QUEEN'S CHAMBERS: Amara Singh vs Lenore Lemarchand

No respite for the Basement Dwellers or home audience tonight, the last story was still sinking in when the Madhouse’s vaunted flying camera took off into the dark. After a quick, somehow frantic jaunt down a series of poorly lit industrial hallways the camera veered into a freight elevator of distressingly antique vintage. The darkened confines of the elevator were actually quite prosaic save for a small sign plastered above the rows of buttons. The sign was bone white, with deep red letters that looked almost wet to the touch. It read:

Here There Be Monsters.

Now’s the part of the movie where everyone SHOULD go running for the nearest exit, alas the door drew shut with an appropriately gothic shriek and the elevator chugged down, down, down, nearly a full minute of down before rattling to a stop. The camera wasted no time escaping the narrow confines and despite coming out in the grimiest hallway yet, it showed no hesitation in blazing a trail. Half a dozen more turns followed and then the journey ended in front of a door with a brass panel that read:

Nevermore

Either fearless or foolish, the camera barged its way through in search of an audience with the lady of the house.

As luxurious as the name would indicate, the ‘Queen’s Chambers’ were large enough to include a second floor that was reached by means of a wide staircase at the center of the room. The paneling was all dark wood, the carpet was deep midnight blue pile featuring thin sworls of gray, green and purple. The décor was simultaneously elegant and ominous. To the left of the staircase were several shelves full of antique books and dozens of small object d’art. Lining the walls were a number of paintings, most of them bleak autumnal or winter landscapes, though there were a few inconspicuous depictions of famous FAWN violence, most of it seeming to favor the exploits of the Black Court and a certain Raven in particular. To the right of the staircase laid a relatively warmer area with a large glassed in fireplace ringed by a few overstuffed couches. Another interesting detail on this side of the room was a curious set of double doors, which seemed to vibrate and tremble in their frames if you watched them long enough. For a moment it looked like the camera might go exploring, but was distracted by the quiet arrival of Senior Official Nick Castle. Not quite sure how he’d got picked for this particular weirdness again, the zebra tapped his earpiece to let the production crew know all was well.

From somewhere in the gloom, the disembodied voice of the Announcer called, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and it is for title of Queen of the Madhouse! Introducing first, she is the challenger. Hailing from Cawnpore, India, she stands at five feet six inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty-seven pounds. She is the Golden Empress… AMARA SINGH!”

AMARA SINGH:


The double doors swung open and Amara made her grand entrance, emphasis on grand as she’d somehow managed to get her palanquin and bearers into the heart of the Madhouse. Carried like a queen, excuse me, Empress, into this place that would soon be hers, Amara surveyed the surroundings with thinly-veiled disdain, though one could tell from her unusually watchful eye that the Bollywood Bombshell was checking for a possible ambush. But none appeared and when Singh slid off the lowered conveyance it was with all of her usual swagger and pomp, perhaps even a little more so than usual considering she’d swapped her usual top and harem pants for a penthouse worthy set of bra and panties in mellow gold. “TO ME, LITTLE BIRD!” Amara called into the darkness as she moved into place beside Castle. “THESE SHADOWS CANNOT SAVE YOU FROM ME!”

Her challenge was answered by the Announcer. “And introducing her opponent, representing the Black Court, hailing from Glen Echo, Michigan, she stands five feet seven inches tall and weighs in at one hundred and thirty one pounds, she is the reigning and defending Queen of the Madhouse, I give to you the Fair & Radiant Maiden, LENORE LEMARCHAND!”

LENORE LEMARCHAND:


A door on the second floor swung open and Lenore appeared from the gloom at the top of the stairs. Eschewing the robe favored by the previous owner, Lenore came to meet her guest in nothing but her battle attire, a strappy bra and equally sturdy briefs both in the deep, spectral purple of twilight in Lovecraft Country. Pausing at the head of the stairs, the lithesome brunette favored her opposition with a cold smile. “Bold words now, Empress. Something tells me your attitude will change once I’ve given you the grand tour.”

“You will give me nothing except a sobbing surrender.” Amara sniffed as the other brunette glided down to meet her. “Once I have that, I MAY retain your services long enough to serve as a sort of tour guide. Or perhaps a maid.”

“Oh, I’ll clean you up tonight, sweetie.” Lenore promised. “But you’re not going to like how you feel once I’m finished.”

Brushing by Castle the moment Lenore reached the ground floor, Amara allowed herself a final glance around the dimly lit surroundings before returning her attention to the Queen of the Madhouse. “It IS a rather impressive space.” Singh admitted. “Or at least, it will be once I’ve stripped away every bit of your presence, not to mention this garish haunted house nonsense.”

The fingers on Lenore’s left hand twitched in anticipation of feeling her foe’s dark hair once again, but for now she answered with a smile. “Take a look at the mantle over the fireplace, Empress. See the set of briefs at either end? One belonged to the most sadistic woman I’ve ever encountered. The other belonged to a former owner, you might know her as our current World Champion. They couldn’t beat me in this place… and neither can you.”

The Bollywood Bombshell stepped forward, aggressively chesting into Lemarchand’s personal space. “I can beat you in any venue I choose, little girl. In the ring. On the beach. Even in the middle of this tacky--”

Lenore shoved her back and snapped, “Watch what you say about my house, sweetie. And I notice you conveniently left ‘Oil Pit’ off that list of--”

Singh twisted Lemarchand’s head to the side with a stiff Bytch Slap, then snatched a handful of hair and gave it a hard shake. “You. Belong. To. ME!” Amara hissed in her rival’s ear. “You’ll finally admit as much when I make you beg like the peasant you OOOFFFFHHH!”

The Raven slammed an elbow into Singh’s tummy, grabbed her own (double) handful of hair and jerked the former Eurasian Champion down into a quick Kneelift to the forehead! Amara stumbled but didn’t go down, so Lenore paintbrushed her cheek with a return Bytch Slap and an overhand Chop that CRAAAACKED off Singh’s haughty rack. “You may be an Empress beyond these walls, Amara.” Lemarchand explained as the other brunette cleared off with an arm drawn across her chest. “But in here you’re just another villager that ventured into the Madhouse and never came EERRRGGGHHH!”

Amara pounced on her, sweeping the Courtier into a brawny Collar & Elbow Lock-Up. While Singh was technically proficient as anyone on the roster, her pent-up disgust and anger quickly transformed the clench into little more than a huge handful of hair and an insulting ‘fish-face’ that mashed Lenore’s cheeks in painful fashion. “I AM AN EMPRESS WHEREVER I SET FOOT!” She punctuated this proclamation with a few Kneelifts to the other brunette’s trim midsection. “Just as I am Empress wherever I choose to sit.” Singh piled on another Kneelift, then leaned in to whisper, “Which means this garish little fortress… and your sniveling face… are mine to enjoy as I see fitAAARRRRHHHH!”

Lenore swiped her nails across the challenger’s eyes and swatted the encroaching hands away from her face. Amara cried out, grabbed for Lemarchand’s hair and found it but wasn’t able to make anything meaningful of it before the Queen of the Madhouse THUMPED the broadside of her thigh across Singh’s bronzed belly. The Empress doubled over only to straighten up when Lenore filled her hands with Amara’s dark locks. “I can’t tell you how happy I was when you had the audacity to challenge me for ownership of this place.” Lemarchand explained as she marched the breathless Bombshell toward the foot of that wide central staircase. “Because if there’s one place on this planet where I could finally humble you once and for all, this is it!”

Arriving at her goal Lenore promptly yanked Amara up on tiptoe and BWONKED her forehead against the smooth wood of the handrail. Singh’s knees shimmied, yet a handhold on one of the balusters kept her mostly upright. This show of tenacity earned her another heavy head-smash, not to mention a painful wedgie when Lenore grabbed hold of those golden briefs and used them to lead the Bombshell up the steps. “C’mon Empress.” Lemarchand chided as she jostled the distended material from side to side. “Aren’t you curious to see where I’ll be kicking your ass toniUUNNGGHH!”

Amara twisted into her attacker, wrapped both arms around Lenore’s waist and drove her lower back into the railing and balustrades on the far side of the stairs. Ignoring the pounding in her head to deliver a few more Shoulderblocks to the Courtier’s midsection, Singh straightened up, grabbed Lemarchand’s biceps and threaded them over handrail so she could thwhap-thwhap-THWHAP several heavy Forearm Smashes into her rival’s chest. Satisfied by the breathy groans this ordinance earned from her opponent, Singh slid her forearm up a bit higher and leaned in so she was slowly but surely throttling the Raven.

“An Empress would never sully her reputation by employing an urchin as filthy as yourself.” she cooed into Lenore’s flushing face. “Although if you were to drop to all fours and grovel before me, I might consider taking you on as a pet!”

“Nuuuuhhhh…never!” Lemarchand grunted. “You’ll be the one groveling before this match is OOOOOHHHHHHH!”

The Bollywood Bombshell thumped her knee between Lenore’s thighs, making sure to grrrrrrriiiiind the bony joint back n’ forth for good measure. “Your defeat will be the stuff of legend, little girl.” Amara promised in the midst of working her rival’s trunks. “In fact I daresay your humiliation tonight will make for a disappointing lack of challengers for years to come!”

Still using her forearm to control Lemarchand’s throat, Singh hooked her free hand between the other brunette’s cups and used it to wrench her top away with several quick tugs. This early disrobing brought a loud ‘ooooooooohhhh’ from the displaced audience, one that grew all the louder when Amara simply reached over the edge and dropped it into the gloom below. “And there goes the first piece of your trumpery armor, false queen.” The Indian stunner swatted Lenore’s right breast for tawdry emphasis. “I hope you put more fight into defending the rest of your meager possessEEEERRRRHHHHH!”

Lemarchand finally caught hold of Singh’s bottoms and pulled them up in a wedgie that bit deep between her attacker’s cheeks. “Fight hasn’t even started, Amara.” Lenore grunted once she’d stuffed her other hand beneath the other brunette’s jaw. “But I’m glad you’re getting into the spirit of NNNNNNGGGHHH!”

Amara prized Lenore off the handrail and tossed her into an awkward landing on all fours. Positioned just behind the penitent Queen, Singh put a foot against opposing tush and shoved, forcing Lemarchand to make her way toward the second floor landing. “That’s right, crawl! Crawl before your Empress!” Amara crowed in between half a dozen more insulting shots to those retreating buns. “Let’s show all of these peasants just how a TRUE royal punishes a pretender to her throNNNERRGGHH!”

Lenore reached the landing and flicked her left foot backward to strike Singh just below her left knee. The Bombshell went down on one knee but managed not to crack her noggin against the steps. Alas she did not avoid the follow-up kick that the Courtier planted between her eyes. Twisting herself into a comfortable seat even as Amara cradled her head in her arms, Lemarchand hunched over, filled her hands with Singh’s hair and pulled her a few steps closer. Feet planted wide, Lenore wedged Amara’s chin against the fork of her crotch, then extended her legs full length and crossed her ankles.

Hands gripping the balustrade on either side for extra leverage, Lenore squeeeeeeeeeeeezed the Scissors until all the muscles in her legs shredded into shadowy relief. “I’m the only recognized authority in the Madhouse, Amara.” she explained. “And it’s high time you learned to show some deference.”

Amara’s face is framed by the straining alabaster legs of Lemarchand, Singh’s coppery-hued skin gathering more than a hint of rose as the pressure increases on the Raven’s scissors. Grimace turns to burbling rosy lips and the dark eyes of the Empress grow glassy as the seconds tick by, Amara’s vulnerability growing.

Desperation rears its ugly head as do sharp claws. Singh bares her nails and scores the back of Lenore’s thighs in an effort to escape. Lemarchand grins and bears the stinging indignity with a fierce growl, but another rake loosens both Lenore’s concentration and legs enough Singh is able to ‘birth’ her way from between the lower limbs.

On all fours, Amara quickly pushes to her feet to avoid a repeat performance by the Madhouse landlord. Despite Lenore being on her back, the Bollywood Bombshell puts her golden-brown frame in reverse, backing down the steps, perhaps looking for recovery time. The Courtier kicks at her retreating foe as Singh slips down the stairs, the Indian beauty huffing her way down the steps the two had recently risen.

Lenore, after drawing in a few deep breaths of her own, pulls to her feet with the help of the banisters and follows the backpedaling Singh to the first floor, looking much the comfortable host to Amara’s concerned guest.

“I understand,” Lemarchand purrs. “We have plenty of time to make you my upstairs maid.”

Singh snarls at the thought, her back bowing as she reaches the bottom of the stairs. The Bombshell’s noggin swings left and right to gather more data on her environs, the initial time on the lower floor having been engaged in a tussle for early control.

The descending Lenore motions in both directions with a wide wave of each arm.

“I’ve fashioned it all just for you,” she assures. “Either way leads to your eventual grisly end.”

Already floating in that direction, Singh moves to a fancy drawing room to the right of the staircase, the area filled with overstuffed couches and chairs, surrounding a roaring fireplace. Amara chooses it as her battleground, pivoting behind a couch to keep Lemarchand from having a direct path to her.

“I’ve provided all the creature comforts,” Lenore insists, joining her foe, “and yet you seem ill at ease.”

“I know you won’t face me unless you have some freaky atmosphere to fall back on,” Amara responds. “But if you want a catfight, I canUHHH”

Singh’s words are cut short as Lenore charges, hopping onto the seat of the couch and leaping over the back in an improvised suicide dive. Lemarchand CRASHES into a startled Singh and drops her to the hardwood floor with a crossbody splash. Both women hustle to vertical, Amara a bit slower and the Raven takes advantage again rushing the visitor to her Madhouse.

The bent Bombshell manages to swivel and swing Lenore past, Lemarchand’s tummy banging against the seatback of the couch. Instantly, Amara presses in from behind, bending the Courtier over the furniture. The Indian sinks her digits into the lower end of Lenore’s togs and WEDGES the material as deep between her foe’s cheeks as she can manage, sending the wincing Raven to tiptoes from the uncomfortable grip.

Lenore tries to straighten but Amara won’t have it, her right arm pushed tight to the back of Lemarchand’s neck to keep her doubled. Giving up her increasingly effective wedgie, Amara fashions her left hand into a paddle and SWAT…SWAT…SWATS Lenore’s hind end with echoing slaps that join the crackle of the fire. The last garners a yelp from the Raven and a crease of satisfaction from Amara’s bee-stung lips.

“I’m starting to understand what you see in the place,” Amara informs as she ends the paddling with a tenth stroke.

Singh shoves Lenore over the top. Making sure the ivory-skinned grappler ends on her back, reclined down the length of the couch. The Indian beauty dives over, landing in a tilted kneeling straddle of her rival. Creating claws from each hand, the Empress SINKS them into the bare bosom of the Courtier and squeezes Lemarchand’s gurls tightly in her clenched palms. Lenore can’t hide the pain in her face, but it’s not nearly enough for Amara.

Sensing the arrogance assumptions of Lemarchand would now lead the Madhouse to become HER possession, Singh thrusts her head forward and down, butting Lenore on the bridge of her beak, adding to the pain and confusion of Singh being in control in HER house.

Looking frazzled, Lemarchand can offer no resistance to a couple follow-up forearm shots to the jaw that send her braincase careening violently in the direction opposite the impact, her face momentarily buried into the soft, velvety cushions only for the noggin to flop back into place, dark eyes a little cloudier after each.

Gaining confidence, Amara dismounts the Raven and pulls Lemarchand off the comfy divan. She dips a shoulder and swings an arm between the still overly exposed stems of the Courtier. The Empress ‘hups’ Lenore across her shoulders in a fireman’s carry and hauls her toward the roaring blaze.

“Let’s see if witches burn,” Singh growls as she approaches the fireplace with her cargo, but an elbow PLANTS into her temple and another and a third and Lenore is able to slip down Singh’s back, landing unsteadily.

Before she can mount offense from the defense, Singh spins and delivers a side kick to Lenore’s chest. The power of the impact sends Lemarchand airborne and flying into an antique Chesterfield where she settles with a moan within the high-backed chair, the furnishing rocking back but seemingly holding until Amara surges forward and delivers a dropkick to the Raven’s bosom, the chair and its occupant spilling over, CRASHING to the floor.

Amara scrambles to her feet and hovers over the splayed Lenore.

“Are you starting to understand I’m an Empress wherever and whenever, including in MY MADHOUSE?” Singh asks. “The queen is dead.”

Amara lifts a boot to stomp the face of the Raven, but Lenore gets her hands up to snatch the Indian beauty around the ankle and keep from having her face flattened. She twists the joint and forces Singh to the ground. Keeping her snake-like arms wrapped, Lenore rises as the Bombshell tries to crawl away and captures Amara in a full-on ankle lock, wrenching violently and drawing a howl of pain from the Subcontinental Warrior.

Amara tries to shake free but is unable.

“There are so many more rooms to visit,” Lenore hisses, “but if you’d like to call our housewarming to an early end.”

The Courtier yanks and screws the captured limb forcefully, drawing another yelp from the Bollywood Bombshell. Amara’s eyes shift wildly and she finds an umbrella stand next to the hearth, the container empty but for one of the rain shields. Grabbing the umbrella-ella-ella-ella, she spins to her back and NAILS Lenore. Lemarchand reacts but only with a look of ‘was that supposed to hurt’. She leans forward with one coppery-skinned stem in her ownership.

“Not everything in here is a weapon,” Lemarchand informs. “Sometimes I just like to stay dry. It can be a bit stormy outside my houSAHHH.”

It’s Lenore’s turn to eat her final word when Amara uses the pointy end of the device as a fencing foil ‘stabbing’ her foe in the navel. Though the end isn’t sharp enough for penetration of the skin, Amara’s aim is remarkable enough for the tip to dig into Lenore’s belly button. The Raven’s arms instantly unwrap from around Singh’s lower limb. The Courtier pulls the tip of the umbrella out from her navel. She pushes it and Amara off while lurching away, rubbing at her tummy.

Singh clambered to her feet immediately thereafter, the Bombshell wincing when she put her full weight on that wrenched ankle. However a few exploratory steps was enough to convince Amara it’d see her through to the end of this farce and so she stomped after the retreating Rav-- Lemarchand whipped around with a Bytch Slap that would’ve knocked Amara’s face sideways if she hadn’t dipped low and THUMPED a hook into her rival’s belly. Lenore ‘ooofffffhed’ and doubled over, so Singh hooked her fingers into claws and raaaaaaaaaaked the Fair & Radiant Maiden from the small of her back all the way north to her shoulders!

“That’s right peasant, shriek for your Empress!” Singh sneered when Lemarchand straightened up and stumbled away. “But don’t even think about surrendering…” Amara reached out, caught hold of the other brunette’s waistband and reeled her into a brawny Full Nelson, “…until I’ve seen what’s behind those doors.”

Lenore didn’t have a very good view what with her chin wedged in the top of her own décolletage, but she knew every inch of the Madhouse and she muttered, “That? That’s the solarium. Trust me, princess. You don’t want to go in theNNNNNGGGGGHHH!”

Singh plowed forward as hard as she could, all the better to THWHONK Lemarchand’s forehead into the double doors. Smudging her haughty bronze frame all over the wriggling Courtier, she purred, “Who are you to deny me, the Empress of this house? My word is law and I say you’ll OOOOOOWWWW NNNGGGGHHH!”

Amara’s proximity didn’t allow for any of Lemarchand’s usual technical wizardry so Emily’s Lady in Waiting simply stomped on her attacker’s toes and snapped her head backward into Singh’s nose when she loosened her grip on the Full Nelson. Spinning around the instant she was clear of the Indian Stunner’s grasp, Lemarchand hooked an arm over the back of Amara’s noggin, drew her down and THWHAPPED her across the chin with a beautiful European Uppercut! Amara’s knees shimmied without giving way, so Lenore reeled back and CRAAACKED her across the cheek with a Bytch Slap that spun the Empress in a wobbly half circle. Feeling around behind her back, Lenore found the handles and pushed them down, but made no effort to open the way to the solarium. Instead she teased, “I really think we should keep this inside, Empress. I know how you tend to lose your nerve when someone fights you outside your comfort zo--”

Singh shrieked and ran her down, the former Eurasian Champion lowering a shoulder to Spear her tormentor against or possibly even through the double-- Lenore pushed down and swung to one side, leaving the Bollywood Bombshell to rush out into… a heavy rain storm?

Unlikely as it seemed that appeared to be the case, as Amara charged headlong from the near silence of the great hall straight into the jaws of a storm complete with sheets of rain and the occasional flash of blue white lightning. Squeaking to a stop on the damp wood of the solarium floor, Singh raked wt hair out of her eyes to better figure out just where the water was coming “UUUUGGGGHHHH!” An airborne Lenore lashed out with her left leg and THWHACKED Amara between the eyes with a Spinning Heel Kick that finally put the powerful brunette on her back.

SPINNING HEEL KICK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=5Lwd51-X8jA

“Wondering why it’s raining INSIDE the solarium this year?” Lemarchand asked after she’d rolled to one knee. “The answer is simple. I wanted it and the Madhouse obliged. I’ve always enjoyed wrestling in the rain and on the sand and--”

“In the dirt, like the filthy groveling peasant that you OOOOOFFFFFFHH!”

Emily’s Lady in Waiting put a stop to the Empress’s trash talk with a plunging right hand that went deep into Singh’s tummy. “Oh, did you decide to save your breath?” Lenore slid south, grabbed the other brunette’s ankles and got to her feet. “That’s good, you’re gonna need it if you want the ref to hear you tapping out over the thunder!”

With that she rolled Singh onto her stomach, dropped to one knee and deftly wedged the Indian’s left ankle into the pit of her right knee. Pushing Amara’s right leg forward to keep both limbs neutralized, Lemarchand got to her feet, spun around and angled Singh’s right shin behind her own right knee. A troubling position to be certain, yet not particularly painful or distressing, at least not until Lenore reached down, undid the clasp on her opponent’s top and pulled it away with a gaudy flourish. “YOU BRAZEN BYTCH!” Singh roared as she reached for her stolen garment while trying to keep one arm snug against her chest. “YOU’RE GOING TO BEG FOR MY MERHUUUURRRGGGGGHHHH!”

Apparently oblivious to the other brunette’s vitriol, Lenore dropped backward into a high, taut bridge that put incredible pressure on her rival’s legs. The Muta Lock was traditionally completed with a simple Chinlock but All Hallows Evil was a special occasion and so Lemarchand drew the purloined top across Amara’s mouth and pulled it tight like a makeshift bridle!

MUTA LOCK:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=JXrMM7GH2kY

“WHO’S GONNA BEG?” Lenore practically shouted into the squirming Bombshell’s ear. “HUH, EMPRESS? WHO’S GONNA BEG FOR MERCY? SAY IT REAL LOUD, I WANT THEM TO HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR!”

Nick Castle, who’d stayed remarkably dry in this deluge thanks to the umbrella Amara introduced a few minutes prior, hurried over to the action and dropped to one knee. “What do you say, Amara?” he called over the storm. “Do you submit?”

“NNUUUHHH!” Singh gurgled around her traitorous top. “NUUUHH I DOOHHNNTTEERRRRHHH!”

Lenore lowered the bridge for a moment then thrust her hips upward before repeating the process three more times, each in conjunction with a sharp yank on that golden garrote. “Submit!” the Raven demanded. “Submit right now, I don’t want you getting all pruny before I sit on your NGH! NGH! NGH! OOOFFFHH!”

Singh drove an elbow into the side of Lemarchand’s skull and followed it with two more. This put some slack in the bridge but not nearly enough for the Empress to guarantee her freedom, so she hooked that arm (her right) around Lenore’s head and jerked it up just high enough to THWHUNK the back of her head against the rain-soaked wood! The Courtier groaned and abandoned the hold so she could roll away to check on that freshly raised lump. As for Singh, she rolled in the opposite direction, sat up and finally tore that damned bra from her teeth.

“You impudent wretch.” Amara hissed as she and Lemarchand both struggled to verticality. “I’m not going to throw you out the door once this place is mine. I’m going to keep you on as the one and only servant in this disgustNNNNGGGGGHHHH!”

Lenore interrupted with a slap across Amara’s mouth, her hardest one yet. “You’re the only wretch in this house, bytch.” Lemarchand spat at the bobbling Bombshell. “Now bend the knee and pledge fealty to your UUUUUNNNNNNGGGGHHH!”

Amara caught her around the waist with something halfway between a Spear and a plain old Bum’s Rush. Whatever you called it, Singh’s latest salvo took both brunettes out of the solarium and back into the great hall where they prized themselves apart just east of the central staircase. Regarding the hated other with narrowed, furious eyes, the Raven and the Empress wiped hair and rain from their faces before they started to circle once more.

“I should’ve broken you on the beach.” Singh sneered. “I had you mewling and sobbing as only a true peasant can manage. Nevertheless, I look forward to rectifying that error on an even grander stage.”

“You didn’t break me that day because you COULDN’T.” Lenore taunted. “Of course, I’m guilty too. I had you begging into my briefs when we were in Mumbai and somehow it wasn’t enough to expose you as a total fraud.”

Amara actually smiled before she took a step back and stretched her arms wide. “You think me false? Then step forward and prove it, little bird.”

Lenore smoothed her hair down with both hands and flicked some water on the smooth tile floor. “Impressive guess, Amara.” she murmured. “That’s the one request I’m willing to entertain tonight.”

She pounced immediately thereafter and Amara surged to meet her, the pair of rain-soaked brunettes ripping and tearing at her rival’s hair in the midst of a slow, ungainly stomping into the west side of the great hall.

With each woman determined to show herself superior to the other, Lenore and Amara trade verbal jousting for physical. They charge and slam into each other, fingers lacing, bare chests mushrooming. Biceps strain as widened arms tense in an effort to take control and become Mistress of the House.

The duo staggers past the grand staircase, Lemarchand momentarily trying to direct the Bollywood Bombshell up. The effort to steer Singh allows the Indian to grab an advantage, yanking the slightly off balance Raven into a side headlock. Tightly bound around the skull, Lenore tries to push her way free but the copper-skinned arms of the visitor constrict and control.

Amara surges forward, drawing the Lady In Waiting with her. Using the crown of the brunette’s braincase like a battering ram, Singh THUMPS it into the side of a heavy oaken cabinet. The impact sends a varied set of curiosities tumbling from the shelves, included among them a Kylie Sanders cupie doll with the blonde’s head disturbingly turned front to back and a tacky painting of the Upstarts playing poker, much akin to the more famous ‘dogs playing poker’ of some renown.

The collision also sends Lenore into something less than full consciousness while still in Singh’s possession. Amara maintains the headlock, but more to keep the rubber-legged owner of the Madhouse on her feet.

With her left arm occupied, crooked around the Raven’s head, her right arm rises and Singh rakes her ruby-tipped nails across the bared alabaster bosom of her foe, drawing a squeal of pain then a hiss of fury, Lemarchand brought back to further awareness from the stinging swipe.

Lenore’s arms swaddle around the Indian’s hips and the Raven shoves with her remaining might, popping her head free in the process and sending Singh stumbling toward a door crooked open. Amara gets her hands up in time to take the brunt of the connection and she bursts through the entryway and into a side room, a loud clatter emerging bringing a slight grin to the Courtier’s features.

“I wouldn’t have suspected you much for intellectual enlightenment,” Lemarchand half-pants, half-chuckles as she moves to the opening to join her prey. She gets barely a step through when Amara’s right leg pistons forward, sending the door swinging. It never closes as Lenore’s face and chest are NAILED before it can. The heavy wood THUNKS into the Raven’s mug and bounces back toward Amara who might have repeated the effort if Lemarchand’s dark eyes hadn’t crossed before her lithe, wiry frame collapses to the hardwood floor of the Madhouse library.

Amara rises and finds the room a relatively confined space with floor to ceiling bookshelves, many a leather bound tome stacked within, several laid out on a central table not more than a few feet from where a dazed Raven manages to sit up and try to blink her peepers clear.

Less interested in reading a story than writing her name in the AHE record books as a victor, Amara sinks her fingers into Lenore’s dark brown mop and pulls Lemarchand to her feet. Singh releases her grip and, as Lenore wobbles in front of her in a haze, Amara snatches ‘War And Peace’ off the table.

Spinning on a dime and leaving nine cents change, the Empress curtly THWUMPS the hefty volume between the eyes of the Madhouse landlord, Lenore sent twirling through a less than precise pirouette. Before the Courtier can melt to the pine, Singh leads the tottering brunette in front of the table and DRIVES a ring-worthy toe kick into the gulping alabaster tummy of the Raven, doubling her over with a gasp.

Amara looks down at the voluminous digest in her hands then at Lenore.

“Emily, maybe. You?”

Singh swings the book with both hands as if wielding a cricket bat in an uppercut. Tolstoy connects in impactful fashion under Lenore’s chin, lifting her feet off the library floor and depositing her in a wide spreadeagle atop the low-rise coffee table, sending the books that remained on the furniture spilling to the floor, Lenore’s carcass taking up most of the surface.

Not hesitating for a moment, Singh pops to the brown leather of a nearby loveseat and measures the splayed Lemarchand. Tensing, the nearly naked and nubile Bollywood Bombshell leaps like a flying squirrel, SPLASHING atop Lenore, flattening the ivory-skinned Courtier beneath, the table’s legs creaking under the strain.

In a full body pin of her foe, Amara reflexively grapevines her coppery stems around the legs of the Raven, pressing down Lenore’s shoulders while pinning Lemarchand’s arms above her head at the wrists.

Realizing she’ll have to do her own counting to make her point, Singh loudly shouts out…

“ONE…
TWO…
THR…”

Before she can finish claiming the unofficial pin, Lemarchand stubbornly refuses to give her foe the satisfaction, rolling a shoulder up.

“Even when you’re the ref,” Lenore groans breathlessly, “you can’t beat me.”

Furious, Amara snatches the Raven’s head by either ear, lifts her foe’s noggin and SLAMS the back of Lenore’s braincase into the sturdy surface. The Courtier’s dark eyes go glassy.

Amara climbs off her rival and glances around the dimly lit room. Finding a long wooden rod of a tool used to grasp a book from the uppermost shelves, Singh removes the vice-like feature at the end and turns the utensil into a weapon, wielding it as if a rod she was not about to spare with her cantankerous ‘child’.

Singh whips the open midriff of Lemarchand, Lenore yelping in pain. Another buggywhip follows. And another. The Empress thrashes her peasant until Lenore is glad to offer her back to the Bombshell if only to stop the abuse to her reddened belly.

A snarling Singh tosses the makeshift weapon aside and climbs atop the table and Lenore, maneuvering to a crouching, forward-facing straddle of the chest-down Raven. One by one, Amara collects and posts the Courtier’s arms over bended knee then laces her hands together, cupping them under Lenore’s chin. The Empress pulls back, securing her infamous Camel Clutch atop the library’s center table, a perfect platform for her victory.

Singh demands Lenore surrender, not bothering to request Castle make the offer.

“I’ll break your damn back,” Amara assures atop a moaning Raven, her jaw wired shut by the Bombshell’s grasp. “You’ll leave my Madhouse in a wheelchair and West will find someone to take your place inside a day.”

The Empress increases the pressure, bridging, forcing Lenore’s spine into such a contortion she’s required to cast her watery gaze to the ceiling.

“I SAID QUIT!” the Indian beauty demands.

Nick waves through a ‘safe’ sign, assuring Lemarchand has not capitulated, yet.

“I’ll not only leave you a cripple, but if this library is truly as torturous as I expect you made it, I’ll read you Shea London’s new autobiography, forward by Sammie Sinclair.”

Castle can’t contain a giggle. The idea doesn’t seem nearly as humorous to the Raven who manages to edge to her right in miniscule moves that finally have her reach the edge of the table. Leaning as best as she’s able, Lenore’s able to send both women tumbling from the surface, crashing to the floor on their sides. The Clutch evaporates, Lenore managing to slither out from under the dazed Singh, Amara’s right temple having connected cleanly with the floorboards.

Her vertebrae sending pulses of pain through her entire frame, Lemarchand crawls away from the recovering Empress rather than confronting. Singh finds a seat against one of the magnificent bookcases and shakes a few cobwebs, watching with growing anger as Lemarchand heads for the exit of the book depository on hands and knees, apparently having had enough of the knowledge Amara was more than willing to continue providing.

“Where ya think you’re going, bytch?” Singh calls out to the fleeing Raven.

Amara pushes to her feet but quickly has to catch herself from falling, allowing the long, lean Courtier to slowly rise and amble into the great entranceway, staggering toward the stairway.

Infuriated by what she considered a brazen show of cowardice, Singh roared, “GET BACK HERE, PEASANT!”

Halfway to the foot of the stairs, Lemarchand didn’t bother with words, she merely looked over her shoulder and kissed the fingertips of her left hand before delivering them smartly to her own backside.

Vowing then and there to visit every possible indignity on her adversary, Amara shrugged off the pounding in her temples and went after Lenore like some masked maniac in the last reel of a slasher flick. Almost to the stairs when Singh started after her, the Raven broke into a shambling run that took her up the steps at two, then three at a time. Even then Singh cut the distance in almost no time, indeed her outstretched fingers curled in Lemarchand’s hair for a savage yank only for the Courtier to answer with a quick backward kick to the shin. Colliding with the wall at the top of the landing with an audibly damp ‘THUMP’, Lenore went right only to scamper back to the left when Singh leapt between her and the potential escape route.

CRAAACK! the Bollywood Bombshell tagged Lemarchand across the cheek with Bytch Slap that sent her careening against a bookshelf just to the left of the central landing. “The classics can’t save you now, peasant.” Amara taunted, the prowling battler clearly savoring Lenore’s desperation as she clawed at the books for balance. “Your only hope of salvation lies in proclaiming my eternal superi--”

Lemarchand rounded on the advancing exotique, her former panic replaced with a smile cold enough to freeze Amara’s demand on her lips. “Gotcha, princess.” Lenore tugged on a lever disguised as a book and the trapdoor opened up beneath Singh’s feet.

Amara didn’t even have time to register her surprise, she simply plummeted out of sight and might’ve been considered lost if not for the echoing THWHUMP of a landing somewhere far below.

“The trigger’s on the bookshelf now?” Castle asked in disbelief. “How come no one told me?”

Lenore, who’d trudged over to the edge of her trap, replied, “Because it’s more fun when your reaction is genuine.” into the hole she added, “Enjoying your new accommodations, Amara?”

“Uuuuuunnnnhhhh…. yuuuuhhh…. you disgusting peasant.” Singh groaned from the gloom. “How dare you subject me to such--”

Lemarchand leapt off the edge, nothing fancy, just a standard issue Diving Splash but it still got a standing O and a ‘HOLY SHYT!’ chant once the replays showed her literally dropping out of the sky to THAWHAP down across the Empress’s defenseless chest!

Bouncing back onto her haunches after impact, Lenore didn’t try for a cover, rather she scooted across the slippery floor of the hidden oil pit to tend to her ribs and neck while Singh turned onto her side and curled into a near fetal ball. Aware that it’d take Castle a bit of time to reach, then descend the service ladder that’d bring him to the lip of the pit, Lenore focused on deep breaths, though she never let her eyes leave the other brunette. “Right back where we started, Amara.” Lemarchand huffed. “Considering that this started when I humiliated you in Mumbai and then again in Orlando it seemed only fitting that I gave you one more chance to prove you’re anything more than helpless in the oil pit.”

Still clutching her midsection after the crushing weight of the Splash, Singh sat up, then twisted onto her knees and straightened up as best she could. “You are mistaken, little girl. This started on a beach, where I exposed you to the world as a groveling pretender. You stole the oil pit from me along the way, but now…” she stretched her arms wide, an impossibly regal gesture in spite of the near dungeon-like quality of Lemarchand’s latest surprise. “…now I take back what is mine. And I’ll do so from atop your humiliated fa--”

Lenore lunged and Amara welcomed her with open claws, the exhausted brunettes meeting with loud ‘SMECK!’ In the mood for nothing but domination and degradation, Amara eschewed anything like technique in favor of a massive hair-pull that stuffed Lenore‘s startled features against the bronzed curves of her cleavage. Just like that she cinched her arms around the back of the Courtier’s skull and, gripping her own elbows for extra leverage, set about jugging Lemarchand into a stupor.

“SCREAM!” Singh demanded as she tried to break the other wrestler’s nose against her sternum. Lenore did groan, quite loudly in fact, alas it fell far short of a scream even if it did feel quite pleasant on the Empress’s décolletage. “I SAID SCREAM, DAMMIT!” Amara twisted hard to one side, trying to spill the Raven to her back, but the other brunette’s widely spaced knees kept her stubbornly upright. Sensing victory only seconds away, the Bombshell squeezed that much harder and grrrrrrround the point of her chin into the top of Lenore’s skull. “Scream for your Empress, little bird.” she whispered. “Scream before I silence you once and for UUUUGGGGGHHHHH!”

Lenore wrapped her arms around the Indian’s midsection, clasped her hands and bore down on a Bear Hug strong enough to make Singh gasp in surprise and pain. The counter squeeze loosened Amara’s grip to the point that Lemarchand twisted her head to the side and stole several ragged breaths. “Muuuuhhhh…. my Madhouse…. my pit… that means you scream for me, princ--”

Amara tried to force her back into the smother, but Lenore twisted with it and ended up looking the other way after only a brief face-on-jugg swipe. Frustrated by Lemarchand’s tenacious denials, Singh twined her fingers in the Raven’s hair and snarled, “The oil is mine, peasant. It NNNNGGGGHHHHH!”

Lenore tummied up on the Bear Hug and flashed a smile when Amara’s hands fell loose and fluttering at her sides. “Wrong again, Amara. The oil belongs to me. As does everyone in EEEERRRRGGHHHHH!”

Amara snatched hold of the Courtier’s briefs and yanked up in wedgie that finally allowed Singh to bull her adversary onto her back! Sidling up into a high Schoolgirl Pin in the span between heartbeats, Amara clamped down on Lemarchand’s wrists and bashed her hands into the slippery floor half a dozen times. “YOU’RE NO MATCH FOR ME!” she roared into Lenore’s flushed face. “ADMIT IT!”

“Make me, you nasty MMMMMPPPPPHHHHH!”

Singh slid forward, forcing the Raven’s mug against her crotch in a snug, oxygen denying Front Face Sit! “Finally!” Amara wiggled her hips from side to side, making sure the flattened fighter got every bit of her domineering backside. “The meddlesome little bird is caged and singing right where she belongWHOOOAAAAAAGGGGGHHHHH!”

Lenore kicked her legs up and ‘smecked’ them around the Empress’s ribs but instead of prizing Singh off she used her grip like a lever to slide out from under her startled opposition. Pushing up on her hands so she could squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze Amara’s tenderized ribs, Lemarchand growled, “Give it up, Amara. Before I cut you in half.”

Simultaneously confused and incensed by her foe’s ability to wriggle free of her clutches, Singh crunched forward over those encroaching stems to grab hold of her Lenore’s ankles. “I’ll never submit to the likes of you.” she hissed. “I’d sooner OOOOOOOOHHHH BYTCH!”

Lenore shifted all her weight to one hand so she could grab Amara’s waistband and for a hateful, sawing wedgie of her own. “Sooner have this tugged over your head than submit?” Lemarchand teased. “Ok, I can make that happen!” Emily’s Lady in Waiting punctuated her promise with a sadistic combination of squeeze n’ yank that had Singh doubled over in gut-shot anguish.

Somewhere several feet above, Nick Castle finally reached the edge of the literal ‘Oil Pit’ Lenore had placed beneath the trapdoor. Not about to tempt that near forty-five degree incline in his sensible officiating footwear, the official called out, “How you doing, Amara? Do you need me to call it?”

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” the beleaguered Bombshell answered with a weary bellow. “I am the Empress of all I surveyYYEEEERRRRGGGGHHH!”

Lenore ended the wedgie to double down on the rib-crushing Scissors. “Then turn around and survey my ass, honey. Because it’s about to rule all over your AAARRRRHHHH!”

Amara finally got hold of the Courtier’s ankles and promptly gouged her thumbs into the soles of Lemarchand’s feet! The vise around her midsection fell away at once and though Singh wanted nothing more than to climb her way out of that slippery hell she swallowed her anguish and spun around to take a heavy mount on the small of her nemesis’s back. “Now, little bird,” Amara planted her feet, snagged hold of Lenore’s biceps and yanked her arms up n’ back to drape them over the planks of her thighs. “Now I break you once and for all!” She cupped her hands beneath the Raven’s chin and CRAAAAAAANKED back on the Camel Clutch with everything she had left.

“AAAAAAAAAWWWWW FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHK!” Lenore wailed long and loud as Singh renewed her assault on the brunette’s already strained vertebrae.

“What do you say, Lenore? Tell me something girl!” Castle called from what seemed like a mile away.

Lips curled in a wicked smile, Amara slid both index fingers into Lemarchand’s mouth and pulled even harder. “She’s telling you all you need to know, fool!” Singh exclaimed. “Every whimper, sob and sigh is proof positive that this ‘Madhouse Queen’ is no match for the glory of the Golden EmpOOOOOOOOOWWWWW EVIL BYTCH!”

Too busy chewing on Amara’s fingers to bother with a reply, Lemarchand kept at it until the Indian stunner yanked her masticated digits free of the toothy trap. In the next instant she slid her arms off Singh’s thighs, planted her forearms against the floor of the pit and pushed backward as quick as she could .This earned a loud groan as well as some unpleasant scuffing to her face, chest and belly, yet Lenore deemed it a small price to pay to emerge on her foe’s six. Throwing herself at the Empress without even thinking, Lenore plowed her flat with an ugly tackle that gave way to several hard seconds of furious squirming as each brunette sought to “UUUUNNNNGGGHHH!”

The Fair & Radiant Maiden pinned Amara with a sort of facedown twist on the Double Leg Grapevine, the raised her hips and THUMPED them down on the haughty shelf of Singh’s glutes. Singh groaned, tried to free her wrists from Lemarchand’s grip and got another pair of Hip Checks for her troubles. “You’re finished, princess.” Lenore huffed. “Admit it while you still can.”

Amara snarled, tried to wriggle from the other woman’s clutches but Lenore’s smothering weight kept her pinned like a bug on a card. “I… will never be finished… humbling you. You are nothing more than a skinny little peasant playing an Empress’s NGH! NGH! NGH! NGH! STAAAAHP!”

Lenore started in with another round of those glute-pounding Hip Checks, then forced the Empress’s wrists together so she could control them with one hand. Her other hand found Amara’s hair, collected it in a clumpy ponytail and yanked hard enough to peel her face off the floor. “You WERE an Empress, Amara.” Lenore murmured. “Now you’re just another prisoner screaming in my dungeon. So why don’t you go ahead and beg for merAAAAAHHH SHYT!”

Amara twisted her head to one side and chomped down on Lemarchand’s forearm! The surprise jolt broke her free of the Grapevine, allowing the Bombshell to slide out, scramble to all fours and THUMP a desperation Mule Kick into her tormentor’s chest.

Lenore ‘ooofffhed’ and dropped onto her butt. It seemed the perfect opportunity for Singh to turn the tide but instead of storming into the breach she got to her feet and made her way toward Nick Castle. Only vaguely aware of the sloped sides, Amara made it about two steps up before she lost her balance and slid back to the bottom. Offering up something quite unprintable in response, she tried again and made it a little higher before the oil conspired to end her quest. Her third effort began with a short running start, alas it proved less successful that either previous attempt as she went down after only a step up the slope, Amara grunting in breathless frustration when her chin collided with the oil-slicked slope.

She’d just made it to all fours when Lenore called, “Where do you think you’re going princess?”

Amara stood, smoothed back her hair and made an adjustment to her distended briefs before rounding on the Courtier. “Out of this nasty little pit you’ve constructed. I am an Empress and I won’t debase myself by fighting like a rat in a trap.”

Lenore put her hands on her hips and nodded in understanding. “I see. But you’ll debase yourself by running from a fight with a woman you claim is little better than the dirt beneath your feet? How regal of you.”

Amara took a threatening step forward. “Don’t you dare presume to speak to me in such--”

“I’ll speak to you however I f*cking well please.” Lenore snapped. “I’m the Queen of the Madhouse and if you ever turn your back on me again I promise you’ll EAT those tacky panties right after I’ve--”

Singh hurled herself at the Raven and actually got fingers into her hair before Lemarchand twisted to the side and sent her sprawling to the floor with simple heel trip. Dropping to her knees even as the air ‘uuuuggggghed’ out of Amara’s lungs, Lenore caught Singh’s left calf in the vise created by the back of her right thigh and calf. From there she reached out with her left hand, grabbed Amara’s chin and raised it enough to thread her left leg into place beneath the exotique’s jaw. The disembodied audience watching from the Madhouse basement buzzed in anticipation when Lemarchand stretched out over Amara’s body and planted on both hands. Doing so rolled Singh onto her back a heartbeat before the brunette her ankles to effectively trap her opponent’s head, left arm and left leg in the same Cradle of Amontillado that’d doomed Harriet Larkin at Mania.

CRADLE OF AMONTILLADO:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yo0-hWiGZo

“Welcome to my dungeon, sweetie! I hope you enjoy your stay!” Lenore taunted as she powered through a set of intense push-ups that only increased the strain on Singh’s captured limbs.

Legs wriggling and writhing in the uncaring oil, Amara reached for non-existent ropes, then crooked her right hand into a desperation claw and yanked on Lemarchand’s waistband like it was a lifeline. “LET ME GO, PEASANT!” the Bombshell roared amidst trying to split Lenore in half. “YOUR EMPRESS COMMANDS MMMMMGGGGGHHHHHH!”

Emily’s Lady in Waiting dropped to her belly so she could reach back with one hand, grab Amara’s hair and stuff her startled mug against those bunched buttocks. “Command this, bytch.” Lenore chided the thrashing battler.

Trapped, blinded and suffocating, Singh kicked her free leg harder than ever and continued to pull on the Courtier’s briefs, but her efforts were rapidly losing strength and it wasn’t long before she’d abandoned the wedgie for occasional fitful thrashing.

Not about to ease off even at this late stage, Lenore forced Amara’s features against her glutes for another fifteen seconds before she pulled her away and asked, “You give, Empress?”

Singh pushed at the Raven’s hip for a moment, then flattened her hand into a paddle and tapped it once, twice, three times. “Submit… I submit.”

Lemarchand looked up at Castle. “You get that?”

Nick didn’t answer but the Madhouse did, that frenzied shriek ripping from hidden speakers to signal the end of another brutal contest. A moment later the Announcer came through those same speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner via submission and STILL the Queen of the Madhouse… LENORE LEMARCHAND!”

“Hey, Lenore?” Castle called down to the victorious queen. “How do you get out of there? I’d come down to help, but I feel like I’ll get stuck too.”

Still holding Amara in the Cradle, Lenore flipped hair off her face before she pointed to something to Nick’s left. “See that sconce? Pull down on it.”

Nick did as bade, then took a surprised step back when a low mechanical rumble started beneath his feet. Glancing around for this latest bit of Madhouse craziness, the senior official was both surprised and relieved to see the bottom of the Oil Pit telescoping upward until it stopped a mere eighteen inches lower than the rest of the floor. As for his charges, neither had paid their ascent the tiniest bit of attention because they only had eyes for one another. Or rather, Lenore had commandeered Amara’s attention after she’d transitioned from the Cradle to a extremely high-seated Schoolgirl Pin. With Singh’s chin snugged against her briefs, the Courtier brushed a bit of hair off Amara’s forehead and tensed her thighs to make sure the vulnerable Bombshell understood the extent of her predicament.

Hands on her hips, Lemarchand said, “Now that the question of ownership has been settled for another year I believe it’s only proper to discuss the terms of your surrender.”

Singh planted her feet, cupped her palms over the other brunette’s knees and bridged as best she could. A valiant effort, but it did nothing to upend Lenore’s perch and the Queen of the Madhouse put an end to it with a single meaty SLAP to Amara’s belly. “Guuuuhhhh… get on with it.” the brunette groaned. “Take your disgusting tribute and let me--”

Lenore cut her off with a single teasing tap on the end of the nose. “Sorry, sweetie. You lost, that means you don’t negotiate terms, you just accept them. Understand?” Singh bared her teeth, said nothing. Lemarchand took the silence as a sign to proceed and did so. “A tyrant takes tribute from their subjects, but a queen ACCEPTS tribute because she has earned the respect and adoration of those she--”

“I will NEVER respect you!” Amara snarled. “You are nothing but eeerrrrrrggggghhhhhh BYTCH!”

The Fair & Radiant Maiden ‘smecked’ a hand down on the center of Singh’s golden bottoms and squeezed until Singh’s feet beat wildly against the pit. “And yet you WILL have this, what did you call it earlier? Trumpery armor? Yes, this trumpery armor of yours will take a place of honor on the mantle alongside the other failed usurpers by no later than sunrise.” Lenore bore down on the Claw to remind Amara there was no room for dissent.

“Fine. FINE!” Amara wailed. “THEY’RE YOURS, JUST LET GO!”

Lenore did, though she added on a few condescending pats. “The Madhouse is mine. Your bottoms are mine. Any questions?”

“Juuuhhh… just get off me.” the defused Bombshell whispered.

Lemarchand looked at Nick. “Is Amara’s ride here?”

Confused, Nick looked around, then glanced over one shoulder and started. “Holy shyt, you could at least warn a guy!”

“Let ‘em through, Nick.”

Castle stepped aside as the quartet of silent men strode by with Amara’s palanquin carried between them. “You really should learn to treat your subjects with more respect, Empress.” Lenore teased as they stepped carefully into the pit. “These four were only too happy to offer their allegiance, if only for a night.”

Enraged by this disloyalty, Amara strained her head backward to growl, “You miserable peasants are going to--”

Surprise took over when she noted their changed appearance. For instead of the usual sandals and loin clothes, the bearers were clad in somber black suits as well as gleaming, long-beaked plague doctor masks that completely obscured their faces. Eyes going wide as they lowered the palanquin beside her, Amara huffed, “You wouldn’t darOOOOFFFHHH NNNGGGHHH NOOOOOOO MMMMMMMMPPPPPPHHHHH!”

Lenore shifted just enough to roll Amara onto the ornate platform, then spun around in a half circle and swung a leg over Sigh’s head to settle down on her nose in a Reverse Face Sit. “Ohhhh, that feels nice.” whether Lenore spoke of the palanquin or the feel of Amara’s protests on her glutes, no one knew. “Now lets see, how do I control this thing?” The Raven took Amara’s nubs between thumb and forefinger and puuuuullled. Amara wailed and the bearers stood up without missing a beat. “I can see why you like this.” Lenore twisted the Empress’s nipples and was delighted to feel the palanquin turn toward the shadowed entryway.

Beneath her, Amara swatted at the brunette’s buttocks over and over again, the usually haughty battler driven beyond pride in her desire to exit the Madhouse. Relinquishing her pincer to claim Singh’s wrists, Lenore slid backward just enough to uncover her nemesis’s mouth. “Ready to leave, Amara?” Lemarchand sighed.

“Yes.” the Bombshell moaned. “Yes, just let me goMMMMPPPPPPHHHH!”

Lenore settled down again and began sweeping her undercarriage across Amara’s face in a series of slow, sleepy figure eights. Hands planted on that fluttering belly, the Queen of the Madhouse sighed, “You heard the Empress, show her the way out. Oh… but take the scenic route, I want to savor this.”

Those raven-headed bearers did just that, slowly trooping out of the pit to head back the way they’d came while Lenore got used to the cushion on her new ride. The camera followed after them briefly, but stopped at the mouth of the tunnel and simply watched as the odd procession faded into the gloom with only the sounds of their footsteps and Amara’s increasingly faint moans to mark their passage through the Queen’s Chambers.