Celebrity Catfight: Victoria Beckham Vs Sophie Ellis-Baxtor

CELEBRITY CATFIGHT: VICTORIA BECKHAM vs SOPHIE ELLIS-BEXTOR

By Prophet007

Victoria Beckham was seething. In fact, she was absolutely bloody livid.
Competition was something she didn’t take well, and the fact was that she was
being beaten by that stuck-up bitch Sophie Ellis-Bextor, and she hated it. The
pair of them had first clashed back in 2000 when Ellis-Bextor’s vocals had taken
“Groovejet” to No. 1 ahead of her own “Out of Your Mind”. Victoria couldn’t see
how that could possibly have happened: she’d pulled out all the stops to get
that single to No. 1, toured the country and even dragged her reluctant
husband
to some record singings with her. But still that Bextor Bitch had done it.

Then in 2001 they had both released their solo albums, and somehow Bitch
Bextor’s had beaten hers and been acclaimed as a great piece of pop, while hers
had been derided. How could that have happened? She was Victoria Beckham, Spice
Girl, wife of David Beckham… And who was Sophie Ellis-Bextor? Nothing but a
stuck up bitch daughter of a “Blue Peter” presenter with a funny surname and her
eyes too far apart.

But Victoria also hated Ellis-Bextor because people saw her as actually being
posh, just because she had that girls school upper class accent. Victoria was
supposed to be the posh one, but now the media seemed to be intent on portraying
her as little more than a common slapper, while Ellis-Bextor became the new
fantasy posh girl.

Victoria Beckham was certain of something: as soon as she got that Bextor Bitch
on her own, she was going to give her slightly more than a piece of her mind…

The irony of the whole thing was that Ellis-Bextor held no grudges against
Victoria Beckham. In fact, she got on well with most people and knew that the
whole ‘fued’ between herself and Victoria was merely something that the media
had whipped up. She was sure that is they had time to chat privately,
woman-to-woman, they would be able to put the whole thing behind them and maybe
even be friends.

She saw the perfect opportunity when she noticed that she and Victoria were both
due to perform on the same bill at a Charity concert in aid of the National
Society For the Prevention of Cruelty to Children at the Albert Hall in London.
She would be able to seek Victoria out and see if they could sort everything.

Little did she know as she walked into the Albert Hall that night in a stunning
low-cut black dress similar to the one she wore in the “Murder on the
Dancefloor” video that Beckham had only planned her appearance so that she would
be able to corner Ellis-Bextor privately and teach her a lesson.

Beckham opened the show by miming to a couple of songs from her solo album,
wearing a tiny white skirt and matching crop-top and domineering high-heeled
black boots similar to Sophie’s black ones. The crowd gave her only a polite,
lukewarm reception, much in contrast to the standing ovation they gave to Sophie
as she closed the show by performing “Take Me Home” and “Murder on the
Dancefloor” singing live.

As Sophie, smiling from knowing that she had given a good performance and at the
reception of the crowd, made her way backstage after coming off, she was
pleasantly surprised to find Victoria Beckham waiting in the wings to greet her.
The two women smiled at each other.

“Sophie, hi!” Victoria said, all smiles and warmth. “I thought that was a really
great show you gave out there, well done!”

Sophie was pleasantly surprised that a reconciliation with Victoria looked like
it was going to happen without any unpleasantness. “Aw, thank you Victoria! You
were great too!” She didn’t mean it of course – she had little respect for those
who mimed – but she wanted to be nice.

Lying bitch, thought Victoria, but kept up her façade of pleasantness. “Thanks
Sophie… Listen, I think there are a couple of things you and I need to talk
about.”

“That’s true,” Sophie agreed, “I’ve been meaning to have a word with you for
quite a while. This whole rivalry thing is stupid, it’s just the papers messing
around with us. I think you and I could be friends if we let that whole thing be
just water under the bridge. What do you say?”

I say you’re a fucking stuck up bitch and no friend of mine, thought Victoria.
“I’ve been thinking something similar actually,” she actually said. “How about
you come to my dressing room and maybe we can have a chat?”

“That’s be great!” Sophie replied enthusiastically. She hated being in conflict
with people, and was pleased that it seemed as if the whole nasty situation was
at last going to be sorted out.

Once the two women had made their way back to Victoria’s dressing room, Victoria
opened the door and gestured for Sophie to enter, turning around to tell her two
hunky bodyguards not to try and enter for any reason and to keep everyone else
away. Then she closed the door and locked it.

“What did you lock it for?” Sophie asked, a little puzzled.

“Oh, I wanted this to be in private,” Victoria replied, a new, harder edge to
her voice. Sophie didn’t like the tone.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

The speed of Victoria’s attack took her completely by surprise. Before Sophie
even had time to realise what was happening, Victoria had flown across the room
and knocked her rival to the ground with a vicious punch to the stomach. As
Sophie lay, hurt, confused and amazed, Victoria stood tall above the other woman
with one heel of her domineering white boots at her throat.

“Now let’s get this straight Bextor,” she said in a pure London slapper snarl.
“I am the posh woman of pop. You may have the lah-de-dah accent and the manners,
but I am Posh Spice, and that means something, so don’t you do thinking you can
humiliate me, you slut!”

“What!!??” Sophie had no idea what was going on. One minute things had been
doing so well, the next this… Victoria pressed her heel harder into Sophie’s
throat, half-choking her. Sophie’s vision was filled with the imposing figure of
Victoria, and she could see all the way up her long, smooth leg, up her skirt to
her tiny white g-string.

“You’re nothing but a dirty slut!” Victoria continued. “Say it!!! Say, ‘I am a
dirty slut Victoria!’.”

Sophie, half-choked and in pain, had little choice but to comply. “I am a dirty
slut,” she spluttered reluctantly.

“Again!” Victoria screamed.

“I am a dirty slut…. But you’re a complete slapper!” Sophie’s retaliation caught
Victoria off-guard. She grabbed her rival’s leg and hauled it up with her as she
stood, sending Victoria slamming to the ground on her back, wincing in pain.
Sophie seized the moment to dive forward and straddle Victoria in a sort of
wrestling parody of the missionary position, their breasts pressing tightly
against each other, each feeling the pound of the other’s heartbeat.

“I don’t doubt a slapper like you got into your fair share of teenage
catfights,” Sophie said, an air of icy menace in her own voice now as she sought
vengeance against this unprovoked attack. “And I don’t like to fight people, I
really don’t, but the truth is I’m more capable of handling yourself than you
thought.”

“Bitch!” Victoria said. Suddenly, to distract her rival and attempt to free
herself, she leaned up and captured Sophie in a French kiss. For a second their
two sets of lips locked and their tongues even began massaging each other: they
lost themselves in the kiss their eyes closed, melting into each other as deeper
hidden passions began to take over and a horrible realisation began to dawn on
the both of them. Sophie even went so far as to release one of Victoria’s hands
and tenderly run her fingers through her hair. It was the chink in the armour
the Spice Girl had been waiting for, as she suddenly broke the lesbian clinch
and pushed Sophie off of her, grabbing the front oh her black dress and tearing
the whole thing away in the process. As the flimsy black material fell to the
floor, it revealed that Sophie had not been wearing any underwear and was now
naked save for her black boots.

“Slut!” Sophie screamed in embarrassment.

“So now we know the truth,” Victoria smirked. “Not only are you a dyke who wants
my pussy, but you’re a right whore. Only whores don’t wear knickers…” Sophie
leapt forward to attack Victoria again, but a simple sidestep followed by a trip
that sent Sophie slamming to the ground had her helpless with Victoria sitting
atop of her in a second.

“So this is what you want then eh?” Victoria asked, putting a hand down to
slowly finger Sophie’s exposed pussy, which was slick with arousal. “This is
what you’ve wanted all this time… You want me to beat you, you want me to take
you…” Sophie could do nothing but arch her back in pleasure and give a low moan
in reply. It was acknowledgement enough for Victoria.

“Sophie the dyke wants a piece of me….” She slid two fingers into Sophie’s wet
sex and began to frig her expertly to a high pitch of arousal. Victoria didn’t
even count herself as bisexual, but the truth was that she had frigged a few
pussies in her time, not least on the Spice Girls tour bus during those long
lonely trips around Europe and America.

But Sophie was not finished yet. The truth was, she was pulling Victoria’s trick
of lulling her rival into a false sense of security, and suddenly she pounced,
sliding a hand up Victoria’s skirt and pulling her g-string tightly so it bit
painfully into her pussy.

“Arggggh!!!” Victoria screeched in agony as Sophie shoved her bodily off of her
and slammed her against a wall, kissing her passionately as she carried on
torturing her pussy.

“And you’re trying to tell me you’ve never had pussy after that display?” she
mocked, pulling the g-string even tighter. She slid a singer around Victoria’s
pussy, and found it was soaking. “Well, well, well, what a surprise….” Victoria
tried to shove back, but Sophie was expecting the move, sending the Spice Girl
to the floor on her stomach. While one hand carried on the torture of Victoria’s
pussy, the other expertly removed Posh’s crop top and used it to tie the woman’s
wrists behind her back. Sophie had learned her lesson, and was going to make
sure Victoria did too.

Taking off Posh’s belt, she then removed her skirt and boots to leave her lying
naked. All the time she bucked and struggled and cursed, but Sophie was too
strong. She used the belt to tie Victoria’s ankles to her bound wrists, leaving
her naked, exposed and unable to move.

“What are you going to do to me you bitch?” Victoria asked, half with anger and
half with anticipation. The struggle was over, Victoria was beaten, but the
whole dynamic of the fight had changed from the confrontational to the overtly
sexual.

“I’m going to make you suffer… Beautifully,” was Ellis-Bextor’s delicate reply
as she began to gently finger Victoria’s pussy from behind.

Sophie Ellis-Bextor had fingered enough pussies in her time to know all of the
right buttons to press, and she made Victoria wait for twenty whole minutes of
pleasureable pain before finally allowing her release. As Victoria came, Sophie
took as much of her pussy juices as she could on her fingers and moved around to
Victoria’s mouth, placing the fingers at her lips.

“Eat it you slut,” Sophie said commandingly. “Taste your juices.” Victoria had
stopped cursing some time ago and had been passive for the last ten minutes,
accepting and even enjoying her fate, her capitulation, humiliation and sexual
domination at the hands of the woman she hated most in all the world. She had
never been so turned on in her life, and she licked her own slightly salty
juices tenderly, almost lovingly from Sophie’s fingers, the look in her eye one
of pure ecstasy.

“Of course, you’re going to have some explaining to do if they find you like
this…” Sophie said in a friendly manner. Then the sinister Sophie returned. “But
them, what do I care?” Before Victoria could protest, Sophie picked up her
abandoned g-string and shoved it into her mouth, gagging her. Then, as Victoria
bucked and struggled and groaned helplessly for fear of being caught, she spent
a few minutes calmly dressing as best she could in her town dress and adjusting
her make-up in Victoria’s mirror, before with one final loving/mocking ruffle of
Posh Spice’s hair, she unlocked the door and was gone, leaving her rival bound,
gagged and naked on the floor. She had just been through the most erotic
experience of her life, but was helpless and exposed and if the wrong person
found her, her humiliation could be public and her career over.

As a final coup de grace to the evening, Victoria Beckham, supposed, ‘Posh
Spice’, quite literally pissed herself with fear at the thought, right there on
the carpet.

One thought was paramount in her mind then. Sophie Ellis-Bextor was going to
pay…

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