Firecrackers by Rival’s Rapture

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Chapter 1

Under burnt sienna girders, and on crackless black mats, stood the future. The gifted. The chosen few who were to be trained and tested — examined and instilled with the lessons learned by those who had proven their worth in professional wrestling. The ones that grabbed the brass ring, put butts in seats, and with in-ring talent or electrifying charisma, held one crowd after another in the palms of their hands.

Those legends were tasked with training those with the “look” and those who worked to overcome the absence of it. And though each such prospect had a story of their own, today I bring you the tale of only two.

A story of two strangers, two aspiring students. Two women who had not shared a single crossed word or side-eyed glance with one another. And yet, even without as much, they became enemies, both malice-filled and vengeance-aimed.

A sickness that took them from a work to a shoot and then from a shoot to an obsession.

Young and bright — fit and filled with determination, Mercedes Kaestner-Varnado and Lexi Kaufman were, as they stood there with their fellow hopefuls at the WWE’s Performance Center. Each hoping that they could make their dreams come true. That someday, they would become wrestlers in the WWE. In the ring. Under the lights. And maybe, if they were lucky and driven, on the grandest stage of them all.

And though such were their goals. And though they had no reason to focus on anything other than working and willing themselves into that future, on one day amongst many, they each found their lazer-trained focus derailed.

Not by Vinny Mac, or the powers that be, but instead in a cataclysm of unintended consequences. A forging of heat and hardening of times brought about by he who knew such happenings best.

“OK, baby. I want you two. You two at the end there t’ follow me. We’re gonna do a lil bit of promo work. The rest of ya, follow old baldie ova heeeere and practice hittin’ the ropes. Remembah, if you hit ‘em soft, dats how ya pop gonna be.” As smooth as silk and butter came every word out of Dusty Rhodes mouth, and as those words flowed, the assembled and lined up recruits of the NXT performance center hung. On every word. Every syllable. Every movement the aged legend made.

That reverence gave them pause, even when his instructions had been clear. Each stealing away every moment they could, just looking at the once second most recognizable athlete in the world — second only to Brother Love.

“What y’all waitin’ fo’! Go! I know I’m pretty, but dayum — it’s tiiieeeem t’ move!” At the second prompting, the collected hopefuls did move. Each of them, save for the singled out two, scurrying to the surrounding wrestling rings, a waiting trainer in each.

“Ok, now … Lexi, Mercedes. You two lil firecrackas. Follow ol’ Dusty. We gotta make stars out of you two.” Just the sound of it, being called stars, made the hair on their forearms stand. Forearms which neared as the two superstars-in-training stepped closer to the former bull of the woods.

Excited though they were, each was nervous. Cautious. The unfamiliar pair smiling politely when for the briefest of moments they let their eyes drift up to one another and meet. They having found a way, by accident alone, to avoid interaction of any kind, though they had been training together at the center for months.

Strangers though they were, each had heard the stories and comparisons — the comments and references. No they weren’t the daughter of the great Ric Flair or a girl with decades of experience on the independent scene, but they had IT.

A charisma and a clarity of expression that made them perfect for the wrestling business. Skills, practiced or birthed, that Dusty intended to build upon, as he led them to a private “promo room” as it was called. One that the three entered after only the shortest of wordless walks.

“Alright, one of you stands here. And the otha here.” The blade-scarred legend instructed as the two girls, one blonde and the other brunette stepped briskly. Moving to what they could decipher as their spots — each facing the other in tight black shorts, and a loose, gray, ‘Property of the WWE’ t-shirt.

“Now…. I want you two t’ stand here and siiiiiiiiiiiieeze each otha up. Take the other in, if you wiieell, firecrackas. Study each otha’s eyes. Each otha’s bodies. Each otha’s hair. And figure out, what you goin’ wanna say when it’s yo turn to cut, OK?” As he spoke, once again, the two hopefuls smiled sweetly. First at him, and then at each other.

“Be serious, now…. This ain’t no smile-off.” He said it with a smile, and yet still, the prodding made each of the two women straighten into a taller stance. Their eyes hardening, and demeanor shifting, as to comply with their legendary trainer’s demands, regardless of what civility and kindness they had hoped to cling to.

“That’s it….” He guided, with a velvet-soft smolder.

“You hate each otha.” He explained, as Lexi and Mercedes’ make-shift and feigned glares met.

“Despise each otha. More than anybody else in the whole world, baby.” With every word, the two training stars-in-the-making sunk deeper and deeper into the roles dusty had given them to play. Their eyes narrowing and lips curling into scowls as they set themselves to the task of becoming what Dusty wanted. Enemies. Empathyless and hate-filled, or at least as close to that as they could muster.

“Mmmm, that’s good. Keep it up. And don’t forget t’ study each otha. When I come t’ ya you bettah know what t’ say!” At the sounding of the reminder, both Lexi and Mercedes’ eyes began to move. Up and down each other’s body, though neither let their catty expressions fade. They instead working their examination into the act, by doing what they had seen other girls do before.

The swivel-headed study, one might call it — though always in silence. The two waiting in their quickly intensifying staredown for Dusty to give them guidance and tell them what to do next.

And just as he was about to, the door to the “Promo Room” opened. “Sorry to interrupt, Dust. But … ugh … Hunter’s on the phone. He said it’s urgent.” The words were spoken nervously, and in a hushed voice by a man, though Mercedes and Lexi knew not more. As they never broke from their hateful glare.

Never ebbed in their efforts to truly impress their mentor. Each finding instead their every thought and entire focus engaged in the performance of hating each other.

The two continuing what had become a maddeningly silent and hauntingly consuming staredown.

Even as Dusty replied. “Ooo, it’s the son-in-law. Bettah take that call. I’ll be right back, firecrackas. You two just keep doin’ what ya doin’.”

Even as the same larger than life star turned and left them there together. The short, fit, gorgeous girls remained locked together. Bound together, eye-to-eye, standing only a few feet apart.

Without him there to watch. To guide. To judge. One might think that Mercedes and Lexi would break from their trance of momentarily donned hatred. But the two were devoted to the business. To their dreams of becoming wrestlers. Above all else that might dull or soften their edge. And so they just kept on keeping on.

They each, as they stood in the center of the small furnitureless room, searching themselves for a way to project a soul-deep hatred that they did not truly feel. One they worked to stir and boil — find and form within themselves. So that they could, as was asked of them, project and inflict it upon the other.

Invented. Acted. And guidance-born though their glares and glowers were, with every second that passed, what was fake began to become real. Each noticing things about the other that made them jealous. Things about themselves that in comparison made them hate — not only their own flaws, but the other’s qualities.

Weaknesses that gave birth to self-doubt and self-loathing that manifested into glimmers and glints of eye, that only the human power of perception can pick up on.

And pick up on it, they did.

Each feeling as if the other, with their unending study, was stripping them down. Ripping away their confidence, their strength, and their most long-held defenses.

Neither had said a word, and yet already they had attacked. Had ravaged. Had ruined sacred placed. With nothing more than having their eyes on each other.

No escape being allowed for either.

They were trapped in the other’s gaze. Helpless to defend themselves from the other’s perception. Each branding the other’s soul with the pain of found imperfections and glare-conveyed judgments.

Then it happened. With no cause or trigger. No instruction or insertion of another. Mercedes leaned forward, just a millimeter or two, and yet Lexi saw it as a leap.

A dare.

A challenge.

And at it, the young blonde trainee rushed forward, and then in response, so too did her new brunette rival. The would-be wrestlers surging closer and then meeting, leaning their gray-shirt-covered upper bodies together, as their foreheads pressed, eyelashes tangled, and nose tips glanced and then slid to a gentle rest at each other’s side.

At that moment, they were so ready. So desperate to scream at each other. To curse at each other. To tell each other every hateful insult that they had invented and then stored in their minds.

But instead, lacking the instruction to do so, they just remained. Never blinking. Never relaxing. Just pressing together, tighter and tighter, and glaring with a hate — a true and genuine hate they felt to the very depths of their souls.

Only then did Dusty return to them, opening the door to the promo room to find them. Breast-to-breast, eye-to-eye, and enmity-to-enmity.

“Whoa, now, you two.” The rotund, forehead-marked trainer exclaimed in surprise and concern. “Let’s back it uuuppp, juuusst a biiit, and cut these promos.” Before, when Dusty spoke, they acted. Before, he was the only person whose words interested them. But on his return, they could barely hear him.

Barely perceive his presence.

They instead being lost. Obsessed. Trapped by the other’s gaze.

Why did he matter?

What was a career?

Who cared about dreams…?

When such an enemy was before them. For that was what the other had become to them. An enemy.

Not because of words spoken or deeds done, but instead because in each other’s eyes they had shown it. Sworn it. Promised each other a mutual hate and malice that would never ebb or die.

And with that as their new calling, they remained pressed together. Each daring the other to act. To speak. To free them from their bonds of inaction.

But just as each felt as if their moment of freedom was upon them. A freedom to lace their fingers in each other’s hair and pull — their teeth into each other’s flesh and bite. Dusty stepped forward and with his two mighty and meaty hands, forcibly separated them — pushing them each back a foot or two from one another.

There was no violence to it, or anger at being ignored, and yet still, there was something in the legend’s touch that woke them from their hate-fueled madness.

“Mmm, mmmm, I just knew you two were da ones. So much fire! So much passion.” As he spoke his words of praise, finally did Lexi and Mercedes’ eyes break from their seemingly eternal glare and return to their instructor.

“But let’s not lose that fire now. Lexi, you go first. Tell Mercedes what ya think of hur.” The moment Dusty said her name. The moment he gave her permission to tell her new rival all she wanted to say, the young blonde smirked.

Smirked, tilted her head, and then destroyed. She spewing a veritable litany of venom-laced words that after only a handful of them made Mercedes cry. She only stopping when Dusty intervened. Not out of mercy, but instead because she had shown she understood the assignment.

Then, Lexi stood gloating, loving every tear she had drug from her brunette enemy. But, those expressions of glee soon passed, as Mercedes took her turn and in short order Lexi too was brought to tears.

Each shredding with their resentment-tinged words the other’s body and hair — passion and performance — worth not only as a wrestler but as a woman.

Words that did not end after one promo or two. For Dusty, even as both of the women found themselves sobbing a few feet apart, brutalized by the other’s comments, made them go again and again. Not because he wanted to see them suffer, but instead because he wanted to protect them. They had to learn not to cry when they were being screamed at and savaged. How to keep control of their emotions, even as they sold the pain of every word said to them.

A lesson that they learned over the next hour of endless, agonizing obliteration. A lesson they memorized and perfected in their every subsequent performance.

Hardened themselves though they did, to the effect of a well delivered and biting promo, they also learned another lesson. Another truth, at least as they saw it.

That the woman they practiced with in that promo room, was not just their competition. Not just their rival. But their one true enemy. Their arch-nemesis. From that day forward. Forever and for always.

A belief each lived by, day in and day out. Trashing each other in every conversation. Taking liberties by throwing cheap shots at each other whenever they happened to be put in the ring together. And worse of all, reveling, not just in private, but in public, at the other’s every mistake and setback. Every push down the card and botched move in the ring.

There was no sense to such persecution. No benefit from such backbiting cruelty. And yet still, they found themselves compelled, by fate or the memory of an irrepressible collision of wills, to continue it. During their time in the performance center, their stints in NXT, and even when they made it to the main roster. Neither letting the other forget the role they must play. Or the wounds they fought tireless to keep open.

Chapter 2

Years it had been, since that fateful day in the performance center. Years filled with overcome trials and derailing tribulations — professional achievements and career altering disasters.

And though both women suffered and gained — improved and performed alongside one another, if not always in the same match, Lexi and Mercedes remained … enemies. Even as Lexi became Alexa and Mercedes became Sasha, they clung to it. To each other. To the hate and malice they together created in the smallness of the promo room, and nurtured night in and night out. Neither missing even a single chance to poke, prod, and pain the other in any way they could.

Throwing their every victory and accomplishment in the other’s face. Mocking the other whenever they would stumble, falter, or fall from the top of the card.

Somehow though, despite their mutual and relentless malignity, they had never found the time or space to be alone with one another — save for in the ring during their matches. Matches foisted upon them by management and McMahon. Against their wishes and wants — requests and resistance.

But do not mistake that reality for a failure of effort, for neither of the two had sought it or fought for a moment alone together. In fact, they had, with equal cleverness, worked their ways and walks to avoid such unaccompanied togetherness. The memory of their uninterrupted verbal confrontation still bringing tears to their eyes if even for a second it entered their mind — though the words of no other could do the same.

But on one night amongst many on the road, they let themselves forget. Foolishly. Absent-mindedly. Each heading into the dressing room of the arena they were in and changing amongst a sea of others. Neither looking for the other or guarding against the moment they had for so long feared.

Afterall, they were tired and brutally so. Both Sasha and Alexa having worked a month straight without a day off or night without a match — in fact sometimes they had two.

And so oblivious and aching — unfocused and fatigued, they each changed in silence. Neither knowing the other was behind them. Their sight blocked by the presence of at least ten other girls.

But as the two took their time. Nursing their wounds and resting between each removed and then replaced item of clothing, those between them began to diminish.

Ten falling to eight. Eight to five. Five to less and then none. The two enemies by nurture finally alone together. Though neither knew it.

Until the moment came.

The moment when a single sound made the presence of one known the other. The soft sound of young Ms. Bliss groaning in effort as she stood, her ring attire off and her street clothes, a white tank top and skin-tight black leggings, donned.

“Oh, hell no.” Sasha muttered angrily — her blood beginning to boil the very moment she knew of Alexa’s presence.

And though Alexa herself did not speak, her eyes in an instant grew hard and dismissive, just as her lips curled into a tongue-aided expression of intense irritation.

A look the pink-dipped blonde continued to wear as Sasha drug herself to an effort-slowed stand. She wearing a tanktop like Alexa, though black as opposed to white. Her bottom half covered by a pair of gold-star-emblazoned, shorter-than-short, cut off, high rise jean shorts that struggled to contain her fit-thick ass.

An ass, that like Alexa’s, suddenly tightened at its center as each of the women stormed towards one another. Only stopping when they were face-to-face and nose-to-nose — their eyes locked together in a hateful glare. Just as they had been on that fateful day in front of the late, great Dusty Rhodes.

“I thought you were smart enough not to change with me, bitch.” Sasha charged, as her bright blue hair swayed from left and to right along with her head.

“I can change wherever I want, Sasha. You know … since…” Alexa let her words linger as she tilted her head to the left for emphasis. “…I’m the face of this company. And what are you again…? Oh, that’s right…. You’re the one losing to me every time we step in the ring.” At her last word, Little Miss Bliss gave a viciously fake smile — one that made Sasha absolutely boil inside.

“The….” Sasha began as she leaned in even closer, her anger so intense that she could barely find the words she needed to tear Alexa down. “….ONLY … reason that you’re the champion….” The darker-hued beauty began, as with a finger she pointed to the bench on which Alexa had sat. Her red and gold Women’s Championship resting there next to her black and pink, self-branded bag. “Is because you’re fucking….”

There was more. There was a name. An accusation of Alexa sleeping her way to the top. And yet before any of it could be spoken, Alexa reached back and slapped Sasha hard across the face.

Sting though that strike did, within a blink of it, the two women had buried their hands in each other’s brightly colored hair and begun throwing each other wildly around the empty locker room. Each forgetting every wrestling hold they had ever known, intent instead on just digging into each other like starving lionesses over the last carcass on the savanna.

As quick as their engagement began, however, even quicker was it ended. For on chance alone, two other female wrestlers, Becky Lynch and Nia Jax happened to enterthe locker room. They, upon the sight of the well-known enemies locked together in a swirling maelstrom of pulled hair, hissed curses, and finally-released-steam rushed into the room. Each grabbing the girl who could most accurately be called their friend, before pulling them free of their fracas.

And though the two grapplers of promo-born hate were pulled, both apart and away, still did Alexa whisper to Sasha, their emotion-warmed cheeks still pressed together. “My room. Tonight, bitch.”

Reply though Sasha would have, with a quick and curse-laden assent to terms. Before she could — she was drug away. Her feet, like Alexa’s, kicking in the air wildly and without any aim other than at the rival they wished to fight so badly they could taste it.

“We’ll see what happens to that ‘face of the company’, bitch!” Yelled the blue-haired wrestler, as she reached over Becky’s shoulder and threw her index finger through the air and towards Alexa like a pin meant to pop her bubble.

“Unnnnggghhh! I HATE HER!!” The blonde raged, as Nia pulled and pushed her out of the locker room and into the hallway. All as Alexa screamed, “I HATE HER!!!! I HATE HER!!!!!”

There, outside the locker room, Nia lectured, along with other wrestlers that began to gather. And though they spoke at and towards the diminutive blonde, and though she nodded, Alexa wasn’t listening to a single word spoken.

Her mind focused on nothing other than Sasha. And what would happen between them if she actually showed up at her door later that night. Not to talk. Not to work things out. But to finally make good on all the threats they had ever made to each other.

To finally let the fire Dusty started in the performance center rage.

Chapter 3

Back and forth across her hotel room, Alexa paced. Her heart, pulse, and mind racing as she waited.

For a moment that might never come.

For a rival that might never arrive.

After all, Sasha hadn’t responded or answered her challenge. It’s true she wasn’t given the time, but still. Had she even heard what Alexa said? There was so much commotion going on. So many different emotions and desires flowing through them.

Even if Sasha had heard what was offered, what if she was off, being her dumb-self somewhere else, Alexa thought.

Oblivious to the battle that they should be waging, Alexa feared.

But then it came: a hard knock at the blonde’s door. The sound of it making Alexa burst forward into a sprint towards the door of her room.

Once there, her hand reached, pulled, and when it did, the door opened. There Alexa found her. The woman she had been waiting for: Sasha Banks.

Her enemy.

Her nemesis.

A woman who made her entire body warm and then throb with emotion whenever she laid eyes on her.

And though Sasha felt exactly the same way, as the door to fate and Alexa’s room opened, The Boss avoided eye contact. Even as she stepped inside the room. She knowing that as soon as she and her rival locked eyes, their passions could not be controlled.

“I thought you weren’t gonna show up.” Alexa needled, as she stepped back and out of Sasha’s way.

“I didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to open your door.” Sasha fired back, as she stepped inside and past Alexa — the cute blonde following after as the heavy hotel room door shut behind them.

“Don’t you think for even a sec-” Began though Alexa did, to respond with her own cutting comment, as she spoke, Sasha turned. And when she did, the eyes of the two women locked together.

Women who stood not feet from one another, each wearing exactly what they had in the locker room. Both still tired to the point of collapse — sore and beaten up from nearly a month on the road without breaks.

Still, however, they were there and ready. Ready and willing. To do whatever was necessary to purge the emotions they had for each other. To satisfy the desires to hurt each other they had carried for so long. To quell the darkness that welled within them whenever the other’s name was mentioned or face was seen.

They didn’t know how such miraculous cleansings would occur, but they wanted it. They needed it. And though they did, at that moment, as the eyes of the two fused together, all they could find the strength to do was glare. No longer able to speak. No longer able to go back and forth with catty trash talk they were, at that point in their careers, experts in exchanging

Each instead stepping forward and closer to one another. Their faces twisted into sneers that matched the unending disdain in their eyes. In the closeness that followed and the intensity of their loathing, they together flashed back to that small little room where their feud had been born. To the other’s eyes upon them in those moments. To the words each of them had said. To how low each had torn one another. To how weak the other made them feel. To how weak they had always made each other feel since that fateful day.

And though those painful images and memories made them each want to be strong. Neither wanting to project anything other than unassailable confidence. The two together, unable to control their emotions or muster the same strength they could in all other endeavors in their life, began to cry.

The sum total of their entire vicious relationship and cruel history hitting them in a wave of emotions neither could decipher or resist. Their spirits, unconquerable and proud, shattering, though neither let it break their gaze or the hatred they felt for each other.

The two smaller, but still larger than life superstars sniffling and wiping tears away from their own quickly mascara-staining cheeks. Sobbing as they stood otherwise defiant. Each nauseous at the thought of being unable to remain bold and unaffected in front of their one true enemy. And though their welling, and then in turn, overflowing tears told of souls burdened by a loathing they could no longer carry, they held.

In silence.

In glare.

In a closeness that each increased as the fate-formed pair took steps forward, and after a lean, sealed their foreheads together. Their every tear shed meeting between their emotion-warmed cheeks — collisions of emotion turned liquid that made them not empathetic.

Not remorseful of all they had done to each other over the years.

But instead, their shared moment of unrestrained and uncontrollable emotion made them each despise the other more.

“You’ll regret it. All of it.” Alexa finally found the moxy to speak. And when she could, she swore as her voice trembled and lips quivered.

“You’re the one who’s going to regret, bitch….” Sasha responded, her voice just as pitiful — though the words chosen were so very hard.

Respond though Alexa meant to, even as she and her enemy shook with anger, she found herself unable.

To speak.

To think.

To even breathe. Until in a sudden flash of action and sounding of savagery, the two weary and broken down women, both in body and mind, attacked. They, in a veritable whirlwind of action throwing punches, kicks, and whatever body parts they could at each other. Not on their feet, but in a careening spin of cast off tears and heart-wrenching hatred — nurtured malice and unleashed rage.

Their bodies, in an off-kilter dance of battle moving from one wall in a crash, to another in a clamor. Until finally, onto the bed they crashed and then rolled. Ripping as they went.

Tops and bottoms — bras and then panties — each pulled from fit frames in shreds and tatters. All of it cast aside with a seemingly shared purpose to disrobe and to remove every last barrier between them.

First, by coming here, to evade the other girls on the roster who might try and stop them, and then again, by baring the naked body of the woman who had tortured them for so very long.

The deep, painful, soul-deep intimacy of their rivalry pulling them to want no less.

Just more.

Just all of it.

Everything bared and nothing held back. Their worlds shrinking from that of celebrity, athlete, and brand ambassador, to this.

To a body to body and flesh to flesh war. One that played out in a staggering, spinning struggle of desperate, rage-driven slaps and ill-aimed strikes.

Until in their obsession and need to wound, and from the bed, they together rolled and then crashed into the floor below. Even there, as they struggled up to their knees, the two womens fatigue-slowed fists continued to hit unguarded targets with little effect other than releasing the animosity they felt gnawing at their every shred of remaining sanity and humanity.

And though I could set out to tell you of every punch and kick, it would be only a recitation of repetition. Neither waiting to suffer or moving to block. Neither studying the other’s reaction or tracking their own wilting of pace.

Until the bite of their road-earned exhaustion seized them. Tearing them from their dream of limitless energy and power. Forcing them, against their wills and wants to slow and then hang on. Working together to find a wobbly, barely-there stand. Breath, focus, and all else failing them after a withering ten minutes of uninterrupted and unfathomably wild fighting wore on.

“Let go of me….” Demanded Alexa in a mutter. Her arms, which felt so intensely heavy, feeling like dual anchors at her sides.

“…never letting go, bitch…:” Refused Sasha, as she too found herself overwhelmed by a crushing wave of unrepentant fatigue.

It was demand and threat. Words commanding action, and denying the same. And yet, in their wake, the two tight-bodies wrestlers did not attack or try to defend. Instead they spent the next minute just trying to stand without falling. Pawing at each others skin and pushing their weary bodies together. Every inch of flesh smearing against its opposing counterpart, as together, the two sought to learn how to battle with their every ounce of energy depleted.

That is until, after a heavy drag at the air, each began to bury deep punches into one another’s bellies, all as they stood half-bent over on the right side of the bed. Their placement a perfect center between the wall, and the mattress they fell from. Nude and welted with handprints. Bruised and robbing one another of breath. Every hard, vicious punch making it harder to fill their lungs with much needed oxygen.

Harder to think.

And harder to carry on.

But neither Alexa or Sasha were winning on points or purchase. Their states of disrepair and destruction mirrored until together, they weakly and with a loud thud collapsed to the carpeted floor on their knees.

“You’re lucky … I’m tired … bitch….” Sasha blurted out, as the aching of muscles and near empty reserves she had struggled against the last few weeks submerged her desire to hurt in a cold bath of exhaustion.

“Fuck you…. Fight me….” Despite feeling the same wounding wave of languor, Alexa tried to cling to the notion that she was unaffected. That she was still good to go, to bring a climactic conclusion to their years-long feud.

Try though she might, however, she could not find the energy to let fly another punch. Her arms, just like Sasha’s, as heavy as anchors hanging by her sides.

The two women — the two ‘firecrackas’ as they were once called, leaning against each other just to keep from falling over. Their foreheads pressed, eyes glaring, and arms hanging at their sides strengthless.

That is until those same arms lifted and wrapped around their rival’s torso. The two wrestlers pulling closer. Nearer. And in the barely-there space between them, they hissed.

“I wish…” Began Alexa, as her eyes dimmed in expenditure and her lips trembled with emotion. “…I’d never met you….” In her mind the comment was vicious and hurtful, and though in truth it was an admission of weakness, Sasha waited not a second to respond in kind.

“You … ruin everything … for me….” At the very moment their laments passed in the breath-warmed air that lingered between them, they each seized. Tightening their embrace and locking each other as deep as they could into a tight and mutual bearhug. Forearms digging deep into already aching lower backs, while teeth grit and lips parted to release soft, pain-pitched moans.

Oh, how they wished they weren’t so spent from their long road trip and all that it entailed. Then they would be strong and vicious — wild and uncontrollable! But as it stood, they could be no more than this. No more than remain on their knees together and squeeze.

Torn between the desire to watch their enemy’s eyes water and face contort, and the fear of allowing the same to be seen in them. The former pushing them to keep steady and glare. Taking in every glimpse of the other’s pain to use it as fuel to keep squeezing — to keep enduring. Until even the beauty of the other’s suffering wasn’t enough to fill empty wells, leading both women to turn, to lean, and then to bury their faces in the base of the other’s neck.

The blonde and purple-haired battlers deciding to strain and struggle without the other seeing. To whimper and mule above pressing and flattened breasts. Not in the other’s line of sight, but instead with the hope that the flesh of the other, as it pressed against their lips, might muffle those sounds they hated as much as each other

The physical pain caused by their constricting arms, with so much of their energies spent elsewhere and before, was not sharp, intense, or even cruel. Instead, it measured up to little more than a pulsing ache. The true suffering they endured came from something else. Something deeper. Something far more terrible and affecting.

Being so close to someone they hated. All while that person not only drained their last few ounces of energy, but was also able to hear and feel them at their weakest and most wounded.

Those intimate ingredients made the bearhug they remained locked in more excruciating and intolerable than their failing strength would otherwise allow. A truth that multiplied again and again as seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into more.

“I don — don’t want to think … about you anymooooorreee–aaaggghhh.” Admitted the blonde, with pink-dyed tips, before another moan tore through her.

“Stopppp being e-everywhere I want to be–eee-eeeeeeerrrggghh” Sasha tried to respond, as another squeeze from her rival made her offer a period in the form of pronounced pain.

Though such words were exchanged, when the two found the breath and daring, long stretches of time passed without sound, save for those of their suffering. A suffering that worsened with every passing second, despite their greatly lessened efforts.

Their high kneel lowering into a calf-set sit. Their already tired arms aching and burning so much that even in their offense, they were both on the defensive. A mutuality of inability that lasted until finally Alexa’s arms released and then dropped to her sides once more.

Leaving Sasha, even her state of utter disrepair, to keep her arms around and squeezing as Alexa whimpered. The darker-skinned of the two not speaking, but instead lifting herself an inch or two, and then dropping. Causing Alexa’s almost limp body to bounce and then settle even deeper into Sasha’s bearhug.

A lift and a drop that played out again and again. As the blonde with pink-tips’ arms raised once more. Not to lock in another bearhug, for she had not the strength. But instead to rest on Sasha’s upper back. Alexa’s chin weighing like dead weight on the shoulder of the same.

Pitiful, weak, devastated whimpers pulling from her lips — each expelled with ragged, winded, and agony-drenched spurts of air.

“Give….” Sasha growled low. The reverberation of it moving from lipsticked lips to the cusp of Alexa’s bent and strengthless neck.

To the one-word ultimatum, Alexa did not respond with words, or retaliation, but instead a moan. A sustained and wounded howl that would strike at the heart of anyone who heard it.

But in the madness that had taken her — taken them, Sasha held on. Though her straining arms begged her to let go. Though it was clear Alexa was no longer defending herself. Still, she squeezed. “Say you’re sorry….”

Why? What would that solve? What would an apology mean from a woman so trapped and tortured. Good questions. Logical questions. But at the very moment the words were spoken, the queries were unneeded by either.

Not by Sasha who applied every ounce of pressure she could. Or Alexa, who in a defenseless pile of skin and bones, languished in her grasp.

And though Alexa knew what Sasha wanted, and why. Though she felt the words demanded to her core, she refused to offer them. Instead, she just endured. Not with defiance and strength, but instead in the same way a delicate flower endures the sole of a boot.

Her every sound, expression, and reaction begging for release, and speaking to submission, but still, she did not apologize. Until finally, after what felt like a small eternity, Sasha, too tired to keep Alexa held, let Alexa go.

The blonde falling to the carpeted floor next to the glass wall between the bathroom and the bed. All while her rival made the same journey, but with the bed behind her. The Goddess laying, and the Boss sitting up right, if only barely.

In that placement, neither spoke. Each trying to recover from all that had just happened. A wild, violent struggle where every stitch of clothing was shed and shredded. Where a malice and hate built up for so long came to an emphatic and passionate head.

Silence though there was, apart from the sound of heavy, labored breathing, those eyes which had dimmed in exhaustion once again opened and locked together in a terrible, if intensity diminished glare.

There was a victory at the end of that struggle. One keeping to her hold, as the other gave way. But neither woman felt satiated or satisfied — not the victor, or her victim. And so there, for nearly 10 minutes, and while the two remained only a few feet feet apart, they focused on one thing.

Recovery.

Not so that they could stand, dress, and then go their separate ways. No, as their purposes were still united and hatred undeniably requited.

“Weak … little … bitch.” Sasha hissed as she tried to muster her reserves. The sound of her voice, cutting through the sweat-scented heat of the room.

“How … dare … you…?” Alexa muttered as she began to sit up. Her fatigue-slowed rise, continuing, until she had gone from her back, to all fours in front of her rival. The tip-dyed blonde fighting through and against her aching back and burning lungs.

“Dare you … to fucking … fight me … bitch…” The blue-haired Horsewoman demanded, even as her hands raised and reached out for Alexa, who was doing the same.

The pair, despite their loathing and jealousy for one another, feeling as comfortable in this battle — in this new slow, body-to-body war, as they could in any other place and setting.

As if they had always known, from the very moment they were set at odds by the Great Dusty Roads, that this was their fate. Not to find themselves in a flash of fire and clash of claws. But instead to latch onto one another and then in the heat of their contest to put body against body and will against will.

“You’re on, cunt….” Dare and then deal. Challenge and acceptance. The two came to terms with Alexa’s acceptance, just as the palms of their hands met, and the fingers above them laced together. The blonde on her knees in front of Sasha, who remained seated.

“A test of … strength?” Sasha asked with a smirk she only barely had the energy to bear. “You’re gonn-” Once more The Boss tried to speak again, this time as she sought to use their gripping hands to pull herself up to her knees to meet her enemy.

But as she pulled, Alexa thrust herself forward and into Sasha’s lap. Pinning the legs that laid beneath her at mid-thigh. The met hands of the two extending straight out to their sides in a mutual and yet expenditure-weakened push in opposite directions.

“Slut … let me up…” Sasha replied in half-drained demand. The danger of her placement dawning on her. Not only her seated position beneath Alexa, but also having her back angled and pressed against the bed in such a way.

A realization to her, but not Alexa, who laid her naked and sweat-wet body against Sasha’s. Pinning her upper back to the mattress, as her middle back arched above the lower. The pretty, dark-hued face of she on bottom couched deep between the tits of the blonde above her.

“Don’t.” Sasha warned, as she tried to free her hands from her rival’s grasp.

“Don’t you dar–” The words came hot and panicked, and rightfully so. As even before they were uttered in full, Alexa’s perfect little tits sealed tightly around Sasha’s mouth. Cutting her off from the warm, moist air that hung thick in the room in which they strained.

It was a smother. A beautiful, intimate smother, and against it Sasha rebelled. Bucking and shifting. Pushing and pulling against she and her rival’s shared grip upon each other’s hands. Their laced fingers and sealed palms becoming a cage for not just one of them, but both.

Sasha wanting her hands free so she could attack, looking for escape. And Alexa needing her own to quell and contain the bucking boss beneath her. A mutual frustration that led each to unbind their hands, and then in an instant lock together anew.

Alexa wrapping her arms around the base of Sasha’s head and top of her neck. All as Sasha reached behind Alexa’s head with one hand, looking for a grip. And then with her right, up and over so she could even the playing field. If she wasn’t allowed to breathe, neither would Alexa.

Yes, the tool used would be different, but the effect, Sasha hoped, would be the same. A lack of oxygen. A chance to ruin the rival who sat in her lap. The sweat of each gently pooling between their tightly pressed and nude bodies.

For a moment, as bodies and hands found placement and then settled, the two shifted and wriggled in protest. Alexa not wanting Sasha’s closed fingers and pressing palm to cut her off from the air. Just as the latter tried to pull her mouth and nose from between the former’s firm, affixed breasts.

Such rebellions came in one shift and then two. A squirm and then a lean. A muttered threat and muffled dare. Until into their already peaked and utter exhaustion they began to slip together. Letting their eyes close and bodies settle into this new mutual struggle.

Fighting to breathe through cracks left without intention and gaps given by their rivals already failed strength. Knowing and agreeing, without words or even eye contact, to another game of chicken.

Not this time in a squeezing embrace, but instead in a double smother that they set themselves to win. Even as darkness seemed to flood in around them. A mental fog that withered their wits and dimmed their vision of possible escapes.

The minds of the two young women losing touch with memory, logic, and even understanding, knowing only that they were fighting their enemy, and must hold.

Sipping at the barest wisps sweat-flavored air. Unable to speak. Unable to breathe. Lungs burning and blistering, as consciousness began to drift.

To mist.

And then to fade so close to the edge of oblivion, that a mutual collapse seemed not just inevitable but imminent. Every ounce of vigor stolen. Every drop of energy expended and then extinguished.

Not in a quick descent, but in a measureless span of torturous suffocation. One that stretched on, as each fought to deny the other the pleasure of control.

Each beginning to shake in quick, uncontrolled spasms.

To shiver coldly even in the heat of the room, as a lack of oxygen began to bite at their naked, sweat-sheened, and pressed-together bodies.

To squirm, one above and the other below, as those same bodies begged them to back down and give up.

That is until finally, Sasha’s hands withdraw, though that word conveys effort expended and a goal accomplished. The reality of the moment, instead, was that against her will and want, the Horsewoman’s body and mind had begun to give way.

Every light turning off one by one, just as those of her enemy began to turn on once more. Air. Oxygen. Filling Alexa’s lungs in hard, heavy, ragged, coughing drags at the air.

Giving her back focus and fire — tactic and thought. And though that climb from the abyss took nearly a minute, somewhere in it, Alexa took action. Not in some new attack, but instead in the partial lessening of her vicious breast smother.

A hold that was seconds away from knocking Sasha out, and yet still, Alexa pulled back. Just far enough to let Sasha gasp deep, before she was once again sealed away in the blonde’s arm-narrowed cleavage.

Making it clear that despite the pair’s state of crushing disrepair, Alexa had malice on her mind first. Malice, and as a consequence, a desire to make Sasha suffer.

“Too weak …” Alexa began, as she turned her head, and rested her cheek on the top of her enemy’s head. “Sasha….” The comment was a fraction of all Alexa wanted to say, though it felt like a swim of a hundred leagues just to offer.

“Give in….” The woman affectionately known as “five feet of fury” demanded, after another handful of minutes spent giving and then denying breath passed. Sasha’s hands placed gently on those thighs that trapped her in. A placement, and slivered pressure, that conveyed one message, and one message only — unspoken though it was. “Please, let me go.”

It was a drug — a euphoria that washed over Little Miss Bliss in wave after wave. Hurting Sasha like this. Making her feel weak. Pathetic. Controlled. A mix of emotions and satisfactions that Alexa released into the world as a low, desperate, half-offered ultimatum.

“Say you’re sorry….” After all they had put each other through. After all they had done to each other, there in the hotel room, and in their lives beforehand, why was that what she wanted? And why was that what Sasha wanted before?

Regardless of why, no words came from Sasha, as she sat pinned against the bed, with her face buried in Alexa’s tits. Instead, after what seemed like its own, bottled forever, the latter felt a wet warmth between her tits, as Sasha began to cry.

The darker-skinned beauty having been trapped on the very edge of unconsciousness and asphyxiation for so long, that she began to doubt if she would ever breathe again without Alexa’s permission and perspiration flavoring the air.

A future she feared until the very moment Alexa finally released her and then collapsed back and out of Sasha’s lap. No apologies given. No words of regret offered. And yet still, the blonde had let go.

Leaving Sasha to fight against burning lungs and hacking coughs for moments on end. Reintroducing herself to the moist, sex-scented air of the hotel room. Her vision only clearing, and eyes only focusing after a parade of seconds had passed by. It was then, that she she looked up to find Alexa, who was already on her feet, glaring down at her.

“Get out.” Miss Bliss commanded, with grit teeth, and eyes that spoke of so many different emotions, Sasha could not even endeavor to decode them all, save for the one she loathed most: self-satisfaction.

A sight that was given exclamation, when Alexa reached down, and stuck her finger in Sasha’s mouth, bending her lower lip and jaw down. A grip that allowed the blonde to softly pry the blue-haired wrestler’s mouth open, and then, after a deep lean, to spit a concoction of collected saliva into her sitting rival’s mouth.

A long transparent string of drool lingering in the air between their mouths for a moment before it snapped as Alexa turned away from Sasha. Her legs carrying her into the hotel room’s adjacent bathroom and shower.

After nearly a minute, the sound of hot, steaming water springing forth from the showerhead therein could be heard. The warmth of its stream increasing the temperature of the already toasty hotel room in which Sasha sat smoldering with hatred and rage.

The saliva of her enemy, not swallowed or spit out, but kept in her mouth as she mustered her strength to stand. To follow. And then, to join Alexa in the shower.

Not in a gentle mending of two wounded and exhausted women, but instead in the next chapter in their private little war.

Chapter 4

Had she not worked so many nights in a row, her body might not be so strengthless. If she had not marched through one airport after another, one locker room and backstage after another, her calves and thighs might not burn and ache as she stood in her hotel room shower. Her eyes closed, and palms pressed against the shower wall to keep herself from collapsing.

The blonde, pink-tipped hair on her head collecting warm, streaming water before it released it in long streams that followed the curves of her fatigue-bitten body. She had earned it, she felt.

This moment.

This chance to breathe.

Yes, she and Alexa had both broken in the other’s grasp. Given in, even if they hadn’t spoken the words ‘I give up’. But the truth of that tied score was blurred by delirium and passion — exhaustion and the exhilaration of taking her rival’s every breath away. Not with a palm, or a choke, but with a pair of breasts that had always meant so very much to Little Miss Bliss.

A feat that inspired Alexa to forget about the bearhug she had languished in. How she whimpered and wilted as her rival poured on the pressure. Not months, weeks, or days ago, but only moments before she caught Sasha between her breasts.

But Sasha had not forgotten. No, she had kept that momentary victory at the front of her mind as slowly she was deprived of oxygen. In her heart, as her enemy’s tits slowly took her breath away. And on the very tip of her tongue, as Alexa told her to get out, or else.

And yet, before she could speak her truth into existence, Alexa had released, turned, and walked away. Heading to the shower, assuming their battle — their long-coming struggle had ended.

But it hadn’t. Not by a longshot. Not if Sasha had anything to say about it. Her still vibrant anger and still swelling pride driving her to her wobbly feet. Not just to stand, but then to stumble forward. Tired like she had never been before in her life. Unfocused and confused, like she had so often pretended to be in the ring when she was selling.

This time, however, that state of fogged consciousness was real, and through it, all the blue-haired battler could discern was a primal need to get back to Alexa, and fight her. To wrap their bodies together and strain.

Why? To make her hurt…. To make her give…. But most importantly, to make her apologize….

To make her say two simple words.

I’m sorry.

And so step, by step, Sasha pushed herself to keep moving. To keep closing on her showering nemesis. Until finally, the soles of her feet slapped down on cold, white tiles.

A sound that might have alerted Alexa had she not been so spent and senseless. She barely able to keep to her feet, let alone sense the wider world around her.

So great was her distraction, in fact, that it was not until, mid-turn, she felt Sasha’s naked, sweaty body slam against hers, that she knew that the war between them was not over. The blonde finding her back slammed against the cold shower wall, as the warm shower water rained down upon them from their left.

The eyes of the two fused together in a hateful, if exhaustion-tamed glare. Alexa’s arms pinned at their forearms against the same wall she was trapped against. Sasha’s tits, tummy, and mound sealed tightly against her own, even as she struggled to break free — the effort expended leagues less than it would have been on any day where she hadn’t already been through hell.

Sasha had no more energy or strength from which to draw than her enemy, and yet still, in that parity of exhaustion, she was able to hold Alexa against the wall as warm water poured down atop them.

Hold her, and then as the blonde squirmed and shifted in defiance, draw back, and then slam forward. Their nude bodies coming together in an audible clap of flesh and splash of collected water.

Sounds that were followed by two overlapping moans. One from Alexa and the other from Sasha. Both feeling the impact from the forceful body-to-body blow. Not just once, but again, as Sasha stepped back and then came forward once more in an audible crash of fatigued bodies and warring prides.

“Bitch … let me goooo….” Alexa cursed, before her words trailed into a snarl.

“Say … you’re … sorry, and I WILL!!” An ultimatum. An or else. One that came, as certainty began to creep into Alexa’s mind. Because of her placement. Her being trapped against the shower wall, she was taking the worst of these collisions. Once and then again. Once and then again.

Each crash of tits and tummies taking a little more of what precious energy she had left, all while allowing her nemesis to not only maintain control, but to do so while looking soul-deep into her weary, glassed-over eyes.

The thought made Alexa struggle and push harder against Sasha’s pinning hands and body. But she couldn’t break free. Couldn’t slip away so she could reengage. And so she began to strike back. In the only way she could. Driving herself forward, at the very same time that Sasha’s body, like a wet, sexy metronome, returned.

Any other angle, or with even a milisecond’s worth of difference in timing, Alexa’s sudden counterattack would have resulted in little more than a worsening of both womens’ plights.

But instead the hopeless strike, thrown by a pinned and panicking pro-wrestler, was perfectly timed and angled to cause the two colliding rivals to freeze together and whimper in unexpected pleasure. The entrances to their nether valleys coming together in just such a way that the resulting impact sent a wave of pleasure through their war-torn bodies.

“Cunt….” Sasha muttered, her voice barely more than a whisper. A whisper she offered with closed eyes, as she then began to pull back, looking to crash her body into Alexa’s again.

There was an unplanned for gratification, yes. There was a shameful intimacy, without a doubt. But there was also cause and effect. A reaction from Sasha, that gave Alexa hope. And that hope drove Alexa to thrust herself forward again, in exactly that same way that she had.

-Thhhhaapppp- A sound rang out, as two bare and soaked pubic mounds met. A sound followed once more by the two rivals ‘ mewling voices overlapping in near-indescribable satisfaction.

“Bitch….” Growled Alexa, her voice so weak and delicate, it seemed as if it might shatter in the moist shower air. Air the lower halves of the two women cut through as they once more separated and then thrust back together.

-Thhhaaaaappppp-

The sound rang out again, and as it echoed, the two shuddered and moaned together. Unable to do more than try to recover from the clit of one meeting that of the other.

-Thhhaaaapppp-

Along with the pleasure came shame. Frustration. Anger that the other, in any way could please them, and yet still, they attacked again.

-Thhaaaappp-

“You’re gonna let me go….” Prophesied Alexa, not just seeing, hearing, but FEELING the way every collision affected them both. With one wave after another of satisfaction and lust washing over them.

“Why should I…?” Sasha asked with a quivering voice. Drenched with desire and desperation for more. Her head leaning and tilting, so that her lips hung just a centimeter or two from Alexa’s. The same air that left the lungs of one then filling those of the other.

-Thhaaaappp-

“When you’ll just quit….”

-Thhaaaappp-

“Like you did….”

-Thhaaaappp-

“In that bearhug….”

-Thhaaaappp-

The words made Alexa so angry. Bearhug? What bearhug? She could barely remember now, that hold that felt like it took place a million years ago. How she suffered in it and Sasha’s grasp for so very long. But even in the cloud of sexual pleasure that overwhelmed her, she found it. The memory. And though it shamed her. And though it pained her. She recalled one thing: she had never quit.

Not in words.

And so she spit back, from lips that brushed and drug against her rival’s. Their eyes still closed during the speaking.

“I … never … quit….”

-Thhaaaappp-

“I … won’t … quit….”

-Thhaaaappp-

“Good….” Sasha moaned, the sound of it entering and then echoing in Alexa’s mouth.

-Thhaapp-

Faster and faster their hips began to fire. Each of them, with every volley, learning how to, with better precision, bring clit to bear against clit. And with every improvement in accuracy and efficacy, they felt drawn, as if by gravity, to kiss.

Not their friend. Not their lover. But their enemy.

Their mouths hung open, and aligned so tightly, that even the most fractional effort by either to commit would seal their lips together and the two into a meeting of mouths neither had ever wanted before.

But instead, with eyes closed, they just remained. Their lust drench breaths entering and exiting their bodies in an endless loop of shared air.

Again and again.

All as that sound continued to ricochet off the shower’s walls.

-Thhaapp-

For minutes that felt like hours, and tens of them that felt like days, they continued to battle. The once heavy, body to body crashes, meant to cause pain and knock out breath, now diluted down to a single point of collision.

A focused nexus of the struggle between the two women. A reality that would have been unthinkable to them on any day in the last few years, but now, one that felt so right, that they could do nothing else but….

-THAP-

-THAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP- Suddenly, their pussies met, and they held. Kiss threatening lips pulling away, as foreheads pressed together and closed eyes opened into an emotion-wet, desire-written gaze.

“Say you’re sorry….” Alexa demanded, the feeling of the moment, leaving both feeling as if an offered apology at that moment, might allow them to forgive.

Might make them something else. Something more….

-THAP-

“I’m….” Sasha began, barely strong enough to speak while crash after crash of their pussies robbing her of focus.

-THAP-

“Sa-say itt–” Her voice sounding desperate. Sounding weak, Alexa again asked for an apology, and then continued to match Sasha strike for strike.

-THAP-

“I’m s….” Tried Sasha.

-THAP-

“I’m so….” And then again.

-THAP-

“I’m sor–” Once more the blue-haired wrestler tried to offer the apology demanded, but just as she found the strength to say what had to be said, she found herself interrupted.

“FU-FUCK-FUUUUCCCKKKK!!!! GOD!!!! CUNT!! MMMMNNNNPPPHHHH” Like a strike of lightning it hit Alexa, and then at the sight, sound, and sensation of it, Sasha. “OH FUCK! NO! WHAT?! BITCH! UUNNNNGGGHHHH”

An orgasm. A wild, will-shattering, soul-draining orgasm that caused both she who pinned and she who was trapped to abandon their posts and suddenly embrace. Holding onto each other as they quaked and screamed. Burying their faces in the base of each other’s necks, as slowly they began to sink.

Their legs too tired, bodies too weak, and minds too torn by ecstacy for them to remain on their feet. The two battling beauties instead sliding down to their asses. Alexa’s back remaining pressed against the wall, with her legs spread. And Sasha, who made a slow turn as they reached the floor, into a sit between her rival’s opened legs. Facing away from her and towards the glass wall that once separated them from the bed of the room.

There, as the warm water of the shower came down upon them, they remained. Without sound. Without movement. Without intention. Just leaning. Alexa forward against Sasha’s back and the latter back against the bare breasts and tummy of her enemy.

Chapter 5

How long had passed? How many minutes had they sat there together beneath the warm shower water? How long had their eyes been closed and their breathing shallow?

Had they truly fallen asleep together, after they … they….

What was it that they had done, exactly? They might ask, if they weren’t so tired. What had happened before they fell together? They would wonder and worry, if they had the focus.

How did their cruel, hateful, vicious battle take them so very close to … the edge? Or had they already gone over that edge? Is that what had brought them there to that shower floor? Those questions would haunt them, but instead, as their eyes slowly, weakly blinked open, they could only react.

On instinct. Feral, primal, instinct. A hard-coded response that led Sasha, as she tried to regain her bearings, to look for her enemy.

Where was she?

Not in front of Sasha or to her side. No, instead, the girl named Bliss was behind Sasha. A truth that only became clear as the right arm of the same slowly slid across Ms. Bank’s upper chest. Wrapping around and then cinching up snuggly against The Boss’ throat. A palm then pressing to her forehead, as suddenly her predicament became clear.

She was still between Alexa’s spread thighs. Still leaned against her. And at that very moment, being wrapped in her rival’s sleeper hold.

“Go … back … to sleep, bitch….” The voice from behind was so tired. So utterly devoid of presence or strength. Muttered as if from a dream. And yet it came with a quick shimmy and swivel. One that sunk Sasha deeper into Alexa’s hold.

“Noo….” Sasha replied in fear, more than defiance. Feeling the weight of her enemy leaning against her — all as the arm of the same tightened further and further. The wetness of their bodies making what might be a slow advance of skin traveling against skin fast.

“Nooo … please….” Begged Sasha.

“Say it….” Replied Alexa. Wanting it so bad, she could taste. So intensely she would do anything to hear the words.

“Noo…. Don’t … do this….” As they warred with their clits, Sasha was on the verge of it. The razor’s edge of giving Alexa what she wanted, but now, with the lust and madness it brought having passed, she couldn’t fathom it.

“Say it….” Her warm cheek resting on Sasha’s upper back, Alexa fought not only to squeeze, not only to keep her rival from escaping, but also to stay awake. To stay present, so she could claim what she wanted.

“I….” The arm tightening against her throat, Sasha could barely breathe, let alone speak. And yet she refused to give an apology. “I’ll…. Never…. Apologi–UUNNNGGGHHHH”

At the very moment Alexa realized what was going to be said, she cinched up tight again, and then wrapped her legs over Sasha’s thighs and around her waist. Locking them shut at the ankles in front of her enemy’s release-stained pubic mound.

“Then…. fuuuuuck … you….” The blonde’s voice cracked and shuddered as she set herself to it. To finishing Sasha off. To putting her back to sleep, so that finally their war could be over.

“Cuuuuuuunnnnttttttttt….” Sasha croaked out, as she pawed weakly at Alexa’s forearm. Knowing that she could not escape or talk her way out of the heavy sleeper hold she found herself in.

But what neither knew, is that Alexa was too tired and too devoid of strength to put Sasha to sleep. Not after all they had done to each other. Not after all they had been through.

And so for minutes on end, they just remained. Alexa squeezing and wriggling to keep Sasha snugly in her hold, while the latter squirmed and pawed.

Muttering to each other with words so breathless and ill-annunciated that neither could understand what was being said or worry that they couldn’t. They, somewhere in the long stretch of time that passed, toppling over to their sides together.

Alexa still squeezing and keeping. And Sasha still, without energy or hope, trying to break free. Both of them trapped in their own adverse hell. Sasha being choked into a blackness that would never come, waiting for a release into unconsciousness that would never arrive. And Alexa trying to finally cease her enemy’s resistance, only to find herself more and more unable to do just that.

Even though Alexa had her.

Even though there was no hope of her escaping.

She was too weak.

They were too weak.

Just as they had been in that room with Dusty. Just as they always had been when dealing with each other.

Cruelly, unlike the questions they couldn’t ask themselves when they woke, that reality — that truth about weakness, after nearly an hour of failure on both their parts, broke through their haze and confusion.

And when it did, they together began to cry.

Sobbing as Alexa’s sleeper became so lax that it was no more than her arms resting where they had once strained. Weeping as Sasha’s once prying hands began to hold Alexa’s arm, instead of pull or scratch at it.

They had given each other every ounce of strength they had, and now, they were empty.

They had always had that effect on each other. Stealing joy. Eroding success. Setting each other back whenever one would take a step forward.

And now, in the battle they had always hoped would bring that all to an end, they had done it to each other again.

And so they cried.

Just as they did that first day they met.

Chapter 6

Nearly twenty minutes had passed since Alexa finally released her sleeper. During that time neither she nor Sasha spoke. Not as their sobbing turned to sniffles. Or as Alexa fought her way to her knees so she could crawl from the bathroom. Leaving her rival there, to fend for herself, as she drug herself towards her bed.

Needing to sleep.

To recover.

No matter who was there with her or the nightmare they had endured together.

All of which led the pale-skinned wrestler, at the end of a long dragging journey, to battle her way to a wobbly stand, to turn, and fall back onto her mattress. Using grips on her comforter to try and drag herself further up the bed.

But as her strength once again failed her, she let her eyes close and her mind drift into unconsciousness. Her legs, just past the cheeks of her ass, left off the bed, planted on the hotel room carpet at her soles.

For a moment sleep took her. A deep, desperately needed sleep.

And there, in that world of dreams, she found herself once again with Sasha. No longer locked in their battle, but instead watching that blue-demon and herself in that room. Tears in their eyes and vicious insults on their tongues.

Knowing all that those moments led to, Alexa tried to intervene! To shout at herself and Sasha and tell them to stop! To wait for Dusty to get back, and to not begin down the path that led them to the events of that night.

To her shock, the two images from Alexa’s past turned to her and then spoke as one. “Say you’re sorry.”

“You say you’re sorry, bitch….” Again and together, the two fantasms spoke, and when they did, the dreaming Alexa’s eyes went wide. The delirium that had clouded her mind, and sleep that had taken it, fading to show her the reality of her world.

That she was still in that hot, sweat-scented hotel room. Still laying with her legs hanging off of her bed. And finally, that the words she saw as having been spoken by fragments of a fractured past, were instead coming from the lips of her enemy in a mutter. An enemy who was crawling forward and atop her. Slowly and unsteady, and yet still, she was advancing. Still warm shower water dripping from her body and onto Alexa.

“No…. No….” Whined Alexa, as she began to squirm, trying to crawl back onto the bed. But with every effort she made, the comforter gave way beneath her. Sliding without resistance. Leaving the blonde in place as Sasha moved closer and closer to whatever goal she had.

A facesit? A breast smother? Each humiliating position played out in Alexa’s mind. Pushing her to reach up to Sasha’s shoulders to try and stop her from moving any further forward. But at the very moment Alexa’s palms landed on Sasha’s shoulders, the crawling wrestler collapsed.

The bodies of the two wet and weary women came together in a loud clap, followed by two overlapping and wounded groans.

“We’re….” Sasha fought to get out. “Not….” Again, with a voice that trembled and then failed, she kept speaking. “Done….” One final word, the blue-haired beauty spoke, as her right cheek came down to a rest against Alexa’s left.

“Bitch….” Eyes nearly closed. And lips offering up her response only a centimeter away from Sasha’s, Alexa tried to fight. Her arms lifting and wrapping around the neck of her enemy to keep her in place and from locking in any kind of smother. The soles and toes of the girl beneath remaining the only brace against the two of them falling off of the bed and to the carpeted floor below.

Intent as Sasha was on getting her revenge, she found herself able to offer no offense, save to try and lift her body a quarter inch or less, and then drop it. Blows that mirrored the attacks she levied in the shower, but now, after all the energy they had expended, with only a fraction of the impact they once had.

“Uunnnggghhh” The sound was expelled from both of their lips.

“Uunnnggghhh” Again it came.

“Uunnnggghhh” And again.

Each blow sending a spray of sweat and shower water into the air around them.

“Uunngghh” How could they keep fighting?

“Uunngghh” How could they keep going?

“Uunngghh” They could barely think.

“Uunngghh” They could barely breathe.

But somehow, Sasha found a way to demand, one final time. “Say it….”

Through the fog. Through the exhaustion. Through the madness that had taken them so firmly and never let go. Alexa knew what Sasha wanted.

What Sasha needed.

And though she hated her. And though every fiber of her being told her to refuse. Her mind chose discretion and submission, and her mouth opened to offer just as much.

But just as her lungs filled to a sixteenth capacity to comply and apologize, she felt it. Sasha’s body, during one of its many lifts and landings, slide. Down. Past. Between. And then to her knees on the floor at the end of the bed.

At that very moment, and with what little reserves Alexa had left, she pushed off the floor with her legs and then as they landed on Sasha’s shoulders, wrapped them around the neck of the same. Not tightly as she may have done in the ring, or when their fight began, but instead loosely. Feebly. But in Sasha’s state, as nearly the full weight of her rival beared down upon her, the hold was inescapable.

The gravity, angle, and inability of either to make manifest their will causing Sasha’s nose and mouth to seal almost in full against Alex’s still release-stained pussy lips.

-Slap-

Sasha struck with stinging slaps at Alexa’s thighs. Attacks that continued in seemingly random intervals with slowly diminishing force for a handful of minutes.

And though Sasha meant every crash of palm and digit against thigh to earn her freedom, Alexa, after the first few strikes, could barely feel them. Not because she was immune to pain, but because just like Sasha, deep between her legs, she was falling asleep.

Her hooked calves keeping her enemy trapped, even as together they gave way to the fate that had chased them.

Too weak to keep fighting. Too weak to let go….

Chapter 7

When Alexa woke, she could smell it. The scent of her enemy. The thick musk of their war. The aroma of it rousing her, after the deepest of sleeps, to find herself sitting on the floor, at the foot of her bed.

She was alone, and with not but a piece of paper sitting between her legs as a sign that she had ever been anything but.

She reached for it, that hotel room stationery, as she tried to remember what had happened. Where she and her rival had ended up, before she — before they, she assumed, had fallen asleep.

And though the memory sought skittered just beyond her grasp, the words written on the note made all that had happened just another wound.

Another reason for irritation.

A new cause to hate.

“I’m not sorry.” The paper read cruelly and between tear stains. “I’m not sorry”. Alexa muttered to herself without sound.

Again and again as she crumpled the note in her hand.

Her own bottom lip curling, as her tongue ran slowly across it. The taste of her rival’s saliva unmistakable.

A gift given as she slept.

A matching spit to make them even.