[The Syndicate]

St. Patrick's Day Brawl
Aisling Bea vs Billie Eilish


Aisling Bea
5’7” 132lbs 34-24-34 34B 41 years old


Billie Eilish
5’3” 126lbs 40-27-37 38C 23 years old

It all started with a simple tweet… not even a tweet, a response to a tweet.



It spread like wildfire. All the way to UK TV, where Irish comedian Aisling Bea was participating in one of their signature panel shows. When asked about it, a wry smile formed across Aisling’s face.

“Well first off, she’s about as Irish as apple pie…” she paused as the crowd laughed and clapped. “Second of all, we all know the toughest Irish girl is my granny after she’s had two glasses of sherry. But I think… I think I could take her, yeah.”

More applause.

Not even 24 hours later Aisling’s phone rang. It was her manager. He had exciting news, but was told not to tell her directly. Instead she should be expecting a call within the next fifteen minutes. Aisling waited for the mystery call, tracing the outline of her phone with anticipation. She took a sip of her tea just as the phone began to rumble. It was an American number…

“Hello?” Aisling asked.

“You think you could take me, huh?” said the voice on the other side.

Aisling’s eyes went wide. She nearly dropped the cup in her lap. She went pale, well paler than she already was. After a solid gulp, she finally found the courage to speak again.

“Ms. Eilish… is this you?” asked Aisling.

“It is… St. Patrick’s Day. I’ll have your agent book your flight and have a car waiting for you at 9am. That is, if you’re still feeling confident.”

The phone hung up before Aisling could respond. She stirred her tea and then began to think. Then she began to plan. Then she began to smirk. Then she began to sip.


Green fabric decorated the floor. That along with sweat, blood stains, and hair. Loads of hair. The fight had gone on for well over an hour, which was much longer than anyone had anticipated. Particularly Billie, who had a penchant for making quick work of her floundering so-called “opponents.” The look they gave as she crushed them in her bearhugs, or slammed her palm across their faces, or pulled them around the room by the root of their hair, or covered their sweaty marked-up deflated faces as her equally shimmering pale orbs overtook their face and sealed them off from any hope of victory… it gave her such a goddamn thrill. And yet she had received no such thrill from Aisling. The taller, more mature Irish woman had definitely come to fight. More than anyone, Billie in particular, had expected. Not that Billie took her lightly, she just didn’t expect to be tits-up against the wall as Aisling held her by the scalp and rubbed her cheek into the window overlooking the city.

No, that’s not what Billie had expected in the slightest.

Whilst Billie had gotten her fair share of shots in, the fight had been Aislings since the beginning. She attacked with a combination of fury and precision that knocked the songstress off balance. She flung herself forward with reckless abandon. It seemed she had little care for her own bodily well-being or the well-being of the security deposit Billie had put down. For the first ten minutes Billie had loved it. Finally, someone who appreciated violent nature. In a way she felt she had found an equal. Someone who was willing to put their own body on the line, modesty be damned, in order to defeat her opponent. Over the fifty subsequent or so minutes, Billie no longer enjoyed it. She got annoyed. Annoyed at Asiling and her jokes. “I thought a Yank would be more violent than this!” or “Let’s hear that fair voice of yours!” or “I didn’t think I’d come all the way to LA for a new hoover!” She got annoyed by the fact that Aisling had slapped, clawed, spat, kicked, squeezed, tackled, pinned, elbowed, smothered, kneed, and stretched better than her. But mostly she was annoyed that no matter how hard she hit Aisling, the comedian hit her back just as hard.

A knee to the crotch came next. Billie’s eyes crossed as she slid down the window, the flesh of her breasts, neck, and cheek making a piercing squeaking sound. To Billie it was hell. To Aisling it was music.

“That’s a better noise than any of your bloody music!” cracked Aisling, who had taken hold of Billie’s hair once again.

Soon, Billie found herself on her feet. Still facing the window, but this time she felt the forearms of Aisling digging into her gut. She bent forward as Aisling’s cleavage pressed against her back, then the larger woman arched herself backwards, lifting Billie clean off of the floor! Eilish gasped for air as her feet kicked. Her cleavage plumped up to the point that her tits pressed against her own neck. As tears ran down her face, smearing her mascara, Billie couldn’t believe it. The words were on the tip of her lips. She was ready to give up. Ready to admit defeat.

“I…” whined Billie. “I…”

Something in that moment came over her. As Aisling goaded her for a submission, Billie closed her mouth. When that silky Irish voice started to demand it, the busty singer bit her lip and launched her head backwards.

CRACK

With enough force to nearly give herself whiplash, Billie had whipped the back of her cranium square into Aisling’s forehead. Aisling dropped Billie, who grabbed hold of the messy linen bedspread which had been as much of a victim of this fight as anyone. Able to stable herself, Billie turned and saw the stunned Aisling, saw her for the first time in about ten minutes. She looked her up and down and thought to herself, *Damn, I did a number on this bitch…*

With her emerald shaded tank-top in tatters, bruising up her arms and across her chest, mascara tears down her cheek, and tons of scratch marks courtesy of Billie’s nails, Aisling looked like she had been jumped by five strangers. Billie looked at her handiwork and couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken this much of a beating and still stood. Then she looked down at herself. Her perfect self-proclaimed “indestructible” tits looked as if someone had taken a paintbrush to them and crafted an abstract impressionist masterpiece. Her own top had been equally torn to pieces, if not more so than Aisling’s. She still felt the prickle of the scratch on her lower lip, which had swelled up so much that at this point it looked like a few bees had taken a go at it.

Yet, she also still stood.

For the first time in fifty minutes, Billie Eilish felt confident. The stunned look on Aisling’s face. The destruction of the hotel room around them. Her own sorry appearance. Billie realized this hadn’t been an ass-whooping. It had been a WAR. An even, back and forth, brutal war. It had just been so long since someone had given her such a battle that she forgot what it looked like. Then a thought ran through her head.

*You’re Billie FUCKING Eilish. Finish this clown and let’s go home.*

A grin spread across her ballooned lips. Nostrils flared. Muscles tensed. Fists clenched. Oh Billie was having fun now.

Aisling had no clue what hit her. Well, she knew who hit her, but not quite what. The Billie she had gotten the slight better of over the last hour left. This… this was something else. With Billie’s shoulder in her gut, Aisling soon found herself leveled and crashing back-first into the scratchy cable carpeting. The back of her skull cracked against the floor, as if she needed more head trauma, and caused her already blurry vision to fog up even more. Then a sobering slap cracked across her cheek. Aisling nearly shot up and threw Billie off of her. It was such a sudden shock to the system, but Billie followed up with a back-hand that put her back down to the floor. Yanked up by the collar of her ruined green tank, Aisling’s teary eyed glare met Billie’s.

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP

Even after Aisling’s shoulders gave out, Billie continued the onslaught. Her head snapped back and forth with such force and so many times it actually strained her neck. Blood dribbled from her lip, a favor Billie incidentally repaid. The American could have finished her right there and then. However, Billie wanted to do something special. She yanked up Aisling by the shirt. The Irish woman could barely stand as her knees nearly gave out. With a forceful grunt, Billie shoved Aisling across the room, flinging her right back into the very same window where it seemed the singer had met her demise.

“Remember this spot?” whispered Billie.

Aisling felt as if an ice cube had shot down her spine. Her heart thumped against her bosom. She felt… afraid. And she could swear Billie could sense it too. She felt her ear get wet, then her cheek. Billie’s pink tongue scraped against Aisling’s flesh, absorbing sweat, blood, and tears.

“Now, let’s show you how to do a proper bearhug, shall we?” taunted Billie.

It took less than a minute. Aisling had fought her heart out, thrashing Billie Eilish any chance she could get. She put her entire body on the line out of pride. And she had won well-over half of the fight. But on that day Aisling learned a lesson. One she wouldn’t soon forget. One that came to her as her feet lifted off the floor and Billie’s breasts cratered her tits back into her chest. One that came as her back spasmed in pain and her hands uncontrollably twitched. One that came as her voice echoed off the walls and forced their way back into her own ears.

It doesn’t matter how long you win the fight, if you lose it at the last minute.

Billie Eilish let the limp body of Aisling Bea slide down her mountainous curves. For a moment Aisling’s chin got stuck on Billie’s massive cleavage. The singer smirked, putting her hands on her hips and puffing her chest out as Aisling’s nose slid between the crack of her tits. She came loose with a slight shake of the shoulders, but Billie was tempted to keep her that way. However, she decided against it. After all, Aisling had proved two things.

First, Billie was in fact the toughest Irish girl there is. Second, Aisling Bea might just be the second.