Cindy Crawford liked the 'Brutal Chic' west coast scene - preferred it really, to New York where the girls still tended to take the fight to the carpet. L.A. had caught the vibe from the beach where the honeys were slugging it up to the body, and you had to take her out girl, or you'd be hurt. You had to put your woman down. New York was more complicated, less clear in its demands. In L.A. - you just win, baby. And that suited Cindy just fine.
They had cleared the Hard Rock out for this one, left the sunken floor open for Cindy and Salma. All around the raised perimeter of the restaurant floor, Cindy was proud to see she had drawn a who's who of Hollywood society, even with Demi fighting in Manhattan that night.
"They still turn out for Cindy C," thought Cindy to herself.
She shook out her arms and punched idly at the air in front of her. She was going for fresh and athletic this evening, hair back in a long ponytail with sexy forelocks curling around her face and brow. She felt comfortable in her sky blue cotton briefs, trunks cut low on the hip to present a luxurious body line to her shorter foe. Drink that in, thought Cindy, feeling Salma's gaze upon her long body. For the first time that evening she turned her glance upon her opponent and thrilled at the pre-fight tension. Her heart pounded to life in her chest at the sight of the dark beauty across from her, so different, and yet so equal.
Salma had a sultry weight to her, a perfectly proportioned solidity that Cindy couldn't help but envy. The Mexican wore a high cut set of red cotton briefs, very snug about her lush frame, with a black waist band that cut just too tight into her waist. She made Cindy feel almost gangly in comparison.
The lights lowered around the perimeter, leaving only the floor incandescent. Cindy raised her hands, squeezed her fists tight in the soft kid leather of the weight lifting gloves: a tip she had picked up from Kiana. She and Salma would have fought eventually anyway, even without all the crap - it would have been demanded. But they had started down this road when Hayek had stolen some of Cindy's buzz on her debut film - now THERE was a brilliant casting choice!
And Salma had personalized the grudge just last week. Cindy would never forget the sight of her friend and rival, Kathy Ireland, lying on her back, long legs drawn reflexively up as she clutched at her belly, mewling incoherently to herself. Somehow, Cindy had been struck by how flat and shabby Kathy looked - Salma had beaten her on the ground like that ape in 2001 with the jawbone, and had touched something deep inside the model - broken her. All for Cindy. Salma had deliberately turned Kathy into a living message board.
Pride and payback, thought Cindy, stepping forward.
Put. Her. Down.
The leggy supermodel closed distance fast and took up a strong, wide legged punching stance in front of Salma. Cindy wasn't especially quick-fisted, but she had a nice loose action with her arms, and a heavy punch. Turning sweetly at the hips, Cindy ripped her patented left hook to the body. It was a snapping, whip action blow that pounded square to the pudge of Salma's brown belly with the sharp crack of a baseball bat smacking wet clay.
Instant crowd gratification.
Cindy was a stoic faced fighter, but she felt the trace of a smile play upon her classic lips as she saw some of the light behind Salma's eyes dull with pain. Pivoting on her lead foot, Cindy doubled up the hook, getting a good feel for the meaty resistance of the Mexican's midriff. The blow bounced hard off the yielding belly, and Cindy brought the fist back up quick to her chest, re-loading. Cross stepping professionally, Cindy reached down towards Salma with the long right, cocking her body to unleash another left into the smaller girl's ribs. Salma seemed lost, uncertain, as she squared up, crouching and turning right, but unable to answer or cut the longer legged girl off. Already, her rouged lips were bitchy with pain, curled back from her perfect white teeth as her body cringed upon impact.
Free of pressure, Cindy started to pick her shots, ponytail playfully keeping time with the punches. She had circled Salma one complete rotation, and began leaning in, reaching down behind Hayek's elbows to get at the taut flesh of her waist and kidney. Cindy was methodical, balanced, exhaling loudly through her mouth as she worked the Latin girl over. Cindy cupped Salma's face gently with her left hand to reach down with a digging right into the girl's right side, then curled the right to hook the sternum.
Cindy was starting to get excited - she couldn't ever remember starting a fight this well. Salma just didn't have it tonight, and Cindy was peaking. The super-model picked up the pace.
"You're hurting, baby," she hissed.
Uncharacteristic of her, but the words just came with the moment. Cindy juked in front of Salma, feinting left, then right, but instead of freezing the Mexican, Hayek surged forward, reaching her hands for Cindy's hips and trying to clinch while driving the taller brunette back. Cindy had been waiting for the move since the fight had started, and her long legs backpedaled efficiently, eating up ground in front of Salma while she clipped the girl with a stunning right uppercut from her bicep and shoulder.
The rule was soft to the head, hard to the body, meaning that you could land with meat to the jaw and, as Cindy retreated, breasts churning wildly in their soft cotton shell, she cuffed and buffeted Salma's head back and forth with alternating short jolting shots from her full arms.
Although not as devastating as a punch would have been, the impacts were disorienting, and Salma had leaned right into them. As Cindy slipped to her left, the Mexican stumbled forward to the low-rise wall and banister that enclosed the floor, barely bracing herself with her hands. Above the girl's heads, the leering faces of the bloodthirsty rich and famous roared as one. The scent of $100 an ounce perfume mixed with the prevalent odors of sweat and watered down drinks as the action drifted close to the mob.
Salma shook her head, slightly dazed from the torquing action her skull had taken while Cindy nimbly danced on her toes in a semi-circle behind her, legs wide, weight forward. In came Cindy from the rear, taking Salma by her squared off hips and driving her knee hard to the plush muscle of Hayek's buttock and hamstring, drawing the first shout of pain from the fiery Latina.
Pushing Salma roughly into the banister, Cindy hooked her twice with a pounding left directly to the tight brown flesh of the girl's liver, causing a grimace of pain to writhe across the brunette's lovely features. Salma turned her back to the rail and bent forward over her knees, desperate to avoid more punishment.
Big mistake Hayek. Huge.
Cindy's eyes lit up as Salma's entire back came into view. The super-model lashed the area with clubbing, cruel punches, lacing the lower back with half a dozen lefts and rights in a blur of arcing punches. With a groan, Salma went to her hands and knees, tremble-bodied. She sat back on her haunches as the speaker system began to toll a harsh, brassy count. Salma drank in air through her quivering lips, lolled her head back, and put a hand to her aching lower back - pretty in pain.
Cindy danced away, fascinated at the destruction she had wrought. She snapped the bottoms of her briefs back into line around her high buttocks and waited some several feet away for Salma to be counted out. She had never, ever, put together 2 minutes like this in her entire career. She couldn't believe it was over. Which was why, when Salma got slowly, gingerly to her feet, and tossed her wild black locks out of her face, Cindy licked her lips in frustration.
Salma's dark eyes smoldered dangerously - there was still plenty of fight left in the Mex. Her legs were still wobbly, so she propped her red-clad butt against the lip of the low wall and waved Cindy in with her open hands, closing to fists as she hunched over. The women spent a moment in a standoff, the glare of the overhead lights pooling in the sweat at their rounded shoulders, chiseled collarbones and flushed cheeks. Cindy's arms were humming. She wondered how much Salma had left in the tank. Bringing her fists up, she waded in to find out.
Before Cindy could act at close range, Salma reached forward and took hold of the bigger girl by the waistband of her briefs, tugging Cindy tight, keeping her head tucked in under Cindy's jowl. Cindy slapped a punch or two around behind the Mexican's arms, and tried to lean her heavier body on the girl. The two swayed back and forth, but Salma had position, and control of Cindy's trunks, and she bullied the taller girl off balance, putting her back to the hard wood banister.
Cindy clinched now, controlling Salma's head by the back of her neck with her left, trying to hook an arm with her right. Suddenly Salma straightened out of her crouch, putting her entire body behind a short right to the midsection of the super-model. It was Cindy's first taste of Salma's power, and she didn't like it. Another scooping right pounded home, Salma punching with a very efficient, sideways backswing, thumb towards the roof. She generated phenomenal power with her exquisite legs and buttocks, and her punches sent a sexy ripple through her dusky backside. Her left had also bunched together the cloth of Cindy's bottoms at her hip, holding her in place for the short, bludgeoning right hands.
Cindy's face showed the pain as her eyes ground shut and her lips peeled back. She had to stop that right hand! Desperately, she changed her hand positions on Salma, hooking the right arm behind the elbow, pulling down on Salma's neck now with her own right.
Big mistake Cindy. Huge.
Salma gunned the left hook into the beef of Cindy's midsection, and Crawford felt her knees buckle dangerously. Salma had the classic Mexican left hook, a short, murderous punch which landed flat, all four knuckles connecting square to the target, and she pounded away with new vigor as Cindy gurgled in protest. The fist battered into Cindy's ribs, pounded into the meat of her belly and thumped hard to her liver as she tried to turn her body away from the punishment. Her vision began to blur as Salma poured on the abuse and in her ears the roar of the crowd seemed to grow deafening.
Cindy tried to slide along the banister, but Salma buried her head in her chest and stayed right on her, now opening up with both hands to churn underhanded combinations into the pit of Cindy's gut. Cindy went wobbly-butt, and desperately wrapped up both of Salma's rounded arms at the elbow. She held the Mexican against her for a few seconds, but Salma seemed tireless and, eventually, inevitably, punched her way out.
She was piling it on.
She was hurting Cindy.
Bad.
Cindy's face turned from a grimace into a slack jawed, glassy eyed torpor as her body jerked from the beating. The limp strands of her highlighted forelock drooped down the right side of her face. Her mouth came to rest slack against Salma's pumping shoulder as her long arms draped uselessly over and around the punching girl's animated body. Cindy was in dire straits. Her legs quivered as Salma looked to finish.
Instinctively, Cindy had gotten the rhythm of Salma's slugging, and by reflex, she pulled down on Salma's sweaty neck with her right, then came up short and sharp with the right bicep uppercut, clicking Salma's jaw shut with a satisfying "TcholOK!"
Salma stopped punching, eyes blinking stupidly as her ears rang with the uppercut. The girl's half shut eyes glared accusingly at one another for a heart beat, then Salma leaned forward to continue her body pounding. Another right uppercut, close and tight, and Salma's head jerked straight back, leading the way for her body. She staggered back, hands low as her face registered a distant-at-best sense of impact. Salma's thick black hair clumped close to her head, sweaty shoulders and back. She too was fighting on instinct.
Cindy staggered off the rail, and Salma fell towards her, taking hold of Cindy's bottoms as though they were some sort of life preserver, and pushed the bigger girl back to the wall. Cindy's sense of the battle began to drift. She dimly felt the bludgeoning body attack of the Mex., slower, but constant. Sometimes, Salma pulled the punches so tight that she connected with forearm and shoulder as well as fist. Occasionally, fighting off the wall, Cindy stunned Salma, catching her leaning in with the rolling uppercuts.
Both women had their moments in these long minutes of mindless slogging. Cindy could at times, put her weary hands on Salma's shoulders and walk her a few steps away from the wall, only to be forced back as Salma controlled her waist. At one point, Salma had pulled Cindy's right arm out of the way with her own right, the better to lean on her and thump home the left to the body. At another, she had Cindy pinned sideways to the wall, bent over double, leaning her weight on Cindy's upper back whilst beating in the girl's side with a droning, metronomic left. They had bombed each other back to the stone age with their fists.
And yet pride refused to let either woman fall.
Through the fog, Cindy realized she had connected with several of her brawny uppercuts in succession, and that somehow, Salma had stopped punching. Cindy wrapped Salma up top, cradling the dark matted head into her buxom chest, and lifted her thigh just so, in between Salma's solid legs. The ball of the knee was not allowed, but the girl's often used a subtle thigh lift to keep one another's pain level high, and to sap strength,. Cindy could feel the discouragement shuddering through Salma's shoulders as her body slumped. Feeling it now, Cindy worked her upstairs and down, uppercuts and thigh lifts, neither motion taking much more than 6 inches, but the combined effect was wondrous. Salma made soft sighing noises in the clinch, drifting into stupor.
Cindy dared not hope for a collapse. She continued on with the job at hand. Cindy took hold of Salma's right shoulder strap, leading the woman backwards out of the corner, then drove a straight right hand just past Salma's chin, connecting hard with the full force of her shoulder to the Mexican's jaw, flattening her head brutally to her shoulder in a sick, jarring motion of sudden violence.
Salma's legs gave out and she tumbled forward to her knees, her open mouth lolling onto Cindy's hip flexor, eyebrows arching high as she swooned. Salma's arms reached automatically around Cindy's legs, tripping the supermodel awkwardly and both women tumbled to the carpet, each ultimately rolling to her back insensate. Without one girl standing no count could be issued. The mob bellowed and jeered from the darkness all around as the girls lay with hands above their heads, faces hurting, bellies rising and falling in slow rhythms. Many moments passed as each twitched and writhed on the verge of surrender.
Salma rolled to her side and got to her knees first. Cindy, slower, heavier, rolled to her side, but too late - Salma budged her torso onto the model, preventing her from bellying down. The Mexican reached an exhausted left hand across the million dollar body beneath her and grabbed hold of the back of Cindy's aqua trunks. Then, eyes shut, body weight out over Cindy's torso, Salma began a ponderous right hand attack up and into the model's devastated gut. Cindy burbled in protest, absorbing half a dozen slow, slogging shots, her body still beneath the punishment, before finally moving her top leg, the left, over and closing off her midsection to further abuse.
Cindy C lay on her stomach, helpless.
Salma crawled onto her opponent's back, sat her weight upon Cindy's shoulder blades and facing Cindy's legs, she began her final assault. Slowly at first, then more haphazardly, and finally with a fury no one thought she could still muster, Salma battered the tight muscle of Cindy's back, driving in with knuckles, pounding down with the sides of her fists, connecting with every last breath of competitive rage in her breast. The beating thrummed on and on until, with an inarticulate scream, Salma tossed her hair back in a glossy black blur and pushed her way up from Cindy's vibrating body.
Salma thrust both arms into the air as she stomped towards the center of the floor, the red fabric of her bottoms jostling maniacally with the force of her movement. She stood facing the crowd, as pure a force of nature as they, arms raised in triumph as behind her, Cindy lay propped on her elbows, and the bell began to toll.
Cindy could not feel her legs, and all around her midsection her muscles felt numb and tingly. Anesthetized by Salma's hard fists. She managed to raise her head and look stupidly around, eyes fluttering and brimming with tears. She stayed that way for the full count of ten, awake, but not processing her surroundings. Her left leg bent slowly at an angle out to one side as behind her, Salma Hayek sank tearfully to her knees in victory.
The End