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With a fading purple paintjob, barred windows and a rusting steel door serving as its public face, the Silk Room was quite possibly the sleaziest, dodgiest “sex club” in the city.
It had originally been a nude cabaret, right up until the point the owner had lost his stage license due to wardrobe malfunctions happening a bit too consistently for the city’s approval. After a brief shut down and management shakeup (the owner transferred the license to his son), it became a topless strip-club, trading glimpses of bush for shots of booze. That setup was equally fleeting. Once the state’s alcohol board discovered underage patrons being served, the club was raided and liquor license pulled. Another management shakeup (this time the license went to the man’s wife) and it turned to an all-nude strip-club, back in the naked flesh game, which lasted right up until two girls were discovered some months shy of their eighteenth birthday.
With charges pending and humiliated by being one of the few men on the face of the earth to fail at making money in the boner business, the owner, one Mr. Arsen Barsamian, was approached with a most peculiar and enticing offer: rent the Silk Room out for a bi-monthly “get together of friends and colleagues,” with a premium offered on use of the facilities… and his discretion. No questions asked. No answers questioned. Mr. Barsamian was more than happy to take the offer up and even procured some of the first girls to serve as entertainers and performers. Catering to a much more exclusive clientele, the Silk Room took off, attracting all manner of movers and shakers within the city. The décor was sour but the girls were young, beautiful and numerous. That made their destruction all the more delicious.
And so the Silk Room Fight Club was born.
Even in the dingy interior filled with unpredictable shadows, the crowd was murmuring with muted approval. A red-headed duo was performing a sexualized gymnastic routine around the stage; swinging, flipping, jumping, spreading and stretching, all with the goal of getting the mostly over-forty audience riled up and ready for tonight’s main draw. Arsen Barsamian checked his watch nervously for the third time in the last quarter-hour, the fat beads of sweat rolling down the side of his face and displaying the full scope of his unease at his present crisis. It was only thirty minutes to midnight and neither half of his main event had arrived. “Fucking pimps,” he said to himself, too low to be heard over the music.
Tearing his eyes away from the oversized gold timepiece, Barsamian spun around and stomped to the back of the club, blowing through the partition like a tornado and barging into changing room without even the barest warning, frightening only the new blood amongst the throng of nude and semi-nude strippers, “Velvet! Princess! Start getting ready, you go up in fifteen if those two fuckin’ pimps don’t show with the goods.”
One of the girls, a bottle-blonde with fake tits that looked like basketballs on her chest angrily replied, “What the fuck Abe! I just came out of the premium goddamned VIP, you can’t send me back out there!” She made a pouty face and spoke quietly, “I can still taste old man on the back of my tongue…”
Barsamian, his balding head reflecting the light of the room, raised a clenched fist, “You fuckin’ whore, if you don’t fuckin’ get your fuckin’ shit and get ready to shake those fuckin’ tits on stage, I’m gonna—”
The imposing feel of a large hand on his shoulder stopped him. Barsamian first went pale, then turned his head – slowly – and spoke softly, “Ah… Jumpy… you made it.”
“IT’S JUMPY MARV TO YOU!” The hand clamped down on his shoulder like a vice grip, grinding his collarbones together, “Betta get my name right the first time next time or it’s gonna be the last time. Do we have a meeting of minds?”
Barsamian squealed like a pig rolling over hot coals, “Y-Y-Yes!”
“Good. Now you will please evacuate this changing facility so the talent I have so generously provided for tonight’s entertainment may prepare herself without… distraction or discombobulation.”
Barsamian merely nodded, not even looking back as the powerful hand released his shoulder – its owner shrouded in the hall’s shadow – and allowed him to scamper away. A flurry of activity burst behind the owner as the girls, hearing perfectly well the instructions issued, grabbed any clothing near to them and followed with much haste. The hand reflectively smacked the ass of the last girl to run out, then, in a dignified fashion, held the door open and motioned his talent inside.
As he fled the back area of his own club in legitimate fear of his safety, Barsamian nearly made a second fatal mistake of the night, stopping himself mere inches from stepping on a pink rhinestone pump, containing a pale, almost translucent, white foot. Unfortunately, while he missed the pump, the middle-aged Armenian had bumped into the chest, a cascade casino siteleri of glittering light nearly blinding him as he groped around and steadied himself before realizing who he’d laid hands on and pulling away as if he’d grabbed a hot stove.
“Oh shit, Barbiedoll, I didn’t realize you were-were-were…”
The tall, statuesque blonde merely took one hand off her cane and gave a dismissive flop, “Come now, Miss Barbiedoll isn’t the type to get angry.”
Barsamian only had time to register the smoothly seductive statement before the cane rose up and smashed down on his own foot, “SHIT!”
“Miss Barbiedoll is the type to get even. Now, Mr. Barsamian, if Miss Barbiedoll’s eyes did not deceive her, she does believe you have allowed her quarry for the evening use the changing area?”
Barsamian, hopping around on one foot, barely composed himself enough to spit out an answer, “VIP! Use the VIP!”
Miss Barbiedoll lifted her cane a few inches off the floor and the eyes almost bugged out of the Armenian’s head, “Please! God, please! I swear it’s clean!”
“Very well, Mr. Barsamian. Miss Barbiedoll will be providing a positively exquisite bitch for tonight’s festivities in just a few short minutes.”
The blonde pimp strolled past the comically injured man, swinging her cane to the side and catching his shin with the metal end-cap, causing him to spill to the floor. Her girl followed close by, stepping over him casually as he whimpered, her gym bag smacking into his forehead as it trailed behind her. The crowd was still enthralled with the antics of the redheaded duo, paying no attention to his unfortunate circumstances.
It was a small mercy for which Barsamian was grateful.
Stepping through the thick curtain that partitioned the club’s changing area from the main venue, Marvin “Jumpy Marv” Grier immediately made his presence known, the pimp’s imposing linebacker-sized frame cloaked in a money-green, sequined and fur-lined coat that hung loosely from his shoulders – dragging a few inches on the floor – topped by an equally ridiculous but matching stovepipe hat. He was excitedly shifting from one side of the walkway to the other, yelling at the top of his lungs, “What have we here, what have we here! Fight night in the club to-night! It’s gonna be fast, it’s gonna be mean, it’s gonna be keen, because that’s what Jumpy Marv always brings!”
As Jumpy Marv bounced back and forth, amplifying the crowd’s energy, it was apparent he was holding a leash in his hands, wrapped around one of his meaty fists while the other tugged on leather every few steps, keeping it taut. The club’s clients watched intently, heads craning towards the thick curtain partition, where the leash led back. As its length played out behind Jumpy Marv, a second person emerged: slightly taller than the average girl, with olive skin laced by a light sheen of sweat and almond eyes smoldering with focused intensity, Yvette shadow-boxed her way forward. She was wearing a mockery of boxer’s trunks, hugging her body tight enough to slightly squeeze the flesh underneath outwards, while her top consisted of a pair of strategically placed pasties in the shape of yin-yang symbols. And of course a thick leather collar to which the leash was attached.
Her silky black hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail that ended at her shoulders, accentuating the soft features of her face. That was where the softness ended, however. Legs bracing and arms extending as she warmed up, the audience members took note of her well-toned muscles, developed over months of training, and her naturally round, supple breasts, earned at the genetic lottery. Officially, she called herself Hawaiian, but that was just American short-hand for “fourteen different flavors of Asian.” She owed her size and strength to Polynesian ancestry, her innocent appearance to her Japanese heritage and her toughness to her All-American upbringing on Big Island, working the strip clubs frequented by Hawaii’s contingent of sailors and Marines.
Several men reached out to touch her, groping her exposed thighs and breasts whenever they could be reached with a casual stretch of the arm. Neither Yvette nor Jumpy Marv paid any attention to them, taking their sweet time getting to the ring’s steps. Jumpy Marv raised a triumphant fist in the air, “We’re gonna see someone get down and someone lay down here in this ring! It’s gonna be a thing of beastly beauty, of savage serenity! Kids, do not try this shit at home!”
He let go of the leash with one hand, picking up a mouth guard from the small bottle where it was soaking for softness, and grabbing Yvette’s chin with the leash wrapped hand, “Now bitch, open up and say ‘ah’.”
Yvette opened wide, her eyes still sporting their severe regard, as Jumpy Marv set the mouthpiece in place. Her jaw clamped shut unexpectedly, nearly taking one of his fingers in the process and Jumpy Marv instantly backhanded her, “Bitch! Don’t you ever slot oyna snap your teeth on me again,” he pointed to the elevated fighting platform, “Get in that ring and show Daddy some love.”
A shift in music and lighting signaled the entrance of the other half the event. Compared to Jumpy Marv, Miss Barbiedoll was positively sedate in her entrance, hat cocked over one eye, her sparkling white and purple coat unbuttoned, and showing off a pair of shapely legs as she sashayed towards the ring. Her hand was lifted casually and held up near her neck, lazily plucking a leash over her shoulder. Connected to the leash was a girl in a baggy baby blue robe, with downcast eyes, hood over her head and gloved fists held in front of her face. The crowd went quiet as the two came down the stairs, a slight dissatisfied murmur drifting throughout the mass of watchers. Gradually, it became a mild boo, with a few choice words at her modest entrance and so the hooded girl stopped, cocking back her fist to swing at one man in particular.
But Miss Barbiedoll cruelly wrenched her away with a deceptively powerful yank of the leash, causing the hooded girl to yelp and return to her submissive posture until they reached the stairs. Once there, Miss Barbiedoll stood with hand on one hip as she reached forward and unzipped the unflattering sweatshirt, running a finger up the girl’s midriff before pulling back her hood. She was a splendid beauty, with unblemished porcelain skin, sapphire blue eyes and shoulder length platinum blonde hair pulled into a pair of French braids; the picture of Nordic perfection. The girl shed the robe without further prompting, revealing a tight white miniskirt barely long enough to cover the juicy curve of her ass and a matching white bikini top with the words FUCK and SLUT written in gold letters on either patch covering her breasts, the material visibly sagging under the weight of such hefty mounds.
Miss Barbiedoll motioned in a circle, her finger pointed down and the girl complied, slowly turning in place for the audience to get their fill. Miss Barbiedoll smirked and kicked her cane, spinning it around her hand theatrically and hooking the microphone towards her face, “As always, Miss Barbiedoll is proud to present the most prime cut of street meat to be found anywhere in our fine city. Now introducing the sensual… sexual… and oh-so-delectable, Miss Ulyana!”
The crowd suddenly brooked several lewd and suggestive comments, as the Slavic girl slowly rose to her full height, well over six feet tall, and her rippling muscles became clearly defined in the glare of the lights. She maintained a neutral expression, scanning the club’s membership for a few seconds before turning on her heels and stepping into the ring where a very unimpressed looking Yvette was leaning back on her corner post, arms lain over the ropes. Ulyana started straight at the smaller Asian, snarling and smashing her fists together twice, then cranked her head to the side then the other, audibly cracking her neck. The crowd could feel the tension between the two fighters and began quietly placing bets amongst themselves.
Jumpy Marv and Miss Barbiedoll stared daggers at each other as the club’s owner slowly waddled his way up the stairs and gingerly ducked under the ropes. They didn’t stop staring even as both simultaneously turned and took their ring-side seats. Barsamian, every fat inch of him quivering under the light, nervously raised his hand to Yvette, “Are you ready?” She nodded quickly. He then turned to Ulyana, “Are you ready?” The tall blonde only smashed her fists together again and took a fighting stance.
“Alright girlies, fight’s on! Fight’s on!” He then hobbled out of the ring, fleeing the combat arena before any more damage could be done to his person.
The crowd clapped in a muted, classy fashion to mark the start of the match and both girls came out of their corners aggressively, seeking the dominant position of center ring and looking to post their opponent in the corner for a vicious pummeling. But when neither would reconsider it became a game of chicken, played with fists encased in open finger mixed martial arts gloves, and such a contest favored the much taller Ulyana. She scored with a quick pair of jabs that put Yvette off balance, allowing her to setup a vicious right cross that rocked Yvette and sent her a couple steps back. There was a small gasp of approval from the audience but Ulyana was too wary to immediately follow-up, suspecting that anything too easy would be a ruse to sucker her within Yvette’s range, so she played the long game, circling around Yvette’s weak side. Yvette, for her part, had recovered quickly and danced sideways to check Ulyana’s movement, but this was at a cost of placing herself closer to the corner of the ring.
With nowhere for her opponent to go but back into the corner, Ulyana launched a flurry of strikes, back-to-back jab, cross, hook combinations bouncing off Yvette’s upraised arms, followed up canlı casino siteleri by a shin kick to Yvette’s lead leg. Fortunately, she’d pulled the weight off the leg just in time to check the strike, but was caught with a solid body-punch that knocked the air out of her legs. In desperation, she dropped to one knee and went for a takedown, from well beyond the range of her half-leaping single leg, which the blonde easily stepped out of and gave a foot to the face in exchange. Spectators murmured as the sharp sound of well-struck blow washed over them.
Slightly dazed, Yvette rolled until she touched the ropes and used them to pull herself upright, Ulyana failing to follow-through on her fortune by landing additional blows. It was the sort of opportunity a more experienced – or ruthless – fighter would have seized upon and Yvette knew it, which gave her some measure of comfort. Rising to her feet, Yvette decided to pull one of her secret weapons out, one of the tricks that had made her Silk Room Fighting Champion for six months running. She swapped the position of her feet, her right taking lead, and shifted her body weight appropriately, adopting a southpaw stance and driving aggressively on Ulyana’s weak side. Most fighters had trouble finding southpaws to train against and Yvette had jealously guarded her off-branded handedness for just such an occasion.
Ulyana, for her part, was simply too inexperienced to realize the threat to her was real. She reasoned it was nothing more than a parlor trick to throw her off her game and get her to give up an opening. With a long ranging jab, she weakly hit Yvette’s face, expecting it to be enough to hold her at bay. But Yvette walked right through the punch and, as Ulyana’s fist lingered too long before returning to the guard position, she drove home a four hit combination over and around the blonde’s defenses, the last of which rocked her head to one side, French braids whipping through the air and sent her back to onto the ropes.
What Yvette lacked in size, strength and reach on the taller Slavic girl, she more than made up for it with pure killer instinct. Moving faster than greased lightning, the olive-skinned Asian closed the distance and whaled on Ulyana with a wild series of haymakers, battering her face with power punch after power punch, pummeling her like a piece of meat being tenderized. With her top falling off as she rubbed against the ropes, Ulyana desperately tried to cover up (her face that is), but Yvette simply yanked her hand away and continued pounding, even as the girl went down on one knee, the white miniskirt being hiked up by thighs spread wide and revealing her lack of underwear.
Without preamble, Miss Barbiedoll shot up from her ringside seat, “Bitch, if you don’t get your ass up and hit back, there will be consequences and repercussions involved!”
Jumpy Marv simply guffawed and slapped his knee, rolling from side to side in his seat with excitement, “Go girl, go! Show the class how you beat that ass! Hit ’em again and then again!”
Ulyana was taking one hell of a beating at Yvette’s hands, but, fortunately for her, the shorter girl didn’t have an unlimited gas tank and quickly wore out from the furious rain of undisciplined blows, allowing her to finally tie up her attacker’s hands up and lock together in a body-to-body clinch, throwing her to the mat. Yvette quickly rolled over, but not quick enough to prevent the much heavier girl from landing atop her, one leg trapped beneath the weight of her opponent and both wrists controlled as well. Ulyana didn’t hesitate this time and made a solid fist, raising it high before bringing it crashing down on Yvette’s face, over and over again, her skull producing a dull thud as it bounced off the mat with each successful strike.
The tables had been decisively turned and now it was Miss Barbiedoll’s turn to celebrate, preferring a much more dignified smirk and pulling out a Chinese hand-fan to indolently cool her face. Meanwhile Jumpy Marv had pulled his hat off and was chewing at the edge, watching his favorite girl – his bottom bitch – receive a solid thumping. The crowd’s clapping, while staying dignified, rose in intensity; what would have been a dull roar of bloodlust at any other venue was eclipsed by the sound of the hammer fists slamming into Yvette’s skull and reverberating throughout the Silk Room like the bass-line of a dubstep masterpiece.
But Yvette hadn’t gotten as far as she did on the Silk Room fighting circuit by not knowing her options and keeping a few tricks up her sleeve. Even with one leg and both hands trapped, she managed to wiggle enough to roll onto her, pulling her trapped leg free in the process as she slid under Ulyana, even as the powerful fist continued pounding at her head. With her hands still trapped, she couldn’t completely escape, but she did get just the right position to explosively buck upwards, sending Ulyana face-first into the mat at the cost of her overly tight trunks, which split down one side and flopped off her uselessly. The maneuver had unfortunately tired her out temporarily and she backed away to recover her wind while sizing her opponent up again, waiting for just the right opportunity…
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