No Holds Barred in London

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story is based on the idea/request of a fan, who wishes to remain nameless. I enjoyed writing it and hope it's enjoyable to read.

*****

London had always been one of Trish's favourite cities. It was the sort of place where a world-famous superstar could walk in the street without being mobbed every two minutes. And, so far this visit, she hadn't had a single microphone stuck in her face. Leastways she hadn't if she didn't count the endless string of interviews she'd had to endure.

She smiled as she walked into the hotel lobby, liking what she saw. As something of an expert on the finer hotels, she'd been surprised to be invited somewhere she'd never heard of. This one didn't look bad, though. In fact, on first sight it ticked all her boxes.

Let's see what the suite's like, she thought. And the quality of room service.

A guy with tattoos was staring at her as she passed. She recognized him as an English football player but couldn't remember his name. He obviously recognized her because he was salivating. Or maybe he just liked well put-together girls.

Tough luck, buster, I've better things to be doing. Come back when you're as well-known as me.

Trish wasn't the only world-famous superstar in town that evening. Everyone connected with WWE had flown across the pond to be there for Saturday night's production. The best hotels were packed with talent. Well, hers was, anyway. The lesser lights and wannabes were probably holed up here, there and everywhere. Which raised a question, didn't it? How had The Sioux found this little gem?

There was an elevator waiting for Trish. Getting into it alone, she reckoned it was the first time she'd had privacy since she'd landed at Heathrow. All those interviews! Okay, as champion of the world she had her responsibilities, but what a drag. And how could they believe her when she so gushingly said she loved the UK? How when all she'd seen this time was the inside of one studio after another?

They believe me because I'm an actress, not just a pretty face. And a friggin' good actress at that.

'The face ain't lacking either,' she said aloud, admiring her reflection in the inbuilt mirror. Then, on impulse, she leant forward and gave herself a kiss, leaving pouty lipstick marks on the glass. 'Very Marilyn,' she concluded. 'Someone should get that on eBay.'

The British-made "lift" stopped and, smiling again, she got out. As an expert on hotels she had her opinions on elevator speeds. Her favourite was one in Tokyo that took passengers up hundreds of storeys in about two seconds. At the other end of the scale was a Parisian, cage-like contraption that had taken her up three floors in about five minutes.

'I like it,' she murmured, taking in a wide, thickly-carpeted corridor. 'A bit old fashioned but that's the Brits for you. Olde worlde equals classy.'

Trish had no fear of going blindly into the unknown. Her body didn't just look good, it was trained to perfection. Few men could overpower her and, as far as women were concerned, she WAS reigning champion, wasn't she? And The Sioux was hardly likely to cut up rough.

Well, I'm sure she isn't, she assured herself. Her signals have been anything but rough.

In truth Trish knew next to nothing about the new kid on the block. Neither did anyone else. Facts were thin on the ground. She was in her early twenties and came from Ontario. She'd only been with WWE a few months and had already exploded onto the scene. She was strong, athletic and stacked. And she was widely admired. The only criticism anyone had about her was that it seemed unrealistic when it was her turn to lose.

At first the name had misled Trish. She'd expected a Native American. Then, when she heard The Sioux was a white girl from Hogtown, she'd expected a punk-like Goth with spiky black hair and cat-eye makeup.

Wrong!!

In reality The Sioux was even blonder than Trish. At five eleven she was also significantly taller. Being a fellow Torontonian (and realizing the girl had one heck of a career ahead of her) Trish had gone out of her way to smile, nod and drop the odd compliment. Before long they would be in the ring together, perhaps as allies, perhaps as bitter rivals . . . or probably both. A bit of gratuitous bonhomie at this early stage couldn't go amiss.

The Sioux had responded to her overtures with a polite restraint. Trish had suspected the girl was secretly sizing her up. Everybody else did, so why not? Being sized up was a fact of life for her. As champion she had something coveted by all . . . something she wasn't prepared to readily give up.

Polite restraint, she'd mused. Is that the way they're building her character? Then, chuckling: It's a first if they're taking that route!

The invitation had come out of deep left field: supper in a seventh story suite; French champagne and Aberdeen Angus steaks. 'Very Anglo-François,' she'd said (a little inaccurately). 'It's a date.'

Now, sashaying along the corridor, Trish wondered if she was being presumptuous. She'd simply assumed The Sioux was inviting her for more than food and drink. That had, after all, been the case with every other invitation she'd ever received.

She's only young, she reminded herself. And she might be no more than a fangirl. I'll keep cool and play it by ear.

All doubts were dispelled when The Sioux opened the door in a kimono-like robe; nothing else, just dark blue silk that went perfectly with her hair and eyes. 'I'd have suggested the a la carte restaurant,' she said in greeting, 'but that isn't very intimate, is it?'

'Intimate sounds good to me,' said Trish, 'although I do feel a bit overdressed.'

'Take off anything you like,' The Sioux replied, laughing as she closed the door.

'Perhaps we should dine first. And wow, what great digs!'

'It's the Presidential Suite. Although don't ask me which president stayed here. Knowing the Limeys they'll have made it up.'

'Judging by the rest of the hotel, it could be any one of many presidents.' Trish was still assessing her surroundings. 'I like it,' she said again. 'My suite is bigger, but not much. And the décor here is a lot classier.'

'Why thank you,' said The Sioux. 'Fancy a glass of Moet?'

'Why not,' Trish agreed sociably.

She watched as her hostess produced an ice bucket. That was not a kimono after all, she decided. There was nothing traditional or modest about it. The Sioux was showing off plenty of bare arm and yards and yards of bare leg.

Nice tan, she thought. I can't wait to see if it's all-over.

'It's Dom Pérignon,' the blue-robed beauty announced. 'And it's twelve years old, according to the label.'

'I'm sure it's a fine vintage,' said Trish. 'It would have to be, in a place like this.'

'Cheers, as they say in these parts.'

They clinked glasses and swapped smouldering glances.

'So,' Trish began, 'why the name?'

'Three reasons.' The Sioux grinned. 'It sounds nobly savage. I always wanted a name beginning with "The". And my mentor likes it.'

Trish wondered what sort of sugar daddy the girl had hooked up with. Apart from one who knew which strings to pull, that was . . . or which palms to grease. This young lady had every God-given attribute she needed for success, but nobody made it so far on her own. Not so quickly, anyway.

'What do I call you?' she asked, intrigued but not wanting to launch into an interrogation. Not yet.

'You don't like "The Sioux"?'

Trish laughed at the girl's mock-outraged expression. 'It's brilliant for the ring,' she said. 'Not quite so appropriate for an intimate supper.'

'Oh yes, supper.' Another wide grin. 'I've got us a supply of canapés. I thought we'd save the steaks until we've worked up an appetite.'

Only young? No more than a fangirl? Trish shook her head as she put her empty champagne flute on a low table. 'Are you proposing we work out first?'

'No, I'm proposing we make out first.' The Sioux unfastened the silk sash around her waist and let the robe fall from her.

Trish drew in breath through clenched teeth. 'Fuck me, you really are stacked.'

'Fuck me,' The Sioux echoed. 'Oh yes; yes please.'

*****

The opening round of sex was fast, furious and very, very enjoyable. The workload was also equally shared, which was always nice. Now, side-by-side on their backs, both of them gasping in lungsful of air, Trish looked at her new best friend.

'You never did tell me what to call you,' she said, feigning grouchy but smiling.

'Sioux will do,' the girl replied. 'Short names are best at intimate moments.'

'And I took you to be so innocent!'

'Me?' Sioux's hand landed on Trish's pussy. 'Of course I'm innocent.'

Her fingers proved she was adept at lying. Oh my, was she skilled. Trish gladly stayed there and took it, loving the way her clit was being isolated, rubbed, rolled and squeezed. Cumming quickly, realizing the fun wasn't about to stop, she did her best to laugh.

'You can make me cum,' she said, 'but you'll never make me submit.'

'A challenge!' Sioux had an amazing grin. It would take her far. 'Let's give it a go then.'

Trish didn't keep count but must have cum another dozen times before the other girl called a timeout. And there was no submission, although she'd considered wimping more than once.

'Canapés,' Sioux announced, bouncing off the bed.

Trish watched her, admiring the view from behind. She'd spent a lot of her life working with female bodies, making them fitter, faster and stronger. And making them look good too, of course . . . but rarely as good as this Torontonian. It was possible she'd seen someone more naturally blessed, but she was beggared if she could remember where and when.

'I can call the chef whenever we want,' Sioux continued, passing across a silver tray of small pastries and another flute of champagne. 'He'll send us our Loch Something-or-Other salmon starters as soon as I tell him to. And then he'll come up personally to grill the steaks before our very eyes. I'm not hungry yet, though. Are you?'

Trish was demolishing her canapés. 'No,' she replied. 'Not yet.' Then, the thought suddenly coming to her: 'Hey, why don't you be my new tag partner?'

'I'd be honoured. Do you mean it?'

'Yeah, I've already got a storyline in mind. I fall out with my current partner minutes before we're due in the ring. She storms off so I grab you as a substitute and we win. In fact we beat Molly and Lita in no time at all. Then we go on a run with nobody able to beat us for months. We even beat a couple of teams of men. Sounds good so far?'

'It certainly does.'

'Okay then, here's the cream. During this run we look out for each other. Not just in the ring but also behind the scenes. And you start to fall in love with me. We can really drag it out. I don't notice how you're feeling and you give me lots of secret, furtive glances. Audiences will lap it up. You'll become the one they're all pulling for, and I'll be adored even more than ever.'

She broke off for a swig of Moet. 'No, here's a better idea. I fall in love with you. You're the one who doesn't notice. I give you all the furtive glances but hold back because you're so young and innocent. Then, when we've dragged it out for ever and a day, we finally get together. Very tastefully, of course, without offending the more sensitive viewers.'

'Can you really call your own storylines?'

'Yes, within reason. And that's a humdinger. I'll have no trouble getting it agreed.'

'There's only one thing wrong.' Sioux lowered her wonderful eyes. 'I may be young but, as you know, I'm not exactly innocent. That might come across on screen.'

'It hasn't done yet,' Trish observed. 'And who cares anyway? We're actresses, capable of reinventing ourselves time after time. Trust me, you can go from villain to heartthrob overnight in this game. And back again. I used to do it every other week.'

'I'm not acting right now,' said Sioux, 'and this won't sound innocent at all. Please Trish, will you tie me up and fuck me?'

*****

The "bondage ropes" were made of the same blue-coloured silk as Sioux's robe. 'I've pre-tied them,' she said proudly, indicating noose-like loops at either end of both pieces. 'And the head of the bed is just perfect, isn't it?'

Determined to be the woman-of-the-world, Trish agreed the bedhead was indeed perfect. Made out of shiny black metal, it was a mixture of upright rails and horizontal crosspieces. Even a bondage novice could see that one end of each rope could be hooked around a protruding upright.

'The knots are special,' Sioux went on. 'Any movement from me and they tighten up. Not tight enough to stop my blood flow, but too tight for me to escape.'

'So how do you escape?'

'I don't. I'm reliant on you unfastening me. But that's the thrill, isn't it?'

'How do you know I'll be able to unfasten them?'

'It's easy. If I relax the tension you can easily pull the loops open. Like this. See?'

Two minutes later Sioux was on her back again, her arms splayed either side of her head in a blunt V.

'I'm so, so excited,' she said.

Trish could see that was true. The insides of the girl's thighs were glistening. Come to that, she wasn't exactly arid herself.

'Okay,' she said decisively, 'I'll begin. But you'll have to be patient. I'm not going to go at you like a bull at a gate.'

And she didn't. She went at her fellow Torontonian slowly and systematically. First she kissed her mouth, then her neck and her arms. Then, after lingering over her knockout tits (sucking, nibbling and gently gnawing them), she ran her tongue over every inch of her upper body. And then, pointedly avoiding her pussy, she licked every inch of those yards-long legs, not forgetting the soles of her feet.

'Please, please,' Sioux begged. 'Fuck me, please fuck me.'

'Be patient,' Trish countered. 'All things cum to she who waits.'

Still being systematic, she lapped up spilt juices as best she could before moving onto her holy grail. And what a grail! She had, in her travels, seen quite a lot of famous nude statues. Most of them, in her considered opinion, skimped on detail when it came to pussies. That wasn't just a shame, it was a crime. Girls' pussies could be works of art in themselves.

Sioux's pussy was just as beautiful as the rest of her. Remembering the treat she'd been given a little earlier, Trish paid excessive, lavish attention to her clit, using her lips and tongue to isolate it, to rub it, roll it and squeeze it. Sioux liked that very much indeed. And, five orgasms later, she seemed to like it even more when Trish took the internal route.

Using two fingers to fuck her as vigorously as she possibly could.

Driving the girl from frenzied orgasm to frenzied orgasm.

Making her moan, whimper and cry out in ecstasy.

Later, finally convinced the other girl was as unlikely to ever submit as she was herself, Trish took a timeout of her own. 'That was entertaining,' she said brightly. 'What happens next?' (As if she couldn't guess!)

'We swap places,' Sioux said without hesitation. 'If you dare.'

'A challenge!' Trish laughed. As she'd said moments earlier, being the dominant partner had been entertaining, but the real excitement was to be found on the receiving end. Obviously!!

If I want, she thought. If I want! I can hardly friggin' wait.

Sioux had to wriggle up towards the bedhead to relax the tension in the silk ropes. Once she'd done that Trish easily tugged the loops open.

'Free at last!' Sioux bounced up onto her knees. 'Not that it hurts. Look, there isn't a mark on me. And my arms aren't at all stiff.'

Trish was trying to control her body, which was doing strange, nervy things. She'd never felt like this before a production, not even a big one when she was the main event. 'My God,' she said, 'and you reckoned you were so excited!'

'Your mess will only add to mine.' Sioux chuckled as she looked at the bedcovers. A while ago she'd been glistening; now both she and the covers were drenched.

'I'm going to significantly add to them.' Trish offered up her right arm and shivered as it was firmly secured. 'Fuck me, I just did!'

Grinning that peerless grin, Sioux took and secured Trish's other arm.

'Slide over the wet patches,' she commanded. 'Give the ropes a bit of a tug.'

Trish obeyed, feeling the nooses tighten around her wrists. 'That's it,' she said, 'I'm at your mercy.'

The change in Sioux's expression was as dramatic as it was sudden. 'Tag partner,' she sneered. 'Do you really think I'm so desperate?'

Oh, thought Trish. It's one of those role-playing games, is it?

'I'm sorry, mistress,' she said out loud, making like a scared little girl. 'I was only trying to please you.'

'Don't call me "mistress",' Sioux barked. 'You're not fit to use the word, you fucking whore.'

Trish wasn't sure what she was supposed to say to that. 'I'm sorry,' she ventured. 'I only want to give you pleasure.'

Ignoring her altogether Sioux got off the bed, retrieved a mobile from her discarded robe and dialled out. 'It's me,' she said into it. 'I've got your parcel, gift-wrapped and ready for you.'

Horror flooded through Trish's veins. Sioux wasn't role-playing, she was deadly serious. What was going on? Was she being kidnapped? Could something like that happen here, in law-abiding London?

'Look,' she said as Sioux pulled on the gown and pocketed her phone, 'this is a joke? Right?'

'Am I laughing, whore?'

The door to the suite opened and closed, alarming Trish anew. Whoever it was must have been waiting close by, key in hand. She looked anxiously in the direction of the sound but saw nothing. There again, the bedroom door was closed and even she couldn't see through walls.

My God, she thought frantically. What if I'm going to be raped?

The possibilities were too much to dwell on just then. 'Sioux,' she said urgently. 'I'm begging you . . .'

'Don't waste your breath. I'm not listening.'

Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can hear footsteps!

'Please Sioux, you don't have to do this . . .'

'Shut it, whore.'

The air temperature dropped as the bedroom door was eased open. And with good reason. The new arrival wasn't a kidnapper or rapist, it was someone much worse.

It was Victoria.

*****

Victoria was in one of her half-insane, spitting and snarling moods. She must have changed . . . or stripped . . . outside the bedroom door, because she was wearing even less than she usually did in the ring. No way could she have walked through a respectable hotel dressed like that.

Trish groaned inwardly. Victoria always made an impression with her entrances and tonight was no exception. All flowing hair, flashing eyes and rippling muscles, she was clad in nothing but shiny black leather: knee-length boots, a skimpy bra and even skimpier thong.

Scary or not, she looked magnificent.

'Well done, Honeybuns,' she said, her voice just shy of a shout.

The Sioux knelt before her and, appalling Trish, kissed her shiny boots. 'It was an honour,' she said in revered tones. 'I had to fuck her to get this far, but I thought of you every second of the way.'

'I'm sure you did,' Victoria replied. 'Now, why don't you run along? I'm sure you can find other ways of amusing yourself. If they cost, charge 'em to me.'

Trish said nothing until they were alone. 'So,' she began, 'you're Sioux's sugar daddy, are you?'

'I'm her mentor.' Victoria sounded calmer now, although her eyes were still flashing. 'I'm her mistress too, in many ways. Nice ride, isn't she?'

'Amazingly smooth,' Trish said flatly. 'Look, Victoria, what this all about?'

'It's about revenge,' Victoria snarled. 'You owe me, big-time.'

'Oh no I don't.' Trish let out an exaggerated sigh. 'That's only a storyline, Vic. It's not real, like Trish and Vic aren't real. It's all made-up for the audience.' Then, detecting no softening in her rival's stony expression: 'We don't really have a life-long feud. You've no reason to hate me. And I certainly don't hate you. I quite admire you, actually.'