As the hour of decision drew near, Cindy Crawford was beginning to show her true colors. Hers was the classic personality of the Bully - a dominating, arrogant thug disguising the true nature of the whimpering coward. Cindy knew she wasn’t woman enough to beat Karen McDougal in a fair fight so, surrounded by three beautiful and very well paid thugs, she began to reveal her plot to take Karen out of the picture.

Layla Roberts had been Cindy’s spy in the Playmate camp from the beginning. When Hef and Karen were deciding the membership of the Playmate team, Hef had insisted she be invited. Hef had a huge blind spot where Layla was concerned - the woman Karen knew to be a slithering viper was, in his eyes, a courageous, athletic gladiator and a great representative of the Playmate tradition. There was no way Karen could change his mind so her strategy was to accept Layla, but make her the second alternate - almost certainly irrelevant in the final analysis.

However, despite the obvious cold shoulder Karen turned to her, Layla faithfully attended every meeting, every training session and kept herself in tip-top fighting form. Only yesterday had the reason for her perfect attendance become clear. Playboy’s elite security team learned she was wearing a ‘wire’ and every detail of all Playmate meetings and practices had been transmitted to Cindy’s camp. The supermodel captain had known every detail of the Playmate’s strategy from the very start of the tournament, thanks to Layla’s treachery.

Not until the night of the Ghauri-Dorman fight had Playboy security learned of her treachery and informed Christy Hefner of the breach. She took the news calmly, smiled, and scratched her chin.

“A lot of good it’s done them,” she thought to herself. “The tournament is tied 4-4 and I’ve got the better fighter going in the championship.”

But Christy also knew a desperate Cindy was capable of anything. It was high time SHE knew Crawford’s private thoughts and plans. During the hoopla before the start of Ghauri-Dorman, a Playboy security operative slipped a tiny, state of the art snooping device in Layla’s purse while she was distracted by events in the ring. Suddenly, the spy in their midst became their counterspy, ready to send signals back to the Playboy Mansion! Christy told Hef about the coup and he smiled a, “that’s my girl!” smile as he considered the delicious irony.

When Layla quietly retreated form the arena with Cindy, Heidi Klum and Yamila Diaz-Rahi, Christy and the Playboy security team licked their lips in anticipation of all the dark ‘supermodel’ secrets would be revealed.

Inside the villainesses’ limo, Layla revealed a very important detail about Karen’s life to the supermodel captain as she accepted a $50,000 check from Cindy for her services. Each morning a half hour before sunrise, Karen would put on her Playmate of the Year silk aviator’s jacket, a Detroit Tigers baseball cap and drive her Acura NXS convertible, with the top down, to a secluded, winding canyon road. She’d then park at a certain spot that offered an ideal view of the sunrise. It was a ritual she followed every day as a way of honoring God’s creation and sensing her connection to it.

“Stop! You’re making us cry,” laughed Cindy, her lips in a sarcastic sneer. “That is just the sweetest thing. It’s just the kind of crap that idiot Richard Gere would fall for.”

Cindy hesitated a moment as all the details in her head moved into alignment. An evil smirk returned to her face as she spoke.

“Yamila, here’s the keys to a Black Ford Expedition with tinted windows. You and Heidi take it to the location Layla’s given us. Be there ready and waiting at 5AM. When Karen’s NXS rolls by, tail her. On the sharpest curve you can find, pull up beside her and bump that little bitch to the bottom of the canyon! Be as gentle as you can. We don’t need to kill her - a couple of weeks in a wheel chair will do just fine. And Heidi, bring a camera. I want pictures for my scrapbook. Understand?”

The two swimsuit supermodels were ecstatic; what a rush this would be!

Turning to Layla, Cindy continued, “Now, of course, with Karen ‘inconvenienced’ in intensive care Hef will have no choice but turn to you. You’ll be my Playmate rival tonight. I want you on your best behavior; be the poor courageous, last minute substitute looking for a miracle victory. I’m talking All-American, milk-drinking, flag-hugging sweetheart here. It will make crushing you in the center of the ring all the more delicious. I want every man in the crowd completely pissed off when I raise my arms in victory over your quivering body.”

Layla knew that the humiliation Cindy was really interested was for Hefner and Playboy, in addition to Gere. She had ‘issues’ with Playboy, too, so for $50,000 and the chance to lick Cindy’s pussy in public, Layla was willing to play the patsy in the sham contest.

Listening to every word of the plot from their offices within the Mansion, Christy and Hef immediately assembled the parts of Christy’s elaborate counter-plot.

Hef couldn’t believe his ears – ‘a couple of weeks in a wheel chair’ Cindy had said.

To the tape recorder Hef said slowly through clenched teeth, “Bitch, you are TOAST!”

Christy, as assertive an executive as could be, was already working the phone. Sure, it was 2AM but things had to be planned. She called Karen’s house where the Playmate struggled to release herself from Gere’s clinging embrace in order to answer the phone.

“Be ready in five minutes,” Christy told her. “And bring your Tigers cap and silk jacket with you.”

Then Christy called her ace in the hole - the key figure in her counter-plot to foil Cindy.

“Hello?” answered Wendy Hamilton, annoyed to be awakened from a sound sleep in the middle of the night. But once she realized she was speaking to THE Christy Hefner, Wendy woke up in a hurry. The call lasted all of twenty seconds and as soon as she hung up the phone, Wendy sped downstairs to her car and drove toward Karen’s place. She picked up the Playmate captain, took the keys to the XKE, and off they sped to the Mansion. There, they expected an explanation from Christy Hefner as to what the hell was going on. When they arrived, Christy made sure Wendy and Karen were comfortable, then she played the tape of Cindy’s conspiracy meeting. Both girls were speechless as they listened to the villainesses’ voices.

Finally, Christy stopped the tape.

“Wendy,” she said, turning to the tall, brunette Playmate. “I need your special talent.”

Christy was legendary for keeping tabs on the Playmate family, even years after their gatefold glory days were behind them. She knew Wendy’s Hollywood acting days were behind her but that Wendy was still active in the movie business. She’d become one of the most in-demand stunt talents in Tinseltown. Her specialty? Stunt driving! Every director in Hollywood wanted her if a car chase scene involved a female driver because, hands down, she was the best!

In walked two of the best makeup artists working for Playboy, yawning as a sign that their sleep too, had been suddenly interrupted. Christy’s instructions were simple, “Make her (pointing to Wendy) look like her (jerking her thumb in Karen’s direction). You’ve got one hour. Can you do it?”

“Piece of cake, Boss. Piece of cake!” came the reply.

Less than an hour later, dressed in Karen’s signature silk jacket and Detroit baseball cap, Wendy was a dead ringer for Karen. She twirled the keys to the Acura nervously as Christy gave her final instructions. She sent Karen upstairs to bed upstairs - there was a championship fight to rest up for after all!

As for Wendy, her instructions were clear; “Let them run you off the road and - please - make the crash as ugly as you can without putting yourself in real danger. I want them to give Cindy a report that’ll really brighten her day.”

“Don’t worry,” Wendy smiled. “I crash and burn these things for a living seven days a week. This is a picnic - even without all the safety gear I usually use, those amateurs will be totally convinced.”

At 5:30AM, exactly as expected, Karen’s NXE began climbing the canyon road. Yamila saw the headlights and her heart began to race in anticipation. As the Acura rolled past, she put her SUV in gear and gave chase. Wendy smiled confidently as she saw the big, black Ford closing in behind her. It’s showtime!

As the Acura made a long, winding turn, Yamila floored the accelerator and pulled into the passing lane. As she turned the wheel toward the NXS, Wendy pretended to lose control, spun her vehicle around wildly and steered off the road, over the edge and plunged down into the canyon. She found a convenient boulder to sideswipe to slow her descent before slamming on the brakes.

By the time Yamila and Heidi had turned around to survey the damage, the car was giving off steam, it’s front end a grotesque mess and the driver was lying motionless, her face resting on the steering wheel, blood oozing from a massive ‘cut’ on her forehead. Yamila shrieked with joy and gave Heidi a high-five. Heidi rolled down her tinted window as she raised her camera and zoomed the powerful telephoto lens on the wreckage. The driver, her face turned away from the camera, was obviously in bad shape, showing no signs of life. Heidi snapped off an entire roll of film, then rolled up the window and Yamila sped away from the crime scene.

After she was sure the conspirators were long gone, a completely unscratched Wendy Hamilton took out her cell phone and called the Mansion to tell the Hefners the accident had gone off without a hitch. Christy even called Cindy Crawford’s cell phone, just to be re-assured that it was, in fact, busy. Heidi had wasted no time reporting her success to her elated leader.

Christy told Wendy to get back in the car and put on a convincing act since the Hefners and Cindy were both directing the local media to the crash scene. As soon as the cameras arrived, a private Playboy helicopter flew an emergency medical team into the canyon and they carried the driver’s motionless body away on a stretcher. As the chopper took off, Wendy burst out laughing, as did the entire medical staff.

News of Karen’s potentially fatal car crash dominated the local airways just in time for the huge early morning breakfast audience. It was reported that the Hefners would be holding a press briefing at 9AM. Meanwhile, in the softest featherbed in California, Karen was sleeping peacefully, unaware of the media firestorm being stoked.

The mansion lawn was filled with reporters from every media outlet by the time Christy and Hef stepped out the front door. Sadly, they confirmed that Karen had indeed been in a horrible accident. There was no evidence of foul play, they said, and suggested solemnly that Karen’s blood alcohol level would have to be tested and her condition stabilized before she could possibly face the cameras or take any questions. Hef also confirmed he’d already contacted Layla Roberts, and that she would take Karen’s place in the title fight scheduled for that evening.

Meanwhile, across town, Stacy Sanches was meeting with Layla. They talked strategy about the fight and by 11AM, the airwaves were full of images of Layla jumping rope, hitting the speed bag and shadowboxing. The Playboy publicity machine was feeding the media stories about Layla’s courage, her infectious confidence and how all the other Playmates were rallying behind her. The story continued to build momentum with Cindy granting interviews to express how shocked and saddened she was by the unfortunate accident and how she’d be foolish not to take Layla Roberts “very seriously.”

Karen awoke at noon, turned on the TV and felt like she was in an alternate universe. She pushed a panic button at her bedside and, within seconds, Hef was beside her, explaining the wild sequence of events. When Karen finally understood the whole picture, she hugged Hef and called him ‘a friggin’ genius.’ He modestly had to agree and they laughed their asses off for an hour as they flipped from CNN to ESPN to Fox News and checked out the reports on all the local channels.

Later, Christy Hefner showed up smiling and said, “Congratulations Karen. You’re bigger news than Elian Gonzalez! Now, let’s have a nice high-carb lunch and work the speed bag. Remember, you’ve got a fight tonight - unless you want Layla to steal all your glory.”

Meanwhile, in the suburbs, a guy named Irish was screaming obscenities at his TV. Yesterday, he’d paid a scalper a month’s wages to get a front row seat for the championship.

“For WHAT, dammit! For WHAT???” he ranted at nobody in particular.

In his frustration, he went to the bathroom, took a dump, then wiped his butt with Layla Roberts centerfold. What else was there to do?

Christy’s next call was to Playboy’s chief legal counsel. Once she heard the conspiracy tape Christy played for her, she wasted no time giving Christy her best legal advice, “Press charges whenever you like. Give the tape to the police. All four of those sluts will be in jail within an hour.”

Christy agreed, but she preferred something a bit more dramatic - a little more theatrical. She stopped by the makeup studio and saw that her staff was slaving over Karen, making sure that this would indeed be her night of triumph - before and after the fight.

Meanwhile, at the famous Playboy grotto, a bevy of gorgeous blondes—Victoria Zdrok, Cady Cantrell, Holly Witt and Donna D’Erico were frolicking, awaiting the matching togas they’d be wearing at the evening’s festivities.

At the gym, Stacy Sanches and Layla Roberts continued to work on Layla’s technique. Stacy knew all about Layla’s role in the Crawford conspiracy and was amazed that anybody could be that big a fraud. Layla talked and acted for all the world like a young Rocky Balboa getting a once in a lifetime title shot. It was all that Stacy could do to keep from choking the blonde phony to death right then and there. But just like Christy and the attorney, she understood the time for action wasn’t yet nigh.

As the turnstiles opened, the crowd began to file in. They were in a solemn mood, clearly distressed by the news about Karen’s condition and curious about what to expect from the mysterious, last minute fill in. Outside, Irish was trying to sell his ticket for half face value - without Karen, why bother? But after it became clear he wasn’t even going to get that much, he gave up, presented the ticket at the turnstile and took his coveted front row seat.

It was 20 minutes before the fight was to begin when Hef took the mike and addressed the crowd. He explained he’d just spoken to Karen, that she was resting comfortably in intensive care and he conveyed Karen’s best wishes to Layla and encouraged her fans to do the same. In their sadness, ‘McDougal nation’ could muster only a tepid round of applause. Fifteen minutes passed and, instead of building anticipation, the arena had all the excitement of a funeral parlor.

The lights went down, the music began to pump as Cindy Crawford began her catwalk toward the ring. A small chorus of boos swelled to a cresting wave of disapproval and the hated supermodel did her best to stoke the animosity. She removed a full length mink stole to reveal her astounding body adorned only with a small gold mesh bikini that left nothing to the imagination. The extra few minutes that Cindy had taken to shave and trim her pubic area proved time well spent as her bikini bottom was no more than two inches wide at any point.

Then, in a gesture of bad taste that inflamed an already hostile crowd, she had the sound man cue up the old Ventures’ instrumental ‘Wipeout’ - the maniacal laughing and screeching tires at the beginning serving as Cindy’s cynical and insulting tribute to her hospitalized opponent. As she danced to the rhythm, she glanced down at ringside and shared a knowing laugh with Yamila and Heidi.

Next, to the strains of the ‘Rocky’ theme, Layla Roberts skipped into the arena wearing a US flag bikini followed by a waving and smiling Stacy Sanches. They entered the ring to a slowly building round of applause. ‘McDougal nation’ was still reluctant to transfer their collective love to Layla. At a gut level, too many of them weren’t buying what she was selling and, although they hated Cindy with a burning passion, Layla wasn’t making the sale. Most, like Irish, were merely curious - without Karen, they couldn’t get passionate.

While Cindy continued to dance and loosen up, her sham opponent was getting her last instructions from Stacy, “Just close your eyes and breathe deeply. Stay calm, visualize your victory.”

Stacy spoke calmly and reassuringly as Layla slowly closed her eyes - a study in quite serenity. It was time, finally, for Stacy to drop the hammer. She reached back for something extra, brought a nasty right cross all the way from downtown and cracked her knuckles violently under Layla’s vulnerable chin. The blonde traitor dropped like a rock, out cold. In less than a second, Stacy kicked her rudely out of the ring into the waiting arms of two burly LAPD officers who cuffed her hands behind her. Simultaneously, several more police dragged Heidi and Yamila from their seats and arrested them.

The arena was a buzzing den of confusion but by far the most confused person in the building was Cindy whose eyes darted wildly around the arena, looking for answers. Suddenly the entire building was plunged into pitch blackness! Confusion yielded to fear, which lead to a nervous silence throughout the place. Suddenly, a deep, soothing voice came over the loudspeaker, sounding for all the world like James Earl Jones. It began as a whisper.

“K Mac, Bu-ma-ye,” then it was repeated again and a third time - even louder and faster - then once more.

By the fourth repetition the sound was shaking the walls! Every light in the house came on at once, and down the aisle, carried prone on a medical stretcher carried by four blonde Playmates in togas, came a very healthy and smiling Karen McDougal! She waved wildly and blew kisses to the faithful, stopping at several points to remove fake casts from her legs and arms. Having worked the crowd into a berserk, frenzied horde, Karen directed a cold, dismissive glance right into Cindy’s eyes. Only a fortunate few at ringside noticed a tiny trickle of pee dribbling down the inside of Cindy’s thighs as the National anthem began.

“It’s great to be an American,” Irish thought to himself.
******
Karen McDougal vs. Cindy Crawford Championship Match by jermaine

Hugh Hefner had hired the most famous ring announcer in the US to handle the introductions of the fighters. But Hef, understood the moment - and he told the guy to take the night off. The last thing this raucous crowd needed was introductions. Nobody in the arena needed any further explanation. It was now time for the ladies to get it on.

Cindy had hurriedly cleaned herself up during the national anthem and, in a strange way, the humiliation and embarrassment only made her stronger. Virtually the entire crowd wanted to see her torn limb from limb and she knew that, whatever the result in the ring, she could look forward to almost certain arrest as soon as the match ended.

The Hefners had run rings around her and turned her well-planned and flawlessly executed conspiracy completely to THEIR advantage. Her ex-husband was telling the media that he never had any idea how good sex could be until he met the woman Cindy was about to face - a woman five years younger, far more athletic and more supple. Yet when she was cornered, trapped, vilified and virtually alone, Cindy was her most dangerous! She’d already proven she had no respect for another person’s life, much less the silly rules of organized female combat. Yes, Karen McDougal had every advantage she could ask for, yet she’d never been more vulnerable or in greater danger. In the depths of her soul, Cindy was a creature that even Hannibal Lechter should fear.

Karen’s heart raced as she waited anxiously for the bell. In a matter of seconds, she’d be busy settling accounts with a woman who’d unapologeticly planned to seriously injure, or possibly to kill her; for no better reason than to serve the twisted goals of a diabolical, out of control ego. Hatred was consuming Karen’s spirit in a way that surprised and scared her. Her first goal was to rip the ego right out of the supermodel’s body and stomp it to death right there in the ring. Her second was to put the entire tournament, and all its challenges behind her. A fairy tale romance with Richard Gere awaited her. She owed the Hefners the best fight she could muster on this night, then with best wishes, she wanted to kiss her Playmate life goodbye.

The bell sounded, and both combatants sprang toward the middle of the ring. Cindy was a nanosecond quicker and secured an armbar that allowed her to spin Karen into the ropes. As the Playmate bounced back, Cindy’s high kicking left heel smashed into her chin. Karen reeled back drunkenly, grabbing the top rope in an effort to maintain her balance. Cindy’s sinister kick attack continued, as a nasty drop kick drove hard into Karen’s belly, expelling the air from her lungs. Next, Cindy delivered an open handed slap, followed by viciously raking her long, sharp nails across Karen’s flawless face.

As she struggled just to survive Cindy’s opening attack, Karen grimaced as a swift, strong left jab landed squarely on her left eye. Cindy’s other fist found Karen’s right eye and she knew that a matching pair of ugly purple shiners would be staring back from her make up mirror in the morning. That is, if she were even still alive! Out of nowhere, another deadly kick pancaked Karen’s right boob and made her gasp!

Desperate times demand desperate measures and Karen went for broke. As Cindy prepared to deliver another destructive drop kick, Karen summoned the strength to get her legs churning. She lowered her head and charged headlong into Cindy who was airborne with her legs extended, completely off balance and vulnerable. Karen’s skull drove into Cindy’s mid-section as she narrowly avoided the thrust of Cindy’s stinging heels. Karen’s momentum drove the supermodel spread-eagled flat on her back to the canvas. Cindy’s head hit first and the rest of her body followed, her long limbs completely askew. Karen’s brain cleared, processed the new information that her eyes provided, and she stopped suddenly. Then the Playmate captain leapt in the air, pulled her legs ahead, as if doing a cannonball dive - and landed butt first on Cindy’s face. The impact shook the canvas, and the shockwaves were felt all the way down to Cindy’s gyrating toes.

The partisan crowd, eerily silent during the period of Cindy’s clear dominance, now found boisterous voice as they rose as one to cheer on their favorite. Karen quickly jumped up and, before Cindy could get herself re-organized, snapped Cindy’s bikini top wide open, releasing the supermodel’s world class breasts and exposing them for future abuse.

But Cindy cleverly rolled over and out of the ring under the bottom rope before Karen could attack again. Cindy stood bent over, hands on knees, as she took a couple of deep breaths and re-evaluated her strategy. Suddenly, the voice of a heckler behind her rang out.

“Get back in the ring, you washed-up coward. It’s high time your fat ass got the kicking it needs,” shouted Irish, rising from his seat inches behind Cindy.

The supermodel spun around, nostrils flaring, to face her tormentor. She grabbed Irish by the elbows, pulled him to her as if to kiss him - then drove her knee viciously into his crotch! Irish’s balls felt like they were about to jump out of his throat! And Cindy repeated her attack, only this time harder still. And then again! The poor ringsider was left groveling on the floor, his hands desperately grasping his wounded genitalia.

Karen was appalled by Cindy’s attack on an innocent spectator and she hurdled the top rope, landing in the space between Cindy and the red-faced, gasping, groveling Irish. Karen’s face bore the stamp of the wrath of God. As if Cindy’s prior provocation hadn’t been enough, now Karen found a new reservoir of motivation - the mother-protector of her #1 male fan!

Cindy assumed a boxing stance, her fists near her face. Karen’s flying fists slammed into Cindy’s defenses like a category 4 tornado into an Alabama trailer park. Karen fed Cindy a steady diet of knuckle sandwiches as the crowd roared its approval. Cindy’s vulnerable bare breasts suffered every indignity, as Karen literally went wild all over her until Cindy’s hands were soon draped harmlessly at her sides. Now, the time had come to show Cindy how Irish felt! She spread Cindy’s legs and drove her knee up into her crotch with an impact that it lifted Cindy’ feet several inches off the floor.

“Fair is fair,” Karen muttered as she matched Cindy’s trio of knee lifts.

After the third one, Cindy’s already wobbly legs gave way, and she dropped like a sack of potatoes to the hard floor. Karen bent over, reached down and lifted Cindy’s body, then rolled her back into the ring. The supermodel rolled over once, then writhed slowly, on her back, her hands surveying the wreckage of her pussy and breasts.

Meanwhile, with a hand up from Stacy Sanches, Karen triumphantly climbed to the top turnbuckle in the corner. She stood up tall, her head twelve feet above the ring as she acknowledged the adulation of the crowd. While she soaked in the moment, Cindy’s pride forced her up off the canvas. As the badly damaged supermodel struggled to rise in a painful crouch, Karen tucked in her head and executed a 360 degree spinning elbow drop! Her descending body crashed into Cindy before the villainess had a chance to stand. The impact slammed Cindy back to the canvas, her limbs spread to all four corners of the compass. Karen’s sharp elbow drove hard into Cindy’s pussy, utterly wrecking the already tender area.

Cindy’s shrill howl of pain chilled the raucous crowd to silence. A strange transformation was taking place - one that Cindy’s towering ego would have bitterly protested for the despised supermodel had become an object of pity in the eyes of many in the crowd.

As Karen folded her into a matchbook pin, many in the crowd were searching in vain for some sign of surrender from the supermodel team to save their captain further injury and humiliation. But Cindy’s team - most of whom hated her guts - had disappeared from ringside! As Karen began to spank Crawford’s plump white butt cheeks turning them a delicious shade of bright cherry pink, Christy Hefner made eye contact with Karen to signal her the fight was over.

Karen dearly loved and admired the Hefners, but with all due respect, she wasn’t nearly done with bitch Cindy yet. The ‘Pride of Michigan’ had a few more lesson’s to teach ‘Illinois Shame.’ Karen continued her open handed assault on Cindy’s butt cheeks as she noticed, for the first time tonight, the tears in Cindy’s eyes.

Just then, Richard Gere made his much-anticipated entry. He’d endured a long day filming his latest movie and had only now been able to break away. He was delighted, but not at all surprised, to see the future Mrs. Gere having her way with his ex-.

As he took his seat, he revived the dormant “K Mac, Bu-ma-ye!” chant, and soon the entire crowd was screaming for blood again.

And Karen didn’t disappoint them. She hair-dragged Cindy to her feet, then delivered a sledgehammer blow to her ribs followed by a left hook to the chin. Cindy dropped groaning, rolling back and forth slowly on her back. Karen crooked her finger at Gere, asking him to help her undress. It was a clear indication of how the evening was going that Cindy had utterly failed even to remove so much as one piece of Karen’s green bikini. Gere, however, was not only willing to perform the task, he was up to the job. Soon, a completely nude and brashly triumphant Karen went back to work on the devastated Cindy. Karen stood with her heavily muscled legs straddling Cindy’s chest, then slowly and provocatively, lowered her bare bottom onto the supermodel’s bruised and tender boobs. She slowly crushed what little remained of Cindy’s tits with a deliberate grinding rhythm as she linked her fingers behind her head, thrust her elbows forward and smiled.

Then, Karen inched herself forward, until her pussy was pressed against the base of Crawford’s neck. Taking two fistfuls of Cindy’s wild, tangled hair and pulling the supermodel’s head up, Karen forced Cindy’s mouth and nose into her waiting womanhood.

“Let’s go mole face,” she ordered. “Lick it like you love it.”

Upon hearing these words, Cindy’s fists balled, her red, swollen eyes opened wide and, frantically her legs began to kick and flail the air helplessly. Karen had used the very words Cindy had said to Layla Roberts whilie they were rehearsing the sham fight that Cindy had prepared for this evening! Finally, Cindy realized that Team Playboy had been snooping on her! A lot of good that knowledge was doing her now!

Fortunately for Karen, perhaps the only muscle in Cindy’s ravaged body that still functioning was her strong, supple tongue. Cindy was experienced and talented and she’d never worked on a pussy as perfect as Karen’s. For a moment, Cindy forgot about her humiliating situation and gave herself over to pure lust. Karen found it amazing, but she wasn’t about to complain. Within a minute, Karen climaxed with a high-pitched, passionate scream of ecstasy and covered Cindy’s flushed face with a volcanic rush of her love lava.

Karen hesitated a moment, wanting to soak in the joy of this delicious moment, then rose slowly. She rubbed Cindy’s stringy, sweaty, hair all over her face and hundreds of strands stuck to the still fresh cum on the villainess’ red face. Then she turned to Lisa Matthews at ringside who gave her a, ‘go for it’ sign. Lisa had worked with Karen for weeks perfecting some of her favorite WWF moves and now it was time to finish Cindy off with a Piledriver. Karen lifted Cindy off the canvas by her feet, then squeezed both arms around the supermodel’s thighs, suspending her upside down.

Cindy’s desperate scream of “NOOOOOOOO!” was drowned out by the “K Mac Bu-ma-ye” chant that threatened to rip the roof off the arena.

Karen jumped up slightly, folded her legs behind her and dropped to the floor on her knees. Cindy’s skull seemed to be driven literally through the canvas as her neck gave way. Karen released Cindy and let her body topple over grotesquely as she collapsed on her side. Cindy’s labored and sporadic breathing pattern was the sole sign of life in an otherwise motionless body.

Karen calmly made her way to Cindy’s corner where she collected the supermodel’s mink stole and high heels. Slowly and dramatically, she slipped the stole around her shoulders, then began a provocative victory strut around the decimated supermodel.

Meanwhile, Playboy Inc. wasted no time. The four blondes who carried Karen to the ring earlier, loaded Cindy’s limp body onto the same stretcher and carried the supermodel criminal back to the dressing room where she was dumped unceremoniously on the floor at the feet of two awaiting LAPD policewomen.

Irish, who’d been rushed from ringside to receive emergency medial treatment was recovering nicely. Although he could still only speak in a falsetto, he was enjoying the company of Lisa Marie Scott and Kelly Monaco who Hef had assigned to ‘do whatever it takes to avoid a lawsuit.’ Kelly suggested a little soft massage of the wounded area might be wise and Irish readily agreed to the therapy. In a matter of seconds, he felt almost as good as new - although he still sounded like a girl when he talked!

In a dark corner of the arena, Cindy’s eyelashes began to flutter and her glassy, poorly focused eyes began to survey her predicament. With this first signal of life, a waiting policewoman slapped on a cold pair of metal handcuffs around her wrists as another gave Cindy her Miranda warning.

A warm, steady flow of bitter tears began to cascade down Cindy’s still cum-streaked face as she heard, “You have the right to remain silent....”
******
Cindy Crawford vs. Karen McDougal (Bar Room Brawl Rematch) by IRISH 3/22/02

As soon as Cindy arrived at the police station after the match with McDougal, she insisted on her “one phone call.”

The call was to her agent and it began, “John I need help and I don’t care how much it’s going to cost...”

Before you knew it, Johnny, Barry and F. Lee were reunited for the first time since the OJ trial. They were hard at work trying to beat the charges against her when, during discovery, they found the taped conversation used to prefer charges against her was obtained illegally (NY v Mullineax).

Cindy’s dream team left the courthouse a few hours later when all charges were dropped for ‘insufficient evidence’. Cindy complained, “I could’ve gotten a second year law student to beat THOSE charges,” but, of course, no refund was forthcoming from the ‘dream team’.

“Though the case be moribund, da bitch don’ get a refund,” Johnny rhymed.

Several weeks passed and Karen and Richard began to grow apart. Finally, their publicist announced the wedding plans were being placed, “on hold temporarily while the parties resolve some issues.” Karen couldn’t be a ‘trophy wife’ - she missed the excitement her old lifestyle offered. Richard’s manager attributed the breakup to Karen, “visiting a sick friend” after the tournament finale but the tabloids speculated otherwise, resuscitating the old rumors about Richard’s sexuality, another woman, etc.

One day Karen received a dozen roses and large box of chocolates. Attached was a card inviting her to a private party at a bar called “the L.B.I.” It was supposed to be an exclusive club with a password required for entry. The note wasn’t signed but she couldn’t wait to meet her secret admirer and wondered who it could be.

She nonchalantly tried to pry information from her friends but was unable to come up with any leads. When she hinted to Irish about the gifts she received, he didn’t seem to know what she was talking about, as usual, but was certainly eager to take credit for them nonetheless.

The night of the party arrived and Karen set out for the L.B.I. dressed to kill in small black dress and thigh highs. At the front door of the club she paused to make last minute adjustments to her hair and makeup, then rang the bell which chimed to the tune, ‘shave and a haircut; two bits.’

A small window in the door slid open and she was asked for the password and immediately answered, “Jermaine sent me!” She was granted entrance into a dimly lit room. Like most bars it was long and narrow and, as she glanced around while her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she sensed that something out of place but couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She made her way to the middle of the bar were there was an opening in the packed crowd and it finally dawned on her. It was like being at a bachelorette party waiting for the entertainment to arrive.

Although the patrons of the bar greeted her with large smiles, there wasn’t a single male face in the room. Before she could change her mind about this surprise meeting, she was confronted by a large, powerfully built woman who could easily pass for Chyna’s big sister. The large woman insisted on buying her a drink and, feeling she had little choice, Karen ordered a white wine.

As she sipped, Karen felt a strong hand on the small of her back and the woman asked, “How do you like it?”

Karen looked puzzled but stated with a little smile, “Slightly chilled; a Macon villages if they have it; one from the south facing slopes would be terrific. How specific do you want me to be?”.

“I don’t mean your drink, bitch.” Before Karen knew what happened, the large woman’s hand was under her dress grabbing her ass. “I mean this!”

The barmaid quickly rushed over when she saw the shocked expression on Karen’s face.

“Joanie,” she yelled, “don’t be scaring off the guests the first time they come inta my place.”

Joanie stormed off and the barmaid introduced herself, “Hi, I’m Leslie. Welcome to my place.”

Karen said hello back and somewhat bashfully explained she was supposed to meet someone.

“Honey,” the barmaid chuckled, “with your looks that will NOT be a problem.”

Karen asked what L.B.I. stands for and was shocked when Leslie laughed, “You didn’t know? This is the Lez B. Inn.”

As Karen was trying to get her mind around what had just been said, another figure appeared from the shadows and charged her from behind. Karen was grabbed by the hair and her face was banged repeatedly down on the polyurethane surface of the bar. Her eyes were rolling around in her head from the blunt force trauma as she tried to focus and plan an escape. She looked toward the mirror behind the bar and made eye contact with Cindy Crawford! Her eyes were full of fury.

A chant of, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” quickly filled the room.

Karen called on her new friend Leslie for help but instantly knew none would be forth coming. As if she could read Karen’s mind, Leslie stated, “We have lots of fights in our little club and there’s only two rules. Rule # 1: Nobody’s allowed to interfere and Rule # 2: The members of our club get the loser for entertainment.”

By the time Leslie finished laying out the rules, Karen was leaning on the bar wearing just panties, stockings and heels. She’d been stripped of her dress and her hair was in disarray. Her breasts bounced freely with each punch Cindy drove into her tight midsection since she hadn’t worn a bra to meet her secret ‘admirer.’

Cindy flung Karen across the room to the kind of small pool table found in just about any bar. As she hit the table with her back, balls scattered as she flopped back over the felt top on her back, hitting the back of her head on the slate top as her body came to a sudden stop.

Cindy quickly closed the distance between them and jumped onto the table top, straddling Karen’s waist and immediately setting to work punishing her perfect breasts with hard punch after wicked punch. As Cindy began to tire and her hands hurt from all the contact, she decided to switch targets. Cindy wanted to get maximum enjoyment out of completely humiliating Karen and leaving her behind for Joanie, Leslie and her friends to enjoy. It would not only make her more popular, but probably guarantee she’d drink free for the rest of her life in the happy little establishment.

Cindy dismounted from Karen and roughly dragged her butt off the pool table by her ankles. Karen’s head smacked the table edge as she was pulled off and it was the first thing to hit the floor after she cleared the pool table and dropped to the floor.

Still holding Karen by the ankles, Cindy spread the Playmate’s legs and began to stomp her crotch. After two or three stomps, Cindy dropped Karen’s legs, reached down and ripped off Karen’s panties. With a wink she tossed them to Leslie behind the bar who sniffed them and, grinning, stuffed them in the tip jar.

The crowd of now horny women let out a collective gasp at the spectacular site between Karen’s legs. They immediately began arguing about the order of the post fight entertainment as Cindy grabbed Karen by the hair and hauled her to her feet. Again, she flung Karen towards the pool table, face down this time and Karen came to rest with her beautiful round butt right at the edge of the table, her strong legs hanging down and her bruised and swollen breasts scraping across the rough surface.

“The last time we met,” yelled Cindy. “When you already had won the fight you really seamed to get off on beating my ass red. Well, you know what they say? Life’s a bitch and then you marry one! Oh, wait! You didn’t get married, he dumped your ass you stupid slut!”

Cindy began viscously beating Karen’s world-class ass, as she lay motionless over the edge of the pool table. Several women in the crowd seriously considered breaking Rule # 1 and interfering. Not to save Karen, but simply so that they could get to Rule # 2 that much sooner - and before Karen’s beautiful looks were ruined. But they received dirty looks when they even suggested it.

Cindy was proud off the bright red glow that quickly spread across Karen’s ass. She knew she’d had this fight won before it even started, but still she wanted to teach Karen a lesson that she not only would never forget, but one that would make the rounds as a warning to anyone else who thought they could double-cross her in the future.

Again, Cindy yanked Karen up by her hair, spun her around and sent her flying backward onto the table with a wicked roundhouse right to the jaw. Karen landed flat on her back, her arms spread and her eyes closed. Cindy again spread Karen’s legs, mounted the table and straddled her waist; this time facing Karen’s feet.

“Ladies, watch this,” Cindy proclaimed. “You’ll love this trick!”

She began to insert the pool balls into Karen’s pussy, forcing them between her swollen and bruised labia. She knew it wasn’t all that painful to Karen, especially since she was not only nearly unconscious but that she was reputed to love having her box filled. Still, it was one more way for Cindy to demonstrate her complete dominance. With Cindy distracted by showing off her latest “pocket billiards” tricks for her admirers, she failed to Karen was recovering and about to get a second wind.

Grabbing the eight ball in one hand and the cue ball in the other, Karen sat up behind Cindy and began alternately smashing them into the back of the supermodel’s hard head. Cindy’s body jerked once or twice, then she tipped over to the side and pitched forward off the pool table. Karen sat up and had to make a quick choice between going after Cindy now or waiting for another day to get even.

But once again, Leslie the psychic behind the bar looked her right in the eye and said, “Don’t even think about it! You’d never make it halfway to the door!”

Karen knew Leslie was right. She shook the cobwebs from her head as she scanned the room for some weapon she could use against Cindy who was still on the floor stunned. Karen had taken quite a beating so far, and she didn’t want to have to stand toe to toe and slug it out with Cindy under that disadvantage.

As Cindy was getting to her feet, Karen struck her across the back of the knees with a pool cue, taking her legs right out from under her and dropping her to her knees. The next swing broke the cue stick across the back of Cindy’s head busting her wide open and collapsing her to the floor face down. The tide had begun to turn! Karen returned the favor, stripping Cindy as the club’s patrons loudly commented on this being the best match they’d witnessed in years

“Not since Liz Berkeley and Charlie Theron got into it over Rose McGowan, remember?” Leslie suggested.

“Wait, you ain’t seen nothing yet!” Karen said as she dropped her knees on the small of Crawford’s back.

She increased the pressure, grabbing a handful of hair and wrenched Cindy’s head back until she yelled in pain. Cindy fought with every once of strength she had left to break free. She was a windmill of flailing arms trying to make contact to knock Karen off her. Karen was standing on Cindy’s injured back, digging her heels in when, suddenly, out of nowhere, she dropped to the floor like she’d been shot!

One of Cindy’s wild, blind, lucky punches caught her right between the legs. A normal crotch shot wouldn’t have had such a devastating effect, but Karen’s pussy was still filled with those pool balls. Her hand immediately went to her groin as she frantically dug in to remove the balls and try to massage away the pain.

While Karen lay on her back, her wet hair covering her eyes and her hands busy between her spread legs, the crowd listened silently to the steady …. ‘thump’….’thump’…..’thump’….. of the pool balls one-by-one dropping on the floor as she squeezed her muscles and worked them out with her fingertips

With Karen otherwise occupied, Cindy had time to crawl over to the wall and use the chair rail to pull herself to her feet. She staggered over to the cue stick rack, grabbed the heaviest cue she could find, and used it to support her weight as she made her way slowly back toward Karen’s supine body.

As she reached the table, Cindy paused to chalk the tip of the cue just before she rammed it straight down into Karen’s right areola like a harpoon. The wicked supermodel leaned into the handle of the stick using all her weight to concentrate on that one small area. Cindy was thoroughly enjoying it as Karen screamed in pain.

“OK slut,” Cindy hissed. “Give it up!”

But Karen couldn’t give in, not to Cindy and certainly not in this bar!

“I get to go first before I turn you over to them,” Cindy said jerking her head over her shoulder at the drooling crowd of eager lesbians. “You’ll think you’re in heaven when you’re swimming in my juice.”

While all Karen could do was scream like a wounded animal, she would not, could not submit to Cindy. Not now, not ever!

Cindy shifted her weight again trying to force a submission she felt had to be very close. As she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, Karen timed it perfectly and caught her off balance when she swept her foot up and took Cindy’s legs out from under her.

Karen picked up one of the pool balls she’d just extricated from her pussy and threw it at Cindy, catching her right between the eyes. Cindy was out before she toppled over backward and crashed to the floor. Again, the tide had turned and it was once more Karen’s turn to go on the offensive. The crowd gasped and stepped back from Cindy’s prostrate body, many women with their hands inside the waist of their skirts or slacks, others fondling their own or another woman’s breasts. Everyone was breathing heavily as they watched the incredibly erotic spectacle of two nearly naked women in bitter combat.

Karen picke up Cindy’s fallen pool cue and began beating her unmoving body with it until the stick broke. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Karen removed her stockings and used them to tie Cindy’s hands behind her back. Then she stepped over Cindy and neatly arranged the pool balls in their rack in the middle of the table. She removed the rack, then struggled to get Cindy to her feet. Karen grabbed Cindy by the neck and the crotch, pressed her high over her head, and then piledrived her down onto the racked balls - sending them flying in all directions. The eight ball rolled directly into the corner pocket.

Karen smiled and said, “I don’t know much about pool, but I think that’s the end of the game.”

Karen then shoved several balls into Cindy until her pussy was stuffed. She left the last one half way out. She picked up the stick and the cue ball, took careful aim………and you can just about figure the rest out yourself (LOL)!

Karen declined Leslie’s offer to stay for the entertainment and she thanked Joanie for the drink. Slowly and painfully, Karen struggled back into what was left of her dress, then - with her head high - she strutted out of the L.B.I. with a souvenir Polaroid of Joanie, naked, straddling Cindy’s face at the moment of her climax.

“I have to go visit a sick friend,” she told them as she left, figuring that after all the great treatments she gave Irish when he was suffering from Cindy’s low blows turnaround was fair play. As she walked to her car she began to whistle, ‘When Irish Eyes are Smiling’ and began to laugh - as much at her wit as at the thought of the long night of indignity Cindy was going to be forced to endure as a result of her own inability to deal with disappointment and failure. C’est la vie!