Scarlett Johansson vs. Michelle Trachtenberg (IV) by Jackflash

Middle-aged, with a receding hairline and the start of a paunch, the man in the finely tailored suit wouldn’t seem to be the sort who could get one of the world’s leading young actresses to cut short an Acapulco vacation in order to sit in a conference room, no matter how grand the view of Los Angeles was, nor how charming he is.

And as a man, he probably wasn’t able to accomplish that. But as one of Hollywood’s top agents, as well as one of the driving forces of the elite Southern California catfighting circle, he was more than powerful enough to accomplish that and more.

Without having to say so, both knew why they were here as they sat at opposite ends of the long table. The gentleman slid a small clamshell box across the dark walnut surface, and it skidded to a stop directly in front of the young lady. With an air of indifference, she opened it up…and her eyes went wide.

“Custom-made Cartier, one of a kind,” the man said. “Although once it makes its public debut before the paparazzi, there will be all sorts of knockoffs.”

Scarlett delicately lifted the platinum and diamond necklace from the box and held it up around her neck. There was no mirror to check herself in, but she didn’t need to see how it looked; just the feel of the jewelry upon her skin told her it looked magnificent.

Placing it back in the box and shutting the lid, she resumed her practiced air of indifference and said, “It’s nice…in its way. And we both know it’s going to be mine, so why don’t I just leave with it today?” The gentleman noted that for all of her seeming lack of interest, the blond…perhaps unconsciously…kept one hand placed atop the jewelry box the entire time.

“And you and I both know the reason why not,” he replied. “The backers of this particular hobby which you pursue so effectively are interested in…structuring is perhaps the better word…yes, structuring it more. In other words, they want to be able to point with pride…and bestow that lovely trinket…to a champion, someone who represents the best and the brightest of this particularly privileged endeavor.”

Scarlett was a good enough actress to betray no emotion while he spoke, but inside she was fairly bursting with pride, for she knew she was that best and that brightest. But she was a good enough actress to hide her conceit. And he was a good enough agent to know when an actress is acting.

He continued. “And there are some…most, really…who feel that you are the logical choice to be so proclaimed.” The blond beauty didn’t bother to conceal her smug smile now…but it quickly dropped from her face when he added, “However, there still exists a small but influential group who feel you have not yet quite earned the accolade just yet.”

“Who. And why.” Scarlett demanded in a tone of voice that would tolerate no quibbling.

“Well,” the gentleman replied without fear, “me, for one. As to why, let me make it absolutely clear that my respect and admiration for you knows no bounds. I have seen you face and defeat some truly outstanding women, and you have been nothing short of brilliant. However, there is still some lingering doubt that ought to be cleared up before we place that very expensive bit of jewelry around your neck.”

“Doubts…about…what?” the beauty asked in low, measured tones.

With no hesitation, the gentleman plunges in: “A trio of matches I’ve witnessed and saw you perform with, shall we say, less than total brilliance.”

Scarlett didn’t even need to ask which three matches he was referring to. She knew immediately.

With a steely resolve, the blond responds, “I won two of those fights, and her beating me the first time was only a lucky fluke…I underestimated her. That was a mistake I have not repeated.”

“Forgive me for saying so, my dear,” the gentleman says, “but my own observations were that she beat you fair and square the first time, and you only barely eked out your next two victories…and you were damned lucky to be able to do even that.”

The young woman’s face flushed red with anger and a sharp edge tinged her voice as she shot back with, “I could kick her ass a thousand different ways anytime, anywhere.”

To which the response came as, “If that’s so, then why have you refused to wrestle her again?”

Scarlett had no answer for that…at least none that she would verbalize. And she owed no explanations nor excuses to anyone. But she knew what the impression her refusal made upon others was: She was seen as a coward.

After nearly thirty seconds of total silence, the blond finally speaks. “So, all I have to do is beat her again…and beat her to your impeccable standards, it seems…and this,” she nodded toward the jewelry case, “becomes mine?”

“All you have to do is beat her,” the man replies. “You don’t have to demolish her, nor make her beg, or do any of the other things you are so skilled at. Simply beat her in one more match, and make your ascension unassailable.”

A wry smirk returns to Scarlett’s angelic face and she says, “Set it up. Oh, and when I do win, you can start referring to me as Your Majesty, because I won’t simply be a champion…I will be the Queen of Catfighting!

The agent smiles wryly himself, and he punches a button the telephone before him. “Edna? Get me Michelle Trachtenberg’s phone number.”

Michelle held the gold embossed invitation in her hand for a long time, the gloom of the setting sun darkening the unlit room with shades of crimson and purple turned to gray.

The invitation was a mere formality, of course. The real offer had been made by telephone several days earlier. But employing such a ceremonial notification harked back to an older time, one of civility and chivalry. Maybe it was how they did things when regal noblewomen were summoned to battle one another for the amusement of the lords and dukes and kings. These days, the royalty resided in Hollywood, and the battles were no less fierce between these princesses than they ever were in generations past.

And now, one such princess…Scarlett …seemed poised to become the Queen. And only Michelle, perhaps, stood in her way.

How ironic, the brunette grimly mused. For well over a year, she had been requesting…no, demanding…another rematch against Scarlett. She had beaten the blond in their first fight, the victory catapulting Michelle up the ranks into the forefront of the elite catfighting establishment. And the two young women had fought twice more, with the blond claiming victory in both…but tarnished victories, as the argument could (and would) be made that Scarlett’s wins had been less the result of her skill or tenacity than they were the happy accidents of blind luck. Scarlett certainly could not point to them with much in the way of personal pride, other than to argue that a win was a win, and therefore she owed Michelle nothing more…which is precisely what she did argue, every time Michelle called for another battle between them.

The irony now, of course, is that this is the precise point in time when the brunette does NOT want to face her nemesis again. And the reason for that can be summed up with a single name: Natalie Dormer. If there is anyone in the world whom Michelle could loath as much as she does Scarlett, it’s Dormer. And the brunette and her English rival found themselves in a wild melee several months earlier.

Michelle went into the fight at the peak of her game…her body was strong, her mind was sharp, her strategy secure.

And still she lost.

Not just lost…she was humiliated. Dormer outwitted her, outfought her, and demonstrated her clear supremacy over the American. Michelle still has nightmares over it! And while she has lost matches in the past, none have haunted her as this one has. So much so that she has refused all offers to wrestle since, and she has remained in semi-seclusion, brooding over her failure. Which is why now is the absolute worst time to face Scarlett.

At her very best, Michelle is perhaps the blonde’s equal physically, although Michelle always considered herself the better fight tactician. But Michelle is far from her best now; her confidence is fractured, and her skills have inevitably begun to show some signs of rust from disuse. Which is probably why Scarlett would move Heaven and Earth to get a match with her now, what with the odds being so heavily in the blonde’s favor at the moment.

In truth, from what Michelle had heard through the grapevine, Scarlett needs this match. The only way she can claim true superiority is to beat the one opponent who has taken her measure and neither flinched nor faltered. Michelle may hate Scarlett with every fiber of her being, but she never had any nightmares about her...and that fact has to simply gall Scarlett. But she may start having them after this fight. Scarlett is quite probably at her apex…and Scarlett at her best is better than just about anyone else, anywhere. The odds are daunting against the brunette. If she could postpone the fight for a few months, give herself time to prepare, then she may have a fifty-fifty shot. But there is no time; this battle is scheduled for just three weeks from now.

But it’s not too late to back out, and there’s no shame in admitting that she’s not ready for this fight. Except that it’s always too late to back out, once an agreement has been made, and the shame she would feel for running away would be worse than anything that Scarlett Johansson…or Natalie Dormer…could ever do to her. She looks at the invitation for another full minute, and then she tosses it onto the table and rises from her chair. She has less than three weeks to get herself into the best shape…physical and psychological…that she possibly can.

Because while she may be fated to lose this match to Scarlett, she’s going to damn well made sure Scarlett doesn’t win it easily…and that maybe the blond comes out of it with a nightmare or two of her own.

The raven-tressed young woman’s painful moans, punctuated by anguished sobs, continued long after her tormentor released the Leg Lock she’d been subjecting her to…and it only took the victim three screamed submissions before she gained her freedom.

As a medic retained for this training session tended to the mauled beauty on the mat, her opponent walked over to a table, where a towel and bottle of cold water awaited her. Scarlett moved with an almost regal grace that bespoke of supreme self-confidence…despite the obvious discomfort she was feeling in her left ribcage, which she was tenderly massaging with her right hand.

“You did quite a number on the poor girl,” her personal assistant said as she handed the blond her towel. “This was supposed to only be a sparring match, right?”

“She hurt me,” the blond acidly replied, as if that was all she needed to say to justify the beating she had just inflicted on her opponent in what was supposed to be a “friendly” little match. For unconscious emphasis, she ran her hand again over her sore ribs. “She got what she deserved.” A pause, and then, almost casually, she asks, “Where did you find this one.”

“Central Casting,” replies the aide. “Another Midwestern beauty pageant winner come to Hollywood to be a star. But she has gymnastics and dance experience, like Trachtenberg…and a really wicked Body Scissors, I see.”

“She caught me by surprise,” Scarlett responds almost defensively. “I made her regret that.”

“I think what you’re paying her for this will go a long way toward easing her regret. It’s a whole lot more than she makes in a week at that fitness club she works at,” the assistant adds.

Taking a deep breath and staring off at some unseen vista, Scarlett remains silent for fully half a minute, then she says, almost quietly, “This was a good session. The whole time I was demolishing that bimbo, I saw only Trachtenberg’s face.”

“That explains why you kept slapping the stupid off of her face,” the aide jokingly retorts. But her attempt at ingratiating humor is lost on her employer’s ears, as Scarlett instead continues to cast her gaze to something only she can see…the night, quickly approaching, when she faces her brunette rival one more…and, the blond intends, final…time.

And she smiles with a serpent’s viciousness at the image her mind conjures.

The brunette trudges wearily into the room, the darkness staved off only by a few candles, their flickering light throwing ominous shadows on the walls. From a CD player softly wafts the sounds of a harp, intermittently added by those of a wave lapping the shore and a breeze ever-so-delicately rustling the leaves of a tree.

She lets the robe slip from her body and she climbs upon the padded table, pulling the sheet over her as she lays face-down. The touch of the soft cotton fabric upon her bare skin is gentle, almost caressing. All in all, it’s a most relaxing environment, one which could easily lull a weary woman to peaceful sleep. But for all of the fatigue her body feels, her mind is racing far too fast for her to simply drift into slumber…no matter how much she may wish to.

Another figure now enters the room. Kellie has been a masseuse for over a decade, with a rather exclusive list of clients…including the woman now before her. And, like a good masseuse, she does more than mere massage their bodies. She ministers to their souls in a way, as she plays the role of confessor figure. She’s found that she rarely has to supply any ultimate answers herself…her clients tend to find their own answers in the course of opening up with her. Her role, really, is to simply listen. And of course, she is greatly appreciated for her discretion.

Kellie pulls the top of the sheet aside to uncover the brunette’s back, then applies her own custom mixture of massage oils to the skin. One look at the mass of knots before her tells her that her client’s anxiety factor is sky high.

“You’re wound tight as a drum today, Michelle,” the masseuse says as she begins to firmly knead the muscles of the brunette. “Are you sure you want me to do deep tissue?”

“Hurt me,” Michelle says in a voice that borders on a slur; her physical exhaustion is so great, she can only use her mouth to a minimal effect. “Remind me I’m alive.”

“I’ve heard you’ve been doing triple training sessions,” the masseuse says by way of idle conversation. “Aren’t you worried about tiring yourself out before you even have your match?”

“Can’t help…ooooohhhhhh…it,” the brunette replies. “I’ve got zero time and a long way to go before I’m ready for Scarlett.”

“Well, I suppose you know what you’re doing,” Kellie responds. “You’ve been in enough matches already to know your limits. But I have to wonder if you’re building Scarlett up in your mind to be more than she is? You’ve beaten her before, and I have no doubt you’ll beat her this time, too.”

A pause of several heartbeats, and then, “No, I won’t.”

“What’s that?” the masseuse asks in some confusion.

“I won’t beat her this time,” Michelle says with an air of resignation. “She’s the best I’ve ever faced, and she’s only gotten better since then. And me? I think I’ve already peaked, and she’s passed me by. The best I can…ohhhh, yeah, that’s a good spot…hope for is to give her enough of a challenge that she doesn’t annihilate me.”

More than a little perturbed by her client’s defeatist attitude, the masseuse puts a little something extra into her massaging, eliciting an “Ow! Ow! OWW!” from the brunette.

Kellie then says, “I can’t believe I’m hearing you talk this way. I think you’ve forgotten something important.”

“What’s that?” asks Michelle.

“For a long, long time,” comes the reply, “no one every expected you to win. Brittany Snow…Solange Knowles…Blake Lively…Kaley Cuoco…Avril Lavigne…and yes, even Scarlett that first time…everybody predicted that they would beat you. But you proved them wrong! And then, suddenly, you went from being this expected loser to being the hottest thing in catfighting, and you became ‘the girl to beat’. The problem is, I think you started believing the hype about yourself, and you got the crazy idea into your head that you really are supposed to be unbeatable.”

“I don’t think that’s exact-OWWWWWWW!” interrupts the demoralized brunette…or at least she tries to.

“Shut up, I’m not finished,” says the indignant masseuse as she kneads harder. “So, you’re strutting around with your nose in the air like you’re royalty, and the first woman who comes along and puts a major beatdown on your ass…that would be Natalie Dormer, in case you’ve forgotten…you fold up like a house of cards and crawl into a cave. And now, just when you have the opportunity to prove to yourself and to the world that you are damned good, losses or not, you say something stupid like, ‘I can’t win against her.’ You know what? I always thought you were one of the smartest people I knew. But the girl I’m hearing this defeatist bull from now is about the stupidest twat I’ve ever met.”

There is a long period of silence, save for the haunting harp music. And then, in a small voice…one soft, yet tinged with steel…Michelle says, “I think maybe the smartest person in this room isn’t me.” She lifts herself up by her elbows and turns her head to look at the other woman. “Thank you…I owe you for this.”

With a wry smile, the masseuse says, “What you owe me is my money for this hour…and I don’t come cheap. Now lie down and let me finish…and get those idiotic thoughts about not being able to beat Scarlett out of your head.”

And the flickering candle light continues to cast its bizarre pantomime upon the walls. Except now, instead of images of impending doom, Michelle glimpses sight of possible triumph…

Michelle stalked into the room with panther grace. Gone was the almost cherubic smile and overall air of discipline and self-restraint which were Michelle hallmarks…those qualities had been left behind on the floor of an English manor several months back, it would seem…stripped away along with her pride and dignity by Natalie Dormer. In their place was an almost electric air of ferocity and volatility which fairly crackled around the brunette!

Mirroring this brash manifestation was her physical appearance. Once, she preferred to wear her long chestnut hair in a ponytail or pigtails, or perhaps flowing long and free. Now, it was teased into an almost unruly feral mane. Her eyes were circled with black mascara, bringing out the sharp glint of fury which shone from them. Deep red lipstick matched the polish on her nails, and corresponded with her togs: a deep burgundy bikini.

This was not the Michelle of old! Like some ancient warrior woman, she strode to her side of the large room that would be the battlefield, ignoring all but Scarlett. Those darkened eyes never shifted their gaze from her, and the
glare was enough to make even the supremely self-confident blond hesitate a bit. Scarlett opened her mouth to no doubt let fly one of her patented barbs…but nothing emerged. Instead, she closed her mouth and kept silent.

The ombudsman stood up from his upholstered leather chair and said, “Ladies, much hangs in the balance tonight. But irregardless of what the outcome will be, I speak for all when I thank you in advance for what will undoubtedly be a
most memorable engagement. And with that, you may begin.”

With her usual cocksure strut, Scarlett began to circle…yet Michelle marched straight toward her. The blond seemed confused as to what her opponent was doing; after all, Michelle always began her matches cautiously. Scarlett was so baffled by her foe’s tactic, she failed to defend herself against a sudden and vicious Backhand across her face. The CRACK echoed through the room and snapped the blonde’s head to the side with a pained grunt.

An instant later, Michelle’s knee drove hard up into her belly, doubling Scarlett over. Another Knee Lift, this one to Scarlett’s face, snapped her bolt upright and sent her staggering backward several steps. Then, with a snarl, Michelle flipped the blond over with a Hip Toss, slamming Scarlett flat on her butt. A Savate Kick to the base of her skull caused Scarlett’s eyes to roll as she crumpled forward, hands clutching at her throbbing head.

Michelle wasted no time pressing her advantage. Grabbing her foe’s legs, she rolled the stunned blond over onto her stomach. Placing her right foot upon Scarlett’s left leg to keep it pinned to the floor, she yanked the left leg up, bending and wrenching it until Scarlett screamed from the searing pain in her inner thigh.

The spectators…and, most assuredly, Scarlett…were stunned by the rapid-paced fierceness of Michelle’s attack. She struck with viper speed and cold precision, rendering her rival virtually helpless within moments. The brunette clearly came into this match prepared to win; the only question now was, could she maintain her dominance, or would Scarlett find a means of turning the tide?

Although she held the upper hand, Michelle knew full well how skilled her opponent was at escaping from even the most “inescapable” of holds…if the blond had time to analyze her situation. Michelle was determined to deny her that luxury, and to keep Scarlett reeling from an ever-changing array of maneuvers, each designed to sap her strength and leave her ripe for submission in due course. To that end, the brunette suddenly dropped to her knees, driving those selfsame knees hard to the inside of her opponent’s left knee, causing Scarlett to shriek.

Keeping the blond on her belly, Michelle grabbed Scarlett by the ankles and bent her legs back at the knees, crossing her ankles as she did so. By planting her right knee atop the ankles, she kept Scarlett’s legs immobilized. Then with her left hand, she reached forward and filled her grip with her rival’s golden hair, yanking Scarlett’s head back. What came next was unexpected, as the brunette balled her right hand into a fist and began to drive it again and again into Scarlett’s lower right back, delivering Kidney Punches. The beleaguered blond wailed with every aching blow, one hand trying to pry lose the hold on her mane, the other trying to shield her targeted area from Michelle’s punches…both with futile results.

Again shifting her attack without warning, Michelle suddenly releases Scarlett, save for the hold on her hair. Hauling the blond up to her unsteady feet, she next wraps her arms around Scarlett’s waist. With a grunting heave, Michelle lifts her adversary up into the air, pivots 180 degrees, and slams her to the floor with a Belly To Belly Suplex!

Scarlett’s back arches from the impact as electric pain courses up and down her spine. Liking the effect, Michelle again grabs her foe by the hair, drags her back up to her feet, and once more wraps her arms around Scarlett. But in doing so, the brunette had made her first mistake of the night…she repeated herself, and now her opponent, despite her dazed state, could anticipate what was coming next. And she wasn’t about to let that happen again.

From her position, and given how weakened she was, Scarlett’s options were limited. Fortunately for her, there was one move available to her that would get the job done: Snapping her head forward, she Headbutted Michelle between the eyes. With a groan, Michelle released her hold and stumbled back a few steps, trying to shake loose the sudden explosion of stars that filled her vision.

With a roar, Scarlett charged at her hated enemy and threw a wild uppercut, her fist nailing the brunette hard on the chin. Michelle flew off of her feet and crashed onto her back like a rag doll. Scarlett likewise collapsed to the carpet from her own momentum, and both beauties lay there for nearly a full minute, each marshaling her power to continue.

Michelle recovered first and, on her hands and knees, crawled over to her prone foe. Again grabbing Scarlett by her hair (which by now was as wild and unkempt as Michelle’s), she pulled her up into a sitting position…which put the blond in a perfect position to strike out with her left hand like an asp, her fingers jabbing painfully into Michelle’s windpipe. Michelle gasped and gurgled, her hands flying up to her throat to protect it. That left her eyes wide open for the raking nails of her rival, blinding the brunette.

For the first time since the match began, a smug smirk crossed Scarlett’s pouty lips. She had been taken by surprise at first, but she wasn’t going to underestimate Michelle again.

With Michelle momentarily helpless, Scarlett moved swiftly, almost moving as a blur as she caught her opponent in an unusual…but effective…hold. Rolling Michelle on to her side, Scarlett grabs her opponent's right leg with her right arm, grabs her right wrist with her left hand to better hold her in place, and wraps her left leg around the brunette's head, her chin caught snugly in the crook of the blonde's knee. She then plants her left knee into the base of Michelle's spine and pulling back, bending her victim back painfully in what can only be described as a Grounded Octopus Backbreaker! It’s a virtuoso technical effort, its effectiveness demonstrated by the groan that quickly escalates into tortured yowls from the brunette.

“You like this?” Scarlett condescendingly asks her victim. “I came up with this one just for you, sweetcheeks. Tap out anytime you want to.”

The brunette gives no verbal reply, save for the scream now ripped from her throat. The pain is so great, she genuinely fears she may be left crippled if her rival is allowed to apply this for too long. Of course, submission being unacceptable, that means that Michelle herself will have to affect an escape.

Her options, unfortunately, are limited. With only her left arm and left leg free, she knows what course of action she must take...and she knows the frightful cost it will exact. Using her arm and leg, she suddenly pushes herself up, catching Scarlett by surprise. Her momentum lifts her straight up, where she remains caught for several long heartbeats, the pain amplified all the more by the fact that her own weight is now behind the hold, until gravity allows her to fall back to the floor. The 180 degree arc she makes manages to break the hold, but the pain and exertion so depletes her, all the groggy brunette can do is moan and sob while she desperately tries to marshal her flagging strength.

Even more unfortunate for Michelle, the effort took nothing from her opponent. Getting to her feet and standing over her foe, hands on her hips, the blond sneers, "I'll give you an 'A' for effort, sweetcheeks...I didn't think you'd be able to figure a way out of that. Too bad it won't do you any good."

To accentuate her declaration, Scarlett stomps the heel of her foot into the back of Michelle's skull, further stunning her. That selfsame foot then pushes the dazed battler over onto her back, her glassy eyes staring uncomprehendingly at the ceiling. Kneeling astride Michelle's abdomen in a straddle, Scarlett grabs her rival's wrists...the brunette offering no resistance...pins her arms to the carpet, and then lowers herself down, until her breasts envelope Michelle's face in a cruel smother!

The brunette offers some feeble squirming by way of resistance, but she has endured too much, and now deprived of oxygen, she rapidly slips into a stupor.

Rising up, Scarlett looks upon the unmoving girl beneath her and gives what must assuredly be her patented smirk as she lightly pats the face of her slumbering rival as if she gently wanted to wake her. But her reverie is interrupted by the ombudsman.

"You know the rules of this match, Scarlett," he says. "A knockout does not may only win by forcing your opponent to submit."

"Spoilsport," she says with an ingénue’s pouty charm. "Anyway, this wasn't to win...I just wanted to show the princess here that I could put her away anytime I like." As she says this, her eyes turn to the man who put this entire match into motion, who insisted that the blond fight Michelle to prove her worth. He understands full well that her KO of Michelle was meant to mock him as much as it was to mock the brunette.

And in the event he didn’t grasp that, Scarlett stood up, sauntered over to him, and took the bourbon (neat) from his hand. But she did not drink from the glass; instead, she walked back over to her prone foe, held the glass in the air over her, tipped it, and spilled the amber-hued liquid directly into Michelle’s face. Sputtering, the brunette is shocked out of her haze. Scarlett tosses the now-empty glass back to its owner, and bends down to grab her foe by the hair.

Hauling Michelle up on to wobbly legs, Scarlett says, almost matter-of-factly, “And now it gets really, really bad for you, sweet cheeks.”

Wobbly-legged or no, Michelle manages to call upon a magnificent reserve of strength, and her right hand flashes up, catching the blond with a palm blow to the chin. Utterly blindsided by the strike, Scarlett’s head snaps back and she stumbles several steps before tripping over her own feet and falling hard onto her butt. Placing a hand to her aching jaw, she shakes her head to try and clear the sudden cotton.

Standing over her nemesis, Michelle fairly seethes with fury as she growls, “Don’t… call… me… sweet… cheeks!”

Wisdom dictated that Scarlett buy time to recover, that she stave off a fresh attack from her adversary. But, Scarlett being Scarlett, she couldn’t help replying to the brunette’s command. And so, with a scornful edge to her weary voice, she says the absolutely worst thing imaginable.

Make me.

With a banshee’s howl, the enraged Michelle flings herself atop the blond, raining furious fists to Scarlett’s head, quickly rendering her too dazed to struggle…or make any additional smartass comments. Scarlett’s little nickname had touched just the right nerve in Michelle, and in her wrath she held nothing back.

Suddenly, the brunette ceases her onslaught and takes a deep, cleansing breath. After several moments, she exhales, and a certain icy serenity possesses her. “You know,” she says to the groggy beauty beneath her, “I promised myself I would kick every square inch of your body tonight. Really, I think you deserve that, don’t you?” Scarlett’s only acknowledgment is a low groan.

Rising up, Michelle then walks over toward a few of the seated spectators, and motions for one of them to stand up and then turn around. Pressing against his back…and he exhibited no reluctance that the brunette was pressing her sweat-soaked body against his Caraceni custom-made charcoal gray suit…she reaches her right hand around and dips it into the front pocket of his slacks, fishing around for a few moments as the smile on his face grew wider, before withdrawing the object of her search: a shiny quarter.

She flips it into the air, the coin glinting in the light of the room as it arcs up and then back down. Catching it in her palm, Michelle folds her hand into a fist for a moment, then unfurls her fingers.

“Tails!” she says matter-of-factly. “That’s where we’ll start.”

She tosses the coin back to its exultant owner with a wink, and saunters back toward Scarlett, who has begun to climb out of her stupor…but unfortunately for her, not nearly enough to defend herself.

True to her word, Michelle starts at the bottom with the intent of working her way to the top. Grasping the blonde’s right leg, she applies an Ankle Lock, while simultaneously using her free hand to bend Scarlett’s toes and jab finger thrusts into the tender flesh of her sole (a tactic which Scarlett, in fact, had used to great effect against the brunette in matches past). Michelle then methodically works her way up, bending and twisting her foe’s shapely legs, stomping her thighs, and drilling a vicious kick into Scarlett’s groin.

Next, she clamps on an abdominal claw that brings tears to her victim’s eyes, and then puts her cruel hands to work squeezing and twisting Scarlett’s copious breasts, as well as applying painful pectoral claws. A few Knee Drops to the blonde’s arms leave them as numb as her legs.

Through this torture, Scarlett can only mewl, sob and yowl. Michelle’s expertly-applied holds quickly reduce the haughty warrior to the point of abject helplessness…a condition no one had ever quite recalled having seen her in before, even during previous rare loses.

Most disturbing than the sight of the mighty Scarlett left so helpless, at least to the spectators, is the sight of Michelle as she callously torments her rival without a trace of remorse. To be sure, no one had expected Michelle to be reluctant to want to hurt her most hated enemy. Still, no one present had anticipated seeing the brunette seem to relish the opportunity quite so much. It was a different, darker side to Michelle…and it left those in witness feeling deeply uneasy and more than a little fearful.

Now, Michelle sits atop her opponent’s chest, knees pressed to Scarlett’s shoulders, pinning her wrists to the floor over her head. She had reached the top at last, and the only question remained, what did she have planned?

Scarlett knew. Without a word being uttered, she knew. She only had to look into the eyes of her adversary…twin orbs burning with a fiery resolve. Silently, the blonde seems to plead and ask, Why?

Leaning forward until their faces were mere inches apart, a bead of sweat traveling down the brunette’s nose and splashing upon Scarlett’s cheek, Michelle growls in verbal answer, “Because I can.”

And with that, she swiftly turns her body around and, in almost a blur of motion, plants her rear end upon Scarlett’s face. Scarlett squirms with the last of her ebbing strength, but to no avail. And while knocking her foe out with this facesit means nothing in terms of winning the match, it is sweet revenge nonetheless for the earlier breast smother.

Michelle’s derriere has been described as perhaps the most perfect in all of the sport. Whether that’s true or not, it is certainly one of the most devastating. Her facesit is applied with perfect precision, cutting off all oxygen to her prey’s starved lungs while simultaneously…and in a match such as this, most importantly…humiliating the victim. Very, very quickly, Scarlett is left unmoving and oblivious.

From his “ringside” seat, the spectator who earlier had his drink drafted into service by Scarlett realizes the inevitable, and with a grin and an air of resignation, he silently offers up his fresh glass of bourbon. All in all, he’d much rather be sipping the expensive Kentucky whiskey. But considering the alternate use its been put to this night, he really can’t complain.

Graciously accepting the proffered glass, the brunette sticks her index finger into the dark liquid, swirls it around, and then sticks her finger into her mouth, slowly pulling it out between her puckered lips. The newly-minted 21 year old then gives her ‘accomplice’ a playful smile that seems to say, “Excellent choice,” and she struts back toward her lifeless antagonist, glass in hand.

Now it is Scarlett who sputters back to the land of the waking as the liquid splashes over her face. Emptying the last few drops from the glass, Michelle walks back and returns it to the spectator (who at this point might well be considering having that glass bronzed and placed upon his mantle).

Returning her attention to her opponent, the brunette grabs Scarlett by the hair and pulls her up to a sitting position, then forces the blond to get to her hands and knees.

Scarlett is spent and vanquished, just waiting to be made to submit.

Or so one would believe.

Sharp-eyed spectators will later claim to have seen the moment when Scarlett, almost mystically, seems to suddenly draw power from the ether. They will claim that they saw her limpid body suddenly tense, her glassy eyes instantly grow intensely alert. They will insist that it seemed as if in that moment, she became possessed by some militant poltergeist.

Be that as it may, every person in the room…and most definitely Michelle…was taken by surprise when, with a defiant roar, Scarlett unleashed a fist that slammed into the brunette’s unguarded womanhood so forcefully, Michelle was lifted off of her feet before she crashed to the carpet and curled into a writhing ball, wailing in sudden, explosive agony.

And in a heartbeat, the tide had turned.

Every movement of her wracked body seemed to bring Scarlett pain, but she gritted her teeth and commanded the pain to empower her. Quickly, she undid her now seemingly frail rival’s bikini halter and pulled it free, exposing Michelle’s smallish but pert breasts, and then just as quickly and meticulously used the garment to bind the brunette’s wrists behind her back. She then draped Michelle’s belly over her outstretched knee, and impishly said to the crowd, “We all knew this was going to happen tonight, didn’t we?” The spectators, at least, could be forgiven for having hoped so.

It was a familiar tableau in their battles, and both young beauties played their parts. There was Scarlett, delivering spank after open-handed spank to her foe’s rear end until it fairly glowed red; and there was Michelle, helpless to resist, unable to do anything more than yelp out with each stinging strike and try to hold back her ears…unsuccessfully. But for all of its familiarity, Scarlett never grew tired of playing the scenario out, and Michelle was never any less disgraced by it.

Deciding to move on to other dastardly pursuits, the blond put an end to the spanking she was administering to her fettered foe. Rising to her feet, a handful of Michelle’s hair bringing the brunette up with her, Scarlett suddenly grabbed her opponent and hoisted Michelle up upon her shoulders, displaying her always impressive strength.

Then, Scarlett began to spin around and around like a whirling dervish, subjecting her unwilling passenger to a senses-stunning Airplane Spin. As Michelle’s vision blurred and her mind reeled, she let out a pitiful wail, for the first time this night sounding truly helpless. Bringing herself to a halt before she too began to grow dizzy, Scarlett dumped the brunette to the floor with an ugly thud. But if Michelle hoped to gain a respite from the anguish, she was cruelly disappointed!

Hands still tightly bound behind her, Michelle was jerked up to her unsteady feet. Then, grabbing her adversary by her chestnut mane, matted and damp with perspiration, the blond again started to spin around, her handhold causing Michelle to haplessly stumble around and around in a circle. Suddenly releasing her grip, Scarlett grinned as the brunette’s momentum slammed her into the nearest wall. Michelle bounced off, then careened backward to the floor, where she landed in a groaning heap. Stunned, she lay there panting on her side, until her foe used her foot to roughly shove the unresisting brunette over onto her back where, in an act of pure contempt, she placed her hands on her hips and began to grind her foot on Michelle’s face as the embattled girl meekly whimpered.

With unalloyed derision dripping from her every word, she addressed the spectators…and in particular those Michelle partisans in the crowd…with, “So, THIS is your wonder girl…your Great White Hope? She’s PATHETIC! I’m insulted that anyone thought for even a minute that she could give me any kind of challenge.”

And at the moment, it looked as if Michelle was no longer capable of giving the blond any sort of challenge whatsoever. All that remained, it seemed, was for her to end this by surrendering.

Eager to wring a screaming submission from the female she hates most of all, Scarlett gleefully drags her opponent’s limp body back up to her feet, slips her arms around Michelle’s torso beneath her still-bound arms, and locked in a Bearhug. Their bodies pressed together tight as Scarlett constricted her arms, the muscles…fueled by equal parts adrenaline, hatred and scorn…coiling like steel. Michelle gasped at the sudden power of the anaconda-like vise hold, then began to moan, her head lolling back and forth, her entire body quivering.

Minutes pass. Michelle is clearly in tremendous agony, but she refuses to cry out, much less submit. And the effort is draining Scarlett rapidly; already, her own body begins to tremble from the exertion, and she fears that she may exhaust herself before her mule-headed foe…didn’t the dumb bitch realize she was beaten? up.

Suddenly releasing the bearhug, the blond steps back as her adversary sinks to her knees, her entire body seeming to deflate. Scarlett decides that perhaps a bit more intimidation is the key to victory; at the very least, playing mind games with Michelle is always a favorite pastime for Scarlett. Perhaps she could even hold out some glimmer of hope for the brunette, only to cruelly crush that hope within moments. That, the blond concludes, would simply be too delicious to pass up.

Dropping to her own knees less than a foot in front of the sagging form of her rival, Scarlett superciliously says, “Aww, what’s the matter, sweetcheeks…can’t keep up with me? You know, I think maybe it was unfair of me to tie your hands up like that. How about if I undo that knot, so you can try and make a fight of this again, hmmm?” Her ridicule was fairly dripping from every honeyed word.

Giving no response at first…indeed, betraying no indication that she had even heard her foe…Michelle continues to kneel, her breath heavy, if not as panting as before, her head drooping down. Then, slowly, she tilts her head up, until her eyes, peering between the damp locks of dark hair hanging down her face, meet those of her would-be conqueror. They are eyes dark with anger, but alive with intensity.

With a rasp barely above a whisper, Michelle says, “Don’t do me any favors.” She then raises her left arm, her bikini halter still tied to the wrist, but the other end dangling free. Scarlett seems momentarily stunned by the sight…her victim had been using the time spent in the bearhug to free herself? It seems incomprehensible! But then it starts to dawn on Scarlett that if the left hand is free, then the right….

The revelation doesn’t come quickly enough…at least not quick enough to beat the knife hand thrust thrown by Michelle, her rigid fingers driving hard into the blonde’s solar plexus, Caught completely unprepared, Scarlett gasps and wheezes, clutching her abdomen as she doubles over in pain.

Michelle uses her halter as a garrote, wrapping it around the throat of her rival to strangle her. At this moment, she’d like nothing better than to choke the slut into unconsciousness. Hell, maybe even keep it on long enough to inflict some brain damage. But as enjoyable as that scenario may seem at this point in time, she knows that knocking the blond out will achieve nothing…she needs to force Scarlett to quit of her own accord.

Thus, reducing Scarlett to a semi-conscious stupor, the brunette removes her noose, then takes a few moments to untie it from her left wrist. She briefly considers putting it back on her body, but she realize that at this stage in the fight, false modesty is pointless, so she tosses the garment aside. Besides, when she was finished her tonight, she swore, she’d give the assembled guests much more to ogle than her breasts…and at Scarlett’s expense, of course.

Positioning Scarlett into a seated position on the floor and sitting behind her, Michelle grabs her opponent’s wrists and pulls them back behind her. The brunette then lifts her own legs, pressing them against the outside of Scarlett’s arms and crossing them behind her head, each foot now resting on the victim’s shoulders. The end result is that in addition to pulling her arms back, Michelle is also subjecting the limbs to a crude Scissors, forcing them inward at an angle nature simply didn’t intend.

The sudden jolt of pain to her arms snaps Scarlett out of her stupor, and she wails in distress. After straining to pull herself free and finding the effort futile, her mind races with any possible counter to the hold she can conceive up. She opts for one move that is more hope than plan: Planting her feet firmly upon the floor, Scarlett suddenly forces her entire body upward as she straightens out her legs. The maneuver actually increases the pain on her arms, which would seem to make it a disastrous move. But then, taking advantage of the fact that Michelle’s feet are positioned so close to her head, she suddenly turns and clamps her teeth onto the big toe of the brunette’s right foot!

Michelle shrieks from the sudden unexpected pain, and instinctively releases her hold. Scarlett hits the floor and rolls away, desperate to regain some semblance of her strength to regain control of the match. But while Michelle may have been momentarily thwarted, she still commands more power than her rival, and she gives Scarlett no time to recover.

Throwing herself atop her adversary’s back, Michelle grabs Scarlett’s head and starts to twist it roughly, applying a rudimentary Neckbreaker. Again, the blond cries out in pain, but again she does whatever she can do to end her pain…in this instance, lashing out with her hands, her nails raking across Michelle’s eyes, momentarily blinding her. The effect, as before, is startling enough to cause the brunette to release her hold and retreat.

Anger and frustration cloud Michelle’s face now. It seems that no matter what she tries, her hated enemy can counter. And the brunette knows she cannot continue at this pace much longer; already running on her last dregs of strength, Michelle can feel how sluggish her body has become, and knows that the blurring in her vision is a harbinger of a total exhaustion collapse. And if she were to pass out, it would give Scarlett the time she needs to recuperate and mount a final offensive of her own. And if that were the case, then everything Michelle has done tonight would have been in vain.

And she knows, deep in her heart, that there is only one thing left for her to do. One final hold she dared not unleash beforehand. If it succeeds, it will drive the blond into utter and abject submission. But if it fails, then Michelle’s dreams of victory fail as well.

Scarlett has remained on her stomach while she desperately tries to recuperate, very sensibly deciding that she could better shield herself from many possible attacks by Michelle that way.

Most attacks…but not all.

Straddling the blonde’s legs and facing downward, Michelle grabs her rival’s feet, lifts her limbs, and intertwines her own legs to apply a modified Indian Deathlock. That alone would be severely punishing, but the brunette knows full well that Scarlett has an almost supernatural ability to withstand pain. The only way to make Scarlett submit, she realizes, is to subject her to the most excruciating pain imaginable. And to do that, Michelle is going to have to improvise.

Their legs locks together tightly, Michelle then suddenly leans backward, bridging her back with a gymnast’s grace, until her hands are able to reach her adversary’s head, where they cup themselves under the startled blonde’s chin.

And then, with an Amazon’s roar, Michelle strains every muscle of her body as she lifts herself up out of her bridging position…and pulls Scarlett along with her! Within moments, the brunette is on her own belly, and her “passenger’s” body is lifted entirely off of the floor, arched upward to the ceiling. The combination of the Leg Lock, plus the Chin Lock pulling on her neck and spine, drives Scarlett, arms flailing wildly, to let loose with a bloodcurdling scream.

But the incredibly maneuver is also costing Michelle dearly, as evidenced by the pained look on her own face and the tear trickling out of her eye. If she can’t force the blond to surrender to this…and quickly…Michelle may very well have sealed her own doom with the move - at least Scarlett certainly hopes so! Her indomitable will refuses to let her submit, despite the sheer agony coursing through her body. Instead, Scarlett tries to block out the pain by visualizing what she wants… NEEDS… to happen: Michelle’s strength gives out, and she can no longer maintain this hold.

Once free, Scarlett calls upon her last vestiges of strength and overpowers her nemesis. She’ll work the brunette’s legs, twisting and yanking them until she hears the satisfying pop of a torn hamstring. And then, as the doe-eyed slut begs for mercy between her howls of agony, none could dare suggest again that the blond is anything less than the most perfect of women…and the incontestable Queen of catfighting.

She wants very desperately for that to happen…but it is not to be!

After holding out for far longer than any believed humanly possible, Scarlett overcomes her willpower and sobs, “STOP!” When Michelle does nothing to release her hold for several heartbeats, Scarlett adds, “I GIVE UP… STOP!!! She’s ashamed to have pleaded but she couldn’t stop herself before the words tore themselves from her throat.

Suddenly heeding the fact that the battle is over, Michelle with a gasp unclasps her hands and pulls her legs free, allowing her victim to tumble freely to the carpeted floor. With a groan, Scarlett rolls over onto her back while the brunette wearily gets to her knees, yet doubled over at the waist and her forehead touching the floor, as if she were fighting the urge to pass out.

Yet while her body betrayed her, Scarlett’s spirit hadn’t accepted defeat and in a tone of pure malice, she tiredly rasps, “I’ll get you next time…I’ll break every bone in your fuckin’ body! You just got lucky tonight!” And were she not too pained and exhausted to even rise from the floor, one suspects the blond would start the next fight then and there.

The sound of her hated foe’s words are like an electric jolt throughout Michelle’s entire figure. She snaps upright, turning her head to shoot the blond a withering glare. What must she do to break her? How badly must she beat her to make Scarlett accept that Michelle is her better?

And then she knows…physical defeat is only a temporary setback for the narcissistic blond. To truly defeat her…to vanquish her as no one has ever done before…Michelle must humble Scarlett as never before.

Moving with unexpected speed, Michelle sits atop her vanquished foe’s chest. Scarlett is surprised that the brunette is still able to move so quickly, but she betrays no fear. She can guess what Michelle has in store for her…the patented facesit finisher. But Scarlett is wrong!!

Michelle does slide her body up for a facesit, but she doesn’t turn around to drop her derriere upon her rival’s features, instead it’s her crotch that covers the blonde’s mouth and nose, leaving her eyes uncovered so that they can see the look of furious determination upon the victrix’s face.

For several heartbeats, Scarlett returns a glare of steely hatred. But then the natural human reaction to being smothered takes over, and panic fills her eyes. Were she to know what comes next, shame would also be visible in this green orbs.

Slowly, Michelle begins to sway her hips, grinding herself harder into her victim's face. Her movements become more rhythmic, and the spectators take note that her breathing grows heavier. Eyes shut, Michelle tosses her head back as her hips pump harder, a hand now massaging her own left breast. On and on it goes, this unexpected carnal display, as the brunette's gasps grow louder, her every breath and motion racing toward a climax. Beneath her, Scarlett's eyelids have closed shut, and her body ceases to make even the feeble squirming it had been.

And then...a loud "Ohhh!" from Michelle, as her spines curves back and her body stiffens. She remains statue-still for the passage of several heartbeats, and then the rigidness of her figure dissolves, and she seems deflated with a new form of exhaustion.

Climbing off of her victim, Michelle sits on the carpet and labors to remove her own bikini briefs. Some in the audience are able to glimpse a thread of moist, sticky substance stretched between the panties and the neatly trimmed strip of brown adorning her womanhood. Then the garment, so clearly soaked with the honey of the winner, is pulled over the face of the blond, the wet crotch panel directly over her face!

It is, for Michelle, the single most degrading act she could perpetrate on another woman. It is akin to saying, "I own you." Knowing her nemesis as well as she does, Scarlett will understand this statement all too clearly...and it will haunt her all the rest of her days.

With a groan, Michelle…nude yet somehow regal…stands up and staggers over to the fireplace, where she retrieves a clamshell box from the mantle. Opening it, she holds the bejeweled necklace in her hand, staring at it intently. No one gathered her who witnessed tonight's epic struggle would deny her claiming it.

Yet instead of donning it, she limps back toward the unmoving form of her beaten rival. Standing over Scarlett, the brunette tosses the necklace upon her chest, the diamonds glistening in the light like the beads of sweat covering the blonde’s figure. Then, wordlessly, she turns and heads back toward her bedroom, an aura of pride emanating from her that is almost a living thing, so potently it shines.

That last act is yet another small defeat for Scarlett at the hands of Michelle. She has her coveted necklace, but could she ever dare to wear it without being overwhelmed by the knowledge that she didn't truly earn it? That it belongs around the neck of the woman she hates most of all instead? It's a cruel gesture on Michelle's part, but the blond has a way of bringing out such cruelties in her.

Just as it has now brought out the magnificent best in her.