Divas in Dubai Pt. 01

Author's Note: "Divas in Dubai" picks up from a sequence of stories that all have titles beginning with "No Holds Barred in . . ." but has been written as a self-contained story in itself. There should be no need for anyone to read previous submissions in order to enjoy this one. Although "anyone" is of course free to read them if she/he likes!

*****

Chapter One

Trish had had nightmares about losing her title in Sacramento, but none as bad as the reality. No, the reality was something else. There she was, on her ass on the canvas, medics fussing around her while Victoria was up on the ropes, waving the belt in the air and conducting the audience.

'Vic-tor-i-a,' they roared, 'Vic-tor-i-a!'

Even heartbroken Trish still listened for her own name but this time she heard zip. When she had entered the arena the chants of "Trish" had been much louder than her rival's reception. Now she was getting the odd subdued boo.

Or maybe she was getting loud boos subdued by all the applause for Victoria. The cacophony of noise made it difficult to be sure.

Boos, for goodness' sake!

How unfair was that! This was supposed to the biggest night of her life: two women headlining the whole show for the first time and her name up there in the largest letters by far. She'd battled to win her title back to triumph on nights such as this, not to almost immediately lose it again.

And where had the "TRISH IS A DISH" banners all gone?

Talk about fame being fleeting and fragile!

The circumstances made losing even harder to take. She hadn't had a dead leg since in her early teens. Getting one now, and getting it so innocuously . . .

Victoria was still up on the ropes conducting. She was dressed as usual in skimpy black leather and looked quite magnificent.

'Vic-tor-i-a,' the audience roared, 'Vic-tor-i-a!'

The medics were urging Trish to stand. Doubting she could do it but eager to be out of there, she let them assist her to her feet. And then she swore bitterly. Five minutes ago her left leg wouldn't work at all. Now, although it was hurting like blazes, it was functional again. Another five and it'd probably be as good as new.

But five minutes was a long time in WWE. It had taken Victoria less than one minute to overpower her weakened body and only three seconds to pin it down.

'Hold onto us and we'll get you to the dressing room,' said one of the medics. 'We'll get ice and a compress on and you'll be right as rain.'

Before Trish could start limping off, the overhead lights were dimmed. Music suddenly blared over the din of the victory celebrations. Instinctively, she looked to the top of the walkway. As expected a woman was standing there, posing in front of glaring lights which turned her into a silhouette.

The Commissioner's surprise ending, Trish supposed. The actual title fight had been unscripted, unrehearsed and totally for real; now it was time for the WWE Universe to take over again.

And neither she nor her rival knew exactly what was coming.

'That's my belt,' a familiar voice yelled. 'Treasure it while you can, Victoria. Your first defence is against me . . . and I'm taking it back.'

Trish's heart dropped as Molly stepped into clearer view. Molly had been untypically quiet these last few months but now she was back with a bang. And she was looking good with it; must have been putting extra time in at the gym. The strong, shapely body on her . . .

Oh no, thought Trish. If she gets her hands on the title it'll get complicated. I'll be waiting forever for another shot.

Victoria snarled something defiant at Molly but the woman on the walkway had the microphone; her amplified response was the one everybody heard and remembered.

'Dubai, Victoria. Four weeks from tonight. Bring my belt with you; I'll be taking it home with me.'

As WWE confrontations go it was mild but it certainly grabbed attention. Molly turned and strutted off and, after a moment's hesitation Victoria vaulted out of the ring and went after her. So too did a whole crowd of assorted hangers-on, leaving Trish and her medics to hobble in their wake.

The word "disaster" resounded in Trish's head with every limping step. How could she get such a trivial injury at so inconvenient a time! And how could it have disabled her so completely!!

The area outside the changing rooms was crammed with sweaty people: intrusive cameramen or mouthy reporters, mostly. If anything the torrent of questions was noisier and less controlled than the uproar back in the arena.

Molly was over to the left, holding court. Despite the crush elsewhere she was miraculously being allowed breathing room; she had a comfort zone of maybe two feet around her, as if interrogators were being held back by an invisible force field.

Victoria didn't seem to have caught up with her new challenger. She was over to the right, deep in agitated conversation with the Commissioner.

'Let's press on,' said the first medic. 'This is a zoo. The sooner we get you out of it the better.'

But Victoria had spotted the three of them. Pushing away the nearest medic she pulled Trish into her agitated confab.

'Here she is,' she said aggressively, 'tell her what you've just told me.'

Ever-diplomatic, the Commissioner waved away a few lenses and mics. He didn't do that quite as effectively as Molly but did get them a tiny pool of privacy.

'Good match,' he said to Trish. 'Are you badly hurt?'

'I'll live,' she replied. 'What's this business with Molly? I want a rematch.'

'So do I,' said Victoria, surprising everybody.

Suddenly the crush was closer than ever around them. Trish clung on to the remaining medic as tightly as she could. He was, she noticed, grinning in spite of everything. There again he did have her right tit pressing into his arm and both of Victoria's as good as in his face.

'Back off,' the Commissioner shouted, for once losing his cool. 'Back off or I'll have the building cleared.'

'This rematch,' a persistent reporter yelled, 'is it . . .'

'Get him outta here,' the Commissioner bellowed, pointing.

An enormous black hand appeared out of nowhere. It belonged to Fred, the main man in the field for WWE's security team. Suddenly the persistent reporter was nowhere to be seen; it was as if Scotty had beamed him up.

'The three of us will talk on Monday,' the Commissioner said into the resultant silence, addressing Trish and Victoria. 'Rest up and recover in the meantime, both of you.'

Then he was swept away on a tide of (marginally) politer media folk.

Trish's relationship with Victoria had always been, to say the least, rocky. Just then she wanted to hate her for stealing her title. But the dead leg had been an accident, not intentional. And Victoria had been demanding a rematch on her behalf. . .

Causing all manner of oohs and ahhs, Trish embraced her greatest rival.

'Thank you,' she said into Victoria's ear.

'We'll go on strike,' Victoria replied. 'If he messes us about on Monday, we'll go on strike.'

Overwhelmed, Trish kissed her amidst a thousand camera flashes.

Guess what picture adorned the front pages Sunday morning!

Chapter Two

Trish woke Monday wondering where she was. That is to say she woke with her face buried in a pair of small-to-medium-sized tits and with a medium-to-large-sized hangover.

Not her retreat in LA, she concluded. She'd vacated that luxurious place on Friday. So she had to be in her suite. In fact she had to be with the rest of WWE, holed up in one of Sacramento's finer hotels.

And those tits had to be Erin's.

She shook her head and instantly regretted it. She'd never been a big drinker and strict training had recently called for abstinence. Downing a month's supply in two nights had not been one of her better ideas.

'Ouch,' she groaned.

Erin laughed. She was an elfin, ballsy and brash reporter from New York with a record second to none. Rumour had it Bernstein and Woodward were scared of her. And why not; everyone else was scared of her.

Well, everyone apart from Trish. After an uneasy start they'd become good friends and, as lovers, they found each other more than adequate.

'Don't laugh at me,' said Trish, 'I need loving care.'

'Well you're in the right bed.' Erin laughed again. She'd arrived unannounced shortly before the title fight, saying she wanted to get the full story of the build-up and victory. In practice she'd slept with Trish until the big night then, in the absence of victory, done some serious consoling.

She'd done some serious drinking, too, but looking at her now nobody would know it.

Gently easing Trish off her, making sure not to touch the bruised right-hand side of her body, she arranged them just so on the bed, kicking away the top sheet while she was at it. Flat on her back and covering her eyes from bright daylight, the superstar diva looked vulnerable for once.

'Prepare for loving care,' said Erin, carefully positioning herself between Trish's parted legs.

'Make it slow and tender as well as loving,' said Trish.

*****

The diva's pussy was almost as beautiful as the girl herself. Even though she'd seen a lot of it just lately, Erin took a moment to admire the sight and sighed.

Everyone should have a pussy like that!

Remembering to be slow and tender she started on the insides of Trish's thighs, nibbling, kissing and licking. Then she concentrated on her outer lips, spending quality time on them, using the tip of her tongue to draw moist lines, constantly shifting from left to right.

'Oh my,' Trish sighed, 'I'm feeling better already.'

Next Erin focused on her inner lips, using the same relaxed timetable and tactics but making sure never to touch her clit.

Trish was letting out an endless series of small groans. Her lower body was moving rhythmically.

'I'm going to cum,' she murmured in-between groans.

Erin moved on to her hood, nibbling as well as licking and still never touching her actual clit; that is to say almost, but not quite.

Trish came all the same. Chuckling inwardly, Erin circled the mouth of her vagina, using her index finger as well as her tongue.

'You're so wicked,' sighed Trish.

Finger and tongue working like a tag team, Erin penetrated her by two, perhaps three inches.

Trish came again.

Relishing the taste of her, Erin withdrew and kissed her ever-so lightly on the clit.

'Yes,' Trish endorsed loudly, 'omigod, yes!'

Well aware of the diva's likes and dislikes, Erin began to lash her clit with short, insistent strokes of her tongue. Meanwhile her hands slid slowly up Trish's body and cupped her awesome tits. Trish immediately grabbed Erin's hands; pressing them and holding them in place, making them squeeze ever tighter.

'Omigod yes,' she cried, cumming a third time.

Erin lapped up the evidence then tugged her hands free and reached for the bag at the foot of the simply huge bed. Toys carefully selected, she proceeded to fuck Trish with an eight inch dildo.

Doing it gently and thoughtfully, of course, because that's the sort of lover she was.

Being even more aware of that particular set of likes and dislikes, she did it progressively. Giving Trish an inch of penetration to set off with; then another inch and a fraction slower; and then three inches and slower still . . .

Then, when the full length of the toy was motionless inside Trish's clenched pussy and her whole body was writhing in appreciation, Erin picked up the chosen vibrator. It had ten speeds, just like a pushbike. And she set it going at the weakest level.

'So wicked,' gasped Trish before squealing as the buzzing device was applied to her pretty man in the boat.

Ten minutes later Erin clicked up a gear and, using its flange as a handle, simultaneously began to move the dildo. The plan was to keep the vibrator clit-side while steadily going up through its gears and meanwhile fucking ever more vigorously with the dildo.

Yes, she knew Trish's likes and dislikes all right.

*****

Being taken by Erin was the best hangover cure ever. Trish reckoned it put tomato juice and raw eggs in the shade. By the time she'd been had at top speed by both toys at once she'd forgotten she'd ever felt rough. In fact her only concern was she'd cum so much she had nearly shaken her tits off.

Except they were clearly still there, so why worry!

Well, deep down she was worried about her lost title but even that seemed remote right then.

'Do you want to?' Erin asked as she tossed the playthings aside.

'I want to anything,' said Trish. 'What've you got in mind?'

'Oh, nothing that gets you off your back. Just stay where you are and let me.'

Trish obediently stayed where she was while the petite reporter straddled her and lowered herself until her pussy was almost touching her nose.

'Do you still want to?' asked Erin.

'Try stopping me,' said Trish, drawing her tongue down the reporter's hood, straight over her clit and on to her vagina, poking the tip of it in without a by-your-leave.

The result was spectacular. Erin had seemed to be slightly moist but in control. In reality she must have been storing her liquid excitement up. As Trish entered her, meeting no resistance at all, some inner dam broke and suddenly Trish's face was flooded.

Not that she minded. Taking hold of Erin by her skinny hips she tugged her down and at the same time stabbed up fiercely and repeatedly with her tongue. Suddenly it was Erin who was in danger of shaking her tits off and Trish was the one who wasn't able to stop.

Yum, yum, wasn't it fun!

Chapter Three

WWE had in effect taken over the entire hotel so Monday's meeting with the Commissioner was held there in a ground floor meeting room. Not that the get-together was a long one. Attended by the man himself, his two pet accountants/lawyers, Trish and Victoria it lasted maybe quarter of an hour.

Initially the Commissioner gave a speech about being loyal to everyone within the organization, saying the likes of Molly were concerned they were being frozen out. Then he said that he knew he'd given undertakings and wasn't about to renege.

'Molly deserves her challenge,' he said. 'As much as the ratings enjoy you two head to head, we have to look at the bigger picture. That's why Molly made her appearance as she did. Of course we didn't know who was going to win, but what she said could have been aimed at either of you. Let's face it; she's as much of a right to have a vendetta.'

Trish and Victoria both had previous with Molly. They had to agree the Commissioner had a point.

'So here's how it works,' he went on. 'Molly will fight an eliminator on Saturday in Paris. After she wins she will fight you, Victoria, in Dubai. On the same Dubai bill you, Trish, will fight an eliminator to earn the right for a showdown with the winner of Victoria's fight.'

'Are these fights scripted?' Victoria put in.

'Molly will win her eliminator,' the Commissioner replied, 'and so will Trish. The final between you and Molly in Dubai will not be scripted in any way. Neither will the ultimate showdown with Trish. And before you ask, we haven't put a date on that showdown as yet. All I will say is that it will be weeks after Dubai, not months. Can I be any fairer than that?'

'What happens in the meantime?' Trish wondered.

'You take a fortnight off then win a warm-up before your eliminator. Victoria goes to training camp and doesn't fight until Molly's challenge.'

'And Molly's all right with this?' asked Victoria.

'To use the modern term, she's hotter than hot for it.' The Commissioner laughed. 'She wants a foot back in the door and "unscripted" works for her well.'

Trish laughed with him. 'I bet it does.'

And she wasn't just toeing the company line. She knew as well as anyone in the room that WWE wouldn't go for an endless stream of revenge matches. Victoria knew it too. Turning to her, Trish asked the question.

'I'm cool with the solution. Are you?'

Victoria had had her game face on throughout. Now she permitted herself the slightest smile.

'You don't have to fight Molly in a few weeks but yes, I'm for it if you are.'

'Wonderful,' said the Commissioner. 'I took the liberty of arranging press conferences tomorrow, here in the press room: Trish at ten and you, Victoria at eleven-thirty. Are you free to attend?'

'Sure,' said Trish.

'What about Molly's conference?' Victoria asked. 'Doesn't she get one?'

'She gets one after she wins that eliminator.' The Commissioner extended his hand and the divas shook it in turn. The two pet accountants/lawyers sat in silence, watching them.

'I need to beg a moment of your time Trish,' the Commissioner said as she stood to leave. Giving Victoria his most charming grin he added: 'This is not relating to you, my darling. It's a contractual wrangle of a private nature.'

Victoria didn't look convinced but left anyway. 'See you in Dubai,' she said to Trish.

Uneasy with being kept back, Trish retook her seat. To her surprise it was Abrahams who spoke, not the Commissioner himself.

Of the two pets Trish had always disliked Spenser. In her opinion he was at best a creep, at worst a slug. But as far as unpleasantness went, even as the new kid on the block, Abrahams beat him hands down.

'Saturday's viewing statistics are two points up,' he began, 'so the wider decision to headline with females didn't totally destroy the product. But we have had adverse feedback . . .'

'Whoa,' went Trish. 'Two points up enhances the product; it doesn't freaking destroy anything.'

'According to research a lot of viewers doubted the product's authenticity,' Abrahams continued. 'A significant number believed you were play-acting.'

Trish was dressed casually in a low-cut T-shirt and loose joggers. She stood again and pulled up the left side of her T, exposing a vivid purple-blue bruise that ran the length of her body.

'Does that look like stage makeup?' she demanded.

'Nevertheless,' Abrahams went on, 'in public opinion . . .'

Outraged, Trish tugged down her joggers, her modesty protected by a miniscule pair of panties.

'That's what stopped me winning,' she snapped, pointing.

It was plain to see that the terrible bruise went all the way from her armpit down to her knee.

'It's a toss-up between Grade 2 and Grade 3 haematoma,' she said.

'That's exactly what the medical report says,' the Commissioner put in, 'and I'm aware you have been receiving appropriate therapy. What Mr Abrahams is trying to say is . . .'

'Is that the people who booed me think I was shamming,' Trish finished.

'Were you?' asked Spenser.

Trish closed her eyes and counted to ten. 'No,' she said, reopening them. 'I made a tiny mistake and nobody's madder about it than me.'

'What mistake?' Abrahams scoffed.

'Our fight was completely unrehearsed,' said Trish, as patiently as she could. 'But Victoria and I have trained and fought a heck of a lot over the years. We both know each other inside out. Even unscripted . . . no, especially unscripted . . . situations arise when an opponent takes the upper hand. Quite often you have to take the pain in order to avoid more pain.'

The Commissioner nodded at that. 'It's like college wrestling. Roll with it and retaliate before the other guy hits you again.'

'Exactly,' said Trish. 'But I screwed up. I must have taken a thousand postings and that one I got wrong. I guess I tried to retaliate too soon, although my memory of it's a mess. All I knew was that my leg suddenly wouldn't work and I couldn't do anything about it. And trust me; it's hard enough fighting Victoria on two legs.'

Abrahams made a face but the Commissioner held up a hand. 'I accept that without reservation. So how do we get the viewing public to agree?'

'Erin's sorting that.'

Trish had been noted for having expressive eyebrows. Just then hers were the least expressive around the table.