Salma: she's the problem on the bed. Sitting on her haunches, all heavy curves in that crimson bra-style push up bikini. Lush black curls tumbling down across either breast. That maddening salsa grin as she bats both hands playfully down onto white duvet cover, inviting Kelly to join her. Salma licks her lips, gestures "come on" with her right hand. That bed is her castle, her fortress. To beat her, Kelly's going to have to get her off of there, and so far, that's been easier said than done.

Kelly stalks to her left: Salma shifts on the bed, staying square. Stepping close, back straight, hands up - Kelly reaches for Salma, only to have Salma grab her wrists and throw her hands away. Lips in a tight, stubborn line, Kelly goes for it, getting her right knee on the bed and reaching in under Salma's arms: Salma leans back, drawing Kelly onto the bed and neatly guiding her in between dusky Latina thighs. Kelly wriggles, Kelly writhes: she's bogged down and trapped again.

They struggle on their sides - Salma on her left, Kelly on her right - Salma's legs scissored around blonde waist, controlling Kelly's hips. Grunting and whimpering, they grab at one another's wrists, pushing and gripping. Salma's left arm snakes in around Kelly's head, pulling her in close. Kelly groans, getting her left hand up by her face to prevent the smother as Salma's right hand joins up with her left in a tight chicken grip. Kelly's lithe, tanned legs bicycle and lash against the bedspread, her face tight with strain. Salma smiles, cuddling Kelly close, her chin pressed against soft, damp blonde curls. Salma's patiently tiring the young blonde's spirited body, letting her waste her strength. There's no need to hurry.

Salma had quickly realized in the opening moments of the contest that Kelly was too quick, too dynamic to mess with standing up. Kelly's legs had whipped out at Salma's thighs and belly, lashing her with crisp, bright contact, forcing Salma to retreat in confusion. Salma had wanted to punch, but couldn't close against Kelly's flying legs, and the blonde had reveled in her lithe superiority. Kelly's eyes flashed triumphantly, her color high: she was going to devastate Salma Hayek! It wasn't even going to be close!

Until Salma went to ‘Plan B’: "If you can't take the fight to the other girl," Salma had been told a hundred times over her career, since she was shorter than the majority of her American competition, "Make her come to you!"

The bed had been a convenient answer, although a corner or a couch would have done just as well. Salma had set up on her haunches and turned the rip-roaring catfight into a La Conquista style bout, drawing her athletic foe forward and grinding her down in one sultry siege after another. Kelly's slick with sweat, and still strong: her wriggling and pushing finally clears her head of Salma's hungry arms and Salma obliges the blonde's escape, releasing the scissors to push her feet against Kelly's hip instead.

With a humiliating THUMP - Kelly tumbles over the side to land on the carpet. She rushes to her feet and backs away, absently snapping her bottoms into snug position about her perfect backside, face blushing from the latest rejection, eyes angry as Salma sits up on her haunches, purring. Kelly stomps her foot and breaths a curse, then stalks to her right, scowling over her shoulder at Salma as the brunette grins back.

Kelly'd tried punching her way onto the bed, but Salma simply got underneath the blows, hugging the waist and pulling Kelly down into a clammy stalemate. Kelly'd tried leaping onto the bed, but leaving her feet basically forfeited leverage to Salma who easily channeled the hurtling blonde into another strong-limbed cuddle. Thrashing and struggling with Salma hadn't gone anywhere: Salma's educated legs always controlled Kelly's hips, or at least scissored up one of her own world class thighs to immobilize her. Belly to belly, it was insane - anything Kelly did to Salma, she could do to her and Salma was willing to pay that price. Kelly had pulled Salma's hair at the temples, wrenching her head back: Salma had clutched blonde curls and done the same. Kelly had slapped and punched at Salma in the grasp: Salma had rolled on top and repeatedly buried her right fist into Kelly's throbbing ribs. They were tough, vicious entanglements, but Salma had a knack for getting the better of them, getting position on Kelly and wearing her down. Kelly might have started the evening with the advantage of youth, but the endless quagmire of Salma's curvy defence of the bed had narrowed that gap considerably.

So Kelly keeps at it. What else can she do?

She tries to catch at Salma's wrists and pull her off the bed, but Salma is too firmly grounded on her haunches and too strong. She wrenches her hands free, sending Kelly stomping back on her heels in recoil.

She tries to bullrush Salma, but Salma is more than willing to go to her back, receiving the blonde between eager thighs, crushing her close and tying her up. It takes more energy for Kelly to extricate herself than it costs Salma to bog her down in the first place. That's Salma's game. Hot, sultry, attrition.

Kelly tries the right side of the bed; the left side; the foot of it. Salma repels every assault, but not before she does damage. She bulls Kelly to her back and forces the blonde to gulp and buck her hips to get free. She traps Kelly in a full nelson and leisurely punishes the blonde as the girls sit at the edge of the bed - Kelly snug between Salma's legs. She chokes Kelly and pulls her sideways as the blonde sits on her haunches, gurgling and redfaced. She hugs Kelly's waist up from behind, purring as Kelly's rump spoons into Salma's lap; Kelly's hands fretting with Salma's grip against trembling blonde tummy. She cradles Kelly, scissoring the blonde's left leg up firm, while trapping the right leg and head in her arms, pulling Kelly's knee almost to her face. Each move draws applause; each round of applause scalds Kelly, reinforcing that she is the doomed bull tonight, Salma the glamorous matadora.

Kelly whines and groans, filling the apartment with her noise while Salma remains stoic, quiet.

Kelly's face is tortured, so expressive - her delicate brows knit in frustration; thin lips press tight or pull back from white teeth. Her hair is pulled and distressed. She loses track of time as fatigue gnaws at her composure.

Kelly's hands pull at the bedspread when they're not pushing and pulling at Salma's shoulders, hips, biceps, or thighs. More and more often, Salma's going for close-in breast smothering attempts, locking her scissors about the blonde waist and coaxing the blonde head forward. It's costing Kelly everything she has to fight free of these encounters - her chest heaving, her lips parted as she glares back at Salma from the safety of the carpet.

Salma's patient, Salma's smart. She knows when she's got a girl weakened, shaky and ragged. Kelly's movements grow shabby over the course of the evening, her eyelashes flutter and she can't stop mouth-breathing. Salma records the tell tale signs, taking in her foe's legs, her posture, her expressions, and when the time is right, Salma comes off the bed, going back to ‘Plan A’ after sapping the vigor from Kelly‘s taut blonde frame.

Salma bounces to her feet with an impish grin; fluffs her hair; bats her eyes at the audience. Kelly's just sick about it, lips quivering with worry as she shies away, hands outstretched. Salma moves in all bully, reaching for Kelly's shoulders...and Kelly buries her balled up right fist in the pit of that exquisite Mexican belly.

Salma cries out - in shock, in pain - she cramps up, fingers brushing lightly down either Kelly arm. Kelly's eyes suddenly harden, shedding the glassy, worn veneer they had held: if you can't bring the fight to a girl, make her come to you. Salma's not the only one who's heard that axiom. Kelly's fatigue itself hasn't been an act - only the extent of it. Kelly's used it to influence Salma off that bed, and finally, she's got the fight she's been looking for.

With expert precision, Kelly's left hand takes hold of Salma's right bra strap, tugging her-to: a girlish right uppercut, the hand soaring high, drifts hard under Salma's chin, tossing her head back in a blur of black. Salma's knees give as she ragdolls forward, eyes staring in astonishment. Kelly's eyes: absolutely pitiless, her lips set in a stubborn I-want-to-hurt-you line.

Salma collapses forward into Kelly's arms: blonde gathering brunette up around the ribcage, jostling her upright. A sleek, toned right thigh shoves up in between Salma's legs: thick meaty contact, just a jerking, compact motion. Again. Again. Again. Salma groans, her hands limp at Kelly's shoulders, eyes clamped shut: Salma's helpless in Kelly's arms - paralyzed by heartless blonde rule-breaking. There are gasps from the audience: primal reactions to the dull, muffled SHUMP of Kelly's thigh working against Salma's tenderest region.

Kelly takes hold of both bra straps now, tugging limp-bodied Salma forward, spinning her, ramming her backward into the bare white wall. Salma's stunned - chin up, head back, eyes clenched tight in disbelief. Kelly tugs her forward by both straps, puts her right thigh HARD across that glorious tummy: Salma's breath pushes past her lips in a gasping sob; her face pitching forward, eyebrows high.

Back into the wall.

Tugged forward onto the thigh lift.

Back into the wall.

Tugged forward onto the thigh lift.

Quivering, soft tummy, bordered in red.

Hard, golden brown thigh, sleek with sweat.

Salma's gurgling - falling apart. She's putty in Kelly's hands - tempest tossed. Salma droops to all fours, belly panting, head bowed, her hair flowing in a sad tangle to the carpet.

Kelly takes a deep breath, catches a second wind. She kneels in strong beside Salma's right hip, pulling the Latina back onto her haunches with the left arm wrapped across her throat, the fist in under Salma's chin. Her hair drifts down the right side of her face, her lips parting as Kelly pulls the head in snug; her face mashed against Kelly's left breast. With her right foot braced strong on the carpet, Kelly leans in on Salma from above, punching girlish right hands down onto the upturned mouth. Not much leverage, and Kelly's not putting much on the blows, but they're landing uncontested, tap-tap-tapping Salma drowsy. Salma's right arm reaches dreamily around Kelly's waist, cuddling her close, but she can't stop the rain. Kelly's knuckles punch the hair-covered eye, the cheek, the lips - her face set in cruel stupidity, teeth bared, and clenched. Salma heavy on her haunches, taking, taking, taking, and it's too much for some in the audience. Tuxedoed do-gooders rush in, pulling Kelly away - leaving Salma ringing in stupor, a sudden, bewildered loser.