WWE: Bayley and the Crown Princess (Part 1)

The sounds Bayley had just heard were definitely words, and they sounded like English, but they were so far beyond what she’d expected she didn’t comprehend them. She blinked, shaking herself.

“Huh?” she smiled, perplexed.

The young woman poised in the seat across from her looked like she never had to wait on anything in her life. Her hair was such a shining black, her olive complexion so perfectly smooth, it could only have been from daily attention from the most expensive professionals. She was dressed in silk robes that shimmered like the sun off polished gold, sitting in a custom throne that had been carried in by attendants. Attendants that still surrounded her, waiting for her command.

Smiling politely, the princess looked away for a moment, as if considering whether she’d used the correct words, then her eyes returned to Bayley’s.

“I will have a match with you tonight in the stead of your opponent,” she said again with a rolling accent, “It has been arranged with your employer. I will defeat you and after you are beaten, I will purchase you and you will be property of my household.”

Bayley had thought knew what “rich” meant. As champion of the WWE’s women’s division, she’d met movie stars, politicians, even she herself wasn’t too bad off. But this girl was literally royalty, in a country where that still meant absolute power, with so much money behind her she could buy and sell the entire WWE in an afternoon. She had so much money, she thought she could buy anything.

Anything.

The young wrestler blinked again, her mouth hanging open.

Every year, the WWE put on a show in Saudi Arabia called the Crown Jewel. Bayley had wrestled a few matches here and the money was always really good, even if the rules for where she could go and what she could do were highly restrictive. When they’d heard members of the royal family would be in attendance, she and the other wrestlers had been excited at the prospect. The way the Saudi royals threw money around, if they won their matches they could wind up with some very expensive gifts from an admiring prince or princess.

Bayley had been even more excited when she’d been told one of the royal family had wanted to meet her. Dressed for her match in a yellow halter top and wrestling leggings, she’d made her way to the owner’s booth, thinking they’d want to see her as she’d be performing later.

Despite the muscular tone in her shoulders and arms, she was more pear-shaped than hourglass due to the wide flare of her hips. Her features were that of a cheery nerd, cuter and honest more than pretty, but her body was a different type altogether. The yellow halter was bound behind her neck, revealing the taut muscles in her shoulders and back, then cut short to reveal lean, deeply grooved abs. Her leggings rode low on her wide hips, shining over girlish legs that had been swollen with training, her figure having the rare ability to swell at the right places without looking any less streamlined. Grinning earnestly, her big eyes shining and excited, it almost looked like her head belonged on a different body.

Always happy to meet a fan, especially a royal one, she’d knocked on the door and entered when called in, an innocent bounce in her step.

Then she’d stopped, her smile faltering.

Everyone was waiting. The princess was there with her entourage and attendants, as well as Sonya Devile, the manager/owner of the WWE Women’s division, and her entourage of lawyers and business advisors.

Uncomfortable was a polite way to describe how she’d felt. While she came in wearing colorful spandex, covered in glitter with a sideways ponytail on her head, everyone else was in formal wear that probably cost more than Bayley’s first car. They’d all turned to her and smiled in greeting, directed her to a seat across from the princess, in the very center of the assembled high rollers. Ostensibly it was the seat of honor, but by the mysterious way everyone was smiling at her, she felt more like a suckling pig surrounded by wolves.

The princess had clearly been the center of the gathering. She had made some preliminary small talk, introduced herself as Basmah in Salant, asked Bayley some questions. And then, as matter-of-factly as her introduction, she’d explained not only her intentions, but exactly what was going to happen, as if it had already been decided.

Having explained herself clearly twice, not intending to do so for a third, Princess Basmah turned to Bayley’s ruthless boss.

“Wrestling is one of my many passions,” she explained, “The competition, the need to conquer, dominate an opponent, these things are in my blood. It is not only something I practice, I also watch every match in your women’s division.”

Sonya smiled and nodded, “And we are very honored, your highness.”

The princess brushed aside the gratitude with an impatient wave. She wasn’t done talking.

“For my twenty fifth birthday, my father has said he would grant me anything I desire,” Basmah continued, “I have told him I want my favorite American WWE woman’s wrestler. Your Bayley is strong, skilled, pretty, and very full of life, so I have chosen her. I am a very big fan.”

She paused, flicking her gaze to Bayley and back again.

“I am also a very big fan of her pretty backside.” She grinned mischievously.

There was silence for a beat then, realizing the princess had told a joke, her attendants laughed merrily. After another second, Sonya picked up on it and joined in, followed by her people. Soon the whole room was chortling at Basmah’s royal wit.

The whole room except for Bayley, who felt like she had stepped into some parallel dimension. As the well-dressed, wealthy shot-callers around her laughed, her open-mouthed shock screwed up into a scowl of incredulity. Looking from Sonya, to several WWE lawyers, to the princess, she squinted and wrinkled her nose, like she thought they’d all gone insane.

“What?!” a touch of hysteria pulled her voice to a higher pitch, “Are you—BUYING me?!”

The laughter began to die down, gazes turning back to Bayley as she began to protest.

“No one’s buying me!” she snapped at the princess, “I don’t care how much money you have! The WWE doesn’t own me!”

The tone of Bayley’s voice made several of the princess’s attendants stiffen. Their eyes widened, a few of them even gasped.

The princess flushed, her lashes fluttering in surprise. Clearly, she wasn’t used to being talked back to, or even refused. She didn’t know how to react at first, but she wasn’t on her heels for long.

Once the moment of shock faded, her eyes narrowed. She lowered her chin, staring at Bayley with a dark glint in her eye.

“That is exactly what I can do,” the princess said in an ominously soft voice, “I can buy you many times over. I am royalty. I will have what I want.”

She leaned slightly closer.

“At this very moment, I can have you summarily taken by royal decree,” there was a harshness to her tone now, “I can have the American defiance flogged out of you in prison. I can…”

She paused when the man at the right hand of her throne leaned down to whisper into her ear. Middle-aged, with silver in his dark mustache, he hadn’t spoken aloud yet, but what he said made the princess listen.

Bayley was grateful for the reprieve. Her shock and indignation had made her forget where she was, but the princess’s response had been like a slap in the face.

Back home, even the president would be punished for using their authority to take advantage of their citizens. Here, not only were the rulers allowed to use their power for their own petty, personal desires, it was expected; the only limit to their power was anything that would offend another member of the privileged class. If the princess wanted to have her arrested and flogged, Bayley had a chilling suspicion she could do it with a snap of her fingers.

Swallowing, the young wrestler shifted nervously in her seat. She turned to her boss, trying to catch her eye. Though she was constantly at loggerheads with Sonya about the direction of the women’s division, she knew that at least someone from her own company would be on her side in this.

But Sonya didn’t look at her. Her lips were pursed, her hands clasped in her lap, and she was watching the princess, waiting for the powerful woman to make up her mind.

Whatever the man had whispered to her seemed to calm Basmah down. He stood back upright, regarded Bayley coolly, and the princess smiled, once again serene and polite.

“It has been pointed out to me that perhaps you do not understand this transaction,” the princess said, “Is that accurate?”

Bayley hesitated.

“Um… no,” she said, then quickly corrected herself, “I mean, yes, it’s accurate. No, I don’t understand.” She cleared her throat, “Sorry.”

The princess smiled.

“Very well,” she turned to the man who calmed her, “Ahbal?”

Ahbal bowed quickly in reverence to the princess, then began speaking. To Bayley’s surprise, he spoke with a clipped Oxford accent, with barely a hint of the guttural tone of Arabic.

“A deal has already been signed ensuring her highness will face Miss Bayley in the main preliminary match this evening,” he said, “The terms of the match are such that if Miss Bayley is defeated, her employment contract will be bought by the royal family for 175 million dollars. All rights to her likeness, wrestling persona, and the noncompete agreement that keeps Miss Bayley from performing under another franchise, will pass into the princess’s possession.”

Bayley’s eyes widened. That didn’t sound as far fetched as being outright bought like a thoroughbred pony, which made it scarier. If that happened, she wouldn’t be able to wrestle anywhere unless the royal family allowed it.

She looked again to Sonya, hoping for help.

Again, Sonya seemed not to notice.

“In addition,” Ahbal continued, “After said match, Miss Bayley will renounce her American citizenship and be declared the property of her highness by royal decree. Her person will be collected and she will remain a subject of her highness’s household indefinitely.” He paused, “Does Miss Bayley understand this part of the agreement?”

Bayley felt like she was sitting on needles. She shifted in her seat, thinking quickly over what he’d said.

So far, that all sounded frighteningly legitimate. If they owned her wrestling contract, she’d be screwed; she wouldn’t be able to earn a living without their say so. And if she gave up her American citizenship…

“Wait…” she frowned, “Give up my American citizenship? You guys can’t make me do that.”

Ahbal inclined his head, smiling gently, “No, we cannot. It is part of the agreement.

Bayley jumped at this opportunity.

“Then I don’t agree!” she almost laughed, “Absolutely, totally not—I mean, no disrespect to the princess, your highness, but, no! No, thank you!”

Ahbal continued smiling, a twinkle in his eye.

“That is if Miss Bayley loses the bout,” he explained, “If she wins, the 175 million dollars passes to her instead, as a royal donation.”

Bayley’s eyes widened for a completely different reason now.

“Which is tax free,” Ahbal winked, “I might add.”

For Bayley, the air felt like it had gone out of the room for a moment. Gaping, she blinked, her previous train of thought completely derailed.

175 million.

As a teenager seeing herself as the world champ, she’d told herself she’d never sell out, not for any amount of money. Everybody knew money was only money. She cared about her legacy, being the best ever, and wrestling more than fancy yachts or mansions or whatever else money could buy her.

Now that she had grown up and actually was world champ, she knew more about the power of money. With money, Sonya Deville had turned the WWE Women’s Division into a sexualized farce. Catering to the lowest of the low, she sold tickets promising racy thrills, lots of skin, matches that involved spanking and wrestlers being stripped to their underwear. As long as that continued to sell, she could continue to do it.

But with 175 million dollars, Bayley could change all that. With that kind of money, she could save women’s wrestling.

Suddenly, turning this deal down wasn’t such an easy decision.

Seeing the look on the young wrestler’s face, the princess sighed.

“But this will not happen,” she tilted her head apologetically, “You will not win.”

Still reeling, Bayley stared at her, not understanding.

“You are very skilled and strong,” she lifted her chin proudly, “But I am royalty of the Kingdom, and thus chosen by Allah! I am supreme at whatever I try my hand!”

Bayley blinked, once again not sure if this woman was serious. Surely she didn’t think she could beat the world champion at her own game just because she was a princess.

“You will no doubt fight very bravely,” Basmah told her, “But everything that I wish is mine becomes mine. I will defeat you and then I will own your most excellent… bubble bottom.” She grinned, “It is already decided by Allah, just as it is decided you will agree. Is that not so, Ahbal?”

Ahbal bowed, “It is exactly as you say, your highness. Whatever you wish is yours.”

The pair shared a quick smile, then Basmah turned to Sonya and her entourage.

“This is agreeable?” the princess asked.

The owner of the WWE’s women’s division turned to share a few words with her lawyers. They leaned close in a huddle and whispered, commiserating. It was only after a few seconds that they leaned back and their boss turned to the princess.

“It’s agreeable to us,” Sonya shrugged, “It’s agreeable to Bayley too, she just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Excellent!” Ahbal clapped his hands together, “Then we have a deal!”

The clap was apparently some sort of signal. Immediately, corks were popped on champagne bottles and attendants began pouring the bubbly rose into champagne flutes intricately decorated with curling threads of gold. The flutes were already on silver trays, ready to be served in celebration.

Bayley blinked in surprise.

“Hey, wait, no!” she sat up, then glared at Sonya, “I haven’t agreed to anything yet! Are you kidding me?!”

Unperturbed, Sonya turned to her wrestler with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. Meeting Bayley’s gaze for the first time that night, she gave the champ a flat look, utterly bored.

“Really? You haven’t agreed yet?” she drawled.

Bayley scowled at her. More earnest and forthright, she didn’t have Sonya’s business aptitude, but she still didn’t like being railroaded.

“You’re the champ, Bayley, and this is her first professional match,” the owner sighed, “Do the math.”

Around her, the flutes of champagne were being passed to the princess’s entourage and Sonya’s people. They took them delicately by the stems and held them without drinking, waiting for a toast.

Bayley looked around at them all. One by one, after accepting the champagne, their gazes turned to her, expectant.

She bit her bottom lip, frowning back at them. She admitted, she was inclined to accept the terms, but she didn’t like feeling like she was being bullied or pressured. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she turned back to her boss.

Sonya picked a flute off the passing tray and smirked back.

“Look, you’re wrestling her tonight regardless,” she said, “Do you want a hundred million dollars or not?”

Finally, the champagne tray got around to Bayley. The attendant lowered it to the young wrestler’s level, allowing her to see there was only one left. Everyone else had theirs, they were all waiting on her.

Arms still crossed, Bayley stared hard at the flute filled with the bubbly pink liquid. The glass, the rosy alcohol, even the tray it sat on were beautiful and opulent. The flute and tray alone probably cost a fortune, never mind the champagne. It was held out, offered, waiting for her to take it.

The young wrestler didn’t trust Sonya as far as she could hip toss her, but she had a point. The princess was clearly delusional if she thought Allah was somehow going to keep her from getting her ass kicked when she got in the ring with the world champion. Knowing she’s the princess, she probably had training partners too afraid to touch her or falling down to make her feel better about herself. She had no idea what it was like to roll with a real professional.

Yet somehow, part of Bayley warned her that she was crossing a line. The sheer amount of wealth being offered her was blinding and it was all so shiny and perfect. Too perfect. A self-styled nerd, it felt to the young champion like someone was offering her the One Ring and if she took it, it would corrupt her.

“It will be a great honor to be my possession,” the princess smiled, “As it will be to lose to the princess of the Kingdom. I promise you will be comfortable and well-loved in my care. Take the glass, yes?”

Bayley had to fight down a smirk at that. This lady really was crazy.

With 175 million dollars, she could fix everything that was going wrong in her world. She could make a legacy beyond even being champion, solidifying the women’s division as a legitimate sport rather than a sideshow. Not only could she shut up Sonya Deville for good, but it would be the woman’s own advice that made it happen; she probably couldn’t comprehend that Bayley might use all the money on someone other than herself.

And to win it, all she had to do was school one arrogant, hyper privileged, bratty princess.

With everyone watching her, Bayley grinned. It was a much more commonplace expression on the normally exuberant young woman’s face.

“Okay, you know what?” she cried with her usual aplomb, “Yeah! Hell yeah!”

She snatched the flute from the tray, holding it up high.

“I agree, your highness!” her grin broadened, “And if I win, 175 million dollars! Thank you for the opportunity!”

“Inshallah!” the princess nodded in return, “And now to victory, treasure, wrestling, and my 25th birthday!”

“Inshallah!” her attendants proclaimed.

“Inshallah!” Bayley and the WWE officials said a moment later, most not knowing what it meant.

And then they brought the flutes to their lips.

Giddy that everything had worked out so well, Bayley drank more of the champagne than she might have otherwise. She took a sip, smacked her lips, found it delicious, then brought it back to her lips and drank some more.

In her excitement, she didn’t notice Ahbal and Sonya watching her over their glasses, taking note of how much she drank.

Princess Basmah merely let the flute touch her lips, then set the glass down. Her entourage did likewise, the gesture merely a formality.

Now that the ceremony was complete and the deal was made, the princess rose from her seat. Her advisors rose as well and a moment later Sonya and her people joined them, including Bayley.

“These events please me greatly,” the princess smiled demurely, “I shall now go to prepare! Ahbal? Stay to see to the formalities.”

Her advisor bowed, “As you wish, your highness.”

With that, the princess strode towards the door, and her servants snapped into action. They gathered up the princess’s belongings, including the throne, a golden chest, and a fur rug with practiced speed, then followed her out. It was almost like a little parade, royalty and her baggage train.

On her way, the Basmah paused as she passed Bayley.

“I shall see you soon,” she reached up to run her fingers through the champion’s ponytail, “and then we will see how American gumption fares against true royal blood.”

Bayley narrowed her eyes and smiled back.

“It’s going to be an awesome match, your highness.”

The princess nodded, narrowing her eyes in return, then continued on her way.

It took almost a full minute for everyone to file out. The exit had double doors, but the servants carrying the princess’s effects had to struggle to get through and no one else could get past them. The princess’s entourage, bodyguards, the well-dressed lawyers, and the WWE officials had to shuffle along in a line, only gradually escaping the owner’s box.

Finally, the door closed behind the last WWE lawyer and the sounds of their footsteps and conversation filtered away down the hall.

The only ones left in the room were Bayley, Sonya, and Ahbal.

“So,” Bayley grinned cheerily, “Let’s do this… these particulars…”

The young wrestler started to take a step towards Ahbal, but as she did the floor seemed to sway.

Surprised, she stopped in mid step, holding out a hand for balance. The dizziness passed quickly once she wasn’t trying to move, but it left her wide eyed.

What the hell was that? Had she been sitting down for too long?

“Of course, Miss Bayley,” Ahbal strode to a small table, “All the paperwork is already prepared.”

Bayley shook away the momentary vertigo. It was probably just nerves, mixed with the champagne.

“Right on,” she said, “Where do we…”

Taking another step made the floor beneath her sway again, like the deck of a ship at sea. She stopped again to find her balance, her eyelashes fluttering at a sudden head rush.

Putting a hand to her head, she frowned.

Something was wrong. The room was starting to spin now, a heaviness sinking into her skull. She shook her head again, trying to force it away, but this time it only made the dizziness worse. It still wasn’t so bad that she was in danger of falling down, but as a well-trained athlete she knew what her body should feel like. This wasn’t normal.

“Hey…” she wrinkled her nose, “I feel kinda…” she looked suspiciously at Ahbal, “What was in that champagne?”

The royal advisor and Sonya shared a quick look. In her growing befuddlement, Bayley couldn’t discern what the look meant, but afterwards Sonya strode quickly towards her, smiling warmly.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Bayley?” she purred.

“Yes,” Ahbal quickly agreed, shuffling papers, “Please, make yourself comfortable, Miss Bayley. I will bring the necessaries to you.”

While Bayley rubbed her temple, her head and thoughts weighed down as her dizziness grew, Sonya strode up to help her. She took her employee by the arm to guide her back to her chair.

Bayley jerked away, glaring at her.

“I don’t need…” she blinked hard, struggling to order her thoughts, “There’s something… you…”

The athletic young woman tried to step away from her cunning boss, only to stagger badly and almost fall down. Gasping, she caught herself against the arm of her chair, eyes wide as the room continued to spin around her.

Sonya pretended not to notice the little outburst. She patiently followed the dazed champion and took her by the arm one more.

“Have a seat, Bayley,” she cooed, “Here we go…”

Bayley shook her head, trying to resist the other woman’s help, but her thoughts were becoming a jumbled mess. She knew something bad was happening, knew she was angry at Sonya, but couldn’t recall why. Her focus was melting away into a pleasant haze.

She tried to pull away again but lost her balance.

“Come on,” Sonya coaxed her, “Let’s get that big booty of yours in the chair. Don’t want you to fall down; you have a match soon.”

Bayley frowned at the mention of her “big booty”, but quickly forgot. Sitting down sounded really good. Her shoulders and head felt like they were being weighed down with lead, her thoughts swirling aimlessly with weariness. Maybe if she sat down, she could recover a bit, figure out what… she was trying to figure out. Plus, she had a match soon, didn’t want to fall down.

Sonya slipped an arm around her waist and supported her, helping her stand up off the arm of the chair then stumble around to the front. She turned Bayley around, facing her hips in the correct direction. Finally, with a wicked grin, she gave the champ a little push.

Bayley fell into the seat with a grunt of surprise. The chair was very cushy and soft, so the impact didn’t hurt, but it did bounce her head and caused another wave of dizziness. She blinked hard, her expression bleary and confused.

Hands on her hips, Sonya smirked down at her.

“That’s better,” the businesswoman cooed, “Nice and comfy for all the signing you’re about to do.”

Her thoughts still a blur, it took a few seconds for Bayley to decipher what her boss had said. For several breaths, she stared off into space, only slowly frowning as her mind compiled the facts. She blinked again, looking up at Sonya.

“Signing…?” she asked.

But Sonya had already turned away, going to the table to share words with Ahbal.

It didn’t matter. The discombobulated young champion forgot what she’d been asking after a couple of seconds.

Momentarily alone, Bayley found her mind wandering. Jaw slightly ajar, her big eyes heavy, she slumped in the chair and gaped around at nothing in particular.

However, as she sat there, her mind did strange things.

At first, she had difficulty remembering where she was, even what country she was in, or how she got there. She felt like she was sinking ever deeper into the seat, her thoughts dwindling away to nothing, like she was falling asleep.

But just as it felt like her waking mind had faded away, she woke up again, though in a different state than she was used to. Her memories returned when she called on them, she knew exactly where she was and even recalled Sonya pushing her into the chair, but she was untroubled by it all. In fact, she felt decidedly happy, even blissful, so much so that the memory of Sonya’s taunting smirk didn’t seem important. She was floating on a pleasant cloud, above the troubles of the world below, idly enjoying each moment as it passed by.

Sighing, letting her eyelids droop, Bayley looked around the room, idly noting little details that pleased her.

Everything in the room looked shiny and pretty or soft and cushy, or both. There was a glittering mini chandelier, a black lacquered table where Sonya and Ahbal were finishing up their work, and many big, comfy throw pillows. Numerous chairs were set up in a ring, now all empty besides her, each one with a glittering champagne flute, still filled to the brim with pink liquid, sat on the arm.

Her boss and the royal advisor finished their conversation and turned towards her, Ahbal carrying a leatherbound folder full of papers. Bayley wasn’t paying attention to them. Something about the champagne glasses nagged at her.

Staring, lips pursed in a cartoonish ‘O’, she leaned her head to the side like a curious puppy.

“Hey…” her voice was sluggish, each syllable drawn out lazily, “How come… nobody else drank… the, you know… champagne?”

Smiling pleasantly, Ahbal set the leather folder in her lap.

“It is because we are a Muslim nation and the consumption of alcohol is forbidden,” he explained, “In deals with Americans, the royal family often toasts with champagne as a symbolic gesture, but they do not drink. It is a silly custom and a silly custom of our royalty to humor it, I’m afraid.”

He turned the folder around, so it was facing Bayley, then opened it.

“Oh…” she nodded slowly, “Okay.”

Within the folder was a stack of papers a little over an inch thick, the top page very white and scrawled with curling Arabic. An actual wax seal with the royal emblem was on the set at the top, the letter embossed and golden just underneath it, definitely not printed out from a computer. There were several lines at the bottom already signed and printed, and Bayley saw her name printed just above an empty line.

While Ahbal bent to help her with the paperwork, Sonya leaned an elbow against the back of the chair and smirked over Bayley’s shoulder.

Producing a pen from his breast pocket, he placed it in the young champion’s hand.

It looked like real silver, with little golden designs on it.

“Ooh…” she giggled faintly, “Shiny…”

“Sign here first, Miss Bayley,” Ahbal pointed to the empty line, “This is a standard royal charter for indefinite indentured servitude.”

Bayley blinked, looking from the pen to him, then down to the page where he was pointing.

“Indefinite… indentured…” she put the pen to the empty line and began signing her name.

As funny as she felt, her fingers were still sure and her handwriting the same as it always was. It wasn’t the best and she wrote slower than she usually would, but it wasn’t a drunken scrawl either. It would be seen as legitimate.

“But…” she paused, “Indefinite servitude…”

She frowned, looking up at Ahbal.

“That means…” she tilted her head again, “But I haven’t lost yet… shouldn’t I sign this after… if I…”

“Yes, but this is simpler,” Ahbal smiled reassuringly.

Bayley stared at him for another moment.

“It’s better,” he said again, “It will take less time, you see? It’s best to keep it simpler and quicker.”

It took another second, but she slowly nodded. Simpler was better. Quicker was better. She didn’t understand why she had to sign that she was a slave when she hadn’t lost yet, but she couldn’t find anything wrong with what he was saying either.

“Simpler… quicker is better,” she agreed, “Okay…”

And with that, she finished the signature.

“Very good…” Ahbal turned several pages, “And now here. This renounces your American citizenship.”

In a few minutes time, they’d gone through several more documents in a similar fashion. Ahbal was quick and precise, seeming to know exactly where each initial and each signature was needed by memory. The slowest part of the process was answering any of Bayley’s questions, but those petered out after a few pages, and she simply began signing wherever she was told.

Soon, the cheerful wrestler was humming an off-key tune to herself, playing with the shiny pen and waiting for the nice Saudi Arabian man to find the next page for her to sign.

“And here, Miss Bayley,” he said, pointing to another line, “This signs all your American property and assets to Miss Deville for liquidation. No point in wasting things you won’t be needing, is there?”

Bayley smiled dreamily, “No point wasting…”

She signed just where the nice man told her.

At that, Sonya Deville laughed. Watching Bayley sign away everything she owned, the businesswoman shook her head.

“I’d say it’s working,” she smirked, “I had my doubts, but you should have seen how much trouble she was with her last contract. We fought for months over that thing.”

Ahbal glanced up at her as he began flipping through pages once more.

“Of course, it works,” he said, sounding slightly miffed, “We’ve used this formula many times.” He pointed to another page, “And here.”

Bayley signed robotically.

“She is in a deeply suggestible state, at this moment,” Ahbal continued, “If you like, we are speaking to the back of her mind. She will take in everything we tell her as if they are lessons of life, even if they are clearly at odds with her own desires and welfare. She will temporarily resist at times, but she will be easy to convince.”

“That’s nuts,” Sonya shook her head wonderingly, “How long is it going to last?”

Slowly it dawned on Bayley that they were talking about her. A formula? Her being suggestible…?

She stopped with her pen still to the paper and frowned up at Ahbal.

“H-huh?” she squinted, “Against… my welfare? But…”

The royal advisor quickly cut her off before she drew the inevitable conclusion.

“Just continue to sign, Miss Bayley,” he smiled, patting her cheek, “There are some things Miss Deville and I will speak about and they are nothing for you to fret over. Simply ignore them until we speak to you directly.”

That answer was enough for Bayley. Her frown faded, replaced by a dreamy smile.

“Okay…” she sighed, “Nothing… to fret over…”

As she went back to signing, Ahbal answered Sonya’s question.

“This state won’t last overly long,” he said, “Perhaps half an hour. But the suggestions themselves, they will remain ingrained. I’ve never seen them fade.”

Bayley finished that signature and he turned the pages to find the next.

“If you say so,” Sonya arched an eyebrow, “But just so we’re clear, you’ve already bought her contract. If this doesn’t work out how you say, the WWE doesn’t give refunds.”

Ahbal smiled at that, a twinkle in his eye.

“I completely understand,” he said, “And am not worried. It will ‘work out’ exactly as her highness wishes.”

At that, Bayley finished the last signature. The document was an affidavit of personal submission and granting ownership of her person to the princess and the royal family, but she didn’t mind. Grinning, she even put a little smiley face after her name.

Ahbal quickly folded the leather document holder shut and buckled it closed.

“Almost done,” he smiled, tucking the folder under his arm, “You’ve done very well.”

He plucked the pen from Bayley’s fingers, leaving the drugged wrestler blinking at her empty hand. Her mind was so sluggish, she didn’t understand what had happened at first; the pen was there, then suddenly it was gone. It took her a moment to look up and realize the man was tucking it into his jacket pocket.

“Now we must have a very important discussion,” he sank down to one knee, “Very important to your future. I need your undivided attention.”

Bayley heard what he said but was still staring drowsily at the shiny pen.

She was considering asking if she could hold it again, when Ahbal placed a finger under her chin and tilted it up, drawing her eyes to his.

“Very important, Miss Bayley,” he raised his eyebrows, “You see, the princess has many wishes and desires. My duty is to see those wishes fulfilled, whatever they may be. Do you understand?”

Bayley stared into his eyes. To her they were very dark and shiny, like little 8-balls under a sun lamp. She had to look at them for a few seconds before she could come up with an answer.

“Uh huh…”

“Good,” Ahbal said, “Now do you understand what you’re going to do in this match with her highness?”

That was a more difficult question for her nebulous thoughts to focus on. Jaw hanging open, she fluttered her lashes as she considered what he was asking. It was even more difficult to figure out why, so she just said what came to her mind.

“Gonna wrestle her…” Bayley said, “Tonight. When I win… I get money to fix the bad things… Sonya Deville did to…”

She trailed off. Ahbal was shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Miss Bayley,” he said, “But you are mistaken.”

Bayley stared. She was pretty sure that’s what they’d talked about.

Frowning, the young wrestler went over it all again. The princess said they were wrestling, that if she won, she got 175 million dollars…

After a second, Bayley saw the problem. A drunken smile spread her lips wide.

“S’okay…” she laughed gently, “I’ll… go easy… not gonna embarrass the princess or…”

But Ahbal shook his head again, his expression serious.

“No, Miss Bayley,” he said, “I’m afraid not.”

Bayley tilted her head, curiously.

“No, you will not win,” he continued, “You will lose.”

Even in her suggestive state, that statement hit Bayley like a hammer. For an instant she stared at him, not comprehending what he’d said.

“Huh?”

Ahbal smiled. He placed a hand on her thigh, massaging gently.

“You will lose,” he explained, “The princess will defeat you. Not only that, but you will allow her to do this. You will intentionally lose, with everyone watching. Badly.”

As he spoke, Bayley’s eyes slowly grew wider and wider. Her relaxed posture became stiff, a horrified expression dawning on her face.

Losing was something the young champion hated, which is part of why she was the champion. She worked extremely hard NOT to lose and would do almost anything to avoid it. It had taken years of pain and training gain her skills and athleticism and she continued to suffer to keep herself honed. Part of what drove her was the fear of losing her title, of being loomed over, helpless, beneath a victorious enemy.

But this was even worse. Throwing a fight was despicable, something Sonya had often demanded but she refused. To her, wrestling was an almost sacred contest of power and skill, beautiful in its excitement and uncertainty. She would never toss away the sanctity of the sport she loved for drama and especially not for money.

And this wouldn’t even be for money. In fact, if she lost…

Bayley shook her head hard, tousling her sideways ponytail.

“No…” she said, starting to frown, “I don’t… throwing fights is… bad…”

Sonya chuckled at this, watching the interaction between the two, wondering how Ahbal would handle it.

The royal advisor just continued explaining, patting the young woman’s thigh as if to console her.

“Yes, you will lose,” he chided, “Her highness wishes to defeat… to dominate you. So, you will let her. You will put on a show, appear as if you are trying your best, but you will let her do as she likes with you. You will not land one successful blow or maintain one hold she does not wish you to. You will help her have everything she wants, because she is the princess.”

Bayley’s mouth worked, struggling to find some argument against what he was saying. She very much didn’t want to do what he was saying, but in her suggestive state, his logic was unshakable. What he said seemed inherently true, so much so that it terrified her.

She shook her head again, blinking, dazed.

“No… I…” she protested.

“She is the princess of the one true Kingdom, Miss Bayley,” Ahbal told her, “And you are a peasant from a crass, infidel nation. You will do as she likes, let her have her way with you. It is your honor to do so.”

In the face of his words, the champ slowly began to crumple. Her shoulders wilted, her expression growing hopeless. She squinted, like she was struggling to keep her eyes open, then blinked them wide again.

There was no way out of what he was saying. Basmah WAS the princess, and she SHOULD win, Bayley understood that now. She had to let the princess do everything she wanted to her.

But still…

“But… but…” she mumbled, “If… I lose…”

Ahbal nodded, “Yes. You will be her highness’ possession. As she wishes, so it will be.”

Bayley’s eyelids drooped once more. The commands he was giving her were so counter to her personality and what she wanted, she’d fought through the hypnotic mire for as long as she could. Strong willed and desperate as she was, it was inevitable that she’d begin to sink back down into the grasp of the drug. She tried to force herself back to wakefulness, blinking her eyes rapidly, but it was a losing battle.

“I… don’t…” she whimpered.

“As she wishes,” Ahbal said again, “So it shall be.”

Bayley’s gaze lost what remained of its focus, the furrow smoothing from her brow. Her concern faded away along with her fear and shame, a weight lifted from her, almost pleasant.

When her struggles ceased, she let out a long, heavy sigh.

“As she wishes,” the helpless champion echoed back, “So… it shall be.”

Ahbal smiled, patting her cheek. He looked up at Sonya with an “I told you so” smirk.

The WWE owner grinned wryly back, “Remind me never to drink anything you offer me.”

He nodded, before turning back to his charge.

“Very good, Bayley,” he said, “Once her highness has beaten you and claimed her rightful prize, you will not fuss. You will accept it in your heart that she is your better and your place is at her feet. You will be humble as you should be before her divine greatness.”

Bayley nodded dully, “Should be humble… before her divine greatness.”

“Excellent,” he squeezed her thigh, “Now put this all out of your mind and rest peacefully. You must be ready for the last match of your career.”

The mere suggestion of resting made the young champion yawn.

“Okay…” she sighed, “Better rest…”

Already slouched back into the cushy chair, she let her eyes close and relaxed entirely. Her head turned slightly to the side, her expression peaceful, thoughts vanishing as she sank into a cool, black abyss. She’d never fallen so deeply asleep so quickly in her life.

His work done, Ahbal planted both hands on his knee and pushed himself back to his feet with a wince of discomfort. He was no longer young and kneeling for any amount of time hurt upon rising.

“That will…” he grunted as he got back to his feet, “Settle it.”

“Okay.” Sonya replied.

He rubbed at his knee, then brushed at some carpet fuzz stuck to his immaculate trousers.

“She will have only a vague memory of these events,” he said without looking up, “The paperwork, a short conversation… if she asks, tell her she walked back under her own power and decided to… rest her eyes. Now, if you would kindly take her back to her dressing room?”

Sonya stared back at him. Wearing a cool grin, she drummed her fingers against the back of the seat, poised like a cat deciding whether to pounce. This was his country, but she wasn’t a servant, and she wasn’t as naïve and unfamiliar with subterfuge as Bayley. She didn’t insult him, she just looked at him, dangerously still.

After several seconds, noticing she hadn’t moved, Ahbal lifted his eyes. He understood the look immediately.

“If you would,” he inclined his head slightly, “Please.”

Sonya’s grin broadened.

“As you wish,” she curtsied, “So it shall be.”

As a former wrestler herself, she knew how to handle a human body. Striding around to the front of the chair, she bent down and took her sleeping employee by the wrists. A quick tug sat Bayley up towards her, then she reached around the other woman’s toned shoulders, bent her knees, and lifted her up, chest to chest.

The sudden jerk upright jostled Bayley’s head and disturbed her sleep. She groaned, blinking miserably at the culprit.

Sonya grinned back.

“Don’t blame me…” she shuffled around to the champ’s side, “This was their idea. How could I say no?”

Taking Bayley’s wrist, she slung it across her own shoulders, then looped her arm around the drowsy wrestler’s waist. In a moment, it looked like Sonya was kindly supporting a friend who had too much to drink.

Bayley groaned again, leaning into her boss and resting her head on her shoulder.

“Not that I’ll be too sad to see you go,” Sonya sneered, “Little miss sanctity of the sport.”

And then Miss Deville did something she’d always wanted to do: she drew back her hand, then gave Bayley’s rump a hearty smack. The satisfying clap wobbled the protruding shapes, the shining spandex doing little to hold them still. In fact, the glossy surface creating a flickering effect, making it that much clearer how much the thick globes shook.

Sonya laughed. Even better than she imagined.

“Come on, Big Booty Bayley,” she said, “You’ve got a match to lose…”

Champion and boss strolled to the door, the former leaning into the latter and shuffling clumsily, needing help but doing her best to keep up.

Ahbal watched them go with complete confidence.

It would all be exactly as the princess wished.