PRINCESS OF THE ICE HOTEL (SWEET 16)

 
By round six, Vivian is barely hanging on, already battered from her ordeal in the first five rounds. Becky G has proven herself a better burst fighter, and it was all Vivian could hope for to outlast her. Even though that seemed unlikely, for her breasts and belly hurt from the beating they'd taken, and her arms are numb from blocking so many blows, she has to do it.

The bell summoning her forth is distant in her ears and the sight of Becky striding towards her unfocused, but Vivian sallies forth and puts herself through the motions. Right, left, block, right, left–

She is already falling, head snapped back, the harsh ceiling lights blazing into her eyes, a fresh rose of pain blooming in her nose. The itch of vertigo tickles the fore of her skull, and it barely registers with her that she's about to lose.

Vivian lands on her backside, and the frozen mat sends a jolt up her spine and ripples of pain reverberating through her body. She clutches her gloves to her chest, letting herself slump into a prostrate position in favor of stabilizing her bouncing breasts. They were too tender; even the slightest movement made them spasm with agony.

Her tongue tastes blood, and she isn't quite sure it's coming from. Her mouth, her nose, or somewhere else? Likely both, she thought, having to force each letter into place.

"Zwei!" Someone says from miles away. They were somewhere in the German-speaking world. Berlin? No, no, it's too cold for that. She's shivering in her bikini, and it hurts to breathe. Alps, probably, somewhere in Switzerland or Austria.

Vivian draws in pained breaths, breathing deep despite her body begging her to stop.

I have to get up.

"Vier!" Arms beneath her, up to her elbows, and dizziness strikes her with all the savagery of Becky's blows. She drops back down onto her back to stabilize herself, wasting precious seconds.

"Sechs!" Vivian's sat up now, struggling to find her footing, and wobbles again, losing another second. But this doesn't take her down like last yime, and she is able to get a leg under her, then the other.

"Acht… alright, fight on!"

She ambles towards her opponent, who seems to be moving in water. Her movements are slower; Vivian can tell she's drawing her arm back for a right jab with all of her weight behind it long before its estimated arrival time, and has realized how to move in response just as Becky's glove starts moving forward.

But her body's not responding. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is rebellious. It moves sluggishly, and her arms move slower than Becky's.

I won't block in time.

She tries to turn her head away from the blow, but her head turns slowly too. The punch sails ever closer.

Vivian barely manages to close her eyes before the strike hits. It glances off her cheek, and the slap of leather on flesh unblocks the flow of time. Vivian stumbles sideways at the speed that she's used to. Her foot slips in a smear of warm blood, likely her own, and she tumbles to the mat.

She hits the ice hard. The cold is biting, all-consuming; even the greatest of pains is insignificant against it. Thus she presses herself to the icy mat, lying there until the pain has subsided a little.

By six she is up again, and this time Becky moves forward almost lazily, like she's just waiting for a foregone conclusion to occur. Vivian gets her arms up, anticipating another strike at her already woozy head, but it never comes.

Becky's fist sinks into her bare belly, folding her over.

Her opponent's sweaty chest stares back at her from five centimeters away. Vivian leans forward and clinches Becky, putting her weight entirely on the other woman. All the while as the referee tries to break them apart, more blows are sinking into her ribs and stomach, but Becky doesn't have enough space to make them hurt.

When the ref succeeds, it seems all too soon. She's still breathing hard and hurting too much, but she accedes to the separation. There's always another time to try again.

"Fight on!" The referee.

Just as the words reach her ears, Becky lunges forward with a heretofore unseen alacrity. She doesn't see the uppercut until it's too late - just as her eyes catch it cresting her swollen breasts (a cup or two larger than her already large 30Fs!), it slams into her chin.

The world explodes in a starry supernova.

—--------

Vivian wakes up to the distant roar of "Becky!", but it's not her senses this time, for she is actually far from the crowd. Harumi, her stablemate is standing above her, her brows creased in a furrow as women in sterile white move about, doing their best to stitch her back together.

"Did I …win?" asks Vivian.

Harumi throws her head back, laughing.