Preamble

I had some help with this one, though that help left quite some time ago, and my attempts to contact her for follow up guidance have gone unanswered. Due to that lack of communication, I don’t know how to credit her, or if she wants her identity kept secret. That being the case, I will leave out her name and just send to her a giant thank you for helping me come up with the general points of this story, and the post ending in particular. I hope it is what you imagined.

Regardless, here it is! I hope you all enjoy!

Sub-Chapter 1:

[“So, Rheena… Ready for round 2?”] Tuesday 8:32 AM

[“Rheena?”] Tuesday 9:55 AM

[“Come on, Rheena”] Tuesday 9:18 PM

[“Don’t even think for a second you can just ignore me, and not give me a rematch”] Wednesday 6:05 PM

[“Rheena, you bitch. Answer meeeeee!!!!”] Thursday 2:27 PM

I swear it felt like I sent her a hundred texts, and though it was really just a handful, her silence was still just as irritating. Not just the silence though, the fact that, as far as I could tell, she didn’t even read the messages I sent. Instead, they just sat there, all sad and pathetic, with the normally bright blue checkmarks next to them grayed out and lifeless.

I know what you’re thinking: ‘oh god, single white female, obsessing over a one-off’. And while you’re thinking that, you’re picturing me eating carton after carton of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream while waiting for a reply that will never come. I don’t blame you though, as that’s kinda what I felt like.

But really, think about it. Day one. Day fucking one in the emerald city, I found myself defeated, punished, and then ignored. Lame! Lame I say!

But hey, in the sexfighting game, that kinda stuff just happens, and actually, more often than you’d think. It isn’t my style, but for others, after just one match, the thrill is gone. They trash talk, threaten, meet, and in one glorious confrontation, purge every ounce of sexual interest they have in you — win or lose, they’re done.

For me, yeah the first time is great and intense, but the second time, and the third, the fourth and the fifth are just so awesome. When you have learned every inch of each other’s bodies; every fetish, every trigger, every special little spot that makes your opponent squeal. God, that’s when sexfighting is just … incredible….

But as common as the ‘cum-n-go’ routine was, I couldn’t help but want a second chance. Not just to come out on top, but to feel Rheena’s body against mine again. To lock lips, press breasts, and cross thighs with my caramel-hued doppelgänger.

Why? Well, duh! Because it felt so good when we did it the first time! Plus, I just wanted to know— needed to know, if that smokey-eyed beauty’s victory was just the first in a back and forth war of sexual attrition or legit proof that she was just straight up better than me. But as day after day passed without her texting me back, I began to at least try to forget about her, and my hopes for a round 2. After all, I had something else to focus on, my upcoming first day at my new job.

New, not only because it was going to be MY first day there, but in that it was EVERYONE’s first day there. It was a new business venture, from those two twin billionaires whose names were on everything now: the Bowmans. And though I did know who my employers would be, I really didn’t have a lot more info than that.

It was had something to do with entertainment, live audiences, and television. And though I knew those bullet points, I didn’t know anything else. Was it ice skating? A cooking show? A talk show? I had no idea, but whatever it was, I was ready for it — at least I thought I was. At least, that’s what I told Ms. Windgate, the dean of my alma mater, Penngrove University.

“Trust me,” she said, “the pay will be good. The job security: excellent. And the perks … well … suited for a graduate of this institution.” Was it oddly secretive? Yes. Overly dramatic in a comically Penngrove way? Sure. But too much of both to take a chance? Not even close.

So I told her I’d take it, marched out of her office, drove home singing excitedly to Taylor Swift’s newest hate-track, and that night, started to pack. I remember it was only about a day later that an overnight envelope arrived with a moving bonus, a check with more zeros on it than I had ever seen before. Zeros that got me to where I was, not only to the other side of the country but one restless night away from clocking in. You know, if clocking in was even what we were going to do. I didn’t know, but not too very long after that moment, I would.

Sub-Chapter 2:

“Excuse me,” I said with a smile. “Sorry. Excuse me.” I repeated again and again, as I — as WE sorted ourselves into the leather and metal chairs placed in rows in a large conference room on the 30th floor in downtown Seattle. And when I say ‘we,’ I mean myself and about 15 other women, most of us young, but with a few more mature ladies scattered in there. There, as we each looked for whatever seat would give us the least amount of anxiety, I listened, wanting to know if anyone knew exactly what kind of job we were lining up for.

But, everyone seemed to be just as clueless as me. “Do you know?” “No.” “Hmm, I wonder what it could be…” They whispered and muttered, as I remained quiet. Not wanting to insert myself into anything, before I knew the landscape and my role in it.

I seemed to be alone in that tactic, except for one other girl. She, like me, was a blonde, though platinum to my strawberry, and sat in the back row (though on the opposite side) silently. Unlike me though, her gaze was confident, piercing, and almost predatory. Her sapphire-blue eyes seeming to capture me, every time I happened to catch a glimpse of them. A glimpse I seemed to seek out again and again, until after she caught me staring at her for like the fifth or sixth time. That was when I had to stop myself by just staring blankly at my phone.

But even when I found the strength to avoid looking at her crystal gaze, I found myself admiring the tattoos on her arms, which like her hair and eyes, popped with vibrancy and color. Then it was her body that got me. She was curvy in exactly the right places, but not someone that could ever be described as thick — a descriptor I often found myself stuck with.

God, she was … just so unlike me, and there was something enticing about that. My interest in her helped me take my mind off of not knowing what was about to happen. But just as I began to come up with a plan on how to do anything other than stare at my platinum muse across the room and drool, the door behind our seats opened, and a familiar voice spoke.

“Ladies, sorry about being late.” In a second I knew, without even needing to turn around. It was Rheena. “We just made an important signing, and it left us needing to rework some of our plans.” As she spoke, she moved from behind us to the front of the room. Her hourglass hips and sexy thighs covered in a short gray skirt. Her breasts, which she had drug so wonderfully over mine, concealed with a salmon pink blouse.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering what you signed up for, so let’s….” As she found her position at a brand new podium at the front of the room, she positioned her tablet, so that she could see her notes. But mid-sentence, she looked up, and that’s when our eyes locked and my conqueror suddenly found herself speechless.

“I uh….” She tried to start and then sputtered out, unable to pry her gaze away from mine. It was then, that despite the entirety of the last week…. In the face of all of the unanswered texts I sent…. I knew — I could tell, that she hadn’t lost interest in me. And so I teased her — tortured her, giving her the sexiest looks I could, as I pursed my lips and began to eye-fuck her right there and right then. Shifting my sexy, black-skirt-exposing hips so that I faced her.

The room was soooo awkwardly silent, with all those other women just staring at Rheena, but despite all of that, she was MINE. A fact I became more confident in as again and again she tried to restart her speech — to look back down at her tablet and away from me, but every time she would lift her gaze, our eyes would meet, our souls connect, and she would freeze.

That moment of sexual tension and distraction between us continued, until finally, I broke our connection by looking down at my phone again, and away from Rheena. Now admittedly, it was super unprofessional of me to try so hard to keep her attention, but after the week she had just put me through? I didn’t care.

“S-sorry. I … uh … know you’re all wondering what … uh….” Even with my gaze removed as a distraction, just the memory of it seemed to put Rheena off her game, an effect that made me smile as I readied myself to take notes.

“Wrestling.” Rheena then blurted out sharply, unable to make it through her planned phrasing. “Not all of you… I mean, you ladies won’t be wrestling…. You’ll be helping us put on a wrestling show. And no, before you ask or worry, Vince McMahon won’t be joining me up here…” As she spoke, I adjusted by hot, red blouse, making sure that my girls were ready for her, if she dared look back in my direction.

Instead, Rheena kept her eyes to the side of the conference room holding the platinum blonde who had so thoroughly stolen my soul before our meeting began.“And he won’t be here, because we’re a starting a new promotion. A new wrestling company. All of you, will be our writers, except … uh … for…”

Rheena’s speaking stopped again, and when it did, I looked up and saw her seeming to double check what she just read. Whatever it was, affecting her like she had just been punched in the stomach. “Brooke. She…” She began, pretending she hadn’t just said the name of a girl she facesat a week ago. “…will be our liaison with the talent, which is what our wrestlers are called, at least on this end of the curtain. Now, I know that this is a surprise to most of you, so I’d like to hear any questions you may have.” Rheena, finally seeming to have recovered, looked out at all of us, her new staff, intentionally avoiding eye contact with me.

“Does that mean we get to meet Dwayne Johnson? He’s cute.” A woman in her late thirties asked. “Yes he is!” Another added, though I didn’t catch where she was sitting.

“Sorry to say, but no. We will only be having female talent on the shows. So no Rock…. Maybe his daughter though, when she’s old enough.” As Rheena answered, she smiled softly, an expression I hadn’t seen from her yet.

“My boyfriend likes indie wrestling; you know the kind in cafeterias and bingo halls. Is that what we’ll be putting on?” The question stirred a worried murmur to spread through the rest of the girls.

“No. Austin and Bennett — the Bowmans, have made sure we are VERY well-funded. Also, and I’m sure this was going to be another question, we already have a 10 year TV deal signed, and not with some channel you’ve never heard of; it’s with ABC. Not one of their smaller channels, but their main broadcast channel.” As she laid out what she and they had planned, I couldn’t help but exchange my well-practiced resting bitch face, for a wide, beaming, pussy-eating-grin.

Why? Well, because I, and don’t faint when you read this, had been a wrestling fan since I was a little girl. Cheering and booing along with my father, each of us wearing the t-shirts of our favorite wrestlers. My mother always thought and hoped I’d grow out of it, but I never really did. Which made me one of the few female wrestling fans in Massachusetts, or, you know … the world, over the age of 12.

But from that day on, I’d be the one making the wrestling show little girls like me watched. God, just the thought of it made me tear up, which gave me a reason to be happy Rheena was refusing to look in my direction. Even if it meant that she had to awkwardly look at only half of her new staff.

But that awkwardness — HER awkwardness did little to lessen the warm glow of excitement I felt. One which lasted basically all the way through our meeting. At the ending of which, Rheena gave each us our instructions for the next day, the official start day of our work.

Having finished, Rheena remained at the front of the conference room and chatted — answering any questions that those in attendance might still have. As she did, I moved to the back of the room, next to the coffee and snack table by the door, waiting for my caramel-skinned goddess. But as I waited, the tattooed blonde girl from the back row, and my earlier day-dreams walked over and introduced herself.

“You’re Brooke, I take it.” She said with a knowing smirk.

“Uh, yeah, how did you know that?” After searching my chest for a name tag, and my memory for an introduction, I asked.

“I’m Rheena’s assistant, Sarah.” She answered without mystery, as she turned, and leaned against the table next to me. Her outfit nearly identical to mine, apart from the color of our blouses — mine red and hers white.

“Hi, Sarah….” I greeted my new co-worker and my earlier obsession, my mind immediately analyzing what her being Rheena might mean to me. Was she my boss? Had they slept together? Did she catch me and Rheena’s moment of eye-fucking tension?

“Rheena’s incredible isn’t she?” Again, this girl — this Sarah, seemed to be reading my mind and then telling me about what she found there.

“Are you friends with her outside of work?” I asked, trying not only to deflect but to find an answer to the questions I asked myself.

“I wouldn’t say friends, but I knew her before we started this project. Judging by that look between you two, I’m not the only one.” With every word, I felt like she was testing me. Now typically, that would have made me feel uncomfortable, but something about her demeanor created more excitement and intrigue in me than worry or concern.

“Why don’t we get a couple of drinks after this, and have a meeting of the Rheena Admiration Society?” I offered playfully, though I kept my eyes glued to Rheena as she spoke to the quickly shrinking gathering around her.

“Deal. Catch me when you and Rheena have … uh … talked.” I guess it was obvious — I was distracted, and not yet fully ready to focus on her or the conversation she wanted to have.

Really, it was sweet of her — of Sarah, to not push for my attention; instead just letting me lean there by the door, and wait for Rheena. And instead of waiting there next to me, Sarah stepped away and began talking to a few of the other girls our age. The pretty ones. The sexy ones.

And while Sarah began her rounds, Rheena seemed to be rapping hers up. My mesmerizing ethnic goddess nodding, smiling and then making her way towards the door to my right. I had hoped, that free of the confines of the meeting, she would greet me, and that finally, we could talk. But instead, she just lowered her gaze to the carpet and walked right past me.

Like a hungry lioness, I tracked her, letting the door close behind us both as I half-chased her down the hall. Step after step she started walking faster and faster, and in response, I matched her speed. Until finally, she reached what I assumed to be her office, and then with a quick reach, and a turn of the handle, she entered.

I was half-nervous she was going to slam the door shut, and again, cut me out, but instead, she held the door open, waiting for me to come inside. After I did, and as I cleared the door, she shut it forcefully, and then turned to me, her eyes burning with intensity.

“What the FUCK are you doing here, Brooke?” She demanded, though she and I both knew why.

That knowledge didn’t stop me from responding, my heart already pounding in my chest, just from being alone with her. “Uh … I work here now, Rheena. How did you NOT know that when we met last week…?”

“I wasn’t involved in the hiring! Sarah handled that! I didn’t….” Before she could finish, I stepped closer to her, maybe about a foot away, and asked, my voice heavy with the excitement that coursed through my veins.

“Why didn’t you respond to my messages?” As the words left my lips, my left hand raised to her blouse, and after my fingers landed softly, they pinched a small bit of the fabric. I couldn’t tell you why, nor did I do it consciously, it was done on instinct, instead, something about the question making me want to keep a hold on her.

“Look, I’ve been busy with putting all of this together. I had a speech, that I … I couldn’t even get out with you … you … looking at me like you were.” In both of us, I could feel the same sense of mania — the same sense of fear. Emotions that seemed to have built in our time that had passed since our first encounter. Feelings born of a sexual competition unlike any we had ever had before. But where she was doing her best to suppress what she was feeling, I was trying as hard as I possibly could to drag the same out of her.

“You mean when I looked at you like this….” Mid-sentence, I let my expression and gaze change until it matched perfectly those that stole her words and kept her from delivering her well-practiced speech.

In an instant she turned from me, pulled free of my light grip, and then retreated deeper into her windowless office, rushing towards her desk. I chased after her, grabbed her shoulders, and spun her around to face me. In her eyes I saw equal parts terror and desire, her entire body almost trembling from the effects of both. Wanting to intensify those feelings, and truly own her in that moment, I leaned in, placed my lips to her ear, and after the quickest of nibbles: whispered.

“Round 2, Rheena. Give it to me….” My challenge having been made, I pulled back and looked at Rheena. Expecting to see either a worsening of her already panicked state or a desire so deep and needful, that within a moment we would be locked in a passionate kiss. But instead I saw something else, that same fire I saw after she beat me. A look of confidence, control, and ownership.

It was then that my expression changed, my eyes going wide as Rheena reached out to my shoulders, and with her hands, pushed me down to my knees on her carpeted corporate floor. With me there, and with her right hand moving to my dirty blonde hair, she pulled my face forward into her still skirt-covered mound.

“You want a round two, slut? Fucking earn it…” Her voice sounded more like a hiss, or a growl, but despite the sudden change of tone, I knew exactly what she wanted. Was it fair to basically punish me again for my loss in our first encounter? Meh, not really. But if finding my face pressed between her thighs and my tongue buried in her hot, wet sex was the worst thing I had to do to get Rheena body against mine again, I was willing. So willing, in fact, that without words, I reached up, lifted her skirt, and then pushed her already moistened pink panties to the side. Then, with my canvas free, I began to paint my masterpiece, using my tongue to please my fealty-demanding conqueror.

“Shit! You good little bitch….” Rheena praised at first contact, as she closed her eyes, and spread her thighs for me, leaning her ass against the edge of her black glass and gray-metal desk. Such words were only the first signs of her enjoyment, but after they came so many, as I wrapped my arms around her, and pulled her sex closer to me.

Yes, I could have rushed, and tried to batter with my tongue all the spots I memorized last time, but I wanted her to enjoy. To remember. To never even think about ignoring my texts again. But as I tried to steal every ounce of control Rheena believed she had. Taking her deeper and deeper into my own special brew of Brooke-brought pleasure, the door to her office suddenly opened.

“Mmmm, well, well, well, Rheena; I’m glad to see you’re working hard on your team building exercises.” A teasingly smarmy voice came from the entrance to my rival’s office. And when I heard it, all I felt was terror. Absolute friggin’ terror. A sensation so intense it caused me to freeze. Not after standing or pulling away from Rheena’s sex, but just as I had been when the voice called out to the owner of the kitty I was caught licking.

I didn’t know what to do other than just stop, and sit there on my knees. My hope being that somehow, someway, Rheena would get rid of this person before I had to turn and let them see my face. In that desperate hope, I listened, waiting for Rheena to say something, ANYTHING even! But as my tongue slowly withdrew from her sweet lips to mine, and as her juices mixed with my saliva began to dry on my face, I heard nothing. Nothing other than this woman, whoever she was, continue to talk.

“Brooke. Ms. Windgate was right about you. Truly a Penngrove girl to the very core….” Shit, shit, shit she knew not just my name but Ms. Windate! Ugh! What the…. “Don’t let my presence stop you, dear. Continue, I insist.” As she spoke, and I began to shame spiral, which got even worse when I felt her hand upon my shoulder. Then, even more shocking than everything that had just transpired, only a breath later, I felt a gentle tug on my hair from Rheena.

I knew instantly what she was trying to tell, but there was no way I was going to continue to please her with this woman watching us. At least that’s what I thought, until whoever it was continued to step about the room, walking behind Rheena’s desk, giving us just enough space for my conqueror to whisper down to me. “Brooke, keep going; trust me.”

At first, despite the sincerity of her words, I resisted, but as I did, I felt Rheena tug again, this time hard, almost dragging my face into her sex.

Completely unsure what was happening or who this woman was, only guessing that she was both of our bosses by her dictatorial manner, I gave in and dove once more between Rheena’s lips. At the very moment I did, and as soon as my tongue pressed through my boss’ folds and earned her sexy little whimper, the woman commented again. “Good girl. See, Rheena, I knew you were the right woman for this job.”

“Th-thank you, Mrs. Reid.” Is all Rheena offered before she let her head tilt back and her eyes close — her raven-black hair cascading down her back.

“Now, we have some things to discuss. But luckily for you, all you need to do is listen — so just enjoy your liaison’s attention.” As Mrs. Reid continued to speak, my trepidation and fear of being watched began to fade. And as it did, and as I let myself focus on Rheena, time seemed to speed up. Which of course was aided by the fact that every word out of the interloper’s mouth focused on business alone, and not the fact that I was on my knees, eating Rheena out.

That singular focus on Mrs. Reid’s part continued, even as Rheena’s own began to fade. Her lips parting to let out louder and louder moans, as her fingers tightened in my hair. Finally, when Mrs. Reid had finished, she returned to focusing on me, in a sudden command that sent shivers down my spine. “Finish her, Brooke.”

Without words, and having already abandoned my inhibitions to this woman, I nodded without words and increased my efforts. An escalation Rheena aided as she lifted her right leg, and placed her perfectly thick thigh over my left shoulder, giving me as much access to her sex as I could ever ask for.

It took only moments for me to bring Rheena to the edge of orgasm, driving her so deep into lust that she began to hump my face and tongue. But just as I drug her over that line, and pushed her into ecstasy — just as Rheena started to whimper, moan, and quiver, and the first drops of her sweet nectar hit my tongue, I heard the door to the office open and then shut. Mrs. Reid having left, offering only the following in parting: “Lovely….”

Despite the unexpected and unwanted nature of Mrs. Reid’s visit, I still let Rheena finish. Slowing the pace of my tonguing with the passing of her orgasm, only withdrawing it and myself when she was finished entirely. And when she was, and when she did, she reached down and pulled me to my feet. There, as I wiped my face with my hands, she shook her head in disbelief, before saying, “I am so sorry.”

“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble,” I responded, fully aware that I bated her into that moment, or at least a moment of sensuality.

“Oh, I’m not in trouble. Actually, I might have been if you hadn’t continued.” Rheena explained, confusing me even more than I already was.

“What? Why…?” Came my questions, as I tried to understand the full breadth of the weirdness I had just found myself licking my way out of.

“The graduate of Penngrove University is asking me WHY? I thought you girls were all freaks….” And with that, everything that had just happened made sense. Complete sense. And so, almost embarrassed — actually embarrassed, I replied. “Oh….”

“Yeah…. Well…. Welcome to the Women’s Wrestling Network!” Rheena joked with a soft, apologetic smile.

Given what I had just given to her, I could have pressed her for my rematch or at least a date for it. But, I could tell as she spoke, and by the way, her eyes immediately shifted to the papers on her desk, that Rheena needed to get back to work. And so, with the knowledge that Sarah was waiting for me in the conference room, my successful navigation of another Penngrove-flavored moment of sexual-testing, I said my goodbye. Making sure to get Rheena’s promise to not only give me the rematch I had earned and then some but to respond to all my future texts.

Sub-Chapter 3:

After a quick sprint to the nearest ladies room, a washing of my face, and a reapplying of makeup, I made my way back to Sarah and her tattooed beauty. From there, thankfully, she took control, taking me to her favorite bar — one that happened to be located in the lower level of the building where she lived.

It was dark, like a good dive bar should be. But really the only thing I remember about it was the neon letters above the well-lit, half-empty liquor bottles. “Prescriptions,” it said. It was cute, and modern, in an oddly depressing way. Still, though, it was a bar with alcohol and beer, and so it worked for me. For us… An us that smiled at each other awkwardly from opposite sides of a red velvet cloth-covered table. One side of which had a sturdy wooden armchair, and the other a wall-backed-and-sided booth bench.

“Ok, look….” The platinum blonde with river-deep eyes broke the silence, sounding as if she was ramping up to give a speech of her own. “I just.… I want to say…. Errr … um…. You should know….” No matter how many times she tried to start her sentence, she petered out after only a few words — clearly nervous about relaying whatever it was had to say.

I wanted to say something to make whatever it was easier to get out, but just as I opened my mouth to try, she blurted it out. Well, kinda….

“I know.” She said without context or consideration for my own lack of it.

“You know what?” I asked, as my lips bent in confusion, and my soft eyes searched her face with a still playful intrigue.

“I know….” Sarah paused as she brought her right hand to the top of the table, and placed it flat it in the center between us. “I know … that in about 7 minutes, you’re going to start pushing your drink into mine, to see if I’ll resist you by pushing back.”

As she spoke, I felt like all the air had been sucked out of my lungs. She did KNOW! Despite that realization, and as my jaw dropped open, she continued.

“And that in about 12 minutes, you’re going to let your heels drift over into my space, hoping that you can get just a taste of what it would be like to compete with me. Even if it is the smallest thing. Even if it’s all you’ll ever get.”

“You know,” I said, repeating exactly what she had been trying to tell me; her brevity seeming oddly appropriate at that moment.

“I know.” She repeated with an embarrassed, but purposefully accepting look on her beautiful face.

“Rheena told you?” I asked, just wanting to make sure I didn’t have a “loves to sexfight” sign taped on my back.

“Rheena told me. But it’s so ok… I … uh, I’m into the same thing.” She watched me so very carefully as she spoke — as she revealed, not wanting to miss any expression of pain or rejection on my part. Reactions she would try and curtail and soften at first sight.

“But she said she didn’t know?” I asked, still trying to figure out exactly how Sarah could know who I was when Rheena didn’t.

“She told me she went up against a girl named Brooke. A girl who was new in town. I wasn’t sure it was you, until today. Until I saw how she reacted to you.” Finally, it all made sense. Every second of the day so far.

“Oooohhhh, so … you didn’t ask me out for drinks looking for a new Orange is the New Black co-binger?” I questioned, trying to act as unaffected as possible. Having learned at Penngrove not to be ashamed as much as secretive about my “hobbies.”

“Well…” she said as she let her eyes drift from my face to the waitresses as they traversed the bar to every table but ours. “…I’d gladly binge with you, but maybe not on Netflix… Not after they canceled Daredevil.” And though, yeah … she had left what we could binge on teasingly unspoken, I knew exactly what she meant — and loved the sound of it, even without, you know … actually hearing it.

“Sarah! Good to see you, hun! What can I get for you and your friend here?” Came a voice unexpected from a waitress who had just come on duty and rounded the corner to our corner-angled, half-booth table.

This was Sarah’s bar. Her domain of drinks and apparently propositioning her cute co-workers. So I let her speak and joke with the waitress, but as she did, I kicked off one of my heels and then raised my leg discreetly beneath the table. Pushing it forward, up, and under the skirt of my host, as she began to order us drinks.

I watched her for a reaction — to see if she knew what I was doing. But when I came to the conclusion that Sarah was too wrapped up in talking to catch me, I pressed in just a little further. Then, when the contact would be most distracting, I brought my big toe to rest on her panty-covered sex.

“Do you still have that blueberry mi…” Sarah started and then paused with a gasp, as I made my foot’s presence felt. “…can you … give us a mo–moment, actually?” It was delicious, her reaction, her distraction, and most of all, her immediate need to deal with me.

But as yummy as her sudden and seizing diversion was, she was already wet. No doubt from the excitement of discussing our mutual enjoyment of sexfighting, but regardless of why I was going to tease her. And tease her I did, even as the waitress gave her a smile, and a pleasant “sure, honey,” before walking away.

And with that walking underway, Sarah closed her eyes, whipped her head back towards me, and then placed her hands palm down on the table. Her lips opened a moment later to curse at me, “bitch.”

“Mmm, love it, cunt?” Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t suddenly hate her, nor her me. But calling each other names was just part of the game. The tension. The testing. Each of us seeing the other as a sexual opponent. A relationship I made official and irresistible when I pressed my toe down against her wet, panty-covered sex.

For a moment, Sarah just sat there. Across from me and quivering every few moments. Just taking it in. Just feeling the pleasure I inflicted upon her. And as she did, I leaned in, placing my elbows on the table as I smiled deviously at her, waiting for her to open her eyes so I could see what I was doing to her soul with my devilish dragging of toes, my pressuring of her clit, and splitting of her still fabric-defended folds.

But as I celebrated my own little submarine attack, I suddenly felt her launch the same. As my lighter blonde rival’s own leg raised, and her recently un-heeled foot worked its way beneath my black skirt. Like her, I gasped. Like her, I pulled back from the position I was in, excited by the prospect of trying to resist the pleasure she returned to me.

With me joining Sarah in that intensely erotic struggle of wills, we each just sat there. Our eyes closed and lips parted, taking in quick, hitched breaths. Breaths that we shared in silence as we let ourselves submerge into that, our first testing of each other.

“No….” She gave me in an almost inaudible whisper, one that served as an admission of how quickly the passions within her were building.

But even as I took that in, and let my panting mouth bend into a smirk, it instead gave off a similar admission. “MMnnnn….”

But right then, as we each began to “sell” for each other (a term I was certain I would be using a lot more often), we heard it. “Are you two … umm … ready to order?”

At the voice, our eyes opened, and we looked. Not to each other, but to the brunette waitress who stood there, watching us foot-fuck each other. Which might be a little bit of exaggeration, as she couldn’t see those implements of devastation and distraction. But she could see us absolutely melt on opposite sides of the table, though she didn’t know the cause.

Still, though, politely, she didn’t make a comment. And even though she didn’t, we each pulled back our moistened toes, flexing calves, and extended legs — giving each other the relief we needed to once again come off like rational human beings.

After an awkward cough, and a moment spent collecting herself, Sarah ordered, and the waitress left. When she did, Sarah and I looked at each other in sexy, playful glares.

“I’m going to get you for that.” Came Sarah’s warning, as she tried to resist the urge to let her lips curl into a smile.

“Get me, bitch…” I answered as I leaned back in my seat defiantly, wanting more of her and whatever “getting” she had to offer.

And though she and I both wanted more, that moment of teasing and anticipation was golden. Each of us intent on driving the other mad with desire, until we couldn’t wait another second before tearing into each other. At least that’s how I pictured the scenario. Long and lingering — one that slowly built to us exploding desire we could no longer control!

Nonchalant though my challenge to “come get me” was, about 4 seconds later, Sarah hopped up from her seat. Her chair causing a deep and echoing errk-sound as it slid back across the wood-built bar floor. As that sound brought eyes to our mostly clandestine affair, my yellow-blonde rival moved to and then shoved her way into my side of the table — the booth side.

“What are you doing?!” I asked in a nervous and partially resistant voice.

“Mmm, well you said to get you, and here I am…” Teased Sarah, as her hips and mine met and then fought for space, she forcing me to move over to avoid making even more of a scene. When I did, and she had the room to sit, she did.

Once she was there with me in the tight confines of the booth, she leaned into me, pressing the side of her body against mine. Then, confidently, she bent her neck and finished her comment in a whisper. “…slut.”

As if that playful curse was a shout of go at the end of a count to three, Sarah and I, in an instant, reached beneath the table for each other. Not to put our hands on each other’s thighs or knees. Not to slowly work our hands between each other’s thighs. But to take it. To “grab” it, as our president used to say on buses and in locker rooms. Each of us looking to claim the other’s sex as our own.

But as soon as our hands ducked under fabric, and fingers slide past panty bands, we were forced to pause, our waitress having returned with our drinks.

“Didn’t like the chair, huh, hun? They can be uncomfortable. I’ve been telling them to buy new ones, but if it don’t make dollars, it don’t make sense, they say.” As the waitress stood there, going on and on about chairs and cents, Sarah and I’s hearts raced as our fingers pressed deeper. A delving that took place, even as with our free hands, we held each other’s forearms softly. A grip not meant to stop the other’s plunge but almost to feel as if we were in control of it — allowing the other to access our already soaking kitties.

“Anyway, here you two go. Think you’ll need anything else?” The brunette server asked, seemingly oblivious to our hands’ slow delving towards each other’s hungry pussies.

“No.” “We’re fine, thank you.” Came Sarah’s reply and mine simultaneously, and even now, as I look back on it, I’m not sure which was mine and which was hers. The haste of our refusal coming from our need for our friendly waitress to just go — to walk away and leave us alone together.

“Alright, well … just let me know.” The waitress said, only half-miffed at our blurted out refusals. A tone she took as she turned and continued her journey about the bar, moving to a table three down from us. But before she was even halfway into that turn and travel, Sarah and I were already locked lip-to-lip and tongue-to-tongue. Kissing each other passionately — desperately, each of us wanting to play so very bad.

Yes. The kiss was incredible. Yes. I could spend an eternity just tasting Sarah as our tongues wrestled for place and control. But that didn’t stop us each from plunging our fingers deep into each other. A mutual impaling that caused us both to gasp, and break from our kiss. Our foreheads pressing together as we tried to weather the storm each of us had brought to the other. A tempest that shortened our breaths, and caused us to gasp near silently, our lips brushing and noses dueling at their tips.

“I’m … getting you, bitch.” I taunted her, my sexy rival, even as my breath failed, and just before I gasped sharply at her touch.

“I’m getting — ugh — you, cunt,” Sarah replied with equal confidence, each of us turned on beyond description or denial at that moment.

There, in our intoxicating closeness, and in the dimness of our booth seat, we fingered each other. Taking turns stimulating clit and then canal — driving deep and then dragging shallow. Until our gasps became groans and inaudible whispers became moans. Moans which, after some period of time I had lost track of, became too loud, even with Sarah and I isolated there in that corner. But what made it even worse, was that as we warred and wailed, table after table in the bar began to fill up.

But it was too late to stop. Too late for Sarah and I to just give up the chance to push the other over the edge, and establish an initial dominance right off the bat. And so we just continued. Refusing to end our mutual fingering. Using every second, every finger, every trick we had in our respective books to push the other to orgasm. Our lips pressing together, and tongues meeting once again to war at some point on that journey.

As brazen as our lip-locked fingering race was, so too was the way the men at those tables that surrounded us watched. Cheered. Hooted and hollered at just the kiss they could see, not knowing that beneath the table skirt and our own, we were fucking each other with our digits. That we were not just drunk bar girls, or voyeuristic lesbian lovers, but instead locked in a battle of sexual skill and the will to resist the same.

And though those celebrations we heard, at that moment, we were too lost in one another and our struggle to understand they were for us. Nor would just that have been enough to get us to apply the brakes, as we each had each other sooo very close. We could sense it. Feel it. Hear it. Taste it. An orgasm was coming for both of us, all we needed to find out was who would cave first? Who would release as the other pulled away in victory? But then it happened….

“Cough, cough!” Came feigned, intentionally attention-drawing hacks which did little to break through our state of sexual abandon. But when the conned sounds didn’t work, the woman seeking our attention just spoke to us, even as we tried to ignore her. “I’ve tried to be patient with you two, but you have to go.” Finally breaking our kiss and away from one another, as our waitress physically reached down and pried our heads apart by grips on our hair.

Suddenly drug from our state of desire-drenched derangement, we surveyed our surroundings in horror. For it seemed that the entire bar had been watching us — their attentions firmly fastened to our passion-drunk kissing. I’d like to say that when our little show ended, everyone returned to their own lives and affairs, but instead, they continued to stare. As we apologized. As we paid. As we gathered our things. And as we left, wet-hand-in-wet-hand, running out to the stairway outside the bar and then on the next floor up, to the elevator.

An elevator we ran towards laughing before Sarah turned, and I crashed into her. Our lips and bodies sealing together once again, as her back pressed flat against the sealed elevator doors.

Thinking back on the scene now, I can’t help but hear bouncy ballroom music playing in my head. As the doors opened, and we fell into the elevator. Only able to keep our feet because strangers trying to exit the same helped us. They using their hands to keep us from falling and then bring us back up to a stable stand.

I would tell you how many of them there were, or what they looked like, but Sarah and I never stopped kissing. Never even looked to them or thanked them. We just continued on. Our tongues fighting for space, meeting, and pushing, trying to dominate the other completely. Even as our hands pulled at each other’s tops and hair. Not willing to wait. Not willing to break for anything or anyone.

In that state, we stumbled and staggered, devouring each other as Sarah led us awkwardly in a backward, heel-clicking walk to her apartment door. A door we reached, just as my guide planted a foot and turned us, slamming me against the sealed metal entrance to her apartment. I tried to push against her, to free myself and retake control, but she kept me pinned. My rival using her keys and a reach to my side to unlock and open the door.

It was that abrupt opening that finally broke us apart, as without the door as brace I fell away from Sarah and our kiss, only to then slam into the floor of her place in a clump.

“Oh. My. Goooood.” The stranger turned opponent almost screamed in shock as she tried to deal with how intense our competition had been so far.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I chanted almost as a mantra as I laid on the floor with my eyes closed. My arms raised, elbows bent, and palms pressed to my temples in disbelief, as I too tried to just to breathe. To just exist, after so much sexual tension and desire had flowed through me — flowed through us.

“Get up. Let’s go!” Sarah demanded, even as she panted, trying to regain her air.

“Ugh!” I grunted more than spoke, as I rolled to my knees and then stood. Finding Sarah already stripping her clothes off as I did.

“I’m going to fucking wreck you, Brooke.” She promised, as she peeled off her pink blouse, and tossed it to the side.

“We’ll see about that! I had you down in the bar.” Came my reply as I slid my black skirt and wet white panties down my powerful, sexy thighs.

“You so did not! I had you! Don’t even lie to me right now!” As Sarah argued, she took down her own skirt with a thumb-guided push.

I wanted to respond. To retort. To turn Sarah’s words into some clever pun about who would be lying where and under who. But as I peeled off my top, and after we each kicked off our heels, I could not resist her. Could not stop myself from charging at Sarah and pressing my nude body against hers.

God, I wanted her. God, she wanted me. The moment was incredible, and electric, and wonderful, and … and … as our bodies met and in the warmth therebetween melted, we each moaned into the kiss we sealed ourselves into once again. But this kiss was far more fleeting than all those before, for, within only a few clashes of tongue and taste, Sarah dropped. Not collapsing from some kind of exhaustion-brought-fainting, but to her knees, and before me.

“Oh no, get back up here, bitch,” I ordered, but even as I did she wrapped her arms around me, pressed her hands to my rear cheeks, and pulled me forward.

“No, I am not letting you just tongue me.” Protest though I did, she continued to lean in — securing her grip upon my lower-half.

But still, she responded, speaking to me, even as her upper lips pressed into my lower ones. “Let me…” The words reverberating into my drenched sex so intensely that instead of resisting her, I just moaned, placing my hands on her shoulders for stability.

“Bitch…” I cursed her, as she buried herself between my thighs. Something I did just before Sarah began to hum, sending vibrations through my already simulated kitty. The masterful tactic causing me to quiver in pleasure, even though I should have been trying to avoid precisely that.

Then, as I shook on the end of her extending tongue, I felt it. Something. She was … doing … something, though I couldn’t tell what. Her tongue moving in one direction and then another, not at random but with purpose and intent. It felt amazing. Even now, as I’m explaining it, I can almost feel it.

“What … what are you doing…?” I asked as I began to wither on my feet, barely able to stand beneath the effect of her shockingly assault.

She didn’t have to respond or share her secret, but she did. Again speaking right into my sex, driving me mad in the process. She speaking only a single word. One that at first, filled me with confusion. “Alphabet.”

“What?!” I asked as I began to lean forward further and further — threatening to collapse entirely atop Sarah and her efforts. But like a goddess of sexfighting experience, she simply pulled me forward and rolled to her back. Causing me to stumble and then drop down to my knees, almost in a facesit.

Now if Sarah and I were fighting — locked in some kind of brutal catfight. One in which we had pulled hair, smothered each other with our breasts and wrapped straining thighs around each other’s sweaty bodies, I’d be golden. But in a sexfight, facesitting your opponent is just dumb. Why? Because you’re not only basically handing them access to the thing you should be trying to keep away from them, but also, giving them a head start. Especially, when it’s a forward facesit, precisely like the one, I found myself in.

Despite that little pearl of wisdom, there I was, kneeling just above her beautiful face, my kitten wrapped with a bow and hand-delivered to her like some sort of dirty, sexy, Amazon package. And she didn’t wait for a second to take that package and rip it open, as within less than a second her hands moved to the top of my thighs to pull me down and keep me trapped and unable to pull away as she pleasured me. The little tattooed-sex-vixen doing it by spelling out letters of the alphabet with her fucking tongue. A riddle I solved somewhere between crashing down above her and letting loose my first pleasure-drenched scream of our battle.

And though I had figured out her little trick, that really didn’t help me withstand it. My only real solace being that from that position, my hands were free to counter-attack, even if it would take some work. Work I put in by leaning back, reaching behind me, and then moving my right hand between Sarah’s bent-knee propped thighs.

As soon as she realized what I was doing, Sarah tried to close her legs and deny me the admittance I so desperately needed. But my hand was already too deep between her thighs, and so when she tried to slam closed her sexy ink-decorated legs, I pinched her pussy lips. Not hard enough to really hurt her, but instead just enough to push her into giving me access. Something I had learned from Rheena. Something that worked, as at the very application of fingertips to folds, Sarah gave me a cute little yelp into my sex, her thighs parted for me, like the Red Sea for Moses.

With that sudden and glorious allowance, I went at it. Using all I had learned about what my new co-worker wanted — what made her moan in the bar to catch up. At first, that struggle seemed to not only be uphill but hopeless. But as I continued to rub the tips of my index and middle fingers back and forth, just half an inch above her clit, she started to moan for me. Whimper for me. Her tongue falling lax, and her head dropping down to her carpeted floor.

At that moment, I sensed weakness in Sarah for the first time. Felt it, as she began to cling to me, holding and pulling my body against hers as I fingered her with abandon. Heard it, as she began to whimper between soft, blissful kisses she drug across the inside of my flexed legs. And though I had hoped that she was, she was not so rapt with pleasure that she could not strike back. As instead, between her moments of vulnerability, she returned to her licking. Her spelling. Driving me with every such return towards an orgasm atop her pretty, wetness-smeared lips. But when I finally slid my fingers down, not just over her clit, but into her sex, Sarah screamed out from beneath me.

That’s when she gave me the howl of pleasure I wanted so deeply, one that echoed through her apartment as her hands fell from their trapping hold on my upper thighs. When they did, and finally I was free, I lifted myself and then turned. Not to get away, but to spin atop her, from a kneeling position to all fours just above her. In that position, I lowered my mouth to her sex, looking to drag her to orgasm beneath me.

Sarah assumed, as I would have, that with my spin I was daring her to engage me in a mutual 69, a duel she was certain that she would win. But when she tried to bend her neck and lean her head up to my kitty, she found my knees pressed down on her hair. Not on one side but both! A move that kept her from getting to me, as her moist and fleshy target remained a good foot above her lips and spelling-bee champion tongue.

“You bitch!” She shouted in half-amused protest, her hands moving to her hair to try and pull each caught strang free.

But by the time she had realized what was happening — that I had trapped her this time, I had already gotten back to clit. My head buried between her thighs, and my tongue once again returning to her soft spot — that small strip of pink flesh above her clit. One that made her squeal and scream, again and again. Each such exaltation telling me how quickly she was forgetting about her efforts and desperate need to escape my hair-pinning knees.

At that moment I was sure of it. I had her! I had her, and she knew it. She was already so close to cuming, and now she had basically given in to the pleasure I was inflicting on her — as odd as a sentence as that is. Not fighting me. Not resisting. Just enjoying LOUDLY.

Careful not to let her back in the game, I increased the pressure. The speed. The focus of my attack. Feeling her thighs begin to quiver around my head, they shaking my admittedly smile-bent cheeks with small, unintentional spasms.

I was so ready to taste it. Her defeat. Her body’s sexual surrender. I know it sounds … just … UGH! But at that moment I wanted to bathe in it, as I lapped it from her pussy, swallowing every single drop that I could. I should have kept my mouth shut, but instead, I just had to tease her one last time. And so, as my upper lips to her lower ones, I demanded it in what almost sounded like a growl. “Give it to me….”

As soon as the words left my mouth, though, I felt it. 4 fingers (yes I said 4 FINGERS) push past my own labial folds and as deep as they would go into my kitty. It hurt so bad! But felt so good! A mix of sensations that caused me to collapse atop my nearly defeated rival.

As I fell, Sarah retracted those fingers and with two hands shoved me forward to the carpet between her legs, her palms landing on my full ass cheeks with a muted clap sound.

Suddenly dislodged, I tried to collect myself as fast as I could, and raise back up. Thinking I had to not only turn but ready myself to defend when my new obsession tried to tackle and mount me in an attempt to finish me right there on her floor. But as I prepared to defend against an attack, Sarah stood, fighting through her own pleasure-brought exhaustion. Then, once she was on her feet, she grabbed my golden blonde hair and drug me to my feet.

Feet on which I wobbled. Feet on which I searched for the focus and balance to stand. But just as I found each of those elusive little buggers, Sarah began to pull me and my naked self, yelping across her modern, gray-furnished house, and into her bedroom.

“Bitch, let me go!” I demanded, just as she did just that, releasing her pull as she tossed me atop her bed. A sweet-scented and soft surface I landed on in a clump of frustrated Brooke.

Yes, I had gotten what I wanted in that whole her letting go of my hair thing. But as soon as I landed, I could see it through my rival’s sweat-wet hair and partially smeared makeup. She too had gotten what she wanted. Me atop her bed with thighs spread, and a glare on my face.

A glare she shot back at me. Each of us losing ourselves so deeply in the moment — in our struggle. Yes, we were co-workers, and complete strangers until that day, but as she leaped onto her bed after me, we were enemies.

Women at war, as she crawled towards me.

Gladiators of passion and lust, as I pressed my bare heels into her soft, white, goose down comforter, and raised myself off her bed in challenge.

My thighs parted, and wet sex bared for her as I dared her to meet me.

“Woman-to-woman, slut. Till the end.” The words sound ridiculous now as I write them, but at that moment they felt so fucking right.

In that feeling, I was not alone, as within a blink she fired back at me. “Pussy-to-pussy. Till you cum for me….”She corrected as she dropped to her ass a foot or two in front of me.

Literally is used WAY too often, and I hate it. But our locked gazes literally felt like they were on fire, as Sarah also lifted herself off her bed, and adjusted her spread legs to match mine.

In the heat of that flame, we began to inch forward, each of us beyond ready for the moment that was to come. Though we wanted it, however, we weren’t waiting for dares or invitations, as within only a few excitement-hitched breaths, our thighs crossed and bodies moved into an equal scissor.

Scissoring though we were, each of us waited for one second, and then two, before in unison we slammed ourselves forward. Our sticky, wet sexs coming together in a violent, pubic bone-rattling collision.

Why didn’t we do it softly? Why not let the touch come slowly and teasingly? Well, because … FUCK HER! She was mine, and she was going to admit it! She was going to give into me! Her body. Her mind. Her soul…. Each of them! In one glorious, shameful orgasm that she would never fucking forget…. That’s how I felt. That’s what I wanted. And she felt EXACTLY the same way. That’s why we came together harsh. That’s why we were angry. That’s why we glared. That’s why the desire and lust we had felt at the bar and as we burst through her door, had turned, temporarily, into something darker. Something carnal. Something irresistible and intoxicating.

Feelings that kept the ferocity from our first impact from ebbing at its ending. Sustaining it in the second, and making it sequence with the third.

And whereas before we might have let ourselves linger in each successive sexually electric caressing of clits, teasing and toying with each other in one moment after another of mutual ‘mazement. After all the tension of the last few engagements, we instead fought. Harshly. Driving into each other — harder and harder, as we laid there in the center of Sarah’s bed. Propped up on bent elbows, snarling at each other. Literally. Snarling. Damnit! I said literally again….

It sounds so weird to explain it and put it into words, but really at that moment, I hated her. And she hated me. And I wanted her too. Because that hate — that visceral, gut-churning feeling of challenge and anger — of outrage and requited reprisal, made my heart pound and my blood to pump so hot and so hard. And though we both knew — both felt that exact same thing, we each tried to tell the other. Not through words but force — the force we used as we rocked back and then forced our bodies forward. Each such rock and reckoning being a message to the other. Fuck you! Cum! The message was when translated directly.

Those messages were received and understood, yes. But as the two of us crashed our sexs together again and again. We derived only the slightest bit of pleasure from each such slam. The pleasure we felt almost drowned out by pain, anger, and an increased need to dominate and subdue the other’s fire.

But as we continued to crash in unison and unrelenting parity, we each realized that it wasn’t enough. We wanted more. Needed more. And so, even as our crossed lower halves collided with loud echoes of flesh meeting flesh, followed by mutual groans of pain and exertion, we reached for each other. Grasped for each other. At first at hands, then forearms, and then shoulders. Each of us pulling the other closer, and ourselves up, until we could wrap our opposing hands around the back of the other’s neck.

Then, we used those grips to pull ourselves higher off the bed and then our bodies together. Each of us adjusting ourselves and dragging the other until our foreheads met, and we could glare into each other’s eyes. Until our hanging breasts met and pressed together between us. Until we could slam no more, finding only the room to shift — to drag — to grind together. And as a battle of such movements began, we cursed at each other. Neither of us able to resist the gravitational pull towards that moment. That addiction-born explosion of sexual warfare and contrary compulsions to subjugate or give into the same.

“I’m going to feed you your own fucking….” As she spoke, I wanted to bite her — hurt her. But instead, I just ground harder against her and deeper into her. Making her — FORCING her to pause in pleasure and then gasp, before finishing. “…cum, bitch….”

“I’ll keep you between my thighs all night, cunt…. You’ll wake up between them. I’ll make you worship m….OH GAWD!” As I did to her, she did to me, robbing me of my words even as they mustered in the molten-hot confines of my mouth.

Thief though she may have been, I could see it in her eyes as we each strained to press ourselves harder and harder together. Not an entire tale, or even a chapter, only a page or perhaps a paragraph of desire. A hint of unmet need within her crystalline windows to the soul.

And when she gave it to me — when her eyes betrayed her welling weakness, I sought to worsen it. Seize it. Take it for myself and shove it down her throat. Doing so by taking my left hand from Sarah’s shoulder and then crashing it down across her effort-and-passion-reddened right cheek.

I did so on a guess that it was our mutual aggression that had formed that glimmer of submission in her eyes. That without meaning, she had taken our battle from friendly to hostile. Soft to hard. Sensual to rough. And from what I wanted, to what she did.

In response, she did not cry out in pain or distress but instead moaned as her body gave in. Not in orgasm but collapse, as she released my neck and fell back from me and our upright mashing of tits, clits, cunts. Her back coming to a press on the A/C-cooled fabric of her comforter, just as I raised up to a knee.

For as she receded, I advanced. Taking control of our scissor and mounting her, as our bodies formed the shape of an L. A sexy, squirming L, in which she, my rival was the bottom, and I the goddess she needed to understand that I was, glared down at her confidently. A confidence that gleamed as I shifted my hips hard, back and then forward, dragging my sex across hers, as she tried to raise back up off the bed. But as she did, I leaned in and atop her. Keeping her down. Pinning her beneath me as I fucked her.

It was then, as Sarah realized she could not merely sit back up that she raised her hands to push me off of her. As they came for me, however, I used my own hands to grab them, and cruelly push them back down to her own breasts. Using her own fingers and palms to massage and caress her pretty little tits, as I ground my clit against hers.

That’s when her eyes closed, and her breath quickened. That’s when her lips parted not in threats or promises of dominance but in moans. One after another. Each deep. Each haunting.

She. Was. Mine….

Before I had made the mistake of talking. Of motivating my rival with a brag. Giving Sarah what she needed to find some way of escape. Not this time, I thought. I wasn’t going to speak a fucking word, instead focusing all of my energy on keeping her beneath me. Keeping her pinned, even as the pleasure from our unequal tribbing began to well inside me.

For as unequal as our positioning and pleasure was, with every gliding stroke, and every passing moment and moan, I began to lean. Both over and down, as my own lips started to part, not in insult but in pleasure. As together my rival and I drove each other towards orgasm.

At first, even as I began to topple down on Sarah, I clung to my advantage. Continuing to use her hands to massage her tits. But as wave after wave of pleasure began to wreck me. I released those hands and at the last second, pressed them to the bed to keep myself from slamming down into her.

I should have expected and been ready for her to shove me off, or attack me to free herself, given how loud her moans were and how close she was to cuming for me. But I wasn’t. I was lost. Having no other thought in my mind but riding her. Pushing her over the edge before I went over the same.

Despite the fact that I wasn’t prepared, Sarah didn’t try to knock me off her or separate us. Instead, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled my body to hers. Softly. Lovingly, almost. And FUCK, it drove me insane! Especially when she leaned up, pressed her lips to my ear, and in the sexiest little tease whispered to me. “You’re mine….”

Oh. My. God! That bitch! I cursed to myself, unable able to speak or respond. Knowing full well that just as I had used her trigger of aggression to drive her passions, she had used the opposite to drive mine. Doing so well enough to leave me only able to shiver and moan as she rolled us.

In a lust-drunk panic, I tried to fight her. Tried to dig my feet into the bed and bridge my body beneath hers. And though it worked, in that I kept her from pressing me down, she never stopped tribbing. Never stopped thrusting her hips down into mine, even as I used my every fiber and bit of focus to keep her from pinning me.

And while I spent my efforts avoiding the threat that may have been, her atop me and in control, she spent all of hers fucking me. Her every grind and stroke — thought and effort laser-focused on driving me into orgasm.

Finally, I collapsed beneath her, an orgasm not just building but brimming within me. And though I still fought to escape, she quelled my rebellion with ease, reaching for my wrists and pinning them to the bed, as her clit and mine warred.

Breaking though I was, and quickly, I continued, even in my bridge to fuck back. Our hips firing back and forth, with labias so wet with excitement that with ease they glided together. Our rhythm at that moment fully in sync and without hitch or hang. Our every thrust matched and perfect, our every breath coming between those of the other.

I could still win our battle, and I knew it. And so betting on that, I let my fruitless bridge go, and I fell to the bed beneath Sarah. A belief I came to as I listened to our equally loud screams, and even states of complete and utter ravishment. Both of which told me it was a race once again. Anyone’s game. Me or her. Rivals in parallel.

But just as I set myself to winning that race, and outfucking my rival, even from the bottom. Just as our dagger-sharp nipples stabbed into each other’s bodies as we slid and stroked, Sarah leaned in once again and whispered. “We signed Doll….”

“What?!” I shouted between howls of quickly mounting pleasure, shocked, excited, and most importantly, DISTRACTED by the sudden revelation. A revelation that we, the WWN, had signed the best female wrestler in the world. It meant so much! What an acquisition! I thought she had signed with the WWE! How did we…? What happened with…? Questions and thoughts which flew through my mind, blinding me to our race, and giving Sarah just what she needed to push me over the edge without her. An orgasm taking me only seconds thereafter, one that wiped my frivolous thoughts of business success in a flash, replacing them with rushing — no, CRASHING waves of star-shooting ecstasy.

An ecstasy which turned me into a quivering, whimpering, wailing puddle of good beneath Sarah, who instantly withdrew her sex from mine. Not wanting to give me the satisfaction of taking her with me into orgasm. Denying me the pride of a close finish.

And though she so denied, she remained atop me. Sweetly kissing me and holding me through my orgasm. Smiling at me, despite my eyes being closed. Loving the challenge I had given her, and the fun we had had.

Despite that softness, however, when finally my orgasm passed, Sarah’s first concern was her victory — her terms.

“Mmmm, I told you that you’d cum for me.” She said teasingly as she rubbed the tip of her nose against mine cutely.

“Ugh, you’re a cheater!” I grunted out in playful protest, as I turned my face away from hers in a pout.

“Yeah … but it worked, so….” I could hear in her voice a certain shame, but also a loving tone that made it hard to be mad at her. Especially when she brought her palm to my right cheek, and pulled my face back to hers so that we could look into each other’s eyes.

“Do you forgive me…?” She asked, as her sapphire eyes glimmered with appreciation and joy.

“Yes…. But … I want a rematch!” I responded, my voice again playfully indignant and my eyes filled with fire, and the fading hints of destruction-by-orgasm.

“Oh, this is just our first battle, Brooke. The first of many….” She said with a delicate smile before continuing. “I promise….” She added as she pulled her sweat-stuck skin from mine and rolled off to my left side.

There she laid with me for a moment. Each of us smiling, as she rested her head on my shoulder. Each of us just breathing. Just being, there together. But after some blissful minutes, Sarah reached slowly, and delicately between my thighs. Then, after I spread my sex-stained thighs for my conqueror, she drug her fingers between and across my cum-filled labia. Bringing that same hand back up from between my nethers, covered and dripping with my own juices. A sticky, hot mixture of liquids that were the very essence of my defeat. A defeat Sarah brought to my lips, before giving me my instructions.

“Taste it with me.” As she offered, she spread her fingers just in front of my lips and hers. My juices webbing between them and slowly sliding down in upturned bridges of moisture, as she waited for me to react. And though she may have wondered what I would say or do. Worried that I might resist or reject her feeding me my own cum as she had promised to do as we fought, I leaned up and in with her. There, as our effort-warmed cheeks met and melted together, I took her wet pinky and ring fingers into my mouth, just as she took her index and pointer fingers into hers. Then, with our gazes locked, we sucked and licked, cleaning her digits of my essence. Each of us tasting and consuming my defeat together on her bed.

When finally we had finished tasting, she pulled back her hand and kissed me. That kiss, unlike the others, was not hard or fierce. Not a war or contest between tongues, but instead a gentle kiss in which tongues played and danced. One in which we again shared the flavor of my defeat once last time.

But finally, when our kiss ebbed, and my head fell back to the bed, Sarah raised her body off of mine. A raising she quickly turned into a mounting, as my yellow blonde rival sexily crawled up my body and brought her ass down to a rest on my ample chest.

From that position beneath her, I could smell the scent she had on her. The smell of her victorious wet pussy and my own smeared nectar of defeat. In a way just being there beneath her was humiliating. I had been bested. Broken. And pulled to orgasm against my will again! But, I didn’t complain or resist. In fact, despite wishing I had won, I wasn’t even angry. I would have done precisely the same thing in her position. Well, not the whole cheating thing, but the punishment she was preparing to give me? Yeah. Hella.

But regardless, I was not in her position. I had lost. And though before orgasm, and in the heat of the moment, I would have told you that I would never be in that position. Would never be beneath her, defeated, and preparing for whatever punishment she had in store for me. Part of me, the part that was filled with lust yet unabated, yearned for her damp pussy. The one that was now inches away from my lips. And as I lusted after her victorious pussy, licking my own lips, driven by instinct, and desire, she gave me permission.

“Eat me….” The triumphant Sarah said in a soft command, calling my eyes to hers as she sat atop me. Her gorgeous breasts framing her beautiful sweat-streaked face. A face that gleamed with confidence and readiness. But even in that shared gaze, each of us communicating without words, she grinned before adding. “Loser….”

I was so sure this time, I was going to win. I was going to beat my new co-worker, by using my thicker, curvier body to overwhelm her, tattoos and all. But instead, there I was — AGAIN. Fresh off having another orgasm torn from my body by a woman I sought to outfuck in every way I could. But the time to do that had passed. And all I had left was to again give into my rival’s will — her wants — her desires, just like I did Rheena’s.

And so I swallowed, or gulped (it was more of a gulp) before I nodded to her; that self-pleased grin of hers still not having faded. Even as she gave me the slightest nod back, prodding me softly to do as she asked, even as I felt her fingers curling around my hair, preparing to give me a harder nudge if it became necessary.

But it wouldn’t be, as I quickly set in, leaning my head just as her right hand moved to her mound and then down, her fingers spreading her lower lips for me. I could see she was wet, almost soaked from the excitement I had brought out in her in our battle and how close she had come to orgasm herself. But there was no doubt that I was wetter — a consequence of my orgasm, and how talented Sarah truly was at this game.

And though I could have laid there beneath her and thought about my loss, and how it came to be for hours, it was time. Time to be good. To be obedient. Not for a chance to obtain some sense of victory or regain my lost confidence, but instead to please. And please I did, as my tongue slowly, timidly, restrained by shame and not a lack of desire, snaked out beyond my lips and into hers.

It was then that I tried to just focus. Focus on making the woman atop me scream — to make her moan. To make her, despite her victory, want me. Not just want me, but LOVE me. To make her need to see me again — to challenge me again. Giving her the assurance that if she were to face me again, her victory would mean pleasure — intense, soul-seizing pleasure. The kind she will never forget. The kind that would make her want to add me on Snapchat just to catch a glimpse of this mouth, this body, and this goddess, who even in defeat drove her wild.

Within only a moment I could feel the muscles of her inner thighs pulse and seize, tightening around my face, and pressing my cheeks without intention. With that reaction, her left hand released its light hold it had on my hair, and instead began to gently stroke, almost petting me as if I were a good little loser.

“I’m close….” Sarah whispered, as her own hips began to thrust forward, and then grind back. “Won’t … ah … take … ah … long.” As she spoke I tried with all my talents to stop her from speaking, not with a smother, but with increased efforts, catching her clit between my teeth, and then lashing it with my tongue, faster and faster — harder and harder, letting the center of my pink tool press and linger on her most sensitive of triggers. For each such effort and change in pace and pressure, I could feel her react, readjust, and moan out for me. Before too long, I saw her eyes close, her face a mask of pleasure and shamefully wanton enjoyment.

“Fuck, fuck….” She offered in exaltation, as her hips which had moved without her knowing before, began to rock forward far, and back deep, pushing me to release her clit from my teeth and stab my tongue deep into her. At that moment, she took from me control and began to ride my digging tongue, leaving me not else to do but to hold it still and keep it stiff for her.

‘You like that,’ I wanted to say. To earn from Sarah a comment on how well I was doing, desperate for something, ANYTHING that would make me feel better about myself. But instead, with my face buried in her pussy, her juices which had mixed with my saliva flowing down like a waterfall from my cheeks and chin, I just remained, feeling at least sure that her orgasm was not a second or two away.

It was then that she gave an urgent pump of her hips, as her eyes opened. Then, as she came to a sudden stillness, she stared down into my eyes. In them, I saw both unfulfilled need, and an offer. A kind, tender proposal.

You do it. Make me cum. The message didn’t come in words, but I understood it as if Sarah had carved it into my chest. With that look and the control it gave back to me, I felt my lips curve up, unbidden, into a much-needed smile. An expression that came, just as I reached my arms up, and placed my sweaty palms and spread fingers on her thrusting hips. There, with them anchored I grabbed her tight, locking her down atop my mouth. Forcibly stopping her from rocking or riding. In reaction, she gasped loudly, as her petting hand seized my hair, yanking it upwards in excitement.

Then, having her right where I wanted her, I attacked. Devouring her clit, and putting the tip of my tongue into quick, tight spasms, which caused her to again gasp, then moan, then whimper, all as she almost began to try and get away from me, the pleasure being too intense for her. The body of my triumphant rival leaning back, as her legs tried to flex and raise her off of me. But I held her firm and tight. Not letting her get away. Not because I held to some illusion that she and I were battling for supremacy once again, but instead because I was determined to own her, even in defeat. To burn my face into her memory, and sear the marking of my sexual prowess into her soul.

“Shit! Shit! Shiiiiiiiit!!! I’m cumming, Brooke!” Sarah spoke and sputtered as her inner thighs seized around my head, so tight I almost blacked out. But even with that threat I never stopped, my tongue worked furiously, feverishly, and as hard as I could make it go. As she approached orgasm, I could see her face begin to glow, and her lips form a wide joy-filled smile, even as they opened to let out small bursts of pleasure-drenched sound.

Seconds later, I felt her body tense, her toes curl beneath my back, and then in a symphony of lust, passion, and pleasure, she released upon me. When she did, her honey dripped down into my mouth and across my face, her body finally succumbing to my talents – even if it was too late to give me victory.

That succumbing I loved and needed so badly I can’t even describe it. And so I did not stop or let Sarah fall to the side and off of me. No, I continued to hold her in place, my hands moving to and then massaging her inner thighs as my tongue pressed against her pink walls, and then drug down, inch-by-inch. Making her orgasm last as long as I could, and then cleaning her soaked inner canal with my tongue — taking every last drop of her essence for myself. Until finally, when I could take no more from her, and give her not a moment’s more pleasure, I let her loose.

“That was soooo fucking good,” Sarah murmured, minutes later, before she finally found the strength to dismount me. Then, she surprised me, after all, that had transpired, by leaning forward and kissing my face. Her tongue lapped at the smear of her juices on my lips. Knowing what she wanted, I offered her my tongue, extending it from my lips and letting her take back whatever was left with a reckless, devious delight.

Then, with an aching jaw, and exhausted tongue, I grinned. Feeling as if somewhere in the aftermath of our battle, I earned not just Sarah’s respect, but my own.