This was a fight a friend from DeviantArt started for me. I am continuing to write it. Although it is about Tara, it is disconnected from the Queen Bitch storyline (for now). Tara is an undercover cop looking to take down some gangs.
On the TownWords smothered in garlic, he stuck his cut chin out and right into Tara's face. "I'm gonna give you every inch of my love."
Standing a stunning five-foot-nine with the aid of her heels, she flinched through the fog and smirked straight in his eye, flipping her new red hair: "All two?! Oh, lucky me!"
"OhhoHO!" crowed Tara's other escort for the evening. "Looks like she's not a Zeppelin fan, Cole."
"Van I will break my Gucci foot of in your ass then have you spend the rest of the weekend cleanin' your shit off it if you don't clam up…" the buff young stud ran a ring heavy hand through his frosted lawn of hair and sneered at the fresh redhead. "…and take the lady's coat." She didn't know any better. Best to let her learn her place… inside.
Under the night Chicago sky, Tara walked through the threshold into this den, the zenith of inequity.
The White Mares. By convincing a dealer that one crack in his nose is better than two, Tara had gleaned a tip that the East Block were wrangling up some muscle for a turf war against the up and coming Italian Mafia cohort. It would mean mayhem in the streets, but since Orlando wasn't too keen on splitting his beat cops down the middle to chase bums and Mafioso Ghosts (whom he would love to get his scarred, tawny palms around), Tara was slapped with a big fat bureaucratic no. A rubber stamp she summarily ignored. Orlando turned a blind eye. She'd have to buy the stodgy vet a drink when she got back from saving the inner city from itself.
This was sleaze. The sleaze needle was groping eleven. Something like a strip joint, but classier and lacking the comfort of sound drowning bass beating like a colossal heart.
Tara's heart was pounding enough, though. But not in the way she wanted. She was so deep into the belly of the beast she could smell shit as strong as AXE sprayed in her nostril.
The competition, though… Tara could smell the perfume of a mismatch about to stink up the canvas.
Out waddled a little mound of man with more dignity than Tara though could be contained in such a small package. A spotlight hit him and a mic was tossed down from a balcony seat, the dwarf caught the missile in his stubby hand without even looking. "Ladies and Gentlemen! Tonight's bout is sponsored by the illustrious D'Fitzarano Estate, Don Nerio and his two handsome sons Cole and Van in attendance! We at the Drop Dead Gorgeous would like to personally thank you for--"
"Quit suckin' up, midget," jeered a voice from the Splash Zone.
Tara watched from offstage as the little man adjusted the tie of his finely tailored pinstripe suit and continued with his introduction. "Our first match is a two versus one tag-team bout over unlimited two-minute rounds with one minute intervals, until one corner is unable to continue. No referees. Fighters are on the honor system. Gloves are four ounces. Attire is…" - he winked slyly at the audience – "fashionable”
"Introducing, in her Ladies' Fight Night début, measurements 5'6", 36DDD-24-36, in the micro bikini with red trim, shiny silver shorts, silver latex gloves and matching boots, Toughtits Taaaaara!”
The three-inch stilettos of her knee high silver latex boots clicked cuttingly as Tara made her way across the stippled gray tiles of the stage floor. A whir of hoots and wolf whistles. The wide three-ring ropes were easy to pass between, though stiff in their elastic.
It was a solid ring. Literally the floor was simply a strip stage, one small square roped off in front of the rising theater of plush leather booths in the wine-dark room. Some standing room had been made in what approximated to an orchestra pit. The "Splash Zone," Cole called it. He'd be there, he said slickly.
This would do, though, little room for her victim to run in.
So long as she stayed displayed, she'd survive the night. She could snoop later, when her tits weren't the newest, hottest pair in the joint. Well, at least snoop when they weren't the newest. The advantage of her adrenalized terror was just that. All five of her senses felt prickling keen and her muscles flexed like she could move small mountains if need be.
Too bad these people were just looking for some drunken stripper in gloves, thong flossed, leather fisted, and face a wreck like a coral pink, cornflower blue, Ferrari red, mango tango, royal azure, razzmatazz palette of smeared cosmetics.
If she weren’t a wreck when she stepped into the ring, Tara would see to it that the hapless exhibitionist was when Tara finished with her.
The little MC continued "And in the opposing corner, measurements 5'4" 30A+-22-30, in the black silk bra with lace trim, pleated tartan miniskirt, black lace thong, stockings, ankle high leather boots, two-inch stilettos and black gloves, "Killer" Kelly Aaaaannnnnn ______!!"
Speakers blasted, guitars wound up, and Robert Plant wailed. Tara took delight in the serendipity. Or maybe Cole just couldn't get her out of his head. She was coming toward Tara now.
A blond rail strutted out, black gloves raised, as if displaying her salacious outfit in an unfashionable fashion show where the open bar served Coors and Heineken by the keg. Exactly what Tara expected.
But that wasn't the end of it.
"Aaaannnnd, her mysterious partner for the night, known only as… Kim!"
This pitiful little pixie got Tara's free-given contempt, reserving her worry for the similarly clad blonde with the well-combed short tresses just outside the ring.
"I'm gonna pound you like my boytoy pounded me last night," taunted Kelly Ann. Tara might have been impressed by the attempted smack talk if she thought for a second that the girl wasn't being dead serious.
Ring center, Tara shoved her enormous endowments into the blond who squeaked as her own breasts were overshadowed. Tara made her point without even saying a word.
"Now then ladies, if you'd be so good as to… BOX!!"
Wails!
GONG!
Unprepared, Tara took a wide hook to her head. She saw it coming but was too preoccupied with sizing up Kim. She staggered on her heels and managed to stay up as Kelly Ann came in for more.
Tara struck back at the twig of pampered blond spite. Two quick jabs popped against her face, reddening her nose and working the blonde into another tizzy. She swung another telegraphed hook. Tara ducked smoothly, but ran into an uppercut on her way over. The boney blond laughed "Ha!" though it was quickly replaced by a muffled squeak after Tara weaved around another uppercut and threw out a cross counter.
"Lighting doesn't strike twice, Kanny" Tara jabbed with her wit, then with her fist. Kelly Ann set to wailing down at Tara's breasts, which infuriated the redhead, though she took a couple clean hits just to show the blond how weak she truly was. Then Tara plowed into the girl and hemmed her up with a brisk combination of jabs and hooks. Kelly Ann was down. As a courtesy, Tara strut over to a neutral corner.
"Hey," Tara heard right behind her. It was a mistake to turn, to take her eyes off her opponent. But the DDD brunette was feeling pretty good, what with her opponent counting the dots on the floor. Pretty good … until she turned and got a black glove like a baseball in the eye. Homerun! Tara almost fell on her ass, thankful that she stumbled enough to sag against the ropes a few feet away. The spots cleared and she saw the muscular blond across the ring, still outside, but fist hanging in the air over the ropes.
Blinking away the pain, she thought to cry foul but knew that would only earn her a chorus of mean-spirited laughs.
Kim shouted at Tara, "Your shorts are mine and so is your ass!"
Before she could recover, Kelly Ann was on her.
That hook was vicious, swatting all the coalescing perspiration right off her smashed face and rattling her brain. Tara was hurt. Her left didn't hold Kelly Ann in place, the shorter woman slipping it over her left shoulder and put all her flying bodyweight - not to mention a growled admission of rage - into that swat.
The uppercut left found a home in Tara's armpit of all places. Kelly Ann wasn't really aiming with that one. She just needed to hit something, twisting her body under it as best she could. Her taller opponent squealed "HAh!" It felt like getting tasered, her whole body seized into a paralyzed mass. The blonde batted at Tara's head before she could cover up.
"Bitch!" Kelly Ann screamed, feeling her left tit rip with pain as a feral cross raked across the top of it. Kelly Ann was tipping right, away from her last hit, so it inflicted less than it could have, but it was a wise move as she narrowly sank beneath a wrecking ball backhand from an enraged Tara.
The two dueled on more even ground now, but Tara quickly re-gathered herself during the furious exchange and began beating yelps out of her swelling glossy lips.
Her head wrenched hard to the right and her guard collapsed as her eyes glazed. Tara smiled as she reamed Kelly Ann right on her little nose. The punch roused the blonde's guard to fly up reflexively, and expose her belly. Tara took full advantage and threw three blows deep blows to the flat target belly, buttoning up the combo with a perfect uppercut.
Kelly Ann leaned back on her heels and backpedaled, almost doubled over with the pain. Tara pursued, dropping hard hooks on the top of Kanny's guard and temples, pushing her into the ropes. End of the line. The little woman pushed hard into the ropes as if trying to pass through them, but they gave only slightly, and held her there trapped. Tara shoved out her left with a grin and loaded a killer right behind her head with enough raw power in it to her clean over the top rope.
On cue, the bell rang to end the first round, but Kim completely ignored it and stepped into the squared circle, stalking Tara like a sinewy blond leopard.
"What no break?" Tara sneered. The eye that Kim had nailed started to swell. Tara could feel it. One punch. This woman could be trouble.
"Whatsa matter? Baby gonna cry?" the amazon said as even and serious as a forty-five, round in the chamber, safety off. One in Don Nerio's veiny, ring-choked clutches.
Tara just looked up and grinned like an idiot. For a moment she questioned this venture and wondered what tonight would be like on the diner, corner of 45th and Finley, open sign buzzing and coffee in her hands next to Orlando. She might never get that night she dreamed of. But the pensive reprieve cleared and she furrowed her brow at Kim with all the determination that had brought her this far and would bring her as far as she would need to go to shut down these sleazy criminals.
"When I said break, I meant for you."
To be continued ...
Find more Tara stories here:
The Queen Bitch Part 1 - "Double Trouble"The Queen Bitch Part 2 - "Desert Storm"The Queen Bitch Part 3 - "Assertive Assets"The Queen Bitch Part 4 - "Flashed"The Queen Bitch Part 5 - "Not So Tough"The Queen Bitch Part 6 - "Killer Instinct"
