd toward them. She was sheathed – that was definitely the word – in a figure-hugging silver dress that left little to the imagination. It clung to her well-rounded bust – store-bought, thought Lyanna with an inward sneer – her slim waist and narrow hips, swishing around her long legs as she walked. Lyanna put her in her mid- or maybe even late thirties, easily ten years older than Lyanna. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that meant an easy win however. The woman was obviously in superb shape and though she might be shorter and more slightly built, her body was all muscle. She would be no pushover.
She wasn’t going to let the woman know that, however. As Sherrie approached, Lyanna gave her a disdainful look up and down. “Forget to get dressed this morning and came in your nightgown, did you?”
Sherrie didn’t blink. She gave Lyanna an equally scornful look, taking in Lyanna’s larger physique and more curvaceous figure. “Forget to hit the gym for the last couple years, did you?”
Lyanna bristled. “You’ll find out just what this body can do, bitch, and find out hard!” she snapped back, fists clenched. “I’ll break you in half, you scrawny skank!”
Sherrie’s smile was fixed and icy. “I’ll just break you.” Her eyes narrowed to mere slits. “The bigger they come, the harder they fall…and the more they beg when they’re down.”
Lyanna growled and took a step forward, but Scribbs interrupted. “Ladies, I’m sure we’d all love to hear you threaten one another some more, but there’s a better way to settle this argument, don’t you think?” He looked at each of them and smiled. “Let’s do this the traditional way. One of you will be able to back up her words…the other won’t. To your dressing rooms.”
They each turned away, reluctantly, from one another. A petite brunette in black pants and a tee, one of the Society staff, appeared at Lyanna’s side. She took a deep breath to calm herself, and felt her hard nipples rasp against the inside of her dress. It would have given her great pleasure to slap the blond bitch right out her heels, there and then, but her chance would come soon enough.
She followed the attendant down a narrow space around the outside of one of the curving staircases, and through a door that led to a maze of passageways beneath the balcony and the bar. After a bewildering series of turns, the girl opened a door and beckoned Lyanna into the room beyond.
The dressing room was compact, though larger than Lyanna imagined. A low leather couch occupied one wall, a dresser and stool, with a mirror lined with lights, sat against the other. There was a small closet in the opposite corner. Two doors, apart from the one by which she had entered, led out of the room. One stood open, revealing a well-appointed bathroom with a large shower and whirlpool tub. The other, with a light above it, was closed. That, Lyanna knew, was the gateway to the arena.
The door closed behind the attendant, leaving her alone. She immediately dropped her small clutch purse on the couch, crossed to the closet and kicked off her shoes, hooking each of them with her toes and placing them neatly side by side. She lifted her arms, unfastened the clasp of her dress behind her neck and pulled it down, letting her big round breasts bounce free. She wriggled it down over her hips, down her legs, stepped out of it and hung it in the closet.
On the dresser stood a small stoppered glass bottle filled with amber oil. She opened it, tipped a generous amount into her cupped hand and, standing in front of the full length mirror beside the closet, began applying it liberally over her entire body from neck to toe. The oil made her tanned flesh glisten in the light, and it would also make it harder for her opponent to get a firm grip on her. No sense making it easy for the bitch. She stepped into the bathroom and rinsed the excess oil from her hands. There was no use making it more difficult for herself to get a grip on the blonde either, though Sherrie would no doubt be equally oiled up.
Turning back to the couch, she opened her purse and pulled out a neatly folded wad of fabric. She already wore the bottom half of her bikini, a diminutive thong divided vertically in equal halves of red and black, the seam running down the cleft of her sex, giving her a distinctive camel toe.
She shook the top out and slipped the upper strap over her head, settling it at the back of her neck, lifting her hair out over it. The top matched the thong, the left side a vivid scarlet and the right a matt black. She stretched the cups tight over her generous bosom and reached behind her to tie the lower strap securely, before she adjusted the twin triangles to center them over her nipples. The cups cradled her breasts, pushing them up and together, deepening her cleavage. Narrow straps on each side ran from the top of each triangle to the bottom of its twin, helping to secure them in place and further pulling her breasts against one another.
Back in front of the mirror, she gave herself a critical appraisal. At five-feet seven and just short of one hundred thirty pounds, she was in top condition. She knew her big bust and rounded hips made some people underestimate her as a fighter, but those who had seen her fight, and particularly those who had gone up against her, knew that was a dangerous assumption to make.
Lifting her arms, she placed them behind her head, arched her back and turned from side to side. Muscles rippled beneath the smooth velvet skin of her arms and shoulders. Her pose lifted her breasts, thrusting them out, her nipples even more evident now through the thin fabric of her bikini top, which clung to her like a second skin. Her belly was smooth and flat, her abs faintly yet clearly defined. She was no body-builder, but she didn’t want to be. She was quietly confident she could match any woman in the Society for core strength.
She raised herself up on her toes, thigh muscles bunching and flexing, her glutes tightening, the firm round orbs of her buttocks gleaming as she twisted left and right, bisected by the narrow band of her thong. You’ll be getting a closeup view of my buns soon, skank. She flexed her thighs a little harder, making her butt cheeks twitch together, and smiled softly as the she turned away from the mirror and went into her warm-up regime.
Maybe ten minutes later, she was ready and waiting, her oiled, bikini-clad and now well prepared body covered in a short black silk robe that fell to mid-thigh and bore the Society sigil in gold on the back. She had just finished fastening the robe loosely but securely with a matching sash, when a gentle chime sounded in the room. She looked over at the closed door. A red light glowed above it now.
She walked over to the door, opened it and stepped into the small vestibule beyond, which was about the size of an old-style phone booth. She closed the door behind her and took a deep breath in the darkness, steadying herself as the butterflies churned in her stomach. She would defeat this bitch – she was determined to – but that didn’t mean it was going to be easy, and it didn’t mean the pre-fight anxiety was any less.
The door on the opposite side slid open, flooding the vestibule with light. Lyanna stepped forward, out onto the thick black rug – out into the arena. It may have been just her imagination after the darkness, but it seemed that the lights over the arena were much brighter now, and those in the surrounding room were dimmer. The temperature also seemed warmer, but that too may simply have been the rush of blood through her veins as her body readied itself for the combat to come. She flexed her hands involuntarily, clenching and relaxing in anticipation.
Another door opposite her had also opened. Sherrie appeared, dressed identically to Lyanna. Her hair was pulled back off her face in a tight ponytail. They stood there for a moment, facing off, their eyes boring into one another, before Lyanna’s hands went to her waist, tugging the sash open, whipping the robe backwards off her shoulders, leaving it behind her hanging in the air for an instant as she took another step forward.
She raised herself up on the ball of one foot and twirled as she stepped out into the arena, lifting her arms, smiling at the watching crowd, letting them all look at her, letting them enjoy her. Her smile wavered a little as her gaze passed across the open front of the arena, where she noticed the Society champion sitting in the place of honor, her hand on the knee of some blonde that Lyanna had not seen before. Good grief, another girlfriend, Tiffany? Can’t you hang onto one for longer than five minutes?
That thought was not what made her face darken however. What galled her was that Tiffany was still sitting in that seat at all. That was where Lyanna wanted to be – where she deserved to be, and where she soon would be. You can’t run from me forever, bitch.
She completed her circle, displaying herself to the adulation and lascivious looks of the crowd s they drank in her firm flesh, her proud breasts, her taut butt, her strong yet feminine legs. She could feel them wanting her and she reveled in it. Let them lust for her. She would be able to choose any one – or more – of them after she’d disposed of this bimbo. Perhaps she would, or maybe she would spurn them all. She smiled.
Her eyes came to rest on Sherrie, still standing motionless, her eyes riveted on Lyanna, her face impassive. The redhead raised a mocking eyebrow. Your turn, Barbie.
As if on cue, Sherrie slipped her robe open, tossed it carelessly back into the doorway behind her and strode forward into the light. She too lifted her arms and tossed her head, sending the golden mane of her hair swishing across her broad shoulders as she walked. She wore a silver lame bikini, the top composed of two tiny triangles that barely covered the jutting excrescences of her erect nipples, held in place by gossamer thin straps. The bottom was an equally miniscule thong that seemed painted onto her mound, the straps riding high over her slender hips, meeting above the orbs of her buttocks and disappearing between them.
Her skin was an equally deep bronze all over. The muscles of her arms, shoulders and upper body were superbly sculpted. Her breasts strained hard against the tiny top as she showed off her body to the onlookers. Her abs were a perfect six-pack yet she sacrificed none of her femininity for that. Her butt cheeks looked like they had been carved from stone, and the smooth skin of her oiled thighs undulated with the sensuous musculature beneath.
Sherrie was shorter than Lyanna by perhaps two or three inches and more slightly built, though it was clear that her body was all muscle. Lyanna doubted if there was more than a couple pounds difference in weight between them.
There were murmurs from the crowd, whispered expressions of admiration as Sherrie too completed her circle and stood regarding Lyanna levelly. She cocked her head and also raised an eyebrow – mocking Lyanna mocking her. Lyanna’s shoulders tightened.
She spared a glance sideways toward Tiffany and her new paramour. The Society champion sat with her eyes devouring Sherrie’s body, a sly smile on her lips. After a long moment she turned her eyes to Lyanna, and her smile broadened. Her meaning was obvious. She thought Lyanna was in a whole lot of trouble. Bitch. Just you wait and see.
Her companion’s gaze was also locked on Lyanna, but her expression was entirely different from Tiffany’s. Their eyes met. The girl smiled and actually wriggled in her seat, arching her back a little and pushing her quite substantial chest out. Lyanna smiled slightly at the corners of her mouth. The bitch’s bitch wants me. She mentally filed that little fact away for later, when it might come in useful. Right now, she had other, more pressing priorities.
She pointed to the doorway behind Sherrie. “Still time to run back to your box, bitch!”
The blonde’s lip curled in a sneer. “Not until I drag you back in there with me, honey” The mocking endearment dripped with scorn.
Scribbs had already stepped up to the edge of the arena. “Let’s not prolong the wait any longer, shall we?” he said with a smile. “Ladies…FIGHT!”
TO BE CONTINUED...
