Little Miss Alpha vs. Remington from FCF
Remington:
Somewhere along the line I picked up a tick. A habit. A nervous tell if you will and standing outside the gym it was on full display. My left hand was tangled in the end of my bright blue hair and was rapidly swirling it around two of my fingers. I know I didn’t find it in college that is for sure. I was more put together and way more unstable all at the same time. I sure didn’t start back into the mess of finding fights with it but there it was.
I made myself stuff.
It’s just a pro wrestling gym. Come on this isn’t that hard. I’d won my first start to finish pro wrestling match. Easy. No problems. Never mind that it was in a backyard and well…my opponent may have been more interested in me putting my face between her legs….
I looked at the front door again and sighed. Yeah okay I needed to be here. Walking over I pulled the door open and stepped into the ‘gym’ it was a sunday and I’d been told that it would be a private training session. I’d paid up front for it. And I’d paid a fair bit for it too so hopefully it turned out to be worth it.
Sporting ass hugging spandex workout shorts and a tank top over a sports bra. “Hello? Amber?” Apparently Amber was the best female trainer they had. I wasn’t sold but then again I was also still not so sold on the pro wrestling thing.
Amber “Little Miss Alpha”:
I hear it from everyone who meets me. I look too young to be a trainer. Hell, I’ve been told I look too young to be a wrestler. But that’s what happens when you start on the ring crew when you’re 12. Not constructing the rings, or tightening the ropes, but instead taking care of the people who did. Bringing them water. Handing them their tools. Then, when the matches began, taking pictures for flyers and signatures. I did anything they asked me.
Lying about my age whenever they’d ask. Not so that I could catch a dick, but instead to keep them from kicking me off the crew and out of the profession I’d always wanted to be a part of.
And all that worked to get me in “the business”. In the ring. And then after a few years, and a few too many injuries, here. Training.
Fitness models and want-to-be actresses. Girls who dye their hair bright colors to look like Sasha Banks or get tattoo sleeves to have a Calaway/Orton vibe.
It isn’t what I had dreamed of or what I wanted. But it pays the bills and keeps my ex-husband from taking my sweet little girl.
A thought I try to remind myself of as I hear you introduce yourself and turn to see the newest trainee I’ve been tasked with training. “Fuck….” I groan with irritation, though only half audibly. The sum-total of every fad in the business standing before me.
“You must be Remington.” I say with my back to the ring, as my eyes wonder up and down your admittedly impressive body, more because of breasts than biceps. Our outfits mirrored, though mine are black with pink accents. My old ring-gear too old to wear now, and too expensive to replace just to throw a few block and tackles with the new recruits.
“Ready to learn how to be more than a pretty face?”
Remington:
To say I’m…surprised would perhaps be an understatement as my brain rearranges the schema I have for you from a mid forties workout fanatic to the reality I am confronted with. Huh. I have to admit I was not ready for that but I am suddenly far more intrigued by this whole thing. Don’t get me wrong I most certainly appreciate how you look as we both exchange looks. Taking the other in. What in the world are you doing teaching this? You’re the right age to be DOING it. The thought rattles around my brain and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck prick up.
Dismissing the thought as you ask me if I’m ready to be more than a pretty face its replaced by the sudden musing of just what you’d be saying if I kicked you in the jaw. I quickly dumb that thought too. I’m here to legitimately train and I picked this place for a reason. Its far enough outside of the circles I’ve been inducted into and it also has a solid reputation. I can’t help it my eyes wander again. And my brain ticks back over. Why why why why why. You don’t make sense here.
“You could say that. Though hopefully you’ll find I’m far from a stranger to hard work. Is there someplace I can set my bag down?” I fight back the natural cat urge and manage to say something. Well. Relatively pleasant in response as opposed to something dumb like: do you know who the fuck I am beatch? Mostly cause the answer is probably no. Unbeknownst to me the timeline of our lives is probably relatively similar. Having made my name and been black balled from foxy boxing all within a span of my prime years I’d managed to retire and then unretire before my 28th birthday.
Amber:
As you hear and then speak, I can see it in your eyes. A flicker I didn’t expect. A fire I didn’t anticipate. All of which leads me to conclude that you think you’re hot shit. You think, behind those pale green eyes, that you’re not just some newbie piece of shit for me to stretch.
And so I step forward and closer to you. Keeping my resting bitch face, but soften it just enough to keep you from backing up and away. And you don’t, and wouldn’t, I see your eyes narrow at me as I approach. Their wide glimmer turning to sideways crescents as I step within an inch of you, and then without pausing, press my large breasts into yours. My hand moving to yours, and after a quick grab, pulling the bag you mentioned free and tossing it to the gym floor.
“Fuck your bag. And fuck you, newbie.” In an instant, to both my taking and tone, your face contorts with excitement, challenge, and anger. But still, before you can act on it, I reach behind you, grab your bright blue hair, and with a sudden jerk and side step, toss you past me and into the ring under the bottom rope.
Remington:
Interesting. It’s been a long while since I’ve been READ quite like that. I was right there is something off about this picture. You’re far too good to be here. So why are you. As you close with me and then ram those breasts into mine I inhale and my shoulders kick back naturally as my internal titfighter proceeds to pull up her defenses. You yank the bag away and then proceed to fire off at me. My eyes narrow and the viper smile spreads across my lips only for you to grab my hair and yank. The noise I make at the hair pull probably gives up the game as its one part pain and one part bedroom noise. Going through the bottom ropes I roll and then plant my hands. Flicking my eyes to you I can’t help it. I grin. It’s an inflammatory thing. It says
‘Maybe I’ll take you seriously but I still don’t yet’
Pressing on the mat I push up and hop from prone to crouched only to back up into the ring. Bouncing a little. Heart pounding and adrenaline flooding my veins.
“Wow do you treat all your paying customers this way.” My eyes flash and they say it all. I might as well have set the bear trap in front of you and then asked if you wanted to step in it.
Amber:
I’ve seen it before. I’ve broken it before. The confidence of trainees who think they’re ready. Girls who think their past makes them ”ring-ready”. Usually, that fades as quick as get my hands on them.
But even after I de-bag you. Even after I bring us eye-to-eye and tit-to-tit. Even after I grab your hair and then toss you into the ring like a sack of shit, I can still see it as I dive into the ring after you.
Each of us reaching our knees at the same time. The sound you made when I yanked your hair echoing in my head, just as your daring eyes bore holes into my soul.
“I treat over confident bitches this way.” I reply as I stock you. Moving closer and closer, until suddenly I stop a few feet away.
You’re setting a trap for me. Trying to bait me to come in and closer. What do you have planned? What move that you learned while playing Dead Rising are you looking to launch on me? I don’t know, and I’m not finding out the way you want me to. No fucking way do I let you dictate the terms of this come to jesus training session.
No, instead I turn around and turn my back to you. “Let’s see what you got, Remington. I’ll give you a free shot.” Was that wise? No. Was it strategic? Also no. But something about you makes me want to show you which of us is in control.
Remington:
You follow me right into the ring and then pull up fast like you’ve seen said trap and have no interest in springing anything with me. You also go so far as to turn your back on me and offer me a ‘free shot’. My mind clicks over and I can’t help but think maybe you need a taste of what I can do besides Pro but I suppose since we are here then I might as well play your game. Besides. I’m in a funny mood as is and if this gets me hurt then maybe that’s what I’m after.
I can feel it rolling off you in waves. I’ve pressed a button and one I was perhaps not interested in pressing but one that there was no way around. The seconds stretch into eternity. So I move.
My left foot licks out and I bound the distance between us. My left hand licks out and scythes for your hair. Like a spear thrust. No basic bitch hair grab for me no the fingers are meant to slide along the scalp and lodge close to the skin. Its a more effective hair grab. It doesn’t stop there though as my right foot slithers over the canvas. Twisting my right hip over and looking to go back to back with you.
Giving a pull with the left hand I reach back and around trying to snatch your chin and drop my weight. A variation on a stunner as I go to crank your neck and drop it onto my shoulder with the drop. Not exactly flashy but with all the liquid grace of the little tatted up MMA girl in my heart.
Amber:
I wait there, in your half of the ring. Back turned. Eyes closed. And my every ounce of focus spent preparing myself for the moment I show you why a “free” shot will be anything but. When you come with a clothesline or back suplex. Some move you’ve seen enough to mimic, sloppy though it will no doubt be.
But to my surprise, I feel you grab my scalp with your nails and then suddenly pull us back-to-back and ass-to-ass. A fleshy collision that you hold past the bounce, as you then reach back for my chin. It is a move I’ve seen before, but not often. And once I go to counter. Not with a move I could have planned if I had expected the move. But instead by mirroring it. My arms shooting back, and hands wrapping under your chin, just as I shift my hips and smash my ass into yours.
The effect of all such frantic actions causing not just you, but we to crash down to our knees together. Each of suffering the same impact and damage. And though it hurts. The sounds of our pained voices playing out together, I hold onto your chin. Just as you do the same. Our necks bending back awkwardly as the backs of our heads slide to the side and then come down on each others shoulders.
Our thoughts, after that moment of improvisation, the same. Turn the mess we landed in into a submission hold. Even if it’s one we’re locked in together on our knees. “Clever move … OWE. Bitch!”
Remington:
The plot thickens and your response is less counter and more mutually assured destruction. In that moment as you reach back instead of defending yourself I realize something. Well perhaps not realize it. I acknowledge it.
You are HIGHLY attractive.
Feeling as you kick your butt back into mine and then drop with me to crank my neck I yelp in mutual pain with you. Sure enough though neither of us release the hold on our knees. Instead we shift into hunting for a submission. Your pure pro as you crank back and call me clever. And my jujitsu colored attempt.
With fingers laced in your hair I shift my right hand around resisting the urge to simply apply pressure directly to your larynx. I’ve already learned something from you and I want my money’s worth.
“Why- mmph. Are you teaching. Do you get off. Gah! on crushing rookies?” The implication being a slight acknowledgement of the fact that it’s not lost on me you know what’s up and you’re younger than I’d have figured.
My right hand finally slides delicately over your face almost like I’m caressing it. I mean…I think I am as I realize that this is way more of a turn on than expected so early in the morning. It finds the side of your jaw and then I twist leaning into your crank over your shoulder to shove my shoulder up and roll your head as I crank back and to the side.
Amber:
This wasn’t the plan. Not at all. I was scheduled to train you how to bump. How to run the ropes. How to climb them safely. But something about you made me want more. Made me want to be involved in something closer and less distant and detached.
But even then, after having made the decision to spar with you — if that’s what this even is, we should be here this early. No lockup. No hiptosses or chops. Instead, we’re here on our knees, locked together in a mutual submission. One we each have applied and are working to cause pain, and yet still we ebb the pressure. Maybe subconsciously. Maybe without noticing it. But we could do worse to each other, but instead we just remain and linger in it.
Your jaw forcing its way down as you question me. Accusing me of getting off on destroying rookies. The question stings in sequence. Reminding me of my forced retirement. Then daring to accuse me of finding sexual pleasure in what little I have left of the business I love. I would curse at you. Hurt you, by applying whatever pressure I needed to your neck to shut you up. But instead, just as your hand brushes softly against my face, and you increase the angle you’re holding my head at, I feel it.
Your ass and mine shift and press. Fighting to give us leverage as we wrestle. It is a sensation and a realization that push me to shimmy, shift, and then in a whirlwind of movement, break free from your hands, just enough to move. Not away, or up, but instead just enough to spin myself, and with my hands you around — each of us meeting halfway. My arms wrapping around you and pulling your breasts and body into mine. Our foreheads coming to a hard press as we both feel each others rigid nipples dig into our own.
“You’re the one whose getting off on this….” My response made accusation comes as I try and synch my hands behind your lower back, and lock you deep in a kneeling bearhug.
Remington:
Truth be told right now, in terms of martial art studios and respect for gyms and the like. I’m being a huge jerk. Like totally uncool end up on youtube as a “Tattooed tough girl challenges Pro wrestling pro and gets squashed” I tried to be nice, I tell myself, but of course I know I went into this a little hauty. I just didn’t expect to get caught. So much for promising myself I’d actually learn the ropes. Literally. Instead here we are. So as I tell myself ‘I want to learn that’s why I’m not cranking the lock’. I know that’s bullshit too. I’m holding back and I can feel you are too. Just a little. The way someone holds back when they know they are in control and want to dominate their unskilled opponent. Enough to knock you on your ass so you’re awake for the foot on your face.
But it’s not quite that is it? No as I turn the feeling over I realize. I….don’t think I really want to hurt you? Not as badly as I could at least?
It comes to a sudden climax though as you slip the lock and I shrug up and duck. Releasing your hair to turn and face you. Feeling those arms slide around my waist I wrap over top and squeeze in to meet you face to face. The sudden pressure of your chest on mine…again. Makes me inhale and my eyes widen a little. Not in surprise but in excitement. Other people may wear their heart on their sleave. It’s where I wear my lust. So as I press forehead to forehead with you my split tongue lashes across my lips as my nostrils flare delicately.
“At least I’m not the one in denial. So if it’s not that why are you playing babysitter in a no name gym.” I clamp my hands behind your back and roll my body on yours. Breasts ooze upwards as I scrub my whole body over yours purring and knowing that my body is about to start showing signs of arousal.
Amber:
Just like every other moment so far, I expect to be in control and command of our interactions. First when we were speaking at the foot of the ring, and now as we wrestle. And though that is the expectation, as my hands land on your body to turn you, you’ve already begun the same. You, a “rookie”, spinning gracefully to meet me.
Your arms laying over mine as we each secure each other in a tight, breast pressing bearhug. One that yet again speaks not to outright effort, but instead of what each us holds back. And though I might have noticed that about your grip and mine, instead you, in our closeness, accuse me of denial. Something that flicks a trigger, and in a flash reminds me of a time when I had to hide what I am.
“I’m not….” I begin through gritted teeth and effort broken words. “In denial. I know what I am…. I just want….” I pause and then groan as your arms tighten around me. Your eyes telling me you want to make me fight through pain to finish speaking. “I’m a broken down. Injury-retired. Bisexual bitch. I just want you to — AAaahhh — admit you … want this more than me, cunt…. Then I’ll fuck your brains out.”
With every syllable spoken I lean deeper into you. My eyes drifting to your lips, which linger not but an eyelash’s length away from mine.
Remington:
Your words alone make me shiver. You’re a jagged thing, something my psyche likes to rub against for the sheer feeling of ragged emotions dragging against it. I think because in a way we are similar. No single injury stopped me but only one person knows that my hands shake at the end of the day because the built up ache of using them becomes too much. Micro fractures. Hundreds of them. The price of a decade and a half of constant violence. Not to mention the shoulder that won’t quite work all the way anymore. The ankle that hurts before a storm.
So when you tell me that. When you fight out the words so I can hear. My body most certainly does react to the psychic feast in front of me. This was NOT how I meant to start my day. This is NOT what I came here to do. But as you utter the last of your words through my squeeze I can’t help but smile wider.
“…you first…” Sliding forwards I move my lips to your jaw line. Suddenly acutely aware that I want to know how your skin tastes. That I want to feel more of it. Working my arms as tight as I can. Shifting legs as I hunt for warmer softer places to rest them. Feeling the shift in my breathing to something hot and predatory. I think I managed to force you to take me seriously with the wrestling but I know internally that short of resorting to grappling. I’m out of my depth. You though. You. My stomach flutters as I suddenly WANT YOU. Not just as a fuck one time like this belongs on a porn site. No I want to cut myself on the delicate shatter spread of your psyche. Pricking on the glassy edges I’ve found.
For now though I’ll settle on making you want me.
Amber:
At war on two sides. One in a physical struggle, of woman against woman and will against will. And on the other, the battle to quell and contain the dark and twisty soul that holds sway in my cursed oblivion. The other wolf. The one I fed for so long. The one that made me cut myself. The one that made me find Chloe under the bleachers and fight her until my knuckles bled and scalp went numb.
It has always distracted me. Pulled at me when I didn’t have time or the temper to deal with it.
But I won’t let it pull me away from this. Away from you. A newbie I thought nothing of. A trainee I wanted to train and get rid of. Until I met you. Until I looked into your emerald eyes, which challenged me before you even spoken.
A challenge I accepted and one you make good on as we in unison pull one another closer. Deeper. And with every passing moment more fully into a moment of sexual tension I can feel welling in that batter soul.
So much so that as you mutter back to me “you first,” I feel a spark of electricity run up my spine. And thereafter a warmth between my thighs as you move your right leg between them. A repositioning I match as I try to resist the terrible urge I feel to kiss your lips and take you. Fully and completely. But I can’t let the tension we’ve built fade. Or the challenge you issued go unfulfilled. So instead, as you shift down, your lips moving to my jaw line, I open the same and then bite at your pale cheek. Not hard or to hurt you, but like a jungle cat claiming its prey.
A prey I then take, in a heavy, leg-driven twirl, down to the mat. Not in an easy mounting, but in an effort you resist. Each of us fighting to pin the other beneath us, as our new — true game begins.
Remington:
I remember one time. Standing watching Alana beat the living hell out of a girl. And afterward the girl made some comment about me and Alana had stopped her from taking me on. I believe the word was: unhinged. It had kinda hurt at the time but honestly? Not wrong. So as I move to your lovely neck and begin to work over your skin tasting your sweat and scent you nip at my cheek. The movement is not lost on me. With my thigh pressed between your legs I feel you work up between my thighs and then. Then you take us to the canvas.
Rolling with you for a moment I finally feel you settle atop me and I inhale slowly filling my chest and pressing up into you with my breasts. With your leg between my thighs I ensnare it with my legs. Half guard in my world. Making sure you can’t climb me so easily as I twist towards my right side looking to press my thigh and hip up between your legs. Rolling my body back and forth and writhing.
My hands are far from idle either as they climb your body from behind, trailing over the curve of your ass. Seaking. Probing.Hunting. Feeling for the cracks in the armor as my ears study your breathing and my skin studies your movement. Searching for involuntary twitch. The gasp. The sigh. Working higher as your own movements begin to bring coos and gasps to my lips. There is nothing for it. You’re not just my type physically. You’re a mental neck bite for me. A raw pain that elicits a visceral reaction between my legs and in the pit of my stomach. Nevermind the heart flutter.
Amber:
It is lust — both primal and deep that drives us from headlocks and body slams, to become this writhing mass in the center of the ring. But still it is challenge and competition. Your eyes, your breasts, your body daring me to forget taboo.
Toss aside inhibition.
And forget that we are teacher and student. Trainer and trainee. Not so that we can suddenly become lovers, but instead so that we can text each other in the deepest way two women could. To find the core of the conflict our very natures have made arise, and then to let them war. Raw and unabridged — unchained and untamed.
It is that wild freedom to fight — to fuck, that brings my lips down to your bare shoulder and then up you neck. My tongue dragging across your creamy ink-ritten skin, while my legs pull and push me to a sought after mount.
But your legs catch and incircle, blocking my advance, and holding me in place. It is a signal of your resistance, and it draws me back to look into your eyes, even as you squirm beneath me.
That’s when I see it. A glint. A glare. And then with a sudden twist and shift, your gorgeous body turning us up and over, my back crashing to the mat for only a second before I turn us again. Not in full or even half, but in a quarter-height raise that you erase with a forceful yank that flattens me beneath you.
“Bitch, I growl, as my control evaporates and your once defending legs move to claim me.
Remington:
You are a lovely wrestler at least from what I can tell but at least I have some sort of ground game. Not that it matters though as I press down atop you. Nearly get rolled as you buck up and then slam you flat. That feels good. It makes me shiver and sigh with pleasure as I flatten you out under me. You’re supposed to be teaching me how to do this pro wrestling thing. Instead we are at the point where this is just a matter of making the other break and mewl.
Sliding my arms up your body as I plant atop you and rut. Purring and grinding hips into your crotch I can feel my body surging. Heart pounding and endorphins rushing through my body. Holding onto the edge of control as I work my arms higher. I want to see you. I want all of you on display so that I can select the yummiest parts and consume them.
Rearing like a cobra prepared to strike I drive my thigh higher between your legs looking for a sweet mewl from your lips. At the same time I fumble with your top and yank. I want your chest out. So. BAD. It is killing me as I feel my brain tumble head long into the part of my psyche where all my lusts and wants curl and coil and undulate deep below the surface. I switch off nearly all of the rational portions of my brain one at a time as I jerk looking for those succulent mounds to be exposed so that I can lance their tips with my warm viper tongue.
I want you to scream my name and beg for me. Tell me you want me. Tell me you need me.
Amber:
It’s their footwork I have to watch. The glimmer in their eyes as they circle me. How lifeless they look in the corner, or how they lift their head from the mat I have to watch and then judge. Are they playing possum, or are they really hurt?
Are they bringing me in for a tiger driver, or a piledriver? A pump-handle slam or an abdominal stretch? I spent every moment of my now ended career learning those traits and watching for those signs. But today, my enemy is different and devious — poisonous and traitorous. Because it isn’t you, Remington. It’s my own desire. It’s my own want to give in to this. To you. To my body and yours melting together in a technicolor puddle on this ring’s floor.
And you make it so very hard. Wrapping your arms around me, and dragging your every inch over mine. Our large breasts catching and smashing between us, with our pebble-hard nipples jutting through fabric and searching for each other somewhere in all that flesh.
I want more. More contact. More flesh. More of everything you offer. And so, when you reach to pull down my top, I let you. Hating myself for playing dead, but unable to resist. As once, again, and then ad infinitum, you grind your still-covered pussy against mine. My lips parting in a moan and my eyes closing, as I try, in the darkness I find, to muster my will to fight you off.
But as you peel my top down, I fail to find it or anything other than a soul-deep pull to be yours. A state of desperation and disability that only worsens when without warning, and before my eyes have even reopened, you catch my right nipple between your teeth and set yourself to breaking me.
Remington:
There is probably something to be said about the fact that I go from being a…mildly stable at the best of times person. To an absolutely pit spawned demoness of a being when I set my mind to it. Or perhaps I really am just letting some darker thing take the reins. Either way gone are Remington and Amber in this ring. Something soulless and hungry lurks behind my eyes and as you let me strip you down enough to expose the curve of your weighty breasts my whole body shivers over.
Oh I need this. On a visceral unholy level I need this. So as you close your eyes I dive for that nipple. Latching my warm lips over your right nipple I swirl my tongue as a single unit all the way around it. Driving in a slow circle toying with the tightened tip. Running rings around it as I close my own eyes and blot out the whole world as I dance along the edge of your nipple.
And then. Then I lash downwards, splitting the tongue around your nipple and squeezing it between the halves of my tongue. Moaning and purring into your big breast as I bob my head and pull the parts of my tongue around your nipple. Driving into this.
My hands sink to your hips clutching at you like I’m drowning as my already sodden cunt grinds down on you with jerking barely controlled movements. An outpouring of raw need and undeniable lust for your body that I don’t control so much as point in your direction and step out of the way.
My body screams need me. Want me. Desire me. Possess me. Show me how you feel as I press down into you in a tangle of pleasure.
Amber:
A spiral into oblivion. A descent into madness. Your tongue catching and encircling my nipple like a soft, wet vice. One that can not only hold. Not only place. But suck and twist at the peaked center of my fleshy, white breasts.
It is heaven, though to my pride it is hell. Forcing me to admit that beneath my cold, bitchy, unimpressed demeanor, I want you. Not just your body, not just your pretty face, but anything you are willing to give me.
That humiliation should be the thing that drives me. That contrary state of appearance vs. truth that pushes me to fight back. But instead it is my need for more that wakes me. Stirs me. And in a sudden surge of purpose and prying digits, I fire my hands down to our lower attire, and with a single thirst-strengthened hand, I tear. Hard and with intensity. The sound of fabric ripping filling the otherwise silent gym as our lower remnants of sanity and dress pull down and out of the way.
A sound that echoes and announces a new freedom, that you realize not at the sound, but when our bare mounds and hidden clits crash together in an audible clap of flesh and ferocity. The pleasure is of the same kind, you had inflicted upon me, as I laid there beneath you, but leagues more intense and fathoms more distracting.
“God. FUCK!” I curse and cry, as my eyes shoot open and my hands move to your bright blue hair. Hair I tug on, to move your mouth from my breast, to my lips and tongue. Each sealing to and around yours. A kiss you fight. A kiss you resist. Until between us my left hand snakes and slithers. Sliding between our wet, slapping cunts. Looking to at once block and insert. Drive fingers, and earn me a respite from your mostly one-sided assault.
Remington:
The only reason I release your poor nipple from my assault is because you suddenly change the dynamic and the darkness at the edge of my vision recedes. “Mmmmgawd” The sudden smack of soft pleasant flesh and the scent of sex, thick on the air makes me gasp and groan grinding on top of you as I feel my body take over from where my brain was originally opperating. Bringing me back to reality you.
You drag me relentlessly into a kiss that I do fight but ultimately succumb to. Its warm, its soft, its passionate, its proof positive that you are not just some bitter bitch with a frosty exterior. That something living and passionate lives inside you. That despite it all you are a being of desire. Not just for perfection but for other far more enticing things.
I knew that from the moment I laid eyes on you but only now is the mystery revealed in full. As you press up into me I shiver and moan across the connection between our lips. brain numb to any sort of offense as I greedily suck at your mouth.
Those fingers of yours trail lower and I know what is coming. My body naturally and shyly presses kitty to kitty with you and I grind slowly. Squirming away from thos fingers. My hands press on your thighs and I slide my right leg over and down. The movement however gives you access. I feel your fingers probe my lips even as I get my legs fully between yours with your thighs around my hips and me fully on my knees between your legs. I need to fight back but its sooooo. Goooooo. “mmmmmph…”
This is all so much of a turn on that my fight brain is left panting and punch drunk. This isn’t normal for me. I’m the one who controls others lusts. I’m not the one suffering at the hands of my own just for some…unknown girl with a bad attitude. What is this…?
Amber:
I have to find a way to turn the tide. To earn a moment where I am inflicting and you are enduring. But even as I kiss you, and feel years of ice cracking and falling from the exterior of my long-glacial soul, you battle me.
Even though I can feel our connection of lips and tips of tongue binding us more deeply than I ever expected, or than we can even even understand, you avoid my fingers. Using your perfectly wide hips to dance and dodge above my digits, and even strike with the same, in one quick thrust after another.
Thrusts that come with splashes of our seeping essence and crashes of blood-reddened flesh. Deft and brilliant though each such maneuver and mechanation is, finally I stop searching and instead guard. Blocking my sex with my fingers, so that when you attack next, you drive yourself down onto the three that I hold up and out like a spear. Their red-coated ends submerging into your molten kitten, bathing in the exciting I have brought you.
I feel you shudder. I feel you shake. And in your pleasure-soaked panic, you try to pull up, back, and away from me and our kiss. And after you I chase. Keeping my thighs coiled tightly around your hips as I surge into you. Our tits clapping together, as my free hand wraps around the back of neck your neck and pulls you back into me and our kiss as once again, upright, with you on your knees and me on my ass, we battle for control through carnal clashes of will, want, and a wanton willingness to wade into each others waters.
Remington:
The words I am looking for I believe are: mistakes were made. Not that my body cares no its very happy about what just happened. As I maneuver around on top of you. Kissing and squirming in fashion that is probably illegal. Not that it would stop me. I jerk myself down and against your pussy looking to grind on you but instead…instead I get impaled. It makes me gasp in the kiss as my eyes flutter and roll backwards. I’ve been on the offense this whole time and now suddenly your fingers are in me and not just one or two. No I just jammed myself down on three full fingers in the first penetration of this endeavour.
I jerk like I’ve been electrocuted and my lizard brain jumpstarts. I can’t just let you handle me like this! Rearing back all I succeed in doing is pulling you up with me as you cling to the kiss. Seeking my lips fighting after me and hunting for that passion. My very breath like you want to pull it out of me. Twisting your tongue around mine I growl into it and then it turns into a moan as you spear and work me with your hand. Sliding down your sides I dip my fingers over your ass. Teasing it gently and sliding along the inside of your cheeks.
I’m not after that though. No I want something else. Pushing in on you wiggling knees forwards it serves two purposes. One I fucking want those fingers jammed in me but Iwant your hand to have little room to move. At the same time I need the reach to get over your curved ass. Dipping my fingers low and trying to hook my first two fingers on each hand into your slit from behind.
Surging into the kiss I tilt sideways and kiss hard. Lashing my tongue around the inside of your mouth. Probing and looking to take control of this back. I can already feel my pussy quiver around your fingers and the surge of an orgasm coming. My whole world is this ring and this moment and I bare down on it. Squirming and panting into the kiss.
Amber:
I have you. FINALLY. My fingers so deep inside of your moist pink that I can risk not a centimeter more without moving from digits to a fist. And though I could keep you there, and tickle your bliss just to study your every trigger. I instead, retract them in half, and then slam them back in. Curling tips and hooking, as I repeatedly finger fuck you into the same oblivion that sought to claim me.
But even as I settle into my newfound dominance, you change tactics and fight past. Dropping your sexy lower half to deny me the space to maneuver and move — pull back and then slide them back in.
Alone, I could still get you.
And without more, I could still push closer and closer to an orgasm that would settle this game of ours.
But my eyes go wide, when I feel you reaching. Seeking. And sliding your own fingers between my cheeks, inching closer and closer to my darkstar.
At the realization, and knowing how close you are to evening the ongoing score, I break our incredible kiss, flatten my forehead against yours, and then mutter in curses a telltale sign of worry. “Bitch…. Don’t you…. FUCK!” Mid-denial. Mid-rejection. I feel your own mischievous and nail-tipped tools catch on and then drive in. Causing my world of momentary control and confidence to shatter.
My ankle-locked thighs releasing, my working hand falling free from your sex, just as my grip on the back of your neck does the same. The latter two then moving to your shoulders to try and push you away, but you have me and in your grasp and I whimper.
“Fuck…. Fuck…. CUUUNNNTTT!” I cry out in panic, as I fall from my seated position back. Squirming and worthless. At your mercy, and bereft of the focus to fight back.
Remington:
You-you…oh my god fuck. I can tell you have me and you are going to destroy me. Make me scream your name. Make me beg you for more. Make me tell you I want you. That. That makes me flush in fashion I can’t begin to describe as I come face to face with the fact that this stranger is going to make me tell her that I want her. That I truly want her. That I need her. That I can’t go on without her. It twists me up inside and I look you right in the eyes.
Then.
My fingers find a home. Parting your slit and sinking in like fish hooks. I drive in deeper and deeper. Pulling apart and worming side to side. I feel you crumble as I do it. Feel you fall away. Try to push back. Your offense evaporates and spares me the humiliation of telling you I need you. I can keep that buried deep. Hidden.
It’s not enough as you fall back from your position on your ass. I shove with my chest. Slamming it into your exposed mountains. I collapse forwards atop you and get my lips near your ear. Tits pinning you to the canvas. Arms around your thigh as I get to my knees between your legs. I work your slit with my fingers from behind and then I press my pussy home.
My nectar slick twat rubs along your lips hunting for your clit to bury itself against. To duel with. To fuck. As I work atop you mewling gently against your ears as my fingers probe you and my pussy scrubs.
Only then do I launch an actual offense.
“Look at you. Some hot shit pro wrestling trainer you are. Can you smell it on me? Thats the scent of the woman who is going to make you beg for more. Not stop. Beg for more. Come on Amber. Your pussy” I punctuate with a slap of my own mound on yours. “…wants this. Your nipples were so hard when they came free. I know you want me. Say the words. Tell me you want me. Admit it. Just whisper in my ear so no one can hear….”
Amber:
It all collapses. My focus. My fingering. My defenses. And my body as I collapse back to the mat. Your still clothed upper torso worsening my fall as you surge into me. Our breasts, though separated by a thin, sweaty layer of fabric, sending me back in a bounce before you land atop me. My thighs spread, as on your knees you seal us together once more. Cunt to cunt and clit to clit, all while your devilish fingers work inside of my precious nether breech.
It is not a masterstroke, but a series of them. Each landing with perfect timing and leaving you atop me and in firm — no, seemingly unshakeable control.
I should fight you. Strike you. Panic and struggle to roll us, or somehow earn the freedom to get away. But instead, all I do is reach down, grab the base of your top and then with a hard pull, snap it up between our warring tits so that finally I can feel your bare breasts against mine.
An act that was not offense or defense, but an instinctual manifestation of my own shattering will. Proving to not only myself but you that I want so much more of you than I have. Even though we’re fucking. Even though we’re writhing in a pool of sweat brought on by the hot, overhead lights, it isn’t enough. Not near.
But you don’t want it subtle or unsaid. Assumed and not stated. And so you demand I tell you. That I admit how much I want you. Want this. Want…. Us…. Not in a shout, but in a cruel mutter of terms that seep into my ear like a poison meant to kill.
A poison that from there flows into my bloodstream as we both fire our hips into each other. My own carnal calling demanding I satisfy the demon you have awoken.
“Re-mi….” I whisper though even those two syllables are broken by concussive slams of one cunt against another.
“I….” I try again. “I….” You hear it, you imagine it. My surrender. My admission. “I want….” There it is! On the tip of my tongue! “I’m GOING TO BREAK YOU!” My delicate, hopping whisper turns to a shout, as suddenly, my thighs collapse around yours, lock at the ankle once more, and then in a single, fluid motion, I roll us. You onto your back, and me atop you. Placing me above you and with an advantage in our trib, but you still knuckle deep in my thick and juicy ass.
Remington:
Everything about your collapsing quivering body makes me wild. As if it was bad enough that I was already slick and dripping. Your sudden helplessness makes me lick my lips before moving to lick yours as you open them to speak. You saying my name alone makes me shiver. I want you to say it over and over again. Mewl it. Whisper it. Scream it. Just let it fall from your lips over and over again. The lust haze pooling across my brain is unreal as I lay atop you panting.
It gets worse though as you get your fingers under my top and pull it up. My big breasts fall free and press to yours. Sweat slick and hard nippled as we squirm and the pair move over each other smearing liquid and dragging furrows over each other with our nipples. It makes me shiver again. I’m suddenly very distracted by your rack on mine. I want to push our orbs together. I want to hear you squeal and moan as well as other visions flood my mind. I can’t change my nature. That’s just how it goes. So I inhale sharply to help them push together.
It’s a moment of being lost in this fog that is a rare thing for me. I pride myself on being a straight edge in a fight. This however is different. As our mounds grind back and forth I’m lost in the depths of your body. Fingers pulling your peach apart and gripping at the firmness of your cake as I crush down on you…and perhaps crush on you too.
As your admission nears your lips I hang on every stutter. Every word. Everything that makes my heart flutter. I need you to say the words. Admit it. Tell me. Make me safe by giving up the admission so I can feel secure in my own confused feelings. Gawd please.
What you scream at me though pops my little lust filled balloon. I’m stunned. Unsure. Confused. How…?
WHAM right to my back. I mewl in surprise as you get between my legs and begin to trib me into the canvas. It will shattering. You clawed your way up out of my assault and slammed me to my back. I lay there. Fingers in your back door. Utterly stunned as you fuck me from on top.
How…
Who…
I have to have you.
I need you, so badly. Its not just a biological imperative now no its a fact of reality. I lay there moaning like a whore as you trib me into the floor. My legs sprawled my body shivering. But if I say it…?
No I can’t!! It’s too risky. Squirming I sieze on your ass and as you rear up to fuck me down I plant my lips on your left nipple and suuuuuck. Swirling my tongue around it like I’m licking down my favorite hard candy. (And your nipples may very well be in the running for my favorite hard candy). I’m sexually punch drunk but my body knows how to fuck even if the lights aren’t all on. So I rut up into you. Spread your wonderful cheeks wider and bob against your breast like its a hot dick and I want the prize.
Amber:
We came to wrestle. To fly around the ring. To bump and tackle — get-it-again and then diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive. But somewhere along the way we cinched — we grabbed and wrapped. And since then, we have moved only a foot or two, in one direction or the other. Our focus so acutely tuned to another and our struggle that we have remained in the ring’s center.
Body to body. Breast to breast. And clit to clit.
Sweating as we strive to drag from the others lips an admission we WISH we were strong enough to offer. That we want each other. That we want to cast aside our fears. Our worries. Our years of suffered-from abuse, addiction, and anger and just be.
But we fight it. We fight each other. Demanding the other say it — speak it, and thereby give us clearance to do the same.
And so we settle in. Each of us with our advantage. My placement on top, and your well-placed finger pressing against darkest of triggers. It is in that arrangement that we race. Knowing we will never escape it, until one of us has cum.
“Bi-biiitch….” I mutter, as my sweat-wet hair blonde hangs in clumped-stands in front of my face. My eyes glassy and lips dry, and stained with your spit. Wrecked you could call me. A hot mess, you could accuse. But that disrepair only worsens when you lower your head and latch your mouth on a nipple once again. Sucking on it like my baby girl did when first she was born.
“Fuuuuckk….” It is soo much. Too much. The pleasure you make me suffer. With lifting hips, chocolate lips, and a sucked on tit.
“Cum for me!!!” I demand. I beg, as once and again I hammer my cunt down into yours. Each stroke aimed to find folds and split them, so that our most sensitive bundles of nerves crash together and then glue, before we rip them apart again.
I can’t last. I can’t keep going. I will cum in mere moments, and my only hope is to make you do the same. And so, just as you added your gambit of mouth and suckle, I use my right hand to grab you around the throat and SQUEEZE. My every digit wrapping and curling as tight as I can make them. All as those on my right brace against the mat to keep me above you.
Sweat dripping.
Sex seeping.
And eyes leaking, with emotion and pleasure I had till this day not known.
Remington:
Is there something wrong with me? Hell yes. So much. There are hooks in my psyche from far too many things. Wicked barbs lodged so deep that my psyche has grown up around them and encapsulated them. When bumped they do unspeakable things to me. I’m a disgusting patchwork sally of a creature when you step through the mirror I use to reflect back what my lovers want to see. That in my most vulnerable state I am monstrous.
The fact that there is someone who has looked beyond the mirror. Seen me in all my decadent glory and still been willing to see a stained but living soul beneath it is earth shattering to me. Its not you. Her name is Bailey and she is a phenomenal incredible creature that understands despite the fact that there are so few who see me as more than the steel melting hot, blue haired, tattoo’d full metal bitch that I live as every day, I still retain my polyamours nature. She accepts that I am dumb enough to put myself out there occasionally and have done so only to be flayed into strips.
So as we struggle. as we grind body to body as we push each other further onwards towards the edge. As we fish for the words that will make each other safe. I can only double down on my need to not give in. I have to hear you first. I need to hear you first. I’m too vulnerable as it is. You crush down on my pussy and I let out a sound that is all lust as I lose my grip on your nipple and lauy back hips arching. Gunning for the edge of this orgasm in a hurry as I do it. Oh fuck no I can’t!
I’m falling apart at the edges. Hair plastered to my forehead. Body already spasming in the throws of a precursor to my orgasm.
Then you make it worse. So much worse as you clamp down on my throat and squeeze me. Holy fuck no nonononono! You cut off my air and my body is ready so ready to cum. The only thing I can do is go on the offense or you’ll force me to admit it. One last trick, one last ploy. Sitting into the grip till it truly chokes me. I RAM my third finger on either hand into the depth of your asshole. Prying hard and rimming up and down as I do it.
Shifting beneath you I feel you plow my lips apart. Jerking back suddenly i pull with my legs and move my pussy in and arc trying to slide under your next slam and then drag my clit back up your slit looking for a hail mary knockout punch on that bundle of nerves to knock you over the edge before you choke me out and force me to orgasm.
I can’t speak. All I can do is gurgle.
Amber:
I have no one other than my daughter. No family. No lovers. No babysitters. No friends.
Just the memory of a shit-bag ex-husband who left me a single mother just when things got hard. And the gut-ripping memory of a green-haired girl I loved named Chloe, who abandoned me the same night my doctor told me my wrestling career was over.
And so in my fucked up mind, this and you — this battle and impromptu contest to make the other cum is my only lifeline. My only chance to share emotion with anyone other than my Tik-Tokking child. It’s stupid. It’s silly. And yet I fight desperately not to show weakness. To show need. Knowing either will scare you away.
That’s why I grit my teeth and pour every ounce of energy into fucking you. Into choking you. Into breaking your beautiful tattooed body and FORCING you to give in and admit what I can’t.
But that exertion is tiring — exhausting, especially when I am spending so much energy screaming in ecstasy. My voice echoing off the gym walls, as tears drip down to your cheeks and then roll down them.
Every second bringing one, weakening wave of pleasure after another. Each undulating ripple building into a tidal wave I know will crush me when it crashes down.
But you have to be close too!
You have to be so very near the edge!
Can I outlast you? Can I outfuck you? Can I do as I threatened and break your will, your body, and your soul so that I can piece them all back together and then finally, weary beyond measure and satisfied beyond understanding, lay my lips on yours and … love you?
It is a dream. A hope. A fantasy that is clean and pretty, like so many I have been denied before!
But to my horror and dismay, just like all those others, I see it shatter before my eyes, or more accurately behind them, as in a cataclysm of sight, sound, sensation, and all else I explode atop you. My toes curling, muscles seizing, and lips parting to let loose a wounded, animalistic howl of bliss made tone, tenor, and vibrato that I will hear in my nightmares and dreams for years to come.
My thrusting hips, choking fingers, and bouncing tits stilling as I collapse on top of you. Mewling, as if every ounce of strength I had ever had was stolen from not only me, by the history of the same. No confidence. No guards. No anger. No rage, I have nothing, in that moment, as my lips rest just next to your ear than you and my truth.
A truth, I finally share when I whisper in tears. “I want you…. I want this…. Love me….”
Remington:
Its over for me. There is no way I break you as I lash out furiously. I can’t there just isn’t a way to do this. There is no way. And yet.
As if by some dark miracle of the powers below that seem to open the way for me. Your body admits its defeat to me. The result is breathtaking and spectacular. As everything that is your ability to continue this battle collapses into you and then you finally come crashing down on top of me. Done. Spent. Ass up. Tits down. Lips on my ear.
Your words…..
…..Terrify me.
Shoving you off me suddenly I jerk away and curl up. Denying my own orgasm as I slither back from you and ball myself up. The sheer system shock of terror at your words that I receive is mind numbing. I can’t say that. I can’t do that. I can’ t give in to this? Who am I kidding. As soon as you know me as soon as you know what I’ve done it will be over. You’ll toss me out of your life like the garbage that I am. No, No! Not again. Not ever again. I can’t do this. Furiously pulling my sports bra down I can’t even talk as you look up at me tears glistening in your eyes and Your spent, sweat covered, nectar dripping body splayed out where I tossed you like a discarded doll.
I can barely look at you. I stand up pushing my hair out of my face and turning away from you.
“Damn bitch..guess I win. What a fuck….” Look for any way out of here. An excuse. An escape. All of the sudden I’m the nobody girl back in the club and some brown eyed brunette haired goddess is looking at me too happily. Her body is too close. Her words are too sweet. The terror overwhelms me as I stand there.
“Shit, look at the time. I-I gotta go. Bailey, my wife, is going to wonder where the hell I am at. Maybe next time we can actually work on wrestling if I passed your test. Or whatever.” My face is in a full blush as I. And I’m not going to sugar coat it. I run. I slide from the ring. Looking back to catch your face and nearly bursting into tears myself as history repeats itself. As I fucking chicken out. Again. I’ll never be so lucky. I should be happy with what I have. I don’t need the rejection, I don’t need the pain. The suffering the firey end as my heart is ripped out again.
Yanking the jeans out of my bag I try to get them on. Any words or sounds from you are ignored as tears drip down my face and I run from the gym out into the late afternoon.
Amber:
Like in the movies when an unexpected explosion goes off, the world is muted and moving in slow motion. I can’t feel the heat of the lights, the wetness of the pool of sweat beneath me, or even the cool air from the rotating fans that sit outside the ring.
A consequence, not only of my crushing, abdomen-jerking orgasm, but also from fear. The words I spoke echoing in my head, and in each reverberation — they sound dumber and sloppier — riskier and less like me.
What have I done? I ask myself, even as I look up to you as you stand. What will you say? I wonder and worry, as I see your eyes shift from soft to hard and from longing to leering.
It is only then, when your gorgeous, plump lips open to answer that the world seems to speed up and my sensations return. Just in time for you to remind me who I am.
Remind me of the life I am destined to lead. One of pain. One of rejection. One of being used and then thrown out. Misreading every sign and every person. Until I ruin anything I had good and lose every chance I had to live the normal life others all seem to have.
“Bailey.” My agony has a name. Just like you have a wife. You never wanted me. You never wanted us. You’re a liar, though you never spoke of the desires I read you to have.
You’re a whore. Though you never made allusion to the illusion that blinded me.
I hate you. I HATE you. I HATE YOU. I swear without speaking under my breath. As those ungiven curses echo in my brain, you turn and leave.
Yes, the gym, but also me, naked, bruised, broken, and shattered in the center of the ring I curse myself and you. The day I took the job to train you, and my foolishness for thinking I could be happy.
That smile belonging to someone else. Someone named Bailey……………….
This Story Continues in Chapter 3! Click Here to Go There!