California sun smashed down on the park in hard white waves. The pool was public, sheltered by large trees all around and surrounded by a green chainlink fence. It had the look and feel of California in the sixties - still had the old surfer-style concession shack with the fold-up wooden-slat window: hot dogs, Slurpees, sno-cones, pop, chips.

Brandi Carrier looked up from her white reclining beach chair, sunglasses, big round and mirrored, covered her eyes.

People began to circle 'round. Normally a public pool: not today. Today was invite only; Brandi's friends mostly. Weider reps. Supplement distributors - legal and otherwise. Magazine guys. Fitness gals and their over-protective, smarmy, muscle-head boyfriends. You know, the usual!

Brandi swung her tanned legs over the side of her chaise, stood up, took her sunglasses off slow, and squinted in the sunlight. "Hi Cori," Brandi said: arctic words in the muggy air.

"Yeah," Cori said, looking off to one side: nervous, hostile. "Are we going to do this or what?"

Brandi smiled.

Cori was wearing a black thong bikini with pink polka-dots, her black hair slicked back like an otter's pelt down her back. Brandi was in her mauve bikini with her blonde hair in a top-knot ponytail.

People spread out to give the girls room. A girl laughed nervously and somebody else shouted, "Kick her ass, Bran!"

Brandi stalked to her right, hands open, fingers wiggling as she crouched, feinting in at Cori, then stepping away, faking the brunette out. Carrier scooted in with the left hand pumping double - bare knucks spanking off Cori's dense chest - then blonde was gone, stepping to the side, looking things over. Cori turned, wiped damp palms on her thighs, resumed her crouch; letting Brandi dictate. It went like that for maybe a minute or so - Brandi testing and Cori reacting.

Carrier jabbed at the tummy, making sure she could get there, feeling the muscle. Taut! This kid brought beef to the fight, that was for sure. Cori's dark eyes glared in the sun - Brandi'd seen that look before; hate, envy, curiosity. They always wondered if they had what it took the first time they faced Brandi!

She stepped it up a notch - coming in swift, chopping the short right hand like a hatchet in between Cori's breasts Mia Finnegan style. Mia had used that over and over to set the table on Denise Austin - everyone was doing it now. Inside snug, Carrier lifted her first hooks up into the thick of Cori's waist; Cori slugged back in kind: short, muscular hoists. Brandi clinched, pushed off, stepped to the right - that was her thing: in and out, wear a girl down. Carrier was in no hurry. She loved the sun. Nadine scowled, didn't look like she loved much of anything.

Like that for a couple-three minutes - Carrier edging in, hacking, grabbing Cori by her bulging shoulders or biceps, pushing her away to reset. Brandi had a flawless inner clock which told her when to set down on a girl - like a marathoner who knows from endless road experience what time she just ran the last mile in - and the alarm was ringing. Carrier moved in strong, grinding her forehead against Cori's and went right at brunette abs and ribs, both hands chugging. Applause started up, some whistles and shouts of, "YEAH!" People loved to see Brandi finish a girl. Finish her up hard. Both girls dug in and started working a thudding bump-n-slug rhythm.

Bare feet on poolside concrete; stepping; scuffling. Hard knucks spanking off shiny ribs, shredded abs, swollen biceps and shoulders. Moist little grunts and breathy gasps, but mostly lips clamped tight in stingy lines on beautiful, cramped faces. Girls grinding away, constantly shifting head position from one shoulder to the other, constantly writhing and pushing at one another's sturdy arms. Elbows in, fists balled, held at chest or tummy height, waiting for the opportunity to bash golden flesh.

Brandy with her short, curling hup-hup-hup combinations, tidying up on Cori's stubborn tummy and outrageous tits. Nadine not as busy, but beefier - turning on her hips to pull flat-knuckled wallop against Brandi's shoulders, bashing in behind Brandi's elbows, pounding away to the waist and liver. Brandi preferring to alternate her dukes: Nadine often doubling or tripling up either hand. Constant, bruising, belting contact. One girl would reach the left around the other's back to plug away righty: the other girl would slug away both hands, right hand around the outstretched arm, left hand inside it. This was what it was all about: staying on your girl; using her up. Survival of the fittest.

Funny thing at the ten minute mark: Nadine wasn't quitting. Nadine wasn't even whimpering or cowering. Nadine hadn't turned into a sullen, punch-stupid carcass ready to take the final knee. Some people were actually shouting "Get 'er Cori!" and hooting anytime she put solid thump on Brandi's quivering abs. In fact, it was Brandi's hammies that were humming, Brandi who was getting bumped and slugged back. About twelve minutes in, Cori opened up with some fat right hands - all flat-knuckle impacts to the shoulder and lats that turned Carrier sideways and drove her back into the chainlink with a metallic rasp. The look of pure shock on Brandi's face! She'd completely lost track of where they where and couldn't believe Cori'd backed her all the way to the fence.

Nadine squared up, got on top, kept working. Thirteen minutes in and Brandi Carrier was starting to really suffer. The chainlink bowed under the weight of her world class butt as she slumped into the fence. Her lips pulled back from perfect white teeth, eyes squinting in pain. She held her right fist at her chest, left across her gut, trying to cover up as much body as possible. She wasn't crying out, but anyone could see she was struggling to hold it in. Sobbing had a way of haunting you long after a fight was done and Brandi had no intention of giving Cori that kind of satisfaction. Carrier covered up the way a lot of girls had against her in the past. Now she prayed the same way they had: hoping for Cori to punch herself out; hoping for Cori to exhaust herself.

And Nadine went to work...

Grabbing the chainlink either side of Brandi - Cori jammed in with brawny, linebacker shoulder-blocks, driving the air from Brandi's lungs. Hunched in close and low, it was easy to punch Carrier's thighs, charleying her up nicely. Stepping back a bit and criss-crossing to Brandi's chest. Cori lifting her elbows to drive the punches straight in, stamping her fists flat against bone and breast meat, the impacts shaking Brandi's whole body. Brandi's head began to loll, lips quivering: she couldn't stop her breath from escaping in winded little chuffs under the hammering!

Brandi bent over - Nadine digging hooks behind the elbow, reefing right hands up underneath. Cori arching her back, getting her glutes into these shots, thrusting with her legs - short, savage blows, all body, very little arm on these beauties. Punches designed to tear down what Brandi had built with thousands upon thousands of crunches, miles of roadwork, countless hours of cardio, dieting, and lifting. Cori grunted freely, exerting herself; the chainlink fence protested as Brandi sank back, then lolled forward; the crowd hooted and clapped, one by one deserting Brandi for the big-punching brunette...

Tears spilled down Brandi's cheeks as she slumped back against the fence, giving everything up on the cheap as Cori poured on the punching. Big, shellacking lefts and rights now, pulled in wide and slammed on flat - splattering punches loud against Brandi's biceps, breasts, upperchest and ribs. Cori lost in slug-lust, just stacking Carrier up and wailing her senseless...

Cori showing touch, compact placement. Left hand: a quick open hand slap on Brandi's right ear, then a vicious, tucking left down in behind the elbow. Perfect shot. Brandi's legs quivered as she groaned forward, then gave way altogether, dropping her to all fours, her palms making a plopping clap against the concrete. Prize winning belly panted in and out: Brandi Carrier was finished - just quivering on the spot, unable to make herself rise. Cori stood and ran a hand through long, sweaty locks, gazing down in rapture at the sight of beaten Carrier. Behind her, everyone went ape-shit - everyone except Brandi's money guys and closest friends. Nadine smiled, adjusted her trunks. Then, she moved in to take just a little bit more.

Cori bulled Brandi to her back and sat on the blonde's worn-out tummy. A moment's feeble resistance was suppressed as Cori's left hand caught Brandi's right wrist and forced the blonde's arm down against her stomach. Smiling, Nadine shifted her weight forward, then began a brutal, thudding pounding: all right hands, stamping straight down onto Brandi's upper chest.

Cori's fists made a sound reminiscent of taking a bat to a cow or heeling thick, wet clay. THUNK! THUD! Brandi shrieked, her pride abandoned her; her feet slapping and stamping on the concrete as she gurgled piteously under the hideous beating. Nadine was mesmerized by the blunt, hollow noise of fist on chest, driving down onto Brandi like a washerwoman scrubbing out the laundry. Started out rapid, then slowed into a monotonous bludgeoning as Nadine drew her elbow way back to load up: real methodical. Cori was in no particular hurry to finish. She was smiling at the end, when Brandi's knees started flopping sadly from side to side. When Brandi's feet started pushing greasy against the concrete instead of stomping madly. When Brandi's body grew limp beneath the weight of Cori's muscular frame.

A tattooed giant in a gray track suit finally pulled Cori off, leaving Brandi to curl into a throbbing fetal ball on her side under the sweltering California sun.

Brandi's guys paid off Cori's guys. Cori stayed and partied with the Playboy scout, got business cards from everyone. As serious and vicious as she had been in taking care of Brandi, Nadine was effervescent and playful schmoozing up the industry folks. She was making friends, taking friends away from Brandi.