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AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story picks up from No Holds Barred in Boston, which was based on the idea/request of a fan who wishes to remain nameless. We rejoin the action in a secluded retreat in Colorado, shortly before Trish gets back in the ring with Victoria.
Mickie had to go back to the master bedroom to get the key for the handcuffs. While she was at it she took opportunity to “prepare” for the fun ahead. Then, wearing a robe over her harness, she returned to Erin’s room.
‘What kept you?’ the reporter said snappily. Then, as she noticed the bulge in Mickie’s gown, ‘I do not believe it. You left me at the mercy of liver-eating ghosts to get that toy!’
‘You’ll be thanking me for that toy before the night’s out.’ Leaving one end of the padded cuffs on Erin for the time being, Mickie took the other off the bedhead and paused. ‘How’s your wrist?’
‘Not too bad.’ The reporter’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘It hasn’t bruised. My arm’s just a bit stiff but don’t worry; I’ll still find plenty to sue you for.’
‘It’s being attached to something inanimate that causes stiffness.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you know all about that.’
‘I do, actually.’ So saying, Mickie fastened the freed cuff to her own wrist. ‘There,’ she said with a grin, ‘and I promise I won’t be inanimate.’
‘I bet you won’t.’ Erin laughed shortly. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here. I heard strange noises while I was waiting for you.’
As she spoke there was a muffled rap, away to their left. It came from outside, probably a twig or something similar, blown against the window. But it still startled the elfin reporter.
‘It’s him isn’t it?’ She stared fearfully in the direction of the sudden sound. ‘He’s come looking for his squaw.’
A shiver ran through Mickie. Her ghost story hadn’t been made up (not entirely), but she hadn’t for a second believed it . . .
Not until now.
Erin was more than convinced. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she repeated, ‘locking the door behind us.’
Doing her best to seem nonchalant, Mickie led the tiny woman out of the room. And she did lock the door behind them, telling herself she was just keeping up the pretence as she did so.
It’s for Erin, she thought, she’ll want “comforting” all night at this rate.
And so might I!
Then, as they crossed the main lounge towards the master bedroom, a woman’s loud voice rang out.
‘And now,’ it said, ‘in a late change to the programme . . .’
It was Mickie’s turn to be startled by a sudden sound, even though she knew she’d left the TV playing away to itself.
‘We have a special treat for you,’ the voice continued. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, replacing the scheduled opponent, here she is! The lady who needs no introduction . . .’
Fanfare for the Common Man resounded and Erin tugged her in sight of the screen just in time to see the WWE audience go berserk. And didn’t they do it well! They made the reaction to a Super Bowl touchdown seem like polite applause for a no-hoper’s scraped par at Augusta.
On-screen Trish emerged and strutted down the walkway, smiling and waving.
‘There goes my exclusive,’ said Erin.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Mickie, laughing, ‘there’s still a story in it for you.’
‘Sorry, I can’t see one myself.’
‘Erin, you’re now one of the few people who know this; tonight’s fight is for real.’
The second reverse posting brought it home to Victoria. She really could lose her title, right here and now. She needed to step up a gear.
But how could she? She and Trish knew each other’s moves inside out. They’d been going at each other non-stop for ages. And, as if that wasn’t exhausting enough, they’d both been coming up with weird and wonderful combinations; she was as spent mentally as she was physically.
That’s my belt, she reminded herself, and I’m keeping it!
Alert to the danger of being trapped in the corner, she raised her hands boxing-style and forced herself to stay upright. Trish stayed where she was, dominating the middle of the ring, her mouth working ten to the dozen. Fuck only knew what she was yelling about. Victoria could hardly hear herself think, never mind hear that bitch’s latest insults.
Even so, she snarled back a few insults of her own; insults and a statement of fact.
‘I’m bigger, stronger and tougher. You’ll never beat me!’
She made a lunge as she snarled but Trish was too quick. She dodged under the flying elbow, grabbed Victoria’s hair and pulled, bringing her down hard on her tailbone. Victoria automatically rolled, refusing herself the right to feel pain, getting out of range before scurrying upright.
Trish was there, though, hitting her with a palm strike that made her ears ring. Knowing she had to respond, Victoria threw herself back onto the ropes and launched into what was meant to be a leaping clothesline. Trish deftly avoided it and then added insult to injury with a knee drop.
‘No,’ Victoria gasped, somehow staggering to her feet. ‘I will not illegal bahis lose. I fucking will not!’
Brave words but Trish’s eyes told her a different truth. The Canuck bitch had this won and she knew it.
‘So run it by me again,’ said Erin, her gaze still fixed on the TV.
‘You get the world exclusive,’ Mickie explained. ‘Everyone else gets to write first, saying what a great fight it was. Then on Monday you get the headline. It wasn’t only a great fight, it was a real fight. I’m sure you can come up with something appropriate.’
‘”WWE Break Habit of a Lifetime”,’ said Erin wryly. ‘Or maybe “Divas Can Do It After All”.’
‘Come on Erin, you can do better than that.’
‘How do I know you’re not stringing me along?’
‘You saw Victoria before they started. She’s a good actress, but not that good. And you’ve seen the fight. They’ve been at each other’s throats for fifteen minutes. Don’t tell me you can’t see it’s for real.’
‘It looks the same as always to me.’
‘Trust me, Erin, this is as genuine as it gets. I’m wincing at some of this.’
‘Do I get a quote? Before I go to press, I mean.’
‘I’ll get you the Commissioner tomorrow. And I’m sure Trish will endorse everything he says.’
‘If she wins,’ said Erin.
‘She will. And it’s going to happen anytime now.’
Still cuffed together, the two of them had been sitting on a couch. Erin couldn’t see how, exactly, but the action on-screen must have intensified because Mickie was suddenly on her feet. Being a lot smaller, Erin was up with her; she had no choice in the matter.
‘What’s happening, what’s happening?’ she cried, swept along on Mickie’s wave of enthusiasm if lacking her wrestler’s professional eye.
‘This is!’ yelled Mickie.
On screen Trish spun and kicked . . . and connected.
Then they were hugging each other and leaping up and down.
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ they shrieked. ‘Yes, yes, yes!!’
Victoria reckoned she was only knocked out for ten seconds, if that. Ten seconds but she made sure she stayed down a lot longer, to avoid as much as she could of the aftermath.
That’s it, she thought, on her back on the canvas, staring up at the roof and letting the noise roll over her. The title’s been and gone, my career’s out with the trash.
‘Trish, Trish, Trish!’ the audience roared. ‘Trish, Trish, Trish!’
Victoria was surprised how mellow she felt. To say she’d lost everything she was at ease. Maybe she was concussed. Or maybe it was because she deserved to lose everything. She couldn’t find it in herself to be mad, not even at Trish.
A couple of medics were attending to her. And how embarrassing was that! So too was the fact she’d been caught by the same trick kick as in Calgary. It was hard to decide which indignity was worse.
She glimpsed movement out of the corner of her eye. It was Trish, completing her tour of all four corners of the ring. Trish was waving two objects in the air, orchestrating the crowd.
‘Trish, Trish, Trish!’ they roared. ‘Trish, Trish, Trish!’
And still Victoria couldn’t find it in her to be angry. Even the sight of her coveted belt in one of her rival’s hands and her bra in the other couldn’t sway her.
Tits out and topless, she thought. Then, almost sniggering, Can’t blame her; it serves me right.
‘Come on,’ said one of the medics, ‘Let’s get you in the privacy of your dressing room.’
Victoria let them lift her to her feet, batting away an attempt to cover her dignity with a towel.
‘This is my last claim to fame,’ she said. ‘I have to at least try to leave ’em wanting more.’
Then music filled the arena, barely audible at first over the baying mob. It was Tina Turner, not Queen, but the message wasn’t dissimilar.
Deciding she wanted the towel after all, she let herself be bundled out of there while every man and his dog assured Trish she was Simply the Best.
‘No,’ said Erin, ‘leave them on.’
Mickie chuckled. She had wondered if her unexpected scoop and a bottle or so of wine might have changed Erin’s sleeping plans. But that was apparently not the case. She had shown no inclination to go back in Liver-Eating Bill’s haunted room and now seemed up for the sex.
‘I’m only unfastening my end,’ she said, ‘and only for long enough to take off my robe.’
‘Don’t,’ Erin persisted, ‘fuck me like this: cuffed together and fully clothed.’
Now Mickie’s chuckle was a little breathless. And it wasn’t the time to ask for a definition of “fully clothed”. She was wearing a knee-length dressing gown, a harness and nothing else. Erin was in bra, panties and a slightly shorter gown.
But the lady wants fucking; who am I to argue definitions?
Although Mickie wasn’t so tall she towered over the petite reporter. Smiling down into her eyes, she put a finger under her chin, gently elevating it, positioning her face for a kiss.
‘Yes,’ Erin sighed.
Mickie brought their mouths together as tenderly as she could. Erin illegal bahis siteleri accepted the embrace, still maintaining eye contact for a moment before slamming shut her lids and kissing back ferociously.
Okay, if that’s how she wants it . . .
Mickie’s right hand was cuffed to Erin’s left. She used her left to grab her pert little bum and pull their lower bodies together. Erin had somehow got her right between their upper bodies and was squeezing Mickie’s tits.
And the petite woman was still kissing big-time. So much for a gentle, tender smooch! She was thrusting her tongue in and out with serious intent.
Not to be outdone, Mickie let go of Erin’s ass and felt elsewhere. The reporter’s panties didn’t cover much of her. In fact they were agreeably skimpy and noticeably wet.
Erin made encouraging noises through her nose as Mickie’s fingers pushed damp cotton aside and sank softly into her. She climaxed almost immediately.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said, gripping the strap-on. ‘Get this in me this minute.’
Mickie hadn’t particularly considered the gymnastics required for two handcuffed girls to fuck. She was a good improviser though, and so was Erin. Somehow they got onto the bed without hurting each other and with the diva on top. Holding their cuffed hands together on the mattress, Mickie balanced her weight on her left elbow. Erin, meanwhile, used her right hand to steer the business end of the dildo past suddenly sodden panties and inside her pussy.
It was relatively straightforward from there. Well, straightforward apart from Erin being insatiable and their cuffed limbs occasionally cramping.
‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,’ Erin cried. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’
The Sioux had been ringside throughout the bout, acting as Trish’s valet for the very first time. It was an experience she would never forget. And she’d reckoned audiences were rowdy when she was in there, fighting it out! Tonight had been another universe altogether!!
The new valet had been prepared to leap to her charge’s rescue if necessary, but the need never arose. Trish had everything under control from the off. Apart from roaring encouragement all she had had to do was collect the belt while Trish ceremoniously tore off Vic’s sports bra. By the time she got in the ring the reinstated champion was up on the ropes, swirling the bra and yelling God only knew what.
The Sioux spared the floored woman a single glance. Vic didn’t seem bothered that the world had just crashed down round her ears. Deciding it wasn’t the moment to feel sympathy, she smacked Trish on the ass to get her attention. Seeing the belt in her hands Trish hopped off her ropes and kissed her passionately.
Right there on live television, with all the world watching!!
Unable to stop grinning, The Sioux followed Trish from corner to corner. Trish was, she thought, the all-conquering gladiator; the arena was her packed Colosseum. All that was missing was a latter-day emperor, ready to give a verdict with his thumb.
She glanced at Vic again. Vic was being led away by medics and still didn’t seem to care about her fate.
The short trip backstage was pandemonium. Although there were security officers everywhere the walkway was jammed. Hundreds of people had left their seats, wanting to touch Trish as she passed. It was funny, really. She’d been a villain in the past but not anymore; tonight she had become the fans’ greatest ever sweetheart.
The Sioux loyally stuck as close as she could as a wedge of security officers eased them through the masses, getting a flurry of congratulatory pats in the process . . . and getting her ass pinched a couple of times.
‘Trish, Trish, Trish!’ everybody roared. ‘Trish, Trish, Trish!’
And “Better than all the rest” Tina raunchily agreed.
Even though there were far too many hangers-on in it, Trish’s dressing room was an oasis of calm by comparison. Someone thrust loaded champagne glasses at them before they were in through the door and accredited reporters immediately launched into a barrage of questions.
‘Not yet,’ a voice said authoritatively.
The Sioux laughed; it was Spenser, as humourless and pompous as ever. But she had to give him one thing: he could clear a room faster than a SWAT team. In less than a minute there were only four of them left: herself and Trish; the Commissioner and Spenser.
‘Thank you for winning so convincingly,’ the Commissioner began. ‘It makes concluding business with Victoria much easier.’
Despite her earlier resolve The Sioux felt sympathy after all. The sting of tears came to her eyes. Witch or no witch, Vic did have her good points. But she was obviously on her way out.
‘As you have told me more than once,’ the Commissioner went on, ‘I control WWE, not Victoria. It is now time for me to show that authority; unless you have anything to say in her defence, that is.’
‘Me?’ Trish tapped her chest in amazement. ‘You think I might want to defend Victoria!’
Fucking Erin canlı bahis siteleri was class entertainment. The slick naked bits of their “fully clothed” bodies worked well together. And they had found a complementary rhythm almost at once.
Slap, slap, slap went their groins.
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ went Erin.
Yes, yes, yes, Mickie silently agreed.
Erin squealed as she climaxed again. ‘More, more, more,’ she bawled.
Mickie decided their rhythm was better than just complementary; it was out of this world.
If it ain’t broke don’t fix it, she thought.
So she didn’t even try. Instead she used that incredible staying power of hers and kept it going for a long, long time. Slap, slap, slapping their groins together, making Erin cum and cum.
Finally, eons later, the reporter wanted a go on top.
‘Don’t bother with the keys,’ she said. ‘You can still play the man for now.’
Switching positions while still cuffed was not easy. It was, however, great fun and they eventually managed to do the deed.
And wasn’t Erin wet! Mickie had heard all the noises while they’d been fucking but was surprised when her entire lower body was unceremoniously flooded.
‘Get in me,’ said Erin, re-impaling herself.
‘That feels good,’ Mickie replied as the dildo sank in up to the hilt.
She wasn’t lying. It felt terrific. So did the girl’s tits. She was using the cuffs to bring Mickie’s hand into play up there. Ever-obliging, Mickie brought her free hand into play too.
Moaning softly, Erin began to grind, using a new rhythm based on slow and deep. Mickie liked it a lot. Her end of the strap-on was making much more meaningful contact and she was building up straightaway. She came within five minutes and once she’d started she simply couldn’t stop.
‘More, more, more,’ she gasped.
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ Erin agreed.
Victoria couldn’t remember getting showered and changed. Someone must have helped her with it but she hadn’t a clue who. And there were plenty of possibilities; her dressing room was packed with people of both sexes. Maybe they’d all watched her.
As if she cared.
She was currently sitting on a bench while yet more medics fussed round her. One of them (a guy who claimed he was a qualified doctor) wanted her to tell him how many fingers he was holding up. She laughed at that. Years and years of training and he needed to know if she could count to five!
‘Eighteen,’ she said. ‘No, let me try again. Is it three?’
‘Ha, ha, you are very funny. How many are there this time?’
The atmosphere in Victoria’s dressing room was subdued but there sounded to be a party going on out in the corridor.
‘Is it six?’ she hazarded, knowing full well it was two.
‘Oho,’ said the doctor, ‘I think these are for you.’
It was the Commissioner with Spenser and another guy who looked even more of an asshole.
The hit team, Victoria thought sadly, oh well, success was good while it lasted.
The room emptied as if by magic.
‘You know Spenser already,’ the Commissioner began, ‘this is Mr Abrahams. He’s come along as an independent consultant.’
‘I get the picture,’ said Victoria. ‘Don’t worry; I’ll go quietly.’
‘Talking about going quietly . . .’ The Commissioner ushered his two companions out of the room. ‘Nobody will get in with them on the door.’ He grinned. ‘Spenser will bite their ankles before letting them past.’
Victoria suddenly couldn’t look at the head of WWE. She was filled with shame and sadness. Her heart would be breaking . . . if she hadn’t left it buried ten feet under the ring.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, staring at her feet. ‘I know it’s too late for apologies, but . . .’
Still avoiding his face, Victoria raised her eyes enough to see his hand. He was gesturing at the stool that the doctor had been sitting on.
‘Of course,’ she said, looking back at her feet.
The Commissioner sat closely opposite her and pointed at an empty glass. ‘What have you had in there?’
‘Water,’ she said listlessly. ‘The medics gave me pills. I’m sure they were approved but don’t ask me what they were. I honestly don’t know and it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?’
‘All that matters is that your glass is fit to hold some of this.’ So saying, the Commissioner got out a decent-sized hip flask. ‘It’s solid silver,’ he told her, ‘but never mind that. It’s the stuff that’s in it that matters.’
Assuming this was the alcohol equivalent of her last cigarette, Victoria drank the large measure of amber fluid he’d poured for her.
‘It’s whiskey from the oldest legal distillery in the world,’ he said. ‘Good, isn’t it?’
‘It’s very smooth,’ she agreed, not protesting when he gave her a refill. ‘I’ve never tasted anything like it.’
‘That’s because you’ll have only have had Scotch or bourbon before. This is Irish.’
‘It’s very smooth,’ she repeated.
‘Okay,’ the Commissioner said, producing a sheaf of paper in place of his flask, ‘let’s get down to business. Do you recognize this?’
‘It’s my contract,’ she said flatly.
‘That is correct. And as you will see, our legal eagles have been going through it.’
Victoria had a quick look. A lot of sentences had been highlighted.
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