The Real Main Event: Streisand vs. Loren
by Jaguar 8

Barbra Streisand is a rarity among Hollywood's glitterati: a feminist icon whose exotic beauty, professionalism and ferocious fighting spirit have made her a superstar---on the soundstage and in the squared circle.
 
With her lyrical voice and consummate acting skills, La Streisand has conquered the multiple worlds of film, television, Broadway and pop culture.  And she remains the highest-selling female recording artist of all time.
 
But early in her career, Barbra decided she wanted more.  Like the biblical Esther, the shy Jewish girl from Brooklyn believed she was destined for greatness on a global scale.
 
Having eclipsed the likes of Elizabeth Taylor in the hearts and minds of the public---and disposed of such D-List celebrities as Leslie Ann Warren with her fists---Babs clearly understood that only one woman stood in her way: Sophia Loren.
 
So Streisand seized the day when the Italian bombshell visited Barbra in London following a staging of "Funny Girl.'
 
Initially, Sophia was thrilled to have her husband, Carlo Ponti, join her backstage to meet Streisand.  Loren's joy turned to rage when Barbra ignored Sophia's entreaties and began flirting heavily with Ponti.  The director liked his women young, and Barbra was Loren's junior by eight years.  Moreover, Streisand had donned a Marilyn Monroe-like white halter dress, accentuating her own mammaries of mass distraction.
 
Like her humiliating encounter with Jayne Mansfield at Romanoff's restaurant, Loren had once again been bested and out-breasted.  Indeed, Sophia drab rustic dress resembled the frumpy garb worn by the grape-stomping peasant in the famous "I Love Lucy" episode.
 
Relishing Loren's torment, Babs poured on the psychic pain.
 
Streisand began nibbling on Ponti's ear, probing with a wicked tongue.
 
"Carlo, sweety, when are you going to cast me in a picture?" cooed Barbra as Loren fumed.
 
Then Babs went in for the kill.  Shooting a snarky smile at Sophia, La Streisand French-kissed the Italian woman's husband.
 
Ponti moaned in delight as Loren finally jumped into the fray.
 
"You insolent whore," screeched the former Sophia Scicolone.
 
"What's the matter, stuzzicadente, can't hold onto your man?" snarled Streisand as she unleashed a vicious slap across Sophia's face.
 
Stunned and teary eyed, Loren was unprepared for Barbra's stinging backhand.  The second blow, which was more unexpected than the first, knocked the Neapolitan beauty on her ample ass.
 
Turning haughtily on her heels, Streisand smirked at Sophia's bloody, swollen lip.  Adding insult to injury, the Jewish siren grabbed Ponti and lasciviously tongue-kissed the famed director while kicking Loren's chin with the back of her high heel.  The thoroughly humiliated Italian diva lay sobbing---flat on her back--on the floor.
 
What shocked onlookers was Sophia's inability to mount a counter-attack.
 
La Streisand could not resist one more parting shot.  As Babs walked away, she riveted Carlo's attention by undoing her halter dress, giving the Italian director a daring look at her creamy white shoulders and a side view of her glorious orbs. 
 
The topless Jewess then winked at Loren's hubby, blowing him a kiss while strutting out the door. 
 
I beat you at your own game, bitch, thought Barbra as she contemplated the next step in her master plan.
 

A devastated Sophia Loren finally picked herself up off the floor and shuffled away.  How could this have happened? she wondered. 
Unable to comprehend how a smaller, less powerful woman had so quickly and so easily trashed her was one thing. Analyzing the whys and wherefores of Streisand's easy supremacy was another.  But it was Sophia's fear in the face of Barbra's impudence---and the Italian woman's inability to fight back---that was truly troubling.
 
"I've tangled with quite a few Hollywood wenches, and they always fear me," whispered La Loren to herself.
 
Indeed, Sophia had a history of official bouts and unofficial catfights with a slew of Tinseltown's finest (and infamous). 
 
"Even Marilyn Monroe was wary when she first caught sight of my broad shoulders, abundant breasts and raw power."
 
Then there was the matter of La Streisand's sexual allure---and how swiftly, Babs had seduced Carlo Ponti.
 
"I'm the world's most beautiful woman," screamed Loren.
 
Sophia then felt a sudden chill as a thought (realization?) came over her: Or is she?
 
Truth be told, Loren had grown soft.  She took her beauty and star power for granted.  While most of Tinseltown's female contingent had a healthy respect for Sophia, some saw weaknesses they could exploit.
 
Barbra Streisand had just exposed some of Loren's vulnerabilities. Now she wanted the whole world to see that the empress wore no clothes---literally. 
 
Her plan would unfold juicily over the next few years as Barbra kept her eyes on the prize.  La Streisand was at the top of her game, cranking out hits by day and hitting the heavy bag at night.    Her albums ascended to the top of the charts; and her concerts continued to be sellout performances.  Barbra's movies earned critical and popular acclaim. 
 
La Loren was another story.
 
After her humiliation at the hands of the Jewish songstress, Sophia vowed to get into better shape.  After a while, though, her exercise regimen faltered.  So Sophia fell back on her beguiling beauty.  The jogs and speed bag gave way to parties and wine.  Men still swooned at Sophia's voluptuousness, but the years were not kind.  Either to her film career or to her physical fitness. While the Neapolitan MILF's mummeries had mushroomed, they were flabby. Moreover, her already soft mid-section had morphed into a paunch.
 
 
So Barbra chose the occasion of the Academy Awards to challenge Sophia.
 
Both actresses had been selected as co-presenters at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion. The category was Best Motion Picture.  However, as Barbra joined Sophia at the podium, the Oscar winner became secondary.  Streisand
wore a shimmering silver gown whose plunging neckline revealed the Jewish beauty's toned washboard abs---as well as a pair of perfectly shaped 34-C teats. Barbra's bodacious breasts, which seemed even larger as a result of their astounding firmness, clearly eclipsed Loren's sagging milk sacs.  The audience gasped as Sophia cast a nervous glance at Streisand's scintillating mounds.
 
The Italian star's Yves Saint Laurent dress also displayed her cleavage, but Loren's sloppy tit-ware appeared old in comparison.  Additionally, Barbra had donned a pair of 5-inch stiletto heels, giving her 5' 5" frame a one inch height advantage over Sophia's 5' 9 inches.
 
"Not too shabby," chortled Streisand as she acknowledged wolf howls, cheers and catcalls from the men at the Dorothy Chandler pavilion.
 
Barbra then brought the message home that Loren's thunder had been stolen. And millions of Oscar viewers around the world knew it. 
 
"Right, Sophia?" queried the sultry songstress while winking at the males and heaving her twin canons toward the deflated Italian actress.
 
Trying to maintain a shred dignity in the face of such a devastating public humiliation, Sophia stuttered a response

 "Y-y-yes . . . B-B-Barbra.  B-b-but w-we are here this ah e-e-vening to . . ah . . ah a-a-announce . . ."
 
Before Loren could finish her sentence, Barbra Streisand cut her off.
 
"Evidently Sophia's cue cards got jumbled. Or it's just that she no speaka dee Eenglish."
 
Pausing ever so exquisitely, La Streisand waited as the audience burst into laughter.
 
Barbra smiled broadly and quipped: "And Round Two goes to the Jewess."
 
Sophia turned a bright red as a preening Streisand soaked up the adulation. Sensing this was her moment, Barbra pushed Loren aside and made a startling announcement.
 
"Ladies and Gentlemen and Academy members, I'd like to take this opportunity to invite Sophia to join me in a charity boxing match to raise money for underprivileged kids. The bout will be taped---and then broadcast at next year's Oscar ceremony. The winner will receive top billing with Ryan O’Neal in "The Main Event," a new film that's just begun shooting in Arizona.  How about it, girl.  You and me. Mano a mano . . . in the ring."
 
Loren trembled as Streisand glared at her.
 
"Do you think you can mix it up with a scrappy Jewish kid from Brooklyn?  Are you up to the challenge, Sophia?  "
 
"Most definitely, i-i-f it's for the c-c-c-children," answered an agitated Sophia Loren.
 
Noting Sophia's stutter, Barbra turned her gaze to the TV audience and winked: "Don't worry, Sophia, I'll go easy on ya!"
 
Oh, the snotty bitch! What am I doing? She's so cocky, thought Loren. Yet how could she back down now that Streisand had ridiculed her before the entire world.
 
 
Four weeks later, the charity match of the century became a reality.
 
Sophia Loren arrived two hours earlier than her opponent.  Climbing into the ring, a rustic, rough-hewn squared circle of wooden logs, Loren began shadowboxing---bobbing and weaving and planting imaginary jabs. There was no mat apron, just Arizona dirt.
 
"Let's see if you can land any of those," snapped La Streisand as she made her way to the open-air arena.
 
The sun hung like blazing orb in the azure sky.
 
The air was hot.
 
Both women wore blue jeans.  Sophia sported a pink tank top.  Barbra had donned a tight-fitting white T-shirt. 
 
The referee motioned both fighters to the center of the ring.
 
Streisand and Loren strode toward each other and met eyeball to eyeball, their boxing gloves touching. Sophia wore sensible tennis shoes.  Barbra's cowboy boots once again made her a giantess.
 
But as the camera crew began filming, Streisand launched her first blow, a psychological haymaker.. Shedding her boxing gloves and removing her T-shirt, the Jewess dared her rival to do the same:  "Let's fight topless . . . woman to woman.  A bare-knuckled brawl to win it all, bitch."
 
Loren petitioned the referee, "Are you going to allow this?"
 
Grinning broadly as he eyed Streisand sumptuous tits, he responded: "Not my call, lady."
 
Sophia responded by removing her gloves.  She then peeled off the tank top.
 
Streisand's smirked triumphantly when she saw that Loren's large breasts were inexorably descending toward the Neapolitan's noticeable gut.   Sophia's jeans could not contain a fold of belly flesh at the waist.
 
"How did you manage make it onto I-40 with that spare tire, Sophia?" snorted Streisand.
 
In contrast, the sexy Jewess boasted washboard abdominals and fulsome ramrod breasts arching skyward.  Adding to Barbra's allure was the sensual mane that she would unveil in "The Owl and the Pussycat."  Flexing her considerable biceps, she gleefully posed and preened.  Indeed, Spice Williams had nothing on Streisand.  And Barbra laughed lustily as the camera men hooted and hollered in delight.
 
The older woman seemed matronly and out of shape, however.
 
La Streisand quickly moved in so as to heighten her edge.  Towering over the shaken, stoop-shouldered Loren, Barbra made certain to shove her superior breasts into the intimidated Italian woman's face.
 
And then Streisand struck!
 
Smiling perversely, Barbra sent a jackhammer right fist into Sophia's pliant stomach. Then a left, followed by another right. Loren's belly flesh jiggled with each blow.
 
"Oof, uuhhh, and ohhh," gurgled Sophia.
 
La Streisand continued her fistic barrage, pounding the Italian woman's vulnerable paunch at will.  Overwhelmed by the unceasing pain and Streisand's relentless attack, Sophia was already helpless.  She tried to raise her arms in defense, but Barbra simply swatted them aside. 
 
Streisand's offensive continued as she varied her punching attack. Loren's gelatinous mid-section was relentlessly beaten. Barbra mixed in staccato jabs to Sophia's marshmallow belly with cross punches, overhand blows and stinging hooks.  La Loren was reeling as Streisand battered her all across the ring.
 
Barbra was in such total control of Sophia Loren that La Streisand couldn't resist needling her outmatched opponent:
"Sans studio lighting---and a sturdy girdle---you're nothing but a cheap Neapolitan whore with aging tit-meat. A peasant with a BIG butt, fat hips and a mushy spare tire."
 
"Ooof . . .aahhghhhh, uuughh" was all Loren could utter as the powerful Jewess focused her fistic assault on Sophia's overhanging love handles.
 
The agony on Loren's face made Streisand double-down on her assault, pummeling the Italian woman's sweat- soaked folds of sloppy belly fat.
 
Burying her knuckles deep into Loren's slippery flesh, Barbra smiled with delight as her blows made musical mincemeat of Sophia's lower abdomen:  "Smack, slapppp, smack, SLAP-SLAP SMACK, slap, SMACK . . . rat-tat-SLAP . . . SMACK."
 
"Remember the day I bitched slapped you in front of Carlo? Well, he came to see me later that night---and we made incandescent love . . . in your hotel suite . . . while you were in ER getting stitches for the cut my hand and heel had opened up on your lip. HaHaHaHa."
 
Sophia barely had time to blink away the tears as Barbra burrowed her fist into Loren's quivering breadbasket. This time the star of "Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow" fell to her knees in agony. Ironically, it was that film that had supplied the Brooklyn-born songstress with her winning strategy.  Specifically, Barbra noticed Sophia's pronounced pooch in the famous striptease scene with Marcello Mastroianni.  By tenderizing the Italian woman's soft underbelly, Streisand had brought Loren to the brink of an ignominious defeat.  But she couldn't give Sophia any respite.  Though Barbra had easily dominated the bout thus far, she was well aware of her opponent's prodigious strength.  Streisand had negated Loren's natural power by psychologically convincing Sophia that Barbra Streisand was her superior in strength, beauty, power, poise and fighting skill.
 
In truth, it turned out she was.
 
But Barbra had focused solely on the older brunette's blubbery belly.  Now the game would change.
 
Grabbing Loren by her matted, oily locks, Streisand slammed a knee into Sophia's jaw.   The Neapolitan saw every star in the heavens and fell flat on her back.  Streisand's powerful, gloating figure blotted out the sun.  Her shapely upswept tits and taut muscles glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, transforming the songstress into an Amazonian Esther. The Italian woman arose on wobbly legs---and tried to flee.  But Streisand was on her in nanoseconds.  Barbra wrapped some of the strands of Sophia's messy hair around her hand and forcibly dragged the hapless Loren across the rocks, pebbles and dirt of the makeshift ring. "Owww, ow, ow,ow, ohhhhhh Aghhhhhh, ohh owwwww!"
 
The end of this brief but bumpy sojourn came when Streisand slammed Loren into the wooden turnbuckle corner.  Hoisting the Italian beauty up by her nipples, Barbra wrapped Sophia's arms around opposite ends of the wooden support beams. Loren offered no resistance, her arms dangling uselessly.
 
"Here's where we decide who's the real woman," snarled Streisand.  "That is, everyone will see the most beautiful and desirable female in the world demolish a fat tramp with cow udders."
 
The Barbra went to work on Loren's sagging torso---with relish.

As she considered her own light pink areolae to be infinitely more sensual, Barbra targeted Loren's darker shade of surrounding breast tissue with glee.  La Streisand unleashed a blistering boob attack the likes of which have never been seen in female combat. Using her fists like heavy Hebrew hammers, Barbra pummeled the overmatched Italian's mammaries. One furious blow followed another. First came a right blow to Loren's right tit that pushed the Neapolitan's nipple deep into her areola.  Then Barbra uncorked a haymaker that nearly tore off Sophia's left tit.  This was followed by a vicious volley of jabs to Loren's flattening marshmallow breasts.
 
Sophia's once fulsome tits bounced from side to side with each of Streisand's pulverizing punches.
 
"Hey, Sophia, I'm turning your melons into damaged grapefruits----and you haven't even laid a hand on me . . . Ha HaHaHa!  I'll bet Carlo Ponti is jerking off right about now, don't you?"
 
Sophia was a hot mess.  She couldn't even muster a coherent thought.  All she could do now was absorb the Jewish woman's savage blows to her breasts and her womanhood. La Streisand fists pounded Loren's teats mercilessly, each fist landing with a sickening meaty thud.
"THWACK, THUMP, THWACK, THWACK-THWACK, THUMP,  THWACKETY-THWACK, THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.
 
Finally, Barbra launched a lashing uppercut to Loren's left tit; then came a stinging straight punch to the Neapolitan's right breast.  Each breast went flying in a different directions. Barbra's sledgehammer fists made the Italian woman's boobs stretch into the air like misshapen taffy. And as the the camera focused on the fighters, what came into view was the awe inspiring sight of Barbra's powerfully sculpted naked  back as she meted out pugilistic punishment to her pitiful rival.    
 
Before Sofia could pitch face forward and collapse, Streisand issued a nasty right cross to Loren's jaw and an explosive overhand punch to Sophia's prominent proboscis.  The force of that last blow bloodied the peasant woman's nose, sending her crashing backwards into the wooden turnbuckle. Streisand smiled broadly at the sight of the battered, beaten, and barely conscious Loren. 
 
She then turned on her heels to fetch some water to revive her foe---and continue dismantling the dumb bitch.
 
That proved to be a mistake.  In a last-ditch effort, Sophia had broken off a sizable chunk of wood and in a wild-eyed frenzy arose, racing toward her statuesque tormenter.
 
Wildly waving the wooden shaft, Sophia screamed "Strega, I will destroy you. . ."
 
Barbra whirled about just as Loren was finishing her primal screed.  Though she managed to evade the full brunt of Sophia's improvised weapon, Streisand fell to the ground as the stick hit her calf muscles.
 
Desperate to turn the tide of battle, Loren scooped up some desert dirt and hurled it in Streisand's eyes.  Having barely made it to her feet, Streisand was now blinded by the gritty particulates.
 
The Italian beauty came out swinging. Streisand needed time to gather her wits, so she cocooned herself up by raising her arms to shield her breasts and face.
 
Sophia Loren was so consumed by rage that she failed to notice how ineffectual her punches were, landing as they did on Barbra's arms and sides.  (Years later, Muhammed Ali would employ this "rope-a-dope" strategy to defeat George Foreman.) Moreover, Sophia had winded herself in the process. And Streisand had gained precious time.  Within minutes, Barbra's eyesight was restored---as was her cruel confidence.
 
Sensing impending doom, Sophia swung wildly and missed by country mile.  Most of Loren's subsequent punches were easily parried by Barbra. And the few that connected had all the power of a girl scout's feeble grandmother.
 
Streisand's snarling laughter denoted the contempt in which she held the Neapolitan whore.
 
"Hmmm.  The hand that held the dagger can't throw a punch."
 
 The Jewess pounced, taking the Italian woman's arm and wrenching it behind her back.
 
 "Now I'm going to make you my very own punching-bag bitch," whispered Streisand into Loren's ear.
 
Spinning Sophia Loren around, Streisand slapped her foe senseless.  First came a right hand careening across Loren's haggard and swollen face; then Barbra's left-handed slap spun her rival's head to the other side.  Streisand contemptuously slapped Loren's countenance back and forth for a full five minutes.
 
"Thwack, thwack, THWACK, THWACK, slap, slap, SLAPPPPP, SLAP!"

The once proud Italian beauty stumbled, blood oozing from her lip.  Trying to stand up straight, she wobbled about like a marionette on a flimsy string.
 
Dazed and confused by Streisand's attack, La Loren tried to steady herself.  The Jewess was giving the once mighty Sophia Loren a humiliating beating.  I cannot take much more of this punishment, thought weary older woman . . .
 
"Ahhrggggh....." wailed Loren as Streisand danced around the older woman and pummeled her kidneys.
 
"Oouuuoof . . ." gurgled Sophia as Babs punched the Italian star's lower belly.
 
Streisand followed this barrage with a popping jab to Sophia's right eye. 
 
"Eeyyahhh," screeched Loren as she felt the excruciating pain of a pounded pupil---and rapidly developing shiner.
 
La Streisand took note of her handiwork to needle the woebegone woman.
 
"You should thank me for that black eye, Sophia.  It's better than your usual old-lady pancake makeup."
 
Raising her hands to protect her lumped-up face, Sophia left her droopy tits vulnerable.

Barbra began thumping Loren's sweat-soaked mammaries. At first, the Jewish fighter pounded Sophia's teats with methodical slowness, relishing each time her fists plunged deep into Loren's banged-up nipples and areolae. Then Barbra pasted Sophia's fleshy tit-meat with sweeping hooks. Finally, Streisand gave the reeling Neapolitan's drooping puppies a speed-bag pummeling.
 
Thumpathumpathumpathumpathumpathumpathumpthumpathumpathumpathumpa!
 
Sophia's knees buckled, but Barbra lifted the star of "Two Women" up by her chin and delivered a filthy uppercut to Loren's mushy solar plexus.
 
Before Loren could fall backward, though, Streisand grabbed her foe's oily, dirt-caked hair and hoisted Sophia onto her sexy shoulders.  La Streisand then lifted Loren high above her head---and powered the Neapolitan down over one upraised knee in classic backbreaker fashion.
 
Loren's battered body twitched spasmodically.
 
So Streisand contemptuously threw Sophia onto the Arizona ground like a rag doll.  And then the conquering Jewess got a perfectly awful idea.
 
After divesting Sophia of her jeans and thong, Streisand started kicking the naked woman's fat arse all around the ring.
 
"These cowboy boots sure came in handy, Sophia."
 
When she'd finished kicking Loren's butt---literally---from pillar to post, Barbra viciously threw Loren into a corner turn buckle.
 
The Italian woman crashed into the logs, sprawling into the dirt.  Her blackened left eye was swollen shut; and her badly bruised breasts sagged into the sweaty layers of a quivering paunch.  Blood trickled from Loren's belly button down to a massive patch of curly pubic hair.
 
La Streisand never looked more beautiful as she did now. Her chiseled breasts, flowing tresses and haughty confidence were in stark contrast to Loren's hobbled, broken-down hausfrau body.  But it was Sophia's spirit that Barbra sought to break,
 
"You didn't even put up a fight, puttana.  Time to end this rout.  But not before I have some fun---and give the members of the Academy of Arts and Sciences a show-stopping finale."
 
Loren could not bear any more punishment. Streisand's pugilistic skill and ferocity had rendered Sophia's strength advantage meaningless. The Jewish woman's fists had pummeled Sophia's plump body to a pulp.  Barbra's plan had worked to perfection. Even the Italian beauty's height advantage was neutered by Barbra's cowboy boots and sexy self-confidence...   Streisand's creamy white breasts defied gravity; her luscious pink areolae and pointy nipples put Loren's peasant “mamma mia" mammaries to shame. Sophia sported sagging, aging cow teats.  And oh, how the Jewess had delighted in pounding Loren's once-proud breasts, sinking her knuckles deep into the olive-skinned Neapolitan's deflated tit meat.
 
And now the world will see that Streisand is my superior, thought a shuddering Sophia.  She is truly the most alluring woman in the world.  And . . . sob . . .sob s-s-so . . . invincible. I must flee while I can!
 
Dismissing any thoughts of resistance or dignity, Sophia scrambled to her feet . . . and started to run . . . away from her conqueror.  La Streisand leapt high into the air, tackling the cowardly Loren at the knees.  Face down in the dirt, the nude Neapolitan soon received a rude---and final---lesson in the sweet science alla Streisand.
"I stole your man, beat you senseless . . . and revealed to the Academy that the stately thespian Sophia Loren is a rank COWARD," roared Barbra.
 
 "Aieeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," cried Sophia as Streisand suddenly hoisted the screeching woman aloft by grabbing Loren's public bush and her filthy brunette mane.
 
Resembling a female Samson, Barbra held Sophia eight feet off the ground and paraded her mewling foe all around the ring---to the hooting and hollering of the salivating camera men.
 
Streisand finally stopped in the middle of the rustic squared circle, repositioned the rag doll formerly known as Sophia Loren in an upside down position and violently powered her rival down in a vertical suplex.
 
Sophia's head hit the Arizona earth with a sickening SMACK.
 
"How the mighty have fallen," roared Barbra.
 
Loren was a study in ignominy. With her face half buried in the dust, and her arms splayed outward like a plucked chicken's wings, Sophia's enormous buttocks stood out like the humps of a camel.
 
Winking to the camera, Streisand sensually peeled off her jeans and removed her thong. However, she kept her cowboy boots on---the better to repeatedly kick Loren's peasant derriere black and blue.
 
The semi-conscious Sophia found herself at the mercy of Barbra's booted fury. Streisand's cruelty knew no bounds, though.
 
 After being stomped and kicked from head to toe, Loren curled into a fetal position.  However, Streisand savagely hauled Sophia up by her nipples.
  
Swaying unsteadily on rubbery legs, Loren made easy prey for Streisand's hammering fists. Jab shots to Sophia’s high cheekbones rocked the Neapolitan woman's head as rabbit punches pounded her neck. 
 
Loren's protruding belly shook like so much Jell-O when Streisand plowed a one-two combination into her into Sophia's squishy solar plexus.  
 
"OOOf,  Uuughh, Ohhhhh," cried the tottering Italian diva.
 
"Wham. Whump. Whumpata-thumpata, Whomp," responded Streisand's fists as the Jewess shifted her attack to Loren's inferior mammaries.

Barbra brought the bout to a close with a final speed-bag pummeling of Loren's cow teats, followed by flurry of kidney punches and
 a liver punch that floored the Neapolitan whore.
 
When Sophia Loren opened her eyes, she listened as a naked, larger-than-life Barbra Streisand---her conqueror---dispensed orders.
 
"On your knees, Sophia. Like a canine."
 
Without hesitation, Sophia obeyed.
 
"Bark like a dog, Sophia."
 
"Ark, arf, arf. . ."
 
"Louder, bitch!"
 
"WOOF, WOOF, ARF, ARF, WOOF-WOOF ARF-ARF!"
 
"Datsa nize, Sophia piccolina," said a wickedly smiling Streisand as she patted the Italian woman's messy brunette mane.
 
Grabbing a fistful of Loren's sweat-soaked locks, Barbra pulled Sophia up to chest level.
 
"Now kiss my breasts, bitch!"
 
Loren dutifully complied---and without any urging---added: "And they are a real woman's bountiful breasts, Mistress Barbra.  Clearly superior to my flabby cow teats."
 
Streisand smile broadened into a wide grin.
 
"Now kiss my feet, doggie."
 
Sophia fell to the ground and began kissing and licking each booted foot. She even licked the soles and heels of Streisand's cowboy boots.
 
"Now you must kiss my pristine derriere, whore. Both cheeks.  And don't forget my anus," commanded Streisand.
 
While still on her knees, Sophia scurried behind her conqueror and began smooching each of Barbra's butt cheeks.  Loren took special care to longingly lick Streisand's ass crack.
 
"Good doggie," said Streisand.
 
Finally, Barbra Streisand ordered Sophia Loren to lie flat on her back.  With a theatrical flourish, the powerful Jewess lowered her naked breasts over the beaten Italian woman's face. Streisand's succulent mammaries engulfed the entirety of the defeated diva's countenance.  And Barbra smiled to the camera as Sophia gurgled her reply: “MMUumphh . . ."