Silver Island Resort - Chapter 11
THE PENNSYLVANIA CLUB FIGHTER
by Raf
"Ladies and gentlewomen. Tonight is the night so many of you have been waiting for so eagerly, for so long! Tonight you are going to witness the competition between our school's afternoon and night classes, in all of the six disciplines that are currently being taught here. As you know, the students in each class have selected the best representative in each discipline to be matched now against a counterpart of the other team. I am going to announce only the names and ages of each one as they enter the arena, as you have got other personal and technical data about the girls in the fact list distributed to you with the admission ticket, as is our club's usual procedure. There will be about ten minutes between matches, so you can make your bets, after you've made your judgements from the previous scores of the girls and their behaviour today. After a first round of combats, the winners of the matches will face each other in a final royal contest. And now, as the mat seems to be already secured to the floor properly, I am going to call the first two contestants. In the blue corner, Mrs. Anne Johnston, 32 - and, in the red corner, Miss Gabriela Biggles, 35."
Mrs. Johnston was a mother of two and the trainer of the afternoon class in that very exclusive suburban housewives' club. These women had started with aerobics and cookery lessons, to keep both their bodies fit and their husbands attentions after they had reached the old age of 25, but they had soon discovered new and unexpected pleasures and thrills when unarmed combat and fencing classes had been introduced. The proximity of their bodies in wrestling and the two attractive and liberal minded studs who happened to be the fencing masters had provided the housewives with two new interest centers - well, at least one - which, in due time, made of them fitness fanatics. Anne was tough, and rather ruthless in her teaching methods, which made her respected and feared among the afternoon women, who came mostly from the upper crust of the sorority. The so-called night shift was composed of working girls, made stronger and coarser by their unfavourable social and economic environment. As Johnston was an instructress and had such a reputation for toughness, most of the betting of the all-female audience went in her favour.
Biggles was smaller and older than Johnston, but she looked stronger. She also was ugly and looked like a bag of potatoes compared with the curvaceous Anne, in spite of her breasts sagging a little, due to the recent breast-feeding of her two babies.
Without preamble, both women came to the center of the mat and interlocked the fingers of both hands, straining against each other. Anne soon won this test of strength and forced Gabriela's arms outwards. Then, with sudden impetus, she pulled them down and their bodies clashed. Their topless torsos slapped together, the breasts suffering most, smashed between the two jamming bodies. Biggles jumped high, closing her legs around her adversary's waist, thus unbalancing both of them. Gabriela fell backwards, bringing Anne down on top of her, but her stocky body sustained the impact well and she was able to use the momentum of the fall to roll sideways without losing her leg-lock. Then she was on top pressing as hard as she could onto her rival. The married woman freed her hands and used them on the soft breasts of the girl in red, clawing them - an infringement of the rules - but almost no-one could see this, so close were they to each other.
Gabriela gaped in awe and pain and stood up still seated on Anne's thighs, trying to grab the attacking hands. Anne's right passed between the two arms and slapped Gabriela under the jaw, pushing her back so that the older woman toppled backwards and sprawled on the mat. Anne was up in the nick of time and wriggling up the stockier body, to squat on the red-knickered belly and use the old but still effective "school-boy" pin.
Anne jumped up, but not before pressing her right knee into Biggles' stomach and was ready to deal with her rival as soon as she stood up, slightly dizzy. Anne trapped her and grabbed her wrist, then propelled her around using her own weight to give her speed before tripping her and letting her go in a wild run. Gabriela extended her arms, unable to stop, and crashed against the first row of spectators. Several screeches later, she was brutally returned to the mat, for she had "chosen" to fall into the laps of a group of the afternoon women. Anne was waiting for her again and took her with a fore-arm smash to the breasts that resounded throughout the auditorium. Gabriela took it, jerked up and moaned, but this time she kept her position and tried to apply an arm-lock. But her arm slipped on the sweaty arm of her rival and she took two other fore-arm smashes to the bosom that sent her reeling back. Jumping up high, Anne kicked Gabriela's belly as she was going back, her arms wide apart and trying to keep herself upright. The well-timed kick made the older girl crash on her back again, her head cracking on the boards beyond the mat with a dull thud, as Anne finished her somersault and dived knees first into Gabriela's guts. Quickly, the younger woman grabbed the outstretched arms of her pinned rival and pressed them down above her head, pinning the shoulders to the floor boards until the heavier girl cried uncle.
"The winner, Anne Johnston, by two pins."
Anne stood up to a round of applause, proudly throwing back her head. A few bets were settled. Gabriela came to her hands and knees and left in the direction of the dressing-rooms without taking her reddened eyes from the floor.
"For the second match, in the blue corner, Britt Silvermore, 17, versus, in the red corner, Helen Thompson, 40."
The comments among the spectators rose as the two contestants entered the ring as announced. The afternoon women did not like Anne's choice of Silvermore to represent the blue team in boxing. Helen Thompson, of the red team, was an obvious champion, an old veteran who had never lost her ability, stamina or guts. Besides this she had an enormous weight advantage over the bony and lissome Britt, although she was short in comparison to the 1.80 meters (5' 11") of the afternoon girl. Britt was tough, but that was all that was known about her as she had enrolled only quite recently.
As was the custom in the club, the boxing took place on the same mat as the wrestling, with no ropes around the square mat, and the fighters had no more protection than that offered by their differently colored knickers. Britt presented herself in a minuscule G-string, barely covering her pubis, a wisp of auburn hair visible against the pale skin of her left inner thigh. Helen was a contrasting sight, both in size and appearance, attired in old-style cotton knickers. Helen looked at the girl with contempt. How could she not be trembling in fear of her massive woman's muscles? The young girl looked at the three year champion without betraying any emotion, detached, as if she was not the frail looking girl she was and about to enter a bare-knuckle scrap like those of three centuries before.
On the signal, both fighters came forwards, closing their hands tightly on the dollar coins they had been given at the ring side. They threw tentative blows at each other from afar, to study the opponents reactions. When they decided to really start the fight a quick flurry of punches was traded, many being deflected or taken on the arms of both, but several punches connected noisily with ribs, cheeks and backs, some thudding against the softer tissue of breasts and bellies. They kept the attacking pace for a few minutes, then both recoiled in mutual understanding to replenish their lungs. The spectators tried to count the red marks on each woman's body because up till that moment they had struggled toe to toe without respite, the pistoning of the arms being too quick to be fully appreciated by the untrained eye.
Britt started back pedaling under a new surge of blows - perhaps tiring under the heavier woman's punches or finally starting to fear the consequences of losing a fight such as this. Helen pressed in, connected with a powerful jab to the navel, doubling the girl over to clinch with her attacker. Helen jammed her unmercifully with two powerful blows, right and left, to the kidneys. And, as the crowd jeered from the back benches, she stepped back to see the girl falling to her knees - or to finish her with a last punch to the jaw.
Britt was reeling on her feet but instead of going down, she came up in a fit of fury, delivering a left uppercut to the pendulous right boob of her adversary, who was old enough to be her mother. Helen was taken by surprise and screamed out in pain but reacted with a left to the girl's stomach. She managed to parry it with her right arm and shot another left to the heavy and already injured breast. Helen cried out again and stepped back, looking agonized at the small fist held proudly in front of her.
As she stepped back she heard the uproar of the crowd more easily and understood the meaning of her rival's defiant gesture. In pain from the twice attacked breast she had opened her right hand to massage it and had thus lost one of the dollar coins they were holding like the 18th century prize-fighters had done. Britt attacked again, in response to the blue team's supportive shouts of "Silver - more! Silver - more!!" and Helen had to call upon all her experience and ring toughness to hold up against the younger's proud and quick attack to her head and face. When the veteran's guard went up she had to suffer a renewed frenzy of clobbering to her guts. Britt had to take several hammer blows to her own belly and the mid-section and, when they exchanged short distance blows, two punches to her small, firm breasts, almost like a boy's, but she gritted her teeth and kept trading punches as if unaware of her own pain. It was Helen who went off the mat first, under the barrage of blows from the younger fighter and they were both ordered to stop.
Silvermore crouched and grabbed up the dollar coin and, like an experienced exhibitionist, she tucked it inside the front of the diminutive blue G-string. The crowd roared of laughter, shouting the name of the younger girl who was doing so well against the experienced boxer; only a few boos attested the loyalty of the older champion's followers. Thompson came in, head low, her face more red than her body where the small fists had landed. She was hot with fury and shame and decided to finish the doll with a K.O. soon.
Easier thought than done, too. Helen tried to outwit Britt so that she could land one or two of her heavier and more damaging blows, but Britt was constantly on the move, dancing away too quickly in spite of the older woman's stamina and good movement. After ten minutes of the hide and seek Britt's mouth had a trickle of blood coming from it, running down her chin. The pale skin was all red and blue where she had suffered her rival's heavy blows, but she went on jumping and swiveling about, and giving no hint of being tired. The champ was having some difficulty in breathing through a bloody nose, had a deep cut over one eye, and her face and breasts were also very bruised.
They were in the middle of the mat again, dancing around each other. Helen punched very low, hitting the tall girl right on the small triangle of blue silk, but as she was protecting her own breasts she was not able to stop the brutal punch that took her full under the nose. She grabbed the tall girl behind the neck and gave her a second punch to her vulva, but suddenly she heard no more cries from the audience. For the girl, agonized as she was, had smashed her tiny fist to the short woman's temple and downed her for the count.
The heavy champion was sprawled at the girl's feet, jerking and moaning, while the pale skinned Britt fell on her own knees both fists (still closed round the victorious coins) pressing her aching love mound. She had paid a heavy price for defeating the older woman. But at the cries of "Silver - more, Silver - more," she thrust her pain away, took the second dollar now lost by her rival, and at her second try, was up, placing the second coin with the other.
"Well now, if that was not a surprise I don't know what is. Let's hope that two losses in a row, including that of their trainer, Mrs. Thompson, won't affect the night team too much. Now, for the karate-style match, I call Katherine Healling, 23, from the blue team and Indira Goodwear, also 23, from the night team."
It was an active moment for putting on bets, then all subsided to an attentive and expectant silence. These matches were usually very quick and short lived, like those of the competitive men's events. Besides, as the girls of the clubs had insisted on fighting without protective gear or even without the traditional heavy trousers and coat of this sport, the abrasion of chops and punches, even when they didn't land with full force, would quickly sap both girls' stamina.
These were both well muscled girls who fought fiercely and evenly for five minutes. The blonde Katherine swiveled on her left leg and shot a kick to Indira's stomach. She took it full force and stood there on her feet dazed for a moment. The copper-skinned girl grabbed and twisted the ankle which had so injured her, then both young women fell. Indira fell on her back, winded; Katherine crashed forwards, on her face and her naked breasts, unable to break the fall after the unexpected leg twist.
Katherine stood up slowly, clearly unable to support herself on her injured leg; Indira was blinking, unable to see her adversary properly. As there was no Olympic committee or referee to stop them they went at each other despite their injuries. They chopped at each other, parrying the first two attacks with their upper arms, but both failing to defend a third time. Katherine hammered Indira's stomach muscle-shield as the Indian-looking girl smashed her mouth in, breaking two of her front teeth and sending the blonde reeling back and off the mat. Katherine was grabbed by two spectators before she fell on them, while Indira fell in a heap, poleaxed on the exact spot where she had been hit. But the blonde was as knocked out as her darker adversary.
"Will you please take these girls out and revive them a bit? Thank you. Thank you. Now, while the mat is being rolled out of the room, let me tell you of the surprise we have for you. Two of the fencing girls will appear in full garb, with their masks, knee length boots, padded trousers and coats - please, wait! Don't boo me yet...thank you. But instead of using the buttoned rapiers of the normal duel, they will fight with real rapiers [applause] and, for each touch recognized by a referee, they will have to remove one piece of protective clothing, as they choose. The duel will not end at first blood [long applause and cheers]. May I remind you that we are all bound to secrecy about our small games and we are not going to babble it out next Monday at the laundry or the supermarket. Now, for the first of the fencing duels, with buttoned rapiers but topless, to a count of ten touches, Denise Darrieux, 23, for the blue team and Janice Burton, 27, for the red."
Denise Darrieux started well, with two touches to Janice's right arm but, as the buttoned rapier, though hurting, did not pierce the naked skin, Janice could make her come back and pressed Denise almost endlessly, until she fell panting on the floor, already losing 6-2. On the last three points she had lost, she had been impaled through her left breast, thrice in succession, which was most depressing, because it was a killing point in a real duel, but because the successive hits had caused an enormous amount of pain to accumulate.
After the great courage shown by Indira Goodwear, Janice, although nervous, was gaining some confidence again. Indira had paid a heavy price but put one blue girl down and out, and so would she! Denise stood up, crossed her rapier with Janice's, and then limited herself strictly to defence, waiting for the slightly older woman to tire herself, waiting for her to leave an opening for her decisive attack. When it appeared, Denise scored to the stomach but left herself open to a breast hit. She cried out in pain, but knew that she had to fight on as there were no brakes in this type of duel. Janice was full of confidence and at her best dancing and striking left and right, touched DD again, twice, to the throat and on a leg.
They were now 9-3 when Denise, by a mere chance, hit Janice right between the legs. Although buttoned, the tip of the rapier went deep through the flimsy red silk and through the small covering of flesh and fat over the pubic bone. Janice sent her rapier flying through the air. It fell several meters away and she fell twitching spasmodically to the floor, groaning hoarsely. Denise was terribly worried about the effect of her lucky hit, and the women stood up and looked on, mesmerized and in complete silence.
"Well, ladies, it's a pity, but we have got another knock out ending, as Burton is too hurt to continue..."
"No!... Aarrgh... I wish - to fight on!" Janice's voice came in bursts and deeper than usual, as she was trying to suppress another cry of pain and standing up, only to fall again, rubbing herself between the legs.
"I don't think you can, really. I was close enough to see those 3 cm of hard rubber covering the steel point going into you... Now, you can't..."
"I am okay! See? !" Janice made it to her feet with a superhuman effort and held the rapier that was being proffered to her by one of the red team's girls. "I am holding the rapier firmly - I am on my feet - and the touch didn't produce blood. The rules say that I can fight on if I wish to do so, and I certainly do. Although that cow should be reminded that the rules should not have allowed a hit to a clothed area!..."
"There is no point in you calling me names!... I didn't do that on purpose. It was Janice..." the girl was addressing now her audience, deviating her eyes from the white faced and sweating opponent "...who deflected my sword tip down, when..."
"Ladies! You're not supposed to exchange words, only sword thrusts." The announcer thought it better to get between the arguing duelists, as Janice, in something of a temper, was coming closer to the blue girl. "If Burton wants to go on, Denise, take your rapier and fight on."
Denise was riled at Janice; Janice was fuming with rage and infuriated by the pain radiating to all parts of her body from her womanhood. The girl was so hurt that she could barely move, her brain too slow to match the speedy attacks of her rival. Thus, she suffered three more hits, to the breast, to the stomach and to her face, the last being very close to her right eye. A nasty red weal stood on her cheek but there was no blood yet.
"Stop it - Stop! I say, you're not going on any more. Janice, you're not defending yourself. You can't move and you're only endangering yourself. I'll not permit it!"
"Bullshit, milady! You're protecting the blue team, that's what! I want to fight! If that treacherous lady pierces me through an eye, you don't have nothing to do with it. It's my eye, we accepted to duel without goggles, and you don't have the power to stop this duel or any other that is in progress... I demand to fight on!..."
"You're not being reasonable, Janice, you know I was just being compassionate, but you can have it your way. You'll lose anyway. You're just a bundle of nerves. You're not a duelist any more..."
The last remark by the woman announcer riled Janice even more. As the other left the shooting piste, she took the on-guard position and called herself to reason. The weal had opened, as the cheek tumefied and went bluish, and a trickle of blood ran down her face; the other was strong, and all the points she had touched were already showing the bruising caused by the hits; but the one which hurt her most was not visible to the audience. The Darrieux woman was like a pirate, using the sword with great strength but less accuracy, and Janice decided to use that in her favour. When they restarted the match, Janice feinted, clearly opening her lower body to an attack, and as Denise charged - lowering her head and extending her torso and right arm forwards - the girl in red side-stepped and chopped at her exposed neck.
A resounding clapping of hands was heard from the night class girls, who were desperate for something that could return them some confidence and some of the money they had lost in the previous bets. Denise was gaping and dazed on the floor where she had landed breasts first. Janice was upon her in a second, rolled her supine with a foot under her belly button and then she did something quite out of sportswomanship. The winner of the match took off her bikini bottom, smeared in sweat and blood, squatted naked over her astonished adversary and forced the bundled cloth into her gasping mouth. Denise fought back, grabbing Janice's wrists and trying to knee her bush, all the time moving her face left and right and back. Janice sat upon her stomach, protecting her injured labia, and grabbed the other's head by the hair, smashing it on the floorboards several times. Then she pushed the panties into the mouth of the dazed woman. The enraged she-cat was prevented from further mayhem by four women who pulled her off her prey, each holding one limb securely and hoisting her up. But her fingers were so tight on Darrieux's curls that the loser was coming up from the floor held by her hair. Two other women wrestled with the winner's fingers which finally opened and the loser tumbled on her back, screaming and sobbing.
"I hope this will not happen often, so that we do not have to put on more restrictive rules of combat." declared the mistress of ceremonies. "Now, ladies and - I think I will skip the `gentlewomen' for the moment - the club's first death duel, that is, the first to go on until one woman can't stand up. There is no question of ending at first blood, as I said before. Besides, we've seen it already today and on some other occasions, due to natural accidents." She paused. "In the blue corner, Edwina Tinkleton, 20, and in the red corner, Karen O'Connor, 28."
The two women entered the piste simultaneously and were received by a heavy round of applause. The real weapons they were holding in their comparatively small and delicate hands reflected the light on the deadly points and sharp blades. The long period of training was not yet fully apparent, but there was plenty of courage in the women's faces.
In the first engagement, Tinkleton's sword point pierced Karen's left biceps. She cried out and stopped, sat on the floor and took off both boots, already in some trouble from her injured arm. A trickle of blood running down the outside of her padded coat hinted at the veritable river that was running inside it. The cut had been a severe one.
Karen positioned herself on guard, her naked feet now a sharp contrast with her rival's fancy hussar boots. They crossed swords and for several minutes the iron blades tinkled against each other, with alternate phases of defence and attack. The two young women started sweating under the heavy lights of the club's gym, as both were still encased in their heavy, protective clothes. Karen tried gamely to keep her left arm up for balance, but it was giving her hellish pain. Then end thrust successfully at her left side, this time only a flimsy cut. The referee checked there was no blood, peering through the hole in the coat, so the duel went on without the touched girl paying a new penalty. She was touched twice more on the upper body but once again the coat was protection enough. Twelve minutes of dancing around the piste, measuring each other by the distance of the two heavy swords they were holding, in a no respite and hectic battle were taking their toll on the women's stamina. Sweat was pouring profusely from them both, their faces red and shining; Karen's feet were leaving marks on the floor boards and she was also bleeding profusely, as blood was already dripping from her left cuff.
Suddenly, Karen abandoned the classical techniques and, plunging forward to her knees, thrust high with her sword, under Edwina's guard, extending her arm forward and up, at an incredible angle. Edwina took the point full above the navel. She was thrust back with the impetus of the cut (and her terror) to jump back, somersault, roll on the ground about three meters and stand up waving her arms - still holding her sword and thus almost beheading the approaching referee. Her cry of pain and surprise was still reverberating on the women's ears. She wrenched off her mask, crying in pain and rage. From a small gash in her coat, large drops of blood turned into a quickly enlarging stain.
"She's a killer! That woman impaled me on purpose...I'll not fight a mad woman...I thought we were all normal persons here!"
"Calm down, Ed. Let me look at your wound... Take off your coat." The referee helped the girl to remove it. About 2 cm of blade had gone through the fat and muscle tissue - but nothing else was done to help her except the application of a large Band-Aid.
"Now, listen. Do you give up? Your team is losing 1-2, but you are the one to decide if you can go on..."
"Shit. I don't want to die. I want to win for my team, but fencing properly. And with these naked swords she can do me another damage like this - probably worse!"
"Heh, miss? ! You quitting or not?" O'Connor, fists closed against her waist, taunted her rival, jutting her bosom forwards. "Who says what is or what isn't proper sword-fighting to me? I was defied to a death duel, to end only when one us is rendered incapable of fighting on. You're yellow! You get out of here..." A heavy silence fell among the spectators. "Now, if you're woman enough to take me on, you put on your gear minus whatever piece you choose and you attack me as soon as you want! I am directing my sword at your openings, kid, wherever I see one. If I touch you, it's your fault! You dig?"
"I'm not a coward!" Edwina quickly stopped her sobbing, her face much redder now than in the heat of the battle. "But I'm saying that...I thought..."
"You're not here to think, but to fight. Shit! Are you coming at me or not?" While she spoke, O'Connor was pressing Tinkleton away from the centre of the piste and the referee interposed herself between the two young duellists.
Edwina, her face pearled with tears, declared that she would take on that `cocky bitch'. Karen shouted at her that she could not wait `to bloody the yellow virgin'. And amid these friendly remarks, the youngest fighter put on her mask and protective coat, removing her boots as the penalty demanded.
When the two women crossed swords again, they did it with tremendous force and shouting at the tops of their voices. Such was the force of the clash that both swords were wrenched from their grip and went flying to the floor. They recovered them in silence but there was more electricity flowing between them than inside the 100 watt ceiling lamps.
Straight from the re-start, Ed cut Karen's left arm again, as she was using it as a shield. Ed stood back, expecting the break for the referee to check if there was blood from the new cut, but Karen didn't wait for that and in a continuous movement threw her sword tip through Edwina's chest. This time the argument took three full minutes to solve and Anne Johnston had to come into it to convince Edwina to go on. The touch to Karen's arm had not resulted in blood and, as she said, "there was no point in stopping the damned fight on its account". But the riposte had resulted in a cut to Ed's right breast, so she opted to remove her trousers to go on.
Tinkleton started full of shame and rage, attacking wildly, yet forcing Karen to step back time and again, slowly. When her back was almost upon the first row of spectators' chairs, Karen managed to thrust her blade below Ed's armpit, tearing her coat again and, below it, the skin. The referee was careful not to allow the interruption to be longer than was strictly necessary for Edwina to remove her mask; she had to help the duelist do that, as she was not in condition to move both hands easily behind her back to get it off.
Then they engaged in combat again, after some thrusting and parrying from both girls, already slowed down and panting in exertion, Edwina was nicked again, on her right forearm. She delivered an agonized "Ooohh..." and fell on her knees, her left hand pressing her gashed arm. The rapier went reeling on the floor until it collided with the naked feet of her opponent. Ed's hair was soaked with sweat and plastered to her face. The ref looked at the tears bubbling from her eyes and asked her if she was now giving up the fight.
She wiped the tears off her face and left streaks of blood from her smeared left hand behind, and then, proudly facing her opponent with a courage she didn't know she had, she shouted at her: "Not before she kills me!" Her voice was still trembling from her silent crying, though, and even the women on the more distant benches could perceive the state she was in. She was trying to unbutton her coat but the referee had to help her once more, wondering to herself how could she hold the rapier again.
The referee had seen some women fake a courage that they didn't have, but usually they gave up acting before they were reduced to such a beaten state. Now dressed only in a tiny blue slip, she looked more unprotected than ever. In that, even the small triangle of silk was failing her, as with the violent exercise she had been doing, it had rolled itself up between her legs, leaving nothing but a thong-like crisp of tissue on her back and a crisp of silk plastered to her lower labia. When the referee turned to Karen, to pick up the lost sword, she saw Karen putting down her own and starting to unbutton her coat.
"Now, what do we have here? Are you giving up the fight?"
"Certainly not! I'm merely taking off the coat - it's too hot in here..." The pause she made whilst answering the ref betrayed her lie.
"You were the one invoking the rules just now. You know very well that you can't take anything off unless you're paying a penalty!"
"Oh - shut up, will you? ! If I know that, you should know that I can't face her so defenceless while I've got this cuirass on!"
"Either you leave it on, or you and your team are dis- qualified. It's your decision, stubborn lady!"
"You have made such complete and perfect rules, haven't you? No one can say nothing to you about these damn rules... Can't you simply let us alone, woman to woman, to fight as we please?"
"No. And this is final. You fight according to my rules or you get out!"
"O.K. - I'll fight on." Karen picked her rival's sword and walked with large and detached steps to her opponent, giving it to her from a distance, hilt first. Then she turned her back on her and buttoned two of the six buttons on her coat, picked up her rapier, swiveled round and attacked in a rush.
Edwina had been looking at her back with mixed feelings, because she had perceived a loyalty in the other she had not expected to be there. She already had a firm grip on her sword and protected herself from the wild thrusts delivered by Karen. Karen slowed down as unexpectedly as she had started the attack and Edwina, in spite of being very tired, tried a long shot at the bosom. In a split second she knew she was defeated, but to her surprise, Karen's arm went down, leaving her breasts open to the invading blade. Inevitably, she was cut across one of them. In a moment she was out of her trousers, and inviting her opponent to the centre of the piste, totally oblivious of her injured breast: "Ready!"
Edwina accepted the challenge and thrust her sword in a downward smash. It was obvious that Karen's defence was inadequate, both because her sword didn't came to meet the other blade and because she didn't threw herself aside or to the ground, merely going one step back and interposing her left arm between the blade and her breasts, into which it would have carved a fatal wound. Nevertheless, the cut to the arm opened a gash almost to the bone.
The attacker looked on, in as much agony as that that made the injured girl greet her teeth, while struggling ineffectually to divest her coat, blood pouring freely from her cuts. To remove the coat two of her team mates had to cut the sleeve off. Bandages were pressed and tied to the deep cut, but it was plain to all that the bloodletting was too great for the girl to go on on her feet for much longer.
Karen, now covered only by a red tanga, little larger than her foe's body covering, advanced to the centre of the piste. She looked long and deeply into her opponent's eyes before she assumed the on-guard position. The tips of the rapiers kissed each other, and from then on, the spectators looked on, astonished, at a duel so fiercely contested that it looked as though it had just begun and that the two duelists were fresh and not the tired and blood- covered women they were. At each expert thrust and parry that was exchanged, the audience applauded in delirium - some of the women had sore hands from 20 minutes of continuous clapping - while the tireless gals strained against each other, divided by two moving walls of steel. Yet, their bandages were now dark red, unable to prevent the continuous loss of blood.
Karen was to prove herself the better woman in the end. She beat aside Ed's sword, and before the other could defend against a second stroke, or even step back, Karen lunged at her, thrusting right into the exposed belly. At the last moment, she pulled her sword arm back, but 10 cm of her blade came out of Edwina's guts covered in gore. The badly injured girl gasped in horror at the fountain of blood coming from her, opened her legs and stuck the point of her blade in front of her, holding herself up by the hilt as if it was a walking stick, but she was already collapsing when the referee, Karen and another women ran up to support her.
The women doctors present jumped to help quickly, trying to stop the deep hemorrhage and to conduct her to a clinic where an operation room was ready for this kind of emergency. Others were trying to convince Karen to leave the arena that had almost been an arena of death for one of the girls, but she refused until the audience was quiet enough to hear her.
"I'm sorry I've hurt Ed so badly, but I think we were both prepared to take the same. But you, you were the ones who led us to the verge of mutual destruction. You bastards! Ed and me proved that we've got the guts to face a naked sword - and that's much more than any of you would dare, in spite of all your "Blah - blah - blah"! - Wait, don't push me! I'll not go before I say this. I hope Ed will live, but even if she doesn't, I'll never do this again, no matter what the enticement or the accusations for being yellow you may throw at me. I was better than her with a sword, this was evident to her, so she had more guts than me when she decided to go on despite such a disadvantage and well-knowing what was in store for her in the end..."
Now, after the sad ending of the death duel and with both teams with two victories each, there was only the party surprise to come. Most of the women were discussing the previous fight heatedly including the words of the victrix, who had retired to an adjacent room to be mended herself by a woman surgeon. Almost no one was paying attention to the next event.
Yet it had been projected with some care. Each team had visited the other during a training session and had selected the woman that, in their opinion, was the worst fighter, no matter why: age, weight, fitness... The decision of each team had been kept secret until tonight, the true rivalry between the two groups having proved superior to the feminine inability to keep secrets. Now, both chosen women were in the audience, waiting to hear her name being sung by the opposing team girls, calling them to a mockery of a fight. Then either she died on the spot of her shame, for being considered the least worthy of all her companions, or she would step up into the piste - now being cleansed carefully of the blood, sweat and tears that had stained it - and prove herself so good as the women who had fought before.
"Will the red team tell us who is the blue team's black sheep?"
"Flaccid Florence, that's who!" - That was sung in a pleasant tone, yet the unattractive woman didn't take the call and her selection lightly. Past her 40s, being overweight and less pretty than most, she had to sell her charms cheaply as a part-time prostitute, which was bad enough without being reminded of the sour fact. She felt utterly humiliated in front of the others.
"Blues - who's the red champ?"
"Lame Louise, that's who!" - It was the time for a skinny factory worker of 21 to stand up, her left arm in bandages, her left ankle and knee in medical stretching bands. Last week she had been devastated in her first competition at the club, and the others knew it.
"I don't think it's fair of you to have chosen a girl who's still hurt..."
But the speech of the announcer was interrupted by much booing and shouting from both sides, a minority supporting her, against a majority of whistles and catcalls of "yellow!" being thrown at Louise.
Louise stood up, her pale white cheeks now blazing red, her nostrils quivering with emotion, suppressing her tears and already anticipating the renewal of her last week's ordeal at the hands of a much more experienced girl who had thrashed her around for the twelve minutes that she considered the worst of her life. Florence, on the contrary, was suddenly confident, seeing how her weight advantage could be used against this newcomer, worn down, bruised and with almost no self-confidence. Against a strong, even if lighter woman it would have been a totally different matter. The blue team had chosen - unmercifully - someone who was going to be defeated quickly, whatever the choice of her opposition. And due to the kind of fight it was going to be, the loser was perhaps be destroyed mentally as well as physically. There was no doubt that the red team was going to pay dearly for recalling the ugliness of Flo.
Anne Johnston stood up and declared emphatically: "Of course, if the red team gives up, according to the rules of tonight's championship... we'll not have our
pièce de resistance (she pronounced it as a Frenchwoman might have done), the stripping catfight to the buff, so the title reverts to the blue team!"
"Oh, no, Mrs. Johnston. I'll fight..." Louise's thin voice came as a whisper, so low that few of the women actually heard her, but her striding towards the centre of the room was unequivocal as to her determination, and it was enough to put an end to the women's brouhaha.
As both women were in their normal clothes and trinkets, each one was allowed to demand that the other took off five items off her attire, before they started the catfight. This was to ensure some security against dangerous jewellery but also to facilitate the stripping of presumably overdressed ladies.
Florence was the first to announce her choice: "She takes off her boots, her hairpins, her dress, her arm-bandage and her knee-bandage."
This list started another uproar in the room. Helen Thompson came and talked to Louise, her mouth close to the lame wrestler's ear, who nodded her assent, her eyes cast low towards the floor. Helen was helping her younger trainee to remove all the required items, but after she had removed her dress, she drew on her belt again, a large leather one, with a metal buckle in the front of it. Florence immediately objected to this, in her low, guttural voice, but Louise answered that she had already take the five garments she had mentioned. Florence kept looking suspiciously at the belt, but had to satisfy herself with the fact that her prey - because she was eyeing her opponent as such already - would be an easy one. The young gal was not wearing jewelry, which her low pay couldn't afford, nor a bra, which her small, pert breasts didn't need.
It was now Louise's turn: "Florence will take off her rings, her belt, her coat... and..."
"What else?" asked the referee, riled by this hesitation on the part of the night team's girl. She was keeping her eyes low.
"...And the skirt... and... and her undies..."
It was Flo's turn to feel a surge of hot blood rushing to her face. She tried to concentrate on the job of stripping the required items of clothing and not to hear the crowd laughing. The psychological victory in this battle of the war between the two teams had been won. The embarrassment of taking the undies from under a belly-cinch and possibly an underskirt in front of everyone, allied to the fact that that was the last frontier of a woman's modesty, were having their toll on the fat woman. In a fit of rage, Florence extracted the knickers from below her second skirt and threw them with contempt at her adversary.
"Taste them, love. As an appetizer for the real thing I'll give you in just a minute!"
To everyone's surprise, before the announcer had left the centre of the room, the injured girl came across the mat, running and flying through the air, feet first, to penetrate the open arms of the unsuspecting adversary easily, and to deliver two simultaneous kicks, to the stomach and one breast. Both fell, in opposite directions, the 85 kg she-cat rolling like a ball, the skinny mouse everybody expected to see eaten in a minute landing on hands and knees, suppressing a cry but coming quickly against her rival and kicking her again before she had made it to her knees. Flo fell supine under the impact of the naked foot with her jaw and was immediately mounted by her opponent. The spitfire attack she was not expecting ripped of the front link between the two large bra cups, before the heavy woman bridged and toppled her attacker sideways. Florence tried to roll onto the frail looking girl, but Louise was no longer there and only her lame leg was almost reached by Flo, while Louise got up again and back-pedaled away from the enraged heavyweight. As she stood up her pair of jittering melon-like breasts fell to her waist, the ripped bra coming completely apart and leaving the upper body completely vulnerable.
Now, the she-cat was really wanting to catch the mouse in her mouth. Louise managed to keep away from her rival for some time but she was not tiring as fast as the lighter girl needed. And inevitably the cat and mouse game came to an end, among cheers and boos from the spectators. Louise failed to dash sideways and the huge arms grabbed her and pulled her in a tight hug that could be properly described as a bearhug from the moment Louise's bones started creaking. She could not breath, and being 30kg or more lighter, and with her right arm caught between their bodies, the lame girl was left totally at the (un)mercy of the other fighter. Only her left arm was dangling free of constricting arms twice the size of her own thighs. In desperation, Louise used her claws on the eyes of her tormentrix who bellowed out in terror, letting the mouse out of her mouth.
Louise showed she had brains, and before tumbling out of range she shot up her right leg aiming at the other's lower guts. The giantess groaned but did not move, prepared to take Louise's next attack. The lighter girl closed her right hand around Flo's flaccid left breast and squeezed hard, whereupon the giantess replied with such a punch to the lighter girl's solar plexus that she doubled over and fell to her knees, her head resting against the massive thighs of her powerful foe.
Florence smiled to the crowd, grabbed the small girl's curls in her left hand, pulled her face up, and punched her viciously in the right eye, cutting her with her knuckles. The younger woman winced and fell sprawling on the floor at her rival's feet, jerking and spreading her legs, trying ineffectually to stand up or to push herself further back.
"What are you doing? If this is an invitation I'll only accept it if I like what you have between your legs..."
Some of the blue ladies gently counselled Florence to muss her up good and the heavyweight crouched between the girl's legs easily ripping the knickers of the dizzy fighter. She smelled them, and grimaced in disgust to the audience, who fell off their seats laughing. Flo felt avenged, as she had stripped the other fighter raw, thus avenging her honour and gaining a victory for her team.
As Florence approached the referee to receive her prize, she saw many of the spectators transferring their attention from her to the fallen girl. She was on all fours, and getting up, her eye swollen and her face bruised.
"Come on, fat cow! You've not beaten me yet. See? I'm still wearing my anklet! And my belt..."
Cheers, catcalls, boos and applause came confusedly from the audience. Although this was a great show of sportswomanship - and she was right according to the rules - Louise was preventing the collection of many bets.
"Oh yeah? I'm gonna fix you for good, so you don't ever come into this or any other ring!"
Flo punched at Louise's bosom, but the girl sidestepped and applied a good neck-hold on her - but she proved too light and fragile to achieve her aim of bringing her adversary down. Instead, the heavy woman walked around carrying the other woman at her side, elbowing her to ribs and stomach. Louise was naked but for her anklet and belt, the black triangle of hair between her legs contrasting with the paleness of her skin. Florence still had on her shoes, underskirt, belly-cinch and wrist-watch. It was clear to all that the lighter wrestler had neither the strength nor the time to strip the other completely before Florence could take her anklet off and the leather belt.
Confident of victory, Flo got careless and forgot the size and nature of the metal buckle of her adversary's belt. She remembered it the hard way when her left cheek was right on it and her face was pressed against it, her neck being still imprisoned by the titanic effort of the lighter girl. She was surprised when she felt the large gouts of blood sliding down her face, and her rage gave her the strength needed to break the hold. She renewed the bearhug, Louise trying to duplicate the move but her arms were not long enough to reach round the huge mature woman. The girl lost the air from her lungs and stood dizzy and defenceless in the arms of her foe. Flaccid Flo waited a few moments then dropped her hands and unbuckled the belt. Louise felt herself go to the floor again.
The winner sidestepped over the left leg of her fallen rival, picked it up and started pulling the anklet off, twisting the injured limb between her hands. The pain sharpened Louises's senses, making her cry and sob, "Stop! Please stop! Let me go. Aaarrgh!..."
Florence went on with her job but the untying of the anklet was proving difficult because Louise, resting her shoulders and back on the floor, had almost the rest of her frail body vertical, left leg held between the rival's arms and the right leg kicking feebly at Flaccid Florence's fat stomach.
Then, by accident or vicious design, the pale foot found its way between the open thighs of the heavyweight, making her hesitate in her job of untying the long bandage. Despite being used to opening her secret box to men of all sizes, Flo now tried to close her legs when she felt a toenail scratching her and the toes parting her labia. From the sudden rigidity of the standing woman, and by the angle of the right leg of the upended one, many of the women understood what was going on beneath the underskirt. The word passed quickly through the audience and the heat went up again.
For a minute they worked on each other, one determined to unwind the anklet, the other to prevent that, inflicting what distress she could from her handicapped position. Not for a moment did either of them think of changing tactics, for thinking is the privilege of rational human beings, and they had come to the brink of savagery - stubbornly aiming at what was at hand... or foot.
Both women cried out loudly as Florence disengaged, holding the anklet in her hands. Louise's legs fell hard to the floor; Flo also fell, on her rump, jerking on the ground, pressing her hands to her mound and adding tears to the drops of blood from her raked face. Louise tried to stand up, but failed, unable to stand on her damaged leg.
"We women are prepared to suffer a little for the pleasure of attaining victory, are we not, Florence?"
"A little? I shall be off work for two or three weeks because of what this slut did to me," sobbed Florence, painfully getting up.
"Wait until I'm able to stand on my two legs and I'll show you who is the slut, you... you... Flaccid Florence!" mumbled Louise, between the arms of those helping her out of the ring.
"Louise! You knew this fight wouldn't end by a submission but by the complete nakedness of one of you. And you taunted her, remember? You learned today that you can only do that when you're prepared to back up your words."
Janice and Karen helped Lame Louise out of the room. They told her they could still win, although it would not be easy, and if they did, they would help her out of her financial problems in the factory with the prize money, because Louise was now rendered unable to work where she had to stand eight hours a day on a factory line.
"Now - a battle royal between the survivors. Only the last woman standing receives the prize money. There are no teams now! Let the best five women stand for our final ovation!"
Anne Johnston and Britt Silvermore, both in their blue knickers, came quickly to the centre of the mat, completely at ease after a long rest. Britt's body was marked with bruises, dark spots where her adversary had landed telling blows but looked as powerful as ever. Flaccid Florence was dressed in a tight mini, unable to stand the contact of a slip in her aching lower labia, a thin pearl of blood running down the inside of her massive thigh. She was walking with her feet apart, her lips pressed tight to suppress her moans.
Janice Burton also had several marks on her body and she knew what being down meant. She had changed her bloodied slip for a yellow tanga; adhesive tape was holding a bandage over her own mound where she had been pierced by the rapier and several quickly stitched cuts were covered by sticking plaster. Her companion, Karen O'Connor, was an even worse mess. A few strips of skin appeared between adhesive tape and bandages, and even those showed blood stains.
Although as stated by the referee any girl could attack any of the others, it was clear that the blues intended acting as a three-aside team to dispose of the two reds before turning against each other. Anne took Janice and Britt and Florence ganged upon the more battered Karen to dispose of her quickly.
Britt didn't wait for Florence to attack at the same time as she did, and engaged Karen in boxing, but Karen met her with a savate kick to the guts, followed by a karate chop to the neck which downed her. Florence then changed her loyalties, and seeing that Janice had her back to her decided to attack her instead of the mean-looking Karen.
While Janice defended against the powerful and experienced Anne, Flaccid Florence passed her hands behind her back successfully imprisoning her in a strong headlock. This left the girl defenceless, her front exposed to Anne's hectic attack, a succession of punches and knee blows to head, breasts and guts, until Janice fainted. Florence then let her fall like a sack of potatoes and turned round.
Britt was coming up from the floor a second time to face terrific knee blows to the head (which had already dazed her) and to her breasts, which dangled in the direction of the boards while she was still on all fours. Before she could rise she was crippled by a karate chop behind the right ear, and flopped down again, finally kayoed.
Karen looked at the bloodied face of her friend in awe, as she lay in a heap on the floor. The two blue girls came in in a joint attack and Karen ran away from them. They ran after her confidently, one calling her "Yellow", the other "Coward" and they were surprised no end when she turned on them, flying through the air legs wide apart in a double kick. Anne was the luckier of the two and took hers on the shoulder. Florence tried to pull her face away, but the heel of the foot broke her nose and she fell writhing and crying dementedly, a river of blood spurting from her nostrils. Several women rushed forward and pulled her out of the ring, rushing her to hospital. Now, she would be off work for many more weeks than she had expected, and her price would be lower as her broken nose would certainly not add to her beauty.
Anne jumped on Karen before she could stand up again and was straddling her while she bridged, trying to dislodge the woman on top of her. Anne jumped and landed with her buttocks on the girl's stomach at the same time that she punched her to the injured breasts. The floored girl took that with grimace of pain while she freed her arms and grabbed Anne's hair, pulling her sideways by it until she tumbled off her belly, and responded in kind.
This led to a real catfight, both women tugging each other's hair while their faces came close together and they were spitting and biting at each other's cheeks and lips - and the throat. Anne won this in-fighting and stepped back far enough to deliver a powerful head butt to Karen's forehead. Karen went limp and Anne stood up before the cheering crowd.
Anne's arms went up to acknowledge her ovation a moment too soon. From the floor, Karen pulled at her ankle and Anne lost her stance, crashing down on Karen's body. The downed girl was waiting for her and punched her between the legs. Anne felt the terrific impact of the knuckles against her vulva, and screamed, but held her position and retaliated with a hammer bow of her own on the top of Karen's head. For a minute they stood frozen in tableau. Anne was fully aware of what was happening to her, but could not move away from her enemy, because she couldn't walk. She stood on her wobbly legs, arms supporting her on Karen's shoulders. Karen was in a comparatively better position. She didn't feel the pain surging up her body from different blows and gashes. For her the world had stopped when an iron fist had blown all the fuses in her head. She was dizzy, no, groggy, and the only reason she didn't fall on her back was that she was resting her head on the inside of Anne's right thigh, and she was sitting on the floor.
There was a moment of silence, then the two groups of women started calling the names of their respective champions, trying to bring them back into action. Anne was the first. She pulled her right arm up slowly, that is, as quickly as she was able to, and brought it down again on Karen's head, aiming at the defenceless centre of the mass of hair. She failed miserably, and her punch raked the left ear producing a new sharp pain that helped to revive the other girl's feelings. Bad as they were, those feelings changed into a closed left fist that went up duplicating the other punch with the right; though her power was much reduced the point of impact was almost as precise as before and this time Anne groaned and tumbled back like an abandoned rag doll. Karen fell in the opposite direction.
As there was no time limit to this fight everyone had to wait to see who would be the first woman to stand and win the evening's trophy, but it was not for several minutes afterwards that the two started to move their limbs in an uncontrolled, unco-ordinated way. Anne was the first to come to all fours, after staying down rubbing and nursing herself for a moment, and she was much cheered by those who had bets on her, and by the blue team. Karen made three last attempts to rise and was lying on her left side pushing her body up very slowly with her back to Anne; those women facing her could see she was still groggy and that she didn't know here she was or why. Two blue girls tried to throw water on her but were grabbed by other spectators before they had done so.
Anne was up and coming at Karen's back, walking unsteadily, but already pulling her fisted hands up. The roar of the crowd was answered by another effort from Karen to stand up, which left her seated on the floor, and by a larger step from Anne who then crashed on her knees behind her adversary.
Anne knew that she was in no condition to fight on her feet, not even to stay on them; so, sensibly in this savage fight to exhaustion, she simply tried to crawl over to and mount the other woman. She seemed to be invited to do so, for, as soon as her hands touched Karen's back, the woman fell sideways again allowing Anne to position herself on top of her. Karen had been moving her head just a little and now, their bodies espousing each other and face to face, both women started using their hands against each other, each punch delivered so feebly as to seem like a caress. But even if they had been intended as caresses, on such damaged bodies they were intolerable! The two she-cats had fought and suffered, almost in silence, several blows which had sapped their energy and will to fight, but now they were unable to stop a continuous sobbing and moaning which came from deep within them - but this didn't stop the movement of their elbows or the pistoning of their closed fists in and out of breasts, ribs and every other part of the body within their range. They kept exchanging blows for several minutes, and ineffective as they seemed, their meaning was the same as those delivered at the start of the fight; they were meant to show the supremacy of one of the contenders. The crowd was delighted with this seemingly unending fight.
Unexpectedly, Karen's head rose from the floor where it had been resting and cracked against Anne's forehead with a dull thud. Anne stood transfixed and Karen's head fell back again, but now only her hands were at work raking at Anne's body, clawing at her midriff between their entangled bodies. Karen rolled sideways, with Anne still on top of her until the other's body rolled limply away from her. The two were motionless again. The referee approached them and inspected them; both were breathing heavily, and completely exhausted. Anne's breasts now showed the marks of Karen's claws, but Karen's sword-cuts had re-opened and her bandages were now crimson instead of white. Her agony could be only guessed at.
Anne was again the first to move. Her hands came to her breasts and she massaged them for a while before sitting and looking at her rival, just alongside her. It would be enough to roll over onto her left side and she would be on top of her again; Anne brought her right leg up to cross over Karen's legs, but when her lower body was already over the downed woman she pulled her right knee up, in a a precise move, though no-one could say if it was a reflex or a planned one. Karen's knee and Anne's mons veneris crashed together and as Anne was still too sensitive down there to take that same pain again she slumped back groaning hoarsely and nursing herself.
For several minutes they stood like that, now one then the other trying to climb onto the other, stubbornly, only to be pushed, kneed, or elbowed back into a lying position. The crowd had never seen such endurance and determination or such a well-matched pair of fighters. Their surprise was more on account of Karen than of Anne, who everybody had acknowledged as the better woman in the club - up till today.
This time it was Karen who tried to jump on Anne and restart punching. But Anne was a little recovered from moments before and she delivered what seemed to be a forearm smash to the throat. Karen fell on her back soundlessly.
Anne moved with a determination that she had been lacking in her previous attempts, placed herself between Karen's spread-eagled legs, threw her hands to the thong that kept the tanga in place and ripped it off, then attacked Karen's mound and breasts, adding to the frightful wounds received earlier. Several women started shouting and bawling for someone to stop her, and one blue girl and three reds stood up and moved forward, but before they walked the distance that separated them from the ring centre, Anne's claws had already ripped off the bandages and she was gouging Karen's wounds. Karen jerked spasmodically and sat on her rump when she suffered this attack; the maddening pain electrified her and supporting herself with her left arm on the floor she threw a punch from behind the shoulder to Anne's left eye. Even so, with her eye immediately starting to close, Anne's fingers probed the sensitive labia again, looking for revenge for what she had suffered, to the point of rendering her incapable of winning the match conclusively, as she had always hoped. And as the four women were about to grab her she was propelled back by a second hard punch to her face which opened two fountains of blood from her nostrils.
Anne was jerking on the floor. The nude Karen was slowly coming to all fours and pressing her tanga delicately against her pubic mound. The referee placed herself between the suffering women and asked first Karen, then Anne if they wished to give up. They both snorted "No!" and she ordered the other women out of the ring.
"Both contestants are still alive and willing to fight. All knew that this would be a `no time limit' and a `no holds barred' fight to a finish so we must let them go on and finish it by themselves!"
There was discussion and shoves and pushes, but the ref imposed her discipline in the end. The crowd was making a maddening noise, booing and harassing the referee, but finally the cheering prevailed.
Anne was down again on hands and knees but Karen was already up. As Anne was crawling towards her she turned her back on her, then swiveled and delivered an almost perfect karate kick to the jaw, thoroughly dislocating it. Anne fell supine and motionless at last. Karen was walking like a drunken sailor in a hurricane moving about the decks without a lifeline.
The ref grabbed her right arm shot it up before the riotous audience: "Karen, from the red team, our new champion..."
The referee felt the heaviness of the naked woman falling against her. Karen had passed out too, the referee seized her in order to hold her up until the girls of red team, took her by each limb and carried her to the dressing rooms. The crowd was so excited that even the majority who had lost their bets were now cheering Karen and shouting out her name. Anne was not suffering by it as she was still out cold, forgotten on the sorrowful floorboards of another dressing room.
* * * * * * * *
"My, no!! What would I have to do, then? That's the part I like best in my job, besides testing the newcomers. No... It's far more serious than that. I'm a member of this international combat club, you see. Each member presents a lady fighter to be pitted there against others, this being part of a show, to provide entertainment as well as being a basis for heavy betting - and for this, the fights are not faked or their ending arranged in any way. Everybody there wants the real thing, and members - as well as the fighting champions - can live out their most secret and savage fantasies, of the kind one can't find in the most refined of the New York clubs... Do you remember when I was off the scene for two months? That's when I lost a fight there against a 2 meter tall bitch, with rubber truncheons this size (she was showing the length of her arm, pointing with her long carmine fingernails, at the end of a hand as large and strong as a man's)... But I'm fed up of paying the higher fees just because I never introduced a champion to the club - so I'm prepared to contract you to battle there for me. You must be prepared to enter any kind of fight, unarmed combat, sticks, blades... and it's always anything goes! I saw your guts when you fenced with Edwina and I know that you have the guts for this but... you must put aside the kind of chivalry you showed in there - unless you want to be killed or maimed for life."
"How much will I be paid ?"
"I know that the company in which you're working will be out of business in two months... Darling! What's so surprising about it? (Karen was sitting painfully, wide eyes rivetted on the face of the black woman.) I know their bankers and my house is - well, has been - under the patronage of all the administrators of your company. They spend so much energy and dough in my rest house that very little is left to invest in new machinery! But as I was saying, I'll pay you $1200 a month, plus $500 per fight and a bonus of three times that if you win. If you get crippled or suffer a fatal accident while working for me, your little girl will receive the $1200 as an allowance until she's 21, plus the pay for university studies - and if she does not use that money well, she can earn money afterwards working in any one of my houses. After all, our money is to be spent among us girls, eh?"
"For that kind of money, you may have all me, Johnson!"
"Call me
Sugar, Honey!" said the black Amazon as she pressed her hot lips on Karen's, hugging her close to seal their contract for Silver Island.
© Raf 1/1988
