More magic from the Walkin Dude!
I don't know about you, but when I got this jewel in my mail box this afternoon, I just knew that 2021 is off to a spectacular start. 
Chloë Grace Moretz vs Naomi Scott
They’d met before the fight, or perhaps it was more accurate to say they’d
encountered one another before the fight. They’d nodded across crowds at a few of the same premieres, posed in a couple of group shots at the same parties and each could distinctly recall a brief, though spirited discussion about their shared distaste for one Bella Thorne on the back lawn of the house they now occupied.
However it wasn’t until they’d been invited to battle on the Casting Couch at the house in Coldheart Canyon that Chloe Grace-Moretz and Naomi Scott properly introduced themselves to one another.
It took each young woman roughly ten minutes to understand that she loathed her adversary for the evening.
A word on the venue.
The ‘Casting Couch’ wasn’t a literal piece of furniture, nor was it a poorly veiled euphemism for some corpulent talent agent’s weekend love nest. Rather it’s one of many, let’s call them unique, design features of an old (it’d just celebrated its centennial the year prior) mansion tucked away in a seldom visited stretch of the Hollywood Hills. Imagine if you will, a large room furnished to evoke thoughts of old Hollywood glamour. In the center of this room is a sunken square measuring twenty feet on each side. The square is four feet deep, covered in a thick, cream-colored carpet and three of its four sides are lined with sectional couches, thus allowing for two to three dozen guests to sit and observe. The fourth side is similarly furnished, though the seating is interrupted by the short set of steps that grant entrance and egress to the space. The couches on either side of these steps are the only two possessed of arm rests and were highly sought after, when guests were still allowed at these bouts.
Back in the bad old days, the couches were occupied by all sorts of executives, agents, directors and studio heads, each
‘looking for their next star’ among the women that came to the house in Coldheart Canyon to make a name for themselves or settle a longstanding grudge. Of course these ‘ringside seats’ were nothing more than a veiled excuse for the suits in attendance to cop a feel in the midst of a pitched battle and the practice was abruptly discontinued in the early nineties when a particularly odious record company executive had his jaw broken by a redhead who will remain nameless. Not that the fights stopped, mind you. Indeed their popularity increased overnight once the potential participants realized they didn’t have to prepare for anyone other than their opponent.
And so it was that Chloe Grace Moretz and Naomi Scott were invited to that grand old house up in a forgotten corner of the Hollywood Hills. A mutual patron knew the blonde fancied herself an arm collector, as she’d submitted several foes with nothing more complicated than a Hammerlock applied from various angles while the brunette had made a name in the last couple of years with an Iron Claw that yielded several bawling surrenders when applied to face or belly.
This patron offered up Coldheart Canyon and several zeroes as incentive. Each accepted within minutes.
The money was excellent, neither would argue that point. But the prospect of submitting a potential rival within the confines of the Casting Couch? To add her reedy, hopeless voice to the chorus of defeated wails that’d sounded throughout that large, elegantly appointed room for more than a century?
That went beyond money. That was pricel--
“HHHHRRRGGGK!” Chloe made an ugly grating sound from deep in the back of her throat when Naomi drove a knee into her belly for what felt like the tenth time in less than thirty seconds. Scott smiled at the breathless anguish in that sound, but the expression faded when the tenacious blonde tightened down on the Hammerlock that had Naomi’s left hand wrenched up between her own shoulders.
“Stubborn bitch.” the brunette growled through clenched teeth. “Let go of my goddamned arMAAARRRHHH FUCK YOU!”
Moretz shook her head ‘no’, sucked in a ragged breath as she tried to squirm her way to a better seat. She was seated on the floor with her sweat-tacky back pressed snug to one of the long couches, about five feet removed from the steps leading up to the rest of the room. Scott was half in her lap, the pink clad battler seated awkwardly astride the blonde’s left thigh. The arrangement was a stalemate they both hated, as Chloe had hold of Naomi’s trapped arm at wrist and elbow, while Scott’s right knee was in perfect position to gouge her foe’s tummy with near impunity.
“Tell ya what, candy-ass,” Chloe huffed, “I’ll let go of your arm as soon as you get that fat fucking knee out of my stomHHHHRRRGGGHH!”
Scott hit her again, the trapped battler drawing her right leg as far back as it’d go before driving the bony joint deep into Moretz’s gulping midsection. “Got a better idea.” Scott let her forehead rest on the seat cushion because the blonde’s touch made her want to scream. “Let go of my arm and I won’t jam my knee right through this pudding you call a belly. Oh, and if you puke on me I swear to god you’ll pay for AAAAAAAAAHHH SHIT!”
Nausea be damned, Chloe gathered her strength and CRANKED up on the Hammerlock with the kind of ferocity she usually reserved for Emma Watson. “TAP OUT!” the blonde shrieked as Scotty’s writhing put even more pressure on Moretz’s left knee. “I’LL BREAK IT, NAOMI!” she bellowed to the empty room. “DON’T FUCKING TEST ME, BECAUSE I’LL BREAK MMMPPPPHHHHH!”
Chloe had thrown her head back to voice this declaration and Naomi made her pay for it by pressing her right hand tight to the blonde’s mouth and nose. It was definitely more HOM than Iron Claw, but it didn’t much matter to either of them once Scott pinched Chloe’s nostrils between thumb and forefinger. Dark eyes wide and rolling, Moretz still refused to relinquish the Hammerlock even though her grip had loosened in time with Palm Smother. Burning energy she couldn’t afford to lose, Chloe fought to get free of that malicious mitt if only to sink her teeth into the soft flesh between thumb and forefing-- “HHHHHRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHH!”
Scott skewered her foe with another knee strike, only this time she drove it into the center of the blonde’s leopard-print briefs. The iron grip on her left arm rusted to nothing and Naomi screamed her relief into the couch as she rolled that shoulder for the first time in what felt like hours.
“Chuuuuhhh…. cheating whore.” Moretz sobbed when Scotty pulled her hand away. “You went fucking lowoooohhhhhh ooooowwwwwww HRRRGGHH!”
Naomi scrambled backward, snatched her rival by the ankles and dragged her to the middle of the carpet like a cavewoman, whereupon reaching she stretched the blonde’s legs wide and stomped a heel into the pit of her stomach! Chloe folded up or at least tried, she didn’t even make it to a seat before Naomi nudged her down flat again.
“You’ve been pulling my hair and raking my briefs all night.” Scott sniffed after she’d dropped Moretz’s legs. “Not my fault those receipts come with interest.”
“Duuuhhh… don’t you dare act like that was just me.” Grace Moretz answered in gut-shot agony. “We’ve been playing rough since the very beginnHOOOFFFHHH AAAWWWW GAWD!”
Naomi didn’t have the energy to jump, she simply let herself drop ass-first into the pit of the blonde’s stomach! She shuddered from one end to the other, not that it was enough to dismount her rider, who was already stretching out to pin her down in a gulping, groaning starfish. Snaking her calves in under Chloe’s, the brunette stretched the Grapevine wide even before she’d collected her rival’s wrists. The god awful ache in her left arm convinced Naomi to keep it angled across the hollow of Moretz’s throat while her right hand kept the blonde’s wrists bound together on the carpet overhead.
Deep breaths forced Scott’s flat midriff tight to Chloe’s abused abs, making what’d been an even contest thirty minutes prior now little more than a one-sided drubbing.
“Quit.” Naomi demanded, her dark eyes shining. “I want to hear you say it, Chloe.”
“Never.” Moretz’s answer was little more than a rasp thanks to the prolonged punishment and that encroaching forearm. “Kuuuhhh…kiss my ass, you sneaking bitNGH! NGH! NGH! NGH! NNNNNGGGHHHHH! STOP! STOP FOR FUCK’S SAKE, I SUBMIT!”
Infuriated by the denial, Scott pushed up by a good six inches, then dove down with as much force as she could muster. One felt good and two was downright satisfying, but Naomi didn’t really find her rhythm ‘til the fourth collision which was why it was so disappointing to hear Chloe break down shortly thereafter.
“HHHHRRRGGGGH! No more! No more!” Moretz wailed following the seventh sawed-off Splash. “I submit godammit, just leave me alo--”
Scott moved her left hand to the side of Chloe’s face and twisted her head to the side so she could put her lips to the blonde’s ear. “Quit, bitch. That’s why the chime hasn’t sounded and we both know it. Say it loud, if you still can.”
Chloe closed her eyes, willing the tears down even as her stomach churned like a spasmodic washing machine. “I quit.” her voice was loud and clear, then noticeably shakier when the silence continued smooth and unbroken. “I QUIT! I QUIT, JUST GET OFFFFFFFF!”
The chime sounded and Naomi clambered to her knees, the sweat-soaked grappler smoothing her hair with both hands despite the painful ache in her left arm. Expression darkening as she felt a bit of movement from the blonde, Scotty flicked out a hand to CRACK Moretz across the cheek.
“That’s for trying to break my arm.” she explained to Chloe, who regarded her with hating ‘how could you?’ eyes.
“You went to my trunks.” Chloe growled. “I’ll remember that when I get my rematchhhhhhnnnnnngggggggghhhh!”
Tired of the loser’s threats, Naomi Scott got to her feet and very deliberately pressed her right heel to the fork of Chloe’s crotch. Offering up a weary, yet exultant double bicep flex to whoever was watching from elsewhere in the house, Naomi bounced that planted heel one more time before she strode up the steps leading away from the Casting Couch.
