A locker room can be a cold, lonely, and unforgiving place for a beaten and vanquished fighter. Never had this realization been more apparent to Blake Lively in the aftermath of her TKO6 stoppage at the hands of Kelly Brook. The blonde had been sitting in her locker for over an hour now, hunkered down on a wooden bench with her arms resting lifelessly on her thighs. She was still wearing her black fighting bikini – she’d been too distraught to even contemplate changing out of it. Her hands were still taped as they clinched then relaxed every now and then, almost if by involuntary reflex.

Physical pain was one thing: her latest battle had left her with a split lower lip courtesy of the final round knockdown punch, aching ribs, and jugs that throbbed from the worst mugging of her entire career. It was, however, nothing Blake couldn’t handle with a few days. Emotional pain, on the other hand, was something else entirely. It had taken her a year to pull herself up from FCBA obscurity to the pinnacle of her career… and it had taken another year after that to fall back down to its nadir. The gritty setting and low-turned lights did nothing but emphasize how little the world cared for her at that moment. Even more demoralizing though was how empty the room seemed – it was hard for the young blonde to remember ever feeling more alone in her life.

“Three times now,” Blake muttered as she wiped the tears away from cheeks that had been thoroughly stained by them, “Three times I’ve faced her and three times she’s stopped me. On the bright side, I managed to finish the fight on my feet this time. That’s worth something, isn’t it? Hmm? What the hell is that worth? She’s… she’s so goddamn insufferable…”

Blake began to break down into another round of sobs as a comforting hand reached out and rubbed her shoulder. “C’mon. The world hasn’t ended. It’s not as bad as you think,” replied a familiar and warm voice.

“But it is! I hate her! I hate everything about her! The way she smiles at you while plotting how to drive a knife into your back… That arrogance that oozes from every inch of her body… Those… those overblown jugs of hers…”

Blake shuddered at the thought of her British nemesis and her proud chest. The blonde had thrown her best punches to the brunette’s breasts this time around, really given her all to subjugate them, but in hindsight it seemed like that had no effect. It certainly felt that way when Kelly had hauled her up off her stool and ensnared her with the first breast smother of the night. The heavy orbs had still felt firm and undamaged when they were crushing into her face. Any man in the world would have killed for or paid a king’s ransom to have been in Blake’s place, but stacked up awkwardly against the turnbuckle and caught in Kelly’s hot, breath-stealing embrace was the last place the blonde ever wanted to be.

The first smother had been relatively short, but still long enough to be disorienting – Blake only had a vague recollection of stumbling out of her corner and crashing to her hands and knees. From there, Kelly had lowered herself onto her haunches in front of Blake and cinched up a second time. The blonde remembered the brunette had been whispering one taunt after another into her ear while she simultaneously mashed and ground jug into her face, but oxygen deprivation and the muffling confines had rendered most of those unintelligible.

The second smother felt like it had dragged on forever before Kelly released her. Blake remembered falling forward face-down on the canvas. She remembered that she’d been crawling away, trying to escape her tormentor. She remembered that Kelly had been allowing her to try and crawl away. The brunette had soon tired of this and moved in for the kill again – tugging Blake upright to her knees by her hair, Kelly had been behind her with both hands clasped under her chin. Kelly had then bent forward, draping her tits over Blake’s face and luxuriating in the blonde’s helpless inability to escape the third smother of the night.

Jugshock had come into play by the time Blake had been subjected to the fourth and final breast smother – all she knew was that there had been a fourth one. She had a hazy memory of being stretched out on her back with Kelly straddling her, playfully rubbing the blonde’s face with her jugs before bringing the night to an end…

“So what happens now?”

The question brought Blake out of her reverie. “Jeri and Ali were in here soon after they brought me back. Jeri had ‘thanked me for my service.’ Can you believe it? Then she said that I’d been released from my contract. Ali didn’t say a word, but I could tell exactly what she was thinking by the way she looked at me. And then, just like that. I can’t… It… It’s over…”

A fresh round of tears began to well up in the young blonde’s eyes. She was about to break down again when a warm embrace of arms wrapped around her, cradling her and offering her the comfort, respect, and love that she had been looking for all night but had yet to find until that very moment.

“There, there, Blake,” Paris Hilton said soothingly, “Everything’s going to be alright… No need to worry. We’ll always be here for you…”