Natasha shifted uneasily on her stool, tilting her head upwards, as she gazed into the large vanity mirror in front of her. She tried to ignore the chaotic environment of the crowded dressing-room around her, as she cautiously applied a dusky black eye liner to her long lashes.
The small dingy room was teeming with female flesh, as nubile young women busily readied themselves, in preparation for their respective performances. A motley crew of long-term dancers and young women paying for exorbitant college fees, clad in the de facto uniform of skimpy thongs and impractically high heels.
Those whose shift had ended, rustled through the metallic lockers that lined the wall opposite Natasha’s back. Those still on the clock, peered at their respective reflections as they adjusted their make-up.
Women of different colours and backgrounds, united by a mutual understanding of the ‘job’, and a shared wariness of the punters. Numbering thirteen, their varying features and skin tones a testament to the genetic diversity of America. The faint odour of feminine sweat transcending the room, as bare breasts of various shape and size, nipples of many different hues, swung freely, unfettered by clothing.
The dull percussive thump of a high-tempo dance number practically shook the room. The large speakers in the lounge outside sending reverberations through the thin walls of the dressing-room, the heavy bass resounding around its tight confines. The tune clearly reaching its climax…
Natasha snapped her eye-liner closed and dropped it on the desktop with a tinny rattle. The large oval mirror facing her, clumsily adorned with winking fairy-lights; all but confirming she was ready to take the stage. She made minor adjustments to her hair, pulling various strands this way and that, preening herself just right, psyching herself up for her performance, instilling herself with the self-belief necessary to walk into a room full of strangers, and convince them that you are their ultimate fantasy.
Natasha glanced at the white circular clock on the wall behind her, the hands indicating that it was several minutes past eleven o’clock. Jacob, the nightclub’s owner, a portly sleaze with the unfortunate combination of a receding hairline and short pony-tail, opened the door slightly and stuck his head around the corner of the door frame.
‘Two minutes, Natasha…’
‘I know Jakub… Fuck off… You know you are not meant to be in here…’ came Natasha’s terse reply, her English strong, but filtered through a slight Russian accent, the accent of her homeland still clinging doggedly to her speech, even after several years in the United States.
Natasha sighed in exasperation as Jacob cowered and retreated back the way he had come, scuttling backwards on his heels from the wrath of the fierce Russian like a scolded dog. Returning her gaze to the mirror, Natasha carried out some last minute checks.
Her reflection peered back at her through deep hazel eyes. Her dirty blonde hair hung loose to her shoulders, framing her high-set cheekbones and attractive oval face. Her skin soft, white and unblemished, her fulsome lips coated in cherry-pink lip-gloss. Her perky 34b breasts sat high on her chest, her nipples starting to protrude as they always did in anticipation of going on stage; be it through nerves, excitement or something else, Natasha wasn’t sure.
‘Time to go get paid…’ Natasha muttered to no one in particular, as she rose from her stool. The 5’ 8’’ statuesque blonde sashayed towards the dressing room door, getting ‘in character’ as it were. An exaggerated sexy strut, accentuating every exquisite curve of her 117lb body.
Pushing the dressing-room door ajar with the palm of her hand, Natasha descended the steps onto the pitch-black stage of ‘Alley Cats Men’s Club’, and grasped the sturdy chrome pole, jutting upwards from the floor to the ceiling. As she did, she tilted her hip to the right in a sexual pose and scanned the room for potential big tippers. As she did, Jacob’s slimy voice oozed out over the speakers, announcing her stage name with forced enthusiasm.
‘Now Gentleman … It is the pleasure of Alley Cats Men’s Club to introduce you to our next gorgeous dancer… The beautiful… The stunning… The sexy… Desire!’
As her melodramatic ‘introduction’ ceased, Natasha’s signature song piped in over the speakers, launching Natasha into her routine instantly, the lithe body of the twenty-three year old grinding sensually against the pole, her pelvis moving in and out in slow exaggerated movements, as the entire lounge gave her their sole attention.
Grasping the pole firmly in both hands, she hoisted herself upwards and locked her long legs around the cold metal, peeking back over her shoulder, she gave the audience a seductive grin, before releasing her grip.
Her strong legs took up the burden of maintaining her position on the pole, as her body arched backwards until her upper body hung upside down, her sandy-blonde hair brushing gently over and back across the stage floor. Strobe lights bathed the stage in alternating colours, flashing between pink, green and blue. All the while, her song blared out over the speakers, fuelling the libidos of the club’s patrons. The explicit lyrics adding to the raucous cheers of the crowd…
‘You let me violate you… You let me desecrate you… You let me penetrate you…’
Using the muscles of her taut abdomen, Natasha hoists herself upwards with an impressive mid-air sit-up, returning her hands to their original grip on the pole, before slowly slithering down until her high heels clicked on the timber stage beneath her. Grasping the pole with one hand, Natasha started to circle the pole, her hips pivoting in an exaggerated fashion, her ass shaking in time to the music…
‘You let me complicate you … Help me, I’m broke upon my insides… Help me, I got no soul to sell…’
As Natasha glanced into the crowd, she saw the usual cast of sleazes and losers looking back at her. Some regulars, others unfamiliar. Probably out-of-towners. The usual assortment of frat boys, business men, and husbands who told their wives that they were working late.
Picking up the pace of her circular stride, Natasha leapt high and hooked her leg around the pole, and steadied herself by grasping the narrow beam lightly with her right hand. Her momentum sent her gliding around, again and again, in dizzying laps of the thin sliver of steel. Her hair whipped violently as she spun, her beautiful breasts quivering delightfully as she grinds against the cold metal methodically, in time to the music.
‘Help me… The only thing that works for me… Help me get away from myself…’
Just then, Natasha extended her toned legs outwards, parallel with the floor, in an impressive display of strength and agility, as her body circumnavigated the pole. Slowly, as the momentum of her swing lessened, she started to slide downwards, until her pert derriere touched the floor below, just in time for the chorus to kick in…
‘I want to fuck you like an animal… I want to feel you from the inside… I want to fuck you like an animal…’
Her back to the crowd cheering raucously behind her, her legs still entwined around the pole. In a single fluid motion, Natasha lay back on the floor, swung her left leg upwards in a swift arc, bending it at the knee, and using her high heel to push hard against the pole, sending her sliding across the stage, towards the narrow, elevated catwalk that would take her into the midst of the club’s clientele.
Rolling onto her tummy, Natasha places the palms of her hands against the stage, rising from the floor in an improvised press-up, before commencing a slow crawl across the catwalk. Flicking her long flaxen locks back away from her face with a quick snap of her neck muscles, Natasha crawls sensually across the stage, her back arched, her shapely 34b breasts swinging sexily beneath her, her expression wild and animalistic. The entire room eating out of the palm of her hand… None more so than Scott…
Ensconced in a booth on the far side of the room, Scott had been quietly sipping his beer until ‘Desire’ came on stage… A successful businessman and divorcee, Scott had been enjoying his new found freedom, having recently been shorn of his pretty, but prudish wife.
He loved Diane dearly, but her unwillingness to experiment in the bedroom frustrated him immensely. While he deeply regretted not being able to make their marriage work, her cautious and conservative nature proved endlessly frustrating, during their all too brief four year marriage.
Her reluctance to dress up in the bedroom, to even discuss Scott’s various kinks… Not to mention the jealous rage she flew into at the mere mention of an open relationship… Well… She certainly wouldn’t approve of his presence at an establishment like this…
None of that seemed to matter as he watched the gorgeous creature gyrating on stage. Wild and uninhibited, sexy and alluring, Scott wanted her like he wanted no other women since he first met his ex-wife…
‘Desire is the perfect stage name for her…’ he mused to himself. Clambering out of the booth, Scott stood upright and stretched his arms out, his muscular frame concealed beneath a smart grey business suit. His muscles tense and stiff after sitting still for over an hour, he craned his neck slightly and maintained his gaze on the stage.
‘Desire’ finished up her performance, barely paying attention to the hollering crowd beneath the stage, her eyes passively sweeping the room as the music died away… Her line of sight finding Scott, lingering on his six foot frame, appraising him from head to foot, examining his rugged good looks, his salt and pepper hair, his impressive physique. She smiled mischievously at him, revelling in the way he was looking at her, singling him out from the other sad sacks in the room, she winked at him.
Striding confidently towards the stage, Scott pulled a crisp $100 bill from his wallet, trapping it between his middle and index finger, and holding it aloft in the air. As he drew level with the stage, ‘Desire’ crouched down and pulled the waistband of her black thong outwards, allowing Scott to place the $100 bill between her body and the lycra of her waistband, before releasing the material and allowing it to snap tightly, trapping the currency tight against her milky white skin.
Up close, ‘Desire’ was even more breath-taking. Her sallow skin coated in a healthy sheen of sweat after the exertion of her performance, her breasts rising and falling as her lungs greedily sucked in air. She breathed hard and huskily whispered in a slight Russian accent…
‘Thank you… That is a big tip …’
‘You’re worth every cent… Although if you felt obliged, you could do me a small favour…’
Natasha looked at the tall, handsome stranger in front of her quizzically.
‘Have dinner with me sometime.’
‘We’re not allowed to date customers.’
Scott looked into her hazel eyes and grinned slyly.
‘You don’t strike me as the kind of girl who plays by the rules…’
Natasha grinned broadly, impressed by her admirer’s wit and tenacity, but still not completely won over.
‘Tell you what Desire… That bill in your panties has my phone number scribbled discreetly in the corner… You think you might be interested in a date, give me a call… If not… Well I guess this is it…’
Leaning forward from the stage, the sexy Russian braced herself against Scott’s broad shoulders, and leaned into him. Her perfume was intoxicating, as she whispered softly into his ear in her seductive Russian accent…
‘Natasha… My name is Natasha… And you can pick me up at eight on Friday… You choose the restaurant…’
With that, Natasha stood up, turned on her heel and paced back towards the dressing-room she had emerged from earlier. Scott admired her shapely rear every step of the way, grinning like a big kid at the prospect of a truly memorable Friday night.
‘Diane… Hello… Earth to Diane…God… What is up with you today?!’
‘Nothing Lucy… I’m fine… Just a bit tired…’
Lucy folded her arms, as she peered at her companion suspiciously. Diane had been her best friend since college, and it truly worried the pretty redhead to see her hurting like this. Yet, she could feel her patience waning of late.
Flicking an auburn strand of hair from her face with a slender finger, Lucy composed herself. She plucked at her white blouse and straightened her grey striped-skirt under the table, before steeling herself to deliver some much needed ‘tough love’. Speaking plainly, she said;
‘C’mon Di… We both know that’s not true… You need to move on honey…’
Diane shrugged, then sighed in exasperation, pissed off by her friend’s perceptiveness. Her annoyance exacerbated by Lucy’s stubborn insistence on pointing out some home truths.
‘Drop it, Lucy…’
‘It’s been nine months now…’
‘Jesus… Just let it go…’
‘Okay, okay…Sheesh… Don’t get your knickers in a twist… You know I’m right, though?!’
Diane ignored her busy-body friend and her unsolicited advice, instead opting to stare absent-mindedly out the café window, at the throngs of busy people hustling and bustling back and forth along the pavement.
All part of the lunch-time exodus of office workers, looking for a bite to eat before returning to work for the afternoon. Around the two women, the quaint little café teemed with customers of a similar station. Diane and Lucy’s ‘coffee morning’ accompanied by a soundtrack of animated conversation, cutlery rattling loudly against plates, and wooden chair legs creaking, as punters shifted awkwardly in their seats.
An over-worked and under-paid waitress strode purposefully between tables; pausing occasionally to hurriedly scribble down orders, before disappearing behind the double doors that led into the kitchen.
‘Diane… You know it was inevitable… You and Scott… You were just too different…’
A flash of anger passed over Diane’s face as she withdrew her glance from the sidewalk outside, and fixed Lucy with a cold, hard stare. She locked eyes with her best friend and spat;
‘You don’t know that?! How could you say something like that?!’
Lucy slumped back in her chair in disbelief, incredulous that she was having this conversation with Diane. Again. The pretty redhead puffed her cheeks out and exhaled loudly, becoming irritated by Diane’s intransigence. Straightening her back and correcting her posture, Lucy then leaned forward, as if she was about to impart a secret to Diane.
Looking across the table, Lucy felt a great swell of pity for her friend. She was a beautiful young woman, with the world at her feet, but still hung up on her dog of an ex-husband. Her soft white skin, jet-black hair and delicate features, gracing Diane with a classical kind of beauty.
Her narrow nose, long angular face, and sharp cheekbones granting her an almost aristocratic appearance, as if she were the romantic lead in some racy romance novel set in the 18th century. One could almost imagine her 115lb frame trussed up in a tight corset, her 34-26-35 curves being relentlessly squeezed, as her 34C breasts strained against the constrictive under-garment, threatening to burst out into the open in the blink of an eye.
But alas, Diane wasn’t the protagonist of a romance novel, and reality was rarely as obliging as fiction, at least when it came to happy endings. In lieu of a corset, Diane’s delectable curves were encased in a casual ensemble of tight-fitting, skinny jeans and a simple white t-shirt.
If she would only snap out of her mood though, and put herself out there, Lucy was confident that her friend would be beating suitors back with a stick.
Lucy readied herself for what was to come next, fully aware that what she was about to say would at best, fall on deaf ears, and at worst, illicit a hostile response. She cleared her throat and spoke evenly, her voice tinged with concern for her friend, but her tone resolute in its delivery.
‘Look Diane… You said that you and Scott were incompatible in the bedroom, remember?! You wanted romance, flowers and candle-lit dinners… Evenings spent watching Netflix on the box, nights spent making slow, sensuous love to each other…’
Diane’s cheeks reddened, as she hissed at her friend across the table;
‘Will you keep your damn voice down!’
Lucy shrugged bashfully, suddenly aware that the waitress milling between the tables had overheard part of what she said, but was desperately trying to seem oblivious. Lowering her voice to a tone more conducive to secrecy, Lucy whispered;
‘Right… Fine… Sorry… But you know where I’m going with this…’
Diane sighed and nodded, finally acquiescing to Lucy’s insistent hectoring.
‘Yeah, I know… I wanted nothing more than to be his wife… But I guess monogamy was just a little too vanilla for Scott…I mean why stay at home with your wife, when you have a city full of sluts to see to…’
Diane’s voice quavered with resentment, a flicker of regret crossing her angry features, even if only for a second. She paused briefly, before carrying on;
‘… I don’t know though… Maybe I should’ve been more adventurous… Maybe I should’ve…’
Lucy reached across the table towards her friend, and placed a compassionate hand on her friends forearm.
‘Diane… Don’t do this to yourself… What were you meant to do?! Pretend to be someone you’re not?! If Scott wanted to spend his time fucking strangers, then he shouldn’t have got married. Let him go spend his evenings in strip bars, and that sleazy swinger’s club he was always pestering you to go to… Oh, what’s it called again?’
‘Hedonism.’ Diane interrupted.
‘Yeah… That’s the one… Hedonism… The watering hole of every pervert and sex-addict in the city… I can think of better ways to spend my nights… You’re not missing out on much there… Let that little blonde skank have him… Fuck the loss…’
Lucy winced as the words passed her lips, immediately rueing her loose tongue. On the opposite side of the table, Diane sat bolt upright, as if an electric current had passed through her, cheeks flushed and eyes welling up in anger. She stammered awkwardly;
‘Oh, I’m so sorry sweetie… I thought you knew… Scott picked up some slut at that titty bar on Cicero… Alley Cat’s or some such… He’s been stepping out with her for the last couple of weeks… Apparently he takes her to that swinger’s club you mentioned…’
‘Hedonism.’ Diane repeated testily.
‘Yeah… Anyway… Let her have him… She’s more his type anyway… Like I mean, could you imagine yourself grinding against a pole for the approval of strangers… Shaking your ass and tits for a handful of dollar bills… She’s exactly what Scott was looking for all along… A common slut, with an aversion to the word no… They’re a match, those two…’
As Lucy’s words echoed in her ears, Diane nodded politely at her well-meaning friend; doing her best to feign agreement. She pursed her lips and willed herself to remain silent, as Lucy’s careless words bounced around her consciousness…
‘…more his type anyway…’
‘…She’s exactly what Scott was looking for all along…’
‘…They’re a match those two…’
Each statement cut to her core, irritating Diane deeply. Just hearing her best friend talk in such terms, about Scott and a woman other than Diane, even in such derogatory manner, it was too much. Diane felt as though her pride as a woman had been wounded, as if her very femininity was being questioned.
She stood up abruptly, inching the small wooden chair beneath her backwards with her knee pits. It screeched noisily as it scraped against the polished café floor. Her face impassive, yet determined.
‘Sorry Lucy… I have to head home a little early… Bit of a headache… I’ll call you at the weekend and we can meet up for drinks.’
‘Oh right… Are you okay?! You’re not angry with me, are you? I didn’t mean to…’
‘Nonsense, Lucy. You have been a rock for me since the divorce. Thanks to you, I know exactly what I need to do about Scott and this mystery woman.’
Lucy beamed. ‘Oh, that’s great sweetie. Good to see you finally moving on. You’ll be much happier for it, I promise.’
Diane looked back over her shoulder and nodded politely.
‘Yeah… Exactly… As you say, moving on…’
With that, Diane turned on her heel and exited the café, the bell on the front door chiming loudly as it swung shut. Lucy smiled to herself, as she watched her friend stride purposefully down the sidewalk, through the café’s front window, her gaze lingering, until Diane rounded the street corner and disappeared from sight.
‘At least she’s finally seeing sense…’ Lucy muttered to herself, before raising her hand and summoning the waitress to her table for a quick refill.
‘About damn time too.’
Natasha nestled herself in the crook of Scott’s arm, resting her head on his shoulder, as the yellow taxi they traveled in, lurched one way and then the other, weaving in and out of traffic, as it made slow progress through crowded city streets.
It was a balmy New York evening in July. The sun had gone down hours ago, but a sweltering heat still pervaded the night air. A sticky, cloying kind of heat; made worse by the dingy confines of a grubby taxi-cab. Natasha smiled absent-mindedly as she leaned into Scott, resting her right cheek against his chest.
She could feel thin drops of sweat form on her upper lip, beading just above pink lipstick, the closeness of the night making her perspire; the humidity causing her tight-fitting cocktail dress to cling doggedly to her toned figure. Ruby-red in colour, it hugged every curve of her delectable figure, stretching from approximately mid-thigh level to just above the crest of her cleavage; obscuring the sexy Russian’s nipples from plain sight, but only just. A single silver strap, studded with glittering sequins, looped over her left shoulder, maintaining her modesty somewhat.
Natasha wore her hair down, the ends of which fell just below her ear lobes; several inches shy of her bare shoulders. She sighed contentedly; enjoying both the moment and her present company.
The last few weeks had been blissful. She loved Scott dearly. A whirlwind courtship, culminating in a torrid, passionate love affair; one that showed no sign of abating. She worshiped his sculpted physique, his salt and pepper stubble, his broad shoulders and wry smile. She even loved his graying hair, jokingly referring to him as a ‘silver fox’ when discussing him with her friends.
For Scott’s part, he was besotted by his ‘sexy little Russian minx’. Devastated by the collapse of his marriage, he rejoiced in finding a kindred spirit in Natasha. Rather than feeling threatened by Natasha’s work as a pole-dancer, he was intrigued by it; fascinated by her allure and confidence. Her every move exuded sexuality; delighting in being the centre of attention. She revelled in the role of provocatrix… And Scott adored her for it.
Where Diane was hesitant, Natasha was adventurous. Where Diane feared to tread, Natasha broke new ground. Scott had come to resent the comfort and security his marriage had come to represent; yearning for excitement. His new lover offered precisely that.
Natasha indulged Scott’s sexual appetites with relish, giving herself over to his fantasies; participating in orgies, partner-swapping, and any other sexual kink that caught Scott’s fancy. Furthermore, she did what her predecessor never did, she pushed him beyond his comfort zone, introducing him to scenarios and fetishes that he had never even contemplated previously. A feat that Diane seemed incapable of; through no fault of her own…
They had loved each other dearly, but it soon became apparent that both parties wanted different things. Diane craved stability, middle class respectability and a story book ‘Happy Ever After’. Scott still yearned for excitement, experimentation and new sexual experiences.
With a heavy heart, he did what was necessary, and divorced the most beautiful woman he had ever been with, and the first he had ever loved. Even now, the thought saddened him; his feelings still a jumbled knot of conflicting desires and needs.
As the taxi he and Natasha occupied closed in on its destination, it gradually slowed, pulling up beside an up-market apartment block. Likewise, his gloomy train of thought came shuddering to halt, banished to the recesses of his mind, anticipating what would surely be the latest in a series of memorable nights.
Natasha exited the taxi in a single motion, swinging one leg outwards, then the other; not for her the bashful shimmy of a woman fearful of someone seeing up her dress. Her movement confident and self-assured. Her toned legs stretched outwards until her high heels clicked against the pavement. Natasha stretched, arching her back and pushing her barely-concealed 34b chest outwards.
As she did so, Scott awkwardly manoeuvred his bulk out of the taxi, and joined his lover on the sidewalk. Natasha turned towards him and locked eyes with him. She smiled seductively and whispered in her sexy Russian accent.
‘Well… Ready for another night of debauchery, lover?’
Scott smiled. Utterly enamored with the beautiful blonde in front of him. What more was there to say?
‘Lead the way.’
Natasha traversed the pavement, and strode confidently up the steps towards the entrance to the apartment block; her heels clicking noisily as she sashayed across the concrete. Scott fumbled as he hurriedly unfolded crumpled dollar bills from his wallet, before handing them to the cab driver.
‘Here man… Keep the change… Hey Tasha, wait up!’
The tyres screeched loudly, as the taxi pulled away from the curb, before disappearing around the corner. Scott smoothed the creases in his smart casual suit, as he re-joined his buxom blonde companion at the entrance to an up-market apartment block; a dappled grey structure stretching high into the New York sky. An elderly doorman smiled politely, as the attractive couple approached the building.
‘Good Evening, Sir.’
‘Good Evening Jasper.’
Scott nodded politely, returning the greeting with a smile of his own. Stepping into the lobby, Scott exhaled loudly, relieved to escape the clammy humidity of a sweltering New York summer evening. The foyer was empty. Silent, save for the persistent drone of a large industrial air-conditioning unit, working ceaselessly to filter cool air throughout the building.
Natasha grinned as she looked sideways at Scott. He was fidgeting excitedly, like a kid at Christmas. He jammed his thumb against the elevator button repeatedly, as if he could summon it to the ground floor quicker through sheer force of will. Natasha slipped her hand into Scott’s, interlacing her fingers with his, and gave him an affectionate squeeze.
‘Patience my sweet… We will be at the top floor soon enough… And then…’ Natasha cooed in heavily accented English.
‘Hedonism.’ Scott finished her sentence, as he stepped into the elevator. He reached out, his fingers fastening around Natasha’s wrist, and playfully pulled her in beside him. She giggled as he kissed her passionately, the knowledge of what was to come, fanning the flames of his libido.
As the elevator ascended, both Scott and Natasha became progressively more amorous. Mere proximity to ‘Hedonism’, driving both parties wild with desire. Just then, with an audible ‘Ding’, the elevator doors parted, and Scott reluctantly broke his embrace with Natasha, peering out into the luxurious penthouse suite.
He smirked as he surveyed his surroundings.
The evenings ‘festivities’ had begun in earnest. ‘Hedonism’ was not your typical swinger’s meet. The clientele of this group, for the most part, were veterans of the scene; well-versed in debauchery. Unabashed in their desires and unashamed of their presence there. Brazen displays of lust and sexuality; more common than awkward small talk and furtive glances. As expected, Scott and Natasha had stepped into an orgy in full sway…
As Scott and Natasha stepped out of the elevator, the room opened up into an astonishingly large open-plan living space. To the right was a small kitchen area, where revelers went to sample wine and finger food, or just to take a ‘breather’.
A young couple in their mid-twenties leaned against the kitchen island, sipping from long-necked wine glasses; content to be fully-clothed voyeurs, on the fringes of a sea of naked flesh.
‘Newbies…’ Scott smirked to himself. ‘They’ll soon get into the swing of things…’
Scott’s focus shifted back to the ‘action’. A soft burgundy carpet traversed the rest of the room. A room sparsely furnished. In lieu of the usual trimmings, the carpet was dotted by elaborately embroidered lounging cushions and makeshift mattresses; long-backed lounging sofas along the room’s perimeter, being the only nod towards conventional furniture.
Around these scattered cushions and ‘makeshift hotbeds’, groups of three or more congregated. Each group exploring their own particular kink; often oblivious to the ‘activities’ of those either side of them.
The room echoed to the sound of drawn-out moans and gasps of ecstasy; reverberating around the white marble walls, before dissipating into the raised ceiling. Each individual group ‘coming’ together, to form a mass of writhing flesh; like cogs in a much larger machine.
Upon closer inspection, both Scott and Natasha could make an educated guess, as to the respective fantasies being indulged around the room. Several feet to the left, two buxom blondes, naked save for skimpy black panties, kissed with increasing urgency.
Slender fingers running through flaxen hair, ruby red lips parting as pink tongues melded in an energetic embrace. Soft feminine hands roving over breasts, pausing only to squeeze and tease; before delving deep into the moist confines of each other knickers.
Both women flanked by naked men of a similar age, slowly masturbating to the passionate spectacle unfolding before them. Bi-curious housewives indulging their Sapphic sides, much to the approval of their husbands, no doubt.
Behind them, and four yards to the left, a dusky black beauty with pert 32b breasts, her shoulder-length hair tied in braids; knelt before a muscular Latino. His cock hard and rigid in her hand, as she kissed and caressed it, using her bulbous lips to draw him closer and closer to orgasm.
Beside them, a curvy Latina with an hourglass figure and a bob cut, sucked a broad-shouldered black man’s erection, with matched enthusiasm. Now and again, each woman would fix the other with a lustful stare, and attend to her duties with renewed vigour. An interesting dynamic at play, two women apparently comfortable with another woman’s lips on their husband’s phallus, but apprehensive of being upstaged. Scott smirked at the contradiction, fascinated by the subtle theatrics at play.
On the opposite side of the room, a larger gathering had formed. A group of nine women, of varying age, ethnicity and proportion; formed a rough approximation of a circle around two young men. Reclining on cushions or sitting bow-legged, each woman gave the men in the center of the circle their rapt attention.
Similar in age and athletically built, both men bore striking similarities. Naked, save for matching amber Venetian masks, their physiques were equally toned and of similar dimensions; as if they were athletes trained to compete in the same discipline.
From a distance, the easiest way to differentiate between them, was their hair colour; the man on the left sporting tousled sandy-blond hair, his opposite number opting for a short black crew-cut. Both were naked and sweating profusely, engaged in a crude sexual competition of sorts.
Their hands appeared to be bound behind their backs, ‘tied’ at the wrists by flimsy silk veils. A lackluster bondage, intended to discourage the use of hands, rather than outright prevent it. The contest governed by an honour system, as it were. Both men shuffled in an awkward circle, as they heaved against each other, with as much might as they could muster.
Each man felt the strong pectoral muscles and washboard abs of the other, as they clashed. Each falter, each miss-step, saw one man advance at the expense of the other; like ‘improvised’ sumo-wrestling… but with a difference. All effort was expended below the waist, as each man aggressively pushed his erect penis against his opposite number, as if trying to bludgeon the other into submission.
An apparently futile struggle, as neither erection seemed to be abating. Quite the opposite in fact. Two potent eight-inch members bobbed and nodded in time with each step taken. The blond grunted, as his darker rival dipped his knees and went low, before rising up with an exaggerated thrust, rubbing his dick up the full length of his rival’s cock… before retreating…
The dark-haired man took a short backwards step, putting a little distance between both parties. Relenting, with his opponent on the ropes… Natasha grinned, the reason being obvious to those in the know… Scott glanced sideways, and looked at her quizzically.
‘A cockfight… like women sexfighting… A body to body challenge… Often with a spectacular finish… First cock to wilt loses…’ she offered by way of explanation in broken English.
Scott smirked; ‘That doesn’t seem likely to happen anytime soon…’
Returning her gaze to the cockfight, Natasha responded; ‘I wouldn’t be so sure… You know how disputes are settled in Hedonism…Expect the unexpected…’
Scott nodded sagely. As much as he enjoyed being a member, even Scott had to admit that ‘Hedonism’ was rife with sexual jealousy. Sex tends to conjure up powerful emotions in us all, but established members had long ago devised a cunning way of diffusing disputes internally, thus ensuring the long-term survival of the club.
Warring members were permitted to settle disputes physically, but only under two strict conditions. All disputes were to be resolved via a contest of ‘sexual prowess’, and said contest was only permissible within the walls of ‘Hedonism’.
An ingenious measure which kept law enforcement from the door, while providing patrons with a taboo method of ‘conflict resolution’. Scott’s attention drifted back to the keenly contested ‘cockfight’ taking place in front of him.
Separated by no less than a yard, each man stood stock-still, as if frozen in time. A stalemate. Two well-endowed competitors, their breath coming quick and fast, struggling to maintain their composure.
Each unable to hide their heightened state of arousal, as both their members twitched and jerked in spasm; each individual willing themselves to remain calm, as their aching cocks threatened to spit their ‘surrender’ at each other. An intriguing contest, apparently entering its final stages, much to the delight of the onlookers…
Just then, the fair-haired combatant upped the ante. Undoing the knot in the silk veil that bound his hands, he let the garment float to the floor behind him, and brought his arms forward, making his unrestricted hands visible to his opponent. Not cheating, but seeking to alter the dynamic of their contest somewhat…
A sentiment his dark-haired rival apparently shared. Without complaint, he watched the fair-haired Adonis with stilted breath. Soon thereafter, the silk scarf of the dark-haired fighter was deposited on the floor.
As if drawn together by powerful magnets, both men advanced on each other; meeting nose-to-nose. Two impressive specimens, it was easy to see why they had garnered a sizable female audience.
Standing face-to-face, the blond cockfighter pushed the bridge of his nose against that of his dark-haired opponent, like a professional boxer at a weigh-in. An obnoxious gesture; amply matched by the dark-haired cockfighter. Beefy pectoral muscles and chiseled abdominals grated as they heaved against each other.
South of the equator, both well-endowed gentlemen applied escalating pressure, relentlessly pushing their cocks together. From root to stem, both cocks were of the same length and of commensurate thickness. Seminal fluid oozed from the tip of the dark-haired man’s dick; indicating intense arousal. Likewise, precum sluiced from the fair-haired man’s cock and dribbled tantalising down his shaft.
Whispered threats and challenges passed between the pair, too low for anyone else present to hear. Both combatants becoming progressively more animated… before reaching a lull of sorts. An accord had been reached. The end to their animosity was in sight…
The dark-haired man dropped to his knees, followed momentarily by his blond nemesis. They shifted awkwardly towards one another, until they could practically feel the heat of their rival’s penis.
The fair-haired man reached forward and clasped his left hand around the back of his opponent’s head, pulling him forward. The dark-haired man reciprocated; leaving both cockfighters forehead-to forehead. While maintaining fierce eye contact, they both allowed their right hands to travel south towards their own rampant cocks.
Grasping his stiff member firmly at the base, the dark-haired cockfighter pushed his cock forward, until his ‘helmet’ touched the glans of his opponent. The blond cockfighter followed suite, as both men angled their penises, so that their piss-slits were touching. No mean feat, given the rigidity of each man’s swollen manhood.
Slowly, both men began to pole their hands up and down the length of their respective shafts; like pistons starting to fire in a diesel engine. A hush fell over the assembled crowd of female onlookers, as a soft murmur rippled through them – ‘Shootout…’
A bemused Scott glanced sideways at Natasha and shrugged. Natasha leaned close and whispered in his ear in honeyed tones.
‘I’ve seen this before… When two cockfighters are evenly-matched and unwilling to concede defeat, they have a… how you say… tie-breaker…’
‘Both men will work themselves to a frenzy, cumming as hard as they possibly can, and a select few will decide whose cumshot was more impressive… Their decision is final… Both must accept…’
Scott nodded, signalling his understanding. As Natasha spoke, both men had increased the tempo of their ‘efforts’, pleasured groans and anguished moans escaping their lips, as they worked themselves towards climax.
Amid grunts of exertion, veiled threats and insults became audible, as the impending release of orgasm made both cockfighters ever bolder…
‘Oh…Oh…. Fuck… You…’
‘Yeah… But… Not… As… Hard… As… I… Fucked… Your… Wife…’
‘What… About… Your…Wife… You… Like…The… Taste… Of… My… Cum… When… You… Kiss…’
Each word was punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, as the cockfighters pulled with gusto, eager to ‘show up’ their opposite number, and douse his cock in a torrent of cum that he could never hope to match…
The dark-haired fighter was clearly ‘edging’, hovering on the point of orgasm; dangerously close to the precipice. He taunted his rival.
‘Show… Me… What… You… Got…’
More… Than… Your… Pussy-Dick… Can… Muster…’
The moment of truth had arrived. The blond cockfighter made up the ground (figuratively), and both men gave in to the pleasurable sensations coursing through their members. They expelled thick ropes of cum, spotting each other’s washboard abs and phallus; to a chorus of approving whispers and giggles from admiring female onlookers.
The fair-haired cockfighter shot first, his bulging scrotum convulsing as a thick stream of cum funneled through his urethra, striking the head of his opponent’s cock with startling velocity. He practically growled, a triumphant bellow; albeit short-lived.
Mere milliseconds later, the dark-haired cockfighter came with such ferocity, droplets glazed his blond rival’s chest. Again and again, both cocks surged, expelling their sticky salvo on the opposing member, leaving both exhausted fighters utterly spent.
After their monumental struggle, their once proud cocks hung flaccid; drenched in the seed of their hated fuck-rival…
The battle between the two was over, and presumably their ‘audience’ would appoint a winner after much deliberation, but something told Scott that the two were likely to clash again…
‘Sexual jealousy doesn’t just disappear overnight… Not in Hedonism…’
Scott’s focus shifted, as his gaze wandered, scanning the room for potential ‘playmates’. He was vaguely aware of the elevator humming behind him, but remained transfixed by the ‘erotic chaos’ unfolding in front of him. A myriad of opportunities presented themselves. After all, it was a full house tonight.
Natasha placed her hand on Scott’s shoulder, and uttered the words he had been longing to hear; ‘We didn’t come here to spectate… Want to join the fun? I’m sure we can find someone willing to entertain us for the evening…’
The blonde grinned mischievously, a temptress in red. However, just as Scott was about to answer, a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘Happy to oblige… If you’re game…’
Incredulous, Scott turned on his heels, and was greeted with an unexpected, yet familiar face.
‘D-D-D-Diane? What are you doing here?!’
‘Broadening my horizons honey… You look shocked?’
‘Yeah… I mean no… I mean… this was never really your scene… It’s just…’
‘A bit of a surprise. The good kind?’
Scott smirked at his ex-wife’s new-found adventurous spirit, intrigued by her impish grin. The conservative streak that had previously defined her character, giving way to something more… playful… something more dangerous…
‘Yeah… I think so… Definitely…’
The initial shock of running into his ex subsiding, Scott surveyed Diane in all her sensual glory. A classical beauty as ever. Every inch of her exquisite femininity poured into a figure-hugging strapless tube dress. A vision in midnight black.
In lieu of straps, Diane’s 34C bosom served the dual purpose of filling out her tight-fitting attire, and holding it in place. The hem of said garment stretched just past her rear, finishing at her upper thighs. The pigment of her bare shoulders and long legs as white as the driven snow, in stark contrast to the inky hue of her outfit.
She wore her jet-black hair loose and unfettered, a slight curl in her shoulder-length hair. Diane’s naturally pretty face lightly adorned with make-up; a minimal amount of blush and ruby red lip-gloss.
As Scott gazed at Diane, he suddenly struggled to recall why they broke up. She was just as stunning as when they were together, but something about her was different… more driven… more purposeful…
He was uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Try as he might, his thoughts refused to conform into coherent speech. His usual debonair manner, replaced by bumbling ineptitude. Like a punch-drunk boxer, he was reeling. In over his head, and struggling to regain control of a situation that eluded him.
‘Ah Diane… H-H-Have you met Natasha?’
Despite herself, Diane smirked at the strained awkwardness of their introduction. Yet, she could feel herself ‘tense’, as her ex-husband’s new ‘paramour’ stepped in front of her, and introduced herself in an insufferably defiant tone.
‘Pleased to meet you. Diane, I think it was?’
The words oozed from between the blonde’s cherry-pink lips, dripping with contempt, her brusque Russian accent adding to the severity of the remark. For the first-time, Diane was granted a close inspection of the woman who replaced her in Scott’s affections.
She was several years younger, and about two inches taller, but approximately the same weight. Her arms were toned, as one would expect given her profession; but no more than Diane’s. Like Diane, her skin was pale in complexion. However, that’s where the similarities ended.
Natasha’s platinum blonde hair clashed with Diane’s darker tresses, her hazel eyes at odds with Diane’s baby-blues. Two distinctly different women, each epitomizing feminine beauty in their own way. Both undeniably attractive women in their own right.
‘I think you know who I am, Natasha. As you might have guessed by the way Scott is looking at me, I’m his wife.’
Natasha bristled at the suggestiveness of the remark, and retorted with a pointed statement of her own.
‘Ex-wife. I was under the impression that you did not attend Hedonism, as you were… how you say… a prude?’
Diane’s cool facade cracked momentarily, as Natasha’s jibe hit pay dirt. The brunette’s nostrils flared indignantly, when confronted with the reason why her marriage disintegrated. As any woman would, she reacted emotively.
‘Prude?! Just because I don’t shake my ass for twenty dollar bills, doesn’t mean I’m a prude, sweetie.’
Natasha’s brown eyes hardened and her pulse quickened.
‘And you’ve clearly heard of me. As for being a prude, I’d say the fact that you couldn’t satisfy your husband in bed, marks you as a prude… sweetie.’
Without realizing it, both women had subconsciously entered each other’s orbit, the intensity of their argument impulsively drawing them closer together. Their breasts separated by skimpy fabric and mere millimeters. Standing so close now, that each woman could feel the other’s breath on her face. Chests rose and fell, as breaths came and went in angry rasps.
Natasha stood her ground defiantly, her chin cocked upwards, as if arrogantly presenting her jaw to her love rival. Almost daring Diane to slap her.
For her part, Diane stood stock-still, her arms by her side, sinews straining, the urge to slap Natasha’s face becoming so strong, that it manifested itself physically. Conflict was imminent, and with it no doubt, the expulsion of all three individuals from Hedonism. Scott acted swiftly. Approaching both women, he gently placed a hand on each woman’s bare shoulder, before addressing his ex.
‘Diane… be honest with me. Why are you here? Why the sudden interest in swinging?’
Without breaking her staredown with Natasha, she petulantly huffed;
‘I… Fuck it…Why pretend? To win you back. You have this image of me as a sexually-repressed little housewife. Too meek and mousey to keep up with your libido … and that’s not fair. You could have shared your interests with me. You just needed to be patient. Instead of working through our issues, you bailed. You threw away four years of marriage for this…’
Diane practically spat the last sentence in Natasha’s direction. The young Russian visibly bristled. She hissed her response to Diane.
‘This what?! Finish your fucking sentence! Or do you want to whine some more?! You broke up before Scott and I got together… I’m not to blame for your divorce… It’s not my fault you couldn’t hold Scott’s interest…Too much of a lady to sate your husband’s desire…You disgust me…’
As usual, merely standing in the midst of ‘Hedonism’ was enough to arouse any man. But for Scott, this feeling was amplified by the ‘catty’ back and forth between Natasha and Diane; between the only two women he had truly loved. Their impassioned whispers as they tried to keep their spat private, their increasingly personal insults… Scott was tumescent to the point of discomfort.
However, sensing an opportunity, the suave Scott of old took over. His bumbling persona banished, along with the shock he felt at meeting his ex-wife in the most unusual of circumstances. He allowed both his hands to glide effortlessly off the bare shoulder of each woman. He clasped each them both by the ass, and rubbed in a slow, soothing motion. He leaned in and whispered;
‘Ladies… I care deeply for you both… And I won’t abide either of you getting hurt, no matter how angry and resentful you feel. You both bear a grudge, and you both desire conflict. Fine… but it has to be on my terms. Anything else would see us expelled from ‘Hedonism’ and I won’t see either of you hurt…’
Without breaking eye-contact, each woman nodded grimly, signalling their willingness to engage on these terms.
‘You are both beautiful and sensual women. You will conduct yourself as such… even in conflict. Upstairs, in the loft, there is a small boudoir. It is for… more private encounters…’
For the first time since their impromptu ‘get-together’, Natasha and Diane broke eye-contact, and looked directly at Scott.
‘You both clearly feel that you have something to prove… You can prove it up there… But only under the following conditions…’
Scott whispered his terms to both women in hushed tones, then stepped back and waited.
‘Well? Natasha… Are you game?’
The blonde nodded vigorously, as her pink lips curled into a wolfish grin.
‘Diane? What say you? Are you getting cold feet?’
Diane’s answer was slower, but just as definitive.
‘Not a chance.’
‘Excellent. I’ll see both you ladies upstairs in thirty minutes.’
With that, Scott turned from them, and skirted the perimeter of the orgy, before ascending the spiral staircase towards the loft. He didn’t glance backwards. There was no need to. He had been perfectly clear. Diane and Natasha both knew their instructions.
He would see them soon enough. He crossed the landing, before reaching the loft. He grasped the aluminium door handle, before pushing his way into the room. There, he waited.
The ‘private room’ was sparsely furnished. A relatively small room, designed with a singular purpose in mind – the pursuit of ‘hedonism’. A downy blood-red carpet traversed the room, stretching from one wall to the next. Walls covered not with plaster, but instead affixed with thick, heavy mirrors.
The ceiling similarly adorned with the same. Each corner of the room was occupied by a narrow, black metallic stand, atop which sat powerful set-lamps. All four of them trained on the middle of the room.
Each mirror reflected the large bed dominating the center of the room, albeit from different angles, and Scott standing at its foot. A chamber ridiculously over-sized, dwarfing most conventional Queen-sized beds on the market. A bed more than adequate for an amorous couple. A bed spacious enough to host a harem, if need be.
A simple black satin sheet, as dark as midnight, covered the mattress. Two pillows were discreetly placed at the head of the bed, but bed clothes were nowhere to be seen.
‘What purpose would they serve?’ Scott mused to himself. Rest was the last thing this bed was designed for. This wasn’t a room of leisure, but one of passion and exertion. A place for lust-filled men and women to sate their animalistic desires.
Scott momentarily surveyed his surroundings, grinning ear to ear at the thought of what was about to transpire. He had shared one of his most yearned for sexual fantasies, with two of the sexiest women he had ever been intimate with…
The taboo nature of his proposal, the animosity shared between Natasha and Diane, not to mention his former spouse’s normally conservative nature; all factors conspiring against his deepest desires.
Yet, despite it all, here he was… Seconds from watching his exhibitionist stripper girlfriend and demure ex-wife do the unfathomable. These remarkable women were about to conjure the stuff of his teenage wet-dreams, from the deepest recesses of his subconscious, and make them real.
A giddy tension seized Scott. There wasn’t a moment to lose. He strolled purposefully past the left-hand side of the bed, towards the central glass panel on the western wall. He pressed gently against left hand side of the panel, and it gave way with a click.
The panel swung inwards on its hinge, granting access to a small dark room, barely eight foot by four. Scott settled into a plush, leather office-chair, and grasped a remote from the table-top in front him, as the glass panel swung shut behind him.
He pressed a bright red-button on the top corner of the remote, and a bank of nine broad plasma-screen monitors whirred to life on the wall in front of him, bathing the room in a soft, white glow. Each monitor focused on the gargantuan bed next door, displaying it from a multitude of angles; the work of numerous strategically-placed cameras.
The image on each monitor was sharp. The set-lighting next door and the high-resolution screens in front of him, working in tandem to provide Scott with a voyeur’s paradise. Scott glanced at his watch, squinting at the face in the dimly-lit confines of his ‘watchtower’. Thirty minutes had almost elapsed since he parted company with Diane and Natasha.
He smiled as he remembered the words he left them with, leaning in and whispering his ‘proposal’ to both women in hushed tones; like a conspiracy shared between three.
‘I want you to compete against each other… sexually. I want you to try and exert your will over one another, but in a feminine manner. It’s not just a matter of besting your rival, but looking alluring while doing so…’
Two sets of inquisitive eyes had peered back at him, two brows furrowed in confusion, so on he had blundered; attempting to verbalise his far-fetched teenage fantasy, in all its hyperbolic glory. He spoke to both of them and neither of them, his gaze flitting back and forth, careful not to give either woman the lion’s share of attention. Careful not to show favouritism…
‘No closed fists, no kicking, no biting, no silly shit… Fight as women should… Skin-on-skin, hands in hair, up close and personal… Play mind games, undermine her, taunt her, pit your sexuality against hers, make her come in spite of herself, show each other how dirty you can be… Show me how dirty you can be…’
‘You are both incredibly desirable women… There’s not a man in this club who would refuse either of you… Nor will they…’
‘When you report upstairs for your sexfight, come as any red-blooded woman should… Wanton and horny… Face each other with stiff nipples, wet pussies, and wearing the cum of all the men at this club who want to fuck you, but can’t…’
‘One hour…If neither of you relinquishes your claim to share my bed within that time, then I’ll judge the winner…’
Scott was snapped from his reverie, as the image on the monitors flickered in front of him. The door to the ‘private room’ opened slowly. It had begun…
Natasha sauntered into the room; shorn of the racy, red number she debuted the evening in. Her slinky 34-24-35 curves glided gracefully across the room, atop ruby-red stiletto heels. A pink thong (barely) covered her Venus mound, a similar shade to the cherry gloss that decorated her full lips. The waistband of her underwear rode high on her hips, before meeting at the small of her back, and extending downwards to part her beautiful derriere.
Having reached her destination, Natasha turned, and sat at the foot of the bed. She leaned backwards, placing the palms of her hands on the black satin. Her toned back was hunched, as she rested the weight of her upper-body on her forearms. Her face appeared impassive, yet watching her on the large monitors next door, Scott detected a nervous tension in her posture.
Through the microphones discretely dotted amidst the boudoir, Scott heard the rattle of the door handle being pulled, play out over the speakers in his ‘watchtower’. Evidently, it had not gone unnoticed by the sexy Russian minx next door either.
Her expression morphed to one of haughty derision instantly, her pink lips curling into a derisive sneer, a challenging gesture. Those hazel eyes blazed with defiance. She relaxed her shoulders, and thrust her chest out, as if displaying her breasts to the interloper on the verge of intrusion. Her firm 34b breasts culminating in stiff red nipples, hardened to points almost.
Her breasts bore the seed of several male admirers. As per Scott’s instructions, Natasha had stripped off, and worked her way around the room below. She had used her hands and mouth to tease and torment the more hunkier studs who crossed her path.
Working them to a frenzy, until their thick cocks erupted, ejaculating hard across her tits and stomach. Even now, Natasha could feel the warmth of their cum on her breasts; a distractingly arousing sensation.
On the far side of the room, Diane had done likewise, coaxing and cajoling spectacular ‘money shots’ from any athletic young male who took her fancy. While not a natural exhibitionist, she attracted ‘admirers’ with ease nonetheless, as time and again, well-endowed suitors ‘scented’ her bountiful bosom with thick, pungent cum. New to the ‘lifestyle’ and outside of her element, but adapting quickly…
Natasha was summoned back to the present, as the bedroom door swung open, and her ‘love-rival’ stepped through. Diane’s shoulder-length black hair framed her pretty features, her 34-26-35 curves unrestrained by clothing, except a skimpy pair of transparent knickers, an accessory that revealed more than it concealed. Shear lace material; as black as Diane’s own hair.
Perched atop matching high-heels, Diane’s blue eyes burned with the passion of a scorned woman. A scorned woman, on the cusp of retribution. Instinctively, she placed her hands on her hips, and thrust her chest outwards. Those generous 34c breasts, crowned with broad pink nipples and bumpy areolae; like those of her erstwhile Russian ‘love-rival’, resplendent with the spunk of several lusty studs.
Brown and blue eyes met with smouldering intensity, as both women exchanged harsh glances, almost daring the other to act. The room was silent, save the breathing of two determined woman. The guts of a minute elapsed, before either spoke.
Diane was first to break the impasse. Her tone of voice was both harsh and mocking.
‘So… this how you spend your weekends Natasha… acting as a cum-shot target for my husband and his friends?!’
Natasha remained stock-still, showing no signs of an outward reaction to Diane’s barb. She simply fixed Diane with her best ‘Bitch, please…’ face, before retorting sharply in her husky Russian accent;
‘Diane… Dear… We’re a little past judging each other, don’t ya think?’
As she spoke, Natasha used her hands to scoot backwards onto the center of the bed, before reclining fully on her elbows. The shift in position, causing several pools of sperm to travel a slow, ponderous path downwards from Natasha’s breasts, towards her pink panties in sluggish-moving rivulets.
The Russian minx thrilled at the sensation. She could practically ‘feel’ Scott’s eyes on her cum-spattered body, exciting her behind belief. The urge to up-stage Diane, exorcising whatever caution remained within.
‘Besides Diane… Don’t play the meek little girly-girl with me… especially after what we’ve just got up to…’
Emboldened, Natasha continued, ‘Women are expected to be quiet and docile by men… above base desires… but we know the truth… Don’t we, Diane?’
Never breaking eye contact with Diane, Natasha elaborates, ‘We both know how good it feels to turn a man on, to feel his cock harden, to have his rough hands grope your breasts, to feel him move inside you… The elation of using your femininity to bring him to climax, his seed gushing forth at your touch… A real woman wouldn’t be embarrassed to admit such things… A real woman would take pride in it… Fuckin’ Prude…’
Natasha smirked, as Diane’s cool facade slipped. Her porcelain cheeks reddening, as indignant fury welled up from deep inside her. Her insecurities exposed, the cause of her failed marriage laid bare, and mercilessly ridiculed. This was a slight, that could not go unanswered…
Natasha closed her eyes, savouring the moment; enjoying her small victory. She quickly opened them again, as she felt slender fingers fasten around her right ankle, firmly holding her in place.
The palm of Diane’s right hand came to rest on Natasha’s thigh, as she gracefully climbed atop her nemesis, moving forwards, until the pussy lips of both women touched; pink cotton and black lace kissing…
‘You know what, Natasha? You talk too much… I didn’t follow you into this room, to listen to lectures on what a woman should or shouldn’t be…’
‘Yeah… Why did you come here?’
‘Look at me Natasha… I mean… Really look at me…’
From the flat of her back, Natasha peered up at the woman, who laid claim to her lover’s cock, and witnessed a demure housewife transform into a worthy rival. Dollops of cum glazed Diane’s fulsome 34c bust.
A moist drizzle, trickling downwards, as Diane mounted her foe. Smaller dapples of the same translucent liquid dappled her abdomen. The brunette looked different somehow… Her soft femininity and classical beauty, giving way to something… more uninhibited… more primal…
With a deliberate motion, Diane began to rub cum into her tits, down her thighs, up the nape of her neck and throat, running her sticky fingers through her glossy black hair. Maintaining eye contact with Natasha the entire time, she massaged her snow-white skin, until spunk had been evenly distributed across her body, the emissions of her ‘would-be lovers’ taking on a waxy consistency.
‘I came here to win my husband back …’
A brazen display of feminine sexuality. In the blink of an eye, Diane had seized the initiative from her husband’s whore. An advantage she was loathe to relinquish. As she finishes her sentence, Diane crawls forward, bringing her pussy over Natasha’s face, before lowering it and rubbing the soft flesh against her pointed nose and bee-stung lips.
Natasha squirms awkwardly beneath her, as Diane sensually grinds her cxnt into her, lewdly debasing her. The raven-haired amazon lingered, enjoying her rival’s humiliation, before continuing towards the head board, and hoisting her pussy from the blonde’s face. Once there, she pirouetted on her knees, turning to face her blonde tormentor, with a devilish grin.
Natasha sat up in the bed enraged, and looked backwards over her shoulder, only to see a smug, determined Diane meet her glare. Natasha is fuming! She knows that Scott just witnessed Diane thoroughly humiliate her! Pride demanded that she respond in kind!
Turning to face Diane, Natasha stealthily rose to her feet, and stalked across the mattress. She stopped just shy of the raven-haired gladiatrix, her mound hovering mere millimetres from Diane’s face.
A woman on a mission, seized by a renewed sense of purpose, she buried her fingers in Diane’s black tresses, either side of her head, and wrapped the strands in her knuckles twice, before harshly pulling Diane’s face into the pink fabric of her thong.
Diane winced, surprised at Natasha’s sudden aggression; her own small victory short-lived. Unexpectedly, she finds her ‘classical’ features buried in the mons pubis of her husband’s harlot.
She inhales deeply as she struggles, placing her hands against Natasha’s thighs and bracing, as she endeavours to prise her pretty snout from the damp, musky confines of her rival’s cunt. Ultimately, to no avail. She can’t break the hold…
With Diane’s face firmly buried in her crotch, Natasha allows herself to fall backwards onto the bed, her momentum dragging Diane along for the ride. As her back hits the mattress, Natasha crosses her legs and locks her ankles, trapping Diane’s head between her thighs. Confident in the security of the hold, Natasha relinquished her grasp on Diane’s hair.
Her hands newly liberated, Natasha takes her turn to massage cum into her own limber body, arching her back theatrically, groaning melodramatically; performing for her ‘audience’ of one, in the ‘watchtower’ next door.
The spunk of the men she had satisfied earlier, gliding across her body, as the blonde beauty explored her every curve. The palms of her hands languidly travelled from belly button to breasts, lingering somewhat on her hard, red nipples, before completing their journey upwards across her neck and face, and resting in her long, flaxen hair.
Every movement, intended to coat her body in sticky, smelly ejaculate. She didn’t stop, until her entire torso, face, and blonde tresses were sticky, and strewn with cum. Although trapped betwixt Natasha’s legs the entire time, Diane did not struggle, but waited patiently for release instead. Some perverse sense of ‘female honour’ staying her hand…
Eventually, Natasha relented, uncrossing her legs, and allowing Diane to sit up on her haunches. Finally satisfied that she had evened the score…
Diane waited patiently for Natasha to assume a similar stance. Both women knelt facing each other, staring balefully into one another’s eyes, unsure of where their rivalry would take them next…
Eventually, Diane spoke up … ‘We have unfinished business …’
Her hand delved under the waistband of her sheer black panties, and she plunged the index and middle finger of her left hand into her pussy, up to the knuckle, wetting them with her ‘juices’.
Removing her fingers from her cunt, Diane smeared her ‘moistness’ in a circular motion across Natasha’s lips, allowing her finger-tips to slowly trace a path towards the back of Natasha’s head, before grasping her hair with sticky fingers … She pushed the Russian onto her back, holding her hair harshly, pinning her to the bed, just long enough for the scent of her aroused pussy to reach the Russian’s nostrils. Letting the blonde know how strong her ardour for Scott is… How much she still longs for his cock…
She whispers one word – ‘Challenge!’
A vulgar and uncouth gesture, but one that Natasha understands. Two red-blooded women in love with the same man, neither willing to surrender their claim to his manhood. From beneath the raven-haired beauty, Natasha reacts accordingly. Pulling her pink thong to the side, and using the middle and ring finger of her right hand, she explores her own cunt, surprised at just how wet this whole scenario is making her.
From beneath Diane, she reaches upwards, and allows her fingers to meander across the ex-wife’s upper and bottom lip, before tracing her fingers gently downwards, firmly grasping Diane by the throat, and reversing positions with a determined heave, assuming the dominant role, pinning the raven-haired man-stealer to the bed by the throat.
The blonde lingered just long enough, for the unmistakable scent of her arousal to reach Diane’s nose. Demonstrating that her cunt was no less inflamed, her yearning for Scott’s cock, every bit as intense. An erotic declaration of intent. She huskily whispers her answer to Diane’s ultimatum – ‘Accepted!’
Lifting her hand from Diane’s slender throat, Natasha allowed her brunette foe to rise. Once more, facing one another from their knees. Secluded in the ‘watchtower’ next door, Scott surveyed his bank of monitors with baited breath, each screen transmitting the antics of Diane and Natasha from a slightly different perspective.
He was utterly transfixed. Intrigued by the subtleties of women in conflict. His cock swelling to the point of tumescence with every implied insult, suggestive remark, or pithy put-down. Evidently, the war for his affections would not just be physical, but verbal, and psychological. An all-encompassing confrontation between two very different, yet resourceful women.
Scott savoured the beauty of both exquisite creatures; a study in contrasts. Natasha’s hair as bright as hayseed, Diane’s as dark as ink. Natasha, the younger of the two, was more toned, but not by much.
Her body was lithe and strong, as befits her profession, and even from a kneeling stance, she was noticeably taller. Her hazel eyes peered slightly downwards into Diane’s baby-blues. Her nickel-sized red nipples, hovered inches above Diane’s; which were noticeably wider, being closer to the diameter of a dollar coin, and characterised by a brighter pinkish hue.
Both women were pale in complexion, and their skin bore a noticeable sheen, as the set-lighting illuminated the liberal dollops of semen that coated their every sensual curve.
The blonde was first to initiate contact. She hoisted her left hand above her shoulder, and let it hover for several seconds, holding it aloft with her fingers splayed wide apart. Her full lips curled into a challenging smirk. Diane understood her meaning instantly. She tentatively raised her right hand to the Russian’s, interlacing her fingers upon contact.
Within seconds, Diane and Natasha’s idle hands were similarly coupled; commencing an improvised test of strength. Knuckles whitened as each woman tightened her grip, and pushed with all her might. The muscles on Diane’s pale-white back rippled, her shoulders tensing, as she held her arms rigid, and pushed upwards against her blonde nemesis.
Opposite her, Natasha’s arms remained high above her shoulders, as she matched the black-haired bitch with equality of effort. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead, as she struggled to best Diane. As both women pushed against each other, their arms and shoulders shook from the exertion, causing their ample tits to quiver delightfully.
Natasha’s pert red nipples hovered inches from Diane’s pink nubs, albeit in a slightly elevated position. Their faces so close, that each combatant could feel the other’s breath on her person. In such close proximity, each murmured grunt was audible. Resentment was etched on the face of both Diane and Natasha, a simmering frustration on the cusp of boiling over. Inevitably, the mind games recommenced…
‘You know Diane… ugh… I didn’t think you had it in ya?’
‘To step up… To come out of your comfort zone, and be the woman Scott needs…’
‘And you’re what Scott needs? A blonde slut with no gag-reflex!’
Enraged, Natasha ceases pushing against Diane, lowering her arms until they are parallel with her shoulders, then proceeding to pull Diane towards her. The hefty sound of flesh slapping against flesh, echoes around the room. A shuddering, damp sound; akin to a wet towel being dropped on a tile floor from a height.
Their skin rubs together, the semen on their bodies acting like a vulgar adhesive, due to the viscous consistency of Diane and Natasha’s cum-covered torsos. Once joined, their flesh holds fast, sticking instantly, as the syrupy substance welds woman to woman in a claustrophobic, yet undeniably sexual embrace; blurring the line between fighting and fucking. Their heads come to rest on each other’s shoulders; granting Natasha the opportunity to whisper her reply in Diane’s ear.
‘I’d be insulted Diane… if your breath didn’t reek of a stranger’s spunk… Fuckin’ Hypocrite!’
‘Bitch!’ Diane bellowed by way of response.
The energy expended by both women during the test of strength, told its tale. Two sets of weary arms, succumbing to the intense strain of the preceding minutes. Diane could feel her grip on Natasha’s hands loosen, as her biceps and forearms began to tremble. Likewise, Natasha struggled to maintain the intensity of her heave.
Without even realising it, both women had allowed the focus of their struggle to shift. Their subconscious mind acknowledging what neither would ever openly admit – that the test of strength was a stalemate.
Fingers remained interlocked, as Diane and Natasha sought relief, allowing their arms to gradually descend to their sides. Changing tactics, Diane focused on pushing her body against the nubile Russian, attempting to force her off the centre of the mattress, and onto the flat of her back.
An ultimately frustrating experience, as Natasha checked her every movement with commensurate pressure. Their bodies remained in constant friction, rubbing and grinding, as they squirmed and heaved against one another.
Inwardly, Diane marvelled at the effect this sordid struggle was having on her. There was something terribly taboo about what they were doing! Two beautiful women, doused in the cum of horny strangers, wrestling in skimpy panties for the approval of a mutual lover.
Her pink nipples were so hard, they practically ached, as she pushed them against Natasha’s cum-greased tits. She moaned loudly every time she felt the stab of Natasha’s irksome, pointed nipples.
‘God… Her nipples are as hard as diamonds… She must want Scott bad…’ Diane mused to herself.
Distracted momentarily by the thought, Diane barely felt it as Natasha whipped her hands downwards and away from her grasp, before quickly encircling her arms around Diane’s waist. Her hands met at the small of Diane’s back, where she locked-in a lung-bursting bearhug.
Startled, Diane scrambled to break the hold, flailing ineffectively at Natasha’s back and sides. The pretty Russian grimaced, as she felt the lash of several potent open-handed slaps. She lifted her head of Diane’s shoulder, and went forehead-to-forehead with the brunette. Staring into Diane’s eyes; the Russian’s fulsome lips and high cheekbones contorted into a determined pout, as she gave voice to the emotions that drove her;
‘That’s it… Slap me you whore… Make me fight for it… Make me earn that horse-cock…’
Natasha wrenched Diane from side to side, with terrier like tenacity. Whipping her curvy body from the left to right, and back again, before finally managing to knock her off balance.
Hoisting her up and backwards, Natasha pushed the brunette in the general direction of the headboard, pinning the flat of her back to the black satin bed sheets. The warring women landed in a heap of sweaty limbs just North of the bed’s center, with the Russian on top, lying between the American’s legs.
Diane struggled desperately beneath Natasha, digging her heels into the bed, and arching her back in a vain attempt to roll Natasha over, and assume the mount. Her efforts prove for naught, as the pretty blonde manages to slither forward, inch by hard-fought inch, slowly traversing Diane’s moist and sticky skin.
Diane finally manages to halt Natasha’s progress, by reaching past the blonde’s upper back, and hooking her hands against her shoulders, holding her firmly in place. Prevented from going any further, Natasha finds her thong-clad ass perched atop Diane’s sweaty, cum-slick abdomen.
Diving forward, Natasha traps Diane’s delicate features between her pert 34b tits, in a gooey breast-smother. The blonde delights in swishing her shoulders from side to side, her back muscles rippling as she grinds her chest into Diane’s stunning features with increasing vigour.
Trapped, Diane splutters and gasps amid the salty mounds of cum-pocked flesh. Outraged by the temerity of her love-rival, yet incredibly turned on by her passion. Her mind raced with contradictory thoughts and emotions.
‘How fucking dare she rub her cum-sodden tits into my face?! If she wants to fight like a whore, then I’ll match her blow-for-blow…’
Diane’s hands grope blindly, as she struggles beneath the nubile Russian. Her palms gliding gracefully over Natasha’s sweat-soaked flesh, across well-defined shoulder-blades, surging downwards towards the small of her back, as she searched in vain for a point of attack. Her movements becoming more frantic, more urgent, as the pretty brunette’s oxygen supply gradually dwindled.
Diane shut her eyes tight, eager to protect her vision from the salty sweat of her love-rival’s heaving bosom. She winced, as Natasha’s tits rubbed against her reddening cheeks with every swish of her shoulders.
Over and back, again and again, Diane felt the soft flesh of the Russian’s breasts assault her senses, mashing roughly against her eye-lids, nose and lips; as if the blonde was determined to erase her pretty features from existence through sheer force of effort.
However, the constant friction between Natasha’s cum-dappled cleavage and Diane’s face prevented said seminal fluid from drying and hardening. Instead, the jism retained a paste-like quality, preventing Natasha’s repeated movements from becoming abrasive. Prolonging the lewd assault…
Atop the squirming brunette, Natasha held fast; enjoying her hard-won dominance. The ‘mousey housewife’ bucked like a bronco beneath her, struggling ceaselessly to unseat the blonde temptress. Loathe as she was to admit, the Russian relished the sensation, delighted that the demure brunette was woman enough to rise to the challenge… Feeble though it may be…
There was something undeniably naughty about the feel of Diane’s warm breath on her sweaty cleavage, the irresistible sensation of her puckered nipples grazing the brunette’s snout, as she thrashed and squirmed beneath her.
Natasha’s muscles contracted and expanded as she pinned Diane to the bed, grunts of exertion escaped her pink lips as she resisted Diane’s attempts to roll her. The taboo nature of their struggle, made the blonde feel like an electric current was passing through her body.
This was different from the ‘artificial sexiness’ of her work as a pole-dancer. The feigned enthusiasm of jaded performers going through the motions for unappealing punters. The emotions coursing through the blonde and her erstwhile rival were both real and intense.
Their shared resentment, their mutual arousal, their relentless yearning to one-up each other… Even as Diane’s hands traced a ponderous path across her shoulder-blades and down the smooth skin of her back, no doubt searching for a point of attack; Natasha couldn’t help thinking how erotic the brunette’s touch felt on her bare skin.
‘Christ… If you had fucked Scott with such vigour, he would not have… Ow?! Bitch! Stop…’
Becoming desperate, Diane had finally found a way to retaliate effectively. Reaching past the blonde’s 24” hips, Diane roughly grasped Natasha’s taut ass cheeks, roughly squeezing her curves, white skin spilling through slender, delicate fingers; causing Natasha to wince momentarily.
Like a baker, she kneaded the Russian’s creamy-white skin, giving it a thorough examination; the pink-cotton betwixt Natasha’s buttocks disappearing and reappearing, as Diane roughly massages, pinches, and manipulates the pole-dancer’s ass cheeks. A titillating, yet tormenting sensation.
Natasha gritted her teeth and braced herself against this new assault. Determined to endure it, rather than surrender her advantageous position. That is, until the sound of Diane’s open palm crashing against the flesh of her left buttock reverberated around the room…
Natasha instantly hoists her upper body from Diane’s face; placing her hands either side of Diane’s head and pushing up against the mattress. The sharp sting of the slap prompting an involuntary reflex reaction.
She arches her back slightly, involuntarily, lifting her breasts just a few inches from Diane’s face. Her brown eyes blazed with indignant fury, as she peered down at the source of her discomfort.
Diane’s narrow nose, sharp cheekbones, and brilliant blue eyes peered up at her. The ‘classical beauty’; her eye shadow running, her racy red lipstick smudged, and her face caked in cum. Strands of jet-black hair clung doggedly to her face, held fast by semen. She looked livid! Natasha exulted in the sweet schadenfreude of Diane’s disheveled appearance…
Natasha bristled as Diane lashed her left buttock with a torrent of open-handed slaps; her sadistic glee short-lived. Ever aware of Scott’s rapt attention, Natasha remained steadfast in her refusal to show discomfort.
She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes tight, as each slap rained down on the flesh of her left ass cheek. She mused to herself; ‘If this bitch wants to put on a show, I’ll show her how it’s done…’
‘Hit me…C’mon… Is that all you got?!’
‘Hit me you fucking frigid bitch…’
Natasha remained stock-still, sitting astride Diane’s hips, glaring intensely at her. She expended no energy in defence, happy to use this impromptu spanking session to demonstrate how wanton she was for Scott’s attentions.
As Diane’s hand crashed against the flesh of her ass, the Russian threw her head back theatrically, her honey-blonde hair bouncing as her body shuddered in time with each slap. As her ass reddened and the pain reached fever-pitch, Natasha feigned pleasure; too stubborn to offer even the smallest of victories to her fuck-rival.
For her part, Diane reveled in the opportunity to ‘punish’ the woman who ‘stole’ her husband’s affections. Every tawdry jibe directed her way, hastening the velocity of the retaliatory strike.
‘I fucking love it!
‘Give it to… Fuck… Ow!’
Diane had tired off Natasha’s pornstar-like antics; unwilling to be a prop in the blonde’s ‘performance’. From the flat of her back, with Natasha’s bare thighs either side of her mid-riff, the raven-haired beauty switched tactics. She reached behind the blonde’s back, secured her grip on the waistband of Natasha’s underwear with both hands, and yanked upwards. Hard!
The sexy Russian visibly grimaced, as pink fabric disappeared between the soft fleshy folds of her cunt. Her hands instantly went to Diane’s wrists, as she sought to impede the determined brunette and alleviate the burning sensation in her pussy.
Sensing a shift in momentum, Diane jerked upwards on Natasha’s waistband, effectively sawing the crotch of her pink panties against the blonde’s moist cunt. A torturous motion; a bridge too far for the Russian minx. She sought immediate relief from Diane’s malevolence and did the only thing she could think of.
She stood up on the mattress, the flesh of her buttocks and thighs parting from Diane’s abdomen with an audible rasping sound; dried cum making the departure a stinging affair. She stood at full extension; her 5’10” frame towering over Diane, who was now sitting up.
However, as she rose, Diane refused to relinquish her grasp on Natasha’s thong. As such, the blonde’s ascension led to her panties being lowered to mid-thigh; making her movements cumbersome.
Initially, Natasha attempted to retrieve the situation, reaching down and engaging in an improvised tug of war with her dark-haired tormentor; hoping to pries her thong from the harpy’s grasp.
It didn’t take Natasha long to realize the futility in her actions. With Diane pulling downwards and her upwards, it would be matter of seconds before the warring women had rent the fabric to shreds.
Giving the garment up for lost, Natasha allowed herself to fall backwards towards the foot of the bed. As soon as her back hit the black satin she wriggled and kicked, squirming free: leaving the sexy ‘housewife’ kneeling on her haunches in the center of the bed, holding a vacant pair of skimpy pink panties.
Seeking respite, Natasha rolled awkwardly to the foot of the bed, swung her feet to the floor and stepped away.
A tactical retreat…
Natasha stumbled away from the bed, breathing hard. Jaded from the initial flurry of their struggle, but confident that Diane must be even more so. After all, she was a mere ‘trophy wife’, not a performer. She must be nearly spent. She placed her hand against the mirror, bracing herself, and rested momentarily. Her back to the raven-haired beauty…
However, Diane was far from done. Her baby-blues blazed with passion. She was starting to believe in the power of her own femininity. In her ability to vanquish the blonde ‘harlot’ before her. She shifted her weight and scooted across the bedsheets with as much stealth as her weary frame could muster.
As her feet made contact with the with the soft carpet, Diane prowled across the room, her gait reminiscent of a jungle cat stalking its prey. The brunette moved swiftly on the balls of her feet, practically sprinting towards the blonde.
She crashed against Natasha with a solid thud, driving her forward and into the mirrored wall, pining the blonde’s soft skin to the cold glass; startling the nubile Russian. In the scramble that ensued, Diane managed to grasp Natasha by the wrists, and proceeded to use her grip to try and control the squirming blonde.
Held firmly in place by the buxom brunette, Natasha slid along the mirror, her cum-caked breasts smearing the cold, hard glass with white streaks. As they struggled, the tell-tale prick of Diane’s pointed nipples made their presence known on Natasha’s back.
The shear lace of Diane’s knickers glided against the smooth skin of the Russian’s bare backside, as she tilted her pelvis towards the blonde, using her body weight to restrict her movement.
Growing in confidence, Diane leans forward and whispers in Natasha’s ear;
‘Russian whore… You don’t intimidate me… Can you feel Scott’s eyes on us? Watching me best you…’
Infuriated, Natasha resisted with renewed vigour, hissing back over her shoulder;
‘You’re not fooling anyone… Seconds from now, you’ll be running out of this room, red-faced and ashamed… Embarrassed you ‘lowered’ yourself to fight a ‘Russian whore’ for your exe’s cock… Timid cunt…’
As the Russian’s severe accent echoed around the room, Diane felt her blood boil. Fuck this bitch and her haughty superiority complex! Without saying a word, Diane released her grip on Natasha, and stepped back two paces, allowing the blonde to pivot and face her.
She hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her knickers and lowered them to the floor. Stepping out of her sweaty underwear, Diane strode forward, exuding sexuality from every pore, going breast-to-breast with Natasha.
She uttered her defiant retort – ‘Who’s fucking timid now?’
From the darkened room next door, an entranced Scott gave the warring women his absolute attention. His eyes darted frantically from monitor to monitor, as he constantly sought the best view of the action, loathe to miss even the subtlest act of defiance from either Natasha or Diane.
Unable to bear it any longer, Scott unzipped his trousers, and unleashed his meaty cock from the stifling confines of his slacks. Hard as a rock and horny beyond belief, Scott began to pleasure himself to the spectacle unfolding on the broad bank of monitors in front of him.
His left hand traveled up and down the length of his manhood in a languid ‘poling’ motion; ever careful not to trigger his orgasm prematurely. Scott knew that he was witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime treat. An erotic experience that would fuel his libido from then until his dying day.
‘Ah Yeah… Fuck… That’s it… Fucking take it to her…’ Scott moaned as he hovered on the point of orgasm, savouring the ecstasy of peak excitement; without giving in to it.
Next door, the battle continued amid close quarters…
With her back and buttocks pressed against the cold hard glass, and her breasts riding high on her chest, mushrooming against the chest of the generously-endowed, but slightly shorter brunette; Natasha could feel her temper rise.
Neither woman moved an inch, they just stood stock-still, staring daggers at one another. Daring the other to blink first, waiting for a hint of reticence that would never come…
Diane held her ground, refusing to yield so much as an inch. She leaned forward, pressing the heft of her bosom upwards into the underside of Natasha’s breasts. The statuesque blonde looked down her nose at the slightly more diminutive brunette. Even in the midst of conflict, Diane could feel a begrudging respect for the Russian…
Her long blonde hair hung loose and unkempt, matted with sweat and semen. Her cherry pink lip-gloss was smudged and her long eye-lashes fluttered indignantly, as she returned Diane’s menacing glare…
The nostrils on her pretty pointed noise flared with impotent fury. Her toned, athletic physique perspired profusely; as beads of sweat traced a tortuously slow path down her high-set cheekbones, past the tip of her elegant chin.
From there, droplets fell imperceptibly onto her 34b breasts, obeying the slow pull of gravity. What didn’t fall betwixt the valley of Natasha’s cleavage, continued its gradual journey across the warm moist skin of the Russian’s chest, past the crest of her aching nipples, before trickling down the underside of her swelled breasts and onto Diane’s sweaty tits.
Diane leaned forward with all her might. Every inhalation swelling her chest, pushing her hardened tits upwards into the slippery, slimy pair of her Eastern fuck-rival. Her pretty oval face hard-set and determined. Sinewy ‘ropes’ of cum criss-crossed the delicate features of the dark-haired beauty. Her skin glistened; a by-product of the energy exerted during their ‘struggle’.
Without warning, Natasha dropped into an improvised squat. Her back sliding smoothly against the surface of the mirror; the movement hastened by the perspiration which dappled the small of her back and shoulders. Likewise, the lusty seminal secretions adorning the torsos of both women preventing any skin-on-skin friction.
Both women groaned loudly as the pliable flesh of their breasts slid slowly against each other in a mellifluous movement. Diane’s broad pink nubs grazing Natasha’s puckered red nipples, as they traveled in opposite directions; aching erogenous zones roughly sliding past each other in a sloppy, oleaginous embrace.
With her nose buried between Diane’s breasts, Natasha reached behind the brunette, firmly grasping the underside of her buttocks, and hoisting her upwards with a Herculean effort. A smothered grunt escaped the muffled confines of the brunette’s pulpy, salty cleavage.
Taken aback, Diane shrieks in surprise – ‘Fuck!’ However, instinct soon kicks in and she fastens her fingers in Natasha’s flaxen hair, imprisoning the haughty blonde between her tits. As she does so, she wraps her long legs around the blonde’s waist and squeezes with enough force to put a boa constrictor to shame.
Temporarily blinded and struggling to breathe, Natasha steps away from the mirror hesitantly, visibly wilting under the burden of Diane’s bodyweight. Zig-zagging awkwardly in front of the bed, the sexy Russian steps boldly forward, venturing into the unknown, until the inevitable happens.
Natasha’s knees collide with the foot of the bed, and both women tumble towards the mattress in a tangled mess of limbs. In the confusion that followed, the blonde managed to escape the confines of both Diane’s sticky cleavage and lung-bursting scissor-hold, bolting upright immediately to her knees.
Unfortunately for her, Diane was equally quick… Pressing the soles of her feet against the Russian’s plump 34b tits, she pushed with all her might; using her impressive lower body strength to once more vanquish the blonde from the bed; swiftly sending her to the carpeted floor in an undignified heap.
Natasha winced, cursing as the flesh of her rump collided with the red carpet; emitting a loud thud. Rising slowly to her feet, her graze drawing level with the mattress, Natasha smirked despite herself.
In a reversal of their respective positions at the start of this ‘contest’, she found herself peering at Diane from the foot of the bed, while the brunette reclined on her elbows, wearing a cocky grin. Diane might be new to the ‘lifestyle’, but evidently, she was a quick learner…
‘So the kitty has claws…’ Natasha whispered huskily in mock admiration.
Diane’s response was emphatic. Without saying a word, she arched her eyebrow and beckoned the blonde forward with a curled finger. Her body language saying more than words ever could. The meaning was clear…
‘Come get some…’
Enraged, Natasha flung herself from the foot of the bed at her hated foe. Seeking to shield herself from the brunt of the impact, Diane rolled to her stomach. The nubile Russian practically glided across the bare flesh of Diane’s sweaty backside, before planting her weight firmly on the small of the brunette’s back.
Grabbing Diane firmly by the turf of her hair with her left hand, Natasha leaned back, hoisting the sultry brunette’s face from the surface of the bed, and straining her neck at an uncomfortable angle. With her right hand, she reached backwards, probing awkwardly between Diane’s legs…
Natasha slid two fingers into Diane’s cunt, and teased her clit with a ‘come hither’ motion. ‘What’s the matter Diane? Cat got your tongue?’ Natasha smirked contemptuously. Highly aroused and quickly losing herself to the lust of their carnal clash, Diane murmured a feeble, half-hearted grunt…
The ‘demure housewife’ trapped beneath her, Natasha allowed her index and pointer fingers to plunge in and out of Diane’s moist cunt, drawing pleasured gasps from the lips of the squirming beauty beneath her.
The blonde teased Diane’s clit relentlessly. Her fingers curling and flexing within the warmth of her rival’s wet pussy.
Growing in confidence, Natasha eased her weight off the small of Diane’s back. Confident that her iron-grip on the ‘harpy’s’ black locks and her busy fingers brimming in Diane’s cunt, would be more than sufficient to keep the determined spitfire docile.
An assumption, not without merit. Freed from the burden of the blonde’s body weight, Diane wearily rose up on all fours, her body quivering and shuddering delightfully, as Natasha coaxed and cajoled her ever closer to orgasm.
In her husky Russian accent, Natasha lewdly admonished the perspiring brunette; ‘Your cunt gapes open for Scott’s cock… How dare you?!’
Diane could only grunt by way of response, trying to will her body not to succumb to the pleasurable sensations welling up inside of her.
‘Moan you fucking whore! Moan for me!’
As she mocked her rival, the pole-dancer allowed her thumb to play at the crevice of Diane’s ass, gently probing, while her two fingers plunged in and out of Diane’s cleft with escalating intensity.
Reveling in the power she was exerting over Scott’s ex, invigorated by the thought that he was watching Diane’s body surrender involuntarily to her very touch; Natasha indulged her sadistic side. In barbed tones, she whispered;
‘How’s that feel, sweetie? You like that? Have you ever given Scott your ass? Probably not… Fucking prude…’
Diane croaks her response; ‘Yes… And I fucking loved it you, bitch…’
With as much will-power as she could muster, Diane rose to her haunches; removing Natasha’s questing fingers from her pulsing cunt, before launching herself at her tormentor. They rolled across the bed, in a slippery, glutinous embrace.
The sweat caused by their exertion, preventing the cum adorning their struggling bodies from curdling. The feel of spunk on thighs, breasts and torsos ever present. Sweat causing the cum to remain ‘wet’, like cement that refused to harden. Slithering together, body to body, writhing skin on skin, each woman refused to yield, even as fatigue began to set in.
In his improvised ‘watchtower’, Scott was on the edge of his seat. Both Diane and Natasha’s movements had become more laboured. The end was nigh…
Thighs pressing against cunts, hands groping asses, exchanging love-bites and hissed threats; the blonde and brunette humped each other with a ferocity Scott had never witnessed before… Not even in ‘Hedonism’…
Semen streaked the dark fabric covering the bed, as the two amazons rolled over and back, this way and that; a never-ending struggle to assume the ‘mount’. Both women lost to the ecstasy of their struggle, their bodies straining against each other, as their anguished moans reached a crescendo.
The pole-dancer and the housewife panted their orgasms at one another, the dam finally bursting for both proud women. Release at last…
Wrestled to exhaustion, Natasha lay pinned beneath Diane. Both women wilting visibly; their muscles aching. Diane at a slightly higher level than Natasha, the Russian’s nipples tickling the underside of Diane’s breasts…
Diane leaned forward hard, making it difficult for Natasha to breathe, as she lay splayed on her back; trapped tit to tit, belly to belly, and cunt to cunt.
Reluctantly, Natasha croaked her surrender, whispering;
Diane was all but certain she was the only one to hear it, the sound too soft to carry over the strategically placed microphones in the room. She grunted primally and pressed down even harder. She would not be denied her triumph.
She muttered, ‘Again… Louder…’
Natasha hoarsely croaked, ‘No more… I’m done…’
Diane collapsed on her rival, resting for thirty seconds, both women breathing heavily; before rolling to the right-hand side of the bed. Both women had fought and wrestled to the point of exhaustion. Their breathing the only sound in the room. Short, ragged gasps. They remained inert for another two minutes…
Diane rolled back, climbing atop her rival once more, her legs either side of Natasha’s thighs. Natasha stiffened at the prospect of further struggle, only for Diane to gently kiss and lick her breasts, soothing them in a mark of respect.
She savoured the distinct taste of spunk and feminine sweat. She edged up slightly, her legs moving up to either side of Natasha’s hips. As she did, Natasha rose up to meet her, returning the soothing favour. They embraced in a tender soft kiss, before Natasha slumped backwards towards the pillow, her blonde hair disheveled and spread across it.
Diane leaned forward, her weight supported only by her hands either side of Natasha’s head. She gazed into the eyes of her vanquished love-rival…
The contest ended, Diane smirks and gives Natasha a rather crude compliment, ‘You know… When it comes to sexfighting, you’re quite the skank…’
Natasha sees through the crude language and identifies the statement for what it is. A begrudging acknowledgement of her prowess as a lover, a woman, and a sexfighter…’
She responded in kind, ‘When you’re up against a crazed bitch in heat, you have to be…’ Diane smiled at the barb. The fire in Natasha’s eyes telling her that this matter is far from settled. In her haughty Russian accent, Natasha pledged;
‘I have no intention of giving Scott up. You’ll have to defend your turf… You’ll have to fight me again…and again… until one of us walks away…’
Diane smirked, as she rose from her foe’s sweat-slicked torso.
‘Works for me… bitch…’
She strode confidently towards the bedroom door, pausing as she grasped the handle. She peered back over her shoulder, as Scott blundered through the dummy glass pain, and into the bedroom; shorn of clothing of any description and engorged to the point of tumescence.
He ogled his wife’s pert derriere, as he blundered through the makeshift doorway. Scott chided himself for being so foolish. How could he not have seen it before now?! Diane wasn’t some meek little housewife… She was a lioness… an amazon… a keeper… Scott vowed that he would never let her leave his life again.
As she exited the room with a playful smirk, she shot Scott her best ‘Come hither glance…’
From the mattress, Natasha croaked;
‘She wants an audience when she claims her prize. She wants to announce her victory to the club…’
Scott looked down at the blonde sympathetically. He stammered;
‘Natasha… I…’ She cut him short.
‘Fuck her well, Scott. She’s earned it tonight… but do one thing for me…’
‘Of course, Natasha… What?’
‘Tell her she’s won the battle… Not the war…’