Vicky Victoria vs. Jennifer “The Better Woman” from FCF

Rival’s Rapture’s Preamble:

This is the first chat-log that is officially part of the cannon of one of my series, that being my (Rival’s Rapture’s When Life Starts Series). It fits right after Chapter 5 (which has not been written yet, and follows the adventure of Jennifer “The Better Woman” and puts her in the role of a WWN (Women’s Wrestling Network) scout.

I hope you all enjoy — I know I loved writing with Vicky.

Vicky Victoria:

The doors of my white Fiat 500 remain locked, face frowning, eyes staring at a dimly lit doorway. Winter in England is puzzling, the sun may shine all day but it can feel like sub-zero before it’s even set by around 4/5pm, thankfully the long drive means the heat still warms my soul despite the engine being off. I’ve been in this empty carpark around 10 minutes, yet my hands remain glued to the wheel, there is silence…the thump of my heart like distant sub-bass from a club permeating my head repeatedly, accelerating the more my mind wanders…I’m providing myself with amateur sleuthing, are you inside? Is anybody inside? I’ve deliberately arrived 3 hours early. “Saddlemere Leisure Centre” is the furthest possible distance from glamorous. An old, probably mid 70’s cut and paste building that accompanies every single town up and down the UK, generally in the less affluent areas. Offering the community much needed access to sociable and recreational opportunities that they would otherwise struggle to find, I spent a whole week researching this drab, mundane perfection around 5 months ago. My criteria? Far from home but not that far, private bookings with exclusive access (at a cost)….and a ‘ring’ to wrestle in. So I found Saddlemere, a 2 hour drive off the M1 ticked the first box, the whole -admittedly very small building- could be booked after 4pm privately ticking the second and a boxing ring…in the kind of disrepair you could probably envisage for a government funded building, ticking the third.

Hands finally leaving the wheel, slipping my warm burgundy gloves on, stepping out with a cute, full navy Herschel backpack gripping my shoulders. long grey winter coat, black jeans, grey university hoody keeping me at least a little warm as my breath turns to steam the instant it hits the cold air. trainer clad feet usher me to the doorway, I grip the large, worn metal handle and rattle the doors….no movement, I sigh with relief….I work the key clumsily from my pocket with gloved hands and enter, closing – and locking – behind me, flipping all the lights on.

I found ‘Roxy’ a week prior to the gym, it was important I could travel to meet her and find a location close enough for us both. Roxy was a pretty, late 20’s wrestler that you would find online wrestling for clip companies against both women and men, mainly non-competitive, ranging from the very safe to moderately adult, without the nudity. She was in it for the love, the money simply never enough, but also dipped in to private sessions and, when her sanity could take it, private ‘underground leagues’. That’s why I wanted her to train me. 10 years plus experience taught me over 3 gruelling months as she aimed to whip my 20 year old body into shape, I had until late November, at which point you would be arriving…I felt ready and her encouragement of being ‘a natural’ only helped.

My affluent background brings with it certain difficulties; at every step in my life I had to prove I was there on merit. Academically I had earned a scholarship for my final year of university in California, to 99% of students that alone would suffice, but at 17 I had stumbled across an image of two women wrapped around each other, you couldn’t see the losing girl’s head, an arm wrapped around it as thighs wrapped her waist….and from then I was hooked, dragged in to a world I became besotted with. I had never had the nerve to dip my toe in the water for real but the move abroad in the coming year would give me the perfect chance to remain furtive(ish) while giving me the alluring thrill of proving myself at wrestling. I had found The Women’s Wrestling Network with ease, within one week of setting eyes on that picture. Wealthy owners, ridiculous investment and yet the details were a little vague. This wasn’t main event WWE style but sleazier, more adult orientated content you could access online, streamed live with all matches available to buy after. My mind was blown by the scale, an empire with such a niche, wrestlers attaining idol status with serious pay checks, blurring some of these true athletes lines between dignity and chasing fortune. For two years I had been a subscribed member, my first credit card bill discreetly marked with “WWNProd”, my first kinked orgasm coming from watching a rising star called “The Doll” binding a kneeling, hapless opponents wrists behind her back with striped panties before burying her face in to golden hotpant clad cheeks. It was as if the stars were aligning for me, I had youth, desire and now, training on my side, wanting to throw of the shackles of normalcy for the chance to dress up, wrestle, and dominate other women on my way to the top of the tree – all while graduating at the top of my class….

And the lights in the dingy, tired old gym flickered on, spluttering into life, these buildings rife with old fluorescent bulbs that make a whirring sound when providing their power consuming, clinical white light. the leisure centre effectively 3 rooms – boxing ring/gym/canteen – still shaking, a little overwhelmed, this couldn’t be further from the lavish looking rings of the WWN, the production values at rock bottom, I push the double doors and enter the ring room. Flipping the switch illuminates, poorly, the 5×5 metre squared arena with roughly only 1 metre walking room around the edges. I step closer, removing my right glove i run my hand over the blue canvas that Roxy had put me through my paces on, the sprains, twists and bruises I had suffered were almost unbelievable but I asked to be thrown in at the deep end…i smile, gazing over the breaks in the ring floor showing the minimal cladded padding underneath, the slight sag of the 3 wrapping red ropes as they cling to their posts, walking further in to the room I ‘twang’ one of them and it still holds surprising spring.

I’m almost embarrassed to entertain ‘Jennifer’ here, your name hadn’t turned up a result under the roster online, but digging a little deeper to a clip store where thousands of unreleased yet still impeccably produced videos lay I set my eyes on a devastatingly beautiful woman. I had paid for and downloaded your only entry thus far, watching every single second of a scintillating match as you closely defeated a punked skinhead with a multitude of tattoos and piercings before brutally making her sleep in your thighs….here the clip stopped, uncertain of what followed. And so from the blinding lights of Cali you’re being flown to wrestle me in deepest, darkest Saddlemere…my CV sent with an exquisitely written essay on why I deserved to have a chance of wrestling for WWN, a ton of pictures and the £500 ‘admin’ fee. This was my audition…win and I get a small contract, it’s that simple…”victory achieved with a flourish, tenacity and desire to achieve more may result in better terms…” so read pre-contract clause 4a, you would be bringing means to record us, but who are you? Why is ‘Jennifer’ being sent to wrestle me, whats her story? Am I ready for this? Am I ready for what follows if i win…or lose? My young mind scrambling, with the efficiency this company runs at I expect you’ll be here on time, I gather my thoughts, remove my jacket and clamber up in to the ring with a hop, beginning to stretch my frame out, limbering up lightly…in the back of my mind I picture that instant I saw your Latina curves sway in to focus, i shiver…..

Jennifer “The Better Woman”:

“Jennifer, Jennifer, calm down.” Brooke urged, as before her I hopped up and down, my arms bent at the elbow and fists clenched in excitement.

“CALM DOWN!? Calm down?! You’re sending me to England and you want me to calm down! I can’t!” I responded, absolutely elated by the assignment she had just given me.

“Yes, I am. But I have to know that you won’t go easy on this girl. I know what a softy you are.” She was right as she said. Right to worry that out of kindness I might let myself lose. After all, it was your career, and up until that moment, a win for me meant almost nothing. “So here’s the deal. If you win….” Brooke began and then paused before stepping forward, leaning in and then whispering into my ear. Not wanting anyone else in the half-filled locker room to hear what she said.

“Oh. My. GAWD, REALLY?!” I shouted in excitement at the offer. One so incredible and exciting, my heart pounded hard in my chest.

“Yes, really. Now, can I count on you to give this girl the hardest match you can? Or do I give … THAT offer to someone else…?” Moments before, I couldn’t have promised her what she wanted with a straight face. But after that warm-breathed whisper and staring down the barrel of something I would die to possess, I nodded cutely and then responded. “Yuuuussss…. Now, where’s my ticket?”

When I asked, she texted me the info for my flight. A flight that lasted so long I was sure I was going to wither away and die — no matter how many sodas or peanuts the flight attendant brought me.

And yet still, with my 3DS, Switch, Iphone, and Ipad all at my side, somehow I made it through the boredom of airborne captivity.

That’s when the excitement started. Hearing all the cute and posh accents surrounding me as I walked in a dream. Smiling and giggling at almost everyone who looked at me. Not because they were cute or desirable, but because they were new. EVERYTHING was new. For me at least. The airport I arrived in, the gray, rainy atmosphere, and as we moved deeper into the city, streets that I could picture Sherlock Holmes riding down in some horse-drawn carriage.

And though all of it was exciting and exhilarating beyond measure, the moment was coming. The moment when I had to put away my smile and awe, and wrestle one of England’s upcoming indie wrestlers. A girl I only knew from the tapes The Doll would watch at night. Each containing film of girls she was preparing herself for, in case they ever made their way to the WWN.

She tried to tell me that was her only reason for sitting down and watching those films. But, without fail, midway through her “study sessions” she would call me over to satisfy her. Pulling me down by the hair to a kneel, so that I could lick her already swollen and wet pussy as she continued to admire the hottest, unsigned stars from across the world. She telling me about them — and about you, when your videos came up, as I lavished her with my tongue and training.

In a way, despite my sweet demeanor, I am already plagued by a certain jealousy. Knowing how Kat enjoyed watching you, and how she would use me to calm the storm you raised in her heart.

But until those last few blocks, I hadn’t had time or reason to come to grips with that dark emotion. It only growing stronger as your small, mid-block Leisure Center, a name that made about as much sense as the city names of Newcastle upon Tyne and New Castle Under Lyme.

The only leisure we would be finding would be locked deep in each other’s holds. There in the dark, dank, and dinge of a room that looked more like a basement than a training facility. One I step into after quickly, in the only semi-private corner I could find. Switching from cute and casual to a one piece, white bodysuit with black tiger stripes and no boots, shoes, or even socks — a preference I couldn’t seem to shake after Kat forced it into my brain.

And though in such attire, and with my years of training with Chavo Guerrero and expertise in the ring, I see you looking no less confident. No less self assured.

Certainties of purpose and power I intend to take from you with a smile and a glimmer in my eye. The opportunity beating you represents being one I will NOT miss out on.

Vicky:

2 hours until fireworks. I leave the ring, grabbing my phone in the changing room I flick through any messages…you have my number in case of logistics….but nothing…with zero personal contact our eyes will meet for the first time without so much as a murmur between us. I take a seat on the old varnished wooden slatted benches, bolted down into the tiled floor. My heart filling my ears again, the clash between fear and excitement wracking me like a ying and yang, opening the WWN site once more, eyes drinking in your image….to think our bodies will compete and press together for supremacy in just…fuck…1 hour now….phone goes down, I begin to prepare.

the sound of a fire door slamming shut followed by soft, pattering footsteps, leaning into a corner of the ring, arms around the top ropes, legs crossed casually, eyes roaming your figure as it sways in the dim lighted exterior of the rings awnings, a shadowed, mysterious form as nature extends our meeting yet further still, i breath deeply, 3 metal, foot pattered steps and there you are, body dipping under the top ropes and, with the briefest moment of eyes meeting you disregard and move to the opposing corner from me. My lips half opening to introduce….heart sinking at the nonchalance. I watch your body, wrapped in sumptuous tiger printed one piece, predatorily, casually move revealing such mind bending curves along the way…bulging breasts, widened hips and endlessly rounded bottom, my cheeks reddening, i gasp softly…finally letting that breath out

I retain a grip over my senses…physically gnawing my fingers around the ropes too, the hapless, galling feeling of being upstaged…i push out from the corner, i wanted to make a statement, having spent weeks choosing my attire…i reaffirm my size 4’s in box fresh white Nikes down on to canvas, shoulder width apart, ankle gripped white socks with two light blue pin stripes wrapped around, light blue semi-laced half bottomed knickers grip my hips and succulent, firm cheeked rear, a matching minimiser bra clutching my young 32C breasts, my wrists adorned with two white wristbands “Victoria” – “Victory” italicised in light blue, one word on each. Deliberately mixing pro with amateur style attire, hands settling on hips, white pained nailed fingers rattling my flat tummy.

“Victoria….a pleasure” i smile theatrically, blowing a kiss with my right hand and returning it to the hip…i motion slowly back and forth across the same spot a few paces, head turned to watch you, brunette mane, glossed, volumised and free flowing over back and shoulders “you’re a little smaller than expected Jennifer…..SO…..you’ll kindly remind me of what we’re both here for today won’t you?” returning to face you dead on, heart thumping, breathing raised.

Jennifer:

There is an ambiance to this place. A quiet, intimacy. A heavy, must-scented warmth. And through all of that I step carefully, history seeming to stain every floor and wall, though the latter are hidden by peeling posters and dust-covered picture frames of wrestlers-past.

But I am not here for the past. Not here to see some aged veteren, like those that used to watch me wrestle whatever other girls Chavo brought in. No, I am here for the future. To see it move and close in on me. To feel it wrap itself around me, and then with me struggle. For victory. 

A Victory. A Vicky. A you I can see as I move towards the ring, your cute little sneakers and socks holding you up as you pose in the corner. Acting as if you couldn’t be more ready and posed to make your name a reality, just as I intend to do the same for mine. 

But in truth, you are nervous — we both are. Not only because so much is on the line, but also because of the reputations we have earned and then heard from across the pond. Each us known as skilled, technical wrestlers, who can put on a match of night and maybe even the year if given a chance. 

And this … this is our chance. Our chance to have that match. Not for a TV audience. Not for a live crowd. But to earn something, while proving the same to ourselves and each other. Brit and Latina. Brunettes from different upbringings. Rich and poor. Silver-spoon fed and Dollar Store raised. 

But our childhoods have led us to the same point, despite their angles of trajectory. Each of us ending up here, in this dingy ring. My bare feet, pressing down in small tests, as you move towards the center of the ring. Your accent tinged voice let out a greeting, an insult, and then a request.

“Jennifer. A wrestler.” I respond, my own youth and spaciness miss the true aim of your UK howdy. 

“Oh, yes. I guess I’m a little smaller than you, but I wouldn’t let that fool you….” I answer your jab, the smile I take on thereafter lessened by your comment about my size. 

“AnnNnNnNnd, we’re here to wrestle. You know, that game we’ve both been playing for years.” As I speak, I move forward from my corner, and towards you. 

“The one where we lock-up…. Press into each other….” With every word I speak I come closer and closer and then without a hint of threat, begin to step around you slowly. My eyes trained on your beautiful, stationary body, as I examine you from head to toe. 

“Struggling to overpower each other…. Overwhelm each other…. And then when all our efforts come to a head, to lose ourselves in a whirlwind of action, sweat, and strain….” I can see with every second that passes in my description, that it turns you on. Your eyes fighting not to close, as my soft, sensual voice brings our shared fantasy to life in words. 

“Until finally…” I whisper, as I near your left ear — pausing there to finish my explanation. “…one of us can’t answer the count of three, or gives up in the others long, lingering hold.” 

With your request answered, I suddenly drop my seductress routine, and hop out in front of you again. A wide, excited smile on my face as I watch you slowly recover from having turned into a puddle of desire and want. 

“Ready…?” I ask with a giggle, loving the power my words had over you. Not because it gives me some advantage I want or need, but because I know that deep down, we enjoy wrestling for the same reason. 

Vicky:

Posed like supergirl, hands gripping hips, trainer clad feet shoulder width apart, you calmed, husky American drawl instantly causing my skin to tingle, watching you breeze forwards, eyes meeting – locking – continuing to do so until I’m lapped by your drool worthy alabaster curves, a neat contrast against my natural olive skin tone, i allow you to step behind me….facing forwards, a playful smirk remaining on my pretty face, your eyes drinking in me as our eyes meet again on the end of your circle…

Your voice, manner, character all serving to work lil goosebumps over my skin as you hear me take a deeper breath and internally bite my lower lip to avoid any obvious outwardly show of lustful, and very immediate, genuine emotion. my young frame gives its all not to be enthralled in your spell. Is this a test? I’m unsure…but as your last words fade from my ear and you spring back in front of me wrapped in that figure hugging Tiger print I know that after today, things will never be the same.

My right hand slowly runs the back of itself down the left side of your sumptuous mane before gently brushing the nipple it rests over, left glued to my hip still…”I’m already sorry for the things I’m going to do to you…” i smirk playfully then PUSH my palm in between your bulging breasts to throw you backwards as i casually circle, sidestepping you, hands remaining on hips, heart pounding…

Jennifer:

Yes, it was a show. The unaffected confidence. The thousand mile stare. But as I look at you now, taking in your reaction to my little play of seduction, I can tell that you are game. Not because once more you slip into a hard, intractable strength. But because, you play with me. Tease me. And give my tone of sexual knowing right back to me. 

As any woman would if they were truly confident of their own skills and technical ability. 

It is a revelation of talent confirmed that makes me smile warmly as we both begin to circle each other. Slowly. Cautiously. Our eyes shifting and analyzing every move of every limb. Knowing that we have a gloriously long journey ahead of us, but one that begins now. Begins here. And that any mistake or missed chance could lead, at the end of our unified arch, to defeat. 

And though we could dive into a lock-up, headfirst and headlong, one of us dodging under and around to catch the other’s waist, I choose a different tact. Raising my arms, hands, and wiggling my fingers in challenge. Wanting to test you. To feel you. Your might. Your force. Just as I know you want to feel mine.

Will you accept it? Will you clasp palms and lace fingers? Whatever your choice may be, I know this will be a match I will never forget.

Vicky:

Watching you stumble softly a few paces back, a gentle nudge, a playful one, whereas you believe your job is to assess my talents…despite my inexperience, I’m very much here to test yours as well, that’s simply for my own amusement – a natural obsession for competing with other beautiful women, only this time the “x marks the spot” like treasure is only too literal.

And so we circle, a brief smirk remaining on my glossed lips, catching your eyes again, feeling that shudder descend my spine, hands on hips, confidently…a little nonchalantly in fact, there will be no explosion from this jaw dropping Latina, instead as your bare soles sidestep your stunning beauty around me it’s wiggling fingertips that draw me in, i turn to face you, hands easing from my curvature, trainer clad soles gently keeping my body circling, my own wiggling fingers face yours, our eyes meet and this time they settle…smouldering, you notice the feint bite of my lower lip, drawing my white nailed index fingers down your palms to intensify your own senses before our hands kiss, clammy digits interlace and i moan ever so softly as i watch my knuckles turn white, clamping down before my arms tense PRESSING my body forwards, leaning in, a soft arch in my back ending with my firm, young bottom thrust behind me, wrapped in light blue.

Embracing your offer, tensing from head to toe, looking to assert myself immediately over this enigmatic American beauty.

Jennifer:

I am here to taste you. To test you. And somewhere in all of it, prove that you deserve a shot in the big time. And though that is my task, and I fully intend on fulfilling it. Not only to earn my reward, but to prove to myself that on either continent, I am as good as it gets, with every moment that passes, I feel it.

A sense of excitement, comfort, and even desire. Not feigned to psych one another out, but real and palpable. We having built each other up in our minds to the point where this match is not just obligation or challenge but fantasy. A fantasy that has become real as I wiggle my fingers in dare. A fantasy that threatens to overwhelm us as with a smirk, you move in, clasp our palms together, lace our fingers and then surge into me, just as I surge back into you.

We two warriors of the ring trying with all our might to push each other back. TO prove something to each other in the dark, dim, dinless confines of this ring. The sounds of your boots and my feet coming down with hard clangs and soft thuds, as we struggle together at the center of our battlefield.

Until finally, when we can achieve no more at a distance, we end our lean, and once more drive together. No longer a foot or two apart, with arms stretched forward, but instead with a clap body to body and breast to breast. Our foreheads coming together in a soft press thereafter, as eye to eye we challenge each other.

“You’re as strong as you look.” I mutter through effort-affected breaths.

Vicky:

Our noses prod, breasts flatten, foreheads kiss and fingers ensnare. Eyes remain focused, peeking deep in to your soul and almost losing myself in a heartbeat, my cheeks turning a light crimson as our entwined sinews awake a reality inside of me – I’m enthralled by you. i bite my lower lip as if biting my tongue, the shiver descends my spine, left foot backpeddles a step before I’m forced to react and apply equal pressure once more to pacify you “unghhhhh”. a hot flush overwhelms my young frame, i literally gasp as your soft words seek to seduce rather than taunt, wrapping themselves around my mind. Taking a deep breath, my head slipping from yours, chin settling on your right shoulder, a gentle bump as our shoulders meet, arms now pointing outwards as if our clenched form spells out a capitalised “T”. Relieved to be freed from your gaze, needing to snap out of the trance, reasserting my cute ice white with light blue ticked trainer clad feet straining against you in the centre of the ring, you feel a feint nibble at your lobe before I twist hard to the left, retaining your right hand while freeing mine to wrap it’s limb around the back of your head, corking my frame, hooking your body, aiming to draw your face down my right side, via my firm right breast, with a full stop at my hip. reaching across my lower tummy to entwine my own fingers in each other “as are you…” i retort with a mock rather than mutual affection, slowly tweaking your neck so that your eyes are drawn suggestively over my light blue panty clad pussy, doubling your stunning latina frame over in the rundown ring

Jennifer:

We did not know what to expect of this private match or each other. How we would mesh in the ring or come together in terms of chemistry. And yet as suddenly our palms press, fingers lace, and efforts collide in the center of the ring. Each of pushing, pressing, and fighting to overwhelm the other, it is magic and fantasy — fate and destiny bound just like we.

A we who, after moments spent in utter parity, surrounded by the sounds of grunts and exhales, we suddenly meet, body to body and breast to breast. Our mutual gaze and study of one another transfixing us not just to the point of distraction, but deleteriation. The pushing we offer, though matched in force, lessening as the intangible power of our meeting threatens to overtake our focus on the match.

That is until in unison, we break it — our eye to eye contact, and shift our effort-warmed cheeks past one another in a teasing slide. Our chins coming down on each others shoulders, as for a moment we do not look, but listen. Hearing every sound of effort and struggle as in the squared circle we twist and spin. First left, then right. Testing each other’s every angle and defense.

Until you begin to move, to adjust, pulling your hands free, turning your body, and before I can find the focus to react, lock me in a perfect forward-facing headlock. My body bent over, as your arms lock at the hands, not beneath my chin, but to the side of my nearest cheek.

There you wrench at my neck, not to cause me pain it would seem, but to aim my face towards your womanhood. It is a question and a test — a demand, if I will play such a game.

And though with others I might resist the urges inside of me, or play coy, until I was sure it was the right call. But with you, I know. With you, I am certain. And so as you loosen and then readjust your squeezing arms, looking down at me with excited eyes as you wait for my answer. I move my hands to a gentle placement. One on your firm, sexy little ass cheek and my other around you in then into a cup of the pussy you pulled and bent me to look at.

At those touches I can feel you shiver and inhale sharply, but you don’t let go or soften. Your squeeze remaining tight as you enjoy the feeling of my hands softly pressed against two of your most feminine assets. But as you linger in the joy of it, my momentary submission and acceptance of terms, I move my butt-bound hand down and between your thighs. It meeting its partner in a hooking of fingers, just before I suddenly lift, both up and to the side in an attempted teardrop suplex.

Vicky:

Mind wandering, the sleazy videos I had been drawn into the world of wrestling with flooding back to me, imagining the angle of the camera about now, focused on your endlessly rounded bottom, tautening wild white tiger printed lycra being stretched against its will, just as I have your body doubled against its own wishes.

I tower over you, naturally my 5’5 frame all but poses as if being watched, understanding the theatrical side that the WWN value going hand in hand with the jaw-droppingly debased and highly sexy/sexual nature of it’s content. As my evaluator today, sadly, you’re unable to note such affectations just yet, what with your light brunette maned head snared and squashed to my hip bone, gripped tightly by my ’S’ locked fingers and tweaked for added emphasis.

My little heart pounding, the excitement very much palpable, your head leaving a trail of goosebumps down my side before your mane softly whips to my thigh as I draw you around the ring in a deliberately slow circle. Little size 4’s pattering cute white Nikes with blue ticks one in front of the other, my eyes drawn to your expression, resisting the urge to smirk, affording myself the chance to stare in to your beautiful face – at least half of it – without being caught, “this co-ed has a few lessons to teach today, Wildcat” I mock, softly in my affluent, husky English accent.

Lower lip dropping, i gently moan, almost silent to your ears, reacting to your hand on my firm, yet subtly rounded young bottom, your palms and fingertips pressed to the light blue cotton of my panties, it’s nothing compared to your right hand, cupping around the front of my womanhood so your fingertips pad the underside of lips, I feel hot, cheeks flushed, almost certainly reddened, the effect is to stop my motion, we halt in the centre of the ring, I reaffirm my wrangling of your head, making sure to squeeze a little tighter, a voiceless command to halt your attempts at seducing me…attempts that whirl around my head, intoxicating me……

THUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

Fluidly my little feet are swept from the ring floor and my head and back are crashed down on the canvas with one almighty bang, firm breasts jiggle behind their light blue bra. Legs follow, learning the hard way about being lured in to your spell despite having supposed control of your body, my arms release on impact, mouth agape and momentarily dazed as my slumped frame stirs on its back, looking to sit….

Jennifer:

You were toying with me. Testing not only me, but us. Seeing where our flirting ended and our desire to wrestle would begin. And though for a moment I let us bask in it, the feeling of our bodies touching without struggle and the desire for each other we both share. Suddenly I end it. Moving my searching and teasing hands to placement of leverage and then hitting you hard with a move for which you were not prepared.

At the loud, bass-heavy, and echoing impact that results, I take only a moment to recover and shift my neck left and then right, before, I turn and dive at you as you sit facing away from me. My right arm snaking beneath your chin, and pulling tight against your throat, as on my knees I take position. My left hand moving to a palm-first cup against your forehead, as there in the dark, dank, heat of this private ring I pull you deep into my signature sleeper.

One not meant to finish a match but weaken and exhaust, and to rob from you the energy I know you to have. A slow siphon I make worse, by lifting my left leg to a bend, planting my barefoot on the mat, and then leaning down and against you.

My heavy breasts and rigid nipples pressing hard into your back, as I settle and almost snuggle against you and into my sleeper. Wanting to steal you away, even from this empty arena, and wrap you in a blanket of intimacy we can struggle in. Not in wild leaps and dives or slams and shots, but just here in the closeness of this sleeper.

My body wrapped around yours as for the first time, our version of Latina vs. Brit plays out for no one else for each other.

Vicky:

left hand palming the filthy canvas, using it to prop my 21 year old frame up and escape your clutches, having been dealt a wake up call with a BANG….one which sent shivers to the ends of my fingertips, not purely from the pain, but from the tummy quivering sensation of knowing exactly what kind of woman I’m sharing a ring with, and who it is that is trying to conquer me today…the moment I hit the ring floor a fear creeps over my soul, an acknowledgement of the challenge I have with this mesmeric, mysterious and jaw-droppingly beautiful Latina, if i wish to leave this ring with my dignity I will need to conjure something special.

i begin to ease forwards, i get no further. you move softly, quickly, an arm wrapped around my neck and supported with a hand wrapped against my forehead, random brunette lengths of my mane tassle down over your fingertips as the warmth of your palm is oddly soothing compared with the instantaneous energy sapping cruelty of the arm glued to my throat….”UHHHHHH….” mouth gasping, I had practiced the sleeper hold with Roxy, feeling the odd combo of intimacy and utter alarm but always knowing I would be set free without consequence…now, the panic is immediate…little hands reach around your forearm and pull down hoping to ebb the pressure, a THUMP next to me, your left foot settling, a commanding, subtle movement that reaffirms your grip and position, your rounded breasts nuzzling with a firmer, flattening press to my back the second it does. you’re coldly silent, i hear your controlled breaths, your scent filling my nose and swirling around my senses, your soft hair sashed on my shoulders.

my eyes fluttering, i look forwards, I was sitting when you snared me, legs spread, the left bent at the knee, white trainer clad sole trying to gain some grip, as i’ve doubled over, light blue knicker clad bottom seated below your tight print clad pussy, my arms managing to ease the pressure somewhat but i remain utterly enveloped in your arms, gasping softly under my panicked breaths, softly shuffling on my rear but i remain yours…for now, stolen in the perfectly applied sleeperhold of an expert who wants my every sinew overwhelmed and subjugated to her whim

Jennifer:

There in the dimness and the air that smells of history and a sweat-covered destiny, I lean against and into you. Our battle, at that moment, slow. More struggle and strain that speed and separation. Each of us focusing not on grand moves, sly escapes, or sudden seizings of momentum, but instead on the small, delicate efforts we both exert. You to keep my forearm from pinning itself against your throat, and me to keep you not only beneath me, not only grounded, but slowly losing your energy.

My head shifting from left to right. My cheeks rubbing and pulling lightly at the hair on the back of your head, as on instinct alone, I let my body writhe. My breasts, abdomen, and already wet pussy grinding into your back and body, the moment of domination, control, and intimacy turning me on more than I could put into words if asked.

And though I allow myself that enjoyment, as you stir beneath me, I keep leaning. Letting your legs spread even further, as at the waist, you begin to bend over. A truth of tactical traction known to us both, as gently, sweetly, I kiss the back of your head. A sign of intimacy I share before I whisper, “go to sleep for me, Vicky…..”

Vicky:

Such naggingly strong arms attached to the body of a sultry, sexually mysterious stunner of a Latina beauty. fingers off two hands curl around forearm, my knuckles whiten, with little fuss and seemingly exertion of effort gauged from your steady. composed, curvy body and regulated breathing I realise in this instant that my opponent is exceptional. As my pretty, young face turns red in the cheeks, as they huff and puff, as my mouth drops open, as my expression winces and anguishes in fear – I realise making it to the top will be near to impossible unless I strive for the same levels.

A clumped strand of long flowing brunette mane eases down over my shoulder, mixed with the flame soaked auburn of yours as if my very determination were being overwhelmed and occupied by another being, my eyes back and forth, watching my spread legs white trainer clad size 4’s intermittently resting soles on the canvas for grip, slipping, gaining little, the soft and defined fearful gasps that leave my lips obvious to you the trouble I am in, body tilted forwards, the nuzzling of your tummy, breasts and warmed crotch gluing to my back coupled with the palm-on-forehead applied prison like sleeper make my tummy quiver with a curious twinge, an emphatic oddity of emotion that almost urges my soul to succumb and give myself up to you completely – knowing full well what that entails – your soft whispered “sleep” verse only making that desire more compelling.

My 21 year old, inexperienced, doll like frame wrapped in light blue and white as if overtly alluring you to my youth and model like figure and beauty as a means of subconsciously wanting to be overpowered, outwrestled and vanquished by your fuller, experienced frame. Left hand falling from your arm, the back resting between my spread thighs on the canvas, the right losing the pawed grip, your limbs soaking my energy up by the second “uuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” an almost orgasmic groan escapes my lips….

My left arm hooks over your planted left thigh and in a moment of clarity both feet plant on their soles, knees bending, as my body gets drained i go all out to combat my base desires, both arms reach up and wrapping behind your head, clutching as i PUSH down on my feet and aim to nudge you backwards while kicking my legs up in to the air in an ambitious attempt to flip my frame over yours and break your sleeper in the process, if i pull it off my front will come crashing down above your head…and possibly on top of you as well….

Jennifer:

Nothing could be sweeter that having your young, beautiful body and mine wrapped together and warring in a match from now until neither of us can even move. But as further and further you sink into my sleeper. Your prying hands, beginning to paw, and then weakly push at my forearm, it appears in my head.

A tasty thought.

A delicious thought.

What if I have you? What if this sleeper, one I meant only to use as an appetizer to all that will come after, finishes you? I had not thought it. Expected it. And yet as the image of you passing out in my arms enters my mind, I can think of nothing hotter. Nothing sexier than putting you to sleep, stripping you nude in your own ring, and then after I take off my own gear, laying down next and against you until you wake.

An opening of eyes that would come with soft, gentle kisses I would plant on your cheeks, as I worked my way to chin, and down your sexy, perky breasts. A journey that would continue down your tummy, past your still baby-fat made mound, and then to your kitten.

Letting you wake from your slumber, not alone and confused, but in ecstacy and as I bring us to the eventual end of the magnetic lust we both feel. But just as that morsel of fantasy fills my mind, you stir and strain. I should fight it and bear down on you once again. But in my own carnal imaginings I miss the chance.

And so you reach up, drive soles down, and then flip up and over me. Pulling me down to my back, as you not only escape my sleeper, but land atop me. Your tits, hanging just above my face as I try to recover and reclaim control. But before I do, you have me. Tired though you. Breathless though you are. I am yours, just as a moment before, you were mine.

Vicky:

A snapshot of the moment would capture my young, olive skin frame wrapped in light blue underwear and adorned with white trainers and wrist bands with my head wrapped and isolated in alabaster arms, captured by a hypnotic Latina and performing what would appear to be a flawless yoga bridge, hips and thighs thrust towards the ceiling, toes pointed in to the canvas, arms groped behind your head, a snapshot of course as my body is always in motion as i groan out through sheer exertion, as if injected with adrenaline from the clash of two minds inside my inexperienced head and heart – one urging me to submit to my base desires, the other reminding me of who i am – affluent, stubborn, a winner. The latter wins out….THUUUUUUUUUD….the ricketing, aged ring trembles on the impact of my front crashing down to my toes and thighs, having nudged you back your top half acting as a cushion to smush my firm, curved, blue bra clad stiffened nippled breasts down on to, namely your under emotive face…by instinct my thighs spread somewhat safeguarding against an immediate roll while my right arm semi-roughly ‘encourages’ your nose and mouth to slip between the bulge of my cupped breasts and flatten against my breast bone by working it’s hand behind your head, that arm wrapping around, forming a fleshed prison like pillow for your pretty eyes to flutter their lashes against, your nostrils to sniff and your soft lipped mouth to pant against in panic as i reply in kind…albeit fortuitously…by stealing your breath away…my head raising to peek down your frame, that same twinge in my lower tummy immediate as my eyes drink in your bulging breasts and an undulating curved frame wrapped in the tightest of tiger printed leotards…to tame of be tamed? The thought crosses my mind yet again, i reassert my arm to tighten further, my left hand deliberately moving between the valley formed by your globes and PRESSING down softly, deliberately avoiding the obvious targets while silently inferring I have you pinned under me against your will….”You’ll grovel to cum when I’ve finished playing with you…now, go to sleep for me, Jennifer” delivering your line back to you and restraining my excitement as i utter them with zero emotion

Jennifer:

I have you sinking. Drifting. And giving into me. Your body less and less able to keep my weight from pushing you over. And with every second that such decline and defiance continues, I feel myself melting. 

It is the feeling I love. 

The feeling that has always been one of my dark pleasures when wrestling. The sight, the feel, the sound of exhaustion and weakness taking either myself or my opponent over. And as it does you, I shiver, even as my forearm slowly slips deeper and deeper beneath your chin. Your once pulling hands sliding with our growing sweat off and then down to the mat. 

It will be devastating your defeat. Humiliating in its speed and finality. And yet I will be so very sweet when you wake. So very attentive and gentle when your eyes slowly open and find me next to you. 

Such thoughts at first flooded, but at that moment blind me to your subtle movements. Your deft sliding. Your sudden driving of feet, and then miraculous drive forward and then back. Your body flipping up, turning us over. Not to our sides, but me to my back, with you above me. Your perfect perky tits pressing into my face as your arms snake behind my head, neck, and then lock me deep in an unexpected breast smother. 

It is shocking and jaw-dropping, how quickly you flipped the tables on me. And though I am so very fresh, if not wet between the thighs, I can do not but squirm, as my bare feet plant into the mat. You have me positioned so perfectly and held so tightly. And still my hands move to your arms and shoulders — back and body. Not looking for a weak spot, but just trying to figure out where my body ends, and yours begins. The speed at which the pendulum swung leaving me not only unsure of how to escape, but how you have me captured. Other than the unmistakable feeling of your chest gap pressing into my mouth and nose, and your tits wresting against my cheeks. Your hard nipples stabbing into my shoulders as I try desperately to shift left and then right.

The breast of my last breath already expended, as my suffocation begins. 

And with your lips trembling, feet planting and hands pawing I know i’ve managed to thaw that demeanour. In a swift, foul swoop and rebuttal I have you struggling, writhing, wriggling underneath me, your breath stolen courtesy of my perky 32c’s wrapped in their light blue bra, the condensation of your gasps trailing a thin, warm layer of moisture on my rounded bust, a bust that nuzzles, nestles and suffocates its olive skinned flesh around your nose while filling your lips. i reassert my arms around your head post your efforts to escape coming to no avail, I wonder how afraid you are right now? 

I play you at your own game, despite a gaze of energised concentration across my pretty face my movements to control you are subtle, allowing my top half to simply press down on your facial features and pin your upper frame to the ring floor on its back. As are my words, despite soft gasping of my own having performed acrobatics to evade an early nap via your sleeper “should have put this much effort in to your sleeper, tough girl….then this rookie wouldn’t be making an example out of you” as if placing the cherry on a cake of cockiness i press my pink glossed lips down on to your right, tiger print lycra clad breast, over the nipple, before biting playfully…never losing focus of my goal, to steal your breath away underneath me. 

i can feel this taking it’s toll on your efforts to break free, through naivety or simple arrogance I choose to ease off you, unfolding my pillows like arms from under your head and moving the hands to your shoulders, a platform for me to PRESS down and scoot my young, 21 year old frame up on to its knees wrapped in my blue underwear and white Nikes, legs spread, back arched as my top half pushes out over your head and you watch the underside of my firm breasts sway, crotch nuzzling the top of your head, hands remain pressed down to your shoulders and you watch me, with gasped breath move forwards, an eclipsing figure stealing your light, knees shuffling easing off my hands and creeping ever forwards as your gaze is drawn to my rounded bottom then forced to interact, your nose grazing the channel between my cheeks, teasing the tightly restrained lips of my sex behind the light blue cotton of my knickers, and as i then work to settle on my knees by your side, i leave you with that scent, the taste of my under carriage before i bring you back down to earth with two hands taking FULL clumps of that silky brunette mane…left sole plants, i push up “feet…” i snap….

Jennifer:

I shift and shimmy — paw and pull — reach and try to roll beneath you, but you have me. My effort-warmed cheeks now wet with a quickly growing sweat that drips and disperses across your olive-hued tits. The liquid of it making it through the fabric of your top, as you work diligently to keep me pinned beneath you and breathless. 

A state I try to escape from, yes at first with my hands and arms, and then by bridging. Once and again. Trying to lift my body high enough to roll you off, or even crab walk out from beneath you. 

But you hold me tight. Relishing the dominance you have found. Speaking to me once again of my mistake and your control. And though I know this might be it, had we lunged at each other in our undies, wrestling in your flat or my apartment back in the States, this is a wrestling match.

And so just as desperation might have otherwise set in, you suddenly release me. Lifting your upper body off of me, and taking your tits from my face as you raise into a kneel. There, on the mat I sputter and hack, gasping for breath, as slowly, teasingly, you pull me up. Dragging my face in front of your sweet pussy lips, against your mound, and then in a sudden surge to my feet. 

Or at least you would have. 

Had I not, acting on my own ring awareness and experience, quickly turned and dropped my body, wrapping my right leg and arm behind your two knees, draped my left arm around your neck, and then rolled you into a small package. 

One that I cinch you into, as in the closeness, there in that feminine ball, I speak the count. “1….” 

Vicky:

There’s a smirked arrogance written across my pretty face contained with a hint of youthful excitement, a feeling of dominance, control, something not felt before and unique to this situation, bending a beautiful woman to my will against her own, it’s felt more keenly as my hands sink into a sea of volumised auburn mane as my own sashes on top of your head, possessing your tresses and using them by means to hurt and guide you upwards. left sized 4 white with blue ticked Nike presses down to the ring floor, hoisting me upwards as my natural position leaves me doubled over you somewhat in order to drag your curvaceous, fuller figure where i wish it to be. i look over your locks, watching the back of your exotic and exquisitely body hugging thonged one piece, staring at the creamy hips and bottom it reveals, feeling an unspeakable twinge in my tummy, my own rounded rear thrust behind me as the blue cotton wraps it’s peachy contours…….

“HnnnnnGhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

your weight hangs from my neck via your wrapped left arm, i barely know about your right leg and arm working behind both of my legs until it is far too late…naturally your twist and rolling momentum fold me over myself so that I find myself curled in to a ‘C’ shape, arms sprawled, head/neck find themselves cocooned on the canvas and locked in your draped, top half pin, secured by a throttling arm. legs pressed together at the knees, ankles and kissing cute white trainers held by you, my rear now jutted upwards as the blue cotton is forced to tauten to an even greater limit over my sumptuous bottom, around my head my mane fanned out like a pool of sobbing brunette tears – and the first instant I’m aware of the deep trouble I’m in resounds in “1” from your lips, uttered with nonchalance in that mysterious aura you possess.

i’m scared…

struggling to breathe, pained in a wrapped pin with your body securing every inch of me, i writhe as if fighting for my life, ass swaying, fingers scraping their nails on plastic covered springed wood for purchase and girlish, desperate gasped tones which reveal my 21 years and novice like innocence immediately having cloaked them since our eyes first met.

In trouble but threshing my body in a spasmodic like torsion in order to escape your skilful clutches and avoid giving myself entirely to you….

Jennifer:

“2….” I mutter in the closeness of our sudden, balled-up embrace. Looking for a pin. A quick one. A stolen few seconds that would leave me the winner, if not by more than the skin of my teeth. 

But as I try to hold onto your youthful body, you kick and push — struggle and strain to get free. Your final effort breaking you free, just a breath before I was to count three. 

At that moment, each of us knowing that momentum and control hangs in the air between us like a jump ball, we fight back to our knees and lunge for each other. Our hands moving to each others shoulders and locking us in a lockup, though at half-height and without the leverage we would have on our feet. 

There, on our knees, and pressing into each other, I comment: “Almost had you….”. It isn’t cruel or sensual, but it is enough to make your mind work, and lips part to reply. And when such occurs, I move, dip, and try to scurry behind you. But you’re alert and ready, and do the same, just as I go to rise. 

Leaving us, for that moment, to look like a whirling dervish, until finally you catch me from behind, your hands clasping just below my tummy, as my own move to pry the same loose. Your perky tits and rigid nipples stabbing into my back, as I feel you pull me so tight, I feel as if we might become one.

Vicky:

Young frame wrapped up, bottom pointing upwards, light blue panties stretched across the subtle curves of my cheeks form the half cut, choked, spluttering, gasping, wriggling – legs slightly spread, wrapped up and impounded by your busty Latina frame, such is the proximity that my reddening face has a momentary glance in to your eyes the instant you count “2” a strange fate meaning we share a second to stare at each other and i find the time in this folded pin to shudder as we do so…your face seeming so calm, nonchalant……”NHGHHHHHHHHHHH” and then I writhe myself free, the pair of us flopping down on to the canvas in a tangled mess, both rolling away from the other…

That was close, heart pounding but my only thought is to wrap my arms around you again, i spin, yet again our eyes flash across one another, that white tiger print wrapping busty, rounded breasts doing it’s best to distract me, you see the flustering of my cheeks, mouth hanging, the panting from the effort, a second later our breasts mash, mushroom and PRESS together, shoulders kissing, chin slipping  to your shoulder as yours does mine, those fucking cold American inflected words causing my tummy to flip in anger and my response of “Almost…” lacking any wit and snapped at you without thought.

my toes gripping the ring floor through my size 4 white Nikes, I’m ready….you explode and go to envelope around me, but although I’m drained I’m thinking clearly, a circular dance to our feet and I find myself behind you, negligible height difference allowing me to peek over your left shoulder, my hands already around your tummy, over the lycra of your one piece, pulling it back against you, to control but to compress as well. firm young breasts digging stiffened nipples to your shoulders through blue cotton, your rounded, exposed cheeks gyrating their flesh firmly against my sex, i bite my lower lip but retain you despite the distraction.

throughout our intense battle I have almost forgotten why we are here – that i am here to impress and earn the right for more….you as adjudicator. your struggles turn us in a slow semi circle, but I retain you, when you’re efforts ease off my head turns and takes a playful bite of your lobe, in the next instant my legs spread, size 4’s plant and my grip around your tummy suddenly constricts “HGNHHHHHHHHH” I HAUL backwards and LIFT you with everything my young frame has, demonstrating my agility, strength, power and skill as I attempt to THUMP your body to it’s back and head behind me onto the canvas and whip your legs to fold over you, my arms look to retain you by encircling your midsection, leaving my knees pointing the cheap roof of this damp building with my toes pointed in to the ring floor as if i were performing yoga….”1………”

Jennifer:

Feeling your young, supple body press against mine tears at my concentration, but unfocused as I am, I know I am in trouble. And that with you behind, with your arms wrapped, I am in your full control. And so I prepare.

To shimmy. 

To shake. 

To shift and then escape. 

But before I can do more than half of one, and a quarter of another, you lift me up, pull me back, and then slam me down to the mat in a perfectly executed german suplex. One that would have made both Eddie Guerrero and Chris Benoit proud. 

My neck slamming down hard on the matt, as my head bounces off the same hard, dirty surface. The body beneath both bent over, and weighing my shoulders down to the matt as I hear you count. “1……..”. 

I should kick out! I should shove one of my shoulders up and off the canvas. But instead I remain as you count “2……..” 

An announcement of numeration that makes my eyes blink open, body twist, and right arm shoot off the matt just hard enough for you to know I’ve broken your count. A knowledge that moves you to release me, and in my state of utter dismay and your exhaustion, to allow both of us to just lay. Me with tiny yellow birds flying around my head and you with your lips parted and chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. My legs spread and resting lifeless on either side of your upward-facing head and chest. 

The uniqueness of our match giving you pause and demanding that you remain. To ponder. You’ve had hundreds of matches. And never have things felt so intimate. So sensual. So … distracting. What is it about me? You wonder. What is it about the two of us? You ask, without words. Your unmoving lips now dry, though your body, just like mine is wet with sweat. 

Questions you set aside, as you move to begin your attack anew. Your upper body lifting up off the mat, so that you can sit up and then stand. But just at the very last length where I might do so, I reach down, between my legs, and grab the last few strands of your lifting hair. With them I pull you back down, and your head and neck between my thighs, as the same snap closed. 

That’s when you struggle. Squirm. And strive to get free. Trying to turn from your back to your chest, and in my greed I let you. Your head turning in the small space I allow. And just when you feel you might be able to escape, I take that same space away. My soft inner thighs closing down against your cheeks, and trapping you in a tight, head scissor. Your head at such an angle that your mouth and lips, if not lifted or actively held away, press against my moist, one-piece covered pussy.

A position that makes my lips curve into a smirk, as I look down at you, as between my legs you remain. “Mmmm, why don’t we stay down here for a minute, Vicky…..” I say with a giggle, before I suddenly squeeze my thighs hard, and send a surge of pain through your head, neck, and upper back.

Vicky:

the blood runs to my head, pretty face swelling from the immediacy of oxygen, body bridged in to the shape of alluring perfection, from head to toe the image almost too perfect, as if I had asked you to pose with me…consider this; brunette crown planted, young breasts and hips thrust into the air wrapped in tight light blue cotton at the summit of my arched frame, tippy toes of size 4 white Nikes with adorable, attire matching blue ticks sticking in to the canvas…two defined, olive skinned arms wrapped around the curved tiger printed belly of my unspeakably stunning rival, that fuller, more womanly body slammed, forced and held into place against its will, FOLDED with the elegance of origami…..thonged bottom pointing into the air as if pushing up like a beacon of distress

…..”2”……

fuck I’ve got her….my tummy quivers, almost losing my grip, eyes bulging slightly from the pressure…..you writhe and it’s all over….i release, heart sinking, in that moment I had pictured our eyes meeting again, this time with the roles confirmed – you as the submitted, my prop to play with – gasping, spluttering breaths as a certain curved asset eclipsed your view before settling on it’s target…..

I SLAP down on my palms to the ring floor in sheer frustration, “GRRRRRR” that rumbling girls moan very clear to you, i press up…eager to turn, attack, destroy when my head drives backwards…”unghhhhhhh” i watch the ceiling roll before two creamy thighs are around my cheeks “NHGHHHHHHHH” arms wrapping around the sinewed, alabaster thighs – that power, the strength – i gasp, having to watch nude ankles lock and trap me, mouth dropped making syncopated “OH……UH…..UH” sounds that signal real fear and real pain. my hips rock left to right, trying to escape, and i do…

No, i don’t….turning in my haste, the cruelty and cunning obvious settling on my front and instantly snared in to your trap for a second time, and, despite the lack of being smothered, my lips and nose all but glue to your warm, damp lycra tiger printed one piece pussy, pushing my trembling breath repeatedly against you. brunette mane spilling over your creamy thighs to the ring floor, eyes with close up of a tight lower tummy painted in an exotic print, foolishly working up between bulging breasts to set eyes on my hauntingly beautiful foe…hands wrapping your thighs as my poor head is crushed without mercy and you reap the rewards with anguished gasps hitting the spot….

Jennifer:

In spurts, it comes. The action between us. Only to slow down to a crawl when we grab one another in some hold and melt into it like two lovers, lost to the world.

Knowing only each other and the intimacy of the moment.

And though there is some likeness to such moments, both in excitement and sensuality, we are battling. Struggling. Striving against not only each other, but the desire we have for each other. Seeking to best those carnal needs and then steal a pin or a submission. Yes, because it is what we were tasked to do, but also because we want it. Need it. Yearn for it.

The opportunity to claim the other as victress and in full control. A glimpse of which, we each share, as back and forth we go. Sleepers, suplexes, and now a tight head scissor. One I have locked you in, keeping your pretty little face between my soft, sexy thighs, as your nose and mouth lean hard into my fabric-covered, molten-hot, and river-wet sex. Each of which call to you, as I sit up, and lean on bent elbows.

“When we’re done here….” I begin softly, as I reach down, and brush a few loose strands of hair out from in front of your eyes. “And after I’ve had my fill for the night, I might just sleep with you like this.” My every word drips with a genuine lust and transparent intention. “Wouldn’t that be nice? Drifting off to sleep with your face in my pussy after a night of wild, post-match sex, Vicky?”

For a moment my thighs end their squeezing and I wait for you to respond. But then, when I see in your eyes the want to fire back, and reply, I once more put all I have into a powerful pulsing of leg muscles that makes you groan out in pain. A sound that makes me smile, as your hands move to my body.

Your touch pushing me to drop from my elbows to my back, and to send my own hands chasing after yours a moment later. Looking to clasp our fingers together and lock you in deeper and take from you an avenue of escape.

Vicky:

I don’t flail, so much as gyrate my young frame from side to side on the canvas, hips slapping the tattered blue floor, while my little white Nikes dig their toes in looking for grip but repeatedly failing to achieve any purchase. The easy, and even accurate analogy would be the animal seized in a trap, a distinct fear embeds in my tummy, it’s not the coincidental blushing from having my nubile lips and small button nose forced to smear, press and smother against your mature, womanly pussy, or the equally overpowering pain from the same creamy, powerful thighs that secure and vice my small head in place, instead, as my eyes flicker over your predatorial lycra printed tummy, past your suffocating sex drenched lips, over your bountiful, big, bulging breasts and in to your eyes i feel a foreboding dread of being sexually snared by your devilishly enchanting aura.

“NNNNNMMMMMMMMPPHHHHHHHHHH” soft, undramatic gasps escape my mouth, warming your cunt like stoking a fire, my writhing having turned us almost halfway around the ring as if moving from 12 to 6 on a clock, where all your elbow settled figure has to do is remain thigh wrapped around me and move with my now desperate struggles, while you menacingly watch on without any perceived effort, watching as you must have done so many times before, the ‘first timer’ 21 year old, rookie frame wear itself out, lacking the discrete skills that experience brings to free myself. taking the time to gently goad me in that Latina inflected American drawl, softly uttered and allowing every word to sink in to my head “had my fill” “sleep with you” “pussy” “post match sex”…..my spine tingles, but why? i turn us another 3 hours….that horrible conflict in my head so clear, half of me reacting to such threats by giving another huge effort to escape….and failing….slumping to my front, breasts flattening, my firm bottom wrapped in light blue cotton swaying for your amusement, our eyes meet again….your hands working a few loose strands of light brunette hair from my view, making that ocular connection clearer “MMMMMMMM” a defined muffled sigh….

such is my imagination coupled with imagery of your own wins on video, I picture my body straddling yours as it more or less lays now, i’m naked, you don’t allow me to face you, instead i look out in to an open, dank, run down little council owned grotty gym through worn out ropes, my arms bound behind my back, my mouth stuffed, your hand in my hair, another on my hip, persuading me to ‘bounce’……

distracted as you take my hands in yours after a small battle, but i lose, my movements are marred by drowsiness, cocooned little head beginning to throb, face glowing red, eyelids getting heavier….”MMMMPHPHPHHH” girlish moans clearly less amplified, every second I find myself being wrapped up by the invisible spell you hold over me, the conflict inside me becoming almost unbearable….i’m a natural winner, affluent, over-achieving background coupled with beauty and brains to make me special, and yet, with my face pressed against your pussy as your thighs punish my head….i feel as close as i ever have to admitting defeat…..

Jennifer:

Like every post impact hold, we linger in it. My headscissor. Seconds turning to minutes, and minutes into eternities, as we two women struggle and strain against each other in the dimly lit heat of this long-suffering underground ring room. 

Our pause not brought on by allowance, but parity and talent. Qualities that allow us to catch, keep, and counter every attempt at escape, until the gambits are too many, and the pleasure we get from dominance too great. 

And though it is that latter which threatens once more to cloud my judgment and blind my eyes to your efforts of escape, I hold on. Hold strong. And keep you locked deep between my thighs. Your mouth and nose pressed so tightly to my fabric-covered kitten that your ever sound of strain and frustration sends electric shocks through my body and up my spine. 

I should keep you there forever. But instead I go for more. Using our clasped hands to roll to the right in a fifth, then to the left in the same. Only to repeat the same semi-roll once and then again. Until in a single fluid motion, I roll you to you back and me atop you. My locked ankles unclasping and sliding back behind your upturned biceps.

That’s when I am to take it. My seat atop my throne — or your face, as you might prefer to call it. A dual-named delicacy I intend to remain on until I hear or feel you have submitted to me. But just as I go to lower and place, I feel your previously weak, submissive hands strengthen and pull hard. Yanking me forward so hard that I have no choice but to tuck my head and then roll forward and off of you. 

My head landing next to yours. Our warm cheeks pressed together, my right and your left as we look up to the sky. Our hands still clasped and spread out to our sides, as each of us take a moment to recover.

Vicky:

Why am i positively convulsing, breath stolen, face smeared, nose and mouth buried and planted to this Latina’s white tiger printed one piece clad pussy, warm, thick thighs wrapped around my head, ears deafened, eyes flicker, breath stolen in more ways than one you watch my young body squirm, react to having my air taken, my pride stolen, the reality dawning of such a humiliating, energy sapping hold that firms my nipples as much as it terrifies me, hands in yours, mane spilling over your creamy pins “MMMMMMPHHHHH” gasped, muffled moans of desperation…..lids getting heavier, you watch me, even now there remains a stoic mystery in your sexy demeanour that arrests my soul and seduces me while repelling and imbuing a sense of dread and despair as my 21 year old frame is being slowly submitted without realising….rather expertly you rock….left, right….left right…..

Then over my body goes, wrapped in its light blue bra and panties, little white knee pads and white trainers….slapped down on my back as your rounded, succulent, hypnotic bottom settles down over my pretty features, settling your weight….captivating me in a move I had fantasised about for years watching the videos from your wrestling league….now facing the reality of being smothered out or submitted by one of the leagues most gorgeous wrestlers.

“MMPHMMPHHHHH” my lids flutter, lower half writhing….helplessly left to right….as if a fish had landed on water, gasping for its last breath….lashes teasing your creamy inner thighs….then from nowhere i find the energy to PULL down on those hands and DRIVE my hips up while my trainers plant to roll you off of me…..”UHHHHHHHH UHHHHHH UHHHHHHH” my body lays like a star….spread in 5 points, hands still trapped by yours, although free I feel subdued, drowsy and sluggish stir slightly, able to free my hands finally and make a slow move to sit myself up, trying to get to my knees……

Jennifer:

It isn’t something I worked on, but instead something I was born with. A thick, bottom-heavy lower half. One that gives me a low center of gravity, a useful base from which to apply and resist pressure, and also, a delicious weapon to use whenever I find myself in a more intimate contest.

A contest like this, with girls like you.

And so I tried to use it. To place it. To seal my soft inner thighs, fabric-covered valley, and bubbly butt over your already flushed little face. But just as I shift, taking your weakness as complete and as victory, I find myself pulled forward, flipped, and then sent to my back hard on the mat.

My body skipping once, and then twice, as I cling to you only by our locked fingers. Fingers you take from me only a moment before I reach down, to place my palms flat against my aching lower back. Groaning as behind me you sit up. Not vibrant and ready, but half-spent and needing time to recover.

But can you chance it? Can you wait to regain your strength? Or will you pounce now, before you’ve found those breaths I stole from you?

Vicky:

i stare across a blank, rundown gym via 3 red ropes, the only sound in the room our gasps and panting, the match having drawn out long enough to really take its toll, I’ve given my all, feeling almost tamed at times and overwhelmed with your skill and beauty, i sit up, the scent of your womanhood drawn across my lips and nose, marked…pretty olive skinned face flustered in the cheeks, lush brunette mane still volumized and semi-perfect despite the onset of perspiration. I half expected your arms to be around my head by now, trapped once more in a deep sleeper and certain that this time there would be no way out. instead I hear your writhing, with a drowsy peek over my shoulder you have barely risen, instead taking the rll off me quite badly….throbbing, heavy limbs reacting with glee, i turn my svelte, 21 year old English frame around, on hands and knees, pushing my palms to the ring floor and settling my white Nike heels to my perfect cheeks, you make an effort to sit, your palms pressing down…i knee-shuffle forwards…..right clammy palm working in front of your eyes, left cupping your chin as I bring you straight on to your back again with a light ‘bump’. without theatrics my young frame continues to shuffle forwards…..knees spread, in an instant your gorgeous Latina gaze is eclipsed by half bottom cut light blue panties gripping a subtly curvaceous young derriere, you’re afforded only one gasp before my pussy stuffs your mouth, wedging it open from the timing with my mound, nose easing between my cheeks…..sitting on your face with arrogance….the soles of my trainers gripping around the crown of your head, my weight now fully settled, snaring you in my prison. i moan softly, biting my lower lip from the sheer audacity and utter pleasure derived from having another woman’s face buried in my rear. as my knees spread a little further my eyes focus on your spring-loaded like bulging breasts behind the white tiger print lyrca……then seize…..hands expanding over the flesh and fingers dig in…a light press for good measure “oooohhhhhhhhhh…………..1…………..”

Jennifer:

Not just firm control, but vice-like. Steel-wrot. The game between us being mine to take if I were patient and willing to fight back my own desire. My desire for more control of you and our contest — your body and your breath.

Drive by such weakness I press forward. Pushing my advantage until suddenly, I find myself lifted and flipped. Into the air and down on my back. Then before I can recover or even reassess you’re atop me. Not in some hold either of us might recognize from our training, but paying me back for my efforts at keeping my pussy pressed against your face. Your firm, toned, sexy body climbing atop me, and then lowering down.
The perfectly round, muscle-defined curves of your ass landing on either side of my nose, as your hot, wet, and yet still fabric-covered pussy slips between my lips and into my mouth. There it remains, even as my nose slips with every second deeper and deeper into your darkstar. The fabric that should have kept it separate having, in your effort at speed, moved to the side and out of the way. The tip of my face’s center dipping into you, and causing you to moan though I cannot hear it.

My heart beating far too loud and fast to hear anything other than its pitter patter beat and my own voice as I speak into and around your cunt. The words could be threats. Curses. Promises. And though you, like I, cannot make out syllable or sound, you feel their vibration. They coming in tiny, rumbles and rambles that send electric shocks through your body — my hands reaching up all the while to find you. To grab you. And in desperation pull you off of me.

But as my digits search blindly, I feel you reach down and grab my breasts. They, at that moment, being all yours to do with as you please. Your feet cupping around my head, bent beneath your thighs, as my own legs spread and bridge. My wet cunt flashing in the dim light of the basement we writhe in. Baring for you the truth of my own excitement, even as you share with me your own. One hard drag of slide after another.

Vicky:

“………t…………two” my young voice, naturally affluent and husky positively purrs as it stutters over a second digit to further count the enigmatic Latina beauty further towards a humiliating loss. From behind the top of your sprawling red-fleck maned head appears immobile, bullied to the floor, as it is, with my succulent light blue cut knicker clad rear. 

That rear view….literally…working up from imagined spectators over a deeply tanned, naturally olive skinned trim back to sweeping, swaying silky brunette locks that tickle to the centre of my spine with my pretty, flustered young face gazing the other way, across my opponents bow, her fucking drool inducing frame, floored, flummoxed – almost finished – wrapped in that predatory print, a print my hands now possess, her rounded breasts, natural and yet almost imaginary in shape and size groped/squeezed/grabbed smugly in my small palms…my eyes close, lower, glossed lip bitten “threeee………………” i allow my accent to succinctly count that third number back straight, hips pushed slightly forwards, pussy STUFFED in your Latina gob, head flicking out my mane just slightly as i imagine what this looks like, how stunning it would be to see myself, riding your face while you writhe, wriggle and desperately struggle to break free…..

”uh uh” i snap with a cocky, brattish, uppity snarl, watching those hips thrust the ceiling as your curvy figure fights for survival, eyes catching the glimmer sheen as the light hits your mound and reveals more than you would wish me to see…..as i utter that simple dismissal my left hand grips my hip proudly as my right runs down over your belly, expands its fingers and PRESSSES down into your skin, undulating the tiger print lycra like a trampoline and flattening that busty bod right back down on to the ring floor and keeping it there “FOUR……….” and then, just to really make your fury escalate i add “easy…”

Jennifer:

I have to get up!

I have to get out!

I can’t lose this match! I can’t let Rheena and Brooke — Kat and the rest of the WWN roster think that their hottest new signee flew over to England just to … to … get smothered out by her admittedly scrumptious ass and pussy.

But there’s no air to breathe that isn’t laced with tiny droplets of your fabric-filtered excitement. No leverage to turn left or shift right. Instead there is only the muted sound of your counting. First one, then two, and all the while I bridge and buck. Looking as if I am fucking the air as I try to throw you off of me, tough to less than no avail. Your prim and proper voice curling and cooing as you use me as your throne. A cute little tea cup no doubt in your hand, as your pinky lifts and pretty lips sip.

A frustrating image that plagues me as finally, cruelly, you count to three. And it’s over. You’ve won. Not with a submission hold or a finisher, but instead by sitting on my face. A sight and scene, as sexy as it must be, fills me with disappointment, even as my nethers twitch and tingle at the prospects of giving into you entirely. An unspoken promise our intimate battle has made plain.

And yet, in my momentary despair, I hear it: you still counting. “FOUR……….” you announce so loudly I feel spittle from your lips splashing down on the effort-warned flesh of my thighs and calves. Of course! I’m in Britain! You have kings. King Kong Bundy! Five Counts! I reason quickly, and incorrectly, just as your liquid sprinkle comes with a hand which plants on my body and presses me down hard. So hard that my arms slip free from their placement beneath your shins. They then moving quickly to your extended arm, and yanking. Not softly or sensually but as hard as I can muster, pulling your proudly placed upper body forward and your face between my own waiting thighs.

Each of us, in our own desperation, tightening, straightening, and locking each other in a deep headscissor. My body, with yours atop it rolling to the right, and breaking your pin, just before you would have been able to count to five.

A glorious escape I would celebrate, if my mouth and lips weren’t still buried in your pussy, just as yours are once again buried in mine.

Vicky:

Allowing myself to glow, cheeks crimson, self-satisfying smugness, just out of my teens and schooling a veteran, a virtual judge, flown here by a wickedly decadent wrestling league to see what it is I can do…and now you know. removed from my affluent background, the well-to-do, butler wouldn’t melt prissy everyday Victoria replaced with a dominant, wicked, skilfully adept wrestler – rookie and first timer natural – overwhelming this seismic Latina beauty, i’m an utterance away from my win, the lights flashing in my eyes, will I be heading stateside soon to be greeted by the owners?

THUMP……….that thought erased the instant it arrives as my arm is yanked, head is bounced off the ring floor between luscious, smooth tanned thighs and trapped, feeling your fleshy pins dig in to my ears while deliberately drawing my pretty, and by now, panting face towards your sex drenched pussy but never quite touhcing, merely the scent filling my senses as my panicked warm breaths puuushhh back over your folds as you begin to take control of my lower half and bully me first to my side….then to my back, your fuller, curbier frame settling on top, pressing down, pinning, eyes peeking at the dimmed light above in the rundown gym, through a frame of Latina limbs

“UHHh…..UHhhhhhhhh” startled, gasping, hands gripping at the backs of your legs and trying to pry them open, my legs having captured your own head in the madness and doing what I can to keep your eyes where they belong….gawping at my hot fucking derriere and blur panty clad pussy as my trainer clad feet wrap around one another and try desperately to claw some of my advantage back….all the while my body beginning to feel the effects of a drawn out match, my youthful stamina slowly letting me down

Jennifer:

Tope Suicidas!

Meltzer Drivers!

Canadian Destroyers!

We were supposed to do all of it! Leg slaps and diiiiiiiiivvveeesss. But instead, in the dark, head of this underground dogo, we latched on and never let go. We wrapped our bodies together and held so tightly to each other that with every passing moment we smothered each others flame.

And so now, nearly thirty minutes later, we simply and slowly roll. Up and over, fully and then in half. In a quarter and then an eighth the other way. Our trembling thighs clenching with what strength they have left as we try desperately to turn this mutual head scissor to our advantage.

Each of us intending to use it to snuff out whatever energy the other has left.

But I can feel it coming for me first. The dimming of my outer vision, as exhaustion sets in. The warmth rushing to my head as your youth-toned legs squeeze at my neck and the base of my skull. Each of which tell me I will lose if I don’t act. That I will pass out if I don’t escape this thigh prison you have locked me in.

And so I reach in. Between. Grab your bottoms, and pull them with a quick yank out of the way. Then, before you can react or even prepare yourself, I drive my tongue into your sex. Letting it enter your pink chasm entirely, before I pull it out, just far enough to pin it against your pubic ridge and then drag it up across your clit.

At the sensation and betrayal of the rules we set without words, your thighs part, and I am free! And though I could pounce, I instead release you in the same and then roll off of you and away. Gasping for air, as I savor the flavor of your essence as it drips down my tongue and into the back of my throat.

Vicky:

Gasping, trembling lips, pushing warmed, desperately forced breath over your thinly clad, exotically tiger print pussy. My head throbs, the pounding of my heart invading my mind as my eyes flit across the swelling of your thonged one-pieced rear, voluptuous alabaster cheeks grazing the reddened ones either side of my nose, the aroma of your excitement is clear, wondering if the kinked, depraved thoughts in my own nascent mind are providing the same betrayal for you to savour as my lithe, tanned young legs continue to grip your head as if my very life depended on it….”Uhhhhhhhhhhh…..u…….Uhhhhhh…mmmmmmuuuuuuuu……..” the dank, cheap council owned ring room occupied with ever increasing moans from our lips, the battle on a knife edge, quite literally 50/50 in our control, from your own succinct flustered coo’s I can tell you’re struggling as well, i need to hold on……..

“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK” as if my lower half had been numbed from the sheer grip of my thighs that i barely feel the delicate drawing aside of my light blue knickers, exposing my young pussy to you, innocently, freshly shaved almost as if I realised I may be forced to display more than I’m comfortable with….not that the sight of such a mouth watering temptation halts you from impaling my twat and instantly stunning my frame under you…no fingers, boys or toys ever giving me the overwhelming desire for more, despite the all but brief – and almost certainly deliberate – tonguing which culminates with my pearl like clit getting a forceful prod.

Had my legs unwrapped from your head out of sheer disgusted elation that I allowed my body to feel, I don’t know….but , as you roll off, me picking up to your knees a little sluggishly next to me, I am left with a tingling sensation covering my skin from head to toe as if suddenly dunked in freezing water then thrown back out onto land, the competitive desire my affluent background instilled me, the sheer implausibility of losing. The basic need to win and achieve being given the strictest of tests, my 20 year old, pro attired, rookie frame rolling to my side and pushing down to scramble to my knees, my flustered pretty face looking spellbound almost, so much so that as my hands move deliberately towards your lustrous reddened mane.

I barely know if I can bring myself to drag you back on your feet to try and finish you off….dare I even think of what it is I really want here? left white Niked trainer clad foot plants, scooping your mane in to a bunch on top of your head like a spring onion i PUSH down and try to drag you back up to your feet…..i’m going to end you, yep, i’m going to finish you off, quash the silly thoughts in my head, standing tall, on my last legs now, thighs burning as you are brought up to puppet like proportions in front of me and held by your mane until my right arm wraps over your head to plant it to my hip……..left hand hooking the right arm of your tight lycra one piece as if i need the grip to keep me standing “uhhhhh….uhhhhhhh…….savour that pussy……uhhhhh…….i decide what you get now………”

Jennifer:

It was cheap. It was a cheat. No doubt something that would get me disqualified if we had a referee or if he could somehow catch my soft pink weapon driving into your wet inner walls. But I had not choice. No options. It was either use my tongue, and cross a line, or lose and miss out on a chance to wrestle one of the legends of the industry.

And so I chose the low road. Using our shared turned on to distract you and break our mutual headscissor. But even free of such a hold, I am spent, confused, and weak. My breath ragged and failing. My mind spinning and sight dizzy. And so, even after I earn my freedom, I just lay. Just remain.

On my back, with my knees bent, and the soles of my bare feet pressed to the mat. Waiting. Resting. And hoping that I can recover before you bring an end to our little match. One that has been the hottest and most intimate of my entire life — at least between ring ropes.

But then I feel it. The snug pull on my hair. You’re back. You’re ready. And I am decidedly not. And so with ease you drag me to my feet. Pull me to a wobbly stand, and then after a quick arrangement, get me ready for a suplex. Bending me over and wrapping your arm around my head, just as you force me to do the same.

Had you then struck. Snapping me back at the very moment you got me in place, I would have gone. Without resistance or reversal. But instead you take a moment to taunt me. To tell me to savour the flavour of your rich bitch pussy. And though I will. Even when I am back in the states and for years to come. I use the few extra seconds to think. To plan. And then, use my body’s already brimming weakness to collapse. Not in a clump, but down and to the side. Your muscles seizing to keep me standing as my unheld limbs hook behind your legs and roll you with me.

The two of us turning like a small into a small package that leaves your shoulders on the mat for a count of “1….”. “2….”

Vicky:

my words uttered just idly staring at your rounded bottom, poking out behind you, haplessly, swaying softly, creamy, curved cheeks framed with the dainty white tiger print cut, i bite my lower lip, in this moment I dwell on what could have been, dismissing the folly of my wicked desire to be at your mercy that instant your tongue invaded me with your thighs wrapped around my head, for the first time in my life having felt helpless and completely under another woman’s control….but the moment was clearly fleeting as i prep your busty body for it’s end….i take a deep breath, the thought of sitting on that plane to the US to sign a contract enter my mind…….

THUMP

in an instant my mind is stolen from the thought of a rolling red carpet to the end of those videos I had watched of you in action when you were victorious….my body replacing your victim, snapping back to reality i peek up at the ceiling through my tanned, white knee padded legs, now wrapped in an arm and leg of yours and hooked to simply hang, my young, 20 year old frame dominantly wrapped into a tight C shape. my arms flailing, the backs of my hands pounding the ring floor, the words “Vicky” and “Victory” in light blue on the whites of my wrist bands barely softening the resounding thump i make being the only part of me i can move now

your top half planted over my modest yet perky breasts pinning me in the coil, what the hell has happened?? my drool inducing young rear merely sways in the air, the light blue of my knickers tightened to every gorgeous inch and there again, in that instance, demonstrating the fickle nature of a mind barely out of its teens i feel that sordid lust of being devoured by you, i gasp out softly no words “uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh” i know i’m done, and i know as my pussy twinges in this ball of submissiveness you trap me….i am yours

Jennifer:

It was a desperate chance. A final attempt. A shot in the dark to use what little I had left to get a win over someone who took me to my absolute limits! And yet somehow. Some way. I keep your shoulders to the mat for not just a fleeting one, or a quick two, but for three seconds. My lips barely forming the words and muttering them before you finally kick out. Each of releasing and collapsing apart in the maneuvers aftermath.

My head laid next to yours, and yours next to mine. Our effort warmed cheeks glancing in the lightest, delicate touches as our breast-heavy chests heave for breath. Beads of sweat dripping from our every stretch of skin, just as between our thighs drops of another kind roll.

In that moment we do not challenge or dare — brag or insult, but instead just try to keep conscious as the full magnitude of our epic struggle washes over us. My fit, and yet curvy Latina body aching and baking in the hot overhead lights. And next to me, you are in no better a state.

Equal though we may be in exhaustion and expense, I got you. I beat you. Barely. By the skin of my teeth. And yet, it counts. For me. For you. For the WWN. For my career and yours.

But now what?

The question echoes through the underground gym, though it hasn’t been spoken.

What comes next? The query hangs in the air above and between us as a single tear rolls down your cheek and then slides down against mine.

A sharing of saline and sadness that comes just as you try to sit up to recompose yourself.

But just as you make that move, simple as it is, I reach up with my right hand and grab a strong handful of your hair. Stopping you from moving, while also using the grip to pull myself up and to you.

“Bitch….” I mutter hotly, as I yank you back and into me. My knees bent, as you fall back into my lap. Your eyes looking up and mine down, as I read you. Your resistance. Your desire. Your needs and wants.

“You remember what we said? What you threatened to do to me…?” Before you can answer or even process what I have said, I pull your face up to mine. The tips of our noses touching as I glare at you. The soft, timid, playful brunette who started the match seeming to have vanished in the sweat-scented air of the gym.

“Tell me you remember….” I demand. My grip on your hair tightening to the point of snapping roots as I let my lips hover only a eyelash’s width from yours. “Tell me what you would have done to me, cunt….”

Vicky:

a nervy sickness in my tummy, i’ve not felt quite like this before, a strange tinge of morbidly fascinating excitement….i’ve not been in a position like this before….deflated at failing, gasping at being finally overpowered, wrapped up and finished off, I struggle to sit my young frame up on to its rounded bottom….aided more so by your hand wrapping my flowing brunette tail and YANKING back so that i topple backwards and in to your fleshy thighed lap, our eyes meet upside down, that latina tinged American drawl snapping at me like i’ve not heard from your stoic demeanour thus far, it sends a chill down my spine, so evident the wickedness and experience you have as my cheeks redden like a naughty schoolgirl, keeping that hand wrapped you pull upwards, left hand taking my chin and squeezing my lips inwards, a squashed “O” forming, neck titled ever so slightly as i remain slumped and held in your possession, noses touch, your eyes staring deep in to my beaten soul and seeing the timid, frail girl behind my steadfast exterior, no matter how hard i try to appear petulant and aloof…..your final word snapping my spirit and resolve in two but that brattish smugness remains “………fuck you” i snap, uttered as an insult, not as a genuine response to your question, and it’s clear from the vitriolic way i fire it back at you…on tenterhooks with our lips close to pressing together on how you might react….i may be beaten, but I remain a proud, home counties uni student who knows she’s hot as hell, regardless of the position I find myself in…..

Jennifer:

In my mind I can see it. Hear it. You telling me in a quivering, fear-affected voice of what you said you’d do to me, only to immediately take it all back and BEG me not to do the same to you. 

I want it. 

To watch your arrogant, rich-girl demeanor to shatter in my hands, as I remind you of your place in MY business. You’re a newbie, at least to me. A rookie, at least in my eyes. And yet you act and talk like we’re on the same level. The same plane. And yes, maybe we are in terms of skill. This match, if anything, proved that. But you have to pay your dues, no matter how good you are. And no matter how much we turned each other on as we wrestled. 

That’s a lesson I have to teach, it would seem. And though I could have taught it my making you beg and gravel — crawl and apologize, you make me do the hard way. 

Doing so by responding to my demands with a quick reply of “fuck you….” 

At the very sound of the words and the audacity of them, my eyes go wide, and mouth opens in shock. And just as that latter event happens, my lips parting, even as I force yours to do the same, you bend your head back and then spit. Your saliva flying into my mouth and into the back of my throat. 

On it I cough and gag. My eyes closing, as I feel you suddenly try to pull away and out of my lap. But I refocus, recenter, and then drag you back by your hair. Pulling you up and into a hard and hateful kiss, as I use my tongue to gather your spit and my own and then shove it back in your mouth. 

At the reprisal you kick and yell, trying to shift and get away. But as soon as you find even the slightest traction, and I finish giving you back what you gave, I push you free and into a roll on the mat. 

“I am going to make you suffer, you cocky little cunt!” I rage, worse than I have in so very long. Quickly moving to my feet as my energy returns to me. Adrenaline and anger filling me with purpose and a poise to do awful things.

Vicky:

in that moment, when our eyes are locked, my tail wrapped around and balled in your fist so that your knuckles turn white, I do something i almost regret…my upbringing getting the better of me – ironically given everything in the world including an education and how to be respectable and a proper lady – and the spittle hits the back of your mouth and you gag, i writhe like mad and simply go nowhere, as you react your lips MASH down on mine from above, my neck kinked awkwardly with my body in your lap like we’re star crossed lovers, but the truth is I am restrained here with your arms around my chin and one hand in my hair, pulling, my lips deflated in to my skull while your tongue BLUDGEONS inside and smears that same spit back in to my mouth while my drained body aches, wriggles and simply slumps in your arms before getting tossed away like trash so that I land on my front….

THUMP…..

gasping, licking my lips from the saltiness of your taste, having invaded my young cunt and now worked it across my mouth, reddened face, ponytail one more jarring moment from giving way and the grip falling off, head throbbing, i look a sexy, husky young mess in lush blue knickers and bra gripping now glowing skinned curves, while my sweet little white additions, pads.trainers, wristbands retain my doll like looks as i struggle up to all fours…..

Jennifer:

I am always so sweet. Always so nice and playful. Forgiving and SENSITIVE!!! But right now, I am pissed. Pissed, and stomping after you as you try to crawl away from me on the mat. Moving on your stomach and then to all fours just as you clear a distance of 4 feet.

But as you drag your exhausted body away from me, I reach up and teardown my white doublet’s straps like Jerry Lawler or Kurt Angle. Using their displacement to then shimmy out of my only piece of sweaty gear, thereafter tossing it forward. It landing it front of you, just as you make it to all fours.

I know you see it. Smell it. And your head turns back to see where I am. But before you catch even a glimpse, I have already dropped pussy-first onto the center of your back. Wrapping my hands and fingers around your chin, as you struggle not to collapse like a broken table beneath me.

“Hyyaaaaa, bitch. Giddiup!” I shout as I thrust my lower half into the center of your back and ride you. My grip on your jaw prying back hard as your neck bends painfully. A pain that only increases as suddenly, at my sudden weight you drop down. Your legs and arms giving way, as we land in a half-hearted camel clutch.

“Aaahh, too weak to play horsie? Hmm…?!” Again, as I speak, I wrench. Pulling your head back hard before my right hand moves free and begins to strip you of one accessory and garment after another. Pads, trainers, wristbands, and then your top and bottom as I keep you beneath me and hurt.

Vicky:

i patter across the ring aimlessly, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl, in trouble for something, i am panting, my young mind struggling to cope with the feeling of losing, of belonging to someone else according to the rules, and you get the force of that petulance when my spit hits the back of your throat…..your dampened one piece slaps down in front of me and it stops me as if presenting a boundary off limits….

”UMPGGHHHHHHHHHHHH” your big, bountiful backside SLAPS down mid-back, feeling the nuzzle of your damp pussy, my arms bow, but almost as if continuing our battle i don’t fall, i grit my teeth, patter forwards with your superior weight riding my back before i crumble, your interlaced fingers almost clutching my chin and hauling up against the jaw so that i can merely whimper, muffled moans through my lips before my collapse leads to a clutch that bends my young spine

“MHMHHMMHPHHHHHHHH” i wince in pain, hands slapping at the ring floor, almost trying to help support me while you expertly begin to strip my 20 year old body of it’s cutely decorated accessories, first one pad, then a hairband, another pad, then a loosening of a trainer, then another, i wriggle myself free of those, i writhe, then my bra, having been PINGED, springs free releasing my young tits, i almost turn us through a full 360 turn as you roughly pull and yank my blue knickers off until i am left a withered, hot young mess in your clutch…..gasping, pretty hair matted and dampened, hips and pussy mashed to the canvas, legs pattering the ring behind me, hands pawing at the floor, bares young breasts on full show, bullet like nipples pierce forwards, “MPHMPHMPPHMHHHH” chin clutched, i feel helpless and possessed, controlled for the first time in my life by this older, stunningly enigmatic redheaded Latina…..my resistance breaking by the second

Jennifer:

Slowly and cruelly I strip you. Yanking one piece of clothing after another from your young, soon-to-be ravished body. Your efforts spent not on resisting or fighting back, but instead on trying to crawl away. But you’re too weak. Too wounded to move quickly or far with my lower half resting hard on your lower back.

“I would have fucked you so sweetly. So softly. I would have crawled into your arms like a lover, bitch … if you hadn’t been so dead set on punishing me if you won.” My lips snarl as I speak. They, though you can’t see them, showing my growing and already boiling desire to break you.

“So now … now I am going to teach you a lesson.” At my last word spoke, I use my thighs to lift myself up and then drop down hard on your back. At the impact you go to groan! To grunt in pain! And just as you do, I reach around your bent neck, and raised head, and silence you. My left hand covering your mouth with a palm as my right pinches closed your nose.

“Fuck you, Vicky. No more breathing!” I hiss as you struggle to find air. My hands and fingers clamping and adjusting to keep you from finding it.

Vicky:

I don’t get controlled, or told what to do, that’s not my life….i succeed and achieve. i battle you – despite my loss – for every item you remove from my body, i fail every time but such is my petulance and inability to accept defeat, to accept submission to this stunning Latina beauty, that I continue to react….

I am now naked….completely nude, my shaved, 20 year old pussy ground against the ring floor, legs splayed behind me, i gawp forwards, reddened face on naturally olive skin tone helps paint a picture of distressed beauty perfectly. my arms try to lift, to unhook themselves, trying to rid myself of you but failing hopelessly, feeling your own damp snatch nuzzling into my lower back as you bend my spine. your bulging, rounded cheeks smothering over mine…..

”UNGHHHHHHHHH” you pound me down against the ring floor, just because you can….your words, so restrained before now raise, i’ve got to you in someways at least…you’re clearly annoyed…a small victory…but the war is very muck lost.

“FUUUUU…….MMMMMM…MM….MMMMMMMM!!!!!! MMMMM!!!!!!! MMMMMMPPHPHP!!!!!” i had shivered at the word “fuck” noones ever talked to me in such blunt terms, then as your hand wrap around my face and take my breath away I realise that’s the least of my concern…….”MMMMMM!! mmMMMMMMMMM!” my husky voice growls in my throat as it hits your hand, my head tries to turn but cannot, my spine remains bent as I am suffocated in your clammy palms, my eyes widen, hands flapping in mid air with arms hooked on your thighs…..i am terrified……

Jennifer:

Beneath me I finally have you. Not for a moment. Not until a ref counts to three or five, but until I release you. And NOTHING could be further from my mind as I start to grind my wet sex against the small of your back. Keeping your air cut off as I pull your neck further and further back.

Until I feel your disks creaking, feel your eyes leaking, and sense you are on the very verge of permanent damage. Then and only then do I let my hands release and your body collapse off of me to the canvas.

“Vicky.Vicky. Vicky. TURN OVER!” I muse and then shout so loud my voice echoes off the gym’s brick walls. Despite the volume, however, you don’t listen. Don’t turn over. No, instead, you swing your arms at me, like a petulant child throwing a fit. Your fists balled weakly, meaning to hit if not hurt me.

Vicky:

i writhe under you, trapped, flattened, back broken, air taken, my pretty face is yanked, both your hands smear and smudge, smother and erase my features, while doing so not only does my spine tingle and begin to feel numb, my shoulder blades press at my skin and turn my upper half almost pale from the utter cruelty of your hold…..just when i feel i am done, when the tiny stars float around my eyes…….

BAM…..i slap down on my front in a heap, head taking most of the brunt…….you virtually scream at me, the walls reverberating your thick American drawl around the room and back in to my ears, almost like torture……

i turn, sloppily….completely drained, naked, and a trail of tears from my eyes as present my naked front to you for the first time, there’s no tan marks just a stunning, young frame, beaten, firm titted and frustrated, left arm swinging a clenched fist in your firection……failing to hit you miserably, thrown so slowly, almost drunkenly as i slap down with arms above my head, wrists criss crossed……mouth wide open, panting like a dog, legs spread…..fucking destroyed

Jennifer:

You turn. You strike. You whimper. You cry. And as you do all of it, I step over your batter body like a queen and then lower myself into a straddle of your midsection. My eyes glaring down at you, with a devilish smirk beneath.

“You were so sure of yourself. So ready to take me as your plaything if I lost. And now look at you….” I muse, whilst my hands move to your breasts and grab hold. My fingers squeezing and nails digging in as I play with your youthful, British tits.

“You’re spoiled.” I hiss, as I start to drag my wet sex up and then back down your stomach.

“A brat.” I insult, as I grind on you. My eyes rolling back in my head as I enjoy your weakness.

“But after today…. You’re my brat. My spoiled little Brit girl.” As I speak your still hard nipples stab into my palms, telling me, despite your whining, that you want to be controlled.

Vicky:

“uhhhhhh uhhhhhhh uhhhhhhhhh” i merely pant back at you, if it isn’t your soaked sex and trimmed American Latina bush softly grinding over my flat, tanned tummy, its your enormous breasts just swaying back and forth with rock hard nipples tied off like the ends of balloons. hands lewdly gripping my smaller, perky, younger tits and flattening them under your palms before nails hook over the flesh and bite in “AHHH” wincing, i writhe ever so slightly but in no way assuming you’re getting flung off….i’m trapped.

“Uuuhhh, OK!” I cry out while nodding. Tears streaming from my eyes as I give in to it. To you….

Jennifer:

You say it. You admit it. Assent to it. And as you do, and as you lay there beneath me, and I twist and grope your breasts. Shifting back. Sliding back. So that I can find just the right angle, while still straddling you, to connect my clit with yours and then drag.

Once and again. Once and again. Your eyes rolling back in your head as I start to fuck you. Listening to you coo and whimper beneath me as I pinch your nipples between my fingers and twist. Not hard or cruelly, but just enough to remind you I am in charge and will be from this day forward.

The End.

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