“Emily, this is an insane plan,” I said as I watched my girlfriend pick the lock.
“Layla, relax!” she murmured as it clicked open. “We’re not gonna get caught. And even if we do, you know it’s worth it. How many people get to say they’ve been inside the Bloody Rose?”
It was a rhetorical question, but the answer was “very few”. The Bloody Rose was one of the most exclusive clubs in the city, and its doors were sealed to anyone not on its invite list. Rumors abounded of all sorts of debauchery and perversion taking place within, but no one who entered spoke a word of what went on inside.
Usually the place operated 24/7, but with the owner away on vacation, we had a golden opportunity. We could be the first outsiders to know the torrid truth—or so Emily had claimed when she had talked me into going with her.
What we saw inside, though, was mostly just a club.
To be fair, it was a very ostentatious one. The place was furnished in an art-deco style, all sweeping surfaces of polished marble and brushed chrome. The bartop was one single piece of smoked glass, curved into an elegant U shape to face out towards the whole room.
Emily strolled up to the bar, leaning on one of the hardwood chairs. The moonlight caught her dark hair and her round, freckled face as she grinned at me. “Want a drink?”
I stared at her. “Aren’t you getting us into enough trouble?”
“Layla,” said Emily, “this scotch is older than both of us put together. One bottle costs literally as much as we make in a year. And this is the one opportunity you’ll ever have to taste it. Are you really going to let it slip away?”
I hesitated for a moment, then said, “…Yes.”
“Too bad,” she said. “I guess I’ll just have to put it back and—”
There was a faint pop of escaping air.
“Oops!” Emily grinned smugly at me. “Guess I just accidentally broke the seal. Butterfingers, am I right? But anyway, since it’s already open, we might as well try some.”
“We are going to jail for the rest of our lives,” I lamented. “So I suppose if there were ever a time to drink, this would be it. Give me the bottle.”
Emily handed it over to me along with two shot glasses, and I deftly filled them up with a single motion, before sliding one over to her.
She picked it up and examined it. The moonlight shining through the whiskey cast a golden glimmer on her hand. “To living free,” she finally said.
“For as long as we’ve got left,” I grumbled, and drank.
The drink was rich and smooth against my tongue, warming my throat as it went down. I had to admit that there might have been something to what Emily was saying—but across from me, she coughed and choked as she downed her shot.
“I forgot that I hate scotch,” she said once she recovered.
Blinking in astonishment, I asked, “Then what on Earth did you open it for?”
Emily shrugged. “Like I said, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Now I know what liquor tastes like when it’s worth its weight in gold. Even if it does taste like shit.”
I sighed in exasperation and confusion. “Okay, are you satisfied? Because we should get out of here before we…”
I trailed off as I noticed something in the back corner. A nondescript door was set into the wall there, looking almost like a decorative panel if not for the handle recessed into the side.
Emily followed my gaze, and grinned as she noticed it too. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Almost never,” I deadpanned.
“Liar,” she called over her shoulder as she strode across the room to open the door.
The room we entered through it had no windows, and with the lights off it was nearly pitch-black. Emily groped around for a switch, and flipped it to reveal…
…beds. Over a dozen beds were set along the curved wall of the room in a wide, semicircular arc. Some were four-posters with canopies for privacy, while some had none. But they all maintained the streamlined style of the furniture from the front room of the club, as did the chests of drawers set in between them. The middle of the room was a large, open space, floored with planks of ebony and painted over with a smooth, clear laminated finish.
“Oh my God,” Emily whispered gleefully as we walked into the room. “If this is what I think it is…”
I wandered over to open one of the drawers, glanced at what was inside, and said, “I think it’s a safe bet.”
The drawer contained handcuffs. They were stacked up in neat rows, organized by size and by whether they were plain metal or fuzzy and pink.
Emily stared at them for a moment, jaw hanging open in shocked delight, before opening another, and then another. In one there was a long coil of smooth but sturdy rope, and in another we found a line of sleek black vibrators.
“Hey, Layla,” Emily said, glancing over at me. “Do you think—”
“Emily,” I said levelly, “if you suggest using any of this stuff, I am going to leave.”
I wasn’t sure if I could follow through on the threat, frankly, but Emily pouted at me and closed the drawers. We stepped back, and for a moment we just stared around the room, taking in the scene.
What struck me most, now that I was looking at the whole picture, was how clean it all was. We’d confirmed every lewd rumor about what happened behind closed doors in the Bloody Rose, and yet every surface was immaculate, scrubbed and polished to perfection. Even the bedsheets were spotless.
“Imagine what this place would look like under a blacklight,” I murmured to myself. Emily snorted with laughter as we both took in the sights.
This time, both our eyes fell on it at once.
Towards the back of the room was a trapdoor. Not a “trap” in the literal sense, but a door in the floor, made to be opened deliberately and walked or climbed into. We shared a glance, and for once, our thoughts were aligned: if we were already in a room for the things the Bloody Rose wanted to hide from prying eyes, what worse things might we find a level down?
And yet…I was beginning to feel strangely drawn to go in. Maybe Emily’s reckless curiosity was rubbing off on me, maybe I wanted to make sure the Bloody Rose’s patrons weren’t doing something truly horrible…or maybe I just didn’t want to let my girlfriend go down there alone. But for once, I followed her into the darkness without a word.
The door led to a long staircase, which we descended slowly and quietly. As we went, a series of motion-sensing lights flicked on, clicking into activity with each step. But we triggered no alarms, so on we went.
“Moment of truth,” Emily said as we opened the door at the bottom. “Do you want to do the honors?”
I nodded once, silently, and flipped the light switch beside us.
And then I stared in utter confusion.
We were standing at the upper level of a huge amphitheater, much bigger than the club above it, with its sloping rows of seats shrouded in darkness. The switch had turned on some basic work-lights: little points of light illuminating the paths and aisles throughout the vast space, and fluorescent bulbs above the entrances and exits. A narrow shaft of light shone down on the centerpiece of the room, what the audience came down here to see.
“I don’t get it,” I said. “What would the Bloody Rose want with a wrestling ring?”
“Maybe they’re too embarrassed to admit they like lowbrow entertainment,” Emily said, her grin faintly visible in the dim lighting. “Rich people having a secret BDSM sex dungeon? That’s like a slow Tuesday for them. Rich people liking the same stuff poor people like? Can’t have the unwashed masses knowing that.”
I shook my head. “That makes sense at first glance, but…this is too elaborate to just be a sideshow they don’t want people to know about. Look at this place. They have to have put way more effort into building this than they put into the kink room upstairs, and that was already a lot of effort. Plus, anyone having fun up there is going to be horny as hell, so why build a whole wrestling arena instead of some other way for them to get off?”
“Well, listen to you, Miss Holmes,” Emily chuckled. “Any further deductions to explain to Miss Watson?”
I smirked, but my mind was racing. “It doesn’t make sense to do this weird escalation and deescalation from a normal upscale club to a sex dungeon to a huge arena for a wacky but innocuous thing like this unless…no. No way. That would be crazy.”
Emily turned to me. “Unless what, Layla?”
“Unless they were trying to combine them somehow.”
Her eyes went wide. “Whoa. But how would you even—”
“You want to try it out,” I said with a deep sigh of exasperation.
“I want to try it out,” she said with a manic grin.
I stared at her. “Emily, this—I don’t—neither of us even knows how to wrestle. And every moment we stay here makes it more likely that we get caught. And, and we don’t even have any wrestling gear…”
“I hear a lot of reasons you’re scared to try,” she responded. “You know what I’m not hearing? ‘I’m not interested in this’.”
“I…” I trailed off.
Emily’s smile faded. Her face, wreathed in shadows, took on a serious cast. “Just look me in the eye and say it, and we can go. We’ll leave this place for good. I won’t make you do this if it’s not something you want. But you shouldn’t let fear hold you back.”
I glanced away. She was right. Even thinking about it was a little thrilling. But… “Look, there’s still…all of that stuff I mentioned. I don’t know how we’d do it.”
“It doesn’t have to be hard,” she said, getting more animated again. “This place has to have a locker room. We find it, throw on some outfits, and fool around for a little while. Then we leave. We won’t have to stay long, and we won’t need to know all the moves or anything. I just want to know what it’s like.”
I steeled myself and took a deep breath. “Then we’d better do it fast.”
Emily beamed, then threw her arms around me and planted a deep kiss on my mouth. Then she dashed off to find the lockers.
That didn’t prove to be difficult, thankfully. The path there was lined by green lights, while all the other aisles were lit in blue. We hurried down to the door, entering a spotless room covered in gleaming white tile. The walls were lined with racks of clothing, ranging from modest one-pieces to what I could only assume was fetish gear, plus the occasional mirror. Just like the sex toys upstairs, everything was meticulously organized by size and color.
Emily and I headed for opposite sides of the room, on some subconscious impulse. If it was bad luck to see your bride before the wedding, was it also bad luck to see your girlfriend before the wrestling match? Did that even make sense? I shrugged and pored over the rack, trying to choose quickly.
I settled on a white bra and panties, cut Brazilian-style to show off my curves without baring everything. Then, on a whim, I grabbed something else off the rack: a lucha mask, bright white with flared green highlights around the eyes and mouth. I smiled at myself in the mirror and headed out a side door to get in the ring.
Emily, ever just as willing to court disaster as to court me, was taking longer to choose than I was, so I was alone there for a while. I paced around the canvas, feeling its rough firmness under my feet. I tested the strength of the ropes, leaning and pulling on them to see what they would hold. The solidity of it all helped take some of the tension away, for some reason. This all felt less like a leap of faith when I had something to hold onto.
At last, I saw Emily’s figure approaching from the darkness. I waved at her as she made her way up the entrance ramp. “Come on, Emily, let’s get up here and—oh my God.”
Emily was wearing a jet-black slingshot bikini, one so skimpy it could barely be called clothing. A slim triangle of fabric sat on each breast and between her thighs, pulled so tight that even in the half-light I could see the outline of what was beneath. Like me, she’d put on a lucha mask, but hers was black and purple, and her eyes gave me a smoldering glance from within.
“What’s the matter?” she teased, running her hands down her nearly-naked body. “Don’t you like it?”
I forced my jaw to close and said, “Yeah. Yeah, you look, uh…you look amazing.”
“So do you,” she said, winking at me. “I was thinking—don’t wrestlers usually have stage names? What do you think of me calling myself ‘Nightshade’?”
“I think it’s ridiculous,” I said bluntly. “But then, this whole thing is ridiculous. So…I guess you can call me ‘White Lotus’.”
“You are getting into it!” she cheered. “Okay. What do you say you play the face and I play the heel?”
It took me a minute to place the reference—the fair-playing, crowd-favorite hero and the cheating, despised villain. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you want to be the bad girl.”
“Well,” she said mischievously with a gesture at her outfit, “faces don’t get to dress like this.”
It was, I was forced to admit, a fair point.
“Okay.” My own voice surprised me with its firmness, its finality. “We’ve come too far to stop now. White Lotus the face against Nightshade the heel. Let’s do this.”
“Thought you’d never ask,” Emily said. Then a wicked smile spread across her face. “Alright, White Lotus! Are you ready to get dominated by this hot body?”
Oh, we were getting into character. Okay. “Your dishonorable tactics will never prevail! …God, I sound like a cartoon character.”
“Shut up and fight!” Emily/Nightshade yelled, beckoning me forward.
I advanced cautiously towards my girlfriend—my opponent. Her body was a vision in that tiny outfit, and she knew it, thrusting out her chest teasingly to draw my eyes. I tried not to let it work…and failed.
While I was distracted, Em—Nightshade made her move. Ducking low, she grabbed my legs and pulled them out from under me, and I fell to the mat with a yelp. There wasn’t even a moment to get my bearings before Nightshade slid down on top of me, pinning me down.
“Too easy,” she purred. “One move and I’ve already got you pinned. You could at least try to make this a challenge, White Lotus…unless you enjoy being underneath me.”
To punctuate the point, Nightshade rubbed her body teasingly against mine. I felt the warmth of her skin, of the friction between us…and of something more, building inexorably. My breath hitched.
“One,” Nightshade crooned. “Two…”
As much as I wanted her to stay pressed against me, I wanted even more to keep going. Not that she would end the match on such an anticlimax, but some part of me did want to truly give her a fight. I bucked my body, shifting my weight to throw her off, and scrambled to my feet only a moment before Nightshade did the same.
“I suppose this isn’t over so soon, then,” she said. “Good. I have so much more where that came from.”
There were equal parts promise and threat in her voice.
“Do your worst, foul temptress!” I shouted back, then internally cringed. She was so good at getting into character, making herself into the bitchy, dominant heel. Why couldn’t I play her opposite number without sounding ridiculous?
But my train of thought was derailed. Nightshade smiled as if I’d offered her up an invitation on a silver platter—which I supposed, in a way, I had—and charged straight at me.
I gasped and raised my arms, bracing myself, but the feared impact never came. Instead she rushed past me, grabbing one of my arms as she went, and stepped around before twisting it up behind my back.
“Owww!” I yelped, then, sotto voce, “Emily, that actually kind of hurts.”
“Well, yeah,” she whispered back. “I’m putting you in a submission hold. What’d you expect it to do, tickle?”
Oh. So that was how it was going to be.
“It’s not all bad, though,” she said, slipping back into Nightshade’s voice. “For example, holding you that way makes it easy for me to do…this.”
My brow furrowed quizzically for a moment, and then I gasped as I felt Nightshade’s free hand caressing my ass.
She started off surprisingly gently for a supposed heel, but she didn’t stay that way. Before long her soft touches turned to firm squeezes, and even the occasional slap that drew a strangled yelp of embarrassment from my throat. And the whole time, she kept my arm painfully twisted out of position.
Nightshade leaned over to murmur, “I can’t wait to bend you over and spank you until you scream my name.” I could feel the warmth of her breath against my ear, and just the faintest brush of her lips.
When had she gotten so kinky? It was hard to imagine that the Emily I knew was hiding behind that mask. She’d always chased new experiences, but this was something else entirely. Was our fight bringing out a new side of her, or had she wanted this all along?
But those were Layla’s questions. Right now I was White Lotus. I tried to think of an insult for my would-be nemesis, possibly something like, “You fiend!” or “Dishonorable harlot!” But between the pain in my arm and the flush running to my cheeks, the only thing that came out of my mouth was a breathy mutter of “Slut…”
Oof. Not a very face-like thing to say. Nightshade didn’t seem to care, though. “Guilty as charged,” she laughed. “But what does that make you, White Lotus? You’re even more turned on than I am right now.”
…Fuck, she was right. When had I gotten so kinky?
As I thought about it, I realized that some of the things Nightshade was saying had stoked more than just arousal in me. I wasn’t going to just sit idly by while I got dominated. I wanted to do those things to her.
I stomped on her foot, hard. Nightshade’s grip loosened as she cried out in pain, and I took the opportunity to pull myself free of her grip, spinning around to face her. And as I stared her down, I finally understood what I’d been missing about my persona.
Emily was my girlfriend, but in putting on the mask to become Nightshade she’d turned into something else: a nemesis, a rival for sexual supremacy. White Lotus was my weapon against that. Becoming her set me free to fight back—to resist her dominance and even turn the tables with some of my own. This was so much more than just “fooling around” now. It was about showing this slutty, bitchy heel what would happen if she tried to walk all over me.
“You want to use this body?” I spread my arms wide, giving her a good long look at my lingerie-clad form. “Come take it.”
Nightshade grinned ecstatically and strode forward to meet me.
When she raised her arms I thought at first that she was going to try to grapple with me. But instead she lashed out, smacking my breasts with a backhanded chopping attack!
“Ahhh!” I recoiled, clutching my stinging tits with one arm. “What the hell was that?!”
“That was what we like to call a ‘heel move’,” Nightshade informed me, practically radiating smugness. “Unlike you goody two-shoes types, we don’t fight with one hand wrapped around our—I mean, tied behind our backs.”
I stepped forward, wearing a snarl on my face that wasn’t entirely for show. “Well, maybe you’ve heard the expression—”
Uncovering my bust, I retaliated with the same attack, painfully chopping my hand across Nightshade’s breasts!
“—Turnabout is fair play!” I finished.
Her lips made a perfect scarlet O of pained surprise, and then, predictably, she responded in kind.
And then it was a duel, a battle within a battle, as we took turns pummeling each other’s tits with stinging chops and slaps. It was a poor strategy for truly gaining the advantage in the match, but for us this wasn’t about that. It was a contest of will, a challenge we’d set for each other to see who could withstand more pain, and more pleasure from that pain. To back down was to submit, and with our blood up, our hearts pounding, and our libidos working overtime, neither of us would even consider that.
Nightshade’s buxom DDs bounced around mesmerizingly, even as they reddened with each punishing smack. I smirked to myself. But my satisfaction didn’t last for long: she wound up further than ever and, on her next swipe, knocked my top askew. My eyes widened and my cheeks burned as one of my boobs spilled out.
“Ooh, is White Lotus having a wardrobe malfunction?” Nightshade taunted. “Hey, look on the bright side. You won’t have to worry about your clothes for much longer.”
She was planning to strip me? What was I saying—of course she was. But this time I decided to take the initiative for myself. Instead of wasting time responding to her banter, I beat her to the punch. Seizing the straps of her sling bikini, I yanked them to the side, letting her enormous rack pop clean out of her outfit!
“How do you like that?” I asked triumphantly.
But instead of reacting with outrage or shock, Nightshade licked her lips seductively and gave me a sultry smile. And I realized I’d miscalculated. Badly.
“Oh, I like it,” she said breathily. “But not as much as you, I bet. You love my big titties, don’t you, Lotus?” She reached up and caressed them for emphasis, squeezing them tauntingly at me. “Then maybe you should take an up close look!”
Before I could process what that meant, Nightshade reached out and grabbed me around the back of my head, shoving my face deep into her luscious cleavage. I only had time to let out an “Mmmmmf!” of protest that was swallowed by my prison of warm titflesh. Then my supply of air was sealed off tight, and the clock was ticking.
Nightshade laughed mockingly at me, shaking her chest back and forth with my head still trapped between her enormous breasts. They smacked me around with every motion—left, right, left, right, left, right—until I was dazed and disoriented from more than just my dwindling stores of oxygen. Then, my nemesis let me slump down, seemingly content to score a KO with her dominant breast smother attack.
And for a few moments, I was tempted to let it happen.
Her tits were just…so perfect. Buxom, yet perky. Supple and firm. It would be so easy…to let myself sleep…pass out between them…
No. I was not going to lose this way. I was only beginning to realize how much I had to give in this match. I couldn’t give up now, especially not to a humiliating smother hold designed to show Nightshade’s total superiority. I had to escape—and escape in a way that showed her who she was messing with.
I balled up my fist and punched her as hard as I could in the gut.
Nightshade coughed and wheezed, recoiling, and as her hold on my head loosened I pounded her breadbox a second time, then a third. Her once iron grip had turned as soft as tissue paper, and I tore my way free, sucking in deep breaths of oxygen and blinking the spots out of my eyes.
I recovered faster than Nightshade did. She was still doubled over, trying to get her wind back after my punishing gut punches had knocked it out of her. But I had no intention of giving her the chance.
I clasped my hands together, forming a hammer with my fists. I raised it high over my head. And then, with a yell of effort, I brought it crashing down on Nightshade’s vulnerable back!
She let out a groan of agony and collapsed, first to her knees and then flat onto her chest. I quickly rolled her over and slid on top of her to pin her down, in a mirror image of our first encounter in this match.
“Not so tough when you’re not the one on top, are you?” I teased. “One…two…oh fuck…”
Instead of kicking out, Nightshade went for a different tactic. Her dexterous fingers brushed over the fabric at my crotch, teasing me with the promise of pushing the panties aside and plunging them inside me. She didn’t cross that fateful barrier yet, but even the hint of it seemed to shoot lightning bolts of pleasure up from between my thighs.
“Oh, White Lotus,” she breathed. “You’re so delightfully wet for me.”
It was true. I could feel liquid heat pooling down there, feel it seep out into my panties. I let out an undignified whimper. “Fuck…Nightshade…Emily…”
As quickly as they’d begun, her fingers stopped their motion and pulled back a fraction. “Too far?” she murmured. “Just say the word and I’ll stop.”
For a moment I was fondly reminded of why I put up with her crazy escapades. She’d forged ahead heedlessly since we came in here—but the moment she started worrying about me she stopped herself cold.
But I didn’t want her to stop. I wanted to turn the tables. I wanted to return this pleasure with interest.
“Don’t hold back,” I whispered to her. “Not even for a moment.” Then I drew up my White Lotus voice and said between moans, “I’ll get you back for this…”
“I’d like to see you try,” said Nightshade in a voice a little too sincere to hit home as a scoffed insult. “But first…it’s time for me to stop going easy on you.”
Taking advantage of my distracted state to shove me off her, she sprang to her feet. I made it up just after her, but for a moment I was too horny and dazed to focus on the match.
It was a moment that would cost me dearly.
While I struggled to get my bearings, Nightshade’s arms wrapped around me, drawing me in close and pinning my own arms to my sides. I struggled, but she’d caught me off guard with no leverage. Her tits pressed into mine, squashing them flat against my chest. She smirked at me as I gasped for release, savoring the moment of having me under her control.
Then, Nightshade let out a tremendous growl of exertion, if not an outright roar. And suddenly my feet were leaving the ground.
My opponent, to my utter shock, was lifting me into the air, a few inches at a time. It was clearly a tremendous struggle for her, but that seemed to make her all the more determined to pull it off.
In the end, she only managed to hoist me about a foot off the ground, a far cry from the spectacular lifts you might see in pro wrestling on TV. But it was enough. She whirled around and brought me crashing down to the mat, with herself on top of me!
The world seemed to shatter around me as stars exploded in front of my eyes. I let out a feeble cry of pain and slumped back to lie flat on the canvas. Was this how Nightshade was going to finish me off? If so, at least it was a hell of a finishing move to go out on. All that was left was to—
I let out a wordless, vaguely quizzical sound as a foot stepped on the single breast that Nightshade had earlier laid bare.
I looked up and there she was. Standing over me like a conquering hero (uncaring of the irony), striking a double-bicep power pose for an imaginary audience. Nightshade wasn’t a muscular woman, but that wasn’t the point. It was about the display of dominance, literally flexing on an opponent she’d squashed into the mat.
“Is this your hero?” she called out to the nonexistent watchers, no doubt imagining a chorus of boos. “The great White Lotus? Look at her now! The woman who you all cheered on, beaten and wrecked. I could end this match right here. But I want to make you all watch what I do to her next!”
She was in fine form now, hamming it up and projecting her voice, any thoughts of staying discreet forgotten. I couldn’t blame her. The thrill of all this was intoxicating—though it came with a little quiver of fear at her threat.
A very justified one, it turned out.
Ignoring the easy opportunity for a pin, Nightshade yanked me up to my knees by the hair that flowed out from under my mask. She clasped my wrists in her hands, braced one foot between my shoulder blades, leaned back, and pulled with all her might.
Other moves had gotten a groan or a yell out of me. This one got a full-throated scream.
“You did tell me not to hold back,” she murmured. Then, louder, in her wrestler’s voice: “Beg me for mercy, White Lotus! Beg!”
“Never!” I shouted defiantly. “Not even if you rip my arms out of my sockets!”
The part of my mind I’d set aside when I donned the lucha mask registered faint surprise that I’d meant every word of that.
“Don’t tempt me, bitch!” snarled Nightshade, not letting up for a moment.
For all my bluster, I had to find a way out, or she’d keep this up until I simply couldn’t fight anymore. My mind raced to come up with an escape plan, and when it settled on one, I didn’t hesitate.
Gathering my strength, I suddenly ducked forward, yanking my torso and neck down. A fresh wave of pain shot through my shoulders and back, but Nightshade was pulled off balance with me, and her foot slipped from its place on my spine. She fell in a tangle of limbs.
While Nightshade struggled to get up, I hurried over to the ropes, using them to pull myself up when my aching arms couldn’t do the job on their own. I had to regroup, focus on defense, make a strategy—
—but by the time I shook the hurt out of my limbs she was already up and charging straight at me.
There was no time to fully dodge and I was still too weak to meet her head-on. I only had the slimmest chance, so I was going to have to make use of it.
I barely sidestepped her charge, feeling the wind as she rushed by. Grabbing her arm, I pivoted slightly to the side and let Nightshade’s own momentum do the job for me. Her eyes widened in alarm, but she couldn’t stop herself in time. Her own charge sent her careening into the turnbuckle with a ring-shaking thud.
I rushed over and spun Nightshade around so that her back was to the pads. Her eyes were a bit crossed, shaken, but not fully devoid of that lustful, excited spark. Perfect.
I threw myself forward to slam against her, pounding her back against the turnbuckle with my own body weight. Then again, and again. Each time she let out a groan and slumped further back. Until finally, she slid down to a seated position, her arms on the bottom ropes, her head lolling back listlessly. Now I was the one standing over her, triumphant.
“‘Beaten and wrecked’?” I asked, amused. “Not quite. But you were right about one thing: everyone who’s watching will want to see what I do to you next.”
And, so saying, I…didn’t hit her. I didn’t slam her to the mat. I didn’t put her in an agonizing submission to make her tap out.
Instead, I turned around so that she had a full view of my rear. I ran my hands over it, caressing it teasingly right in front of her eyes, then gave it a slap just for show. I grabbed the middle ropes for support. And I shoved my thick ass right into Nightshade’s face.
She gave a yell of protest that was muffled by my round cheeks and made a feeble attempt to shove me off, but I had all the leverage. Laughing, I started to swivel my hips and shake my ass back and forth, grinding it seductively against Nightshade’s helpless features. “You enjoying yourself down there? Does the big bad heel actually enjoy getting dominated and destroyed by my booty? See, when you lose to me I make you feel good.”
Her hands were pawing uselessly at my ass-cheeks, seeming less like they were trying to push me off anymore and more like they were copping a feel. I couldn’t blame her; I’d probably have done the same thing in her situation.
God, was I actually going to win here? What an amazing feeling. How humiliating would it be for Nightshade to know that I’d knocked her out by smothering her under my ass? That she’d just sat there unable to lift a finger while I rubbed it all over her? It was making me wet (okay, wetter) just thinking about it.
Of course, that was the moment Nightshade chose to strike.
The hand motions I’d taken for useless attempts at feeling me up had actually been groping in the dark for the strings on my panties. Now that she had them, she yanked upwards, giving me a painful wedgie as the fabric was yanked tight into my ass and pussy. I gave a short, sharp shriek of agony and stumbled forward, freeing Nightshade from my smothering assault.
“I’m gonna make you regret ever even thinking of that,” she snarled. But what was left of her attire gave the lie to her anger. The small patch of fabric between her legs was soaked clean through, dripping onto the canvas. It clung to her lower lips as though it had been plastered on, giving me an image of what was beneath that was almost more scandalous than real nudity would have been. I didn’t doubt that my own panties looked much the same.
But Nightshade’s arousal only seemed to give her strength. She grabbed me by my hair and my wrist and hurled me towards the ropes. I stumbled over and fell between them, bent over the middle rope with my torso hanging out of the ring and my legs still inside. A compromising position at the best of times, and facing an enraged, horny Nightshade was not the best of times.
She strode over to me, blue eyes burning with lustful fury behind her black mask. Standing next to me, she pressed me down over the rope to ensure I couldn’t escape. Then her knee came rocketing up to bury itself in my soft, unprotected belly, and my cry of agony turned into a wheeze.
Once. Twice. Three times. Then a fourth, and a fifth. By the time Nightshade was done with me, being able to breathe normally felt like a distant memory.
And she was just getting started.
I felt a tickle of her fingers against my hips and back, and for a moment I didn’t know what was going on. Then I felt the strings and catches of my bra and panties began to loosen. I struggled helplessly as Nightshade stripped me easily, leaving me nude and vulnerable to whatever humiliation she wanted to inflict.
And then I felt a finger slip between my inner folds. Then a second, then a third.
There was a pause for a brief moment—then I looked over my shoulder at Emily and nodded.
And Nightshade began fingerfucking me like I’d never been fucked before.
I screamed again, this time in pleasure instead of pain. Her nimble digits pistoned in and out of my soaking wet cunt. And yet somehow, despite their incredible force, Nightshade seemed to know exactly how to hit my most sensitive spots. Her thumb circled my clit as her fingers explored with each powerful thrust, and I arched my back and moaned like a pornstar.
Forget body slams, I realized. This was Nightshade’s real coup de grace, her finishing move in every sense of the word. We’d never set rules on how exactly our match should go (and if we had, we would long since have shattered them all). But I somehow knew that if I let her force an orgasm out of me here and now, she would be the unquestioned victrix.
The challenge in stopping that wasn’t just holding back my own pleasure, which was becoming more difficult with every passing moment. It was also maintaining the presence of mind to try to escape, even when my world threatened to dissolve into a riot of color, sound, and ecstatic sensation.
It took every bit of willpower I had and more than a little I’d never even known I possessed, but I marshaled my thoughts and forced myself to ignore the tsunami of pleasure building inexorably under Nightshade’s fingers. I whipped an elbow back into her midsection, and she recoiled with a shout of anguish.
It took far longer than I would have liked to free myself of the ropes and turn around, but she was still dazed as she stood in the middle of the ring, clutching her belly. And I seized the moment. I ducked down, just as she had done at the very start of the match, and pulled one of her legs out from under her.
Nightshade went down hard, but taking her to the canvas was just step one. As she writhed on the mat, I backed up—almost all the way across the ring—and got a running start. Then I leaped into the air, splaying out my limbs, and brought my whole body crashing down on her!
Her limbs spasmed with the force, and for a second I was afraid I’d really hurt her. But no: Nightshade was down, but not out. I’d need to find another way to put an exclamation point on this match.
First things first, though: leveling the playing field.
With Nightshade’s body still trapped underneath mine, I leaned in close. I could have started counting a pin at any time, and probably finished it too—but neither of us cared about that anymore. We were in too deep to think about any victory except total domination.
With that in mind, I leaned down and kissed Nightshade on the lips.
It was hungry, sultry, fiery. Even through her daze, she still had enough of her wits to give me a light, teasing bite on the lip. And as we melted into the kiss, I reached back and peeled the last remnants of the sling bikini off Nightshade’s body.
Now the match was ready to end. But I needed it to be an end to remember. I needed to go where not even Nightshade—not even Emily—would ever dare. I needed…ah. Perfect.
I pulled myself away from Nightshade, ending the kiss as I delivered another punishing body blow to keep her from recovering. Then, I started climbing the ropes.
Even though her eyes were unfocused and glassy, they still went wide as they saw what I was doing. But surprisingly, Nightshade didn’t try to crawl away or brace herself. Maybe she felt I’d earned this after all the effort I’d put into this match. Or maybe she was just too beaten up to try.
I reached the top turnbuckle and stood poised there for a moment, steeling myself. Then I cocked my elbow and took a leap of faith.
For a moment, I was just hanging there in the air. Light shone down on me, but outside there was darkness all around. The wind rushed over my naked skin. Gravity seemed to have no hold over me.
Those few seconds felt like they lasted years.
But then they were over, and the point of my elbow drove down with perfect accuracy and devastating force right into Nightshade’s chest.
Even on the right end of the move, the ground came up to meet me with jarring, teeth-rattling force. I rested for a second to recover from the impact and the rush of adrenaline, laying prone next to Nightshade for a little while. Then, I stood up to survey my handiwork.
Her eyes flickered open as I stood over her, as if emerging from a deep hibernation instead of a few seconds of unconsciousness. Then she giggled. “And you didn’t even want to go inside the building.”
I broke down into giggles alongside her, but she weakly held up a finger. “One more thing. Isn’t the victorious White Lotus going to claim her prize?”
I looked down at her naked body, bruised, beaten, busty, and beautiful, and said, “You had better fucking believe she is.”
I stepped over her, straddling her face. And slowly, slowly enough for her to know exactly what I was planning, I lowered myself down.
As soon as my pussy pressed down on her mouth, her tongue shot out and pressed itself deep inside me. I gasped in delight—it seemed Nightshade was no worse with her mouth than with her fingers. But I wasn’t just going to sit there and let her lick me to completion. I grabbed her head and pulled her in tight against my snatch. With my hips gyrating and thrusting, I started to dominantly, powerfully fuck her face.
As I threw my head back in a deeper, throatier moan than any that had come before, I also reached back with my free hand. With not even the tiny barrier of her match outfit, my fingers were free to slide inside her just as hers had done to me not long ago. I couldn’t match her for sheer skill or power in fingerfucking—but even as I rode her face harder and faster, I kept my other pace slow and steady, leaving her desperate for more.
All the pent-up emotions from our match came bursting forth into our erotic tableau. All the joy and rage, all the pain and excitement flowed between us. We were Nightshade and White Lotus; we were Emily and Layla. We came at the same time, gushing forth onto our thighs and my fingers and her face. Our orgasmic screams formed a chorus that echoed again and again through the huge, dark arena. We had dared and captured an incredible, sensual dream.
And then, with one clap, the dream came to an end.
Clap. Clap. Clap. Someone slow-clapping from the audience seats, up there in the dark beyond our vision.
We’d been seen. We’d been watched the whole time. It was too late to run and we both knew it. So we disentangled ourselves from each other and stood there in the ring, petrified, dripping with each other’s juices but utterly frozen.
Down from the shroud of darkness and into the light of the ring walked a woman. Long, black tresses of hair flowed down her shoulders, and her skin was a deep, dark brown. She had a graceful, seemingly ageless face, and a curvaceous frame accentuated by a tight black dress she looked like she had been poured into. She stood at the base of the ring, looking up at us, but I could tell that she would have towered over either of us even without her six-inch stiletto heels.
“Allow me to introduce myself,” she said. “My name is Miss Thorn. I’m the proprietor of this establishment. And you two ladies are in a truly incredible amount of trouble.”
Well, that much was obvious. We’d known that from the moment we’d realized we’d been caught—it was why both of us, so brazen in the ring, were now too scared to even speak.
“Did you actually believe that one of the most exclusive clubs in the city would be protected by nothing but a single analog door lock? That we’d have no other security systems, no cameras, no alarms? You tripped a silent alarm the moment you set foot in this building,” said Miss Thorn smugly. “You progressed this far only because I allowed it. I wanted to see what you would do. And now I have.” She climbed up into the ring to stand across from us. “Now, before I decide what to do with you, I’d like you to answer a question for me. Imagine the worst-case scenario that you think could happen as a result of you getting caught here. It doesn’t matter what it is, just that you can envision it. Now, if that consequence really did come to pass…would either of you regret what you did here today?”
I glanced over at Emily. She glanced at me. I couldn’t read her mind, but I had a hunch that her thoughts were in sync with my own.
We thought together about the life-destroying consequences we could face—unemployment, blacklisting, prison, or worse. We went over the memories of the match—of every moment of pleasure and pain and everything we’d learned about ourselves.
Then, in unison, we shook our heads.
Miss Thorn smiled at us. It was a terrifying expression. “Good,” she said. “You see, I’ve had an idea. I could, of course, throw the book at you. I have more than enough evidence to accuse you of breaking and entering, trespassing on private property, theft, and many others besides. Honestly, I could press charges for crimes you’ve never even heard of. All I have to do is release the evidence, and your lives are over. However…it’s occurred to me that you two could be resources for me instead. And I hate to let resources go to waste.”
So that was it. We were being blackmailed. This could either be better than the alternative…or much, much worse. I finally summoned up the courage to ask, “What do you want us to do?”
“I want you to keep doing the exact same thing you did tonight,” she said simply.
I blinked in total confusion. Emily said, “I’m sorry, what?”
“You will no longer be sneaking in to enter erotic wrestling matches,” said Miss Thorn. “Instead, you’ll be doing it officially, under my instruction. You see, the club has recently become a little ossified. It’s in need of some fresh blood, metaphorically speaking. You two are outsiders, not just to the Bloody Rose but to the whole stratum of society it caters to. And you showed…well, to call it ‘talent’ would be drastically overstating the case, but let’s say ‘the potential for talent’. So I’m going to train you until you’re ready to compete in this ring full-time.”
For a second, I was about to say “I guess we don’t have a choice”. But that would have been a lie. We could have just said no and let Miss Thorn clap some decidedly non-sexy handcuffs on us. It was a shitty option, but it was there. On the other hand, there was the option of being forced into an entirely new world, a world where privacy was a joke and sexuality was a weapon, with no help or guidance except the woman who was blackmailing us to make us into pawns.
But in that world, there was the ring. There were Nightshade and the White Lotus. There was everything we’d just done being worth more than nothing, and the chance of getting to do it again and again for the rest of our lives.
Emily took my hand, and we nodded at each other.
“When do we start?” I asked.
The End
