Serena stood at Michael’s elbow, torn between engaging in the conversation of the group around her, and her desire to stare at the spectacular skyline of New York City, revealed outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the luxurious penthouse apartment. Directly in front of her was the floodlit edifice of the Empire State Building, no more than a kilometer away, with the skyscrapers of lower Manhattan surrounding it. She was forty floors up, but here such heights were nothing unusual.
A part of her wanted to go to the windows and peer down at Times Square below her. The crowds, the traffic, were all familiar from her native Roma, but there was something unique about New York, something very, very American, that intrigued her. She had been here five days now, and she loved it – being in the crowds, feeling the bustle of the busiest metropolis on earth. She had been to a couple of Broadway shows, done more than a little shopping, but she even loved just walking the streets, seeing the sights and watching the people.
Tonight though, she had other priorities – this party, which was not a party but something far more. This was the Society, the most elite, exclusive and secretive catfight club in America. Serena was not here to mingle and make small talk. She was here to tangle and pull hair – whose, she did not know yet, though she knew she would soon find out.
She had fought hard – literally – to get here. She had won the right to represent her own Società Felina Italiana here at this gathering, by defeating some of the best catfighters in Europe. Tonight she would fight again, this time for the honor of La Società, and for her own. She had heard about the Society and its reputation. Its fighters were known to show little mercy to their defeated opponents. She shrugged mentally. Though she hated to lose – hated it – she knew that the risk of humiliation in defeat was a part of what made this so exciting. If you wanted to win, you had to be prepared to lose – to experience the same shame that you dealt to your opponents. Bruises to the ego, just like those to the body, were an occupational hazard. If you were not prepared to accept that risk, then find a safer occupation and stay out of the arena.
She looked around her. She knew some of these people from television and magazines, though others were unfamiliar. A few she even recognized from La Società. That meant that the news of her fight, with all the lurid details, would reach her own people soon enough – probably even before she returned home. She pursed her lips, determined that they would hear news of her triumphant victory, not a shameful defeat.
The panoramic windows occupied one entire wall of the enormous room, and the better part of two more. The fourth wall was a single full-length mirror, except for a long counter that opened into a spacious and modern kitchen beyond, itself well staffed with cooks and waiters tonight. The mirror reflected the living room and the guests, making the palatial apartment seem even larger.
Serena caught sight of herself in the mirror, and saw herself as others might see her. At 170cm – she did a quick mental calculation; 5’7” as the Americans would say – she was one of the taller women in the room, and her 4-inch heels made her almost as tall as most of the men. Her black silk jersey dress, backless and sleeveless, showed off the firm musculature of her torso, arms and shoulders, a warning to any and all who might seek to challenge her. The long skirt brushed the white carpet but was slit almost to her left hip, revealing her long, bare and shapely but strong legs. The bodice plunged low in front and clung to her firm, high, rounded breasts. A yellow gold and diamond pendant hung from her throat, nestling in the deep valley of her cleavage, and matching drop earrings dangled at her neck, framed by her long, loose, dark brown hair which tumbled over her shoulders.
Michael – the owner of the apartment and the host of the gathering – turned to her with a smile. “Enjoying yourself, Serena?” He accepted a canapé from a black-liveried waitress.
She smiled back, and shook her head politely as the waitress held the tray out to her, before turning her attention back to him. “Yes. You have a beautiful home, and I am happy to be here.”
“I’m sure you’re also anxious to get on with the real business of the evening.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly at the thought of the fight to come. “Of course.” She hesitated but could not help asking. “Do you know who will fight against me?”
He shook his head. “That hasn’t been decided yet. We’ll call for challengers and if we get more than one, the Society will vote.” He glanced at his watch. “Speaking of which, I believe it’s time to start the show.”
Serena’s stomach fluttered a little. It was time. She was ready.
Michael took her arm gently and led her with him as he crossed the room to stand in front of the windows with the broad vista of downtown Manhattan behind him. “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please!” The buzz of conversation subsided, and all eyes turned to him – and to Serena. She felt the admiring glances of the men, and the predatory stares of the women. Not all the women here tonight were potential adversaries in this fight, but most were. It was easy to tell the fighters from those who were merely guests. Their bodies were trim, taut and toned, but even more than that, their eyes held that look she had come to know from dozens upon dozens of fights over the years – the appraising look, sizing her up, weighing her physique against their own, assessing their chances.
“As you know, we have a guest tonight, from La Società Felina Italiana in Rome.” Serena noted that he pronounced the Italian flawlessly. “Many of you have had the chance to meet and chat with Serena. She’s come to us as La Società’s champion, to accept a challenge from one of our own. We must now decide who that will be.”
There was a moment’s silence as the stares of appraisal intensified. Whispered conversations buzzed between knots of people. Heads turned to glance from fighter to fighter. Then a voice spoke up from off to Serena’s left. “I remember her.”
The speaker was a blonde-haired woman, roughly the same height as Serena, maybe a few centimeters – an inch – shorter, but also slightly thicker set. None of that weight was fat however, as was emphatically revealed by the woman’s short black dress, which scarcely reached past the tops of her thighs and bared her lithe, powerful legs. The three-quarter length sleeves hugged her arms but Serena could see that they and her shoulders too were well-toned, strong yet feminine. Her platinum blonde hair was straight and fell just to her shoulders. The dress plunged low at the front, held by a clasp between her breasts, which were smaller than Serena’s but pressed proudly at the clinging fabric. A teardrop-shaped cut-out below her bosom revealed her firm, flat belly, her hard abs clearly defined, and reached down below her navel, where a silver charm gleamed in the lights.
“She was in that tournament in Amsterdam, back in the summer. I fought her and beat her in the quarter finals.” The woman’s smile was thin and didn’t extend to her eyes. “She wasn’t much then, and she isn’t much now.”
Serena remembered the blonde too, and that tournament. She had picked up some kind of stomach bug the night before the fight, when she had gone out to dinner with a friend in celebration of her win in the first round. She had fought in the quarter finals anyway, not wanting to forfeit the match, and even in her weakened state she had given this puttana a hard fight. She said nothing now, but smiled inwardly. Let the stupida think she would have an easy victory. She would learn soon enough.
“So you want another crack at her, Jolene,” said Michael, though the answer was obvious from the look in the blonde’s eyes.
“Damn right I do. I’ll show her some good New York hospitality!” There was a ripple of laughter from the watching guests.
Michael gazed around the room. “Any other challengers, so that we have to vote on it?” There were a number of sideways glances. Several women who looked in fighting shape flicked their eyes from Jolene to Serena and back again, but no-one spoke up. At last Michael looked back at Serena. “I think you have your challenger.”
She smiled warmly at him. “Thank you, Michael.” Her smile at Jolene was far more frosty. “I will enjoy taking my revenge on this zoccola for our last fight.” She could tell that Jolene did not understand the Italian insult – whore – but the tone was unmistakable and the blonde bristled.
Jolene pointed a finger at her. “You’re going down, bitch! We’ll see how much you’re smiling when I’m sitting on your face!”
Michael raised his hands, chuckling. “Ok, ok…we all love the trash talk, but we also know that talk is cheap. You both have fifteen minutes to change and be back here, ready to fight.” He turned to Serena, and motioned toward a slim blonde-haired woman in black pants and a matching long-sleeved tee, who stood off to one side. “Pamela will show you to where you can change.”
Serena nodded, and followed the woman across the expansive living room and down a hallway that led off the corner of the room. They passed several closed doors, until the woman opened one and ushered Selena inside.
She found herself in a large bedroom that looked north toward Central Park. It was minimally but expensively furnished, with snow white carpet and black lacquered wood. A king-sized bed took up a substantial part of the room, flanked by two night stands, with a bureau and a full-length mirror along the wall nearest the door. A small bathroom opened off the bedroom, with a large tub visible through the half-open door.
“You can leave your things here. They’ll be perfectly safe,” the attendant assured Serena. Pointing to the nearest night stand, she added, “There’s body oil in that bottle if you want it, and you should read the sheet of paper there too. Those are tonight’s guidelines for fighters.” She smiled politely as she stepped back into the doorway. “I’ll be back to get you in fifteen minutes.” She backed out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Serena crossed to the night stand and slid a neatly typed sheet of paper from beneath the squeeze bottle of body oil that sat there. She read it carefully, translating the English into Italian in her head.
The first paragraph was a warning that there limits on the level of violence in the Society, and that serious injuries or blood-letting would not be permitted. Her own Società had a similar prohibition, as did most of the elite catfighting organizations she knew about. She also knew however, that there were places that did not protect their fighters, where the risk of injury was much greater, and so she supposed they could not be too careful with new fighters.
The next paragraph encouraged her to remove her opponent’s bikini during the fight and stated that if she won – and she would win, she promised herself – she would claim the bikini as a trophy, in addition to the prize money from the fight. She knew that the prize for winning here was extremely high, and looked forward to spending a portion of it here before she went home.
The final paragraph explained that humiliating her opponent during and after the fight was encouraged, and would earn her additional prize money if – when, she corrected – she won. She smiled to herself. She would make this bitch beg for mercy.
First though, she had to make herself ready for the fight. She kicked off her shoes, hooking them with her toes and laying them neatly side by side at the foot of the bed. Reaching up behind her neck, she unclasped her dress, wriggled it down over her waist and stepped out of it, leaving herself in only a thin, semi-sheer red thong that rode high over the curves of her hips.
Her necklace went into her tiny clutch purse, as did her earrings. At the same time she removed a neatly folded and quite brief bikini top that matched her thong. She laid it on the bed beside her purse.
Squeezing body oil into her hand, she smeared it liberally over her skin from her throat to the tops of her feet, making sure she did not forget her back and buttocks. She stood and regarded herself in the mirror for a moment, just to be sure she had covered herself evenly and completely, before she went into the bathroom to wash the excess oil off her hands.
Returning to the bedroom, she slipped the bikini top over her head, pulled her hair out from beneath the upper strap, and reached behind her back to knot the lower strap. Again she gazed at herself in the full length mirror with a smile of satisfaction. She was proud of her body, and she knew she had every right to be. Her skin was flawless and golden tanned, her full bosom swelled beneath her bikini, straining at the brief twin triangles of the top. Even in this dim light, faint dark circles marked the positions of her nipples, already half erect, jutting through the fabric. Her thong was as brief as the top, barely covering her shaven mound. She turned to one side, then the other, eyeing her reflection and adjusting the straps over her hips.
At last, satisfied with her appearance, she began her usual regimen of isometrics and stretching exercises, intended to warm up her muscles before the fight. A strained muscle would not put an end to the fight but it would put an end to her chance of winning, and she had no intention of handing a win to the American on a plate.
When the blonde attendant returned a few minutes later, she was ready, standing at the window dressed in a black silk robe she had found hanging on the back of the door. She noticed an emblem embroidered in gold on the back of the robe – a cursive ‘S’ within a circle. She had seen the same device on the invitation she had received to come here tonight. It was the monogram of the Society.
She followed the attendant back the way they had come, into the main living room. The lights were brighter now, and it seemed a little warmer but that might have been her own excitement. The central part of the room, a thick black rug maybe six meters square that contrasted sharply with the white carpet around it, was now clear of people. This then, was where she would fight.
Jolene already stood across the arena from her, dressed in an identical black robe. Her lip curled as Serena stepped up to the edge of the rug. “Well, here you are. I thought you’d probably run away, jumped on a plane back to Italy.”
Serena sniffed. “The only thing I will jump on is you, puttana!”
“Well, bitch, take your best shot,” retorted Jolene. “Let’s see how it works out for you, huh?” She slipped off her robe, letting it slide down her arms and fall at her feet. There were murmurs from the crowd, and looks of admiration. The blonde’s body was firm, sculpted, fit, just as Serena remembered it from the last time they had met. No longer masked by her dress, the muscles of her torso stood out strongly against her bronzed skin. She had obviously warmed up too, and her thighs, arms and shoulders gleamed sleekly in the bright lights. The belly button ring was gone – only a fool would enter a fight with such a thing in place, and Serena knew that the blonde was no fool.
Jolene wore a black bikini, halter-necked, which cradled her full breasts securely while showing off their tanned curves. It was cut a little more modestly in the bottom than Serena’s thong, as Serena saw when Jolene raised her arms and turned a slow circle for the audience. In the center of her bikini bottoms, at the rear, was the Society’s gold monogram. Serena knew that that bikini, that emblem, would make a wonderful addition to La Società’s trophy case. She would win this fight, and La Società would toast her praises for months to come.
She unfastened her own robe and let it fall to the floor. There was a new rumble of quiet comments throughout the room as the onlookers whispered to one another, their appraisal of her body, comparing her to the American. She was slightly taller than Jolene, a little more slender, but she too was fit and hard. She had trained every day for this moment, and she was confident that she was the blonde’s equal.
Jolene eyed Serena’s tiny bikini with disdain. “Not bad…if this was a bikini contest, you might even stand a chance! Too bad it’s a fight, so I’ll just have to tear it off you and stuff it in your mouth to stop you screaming!”
Serena sneered. “You talk big…let’s see if your attitudine is as big as your mouth!”
“I beat you once, bitch…
“That was then…this is now,” interjected Serena.
Yeah it is, and back then is gonna seem like a day at the beach compared to what I’m gonna do to you tonight!”
Michael held up his hands again. “Ok ladies, let’s see who’s got the strength, skill and determination to prove herself right.” He looked to each of them. Jolene nodded. So did Serena. “All right…let’s fight!”
*****
Jolene immediately advanced toward Serena, and Serena did the same, aiming to meet her opponent in the center of the arena. As they approached one another, the blonde raised her right arm, fingers spread – a challenge. Serena knew what was happening here – the American wanted to test her, to see how much she had improved her strength since they last faced each other. So be it.
She reached up and interlaced the fingers of her left hand with Jolene’s right, gripping hard, pressing forward. Almost without thinking, they linked their other hands too, and the contest began. They stared deep into the other’s eyes as the muscles of their arms and shoulders began to quiver with the strain, each seeking to force the other backward, to gain the advantage of only in a psychological sense.
Serena had a slight height advantage and she tried to use that by raising her arms up over her opponent, pressing downward, but Jolene braced her legs and pushed back with implacable force. It was like pushing against a rock. Serena saw the hint of scorn in the blonde’s azure eyes, and her own dark eyes narrowed in anger. Jolene saw this too, and snarled through clenched teeth, “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you, skank!”
Serena snorted derisively. “Hmmphh! I will humiliate you in front of all your Society, puttana!” She gathered her strength, using her torso and her legs, but still she could not push the blonde back. Sweat broke out on both their brows in the warm room, both of them grunting softly with the effort they were putting into this primitive test of strength.
Try as she might, Serena could not find a weakness, could not force Jolene back. She felt the burn begin in her own muscles, and let out a long, low groan as she poured even more effort into driving the American back. Jolene continued to thwart her however. She glared at the other woman, feeling her frustration growing. It must have showed in her eyes because Jolene’s lips drew back in a half-mocking smile. The blonde too strained even harder, and Serena felt her arms pressed back, just a few centimeters, then further, until with a cry of frustration, she was forced to take a step backward. She hated the look of quiet satisfaction in Jolene’s eyes.
Straining to keep the blonde at bay, she realized that she was not going to win this kind of contest. Something else was needed. In an instant, she made her decision. Tearing her right hand free from Jolene’s, she whirled left. Caught off-guard, Jolene stumbled forward and Serena used that momentum against her, jerking on Jolene’s left arm to pull the American into her out-thrust hip, whipping her upper body forward and downward.
With an angry, surprised curse, Jolene somersaulted over Serena’s hip and crashed to the floor on her back. “UNGH!” Serena kept a firm hold with both hands on the her opponent’s arm, keeping Jolene close to her and before the blonde could break away, she let her spin carry her right leg up over Jolene’s body, sending her foot down hard into her adversary’s abs in a vicious stomp – once, then twice.
Jolene’s feet jack-knifed up off the floor as she grunted explosively with each impact. Her free hand flew up to protect her belly. Serena released her other arm and stepped to her left. “Now you see, stronza…it’s more than just strength!”
She laughed as she bent over Jolene and reached for the blonde’s hair, knowing she had to keep up the pressure and not allow her adversary any time to recover. If she could keep scoring telling blows, using her speed and agility to her advantage, she could overcome the American’s superior strength and wear her down.
As she bent over, Jolene’s arm lashed out and her fingers hooked in the strap of Serena’s bikini top, between her dangling breasts, jerking her downward. The blonde’s other hand thrust into her hair, the hand on her chest now thrusting upward as the other hauled down, and it was Serena’s turn to tumble over Jolene’s prone body and slam into the floor. She tucked her chin down to protect her head and twisted her body to take the impact, crying out in pain as Jolene’s strong grip tore at her hair.
She rolled away, trying to put some distance between her and Jolene, not wanting the blonde to catch her on the ground where her opponent’s strength would put her at a distinct disadvantage. Rolling up onto her knees, she pulled one foot under her, but suddenly she felt nails scraping down her back between her shoulders. “No you don’t, BITCH!” snarled the blonde close behind her.
Jolene’s hand hauled her backward, dragging hard on her bikini top, and she almost fell, catching herself just in time, knowing she was in trouble if the Jolene could put her down on her back. In desperation, not even taking the time to think, she threw herself forward. Jolene’s weight on her bikini top dragged it down, stretching the strap and making the brief cups dig into her soft flesh. The edges of the twin panels scraped harshly across her hard nipples, sending a spasm of sensation, somewhere between pleasure and pain, shooting through her body. Her violent movement loosened the knot that held the top in place and Jolene’s fingers at last slipped free. With a yelp Serena sprawled forward, catching herself on her arms, twisting onto her back to face her opponent.
The blonde was up on her knees, her face a mask of frustration that Serena had escaped her clutches. “You’re not getting away, skank!” she snarled as she scrambled forward, then lunged at the Italian.
Serena drew her legs up toward her chest and kicked out viciously at Jolene’s head and chest to keep the American back. Jolene ducked left, and Serena’s foot skimmed over her right shoulder. Instinctively, she whipped her other leg up onto the blonde’s other shoulder, pushing herself toward Jolene now rather than seeking to escape. Her smooth calves slid along both sides of the blonde’s neck, her feet seeking one another, until she could lock her ankles behind Jolene’s head, and clamp her legs tight together. With a savage whoop of exultation she threw herself hard to the side, hurling Jolene to the rug. She heard gasps of surprise, maybe even of admiration, from the audience.
She could not believe her luck! Her flailing legs had been purely defensive, intended to drive Jolene back so she could regain her feet and her mobility. Nevertheless, her quick thinking and agility had combined to give her this new and spectacular advantage. With enough tenacity and a little more luck, she could win this fight, here and now.
Pushing herself up on one elbow, her jaw clenched tight with the effort, she squeezed her knees tight together either side of Jolene’s neck. She stared down into the trapped American’s face. Jolene’s eyes were closed, her face beginning to darken as the relentless pressure of Serena’s legs began to affect her breathing. The muscles of Jolene’s arms and shoulders rippled beneath her bronzed skin as she tried to pull the Italian’s thighs apart. Good luck with that, thought Serena, as she arched her back to pour even more pressure onto the blonde’s neck.
Jolene managed to roll herself onto her belly, pushing Serena over onto her back. With a supreme effort, the blonde drew one knee under her, then the other, using Serena’s legs, and her own vice-like grip on them, for leverage. Serena felt herself lifted up off the floor, until only her head and shoulders touched the rug. Jolene opened her eyes, grunting harshly from the exertion, and Serena saw the fierce resolve there. Jolene braced her knees wider apart, gritting her teeth, ready to push upward to her feet.
Serena locked her ankles even tighter together, threw her head back and with her own scream of effort, poured everything she had into the head scissors, twisting her body violently back and forth, trying to send the blonde back to the floor again. If she could keep forcing her opponent into power moves like this, keep wearing her down, then soon the American’s strength would mean nothing, and Serena would have her victory.
Jolene planted one foot firmly on the floor, still gripping Serena’s calves with both hands, her legs trembling with the effort as she lifted the combined weight of both of them. Serena strained with all her might on the blonde’s neck, tensing her entire body. As Jolene pushed up off one knee, Serena threw her weight savagely sideways. With a labored, gurgling cry, Jolene toppled to her left, crashing to the floor again on her side. Serena roared in triumph – she had beaten the bitch! Jolene’s ploy had failed. Surely she would surrender now.
Instead – incredibly – Jolene again twisted her body, slowly drawing her legs up under her and rolling up onto her knees, forcing Serena onto her back once more. Her eyes open now, Jolene once again stared into Serena’s face with grim defiance. She let go of Serena’s thighs for a moment, raising her arms, and before Serena could react, brought both her fists down in a hammer blow onto Serena’s lower belly. Serena’s scream of pain matched Jolene’s guttural groan of exertion as the blow battered her already straining muscles.
Jolene pushed herself up on one knee again, lifting Serena with her. Again the blonde lifted her fists high. Serena threw her arms down to block the blow but it was at the limit of her reach and she was not quite fast enough. Once more Jolene’s fists hammered her belly and she cried out loud as her abs screamed in protest. “UUUNNNGGGHHH!!!”
Jolene again powered up off her knees, rising on shivering, straining legs. There were more murmurs from the onlookers – definitely admiration now, not for Serena but for the indomitable blonde who just would not give in. Serena tensed her body and jerked herself to the side once more with all her strength, but this time Jolene was ready and thrust out her leg to brace herself, groaning at the pain it cost her as Serena’s powerful legs wrenched brutally at her neck.
Serena felt her legs lifted higher, her butt coming up off the floor, then her lower back, until only her shoulders and head touched the rug. She thrashed furiously from side to side, seeing the pain in Jolene’s face, but still the blonde held on. Rising upright, she took a step forward, toward Serena, with her right foot, twisting her body to the left, rolling Serena onto her side.
With a sudden pang of fear, Serena understood her adversary’s plan, and jerked her body viciously back the other way, staggering Jolene, forcing her to fight for her balance yet again. She could not allow the American to step over her and roll her onto her belly! If that happened, Jolene could drop onto her, trap her in a Boston Crab and torture her back at will. She saw the expression in the American’s eyes and knew that would not bode well for her.
Again Jolene stepped forward, bracing herself to lift her right foot and pivot on her left, to flip Serena over. She groaned with the effort and the pain in her neck, her face brick red, sweat streaming down her face and mingling with her tears of pain. Serena knew that Jolene was at the limit of her strength and endurance, pouring everything she had into this move. If Serena could spoil her attack yet again, could manage to throw Jolene back to the floor once more, it would be over. She let out an echoing scream as she threw herself frantically back and forth, trying to unbalance her opponent and send her to the floor for the final time.
Jolene stumbled, and Serena knew she had her, but then the blonde recovered and, as Serena hurled her weight to her right, Jolene used that momentum to spin on the ball of her left foot, throwing her right leg over Serena’s waist, flipping her over. Serena screamed out in frustration and fright, her breasts crushed into the floor. She scrambled with her arms, trying to pull them under her, to get some purchase as she writhed in the blonde’s inexorable grasp. Jolene snarled and took another step forward, dragging Serena backwards across the rug. Serena screamed in pain as the rug scraped cruelly at the delicate skin of her chest, her loosened bikini top riding up, exposing her hard nipples to the roughness of the rug. Several people in the audience cheered.
Serena’s legs were bent backward at the knee, her ankles still crossed behind Jolene’s neck, her spine already arched painfully. She knew she had barely an instant before the American pinned her legs in place, and then she would be at Jolene’s mercy. Given what she had just done with the head scissors, she could expect little in the way of mercy.
Kicking with all her strength, she struggled to free her legs. Jolene held on tight, but just as she clamped down with her elbows, Serena managed to jerk her left foot free. With a surge of adrenalin she drove her bare heel hard into the small of the blonde’s back, slamming Jolene forward. The American dropped her hold on Serena’s other leg, stumbling, losing her balance and dropping to her knees.
Serena’s legs crashed down to the rug and she almost wept with relief at her narrow escape. She had been on the very edge of losing this fight, and most painfully too. Even now she could not allow herself any respite, since every moment she waited was a moment for Jolene to recover. She pushed herself up onto her knees, ignoring the ache in her lower back, and rose to her feet, whirling to face her foe.
Jolene was still on her knees, her back to Serena, shoulders rising and falling rhythmically as she fought for breath. Serena saw just how much it had cost her opponent to fight free of that head scissors. Another minute and Serena would have had her. Another minute though, and Serena might have found herself trapped in an inescapable hold and forced her scream out her own surrender.
She launched herself at Jolene, and her stomping kick caught the American between her shoulder blades. Jolene let out a shriek of pain and shock as the force of the blow pitched her forward onto all fours. She went to scramble forward, to pull her feet under her and rise, but the punishment she had taken, the strength-sapping scissors, had left her weakened and slow. Serena’s follow-up kick smashed squarely into her crotch, sending her sprawling on her face. Several members of the audience groaned in sympathy at the blonde’s agony.
Serena knew she had not connected in quite the right place to crush Jolene’s clit against her pubic bone. Had she done so, her opponent would probably have fainted from the pain and it would have been all over. As it was, Jolene lay writhing on her belly, groaning, one hand clutching her injured loins as she attempted to push herself up with the other.
Darting in, Serena hooked her fingers into the lower strap of Jolene’s bikini top, jerking her around in a half circle, dragging her toward the center of the area, half on her belly, half on her knees as Jolene screamed hoarsely in pain and anger, struggling to get her knees under her. At last the blonde’s bikini top pulled loose, riding up over Jolene’s breasts and making her cry out in pain as the tight strap dragged across her nipples. Serena knew just what that felt like, but she had little sympathy. She ripped the top away over Jolene’s head, eliciting a renewed cry of pain as she twisted Jolene’s tortured neck wickedly to one side. The force of that violent jerk made her stumble backward, separating her from her foe. She threw the crumpled garment contemptuously aside. She would claim it later but first she had work to do.
She circled Jolene, a pace away, staring down at her gasping, pain-wracked opponent. Jolene’s body was bathed in sweat, her hair hanging over her face. She looked finished. “Submit now,” Serena called out to her, loudly so the whole room could hear. She did not want to seem like some kind of sadico – what was the English word? A sadist. “Don’t be a stupida!”
Jolene rose ponderously upright on her knees. Her breasts swayed as she swiped her hair out of her tear-filled eyes and glared up into Serena’s face. It took her a moment to gather the breath to speak. “Fuck…you!” she panted. There was a rumble of muted conversation from the onlookers. Serena was acutely aware that this was probably a hostile audience. To watch a visitor – an outsider – defeat one of their own was one thing, but to watch her brutalize Jolene was something else again. The Americans were a hot-headed people, quite like Italians in some ways, and she would not put it past one of these women to intervene. She must watch her back.
She crossed the distance between them in a single stride and reached her opponent just as Jolene reached her knees. She thrust both hands out, grasping for the other woman’s hair. To her surprise, Jolene threw her arms up with surprising speed and caught the Italian’s wrists in a firm grip. Serena wrenched violently to free her arms, to no avail. Jolene held her fast.
The blonde growled deep in her throat, pushing upward with both arms until they were extended above her head, still trapping Serena’s hands. Serena narrowed her eyes – she did not need her hands to punish this bitch. She had other formidable weapons at her disposal. She drew back her right leg and slammed her knee into Jolene’s ribs, beneath the blonde’s bare left breast. Jolene gave a grunt of pain and for a moment the upward pressure of her arms faltered. Again Serena tried to tear her arms free, again without success. She drove her knee into Jolene’s chest a second time, eliciting a louder, longer groan of pain, but still the American did not relent.
Jolene rose onto one knee, forcing Serena’s arms up higher. Serena gave up her attack on the American’s chest and leaned her weight into her arms, trying to drive Jolene back down onto her knees. She groaned with the effort, but the blonde’s arms did not budge. Instead, Jolene’s other knee rose slowly, ever so slowly, from the floor, the muscles of the blonde’s thighs bunched and trembling with the effort.
As Jolene rose, she stared into Serena’s eyes with a savage intensity. “Not…done…yet…BITCH!” she hissed, her voice tight with pain. With a roar of effort, “NNNGGGAAAGGGHHH!!!” she surged to her feet, hurling Serena back several steps.
Standing there, her chest heaving from the exertion, her face still flushed dark in the aftermath of Serena’s prolonged head scissors, she stared venomously at the Italian. Her hair hung in damp rat-tails around her face. Her skin shone with sweat. “Now…” she panted, “…let’s see…how you…take it!” She flexed her fingers, lowering herself into a fighter’s crouch, and advanced on Serena.
Jolene came in swinging, firing a punch at Serena’s ribs, under her left breast. Serena flung her arm across her chest to block the blow, but the blonde was feinting and sent a stinging slap across Serena’s right cheek with her other hand. The force of it snapped the Italian’s head violently to the left, flinging her hair across her face. With a grunt of pain, she stumbled a step to the side, and grunted again as Jolene’s follow-up punch hit the original target, bouncing her left breast up against her ribs.
Surprised by the unexpected ferocity of Jolene’s attack, Serena covered up and retreated, but the blonde came after her immediately, hammering her with blow after blow her ribs and belly. Not all of them got through her guard but some did, enough to make her cry out in pain. Merda! Even after the beating she had taken, this puttana was strong!
Jolene feinted a backhanded slap at Serena’s head, making her raise her guard, but then ducked low and charged. Her left shoulder slammed into Serena’s belly, between her navel and her ribs, knocking the wind out of her with an audible rush. She backpedaled with Jolene’s arms wrapped round her waist, struggling to retain her balance and keep from toppling onto her back with the American on top of her.
She leaned forward over Jolene, bracing her legs behind her, pushing hard as the American sought to topple her backwards. She wrapped one arm around her adversary’s body, her hand gripping the blonde’s belly, feeling the firmness of the muscles there. She heaved upward, trying to pull Jolene higher – once, then twice, inching the other woman’s shoulder up her torso as Jolene strained to force her backwards.
At last her opponent was high enough, and Serena’s arm snaked around her blonde’s neck, pulling her into a reverse headlock. Jolene groaned in anguish, knowing what was coming. Serena’s lips drew back in a snarl. “You won’t give in?” she hissed. “Then you will suffer.” She tightened her arm around Jolene’s neck, and Jolene cried out in pain as her neck was tormented anew.
That was not all that Serena had in store for her opponent though. As Jolene’s arms slapped at her sides, hands sliding around her waist, nails digging into the firm flesh of her bare buttocks, Serena drove her knee upward, ramming it into Jolene’s belly. The blow lifted the blonde onto her toes with a loud grunt, “UNNNGGGHHH!!!” Serena repeated the move, gaining an even louder grunt of pain from her opponent.
Jolene’s hands clawed at Serena’s butt cheeks and she too cried out in pain as she pounded her knee up into the American’s abs for the third time. The pressure of Jolene’s body pushing into hers began to slacken. Then she felt Jolene’s fingers hook into the waistband of her thong, gripping tight, and she let out a shriek of agonized anticipation in the instant before Jolene jerked the thong viciously into her crotch, wrenching each up side upward alternately to dig it deep into her nether lips and Serena screamed in torment.
The pain was shocking, numbing her mind, preventing her from thinking, from acting, from defending herself. She fought against it, trying to focus. She tried to push herself back, away from the blonde, but Jolene held her tight. Tears of pain streamed down her cheeks. After what seemed like an eternity of agony but could only have been a few seconds at most, she found enough clarity to stop pulling away and instead push into her adversary. It took an extreme effort of will for her to draw her knee back and send it once again into Jolene’s belly. The blonde gave another grunt but did not relent in her brutal assault on Serena’s pussy. Serena kneed her yet again, and then again, crying in agony.
On the third desperate knee lift, she felt Jolene stagger, and on the fourth, the blonde’s body shuddered and her legs almost buckled, though she caught herself in time. Serena took an even tighter grip on Jolene’s neck before she stepped backwards, dragging the other woman with her, and dropped hard onto her knees. Off balance, unable to get her knees under her in time, Jolene slammed down hard with all her body weight on her neck, still held tight in Serena’s implacable headlock.
Jolene let out a tortured scream as her already injured neck was cruelly abused once more. Caught in Serena’s clutches, she scrambled to pull her knees under her. She let go of Serena’s thong, using both hands against the floor to brace her body and relieve the awful strain on her neck. Serena sobbed with relief.
Rising painfully to her feet, pulling Jolene with her, up onto her knees, she sent another knee lift into the blonde’s body, this time crushing Jolene’s left breast into her ribs. Justine groaned.
Serena released the headlock and stepped back, leaving the American swaying on her knees as she adjusted her thong, pulling the crotch out from between her tormented labia. She grimaced and snarled, “Vaffancullo!!!” Fuck you!
Serena lunged again and shoved her hand into her opponent’s matted hair, jerking Jolene up higher as she groaned in anguish. Though Serena was dominating this fight, she had to respect the blonde’s ability to absorb punishment. Most fighters she knew – maybe even herself – would have quit long ago. Nevertheless, she was going to make sure that Jolene – and the rest of the Society – never forgot what a fighter from La Societá could do.
It almost bothered her – almost – how easily she was controlling this fight. A part of her wondering if the blonde might even be leading her on – but surely not. Was this the best that these Americans – this Society – could do? The other women in the room, who stood watching now as she hammered their own fighter – were none of them even as good as this? She noticed at least one shocked expression, on the face of a powerful-looking blonde who stood watching at the front of the audience. Was that shock at Serena’s power and skill, or surprise that Jolene was not fighting harder? A creeping uncertainty nagged at the edges of her mind. Now was not the time to be too sure of herself.
She bent and gripped the back of Jolene’s bikini bottoms firmly, wrenching them upward savagely. The bitch was good at dishing out that sort of punishment – let her see if she could take it too! To her surprise, though Jolene yelped in pain, she did not heave the blonde bodily off her feet as she intended. Instead, there was a harsh ripping sound and she found herself holding the torn remains of Jolene’s bikini bottoms in her hand. The force of her own pull threw her off-balance and she stumbled backward with a shriek, dragging the now-naked Jolene with her. “Cazzo!”
Jolene went down on one elbow. “Think I was gonna let you cut me in half with my own bikini bottoms, bitch?” she snarled huskily. “That bikini is special…tearaway stitching in case some cunt tries what you just did!” With that, she threw out an arm, hooking her wrist around Serena’s ankle, and lunged, slamming her shoulder upward into Serena’s legs just above the knee. It was Serena’s turn to cry out in shock as she over-balanced again and landed on her ass with an audible thud. Jolene gave an animal snarl as she hooked her clawed fingers into the front of Serena’s bikini bottoms and tore downward.
Serena shrieked as Jolene’s nails clawed her lower belly and her mound. Terrified of what the blonde might do to her loins, she kicked out wildly. Her first kick went wide but the second struck Jolene hard on her right shoulder, knocking her onto her back. Still the American retained her relentless grip on the front of Serena’s thong however, preventing Serena from scrambling away. She wriggled her hips frantically, shoving with both hands to push the straps of her thong down over her hips so she could squirm out of it and escape. Jolene wrenched hard on it again, trying to pull Serena toward her, but the thong simply slid down Serena’s legs, past her knees, and the force of Jolene’s pull sent the blonde reeling backwards.
Crab-walking backwards on her hands and heels, Serena put some distance between her and her opponent before she tried to rise to her feet, not taking her eyes off Jolene. The blonde looked exhausted, but she had just proved she was still dangerous, still looking for an opening to take Serena down. She could not afford to relax – not until Jolene uttered the words of submission.
She rose to her feet, feeling the sting as her sweat seeped into the scratches inflicted by Jolene’s nails. They were not deep – maybe the American was not deliberately trying to claw her but only to grab her thong. Nevertheless, Jolene had proven that she was quite willing to fight dirty. The throbbing ache in Serena’s loins was testament to that.
Her bikini top hung uselessly around her neck. She would not take the time to re-tie it and like this, its only function was as a weapon for Jolene to use against her in a choke hold. She tugged it over her head and threw it away from her, leaving herself naked just like her opponent.
Jolene watched from her knees, her breasts heaving as she forced air into her starved lungs, trying to recover her breath. Serena did not plan on allowing her that chance. She lunged at the blonde, again thrusting her fingers into the American’s hair, planning to throw her opponent down on her back.
She got a firm grip on Jolene’s hair with both hands and the blonde screamed out loud, but what Serena took to be a shriek of pain was in fact a cry of strength and power as the blonde launched a savage uppercut that came all the way from the floor and pounded into Serena’s crotch, right on her mound.
It was Serena’s turn to scream in agony. Her legs buckled and she dropped hard onto her knees, tears welling up in her eyes. The vicious blow had missed her clit but by no more than a fraction of an inch, and the pain was like a dagger lancing through her belly. She clung onto Jolene’s hair and wrenched the blonde hard to one side, then the other.
Jolene roar was filled with pain but even more with rage. She shot both her arms out to sink her fingers into the firm flesh of Serena’s breasts, squeezing and twisting. “Scream for me, bitch!” Her thumbnails dug into Serena’s nipples and Serena howled in misery, releasing her grip on Jolene’s hair to grab desperately at her rival’s arms.
Serena sank her own nails into Jolene’s wrists, grinding her thumbs in, trying to weaken the American’s grip so she tear her hands away without causing herself even greater agony. Jolene hung on grimly though, clenching her teeth, growling ferally as they stared into each other’s tearful, pain-filled eyes, neither willing to give an inch.
Despite her best efforts, Jolene would neither relax nor release her grip, and the pain in her tortured breasts was almost more than Serena could bear. In desperation, she changed her tactics, realizing that her only hope was to go on the offensive and take the fight back to the blonde.
She let go of Jolene’s wrist with her right hand, dropping it down, spearing her thumb deep into the American’s navel. Before Jolene could react, she rotated her wrist palm uppermost and spread her fingers wide over her opponent’s lower belly. With a roar of effort, she clenched her fingers tight, sinking them into Jolene’s abs, already injured from the series of savage knee lifts Serena had delivered just minutes ago.
Jolene threw her head back and shrieked in abject torment. She immediately relinquished her assault on Serena’s breasts and dropped her arms to grab Serena’s wrist with both hands. “You like to twist???” roared Serena, leaning forward, pulling one foot under to raise herself higher for more leverage. “I TWIST!!!” With a mighty heave she surged to her feet, her clawed fingers digging even deeper into Jolene’s devastated belly as the blonde clenched her eyes and her jaw tight shut against the awful pain.
Serena pulled her free hand across her body, past the opposite shoulder, and sent a savage back-handed slap that caught Jolene on her temple and hurled her sideways, down onto the floor. The force of the blow broke Serena’s grip on her opponent’s abs, but as Jolene sprawled on her back, she could see the livid red welts spread across the blonde’s belly.
Giving Jolene no time to recover, she leapt forward, cocking her foot up high and slamming it down into Jolene’s belly, right over her navel. The blonde’s eyes bulged wide, her wide opened in what would have been a scream had she had any breath left with which to scream. As it was, her mouth worked silently, her feet drumming the floor in her agony for a long moment before she dropped back to the floor, clutching at her tortured belly.
Serena took a step back and wiped the tears from her own eyes. Her breasts throbbed with each thudding beat of her heart. When she glanced down for an instant, she could see the deep scratches left by the blonde’s nails. Figa!
Jolene pushed herself up with one arm, her face pinched with pain as she made it to her knees. Serena stalked the blonde, circling like a shark as Jolene turned to keep Serena in front of her. Jolene stood hunched over, one hand still held across her belly, protecting her wounded abs. Her shoulders shook, her chest heaved as she forced air into her lungs. Sweat and tears had streaked her eye liner down her cheeks in dark trails. Her sweat-soaked hair was plastered to her face. She looked exhausted, but her blue eyes blazed with defiant determination. She was not done yet.
She was amazed at the blonde’s stamina. Through a gap in the crowd, she saw herself in the full-length mirror that made up the back wall of the room. Her naked body glistened with oil and sweat, and her own hair hung limply over her shoulders. Her breasts were blotched red, marked by Jolene’s vicious nails. She had dominated this fight almost from the start – she knew that with certainty – yet to see herself in the mirror surprised and even shocked her. She looked in little better shape than Jolene, and she was acutely aware of every ache from her fatigued muscles, every stinging sensation from the scratches on her skin.
This had to end soon. The longer the fight continued, the longer she delayed forcing this demon bitch to surrender, the greater the chance that her own pain and exhaustion would conspire to defeat her. In this fight, her first mistake would be her last and all the training, the effort, the pain tonight, would be for nothing. She would not let that happen. She could not.
She threw herself at Jolene. The blonde crouched, arms akimbo, not retreating, ready to meet Serena head on. At the last instant though, Serena dodged left. Jolene tried to sway her body to compensate for the change in direction but her injured muscles slowed her down, and Serena’s upthrust forearm caught her right under her chin, lifting her off her feet and flinging her onto her back with a jarring impact that knocked all the remaining breath out of her. She lay groaning, on the rug, her legs moving weakly as she tried even now to pull her feet under her.
“Can’t get up?” taunted Serena. “Here, let me help you!” She grabbed a handful of Jolene’s hair, twisting the blonde onto her belly, the motion dragging another groan of pain from the battered blonde. With a savage jerk she lifted Jolene up onto her knees, holding her there as the American swayed in her grasp. This fight was clearly over. All that remained was to make the stubborn bitch surrender.
Serena stood at Jolene’s right shoulder. She was sure her fingers thrust deep in the sweat-soaked tangle of the blonde’s hair were all that kept her opponent from collapsing onto her face. Again the groaning Jolene swayed on her knees, and again Serena held her up.
She shoved her knee into the small of Jolene’s back, and at the same time jerked Jolene’s head back. Jolene screamed hoarsely as her wounded belly was stretched brutally. She glared up at Serena with defiant but exhausted eyes.
“Bitch!” hissed Serena. “Stupida! You make me punish you, ok then I punish you!” She slapped Jolene hard across the face. “That is for Italia!” The slap rocked Jolene sideways, and Serena had to take a step to keep her balance while she held the blonde up. “This…” She delivered a stinging backhand that whipped Jolene’s head around the other way. “…is for La Societá!…and this…” She thrust her other hand into Jolene’s hair, pulling her knee away, and slammed Jolene down onto her back with all the strength left in her. “THIS is for ME!”
Moaning, Jolene rolled onto her side. Serena shoved her hard with her foot, knocking her onto her belly. She sneered. “Masochista!” Did the bitch think she could come back from this, when she could not even stand? Pazzo! Crazy!
She stepped astride Jolene as her devastated opponent lay face down, gasping for air. Jolene’s arms flapped at the rug as she tried to find the strength to push herself up on her elbows, but it was clear that she was spent. Serena nudged her in the side with her heel. “Surrender now! It’s over!”
Jolene took a deep, shuddering breath, but no words came. She simply shook her head weakly.
Serena looked around at the audience. Some wore expressions of concern, some of admiration, though she did not know whether that was for herself, at defeating Jolene so decisively, or for the battered American who refused to give in, no matter what. A few faces even betrayed quiet satisfaction, and Serena could see that not everyone regarded the blonde with friendship or respect. That did not surprise her. It was the same back home in La Societá, which had its own intrigues.
It was time to end this – long past time to end this. To continue beating her opponent was nothing more than an exercise in cruelty. It would win her no friends here – none worth having, any way – and no honor. She dropped to her knees, still astride the blonde, her butt driving hard into the small of Jolene’s back, crushing her against the floor. Jolene’s body jerked and she let out a strangled, wheezing cry, but did not struggle or otherwise attempt to free herself. She was finished, but still she would not surrender.
That was about to change. Serena bent forward and grabbed Jolene by both wrists, pulling her arms down to her sides. Jolene was too far gone to put up more than a mild struggle. She shimmied forward, working her knees beneath Jolene’s biceps, before she thrust a hand into her opponent’s tangled hair and pulled the beaten blonde’s head up off the floor.
Jolene realized what was about to happen and groaned in anguished protest. “No…no…” Her voice was no more than a croak.
“You will not submit…then I will MAKE you submit!” snarled Serena. She curled the fingers of her free hand beneath Jolene’s chin, releasing her hair so her other hand could join it, then rocked herself backward into a squat, her rump pressing down hard on Jolene’s back, arching her spine like a bow, hyper-extending her already tortured abs.
“AAAGGGHHH!!!” Jolene screamed huskily from the pain in her spine, her belly, her neck. “You…BITCH!”
“We can stop this whenever you want,” Serena assured her mockingly. “As soon as you surrender!” Jolene’s only response was a further scream of agonized fury.
Serena held her opponent’s head tight with one hand, but took the other and pulled Jolene’s arm up over her knee. Swapping hands, she did the same with the blonde’s other arm until Jolene was completely hung up in the backbreaker. She squirmed vainly to free herself but she lacked the strength, and she screamed yet again as the motion only caused her more pain.
“Give up!” urged Serena. Her hands now free once more, she reached forward over Jolene’s shoulders, down her chest to grasp her dangling breasts. She squeezed hard, digging her fingers in deep, hauling upward. “DO IT!”
Jolene’s howls redoubled at the newest agony. Her arms flailed wildly, grasping hopelessly at Serena. The Italian simply leaned back further, piling on the pain, until at last Jolene let out a sobbing, piteous cry. “All right! ALL RIGHT!!! You win! No More! NO MORE!!!” Her voice cracked, her head drooped and wracking sobs shook her shoulders.
There were more murmurs from the crowd as Serena let out a deep sigh. Some sounded satisfied, others less so, though no-one could be surprised. She had dominated the blonde all through this fight.
She released her grip on Jolene’s breasts and rocked her body forward again, pushing Jolene’s legs off her knees. Her exhausted adversary slumped to the floor on her belly, her worn out muscles twitching. Her hair hid her face, but Serena heard her sobbing quietly, perhaps from shame, perhaps from relief, and certainly from frustration at her loss. Serena knew all those feelings. She had felt them deeply in the past – but not tonight. Tonight she was the victor. Now it was time to claim the spoils of victory.
She rose, her own legs trembling in the aftermath of extreme exertion. Bending at the waist, she grasped Jolene’s wrist in both hands and flipped the blonde onto her back, staring down into the defeated fighter’s face. Jolene stared back at her with tear-filled eyes, through the tangled tresses of her hair. Serena saw the defeat, the frustration, but also, still, the hint of defiance.
No. That would not do. Serena dropped herself down again, her butt hammering into the pit of Jolene’s stomach. The force of the impact whipped the blonde’s head and feet up off the rug as she made a pain-filled gasping noise. Her arms and legs jerked before going limp. Serena grabbed her by the hair, lifting her head, shaking it violently as she glared into the American’s eyes. Yes. That was better. This time there was no defiance, only pain and defeat. As it should be.
She slid herself further forward, until she knelt astride Jolene’s chest, feeling her foe’s firm breasts beneath her buttocks as her knees pinned Jolene’s upper arms to the floor. Twisting her body, wincing a little at the pain in her own belly, she reached back and drew her nails slowly up Jolene’s belly, not hard enough to hurt. She felt the blonde twitch and tremble, felt the softness of the once proud musculature, now battered to jelly, and heard the plaintive moan as Jolene shook her head. “No…no…more….please!” Her tears flowed freely now.
“No more?” asked Serena with a raised eyebrow. “Please, you say?” She raised her head and regarded the audience. “She begs!” There were murmurs, even a few chuckles. She looked back at Jolene again. “And what will you give me, if I agree?” She twisted her fingers even harder into Jolene’s hair. “Will you kiss me down there, troia? Will you serve me with your tongue in front of all your friends?” She saw the look in Jolene’s eyes, and she knew her words had struck a chord. This would be the legacy she left here in the Society – the image of her sitting in triumph on the face of their fighter as the Society’s best licked her to orgasm.
It would not take much stimulation. The thrill, the danger, the adrenalin rush of any fight always aroused her. The fires had been smoldering in her belly for some time already – maybe even since the start of their battle if she were honest with herself. “Come to me, bitch!” She jerked Jolene’s head up with both hands and thrust her hips forward, burying the blonde’s face in her crotch.
Jolene struggled for a moment, making breathless noises as she flapped her arms in a futile attempt to break free. Serena lifted her hips just a little, giving Jolene a little room to breathe, before she lowered herself again. “Lick me, puttana!”
There was a pause, silence, then a muffled sob from her victim. Serena parted her lips and sighed pleasurably as Jolene’s tongue parted her nether lips and probed gently, hesitantly between them. Serena ground herself onto the blonde’s face with lascivious moan. There were several laughs and even a cheer from the onlookers. Everyone loved a winner, and especially one who displayed some showmanship.
Jolene’s tongue probed deeper and began to lap at her inner lips, seeking them finding the core of her arousal, working at the head of her clit, slowly at first, then faster, harder as Serena began to rock her hips back and forth, thrusting herself against Jolene’s lips and tongue.
“Avanti! Veloce!” Serena lapsed into Italian as her excitement built, not only from the wonderful physical sensations beginning to spill over from her loins and race throughout her entire body, but from the image of herself, straddling and using her defeated opponent as the defeated fighter’s compatriots looked on. It was not merely a mental image either. As she opened her eyes for a brief moment, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, her body glowing with the thrill of victory and with her burgeoning heat. The look in her own eyes sent a rush of lust coursing through her. She gripped her breast tightly with one hand as she guided Jolene with the other, throwing her head back, riding the blonde’s face faster and faster, moaning, wailing, trying to prolong the ecstasy for as long as she could, until finally it became too much for her to control and she screamed her joy to the assembled crowd, as the tremors of her orgasm gripped her and shook her body like a leaf in the wind.
Slowly, the tide of arousal subsided and she found herself hunched over Jolene’s body, still panting for breath, trembling in the aftermath of her orgasm. She lifted her head, pushed her hair off her face with one hand, and gazed around her with a smile. The watchers, the best catfighters in North America along with their patrons, smiled back at her in acknowledgement of her victory, though she could see that some smiled more broadly than others.
“You have a good tongue, troia!” she teased Jolene as she relaxed the grip of her hand and allowed Jolene’s head to fall back on the floor. The blonde looked up at her blearily, her face now glistening with more than just sweat and tears. “You will taste me tonight in your dreams.” She heard several laughs at that.
She rose slowly off Jolene, her legs still shaky from the force of her climax. “But first you must bring me my trophy!” She must not forget her duty to La Societá, the present she must bring back for their trophy case. That, and the accolades it would bring her, were sweeter than all the prize money in the world.
“Go! Fetch it for me!” She pointed to the far side of the arena where the two halves of Jolene’s bikini, the bottoms themselves torn in two, lay discarded on the rug. Jolene blinked at her for a moment without moving. “GET THEM!” Serena repeated.
With infinite slowness, her every movement betraying the agony in her exhausted, tortured muscles, Jolene rolled over onto her belly. She lay there unmoving for several seconds, as though gathering what little remained of her strength so that she could push herself up onto all fours. Her movements were deliberate, cumbersome as she moved forward, a step at a time on her hands and knees, first to her bottoms. She paused again when she reached them, before she bent her head, not even attempting to pick them up with her hand, but taking them in her teeth. Serena assumed this was some kind of tradition here. She smiled to herself. It was fitting.
Jolene made her way ponderously to where her bikini top was crumpled, several yards from her bottoms. This too she took in her teeth. “Bring them to me!” ordered Serena, and the blonde obeyed in silence, though her shaking shoulders betrayed her sobs as she crawled back to Serena.
As she approached, Serena pointed to the rug, directly in front of her. “Lay them at my feet!” Jolene did so, dropping the sweat soaked scraps of fabric on the Serena’s toes. “They will make a fine present for La Societá!” Jolene’s head drooped even further. Serena stooped and shoved a hand into her hair, jerking the blonde upright. Jolene groaned at the sudden strain on her devastated abs. “Say it!” ordered Serena.
Jolene’s gaze flicked from Serena’s eyes to those of the audience, watching her humiliation, then back again. “They…will make a fine present,” the blonde mumbled. New tears flowed down her cheeks.
Serena stood staring down into her defeated foe’s eyes, still holding Jolene by the hair. She was suddenly unsure what to do next. Thankfully Michael appeared at her elbow. “Order her to leave the room,” he whispered. “It’s a tradition.”
She nodded, then turned her gaze back to Jolene. “Yes, I am finished with you…for this time, at least,” she smiled scornfully. “Leave us!” She pointed with her free hand toward the archway through which Jolene had entered, at the same time as she threw the American down onto all fours by her hair. “GO!”
Jolene turned away from Serena and, with even greater slowness, crawled on her knees to the edge of the arena. Serena assumed that this too was part of the Society’s tradition, but she suspected that Jolene could not have risen to her feet, even if she had tried.
As the ravaged blonde reached the audience, they parted around her, allowing her to crawl past them. Someone started to clap, but slowly, as she passed through the crowd. Others took up the rhythm, matching the pace of their clapping to Jolene’s achingly slow progress toward the exit. At last, as her naked, sweat-slicked rump disappeared from view, they turned back toward Serena and the slow handclap quickened, erupting into raucous applause.
Serena beamed at them. Her heart swelled with pride. She had upheld her dignity and the honor of La Societá. She had fought a fierce opponent, and dominated throughout the fight. Tonight was a night she would remember all her life. She spread her arms wide and took a victory bow.
The End