Battle Lines

”Can I take your order, ma’am?”

The waitress’ words tore Mariah away from her phone for a painful second, forcing her to look up and give the girl a quick scan. She was a young, cute thing, a brunette with a sweet smile, and the fact that she hadn’t noticed her when she entered the skybox was a testament to how distracted she was at the moment. Typically, Mariah liked to scan the room and take note of every fine body in attendance. Not that she would wind up making any moves, but it was an old habit from her wilder days.

Tonight, she had other, nonsexual activities to participate in. At least, no sex for her. Most likely.

”Not yet, not yet.” Mariah waved the waitress off, then snapped her fingers to bring her back. ”Wait, wait. Tea. Bring me two glasses of sweet tea and a nice pitcher. And some lemons. And those little crackers in the two packs.”

The waitress nodded and went off, as Mariah sat back and smiled, satisfied at her small decision. It might have seemed like nothing of consequence, but she would be negotiating any moment now, and she liked to do everything to enforce the idea that she was in control. This was hardly the first time that she’d met with another manager to discuss match terms. Not the first time that she’d busted out her black sleeveless blouse and matching short skirt, showing off her smooth legs through the gleaming pantyhose. She knew the drill.

Most of the time, this sort of thing wouldn’t even be necessary. She and Bubbles had been in Japan for weeks now, and the AFW was suiting them just fine.  As guest wrestlers, they’d been given an impressive array of opponents to take on, and she’d done well with them, getting a small following that seemed to be growing with each match.

But her next suggested opponent was a curious one: Femke Brouwer. Not a name that rang any bells for Mariah, which wasn’t that odd by itself - the wide world of wrestling was a big one, indeed. But Mariah hadn’t been able to do any research at all...not in English, anyway. Femke was a bigger name in European circles, ones that Mariah knew little about. On top of that, the two of them were scheduled for a vanilla hentai bout, and that simply would not do. Bubbles Burste deserved the best.

So some due diligence was in order. Mariah made a call to AFW management, they called Femke, and that led them here, to a meeting in the AFW’s posh skybox lounge during an episode of Friction. Plush seats, a salad bar, big screen TVs, dinner on the house, and a perfect view of two women wrestling below. A perfect setting for Mariah to meet Femke’s advocate and hash out a few details.

Now all she had to do was wait for her counterpart arrive, time that could be spent mentally preparing herself. And working on her pronunciations.

”Da - Ry - Ah. Am - Bro - So - Va.” She tried it once with a Russian impression, then let her natural Californian shine through. ”Darya Ambrosova. Good, good.”

The cute little brunette waitress—an aspiring wrestler herself, albeit one who so far had only found herself in the ring as an alternate during dark matches while most of the Friction crowd was filing in—gave Mariah a big smile as she hurried off to fulfill her request, sliding open the door to the luxurious skybox silently and ducking deftly out into the corridor. She had only been working here for three months, and had already mastered the art of being totally unobtrusive, yet always exactly where she was needed. Once she got her in-ring contract, she was going to use that ability to surprise her opponents from every direction, none of them ever knowing just where she was going to show up n—

"Oof!" Evidently, the waitress was not the only one who could move without making a sound. She had never seen the tall, imposing, dark-haired beauty standing with arms crossed just beyond the door, and ran right into her, face almost diving into the impressive pale cleavage which was on display in the center of a plung red-hemmed neckline. Darya Ambrosova, former queen of European wrestling, the infamous and terrible "Black Angel," looked down at the suddenly meek brunette with a smile on her lips and a glint in her one good eye.

"I'm very sorry, ma'am! I didn't see you there!" the waitress said, giving the Russian a small bow and a bit of a flustered apology. After all these positive performance reviews, she was not about to lose her chance at stardom due to one silly mistake, and the fear of just that made her quiver!

Luckily for her, Darya's smile only got wider, as she gently clucked with her tongue against her teeth. "Is zat so? I am losing my touch, zen, it seems," the imposing woman would intone, shaking her head. "I vould never valk into a room vithout all eyes turning to me. So sad I do not have zat impression on you..."

"I-I'm very sorry, ma'am, that's not—"

Darya would not let the girl embarrass herself. That was not her way, and it hadn't been for a long time. She brought an arm up, extending a finger and pressing it to the girl's lips, quieting her. "I kid you. Please, relax."

The waitress took a breath and laughed. "Thank you. Then, can I ask if you would like anything to drink?"

Darya didn't hesitate in answering. "In my country, you vould ask simply chajku-s, and I vould reply black tea, in ze teapot, vith hot vater and lemon, two cups..." She would hold up a finger, indicating she was not finished. "...and vodka, a bottle, vith two more glasses."

The brunette's eyes widened, for a moment, at the long list that the two women between them had given her to bring. Still, she gave Darya a smile, a nod, and then scurried off to prepare everything which had been requested. Darya bid her farewell with a small wave of a hand, then turned to the closed door. She didn't need to glance down at her outfit, or adjust anything. She knew her attire was perfect, from the tight red blouse with the plunging neckline, to the tight black pencil skirt which fell only to mid-thigh, to the luscious black pantyhose which made her pale legs look so powerful, so dangerous, in partnership with the three-inch red stilettos. The dark gray suit jacket she wore tied the whole look together, transforming it from a casual evening look into the look of a businesswoman ready to eviscerate her competition.

Of course, she was not the one who was going to be doing the eviscerating. That would be her darling, her sweet wife Femke, in the ring next week, and the Dutch woman needed no help from her spouse in that regard. Still, Darya had duties to perform. She needed to learn what she could of the American woman, whose former league neither European was at all familiar with, and ensure that Femke Brouwer would not be making her AFW debut in a mere vanilla hentai bout. Femke, of course, deserved better than that, deserved a spectacular debut, a decisive victory in a match which matched her big, wonderful personality.

Third, and often the most important of Darya's tasks, would be to impress upon her fellow manager the understanding that a proud wrestler, this Bianca, this "Bubbles" Burste, would be utterly humbled, physically and sexually, and that the both of them would need to be prepared to accept that fact.

Darya slid the door open, and stepped inside, hands on her hips, back erect, good eye immediately finding the light-haired American where she sat on the far side of the room. Darya smiled at her, and strode forward, stilettos clacking on the floor with every step.

"Mariah Burste, yes?" She waited for the woman to stand up before extending a hand to shake. "Darya Ambrosova."

Click-clack, click-clack, click-clack.

Mariah heard the sound of someone entering the room, but she wasn’t paying much attention at the moment, her attention momentarily focused on the TV screen. A match was starting, featuring a dark-skinned, white-haired wrestler with a buxom figure: Odessa Brock, one of the bigger long-timers on the Friction scene, and one of the faces she’d gone out of her way to remember when she and Bubbles agreed to give the AFW a shot. Potential opponent. Maybe even potential client, if things went well enough and Mariah had the chance to expand.

But she managed to pull her gaze away from that beauty when the click-clacking stopped and her name was mentioned. With a soft sigh, she turned away and found herself staring at…

”Whoa.”

For a second, her entire demeanor dropped, as she found herself staring at...well, if it wasn’t for the introduction, she would’ve assumed that this was Femke, and there had been some kind of mix-up. To put it mildly, this woman was a walking statue. Strong. Fit. Tall. She’d read enough to know that Darya was a former wrestler, too, but unlike Mariah, you could tell that just from a glance.

The eyepatch was a nice touch, too.

Mariah pushed past it and quickly regained composure, brushing it off with a cough. This was a meeting of the minds, not the muscles.

”That would be me.” She stood up and reached forward to give Darya the hardest shake she could manage, all while keeping a pleasant smile. ”Thanks for agreeing to meet with me. I know how stressful it can be, starting up in a fresh league, unfamiliar territory.” Slight pause. ”For newer talent, anyway.”

First shot fired.

Darya got the drop on her foil for the evening. How wonderful. The first point went the Russian's way, though now that she had Mariah's attention she was certain the American would not be holding anything back. Make no mistake: this would be war, albeit a war of words, as the two former wrestlers each did what they could to advance the interests of their client—clients who just happened to be their wives, as well. Emotions would run high. Each woman surely had her strengths and weaknesses, and each would try to exploit those she found in the other in order to bend negotiations her way. Mariah had more experience as a manager, to be sure. Darya figured herself to be the more physically imposing one, though, as Mariah rose up onto her feet, the two of them stood eye to eye.

Darya kept that eye trained on her counterpart, though out of the corner of it, in the two seconds that it took Mariah to approach, she caught a glimpse of that exotic beauty, chocolate-dark skin and snow-white hair, on the monitor. Funny how it seemed so many of AFW's most impressive fighters had such a rare dark-skin, light-hair appearance.

Mariah's hand found hers, and so began the first battle of the evening: the handshake. It was almost a cliche, a pointless act of bravado, but it was so universally recognized as the first true test of dominance in a business environment that one could never afford to back down. Darya's fingers closed around Mariah's hand and she focused on squeezing it, as hard as she could, pulling herself a little bit closer to the American in the process. She felt the brown-haired woman's arm pumping with power, as well, as neither of them backed down from the unspoken challenge. Darya did not let go too soon, either. She kept up the pressure, all while keeping a warm smile on her face. She didn't twitch when she felt the first verbal shot of the evening smack into her. She stood like a stone wall and responded. "Oh, yes, how I hope to take advantage of your considerable experience," she spoke, without a hint of irony in her inflection, the sentiment seemingly genuine. But the subtext should be perfectly clear: You're one to talk.

"So, how did ze two of you make ze decision to come to Japan? Do you have previous experience in ze wrestling world?"

A little blunt, but that was Darya's style. Shot taken, shot returned, American and Russian exchanging verbal bombardments all while keeping smiles plastered to their faces.

And with that, the Cold War began anew.

As expected, Darya gave a solid handshake, one that had no doubt crushed many lesser hands before. Good solid power. Iron grip. But Mariah was no stranger to pain and knew how to endure, still retaining her stamina from her wrestling days, even if she spent far more time at ringside, these days. No matter how much her cycloptic colleague crushed, she held firm. Never wavering. Never giving in.

That being said, she was glad when Darya let go and the blood could circulate through her fingers once more.

”I am open book, Ms. Ambrosova.” Sarcastic or not, Mariah returned the volley as best as she could, then promptly sat down at the same time as Darya, keeping the two of them even at all times. She crossed her legs after a moment of thought, wanting to appear relaxed and comfortable, exuding confidence.

That came at the cost of giving Darya a moment fill in the silence, though, an opportunity she readily took with a question. ”Experience? Oh, loads.” She perked up at the question. Darya was steering the conversation at the moment, but she’d given Mariah a chance to set the bar. ”Bubbles and I have worked all over America and Canada, finding challengers wherever we can. Celebrated champion, award-winner. She even defeated the current Entropy Champion back in the day.”

Mariah added that last bit in with a wink and a wag of the finger, hoping to give Darya a good idea of the scale she was dealing with. ”As for the decision to come here, it was a simple one, really. I managed Bubbles for years in the states, but after we married, we wanted to try out something different. This made sense. Bubbles is one of the greatest erotic wrestlers in the world, she belongs in the greater erotic wrestling league in the world. Naturally.”

There. With a sage nod, she’d laid Bubbles’ resume on the table. To help hammer the case home, she brought up a Pornhub video on her phone, showing a quick compilation of her wife’s more dominating victories. A good highlight reel.

”But what about you and your girl?” She slid the phone over to Darya, making sure she could get a good look, wanting to put images in her head as they spoke. ”I tried to look you up, but Google wasn’t too kind when I tried to search for Femke. It kept thinking I wanted Jansenn, for some reason.”

The two of them held the handshake for a long time, Darya squeezing, unable to crush Mariah's hand, and Mariah squeezing back, forcing Darya to endure what had obviously been a powerful grip for most of the past two decades. Neither backed down. They maintained eye contact. Finally, honor was satisfied. They released each other at the same time, and Darya was secretly grateful to give her throbbing hand some time to rest, she tucked it behind her body, out of Mariah's line of sight as she flexed the fingers and wiggled them, regaining feeling in the appendage slowly but surely.

The two of them sat down at the same time—Darya surreptitiously watching Mariah's tush as it descended, their two fine derrieres both finding comfortable seats simultaneously. The two women crossed their legs at the same time, too, and Darya almost snorted in amusement as they both played the classic intimidation game perfectly, matching move for move. She leaned back, resting one arm along the back of the sofa, the other on her thigh, fingertips brushing the hem of her skirt, as if to highlight that spot on her body for Mariah's eyes.

Mariah, to her credit, answered Darya's question perfectly. She ignored the taunting implications and managed to lay out her wife's history in the ring quite well, and when told by Mariah it all sounded very impressive indeed. Darya smiled and nodded along, her eye remaining trained on Mariah's, shining with interest. She was engaged. She was curious. All of this was pertinent data, after all, even if Mariah was using the answer as an opportunity to gloat a little bit and try to continue their game of intimidation. The American woman even pulled up a video, which Darya's eyes quickly scanned, noting the title, the site, the view count, the likes.

Her turn, now. She chuckled a little, obligingly, at the American's Jansenn comment. "Yes, even zough it is Famke for ze actress, it seems many Americans still have trouble vith ze like," she chided, getting in another little barb. "So much to tell, but I vill keep it brief. Femke is ze six-time European champion, ze greatest in her nation's history, and in ze history of Europe. She has defeated challengers from all six inhabited continents, including many Americans."

Where was your girl, when we sought out challengers to come to Europe? she might have asked, though she left that question unspoken.

"Ve came to Japan for ze very same reason you yourself did: Femke is one of ze greatest erotic wrestlers in ze vorld, and I vant to see her break a sveat before she finishes her opponents. Because she is so sexy vhen she is sveating." Darya let herself be a little bit casual, throwing out the assumption of Femke's dominance and then adding on a little editorial, a little schoolgirlish comment about how gorgeous her wife was when perspiring. Mariah would see how comfortable Darya was, how confident she was.

"But do not take my vord for it," she would say, tapping on her phone twice, bringing up VK and a highlight reel of Femke's most dominant victories uploaded there. She smiled as she slid her phone across the table to Mariah, then brought her hand back to pick up the light-haired American's phone, pressing play on the Pornhub video. "Let me see vhat your girl has got."

Mariah’s focus was broken again for a scant moment, as the crowd cheered something going on in the ring. She didn’t want to break away just yet, but from the sound of things Odessa was kicking her match off quite well, thrashing whoever her opponent was out of the gate. She made a mental note to rewatch the match later on, when she and Bubbles were getting ready for bed. Particularly if it turned out to be a hentai match.

But as that battle raged on below, a much more even competition was happening in the skybox. Mariah had just sent a salvo towards her Russian rival, showing a video with around 200,000 views, 700 likes, and a fair length to go along with it. It wasn’t too surprising, really - Mariah had long since set Bubbles up for a special page on the site, and her matches regularly attracted viewers from the hentai-starved American market. The likes were well-earned, too, as the video did an excellent job of showing Bubbles greatest features. Her massive strength, her wild energy, her enveloping curves. The way she could be dishing out such pain with her body in one moment, then using that same body to work her opponent to a furious, frothing orgasm.

Mariah should know. She was the one who edited it.

In particularly, the video was currently showing a clip from one of Bubbles’ more recent matches, where she’d torn apart an up-and-comer on the US circuit, Teresa Bostick - the ‘Terror’, as they called her before she met Bubbles. A strong woman, well-built, nearly as tall as Bubbles with a street thug gimmick going on. She’d put up a good fight...for the first five minutes. But Darya could see herself how it all ended. Teresa was reduced to sweaty, panting mess, wearing nothing but a tattered t-shirt as Bubbles humped her into oblivion against the turnbuckle. Needless to say, it hadn’t been good for the tough woman’s image.

But it seemed like Darya believed in showing over telling, too. While she listed off an impressive array of accomplishments, she made sure to hand off her phone as well, continuing the one-upmanship all the way. Mariah didn’t look at the phone, not at first - she took a second to study Darya’s face, looking for any hints of weakness before she reciprocated in full.

”Oh, I can guarantee that Bubbles will make her break a sweat. Word of advice? Be sure to get Femke plenty of water beforehand - Bubbles hates when her opponents get dehydrated before she can finish. Kills the mood, every time..”  She nodded Darya’s way as the waitress came back into the room, bringing drinks aplenty along with her. ”I’ll say right off the bat, though, that the default match conditions are just not going to cut it. A standard hentai match is a waste of Bubbles’ abilities. Hardstyle or go home. Agreed?”

With that line in the sand made, she gave Darya a knowing smile, then began watching the video in earnest.

Darya heard the noise of the crowd, too, and glanced up to the monitor which gave the women a good view of the action below even as they sat well away from the sybox's ringside window. The intriguing Odessa was off to a good start, flooring her opponent and dropping down on top of her, the blonde she was fighting—looked like an American, if Darya read the body language correctly—thrashing about wildly in her efforts to escape from the white-haired woman's clutches. Darya didn't know anything about this match, or about the histories of these women, but she had to admit, she was intrigued.

Nothing could divert her attention away from the matter at hand for more than a mere instant, however. Femke deserved every last modicum of Darya's attention when the Russian was negotiating on her behalf. If she was going to go to war for her lover, Darya would go to war with eye wide open. She opened up that VK video, the gateway drug to the ecstasy that was Femke "Golden" Brouwer for hundreds of thousands of viewers on the social networking site.

The largely Russian and European audience of Femke's video had returned view and like counts frustratingly similar to those of the video Mariah had pulled up. In this way, too, they remained even, with little room to gloat on either side, with one video having just a few more views and the other returning a mere handful more likes. No sense focusing on the statistics, then. Better to focus on the content, the action, to drink up everything she could of this "Bubbles" in order to fine-tune Femke's ability to crush her.

Before she could press play, Mariah's next shot whizzed across her bow. Darya smirked, staring hard into Mariah's eyes for several long seconds, probing her confident mask for weak points. "Do not vorry your pretty head. Femke vill be perfectly hydrated." She tapped a finger on her thigh, playing with her short skirt, almost giving Mariah a peek. "But I feel Bubbles vill be very accomodating in giving my darling somezing to drink during ze match, hmmmm?"

And, at the mention of hydration, here came their drinks, the brunette waitress moving much more slowly than she had earlier as she balanced a pitcher of sweet tea, a pot of black tea, four cups, crackers, and lemons all on one tray. At least the two of them had agreed on the need for lemons, allowing her to combine those parts of their order. In her other hand, she carried a bottle of vodka—and, hooked onto her finger, two more glasses. She laid the spread out for the two managers and scurried away, leaving them alone again as Mariah got to the meat of their negotiations. "Here, ve agree completely. A standard hentai match is too simple, barely even vorth the time of my Golden. Hardstyle, yes. But ze idea is still not big enough, no?"

She pressed play and began to watch the first match up in Bubbles's highlight reel, as she picked apart the brutishly-dressed woman, shoving her into the corner and humping her like a bitch in heat. Big bodies, toned, beautiful, shoving against each other in the most intense form of combat imaginable. Darya couldn't help but be...impressed.

But so, she was sure, would Mariah be. The first match included in Femke's highlight reel was one against a German, Ingrid Aberbach, the younger sister of the European league's first champion. Ingrid had been considered the greatest young talent to emerge in years...and the blonde did, to her credit, last two hours in the ring. Only one hour and forty-five minutes of that length saw Femke disassembling her, piece by piece, fucking her upside down, fucking her on the turnbuckle, from behind, tied in the ropes...

"Tell me," Darya would speak, though her eyes remained trained on Bubbles taking apart the "Terror." "Vhat do you tink of oil?"

As the video began to play, Darya’s brow furrowed and Mariah opened her mouth, starting to ask a silly question. ”Wait, why did you-”

Mariah was on the verge of asking Darya why she handed her one of Bubbles’ own matches when she was supposed to be showing off her own girl. There was an instant, however brief, where she swore that the woman in the ring was Bubbles - tall, dark-skinned and light-haired, built like the world’s sexiest tank. She realized her error when the video finished buffering and the quality clear everything up, but nonetheless, there was no denying the similarities. If Mariah didn’t know that Bubbles’ family had never traveled further out of the country than Canada, she would’ve been forgiven for thinking to the two titaness’ were related.

Mariah kept her eyes trained on the video as the waitress came over, only taking a quick break away to nod towards their server before she scampered off. After taking a sip of her tea - and wishing she’d gotten something harder to match against Darya’s vodka - she went right back to watching, only to skip ahead and watch the match progress in short bursts. All throughout, Femke remained a fearsome force in the ring, turning her proud opponent into little more than a writhing, moaning sex toy.

It was quite a display, and Mariah wouldn’t have minded giving it a more thorough watch in her spare time. Purely for purposes of research, of course. In the moment, though, she was dragged back to reality as Darya agreed on their first terms. A hardstyle hentai match was more appropriate for both parties, a good opportunity for them to test their prowess at fighting and fucking at the same time, show what differentiated them from the rest of the pack, aside from their striking appearances.

The question piqued Mariah’s interest, though. Oil? A good idea, she wouldn’t lie, though now she felt the need to put her own cherry on top.

”Oil is-” One more, she ended a sentence abruptly, this time when her taste buds registered the tea she was drinking. Lower on sugar than she had expected. Japan had a different idea of what qualified as ‘sweet tea’, it seemed.

”Hm.” She smacked her lips, then continued. ”Oil is fine. So long as we’re not bringing food into it, those sort of matches are fine, and Bubbles loves to spice things up every now and then.” So did Mariah, in fact. The idea of Femke and her wife tussling about the ring, slipping and sliding, rubbing against each other, vying for control…

Save it, save it. Mariah had to take a deep breath to calm herself and stay focused on the task at hand. She could always get some relief later on, after she’d met up with Bubbles. ”So that’s a good start. But I think we should tweak the victory conditions a bit, go for something more fitting.” She took a long sip of the tea, getting past the flat taste. It was cold and refreshing, at least. She could push through it. [/color]

After a quick moment of thought, a sly grin crossed Mariah’s face, as inspiration struck. ”Let’s do away with the rules entirely, though. No rules, no ringouts, no disqualifications. Bubbles loves to cut loose, and she’s at her best when a referee doesn’t get in her way.” She tipped her glass Darya’s way, hoping to be the one who made the final tweak.  ”Femke wouldn’t be opposed, I assume? She’s quite the dominant figure, I can see that, but against someone her own size...”

The similarities between the two wrestlers really were uncanny. Darya had found a few short clips of Bubbles before this meeting with Mariah, and so she was not nearly as shocked as her counterpart was, confused as to who she was looking at in the video she had been given. Still, though, it was easy for Darya to imagine that Bubbles was her wife, especially from behind, as she easily tore apart impressive woman after impressive woman, and that comparison made the video particularly...she would have tried to find some way to obfuscate it, but it was arousing. Even when she saw Bubbles straight-on, and saw her eyes—very different from Femke's, which Darya, with a smile of smug satisfaction, noted were much more confident, with so much more strength behind them than the American—the video still turned her on. Darya had a weakness for a match like this.

The poor Terror was quivering in a pile on the canvas, T-shirt ripped up to the top of her chest, breasts heaving, bruised and covered in sweat, everything glistening as she was made to scream her surrender in ecstasy to the dominating Bubbles...

Darya, as attentive as she had been intending to be, almost missed Mariah's agreement to her suggestion of oil. So enraptured was she by the video, in fact, that she hadn't even touched her tea, let alone her vodka. She gasped softly as she pulled her nose up out of Mariah's phone, blinking twice before reaching for the shining silver teapot and pouring herself a cup of black tea. She set down the phone and brought the cup up to her lips, taking a long sip as she pondered her next move in the negotiation. Mariah had agreed to the oil—Don't imagine that heavenly image, or the situation down there may become even more obvious than it already must be!—and then suggested quite the significant change to the match's victory conditions.

Darya made eye contact with Mariah as she slowly set down her teacup. "Femke dominates all, against her own size, against smaller, against larger. I vould show you more videos if you doubt zis." She squeezed a lemon into the tea and brought it up to her lips again, slowly, letting Mariah wait between sentences. "So do you tink zat your voman vill need no rules in order to compete vith Femke? She could not keep up in a true match, a true fair fight?"

She let that question hang in the air before snorting and giving Mariah's thigh a teasing slap, indicating she was joking. "No rules, zen. Zey battle vherever zey please, in vhatever manner zey please, until..." She paused, thoughtfully, bringing a finger to her lips, tapping it. "...until one voman cannot stand. No pins, no submissions, no single orgasm. Ze battle goes until one stands tall over ze other in absolute victory."