Apartment Wrestling: Virginia Madsen vs. Catherine Zeta-Jones by simguy

"Your comeback has been one of the best feel-good stories to come out of Hollywood in some time," the BLONDE Magazine reporter, a shipshape little 20-something girl had said. Virginia recalled studying her and thinking, “She’s built for apartment wrestling herself,” as she took in the sporty look of her powder blue power skirt and suit jacket. Mean eyes - that's what Virginia recalled most vividly, the girl's mean, playful, violet eyes. "At 42 years old, what do you realistically hope to accomplish, Ms. Madsen? What are your goals now that you're getting fights again?"

Madsen had shrugged, "I'm just enjoying the moments this time around. I mean - a few years ago there's no way I'd be looking at a Catherine Zeta-Jones fight. No way! As for goals - all I want to do right now is beat Catherine."

"That's a pretty tall order," the little blonde had smirked, letting the skepticism shine through.

Who's side was this chick on, anyway? "I'm a pretty tall girl," Virginia replied, irritation tinging her voice with frost.
* * * *
The room spins…Virginia feels the wall at her back, hears the crowd all around her, but she's hurt, falling off the pace. Focus reeling, she thinks of her swimsuit for some reason: purple bandeau top, leopard print bottoms.

"Isn't this a little tacky?" she'd asked her agent. She'd wanted to wear black, but Zeta Jones had insisted on black. Madsen almost always wears black...

"Tacky grabs eyeballs 'Gin," the man had smiled. "And we need all the eyeballs we can get."

Catherine pushes Virginia upright - hands greedy on either side of stout blonde ribcage. Ginny's head lolls back, baring her throat; her hands are up by her shoulders, bent daintily back at the wrists - the very picture of vulnerability. Zeta Jones looks great: black feathered hair, dark features, black swimsuit stark against her creamy body. Hazel eyes wide with excitement - that haughty veneer Zeta J brought to the cocktail party is gone; replaced now by the laser gaze of a zealous wanton in combat. CZJ looooves her blondes backed up against a wall, that's for sure!

Catherine digs a right hand to the pit of Virginia's belly. Madsen grunts, stoops forward - a stricken look on her shiny face. Another pumping right…and another! Jones just leaning in close; left hand clutching Virginia's right shoulder, anchoring the blonde for the stuffing punishment. Madsen's breath comes in sobbing little pants, her eyes shut tight; delicate brows furrowed in silent complaint. Zeta Jones pulls away grinning - playing to the crowd! Hands on her hips, she turns her back on Ginny, tosses her head to put hair back over her shoulders.

"Is this it?" Jones scoffs into the crowd, glowing with mega-celeb confidence. Behind her Virginia hugs at her gut and stoops forward all cramped up, wheezing for breath. "Seriously - how much more do you want to see? Shall I continue?"

There’s a resounding "YES!" from the Zeta J fans in the crowd who wouldn't BE Zeta J fans if they didn't want to see a beating.

Catherine shrugs, palms up as if to say "Oh well. Back to the salt mines!"

Cath turns to her foe, smiling broadly...then crumpling forward as Virginia buries her right hand in expensive British midriff. The bared-teeth fury on Ginny's still alert face: the open-mouthed shock on Jones' face - as if she never contemplated a world in which Virginia Madsen might potentially punch her to the body.

Jones gasps, draws her right hand back: both beauties punch digging right hands into offending guts - both crumpling up with groaning little whimpers of protest. But Virginia's stepping forward off the wall. Jones tucks another right into Ginny's tummy, but the brunette's moving backward and there's nothing on the shot. Blonde walks right through it, reaches under Catherine's arms and cinches her up tight. Jones breath rushes past her lips in outraged shock: Madsen hoists, lifting the raven-tressed beauty onto her toes. Catherine's hands grip panicky at broad blonde shoulders. Plenty of hug left in Ginny Madsen, despite Zeta J's strong start.
* * * * *
"You're totally going to want to hug her," Jenny Garth had said. Jenny had fought Jones not so long ago and done very, very well with hugs and sleepers. Many had thought Jones to be teetering on the brink of the worst upset loss of her career at times in that match. If not for Oscar-winner's privilege - the time outs and other perks - perhaps she would have fallen to Jenny that night.

"But she loves that inside stuff!" Virginia persisted. Madsen just hadn't been sure about coming to grips with Jones. She'd seen plenty of girls succumb over the long - very, very long - haul, trapped between those merciless brunette arms and greedy thighs.

Jenny just shook her ponytailed head. "You're bigger. Trust me, you're stronger. And she won't be able to delay you with Oscar-Rules bullshit. Straight up, I'm telling you: she can't handle you belly to belly."

Virginia thought of Catherine Zeta Jones seated in behind Charlize Theron, patiently working up and down that glorious torso: the seated waist scissors; the kneeling bearhug around Theron's ribs; the sleeper - Jones' bicep pushing firm against CT's sleepy cheek.

Virginia thought of Catherine turning the tables against Garth - Madsen had actually been there. Jenny on her back, working Catherine with a front choke - blonde left arm looped snug around brunette's head, doubling Jones over. Catherine had gotten up on her haunches and crouched in close, reaching under her body with her left hand to tug at the top of Jenny's trunks while the right hand.

Virginia winced every time she thought of it. Jones' right hand started pumping into Jenny's exposed crotch - pounding in between curvy, quivering thighs. Madsen could still hear Jenny's groan of astonishment, see her lifting her head off the carpet, her face twisted in stunned agony. The whistling, wincing intake of breath from the crowd. And Jones just hunched forward - her head trapped, but her hands free - doing and doing and doing downstairs until Garth surrendered.

And then of course, Jones HAD to celebrate…Jenny wouldn't get off the carpet for another twenty minutes that night.

"If you say so," Virginia had muttered; though she hadn't sounded entirely convinced.

Jones sits awkwardly on her haunches - her right hand against the carpet for balance: her left drapes around Virginia's shoulders. Sweat-wet black hair smears across Catherine's eyes, getting in her mouth. Madsen's snuggling up from Catherine's left flank - arms thick about the ribs and waist, right hand clutching at the left wrist against Jones' right hip. Jones breathing hard, panting. Madsen snuggles in a little closer: she's up on her knees, leaning into Jones. Catherine groans, shifts her weight, but loses her balance: applause ripples through the blue-blood crowd as Jones is driven to the carpet on her right side.

Virginia scrambles to get her legs out wide, making sure her weight's on the struggling brunette beneath. Ginny's hands work at that grip, arms hugging up the stout body of her foe. Ginny's face pushes into the Catherine's cheek and jaw - Jones inadvertently pulling Madsen onto her with that left arm still around the blonde's head. That's the ticket: Jones cinches up a side headlock from underneath, squirms her hips, bicycles her legs and twiiiiists the blonde over onto the carpet. Slow, writhing moves - Ginny refusing to give up the body lock, but Jones inching her way into a better position, finally getting the blonde on her back and underneath. Catherine cinches up hard, crushing blonde face to black-clad breasts: Madsen's grip on the waist loosens, the arms just riding there, no longer punishing. Ginny starts to whimper as Catherine's lips tighten in cold satisfaction.
* * * * *
"She's very good on the carpet," Jenny Garth admitted. Virginia and Jenny sat forward on the couch as Jen worked freeze frame and rewind of Garth/Zeta Jones on tape. "But the thing is, you can't panic. She gets cocky." Jones had wriggled atop Jenny on the carpet - pale belly pushing Jen's face to the side - Jones' cheek against Jenny's upturned stomach - the bodies inverted, overlapped. Instead of hooking up Jenny's arms and going for a pin - Zeta Jones could win via either submission or pin in that contest. Catherine reached for her foe's trunks, yanking up on the hips of the black swimsuit and Garth had been able to roll out. "She does the sexy thing when she should do the smart thing," Jenny continued.

"Yeah, but then she does the mean thing when the smart thing isn't working!" Madsen said, eyes never leaving the screen.

"Well yeah, there is that," Garth intoned…remembering and grimacing at the recollection.
* * * * *
Back and forth they work. Madsen rallying time and again out from under Jones and taking the fight to Catherine's ribcage. Ginny coming in from either side, hugging up, riding Catherine to carpet, getting on top, making the smaller vixen feel the weight. Jones countering, slithering on top, scissoring up blonde belly, or reaching under Ginny's arms to answer hug for breathtaking hug.

Ginny on her haunches, both hands back behind her for balance. Jones on HER haunches, but sitting in Ginny's lap, reaching in around blonde ribcage with a hearty squeeze. Brunette just laying her left cheek sleepily on blonde left shoulder - Catherine's face turned in contentment to the crowd as Madsen's tortured breath came in huffs and groaning puffs, her face tilted moist to the ceiling...

Ginny with her back to the bed, legs outstretched in a wide V: Catherine up on her knees in between Ginny's long legs: Madsen working the hug around Catherine's hips. Jones in shock - lips parted, eyebrows high, eyes tight shut. She frets at Virginia's curly blonde locks, or reaches both hands onto the bed spread to grip tight handfuls of the stuff. Virginia resting her cheek against pulsating Zeta Jones breasts, feeling the baked-bread goodness of them against her skin...

Bodies inverted, dual hugs tight about straining ribcages, cheeks wet against protesting tummies - the girls take turns rolling each other over in an agonizing tumble across carpet…Ginny on top.

Catherine…Ginny - Catherine…Ginny - Catherine.

A WB starlet nobody knows giggles, slops champagne onto the carpet as she scrambles out of the way of the tumbling bodies!

It's getting sloppy - both women fighting exhaustion as much as the opponent at this point. Both mount the other with straddles, pushing the other's wrists down into carpet, glorying in a moment of supremacy as the opponent gnashes her teeth, tosses her head side to side. Then hips gulp and legs churn, tumbling the mounted girl to the side and renegotiating all terms.

It's getting sloppy, but one thing seems certain…Catherine Zeta Jones doesn't want any more.
* * * * *
"Deep down, she's a quitter," Garth had insisted, her face stern with resentment. "I had her quitting, but that's when you've got to watch her."

"What would you have done differently?" Virginia asked, not wanting to pry. But it was what she needed to know.

Jenny thought long and hard before answering. "I'd have stepped it up on her. I thought I had her and I was just laying back to choke her out, but if I had her in the same situation again? I'd have pounded her back. Rolled her over and kneed her. Anything, you know? Anything to hurt her."

Virginia looked away, out the large bay window: the noon day sun; the deep green lawn; the stately elms. "So you would have sunk to her level?"

"If I'd known what she had in store for me?" Jenny said, her voice small and bitter. "You're damn right I would."
* * * * *
Jones walks away, wiping at tears; mascara smudged making her face look like a raccoon’s. Her classic black apartment suit now badly rumpled after being hard-handled by Virginia. Madsen's eyes are moist too, red with suffering - but she resolutely stalks forward, thighs rippling as she walks Catherine down from behind. The crowd pushes back, giving them room - individual voices calling out encouragement to either fighter.

Catherine makes it to the white wall - reaching the fingertips of her right hand to touch it as she turns to face her tormentress. Ginny approaches, but she's wary, balling her fists and holding up her dukes mouth high. Jones mouth breathing; hair dishelved; lifts her fists; scooching her buttocks along the wall as she slides to her right, glaring hatred at her foe.

Ginny leans in, jabs the knuckles of her left hand flat against the regal pale of Jones' upper chest: bone on bone contact. Nothing back from Jones: Madsen leans in, jabs again, tosses in the right to Catherine's shoulder PIK! PAK! Jones tries to grab at the wrists, but Madsen pulls her hands back.

Fresh tears well up in Catherine's eyes: another strong, thudding blonde jab takes her in the upper chest. Catherine crosses her wrists at her chest, starting to blubber...and aims a vicious kick up between her foe's legs...

"I had her quitting, but that's when you've got to watch her!" Jenny G had warned.

But Madsen's ready for it and CZJ’s toes just flick at the inside of Ginny's right leg, missing the intended vitals. Virginia shuffles her feet, punches a straight, hard right to the point of Catherine's chin: someone in the crowd shouts in shock at the blatant foul. Virginia's eyes are hard, narrowed, pitiless. She's set up with the right foot back, nice strong stance, and she's punching straight, jerky blows into Jones: a right in the mouth, a left on the cheek, a right in the mouth. Jones stunned, going out, standing up limp against the wall in stupor. Madsen starts stamping away to the upper chest and breasts - the same straight, jamming lefts and rights: unconsciously, her lips peel back from her teeth as Jones turns her right side into the wall, hugging at her torso.

Blonde fists skid off shoulder and jug, or pound flat and hard into bicep and back; a steady rhythmic pounding: the sharp pitty-pat THWACK-THWACK of closed fists on soft, sweaty, quitting flesh. Jones wilting, drooping to all fours, sniveling on her hands and knees, right side tacky against the wall. Belly trembling, heaving in and out.

Virginia looms above, fists clenched white at her sides. Her chest heaves, emotional tears track down her cheeks: she's never battered a woman like that bare handed; she's never had to.

"GET IN THERE GINNY!" It's Garth; her voice cutting through the excited buzz like a siren; shaking Madsen from her stupor, reminding her of work yet to be done.

Catherine Zeta Jones hasn't yet submitted. She's trying to crawl away. Trying to regroup. Virginia takes Catherine from behind, cinching up with a heaving gut wrench, hugging up those guts while going to one knee, her body pressed tight against Jones' shiny white back. Catherine sobs aloud, trying to coax extra resistance out of her shell-shocked frame. Madsen snuggles in close, rests her right cheek against the warm upper back of her foe: smelling the fruity overtones of Jones' shampoo now mixed with the scent of exertion and defeat.

With a choking cry, Jones' arms give way: she's ridden to carpet. Madsen squirms onto her right side, spooning Zeta Jones into her lap. Blonde arms cinch up tight, right hand gripping left wrist snug against the pudge of Jones' paunch.

Catherine Zeta Jones blubbers. She sobs. She pushes down on Ginny's wrists and pulls at her own hair in frustration. In the end, she bangs her left hand flat against the carpet - over and over - tapping out her submission as Madsen pours it on.

Ginny releases, rolls onto her back, dazed with her own efforts. Flashbulbs burst: BLONDE! Magazine photogs snapping away at the sight as Catherine curls up on her right side, hugging her battered body, crying, pushing her face into the pool of her own hair; the plush shag of the carpet.

The mean reporter is at her side and Virginia can hear her voice happily chirping, "It's the best comeback in celebrity history..." The girl's babbling on as Virginia sits up, rubbing her right wrist. She looks over to her right at Catherine's shuddering back.

"You want to be A list?" her agent had challenged her. "Then do like the “A-listers” do…the fight's just starting when she submits - capice?"

Twenty more minutes work to do…that's what an “A lister” would do!

Virginia gets to her knees, shuffles over to Catherine, palms the meaty shoulder and hip. Time stands still for Virginia Madsen as a moment's hesitation seems to stretch on out forever: roll Catherine to her back and celebrate? Or push up off her and take the win as is?

It seems like forever, but then Madsen makes up her mind in the blink of an eye.

She's “A list” all the way; capice?