And then, for perhaps the first time in her illustrious catfighting career, Paris felt fear.

But instead of allowing that fear to overwhelm her, she channeled it through sheer willpower into a destructive force all its own. Now it was Shennen’s turn to be shocked, as the heiress launched her own attack that put the brunette on the defensive.

Now, their bodies slick with sweat, pain mixed with exhaustion in their eyes, both warriors know that a final gambit must be waged to seize ultimate victory. Cruelly, Shannen locks a claw hold on Paris’ groin, her fingers ruthlessly mauling the blonde’s womanhood.

But Paris quickly retaliates, applying her own claw, and thus is waged a malicious duel between the two iron-willed women. With their free hands they tear at one anothers flowing hair, their legs trembling from the agony each inflicts upon the other. Gasps and whimpers devolve into grunts and moans from the punishment.

Finally, inevitably, one beauty’s body can no longer withstand the torment. With a pitiable wail, Shannen sinks to her knees, her hands dropping lifelessly to her sides, tears streaming down her face.

“Stop…no more…!” she sobs.

The look on Paris’s face is one of sheer contempt, for there is nothing she despises more than an opponent who begs for mercy. The haughty heiress releases her claw hold, but only so that she can knock the brunette back onto her back. Paris then snakes her boa-like legs around Shannen’s head, and again reapplies her crotch claw.

“Oh, no…please…don’t!” Shannen whines, but her pleas fall upon deaf ears.

Doherty howls from the searing pain in her groin and the crushing vice around her head, her hands slapping ineffectually at her torturer’s straining thighs. Her face a mask of icy scorn, Paris merely tightens the pressure of her scissors and gouges her fingers in deeper. She knows full well that her detractors had no doubt arranged for this fight with Shennen in the hopes that the brunette, a long-renowned bully, would be the one to finally topple the heiress from her mountaintop.

But Paris knows the secret of a bully; fight back, and her bravado crumbles to reveal a coward. Armed with this knowledge, the blond knew her defeat of Shannen was predestined. It doesn’t take long at all for Doherty to finally succumb to the darkness. Paris releases her unmoving foe, rises upon her sculpted gams, and plants her foot atop the heaving chest of the fallen brunette.

Paris doesn’t even bother to taunt her critics this night. She knows she is unbeatable…and they, against their own fervent wishes, realize it as well. She won’t even bother wasting the breath to remind the fools of her supremacy…she’ll simply keep destroying every ‘Great White Hope’ they throw at her.
********
Paris Hilton vs. Catherine Zeta-Jones by TNT

"Oh my, it's been an incredibly tough night," Paris snickers as she brushes past her fans who seem to be a bit disappointed in how quickly she dispatched Shannen. Paris blows a quick kiss at the cheering lustful crowd. In a few moments she is in her plush room popping the cork on a bottle of chilled expensive champagne. She takes a sip as she hears the knock on the door.

"This should be fun. I see they've already sent me another one," Paris whispers to herself as she stares at her pretty face in the mirror; pouts her lips; runs her fingers through her long blonde hair and gives her long sexy legs a quick once-over; rubbing her lovely thighs and massaging her calves.

"Ya ready for some more action? I know you are," sne snickers as she admires her own gorgeous legs. Through the peep hole she spies the lovely older woman. She slips behind a nearby door and yells, "It's unlocked. Come in!"

The sound of the heavy door opens. "Helloooooo. Where are you, you spoiled little blonde tramp? Uhhhhhhh! OWWW…chhhhh…MY HAIR!!" Catherine Zeta-Jones screams as she is grabbed from behind by long angry fingers that bury themselves deep in her dark, silky, hair.

"You're going down you old broad. And its gonna be sooooo fun," Paris hisses as launches into the surprised brunette like a crazed wildcat. Slaps, punches, and vicious hair-pulling quickly make Catherine realize that spoiled young blondes aren't always easy pickings.

Rippppppp. Catherine screams as she feels the back of her evening gown rip open. A glimpse of a luscious firm breast but whets Paris' appetite and determination as she treats her new opponent to a blistering backhand that sends Catherine falling backwards over a chair. Before she bounces the second time Paris grabs her by the hair and jerks her to her feet. The young blonde hooks her fingers in the torn dress and rips it clean to the waist baring the older brunette's entire lovely chest.

"Why you little bitch; take THIS!" Catherine snarls and delivers a perfect head-snapping punch to Paris' chin. The blonde's lovely eyes widen and roll but she recovers quickly landing a good punch to Catherine's ribs.

Slap! Slap! Slap!

Both women determined not to go down exchange several vicious slaps, taking turns in a most comical but ladylike way. Catherine seems to punch harder.

"Enough of this already." Not spoken aloud, but certainly thought by young blondie as a fist slams upward into Catherine's full right breast, the second knuckle introducing her nipple to her breastbone.

"Unnnnhhhhhh," Catherine gasps as she realizes she's in deep trouble. Fingers grab her hair and jerk her head down. A knee comes up and bids more excruciating pain to her wounded breast.

"Uhhhhhh. Ungggggh. Ooooooohh. Noooooo. Umppppfffh," the dazed older woman grunts and groans as the angry young blonde jerks her around the room courtesy vicious hair pulls almost twisting her lovely head off her neck. Catherine's lovely gown is hanging at her waist, her beautiful breasts bouncing and jiggling as she struggles desperately but impotently against her young blonde rival's dastardly intentions.

WHAM! A not so nice but incredibly hard introduction to the hardwood entertainment center cabinet. Those beautiful glazed eyes roll, the eyelids flutter.

Rippppppp! Catherine's gown goes the way one always hopes a catfighter's battle clothing goes in due time.
"Like my legs, Catherine darling?"

It's a question despised and most dreadfully answered as Catherine grunts when Paris pulls her onto the huge plush bed, wrapped her long legs around the slender waist and squeezed.

"Come on girls. Work. Squeeze. Work harder. That's good. Uhhhhhhh." Strange. Erotically strange. Paris was talking to her incredibly beautiful leg, thigh and calf muscles. Cheering them on as she made her lovely older rival squirm and struggle. Paris found herself feeling warmer by the second as she looked at the increcibly exciting erotic image in the mirror. A beautiful long legged young blonde working over a gorgeous long legged older brunette. With her incredibly sexy breath stealing, will crushing legs.

"Give up yet Mrs Douglas?" Paris giggled as Catherine begin to wheeze.

Catherine's huge beautiful breasts bulged as she tried to arch her back and wiggle to freedom. Paris snickered as she caught a thick rock hard nipple in her fingers, tweaked it then slowly pinched it hard.

"Eeeeeeek! Aieeeeeee!"

"Ohhhhh, sorry. I bet that hurt," Paris chirped as she gave the captured pleasure nub a good pull then reached down and smacked Catherine's firm derriere. She giggled as she grabbed a handful of silky dark hair, cupped her gasping rival's chin and jerked the lovely head backwards.

"Uhhhhhhhh. Please. I give up. You win. I surrender."

"Squeeze girls. Come on. Squeeze harder. That's it." More instructions and encouragement to those gorgeous leg muscles. Catherine's long legs kicked wildly, frantically, weakly.

"Uhhhhhhhh. Unnnggggh. Please. You win," Catherine gasped her voice now barely audible. Paris mouthed a few more cheers for her "girls" and tighened them even further as her rival sucked harder for precious air.

"Mmmmmmmmm. Working so hard makes me soooo thirsty. Best get back to my champagne. Want some Cathy my dear? I hear that you brought something for my little victory party…and I bet it's sweet."

"Come on girls. A bit more. Goooooo."

"Uhhhhhhhh..."
********
5 Woman Catfight Battle Royal: Gwen Stefani, Kylie Minogue, Avril Lavigne, Paris Hilton, Alexis Bledel by Jackflash

The women had been waging their multi-faceted war for more than forty minutes when we join it in progress. Alliances were born in heartbeats - and torn asunder just as quickly! It was both savage anarchy as well as sublime anarchy ferocity. Now, however, final victory appeared to be drawing near for one woman.

Bledel and Lavigne lay unconscious on the floor, while Stefani found herself in the one place no fighter ever wants to be…crushed between Paris’ thighs! Gwen desperately clawed at her tormentor's hose-clad legs to no avail. Yet even as the heiress tightened her head scissors on the singer, she herself was in dire straits. Kylie Minogue was behind Paris, her arms wrapped around Hilton’s head applying the dreaded sleeper hold!

“That’s right,” the Australian sneered. “You put the bottle blond there to sleep, and I’ll do the same to you! It’ll be a real pleasure posing over you, bitch.” Then for added emphasis, Kylie gave her arms another flex to add to Paris’ discomfort.

But the heiress didn’t panic. Still maintaining her brutal scissors…knowing full well that should Gwen escape, the combination of she and Kylie together would be too much for her to overcome…Paris opened her white satin bra; then, holding it in both hands, she blindly flipped it back up over her head and whipped it around Kylie’s neck, then jerked it tight; using her lingerie as a crude garrote!

The Aussie’s eyes went wide as she felt herself being strangled, yet she stubbornly refused to release her own sleeper hold, betting she could knock Paris out before she was choked into oblivion. But Kylie’s hopes were in vain! Already pushed to the brink of exhaustion by the bruising five-way brawl, Kylie’s eyes went glassy and her body swayed ominously. Then, her arms went limp, releasing the blond heiress as Minogue’s body slowly collapsing to the carpet. Paris kept her improvised noose tight around her rival’s throat until she was satisfied Kylie was truly knocked out.

By then, Gwen too had ceased her thrashing as she had also went limp as her mind succumbed to the blackness. Ignoring her own pain and exhaustion, Paris slipped her bra back on, then pushed herself to her feet and dragged the bodies of her four opponents out to the center of the room where she piled their unmoving bodies one atop the other.

Then planting a foot on topmost Minogue’s raised rear, Paris declared, “YOU talk about posing, you poseur? Well, here’s a free lesson in how to do it right!”
********
Paris Hilton vs. Alyson Hannigan by Jackflash

>THEN: Three weeks ago.
“You have some money set aside for retirement? Kids’ college funds? That new Lear jet you’ve had your eye on? Bet it, and bet it on me.”

Alyson placed her arms behind her head and basked in the sunlight at poolside. Beneath a liberal dosing of SPF 45...a fair-skinned girl must take precautions against the UV rays, after all…the redhead let the assembled Hollywood movers and shakers take in the splendor of her bikini-clad body as she lounged on the deck chair. On screen, she had a talent for making herself look plain, but in person, she was nothing short of stunning. Her legs and abdomen in particular looked as if they had been shaped by the hands of Michelangelo. And behind her sunglasses, one could almost catch that glint of cunning mixed with daring which was a Hannigan hallmark.

The redhead was one of the most successful catfighters in the elite sport. A confrontation between her and Paris Hilton was inevitable…but Hannigan had been putting it off. She wasn’t afraid of the heiress; she wanted Paris to be at her absolute peak, with a trail of broken women behind her, before Alyson put a halt to her reign.

“You’re confident,” one of the men, a major film producer, said. “But all of the girls who’ve fought her already were confident, too. And they lost. Do you think you can stand up to Hilton’s legs?”

Hannigan’s response was to take the filmmaker by the wrist and place the palm of his hand upon her belly. “Feel that?” she says. “That’s steel. She can squeeze all she likes…it won’t do her a damn bit of good.”

“Money in the bank, fellas,” the redhead adds. Then she says, “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re blocking my light. I’ll see all of you soon enough, and you’ll be seeing the last of Paris Hilton.”

NOW: Night in Malibu, California.

“AIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” Alyson’s shriek pierced the air almost painfully to the ears of the spectators. But it was music to the ears of her tormentor who tightened her vice-like hold on the redhead’s abdomen. The icy mask of callous contempt on the face of the blond was chilling to behold.

Alyson’s opening offensive had been brilliant, the kind of attack few opponents ever recover from. But Paris was not like other women. She literally willed herself to withstand the assault, and when the redhead paused to survey her handiwork, Paris struck back with a ferocity that was unparalleled in its intensity. The look of Aly’s face, a mélange of both pain and total surprise, made it apparent that the redhead’s mind could not grasp how her opponent could have seized the upper hand.

Now, Alyson was at her rival’s mercy. Oh, the redhead’s abs had withstood the crushing power of Paris’s legs…for about a minute. Then muscles and ribs succumbed to the fate which all others who had been subjected to this vice hold suffered.

Paris knew it was only a matter of time before the vaunted redhead was begging for mercy and screaming her surrender. Tears were already flowing freely down Alyson’s pale cheeks as she sobbed for breath.

But the high and mighty heiress wasn’t finished with her foe just yet.

Releasing her scissors, Paris grabs her rival’s bikini panties and pulls them off of her body. The blond then lets Alyson catch her breath and gather her wits, at least just enough to grab the redhead by her fiery mane and force her to get to her hands and knees. Then, sitting astride Aly’s back, Paris uses the redhead’s own panties as a bridle, forcing Hannigan to bite down upon the fabric. And using her tightening thighs as a spur, Paris now commands her victim to carry her around the room.

It is an unnerving sight for the spectators; Alyson Hannigan, conqueror of a thousand women, reduced to a mere beast of burden. The utter humiliation is etched deep upon the redhead’s distressed features. At last, Paris tires of this degradation, and she stands up. But she is far from finished. In years to come, the spectators will say that they were present the night Paris unveiled her new finishing hold. Many more who aren’t here will claim they were as well for it is a moment that will pass into legend!

Forcing Alyson up to her knees, Paris bends the redhead backwards just enough so that Paris can wrap her thighs around Alyson’s head in a reverse standing head scissors, Aly’s face buried into the blonde’s crotch, smothering her even as the heiress’s thighs crush her skull.

Arms flailing, Aly haplessly slaps at her tormentor’s legs, with no effect. Paris can feel the panted whimpers of her victim against her womanhood through the thin fabric of her panties, and a cobra smile crosses her lips. Even more delicious are the fallen faces of those in the crowd who had so fervently believed Alyson was the woman who at long last would topple Paris from her throne.

(The fools, will they never learn?)

Rendered unconscious, Hannigan is now allowed to slump unceremoniously limp onto the carpeted floor where Paris places her right foot on the once-acclaimed abdomen of her fallen foe as she raises her arms in a victory pose once more.