And it worked. Unwilling to refuse a direct challenge in the midst of her own circle of admirers, Natalie consented to a match. But along with her acceptance came s threat: “You’ve come an awfully long way simply to be thrashed, Trachtenberg. And make no mistake, you will suffer the defeat of a lifetime!”
The brunette’s reply was wholly unequivocal, “I didn’t come all this way to lose. I’m here to win, and you’re going to learn that the hard way!”
The match would be held in grand style, as befits the avid enthusiasm it generates amongst the elite aficionada of the U.K. catfighting circle, at a rambling ancestral country estate of a member of the House of Lords.
Michelle had fears of a chilly, drafty castle, filled with suits of armor and a hard, cold stone floor, but she was greatly pleased to discover that her host had extensively renovated the manse, and the great hall where the battle would be waged was as stylish and plush as the luxuriant Beverly Hills and Malibu homes she was used to fighting in...although a suit of armor did stand solitary guard between two towering bookcases.
The room was vast enough to give the two combatants a wide field of battle, and still accommodate comfortably some one hundred spectators. Twin fireplaces, with mantles taller than Trachtenberg herself, faced opposite one another across the long expanse, but they were largely for show, as the room was maintained at a comfortable climate via hotel-grade mechanical means.
The room was also large enough to allow Michelle and Natalie to keep a fair distance from one another as they mingled with guests prior to the fight... although there were several instances of their eyes locking across the span; witnesses would swear they could see the daggers firing from the eyes of both young beauties!
Finally, the time had come for both beauties to repair to the private rooms made ready for them. In private, Michelle touched up her makeup, then donned the burgundy string bikini she had chosen for this match. Admiring herself in the mirror, she ran her hands through her shoulder-length chestnut brown hair, purposely mussing it up a bit. She knew as well as anyone that looks meant something in all of this, if only to make the spectators all the happier, and she knew how to highlight and maximize what she had to make men worship her as she fought.
A polite knock at the door was the signal to return to the great hall. She was accompanied in the short trek from her wing of the manor to the battlefield by a ramrod-straight butler in knee socks and a white wig...the very picture of a Victorian Era Gentleman’s Gentleman.
The brunette entered the hall first, to the rapturous applause of the assembled guests. She blushed a bit at the response, and demurely put a hand to her mouth to shield her slightly embarrassed smile. For all of her fame and success, such accolades...particularly from the wealthy and powerful... still surprised and delighted her. That the response was so positive for her in her opponent’s native land was all the more pleasurable.
Moments later, Natalie entered from the opposite end of the hall. Just to give Michelle a bit of a reality check, the roar of approval for her opponent from the throng dwarfed her own. The blond was garbed in a knee- length powder blue satin kimono, her flaxen hair done up in a bun. And as much as Trachtenberg hated to admit it, her rival was stunningly beautiful, and in a natural way. Which was just one more reason to despise the witch.
Awaiting the ombudsman to make the formal introduction, Michelle was a bit taken aback when instead, Natalie began to address her directly, “Oh, how adorable you look in that, my dear,” clearly referring to her attire. “It’s truly smashing.” Michelle was waiting for the other shoe to drop...and she didn’t have to wait long. “And it’s very endearing that you’ve decided to wear that this evening, honestly it is,” continued Dormer, a touch of acid at the heart of each honey-soaked word. “But I suppose you don’t know how things are done here in Britain. You see, we aren’t quite so Puritanical as you Yanks. We fight as Nature intended, dear.”
With that, Natalie undid the obi sash of her kimono and let it slide off of her body to the floor...to reveal herself standing stark naked! Pulling her bun loose, she shook her head and let her golden tresses tumble to her alabaster shoulders. The spectators stood wide-eyed for a heartbeat, and then let loose with an ovation even greater than before. Natalie was a vision to behold, both Bodicea and Lady Godiva in one.
Michelle wasn’t fooled for a minute. This was all a stunt to trick and embarrass her...and dammit, it was working! The brunette had no intention of starting this match naked. But what she intended and what she knew must be were now two entirely different matters. Natalie had thrown the gauntlet, and if Michelle refused to reciprocate, she will have lost this opening skirmish in tonight’s war.
After the space of several moments, the scowl suddenly disappeared from Trachtenberg’s face, replaced with a cheery look that suggested she stripped naked in front of roomfuls of strangers as a matter of habit. Reaching behind her neck, she deftly undid the string of her halter top, removed it, and tossed it casually to the side. She then hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her briefs and slid them down her legs, likewise discarding the garb (where they landed near enough to a Labour member of Commons for him to nonchalantly reach down, pick them up, and slip them into his coat pocket).
The lack of attire also allowed the assembled witnesses to make their own mental comparisons as to which young lady truly possessed the finer derriere, something which both were credited with. Observing both with keen eyes, all but the most partisan among them had to admit that this particular contest was a tie. But one and all were willing to continue their research for as long as it takes.
Both young Amazons now stood opposite one another, eyes locked in silent hostility, their bare bodies rippling with power. The ombudsman motioned for the spectators to either find seats or, failing that, move close to the walls. Then he said, “Anything profound I could hope to say at a glorious moment such as this would merely be prattle, other than ladies...begin.”
And with that, both women begin to circle one another, each apparently indifferently, but to the trained eye, it was clear their bodies were coiled for action and their eyes were probing for the first opportunity to strike.
When they were finally near enough for contact, Natalie almost lazily reaches out with her right hand to grab at her foe’s hair, but Michelle swats her hand away. Dormer tries again with her left hand, moving a little more quickly, but again she is rebuffed. There is a prolonged moment of stillness, and then the hands of both beauties dart like cobras, fists filling themselves with flowing tresses. The two stumble a bit as they tear and yank, each allowing small gasps and yelps to escape their lips as their scalps are seared with fiery pain.
Suddenly, Trachtenberg twists and, holding fast to her opponent’s mane, she flips Natalie through the air! Startled, Dormer instinctively releases her own grip on her enemy’s hair as she tumbles to the floor. Not wasting an instant, the brunette lets go of her flaxen handholds and grabs Natalie by the wrists, bending her arms back while simultaneously digging her knee between the embattled blonde’s shoulder blades. Dormer grits her teeth while her mind races with any number of possible counter moves. It’s too early in the match for a maneuver such as this to drive her to surrender, so clearly the American is testing her skills.
The blond aims not to disappoint! Planting her feet on the floor, Natalie uses the very leverage Michelle is applying against her to swiftly rise up. The suddenness of the move weakens the brunette’s hold, and in a blur of motion, Dormer pulls her wrists free and, grabbing Trachtenberg by her own left wrist, she suddenly reverses matters with an armbar on her challenger.
Slapping at her shoulder to dampen the sudden pain, Michelle sets her own knowledgeable mind to the task of escape, almost immediately fashioning a strategy. With lightning speed, the brunette somersaults forward, and with a gymnast’s grace lands on her feet, having successfully broken free of the hold on her arm.
The duo circle one another again, this time with far less nonchalance than before. Crouched, hands at the ready, the cautiously close the gap between them. Then, acting almost as one, they strike...Natalie going for another grab of the hair, but Michelle ducking low, wrapping her arms around her rival’s legs and, jerking upright, sending Dormer crashing to the carpet with a THUD!
But before Trachtenberg can move in and take advantage, the blond starts to frantically kick her legs, warding off her opponent. Michelle tries to slip through, but for her trouble only receives a kick to the side of her knee that sends her hobbling back.
Dormer climbs to her hands and knees as she begins to rise, and the brunette drives at her again, hoping to catch her off-balance. But she realizes too late that this was the trap laid for her by the blond, as Natalie’s right leg flashes out, knocking Trachtenberg’s feet out from under her and sending her sprawling.
With jungle speed, the blond is on her adversary, rolling Michelle onto her stomach and grabbing her left foot with one hand and cupping her hand under the brunette’s chin with the other. Planting her knee in the small of her foe’s back, Dormer yanks both ends, until Michelle becomes an agonized human pretzel, her back and leg bent so far beyond their range, her toes actually touch the crown of her own head!
Michelle’s hands alternately pound at the floor and claw at the hand clutching her chin, but to little avail. She knows she can survive this hold, but not without suffering damage. So, the sooner she can escape, the better it will be for her. Luckily for the brunette, Natalie quickly grows bored with the maneuver and releases her foe. Opting for a different means of attack, the Brit rolls Trachtenberg over onto her back...but if she expects Michelle to be her helpless prey, she is rudely disabused of that illusion. Ignoring the pain that rips from her legs all the way up her spine to the base of her neck, Michelle lashes out with her right leg, catching Dormer in the jaw with her knee.
Then, the brunette clamps her powerful legs around the blonde’s head and flips her over to the carpet. Natalie, stunned by the blow and startled by the flip, reacts slowly...too slow, as it turns out. Seated from behind, Michelle snakes her gams around her adversary’s waist, locking a crushing vise upon the blonde’s ribs. Then, Trachtenberg snares Natalie’s torso in an abdominal stretch.
Literally paralyzed by the overwhelming agony, the Brit can only rasp out, “Bloody...hell...!” between clenched teeth.
“What do you suppose gives first, huh?” the brunette taunted with unconcealed glee. “Do we crack a rib, or do we maybe tear an oblique or a latissimus? Of course, the grief ends just as soon as you say, ‘Oh, Michelle...you’re just too superior for me! I beg you for mercy!’” Trachtenberg was not ordinarily one to ridicule an opponent this way, but Dormer brought out the nastiness in her in a way that no other person...save for Scarlett Johansson...ever has.
Yet, for all of her seeming bravado, Michelle realized that Natalie was slowly, incrementally, inching her way toward escape. The blond had been successful in gradually twisting her body to the side, lessening the pressure on her ribs and, soon enough, pulling loose of the abdominal stretch. And when that happened, her hands would be free to attack her attacker.
Knowing that the tide was turning, the brunette opts to release her holds. The instant she does, Natalie rolls away to safety. Both beauties are tired and hurting now, and they sit on their haunches, savagely glaring at one another while they gulp in air, their nude bodies glistening with sweat and glowing with an almost electric current of aura hatred.
Both rise and begin to stalk toward one another. But as the gap between them narrows, they can no longer contain themselves, and as one, they charge with animal growls. Their bodies collide with the sound of wet flesh, followed by grunts and groans as their hands claw and yank and tug and one another, the combatants stumbling on their feet and looking for all the world like a single beast attempting to destroy itself.
As they struggle, Dormer snaps her head blindly, and by sheer luck it slams into her foe’s temple. The brunette staggers back a few steps, her eyes suddenly glassy and her legs trembling. With a feral grace, Natalie leaps into the air and lashes out with her feet...one hitting Michelle in the throat, the other slamming into her chest. The dual dropkick sends the American sailing backward through the air and crashing heavily to the floor, dazed.
With a malicious sneer on her face, the blond gets to her feet and saunters over to her hapless foe. As Michelle tries to sit up, she suffers a stomp to her belly, which sends her flat onto her back again. Natalie then drives another stomp into the brunette’s left breast, eliciting a sharp yowl from her victim. Then, placing her foot on Trachtenberg’s throat, the blond wickedly presses down. Michelle’s feet flail and her hands frantically tug at her tormentor’s ankle, trying to break the chokehold, her movements growing weaker with every passing moment.
‘I could end the match now,’ she thinks.
But this isn’t how the Englishwoman wants it to finish. She still wants to torture her brazen rival. Lifting her foot up, Natalie allows the panting Michelle to catch her breath. But the blond wastes no time in launching a new attack, this one aimed at her opponent’s primary weapons: her legs. She grabs the sculpted limbs, twisting and bending them in ways that would make a lesser woman scream her submission. Michelle does scream, yet surrender is never contemplated. She would let this bitch cripple her before she’d give Natalie the satisfaction of hearing her say, “I give up.”
And that suits Dormer just fine; she’d much rather continue to make Michelle suffer than to have the battle end...the beaming smile on her deceptively angelic face makes that plain to one and all.
There is no denying that the Brit is a mistress of such tortures. Perhaps her best...if by best one means devastating...is one which literally attacks her victim’s entire leg. Natalie first bends the limb until Michelle fears that her hamstring is going to tear; next, the blond twists it so that pressure is applied not only to the knee, but also to the ankle; finally, using her free hand, the blond presses her fingers deep into the soft, vulnerable arch of Trachtenberg’s sole. The brunette’s cries are bone-chilling, tears streaking her mascara. And still, she will not surrender.
Once again, it is the blonde’s own boredom which comes to the rescue of her adversary. Growing tired of this strategy, Natalie decides to have a bit of fun...and administer some humiliation to her foe in the bargain. Kneeling on one leg, Dormer grabs Michelle by the hair and roughly drapes the brunette face-down over her outstretched knee.
“You’re quite the saucy thing, aren’t you love?” Natalie scoffs. “Coming all this way because you think you’re my equal. That’s quite hilarious, truly. I presume you’re simply not very bright, are you now? Well, I suppose it’s my duty as an Englishwoman to...how do you Yanks put it? Take you to school.”
And with that, Natalie begins to administer a spanking to her foe’s bare buttocks, the crack of each slap echoing throughout the cavernous room. The glow of Michelle’s swiftly-reddening rear is matched only by the dark blush on her face. The one tactic which she abhors the most is being spanked, yet here she way, subject to this hated enemy’s taunting blows, humbled before the eyes of the assembled guests.
But in hatred there is power, and Michelle begins to feel an adrenalin surge that courses through her whole body like a bolt of lightning! But Natalie senses it to, and she halts her spanking, then pulls the brunette upright by her dark mane. Before Trachtenberg can formulate a response, the blond wraps her arms around her rival’s head for a devastatingly effective sleeper hold.
As quickly as it came, the adrenalin rush dissipates. Michelle’s eyes begin to roll and her arms hang limply by her sides. Another minute of this at most, and the American battler will be left slumbering in oblivious defeat. Yet still, Natalie is not ready for her inevitable conquest to come. Releasing her hood, she lets Trachtenberg collapse face-first into the plush carpeting, a low moan and a convulsive twitch of her right leg the only signs that some spark of consciousness still remain.
Standing over her prone adversary, Dormer is a golden goddess...her body taut, nipples erect, and a patina of sheer power seemingly emanating from her every pore. She is a vision to behold...and a vision which she is about to deny the spectators, at least in part.
Strolling over to a certain member of the House of Commons, Natalie reaches in to the pocket of his dinner jacket and pulls out Michelle’s panties, then dons them herself. Locating the discarded halter top on the floor, she likewise garbs herself in that. All the while, she addresses her foe, who can only be barely comprehending.
“We are not animals,” Dormer says in the haughtiest of tones. “We do not carry ourselves as some wild aborigine.” It dawns on those present that Natalie is using ‘we’ in the royal sense, which for anyone else would seem pretentious, but for her seems perfectly appropriate.
It also dawns on them what she is doing. In ancient times, victorious gladiators would claim the armor of their defeated enemies, and this is what Natalie does now by wearing the bikini of her rival. The blond has also drawn a distinct line between the two of them, with her now being the civilized warrior, and Michelle in her nakedness...with no garb left available for her to claim...being little more than a savage. It’s a masterful bit of psychological warfare, one which speaks...and insults...on many levels.
With a look of utter disdain, the blond marches over to her foe, who is slowly trying to get to her feet, and helps her up with liberal handfuls of Michelle’s hair. Still glassy eyed, Trachtenberg sways on unsteady legs, while her adversary stands opposite her, hands on her hips, her lips pursed, and a cocky tilt of her head that betrays the sense of utter superiority which the Brit feels at this moment. Then, without warning, Natalie brings the palm of her hand hard across her rival’s face, the sharp crack of the slap resounding like a gunshot. The brunette’s head whips violently to the side, and as it turns back toward the blond, it is met with a backhanded blow from the same hand. Almost at will Natalie contemptuously SLAPs Michelle’s face again and again, signaling her scorn for her opponent. Unfortunately for the Englishwoman, the stinging blows also help the brunette clear the fog from her mind.
Suddenly, Michelle blocks the startled Natalie’s blow, and delivers a slap of her own that spins the blonde’s body by forty-five degrees. Dormer shakes her head to clear it, and with a snarl lunches at her foe. But the brunette is ready, launching a kick hard into the Brit’s belly. Demonstrating that, despite the earlier focused attack upon them, her legs are still up to the task of delivering damage of their own, Trachtenberg begins to fire precise kicks at Natalie, sending her staggering back with every blow. Like a piston, Michelle nails Dormer again and again...the ball of her foot strikes the blonde’s head, breasts and belly.
Pausing in her assault, Michelle growls, “You’re taking me to school? Well, here’s one of my favorite schoolyard games...Kick the Can!” With the utterance of the final syllable, Trachtenberg jumps into the air, twists her body, and slams a double dropkick squarely into each of Natalie’s breasts! The impact sends the Brit reeling backward with a pained yowl.
Finally, Natalie’s back is up against the wall, and she has no place left to retreat. Slowly, she slides down the wall to a crouched position on the floor, tears welling in her eyes. “Stop!” she shrieks. “No more!” She buries her face in her hands and sobs openly now. The blonde’s final submission, it would appear, is at hand.
Although she prides herself on not being overly smug, Trachtenberg can’t suppress a small upward turn of her mouth in satisfaction. Grabbing her foe by her damp, matted golden locks, Michelle says, “First, you’re getting out of that bikini. Then, you’re telling all of these nice people how you’re surrend...AIEEEEEEEE!!!”
The sudden shriek was the result of Natalie, viper-like, driving a fist up into her unwary antagonist’s groin. The sinister smile on her face reveals that her near-submission was merely a ruse meant to trick her opponent...with obvious success.
The spectators, who have throughout the match not hesitated to cheer and applaud both warriors, now seem to grumble in disapproval. Such subterfuge. ”Playing Possum,” in the American vernacular...seems a cheap and tawdry tactic to those assembled to bear witness. Better Natalie go down to defeat, many feel, than to sully the honor of the sport by such a low trick.
Knees buckling and hands massaging her throbbing womanhood, Trachtenberg turns away from Dormer and stumbles away to try and gain a few moments respite to recover. But the Englishwoman allows her no lull; wrapping her arms around Michele from behind, Natalie hoists her up into the air with a grunt from the exertion, then brings her down fast, so that the brunette’s battered crotch is rammed hard into the blonde’s knee in a crude Atomic Drop. The impact sends the American flying several feet forward before she crashes to the floor, a high pitched squeal ripped from her throat. Laying face first on the carpet, derriere elevated, Michelle’s hands frantically rub her devastated groin, to little avail. Her remaining power all but drained, the brunette looks like a pathetic rag doll.
Like a painter who knows when her art is at last completed, Natalie moves in for the coup de grâce. Hauling Michelle back up to her feet, Dormer bends her foe backward, then wraps her arm around Trachtenberg’s head, setting her up for the blonde’s devastating Reverse DDT finisher! Ordinarily, Dormer would improve her leverage...and the maneuvers impact...by clutching her victim’s panties with her other hand. But, as Michelle is nude, Natalie has to content herself with a handful of the brunette’s neatly trimmed bush; not as effective, true, but helpful nonetheless.
The move executed, Michelle’s head hit’s the floor with a sickening thud. Yet, she continues to tenaciously cling to consciousness, groaning and slowly squirming. Natalie seems annoyed at first, then as nefarious a smile as has ever crossed her face emerges, and her eyes fairly sparkle with mischief.
Wasting not a moment’s time, Dormer sits astride her rival’s chest facing Michelle’s legs. Impishly, the blond lets her hindquarters hover in the air for several heartbeats, and then the twin perfect hemispheres of her derriere settle down upon the brunette’s face, smothering her. Trachtenberg’s body begins to thrash wildly, desperate to escape, but in vain.
Settled in, Natalie jeers to her fallen foe, “I trust you’ll appreciate the irony that it took a combination of both of our finishers to shatter your sad little hope of victory once and for all. Of course, this only proves that I am better than you in everything...including your own finishing hold!”
Less than a minute later, Michelle lay absolutely still...mind shrouded in darkness even as body is cloaked in defeat.
Standing up, Natalie plants her right foot upon the heaving chest of her beaten rival, and raises her arms to signal her acceptance of the euphoric cheers of the onlookers. But instead, she is met with only a smattering of polite applause. The crowd is not yet prepared to forgive her for her deception (ironically, given the event of the evening, a phrase much-used to describe Dormer’s action by many spectators is “Unladylike”).
Rage flashing in her blue eyes, Dormer angrily marches over to where she had left her kimono and puts it on. Staring at the unmoving form of her enemy for several long moments, she suddenly stalks over to Michelle, pulling the sash free of her robe as she approaches her. With her foot, Natalie rolls Trachtenberg over onto her stomach, and swiftly uses the sash to hogtie the brunette. Sliding the pilfered panties off her body, the blond derisively stuffs them in Michelle’s mouth as a makeshift gag.
“There’s your precious princess!” she roars to the guests. “And you can let her know I went easy on her...when she wakes up!”
Turning on her heel, kimono billowing behind her, Natalie furiously stomps back to her room like a petulant child. This battle was over...but for Michelle, the war was far from lost.