No Holds Barred In Belfast

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story picks up from No Holds Barred in London, which was based on the idea/request of a fan who wishes to remain nameless. We rejoin the action in Victoria's (London) hotel room. As you may recall, Trish had been about to leave when she was made an offer she could not refuse.

*****

Trish approached the bed, thinking that Victoria really did look good enough to eat. For once she wasn't spitting or snarling, and that certainly helped. So too did the fact she was naked under her unfastened white robe; naked and hot for more sex.

'Why Victoria,' she purred, 'you're positively dripping. Do you really want it so much?'

Victoria nodded. 'That drawer,' she said, pointing across the room. 'There are things in it; things you can use.'

Trish opened the drawer. It contained all sorts of sex toys, some of which baffled her. Luckily, the things she knew how to use were easy to recognize: half a dozen dildos, three sleek vibrators, a couple of bottles of lube and a spare harness. She chose the biggest dildo . . . it was in Victoria's favourite black, naturally . . . and went back to the bed.

'You can help me on with the harness,' she said, 'before I immobilize you.'

Trish's hands were trembling as she removed her robe. So were Victoria's as she followed suit.

'Any way you want,' Victoria said as she fastened straps, pulling them tight, taking care to get the dildo standing up proud and firm. 'The choice is all yours.'

'Get back on the bed,' Trish replied.

Victoria lay on the mattress and offered up an arm without being asked. The two bondage ropes were still hooked over uprights on the bedhead, ready for use. Trish checked out Sioux's special knots and, satisfied they were still in working order, secured the proffered arm.

'Give me the other one,' she commanded.

Victoria complied then rolled her eyes, her arms splayed, defenceless and hotter than ever.

'Fuck me,' she said. 'I want it so bad.'

Ignoring her, Trish made her way into the bathroom, hunting down discarded clothes. Not that there was a lot of black leather gear to be found. She gathered up the original harness, a bra that looked flimsy but was actually quite sturdy . . . and shiny, knee-length boots.

'Hmmm,' she said, examining the harness. 'Nope, I'll stick with what I've got.'

Surprisingly, the bra wasn't a bad fit. If anything it was a little tight. Trish got it on easily enough and, sure it wouldn't fall off, turned her attention to the boots. They were too big for her but came equipped with straps and buckles and could be tightened.

'Pretty sexy, huh?' she said, admiring her reflection. 'Maybe I'll reinvent myself and steal some of Vic's persona . . . without the hard-on, obviously!'

Then, frowning: 'I wonder what happened to her thong?'

The thong was back in the bedroom. Somehow it had ended up draped over one of the light fittings. Leaving it where it was, Trish generously applied lubrication.

'I know you're wet,' she said, 'but this toy of yours feels a bit dry. And I'm going to be fucking you long and hard.'

'I wish you'd fucking get on with it,' Victoria said. 'Those boots are driving me nuts.'

Trish positioned herself over her and smiled. 'Patience is a virtue,' she said. 'I want to play with your tits first. And a little kiss wouldn't go amiss.'

'A kiss!'

'Yeah, like when two horny bitches mash mouths together. Like this.'

Victoria returned the kiss with interest, getting hotter and hotter by the second. Trish kept it going for a long, long time. Then, knowing only too well what her bound prey really wanted, determined to make her wait, she set to work on her breasts, steadily licking, nibbling and gnawing.

'Please,' Victoria moaned, 'please, please, please . . .'

That only encouraged Trish to prolong playtime. She renewed the licking, nibbling and gnawing, carrying on even when her own arousal became a deep, primal ache. Eons later, no longer able to hold off, she aligned herself with Victoria's body and, unaccustomed to the act, penetrated her, using her right hand to guide the dildo home.

Instant rapture!

Trish was aware of hot wetness. She'd heard men prattle on about all the sensations of entering a woman; warmth and wetness always featured highly in their ramblings. This, however . . .

For whole seconds she forgot what she was supposed to be doing, lost in awe. Then, still close to sensory overload, she collected herself and started to thrust.

Is it all mine? she wondered. Or is some of it hers? And why did I bother with lube in the first place?

Sticking to her promise was easy: Trish fucked her great rival long and hard. And she gave her a servicing up the ass too. That was fun, possibly even the highlight of the entire night. Instead of lying on her front and taking it, Vic got up on all fours, gripping the uprights, her wrists still bound, presenting a target that was impossible to miss.

'Harder,' she cried. 'Oh yes! Harder, harder, harder!'

*****

Four o'clock in the morning and all was well . . . or it should have been. Although she'd dominated the last few hours, Trish had the nagging feeling that she'd come off second-best. And it was one of those really annoying nagging feelings. She couldn't put her finger on exactly why she had it, but it was there all right.

Wasn't it just!

'I have to go,' she said, 'I've an interview on Sky at six thirty. Oh, the pressures of superstardom! Not that you'd know.'

'Not yet. But I will do soon.'

'When you get my belt, you mean?' Trish chuckled. 'Do us all a favour, don't hold your breath while you're waiting.'

Victoria was unbound and lying on her back, side-by-side with her new lover. Or was she really a victim? Or even a conquest? Whatever she was, this was cosy and comfortable, and Trish felt to be more of a loser than ever.

'Share a shower before you go?'

That was another offer too good to refuse. Trish let Victoria scrub her back and lick her clit then, going for the naturally fresh look, caught a cab to the studio, where a makeup girl wouldn't take no for an answer and caked her face with muck.

Fuck, Trish thought as she endured the unwanted attention, I never spanked Vic's ass!

Then, getting increasingly vindictive: Sioux's not getting away with it either. I owe her, big-time!

The interviewer must have graduated out of Presenter School. If it wasn't for his English accent they could have been on ESPN or HBO.

'I've got to ask you the sixty-four thousand dollar question,' he gushed. 'Are you going to bring your feud with Victoria to these shores?'

'Don't be fooled by appearances,' she replied smoothly. 'Victoria is a wonderful person. We're not always at each other's throats.'

*****

Saturday night couldn't have gone better. Trish already knew she was going to win, of course, but her match was immediately described as a classic and given the title "The Battle of Britain". Crazy as it may seem, getting a title for a match was a big deal. Unless you happened to be Muhammad Ali, having a match with its own title was unusual for professional fighters. Trish was delighted by the honour and readily agreed to breakfast next morning with the Commissioner.

'Brilliant,' he said while she tucked in to her "full English". 'Ah, should you be eating so many calories all at once?'

'I'll burn them off in no time,' she assured him. Then, being playful, 'Please don't say you think I'm full of lard.'

The Commissioner had the grace to blush . . . which was more or less a first. 'No, no,' he said hastily. 'I think you are perfect. So did last night's audience. They loved you.'

'That audience!' Trish laughed. Back home her fellow Canadians thought Americans were over-the-top while Brits were oh-so reserved. Not last night, though. The Brits had gone berserk even before she got into the ring. They'd made Americans look like shrinking violets.

'British sporting crowds,' the Commissioner said, clearly knowing where she was coming from. 'I wish I could bottle it and sell it worldwide.'

'You have one eye on the profit line, as always.' Trish laughed again. 'But I know what you mean. They didn't even need someone to wind them up.'

'You did that very well yourself. Which leads me to ask: What's next?'

Trish hesitated, a sausage-laden fork halfway to her mouth. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean you're bigger than ever, more in demand. Where do you see your storylines going?'

A swig of tomato juice helped quell Trish's excitement. She'd told The Sioux that she had sway when it came to storylines, but in reality it wasn't so much of a sway. This was an opportunity too good to miss.

'I know what's coming up with Victoria,' the Commissioner continued, 'but Lita hasn't gone away. And Molly will never back down. She was on at me only the other day . . .'

'The Sioux,' Trish put in. 'I want a showdown with The Sioux.'

'The Sioux!' The Commissioner raised his eyebrows. For a man of many facial expressions he for once seemed truly surprised. 'She's hardly ready.'

'That's the story, isn't it? I have to have her as a stopgap tag partner and she's fantastic. I like her at first, but then I start to see her as a threat.'

'What are we talking, weeks or months?'

'Weeks as friends, then months and months as bitter rivals. Maybe she even gets the belt for a short while. And she gets even more bitter when I win it back.'

The Commissioner was nothing if not imaginative. 'She has all the moves,' he said. Then, with much more enthusiasm, 'and she's certainly got the body . . .'

*****

Next stop was Belfast, via Heathrow and City Airport. Having seen footage over the years, Trish half-expected to land in a battle zone, even though she knew The Troubles were a thing of the past. She was, therefore, pleased to find herself in a modern, vibrant city. And, although the local brogue was nothing like the "Irish" she'd heard in Toronto, it had its charm, rough as it was.

'There are no-go areas,' a spokesperson told them, 'but you have them everywhere, don't ya? I assure you it's safer on the streets here than it is in New York. And youse guys have just come from feckin' London . . .'

Trish approved of her room and treated herself to a coffee before dialling reception.

'Patch me through to The Sioux,' she said, and then laughed. 'Sorry, hon, I didn't mean to sound like a demanding Yank. Could you please connect me to my colleague? She goes by the name of The Sioux.'

The sweet colleen patched her through without demur.

'Hi Sioux,' Trish said brightly, 'guess who?'

'I'm unpacking,' Sioux said fractiously, 'who's this?'

'Someone you left tied to a bed. Ring any bells?'

'Oh, it's you.'

'Little me,' Trish agreed.

'What do you want?'

'Me? Nothing. But I promised you a break and I'm ringing to give you it. Interested?'

The silence was long and uncomfortable. But ambition won, as per always. 'What exactly do you mean?' Sioux at last enquired, cautiously.

'I've dropped the plan of long-term tag partners. We're going to have three fights together before falling out. Then, because you've made a name for yourself, you're going to get an eliminator with Victoria. And guess what? You're going to win in controversial circumstances.'

'What does Vic have to say?'

Trish grinned at the use of "Vic". She had been using the abbreviation herself without realizing it until right now. Was that familiarity or what?

'Vic doesn't know yet,' she replied. 'So far it's between you, me and the Commissioner. Can I put you down as interested, or do I need to find someone else with knockout tits?'

'Wait a minute. Please wait a minute.' Sioux's intake of breath was audible. 'Yes, I'm interested. I am very interested. Who wouldn't be? But Vic's helped me a lot.'

'Vic's given you a leg up.' Trish laughed saucily. 'And a few leg overs, I have no doubt. But where has she got you? Nowhere really, that's the truth. I'm getting you a shot at the world title, within a matter of weeks.'

'Do I get to win?'

'No, but you come close enough to get a rematch or two. And you might win one of them.'

Another uncomfortable silence was broken by an even bigger intake of breath. 'What do I have to do to earn all that, exactly?'

'I'm delighted you ask.' This time Trish's laugh was genuinely saucy. 'You owe me a fucking. And by that I mean you personally. I don't want you bringing frigging Victoria along to help you out.'

'You fucked me already,' Sioux observed. 'Just like everyone else.'

'No, listen to my words. You owe me a fucking. Settle up and the world's your oyster.'

'Where and when?'

'Here and now would be a good start. I'm on the top floor. Anytime in the next five minutes will be fine.'

*****

Trish answered the door in a modestly fastened hotel robe. 'Six minutes and twenty seconds,' she said, looking at her Patek Philippe. 'What kept you?'

The Sioux was still in her travelling clothes: faded blue jeans and a red T-shirt endorsed "Made in Canada". Even in flat training shoes she towered over her hostess. Her legs looked to be miles and miles long.

'I didn't expect you to get the stopwatch out,' she said, smiling uncertainly. 'Will I be punished for being late?'

'No,' said Trish, 'you're here and that's all that matters. There won't be any punishments this afternoon. And no tying up or dildos, either.' She shut the door, hearing it lock itself. 'Would you like a glass of champagne? I've got some of that twelve year old Dom Pérignon. It seems to be popular here as well.'

The Sioux accepted a glass as she inspected the suite. 'Is this presidential?'

'It's the Clinton Suite, so I guess it is.'

'Are you saying Slick Willie has slept here himself?'

'Apparently he has. I guess we'll be making out in the very same bed.'

'Wow, you certainly know how to live. Listen, what happened in London . . .'

'What happened in London is in the past.' Trish sipped champagne without taking her eyes off Sioux's. Sioux had lovely big, bright-blue peepers. Simply looking into them was getting Trish wet. No, it was getting her very, very wet. Trickles were running down the insides of her thighs.

'I got what I deserved,' she went on, 'champers, steak and a hell of a fucking. I didn't even mind the change of partners. The only thing I didn't get was head from you.'

'You did so get head from me!' The Sioux's smile was less uncertain now. In fact it was downright seductive.

'Not nearly enough,' Trish said prissily. 'Three or four hours will balance the books. Then I'll call room service while I decide what you're going to do for me next.'

*****

Trish couldn't keep the grin off her face when she finally made the call. The Sioux hadn't merely balanced the books, she'd put herself well into credit. It had somehow got to ten in the evening and, while she hadn't spent all of the time with her head between Trish's legs, she'd certainly done all the doing.

And hadn't she done it well!

Normally Trish made sure she shared the workload. So far she'd done next to nothing, lying back and enjoying the way Sioux made love, using lips, fingers and tongue. She'd used a lot of other bits of her body too, most memorably her tits. It had been incredibly good and impossible to count the cums. Parts of Trish which usually weren't even ticklish had suddenly become erogenous. A simple kiss on the tip of her nose had caused orgasmic convulsions . . .

'Two Carnbrooke sirloins done medium rare,' she said into the receiver. 'And two bottles of Dom Pérignon.' Then, when asked what she wanted with the steaks: 'Nothing too healthy. Chips and onion rings will do.'

The Sioux (no, when they were being intimate, she was just Sioux) had refilled their champagne flutes, emptying the first bottle in the process. She'd also commandeered a hotel robe which was not exactly modest; those miles-long legs of hers looked longer than ever.

'About London,' she said, 'I sorry I called you a whore. I was the one acting badly, not you.'

'Water off a duck's back,' Trish replied. 'As I said, it's all in the past. Ditch your rear-view mirror and look forward instead.'

'Are you really going to give me a shot at your belt?'

'It's all arranged. The Commissioner probably has writers working on it as we speak.' Trish had a sip of champagne and laughed. 'I pity the poor bastard who has to tell Victoria.'

'I pity me,' said Sioux. 'When she finds out, I mean.'

'What's she got on you? Is it sex?'

'We've slept together five times,' Sioux confessed. 'But not at all in the last four weeks. She sort of rations it. I guess she thinks she's keeping me on a string. I guess she also thinks I'm more of a lesbian than I really am.'

'You like guys?'

'I have been known to try them out, but mostly I like playing games. That's what gave Vic the idea in London, as likely as not. I'd been suggesting bondage ropes for a while.'

'Hmmm,' went Trish. 'I think she's been using you, young lady.'

'I think we've been using each other. Which leads me to ask: What about me and you?'

'I told you the general plan. The writers will probably change it a bit . . . as they tend to do . . . but you will get your shot and that will catapult you into superstardom.'

'Do we keep seeing each other in the meantime? Like intimately?'

'You bet we do. And don't worry; I'll pull my weight every now and then. You won't always be the one doing everything.'

'What about Vic?'

'She's already a superstar, she just doesn't realize it.'

'How am I meant to be with her, though?'

'That's between you and her. I don't do "clingy". As far as I'm concerned you can do whatever you want . . . when you're not being intimate with me, that is. If you want to fuck Victoria, you go for it. Assuming she doesn't go praying mantis and bite your head off first.'

*****

Trish kept Sioux for most of the night, finally letting her go at seven am. During their intimacy her phone had been most decidedly switched off. Now, checking her messages, she found she had another early morning date with the Commissioner.

Thank God I'd had enough sixty-nine, she thought, smirking. Any more and I'd have been late.

Then, chuckling: As if anyone could have enough!

Fortunately, the message specified eight o'clock in the breakfast room. Freshly showered, Trish made it with minutes to spare. And then, while she sampled her first full Irish (it was very similar to a full English, but even more plentiful, and included a lot of fried potatoes), she listened to what the main man had to say.

'Forgive me for asking,' she said when he'd finished, 'but aren't you in charge of WWE?'

'Victoria is a valuable asset,' he said patiently. 'And she's right; it would be a catastrophe if she didn't get to fight you again, and sooner rather than later. It's what the viewers want.'

'I hope the viewers don't want me to lose to her.' Trish took a swig of the strongest tea she'd ever tasted in her life before adding, a little anxiously: 'They don't, do they?'

'Of course they don't. But there's growing demand for you to be a heel again. This evening gown match could do the trick, particularly with it being an unexpected bonus.'

'And I really get to rip her bra off?'

'Without a doubt . . . and in a very despicable way.'

Trish already knew she was going to go for it. She was only raising objections because she was expected to. 'Does Victoria understand she's going to be humiliated?'

'Of course she does. She doesn't know about the eliminator, though. We'll get next Saturday out of the way and tell her then.'

'It's very short notice.'

'I know it is. But you know each other inside out. And I've booked you both a rehearsal slot at the Odyssey this afternoon. You can run through the script there. Then, when we've arrived in Santa Barbara, you can run through it again.'