Hopefully these are a little more easily chewed.

LIFE & DEATH IN THE D-RING
An Exploration of Human Blood-Lust

by Regis


Part 1

Hallie found the four pages that totally changed her life lying on her desk that fateful morning, and she was both shocked and embarrassed by the content. It was an ad and application form to participate in the infamous and seedy no-holds-barred, no rules extreme female fights that, if the stories were true, were flourishing around the world. Clearly somebody thought it was funny to bait her, and either wanted to make her angry or test her sense of humor.

She wasn’t sure what she had in front of her was authentic; the pages were not printed but appeared to be off a laser printer, and could easily have been created by someone in the office with a sick sense of humor. Then she thought, as she crumpled them and threw them into the trash basket under her desk, that maybe she had an enemy who wanted her to fight; maybe this ad was real, and she was being challenged.

Was her name the one that would go in as the nominated opponent? Was someone warning her? She couldn’t think of anyone she knew who would do that. Whatever the purpose, she found it disturbing, and it stayed in her mind as she went about her busy morning researching and writing obituaries for her employer, the Chicago Tribune.

What she wanted from life was to be a reporter, but did not have enough money saved to go to college, which her husband was going to pay for when he finished his education, but something intervened. More accurately, someone intervened. One day he came home and told her he was leaving for good, and he moved in with that 1st year blonde bitch he met at the Demolition Derby.

‘Vivian Bitch,' as she had thought of that slut ever since Brad had left and divorced her, cutting her loose in favor of that younger 1st year wench who already was getting her college paid by scholarship, so he wouldn't have to pay for it. Now, instead of going to college to get a proper education, Hallie was doing it the hard way, working her way very slowly up the slippery ladder under a boss who couldn't care less for how well she did.

At lunch she dug the crumpled ball of weird papers out of the trash, tucked them in her purse, and took them with her down to the cafeteria. Before she pulled them out she glanced around, and saw that nobody was paying any particular attention to her. She unfolded the crumpled sheets and rubbed them flat against the table top.

Everyone knew about D-Ring Entertainments Inc., or D-Ring, as people called it, and although for the past sixty years it's events had been more and more open to the public, only hardened gamblers went to its casinos, and as far as she knew most people still disapproved of the company's most notorious events that gave it the famous name.

No matter what they called it, everyone expected that the D stood for death, because it was rumored that the female fights they staged sometimes ended with one of the combatants, who according to the stories usually fought nude, being killed. That seemed to Hallie to be an outrageous claim, which was never proven, and because fights for gambling wasn’t legally a sport, the sports reporters didn’t cover it. All most people ever heard was rumors, but they were quite nasty, if true. The old cage sport of extreme fighting was always very seedy, and Hallie was certain nothing had improved.

Those who defended the concept of fights to the death claimed a real killing in the fight ring would only happen by accident, because everybody knew that extreme fighting always stopped with a knockout. A knockout was required before the fight was over, so if an opponent was down but still conscious, the other fighter had to put out her lights, but that would be it, a simple concussion. That was the single firm rule of extreme fighting.

And of course no biting or gouging. Everyone understood that in the heat of the moment an overzealous competitor might get carried away and go too far. Defenders of the sport compared it to the construction industry, where for every so many millions spent, there was an expected death rate. This argument was pretty flimsy, but actually became part of the official corporate rationale to justify the excessive violence of their events whenever an ocurance came to light because they were challenged and had to go to court.

Only women were permitted to fight in their rings in casinos around the world, which proved D-Ring Inc. was sexist, and although most fights really were extreme, word by gossips around the water cooler or at coffee had it that the final battle of any of their special spectaculars was always a fight to the death, and wasn't considered over until one of the fighters was killed. That seemed pretty outlandish to Hallie, but in a world where tits and ass were valued over brains and character in females, and where graphic blood and gore were justified on TV in everybody’s livingroom by making the program about solving crime, anything was possible.

Hallie didn't follow that kind of wanton immorality, but apparently the women who made it big in the business became quite famous, and willingly exposed themselves to such risk and depravity for really big money. Maybe intended killing was part of it, but that was probably just dreaming by people who wanted to dream about it. Some people Hallie knew thought it might be true, but the people at D-Ring Inc. played their cards close to the vest, and what people didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

The fight sport had evolved for women in the way that Demolition Derbies with old cars had evolved for men. Hallie's husband Brad, before he dumped her for an even younger model, had taken her to watch the car crash sport because he was an old muscle car fan, as he explained it. He said he liked the carnage these aging machines could do when properly restored and operated. She knew his attraction was mostly the hot chicks that were working the concessions, in the stands, around the pits and even in the cars. Deep inside her she realized witnessing the far too common severe injuries and even fatalities in the extreme risk sport turned on the prick.

She couldn't imagine what moved people to take part in a so-called sport in which someone could possibly die each weekend. In fact with six competitions in an afternoon, with eight cars in each and two in each car, there were on average four fatalities each weekend. That was what kept the stands packed. Those who took part were very well paid, and pointed out in interviews there was a 96% chance they wouldn't be killed. To Hallie that was the rationale of a warped mind. It had to be something else driving these daredevils.

The Demolition Derbies were all about risk, and now they were more dangerous than ever. Over the years all forms of safety were gradually abandoned in the interests of greater fan excitement, and at the same time risk factors were gradually increased by the organizers.

They were notorious for cutting most of the way through in several places on the car frame, particularly those protecting the driver; of souping up the engines; of putting in scantily-clad female passengers they called navigators, who wore only spike heels and micro bikinis; removing seat belts and doors to decrease protection and optimize the view for spectators; and sometimes welding in extra gas tanks in vulnerable locations.

Some more outrageous promoters even placed small explosive charges in critical parts of the cars beside those gas tanks, so that when a gas tank blew it would create more than fire, creating also a spectacular explosion. People loved fireworks. They claimed there was nothing more spectacular than a driver and near-naked woman covered with fuel being thrown from the car and sometimes burning to death. That's what they called Show Business.

An innovation that made it more likely deaths would occur started a decade earlier when one competitor welded half a dozen four foot spikes onto the front and back of his car to increase the damage and risk to occupants of cars that he struck. The next weekend every car at that arena was armed with variations of the same thing.

One driver mounted a ten foot lance onto his car, but it reduced his ability to maneuver, and the other drivers took the lesson to heart when he and his buxom blonde passenger were killed because their ability to get out of the way of charging cars was greatly reduced. That first guy got it right; four feet proved to be the optimum length for both front and rear spikes.

Like everyone else who packed the stadium dedicated to this deadly sport, her husband Brad attended regularly so that he would never miss the gruesome fatalities that almost always occurred. Death had become a commodity for sale, and it was regularly delivered for the entertainment of the crowd.

Deaths in this voilent sport were always accidental, of course; they were just a risk of the sport that the participants understood, and they all signed agreements to clearly say so. Hallie’s jaw dropped in disbelief when she found out the female navigators were auditioned by the promotors to ride aboard the rigged cars as nothing more than eye candy, with all the risks associated with the highly dangerous sport.

Hallie hated to see the participants injured or killed, but in all the times she went to the Derbies with Brad she only puked once, when a car backing off from ramming another on the passenger side had the nearly nude female navigator impaled on the spikes, amazingly kicking and screaming, since two of the spikes had driven right through her torso, and a third impaled one of her large breasts.

The screaming bitch was still kicking fifteen minutes later, despite the fact the movement of the car, still actively participating in the violent demolition sport, caused the shafts through her torso to gradually rip her so that she was leaking intestines when the car became total scrap from being rammed so often.

Most startling of all was that after the gruesome color pictures of the nearly nude young woman impaled on the deadly spikes had been printed on the front page of all the Tabloids, the next Monday more than three times as many gorgeous girls showed up in outrageously daring and revealing bikinis and heels to audition to ride in the Demolition Derby as navigators!

The bottoms of their micro-bikinis were usually nothing but slender strips or strings that did nothing to cover their cleanly-shaved vaginas or their rectums when they bent forward to display their friction-enhanced groins. There was no explaining what went on in the heads of girls with great bodies and no brains.

This kind of sport was no better than the killings in the ancient Roman Coliseum. Hallie had read about how the Romans put captive Christian women into the huge arena to fight nude against large carnivorous animals, armed only with wooden swords so that the valuable beasts would not be harmed. She couldn’t understand how ancient Romans could be entertained by women being ripped apart by wild animals, until she remembered they were the ancestors of Italians.

She had no use for Italian men because of a very bad experience with a high school boyfriend who, after losing a bet, held her while his Italian friends raped her, then one of them brought his big Neapolitan Mastiff, one of the biggest dogs in the world, to mount her. It was so disgusting, being force-fucked by a huge dog. These assholes had no respect for a girl!

Instead of fierce animals like the Romans used, the Demolition Derby promoters used dangerous cars in the arena, certain some participants could not survive, and It made her sick. It was also sometimes interesting. When she and Brad picked favorites and villains, she actually enjoyed some of the violence to those really mean drivers who they thought had it coming. She found that when the excessive violence was creative and justified it caught her interest, and although she was ashamed to admit it she had some sense of what Brad and the thousand who attended saw in it.

Of course the D-Ring fights were different, because she believed there was no skill required, like in preparing and driving a great car in the pit. From what she heard, which was not possible to confirm because it was all rumor, in the D-Ring fights it was just two bimbo broads going after each other, probably bare naked. She had seen the amateur nude fight videos on the net, and found them seedy and boring.

The only one that was interesting was one fought in a living room with all the furniture moved aside, where the girls had to force her opponent to pee to win the fight. They were fighting on wall-to-wall beige carpet, getting friction burns on their knees and elbows, and the carpet was urine-stained from several other previous fights. A few darker stains she assumed were blood. Hallie carefully read these papers that had been left for her. She knew what kind of world it had become, and realized this apparent ad might be for real. They had one thing right. Hate was one thing that would get her into the ring. There were more than a few women she would like to be able to really hurt, and doing it to them in a fight ring was a good way to get at them legally, without being arrested for assault.

Hallie didn't know anyone who went to these fights, probably attended by lower class people, and she had never been to them herself, so even with people watching, it would be pretty much private and between her and whoever her opponent might be. As she thought about this she felt a stirring in her loins. It would be really hot to do something so overtly sexual in front of people who drooled over her hot body. Hallie was not vain, and had little to be proud of in her life, but she was aware of the quality of her outstanding physique.