When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story
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    Post When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story

    When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story
    When Life Starts: Chapter 3



    I could see it peeking out from behind her sweet smile and peppy nature. Sense it hiding beneath her nervous speaking and Pinkie Pie from My Little Ponies impression. Strength, toughness, and most of all, heart.

    Qualities which led me to hire her, when the decision was mine to make. She was young, but so were most of us in a company willed into existence by the Bowman brothers and their quickly expanding empire.

    Along with that youth, came her pedigree, she coming from a family I bet would make her special -- even if it was once or twice removed.

    A bet that inspired me not wait for my office to clear of sweaty, catcalling construction workers. And instead to invite her to my apartment so that we could finish up her signing, and officially add her to the roster of the Women's Wrestling Network.

    “Great!” I said brightly, out of expectation more than true excitement as the friendly brunette handed me back her newly signed employment contract. A contract I took and placed to the side of my black skirt-covered hip, a skirt I thought went super well with my emerald green blouse. “Ok, now that it’s official, I wanted to go over some of our plans for you.”

    “Plans sound good! Where do we start? Where am I starting, actually? Anywhere’s good, but somewhere good would be … uh … good … too.” As she spoke in her frantic, overly-excited manner, I laughed softly. Each of us sitting on my thin-framed white-fabric living room couch.

    “Well, good is what we got, sister! Since we’re starting you out with The Doll!” As I said it, I watched her face, knowing it would light up as soon as she heard the news. An expectation that became reality as the cute, thick-browed Latina leaped out of her chair, her eyes seeming to triple in size from shock.

    “What!? Wait, are you kidding me? You’re kidding me…. Why? How? No…. This is all fake, right? You’re filming me, and this is one of Chavo’s mean jokes….” I’d say I could see the wheels in her head spinning as she spoke, but instead, it was more like they moved so fast they broke off and crashed into a stack of anxiety-riddled kittens.

    “No, this isn’t a joke. And though I would have loved to, I haven’t met Chavo Guerrero, Jr.” I tried to calm her, though I don’t know that I was equipped with those specific spells, in Jennifer’s case.

    “Ha! I haven’t heard anyone say his full name like that in years. We just call him Chavvy. But if you wanted to meet him…. I could…. He trained me! He’s like my cousin’s cousin or something. Wait! You knew that. You hired me. Sorry! Where were we?”

    Almost being confused myself, I took a moment before answering. “We … were … uh … about to talk about you and Doll.”

    “Right! Yes! Tell me…. Me and Doll. Go…. No, wait; you’re MY boss. Tell me when you want to. Which hopefully will be soon, since I really want to know. But no pressure….” Again Jennifer set loose, almost squirming with anticipation as she brought herself back to a seat. And though she was manic, almost painfully so, she was still engaging and intensely adorable. Qualities which seemed to increase before my eyes, as her lower lip began to curl outward.

    “Are you pouting at me so that I tell you?” I asked, more amused than annoyed.

    “Yes.” For once, the Latina said little more than what I needed -- she making sure to keep her extended lip on full display

    “Alright, well … only because you pouted, here’s the deal. We want to put you and her in a storyline a little like the one Trish Stratus and Mickey James did. You’re The Doll’s biggest fan and a new wrestler who wants her as your mentor.” Despite my duty to tell her about it, I was torn about the storyline.

    Like, it made sense and had gone well in the WWF, but I hated copying them. Knowing to the depths of my soul that we had the talent to do better. But I wasn’t a writer, just the one who tasked with conveying the writers’ ideas to the talent.

    “I love that! It’s like … the truth! I AM a giant fan of hers! And having her as a mentor would be like….” I knew that if I let Jennifer, she would talk forever. So before only a sentence or two, I cut my brunette guest off.

    “But first!” I interjected, over her still accelerating mania.

    “You need to go talk to her. To Katherine. To get to know her, and more importantly, to let her get to know you. She is the biggest star in the company, and she needs to like the stories we give to her.” With every word, I began to realize that the prospect of being in a program with The Doll was something so exciting for our new luchette, that she was willing to listen. Not just listen, but think. Calmly.

    “So … head over the to our new training facility tomorrow. Sundays are Kat’s private training day. Introduce yourself. Ingratiate yourself. And make her like you, or at least, as close to that feeling as you can, ok?” Despite the speed of her previous responses, Jennifer just sat when I finished my instructions.

    As she did, I watched her, just sitting there, her muscular legs crossed, in her tight, shorter than short cutoff jeans. In them, and her pretty white sweetheart top, I could tell she was processing and playing out her meeting with the legendary Katherine Dahl in her head. Something I saw as a positive, knowing Kat’s temperamental temperament and her reputation as a diva, though not Vince’s kind.

    “Any questions?” I asked, half-impressed and half-worried by Jennifer’s sustained silence.

    “Just one, but it isn’t related to WWN. Are you … uh … interested in—” She began, with a shyness I had yet to see expressed on her beautiful face. But mid-sentence, and loudly, someone knocked at my apartment door, interrupting her.

    “Ugh! One sec.” I replied, after a frustrated sigh. An irritation I carried with me as I stood and walked to my door, not knowing who it might be or why they knocked like the kool-aid man. To answer that question, I leaned in and peeped through my peephole. In it, I saw a woman I did not recognize. A brunette with a scowl on her face, one who again pounded on my door, even as I looked her over.

    Maybe her expression should have kept me from opening the door, but being a graduate of Penngrove University, I was not the kind of girl who sought to avoid conflict with angry women. Especially when they were as stunning and well-built as whoever this woman was.

    And so with the thought of a confrontation with her quickening my pulse, I opened the door, preparing a glare of my own for the stranger, just to set the tone between us.

    As my eyes hardened into that glare, I began to picture some kind of angry shouting match between me and the knocking woman. One which took us chest-to-chest as we glared into each other's eyes.

    But instead of getting to enjoy myself at either of those half-points, as soon as I opened the door, the knocking woman charged in. The red, silk halter top and leather black skirt wearing woman grabbing my hair, and slamming my back against the wall of my entryway.

    “What. The. Fuck!?” I shouted, more in surprise than outrage, but regardless of cause, I quickly got my answer.

    “You the one fucking with my Rheena, huh?” In an instant, all of my short-lived confusion dissolved and I knew. My shocked grimace changing, in an instant, to a confident smirk. A smirk I wore with a tilting head, as the newly arrived brunette pinned me against the wall, her arms fully extended, her voice dripping with jealousy. “Answer me bitch!”

    Instead of attacking her, I just raised my hands up and into her hair, taking my own grasps and holding. Warning her with small but stiff tugs that I would fight back if she escalated. Warnings I gave her as I spoke around my sudden attacker to my couch-bound guest. “Jennifer, you need to go….” I said calmly, but still loud enough for WWN’s newest wrestler to hear.

    “I’ll stay, if you don--” She began, a longing in her voice, that upon hearing, I tucked away to poke at some other time.

    “No, Jennifer. Go!” Came the same instruction, but not from me, or the woman glaring at me. Instead, the demand came from Rheena, who charged into my apartment, her breath short, and face contorted in the same outrage I had chosen to avoid.

    “Please, can I stay…? I promise, I’ll—” Jennifer pled, even as the woman who held me and I began to pull each other’s hair with increased force -- each of us wincing at the pain the other caused.

    “Jennifer! Get. Out!” Again Rheena demanded, and at the sounding of it, Jennifer jumped -- she being fully aware it was her boss who was speaking.

    “Fine!” The Latina said in a pout, clearly wishing that she could stay for the fireworks that seemed to be imminent. Agreed in words though she had, Jenn left slowly, she stealing what moments she could to watch me and this mystery woman pull each other’s hair in a surprise standoff in the entryway of my apartment.

    But, when Rheena could take no more of Jennifer’s slow pace, my olive-skinned boss charged over, grabbed the beige-heeled Latina, and escorted her to the door of my apartment.

    Then, just as the door began to shut, I shouted to my new hire. “Go see Doll!” A final instruction, one that seemed to make my attacker mad. As even before the door had shut, the brunette used her grip on my hair to pull me away from the wall and then slam me back into it.

    God, I wanted to hurt her -- to just UGH! But first, I wanted to know what we were fighting about and who I was fighting with. “Who is this bitch, Rheena?” And though I asked only one of the two women left in my apartment, I got two answers.
    “This is Nazmin.” Came from Rheena in an exhausted tone that displayed her frustration with what was happening.

    “I’m her fucking girlfriend.” Offered Nazmin, at the same time Rheena spoke. An unasked for answer that came with a hard tug of my hair, one that pulled my head harshly back to center.

    “She is NOT my girlfriend.” Responded Rheena, her desire to assuage any guilt I might feel for our previous encounters clear.

    “Looks like she isn’t your girlfriend, Nazmin.” I said cruelly to the ethnic woman who held me, knowing that it would spark a reaction. And spark a reaction it did, as within a blink my body and hers were pressed together, she pulling hard first and then me responding. The two of us pulling away from the wall and then slamming back into it, as we stumbled together. Each of us pulling the other’s hair as hard as we could, neither of us able to withstand the pain without yelping and yammering hushed curses at each other.

    And though for a moment we had forgotten about Rheena, she quickly reminded of us her presence. My first opponent in Seattle walking over to us, reaching between us, and then pushing us apart. Nazmin and I clinging to our grips on each other’s hair, causing our separation to stop at arm’s length.

    “Stop it you two! NOW!” Rheena demanded, her voice shaking with anger.

    “I will fight this bitch for you, Rheena.” Nazmin said with a sexy Middle-Eastern accent I was not cultured enough to place.

    Not wanting her to think she was the only one who wanted to fight, I yanked hard at the brunette’s hair, making her respond in pain. “Owe, owe, BITCH!”

    “No, god, Nazmin … I am not some kind of prize to be fought over! This is 2019, and I want you both. You’re not my girlfriend, and neither is Brooke. I met you both the exact same way -- looking for a sexfight. Now, let go of each other!” I knew what Rheena was saying. That she didn’t want to be treated like some piece of meat for two tigresses to fight over. Not wanting to lose one of us, when really, she should be able to enjoy both me and the sexy cunt that held my hair.

    But no matter what as at stake, Nazmin was going to get hurt, I didn’t need a reason why anymore. She had pissed me off, and turned me on in the process. So Rheena on-a-pole or not, the battle Jennifer had wanted so desperately to watch was going to happen. Even if Jennifer wouldn’t be there to see it. Poor girl.

    “Screw girlfriends, then. Winner fucks Rheena, and the loser is the other’s bitch -- tonight only.” I think I could have said and set anything as the terms, and Nazmin would have agreed. For only a quarter-second after I offered, she spoke.

    “Deal, bitch.” Words that came as she and I both gave the other a hard, scream-inducing pull of hair.

    Maybe out of a resignation that there was no way Nazmin and I were going to let go of each other’s hair, or this chance to hurt each other, Rheena gave in. “Fine….”

    As if that word were a gun being fired at the starting line of a race, Nazmin and I launched into action, tearing at each other’s locks hard. Each of us giving the other delicious sounds of pain and agony. “Owe, owe.” “Fuck.” “Shit.” “Oowwwweeee.”

    And though every second that she and I pulled at each other’s hair hurt, a pain which was made worse by how long that same attack had continued, neither of us let go. No, instead we only tugged harder, as our bodies pulled tighter, our effort-reddened cheeks coming to a warm press. The two of us together leaning over further and further, as if we were tasked with giving some kind of royal bow with our bodies having been glued together.

    But as that bow dipped lower and lower, we each began to falter. Barely able to stay on our feet, and completely unable to straighten our bodies, with the other’s death grip on our locks -- mine golden and her’s a rich auburn-brown. Suffer though we did, in the exact same way, neither of us relented. If anything, even as we began to whimper cheek-to-cheek at the pain we inflicted upon each other, we just yanked harder. Each of us driven by a mutual desire to hurt one another that continued, even as we together collapsed to the cold cement floor of my apartment.

    Even then, as we fell to our knees and then to our sides, we never let go of our holds. Just pulling. Just tugging. No matter how much it hurt, or what sounds came out of our mouths. In that hell, we remained, side by side, until Nazmin burst into action, trying to mount me.

    A coup she was able to accomplish by pushing me to my back and crawling up my body. Her thighs raising and placing on either side of my blouse-covered abdomen.

    But as she took that position of assumed power, I angled her neck down harshly, with my grip on her brunette hair. A folding that left Nazmin bent painfully in two, as she found herself stuck atop me. She and her beautifully-hued mocha skin having no way to advance. As any movement forward she made caused my yanking of her precious black hair to be even more painful.

    Despite trying again and again, to find someway to turn her mount into dominance, eventually, Nazmin was forced to retreat. Forced to backtrack until she laid down on top of me. Her left cheek, and my right again pressing together, as we held desperately to our grips on each other’s hair. Neither of us willing to release first, even as tears began to form and then fall from our eyes.

    Tears, and the sounds that accompanied them, that pushed Rheena, who has been watching the whole time, to finally intervene. “Oh my god! Stop pulling each other’s hair! I am not interested in either of you being bald! Even if seeing this is sexy as hell.”
    At our lover’s command, we stopped our cruel pulling, even if we held tight to our grips, Nazmin and I just remaining -- resting. Body-to-body, as our tears dripped and mixed in a small pool beneath us.

    Even without our pulling, Rheena spoke again. “Ok, you’re going to let go of each other’s FUCKING hair in 3…” She paused letting us realize she was counting down to what she expected to be a release. “2…” She counted again, her voice stern and forceful. “1!” She shouted, and as she instructed we did release our hold on each other’s hair.
    Maybe Rheena thought with our holds abandoned we would separate. But instead, as three became one, we just slapped at each other: hard. Really, really hard. Our palms landing in harsh stinging slaps anywhere we could land them. Not letting that spree end with one or two, but instead hitting one another again and again. The resulting claps, each which stung, echoing through my apartment.

    Echoes that mixed with our every yelp and yell, until, when we could take not a second more of such strikes, we grabbed for each other’s hair again. Settling back into our long war of hairpulling attrition -- it feeling safer than the explosive round of slaps Nazmin and I had unleashed on each other when free from it.

    “Ugh! I said no more hairpulling!” Rheena complained again, even as Nazmin and I shared with each other and not our lover, tiny whimpers of pain. The violence and intensity of our battle being far more than either of us anticipated. Each of us surprising the other with our willingness to follow the other into the depths of such an intense fight.

    Whimper though we did, at Rheena’s prompting, I quickly withdrew my left hand from Nazmin’s hair and began to punch. Not forward like a boxer, but by extending my arm out wide to the side, and then after a sharp hook, back in. Landing my closed knuckles in her still-clothed ribs. Strikes that caused her to groan out atop me, before reaching for my punching arm with a right hand she took from my hair.

    As my ethnic rival reached for my striking fist and clasped her fingers around my wrist, I bridged on one side, and with my half-raised body, sent Nazmin falling off of me to her back. But I did not just let her go, instead, I followed her. Mounting her, just as she had tried to do to me before, each of us, at that moment, having completely abandoned our hairpulling. And though I tried to move fast, before I had pressed myself down on top of her, Nazmin reached for my blouse and pulled it not only out from its tuck in my skirt, but over my arms and face.

    At that moment I could not see her, but as she pulled, I still in the darkness, reached for her halter and yanked it hard, trying to take it from her. Each of us moving all of our focus to pulling the other’s top off. Even to the detriment of my mount, which I abandoned by standing. In part to take Nazmin’s top up and over her head, but also, to get my own top out from in front of my eyes.

    It was then, that finally, we broke. Me throwing not only her halter top but my blouse to the floor, as I glared at her. The two of us already wounded combatants wiping drying tears away from our faces, as she joined me in a stand.

    “Brooke. Nazmin. This is so. Fucking. Stupid. Look what you’re doing to each other….” Rheena pled, she seeing how harsh our battle for her had been. But at that moment, neither of us recognized her words. The two of us only able to hear the heavy beating of our hearts, which pounded under our heaving, bra-covered chests. Neither of us able to see anything other than each other, and the anger that burned in our rival’s jealousy-filled eyes.

    Wanting to stoke that jealousy and drive Nazmin insane, I stormed over to Rheena, raised my tired hands to her cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

    One second passed, and then two, before I felt Rheena’s lips pulled from mine -- as Nazmin took her from me and into her own kiss. And though I gave her a few moments, uninterrupted, I then took Rheena back, pressing her lips to mine once again. Only to find Nazmin steal her from me, only to engage her in the same.
    And though such rebounding kisses seemed as if they might continue forever, suddenly, I felt Rheena pull back from both us. Then, before either of us could react, and with my boss’ hands placed on the back of not only my head and but my rival’s, she pushed Nazmin and I together.

    Not into some kind of headbutt, but into a kiss. One which began slowly and awkwardly, our minds taking a moment to realize what had occurred. Neither of us having tasted the other before or felt the other’s tongue dance with our own. But as if it was a challenge from our mutual lover, we dove. We pressed. We kissed, as if the other’s mouth was only source of air.

    The two of us kissing hard and hatefully. Fighting each other with our tongues, as our hands moved from Rheena to each other’s skirts. Unsnapping and pushing them down, before moving onto each other’s bras.

    Kiss though it was, we were anything but soft. Anything but loving. Each of us grabbing and tearing at each other cruelly to remove not just the now loosened fabric that held our breasts, but the thin-stringed thongs that hugged our hips. My rival and I eating each other’s faces with our lips, and trying to choke each other with our tongues.

    I knew what Rheena was thinking when she pushed Nazmin and I together. That if she could just get us to kiss, we would stop hurting each other. And that instead, we would settle our dispute, as I have in every other battle I’d had in my short time in Seattle, by testing each other with our sexual prowess. But when finally our clothes had been removed, and our matching beige flats had been kicked off, we separated -- our eyes still locked in a hateful glare.

    At that moment, I could feel it, I was snarling -- even though I did not do so intentionally. A look Nazmin returned, before spitting at me. The mix of her saliva and mine landing on my chest and dripping from there down. A trickle quickened as I charged at her. Wanting to hurt her. Wanting to beat her and claim our lover as my own, at least for that night.
    When my charge brought us together, I tackled the brunette interloper to my couch, causing that piece of furniture to rock precariously as we landed. There, she tried to fight me -- to push me off and free herself, but I had her. And as my nude thighs slipped about either side of her bare body, I lifted her by the back of her neck off the couch and then buried her face between my tits. My right hand gripping the sofa’s edge, as my left hand shifted up to take a firm grip of the back of Nazmin’s head.

    I could hear her murmuring, speaking, or maybe even yelling into my tits, but not what she was saying. And at that moment, I really didn’t care. Something I told her as my sexy breasts cupped her pretty, red-lipsticked mouth. “I can’t hear you, cunt. But I’ll just go ahead and assume you're telling me how excited you are to watch me fuck your “girlfriend” (Yes, those are sneer quotes).”

    With every word, I could feel her naked body squirm more and more forcefully beneath me. But finally, when that desperate wriggling began to slow, I could taste it: victory. A quick, soul-crushing victory over the woman that had the nerve to march into my apartment, mid-business meeting, and attack me.

    But just as I thought I had Nazmin beat, I felt her nails dig deep into my ass, and drag up my back. Even describing it now, I can feel it. The sting of her sharp nails, pulling up small layers of my skin. Layers which hurt so bad as they peeled. So bad, in fact, that on instinct alone, I released her and raised back up from my heavy forward lean, into a seated position in my rival’s lap. And when I did, even as she gasped for air, she reached up and dug those same cruel nails of hers into my tits.

    I wish I could tell you I reached back for her breasts and dished out the same punishment she gave to me, but instead, to get away from the pain, I fell back between her spread thighs.

    Thighs which clamped down on my abdomen in what seemed like a second, locking at the ankles high above me, as I screamed out in pain. Me laying and facing upward, with she beneath me, aimed the same way. Our heads on opposite sides of the couch. Her legs tightly locked around my ribs, and mine spread out. With my left foot braced on the back of my couch, and my right dangling just across her left shoulder.

    “Scream for me, bitch.” Nazmin taunted as her legs gave a powerful pulse that made me scream once again. And just as I was dealing with that pain -- one so bad it made me nauseous, I suddenly felt her claws dig into my bare sex. Her claws moving in and clamping down between my foolishly parted thighs.

    “Shit!! OOwwweeee” FUCK! I cursed, both in pain and because of how completely screwed I was. She had me trapped, Nazmin did, between her powerful thighs. All as her long nails dug deep into my sex. And all I could do, at least at that moment, was moan out in pain, as I slammed my thighs shut.

    Closed tight though my legs then were, Nazmin’s fingers were already in place, and so the closing only drove her nails deeper. Making me whimper, as her thighs squeezed me once again. Harder. Tighter. To be real, I was in hell, and could barely deal with the pain, let alone think of a way out. In that hopelessness, the pain continued, and for the first time, giving in entered my mind. Conceding to the bitch who ravaged me.

    A third consecutive loss. DAMNIT! I thought to myself, as I writhed in pain between my rival’s thighs. Feeling her still-dry sex press against my lower back, as she pinched at my folds. Trying to ruin me. Destroy me. At least until I told her she had won. And as I suffered there -- dwelled there, on the verge of another consecutive defeat, I heard her say it.

    “Just give up, Brooke.” It was a whisper. A mutter, made under Rheena’s breath, as she sat across the room in a zebra print chair watching us, but still, I heard it.

    Rather than do as she asked, however, I began to throw what we in the fight business call a wild hissyfit. One that took hold as I began to kick my legs and swing my arms angrily -- desperately, unable to endure the pain or come up with a way out.

    At least that’s what I thought before I felt the heel of my right foot come down hard on something soft. An accidental strike on my rival’s lips, I could only guess, that caused Nazmin to end the squeezing of her legs and the clawing of my labia.

    Through my mind ran scenarios of sitting up, and trying to turn my brown-haired rival’s release into some kind of offense, but … I just … couldn’t. I was still in too much pain from those attacks she had made, even with them released. And I, despite knowing the pressure had been relieved, really didn’t know what state Nazmin was in. So, instead of keeping she and I glued together, I just rolled off of her and my couch, onto the floor between it and my heavy wood coffee table.

    As I laid there, I could hear Nazmin groaning, her hands clearly pressed to her mouth, based on the amount of mumble in the sound. And though she sounded wounded, I knew I couldn’t just rest. I had to get up, even as my ribs ached and sex stung. So I pressed my palms down to the floor and began to raise up.

    As I did though, moving backward and up into a stand, I found Nazmin sitting up. Her bell rung, and hands still pressed to her lips -- she not seeming to care where I was or what I was doing.

    It’s in moments like that, in a catfight, where you have so many different options running through your mind. Options which each could take the battle in one direction or another. And though there were many to choose from, I settled on one.

    One that led me to drop my ass down on the couch behind Rheena’s other booty-call, and wrap my right arm not only under her chin but around her throat. Then, before she could react, I cinched up -- locking her deep in a sleeperhold, just like the ones I had seen in the WWF. One that would make Roddy Piper and Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake proud.

    As that hold pulled tight, I felt Nazmin’s hands move to my forearm to pull, just as my left palm pressed to her forehead to keep her from leaning her upper body forward and away from me. That’s when I heard her say it. Curse, knowing how bad I had her. How deep my forearm was sunk under her chin, and how little mercy either of us had shown each other. A mercy that one has to be given to survive a chokehold like the one I had on her.

    Given that impossible dream of me doing anything less than destroying her, after all that had happened, Nazmin could have gone one of two ways. She could have softened. Taking a chance at changing the tone of our battle to something other than complete bitch-fest of violence and pain, as it had been, to something more sexual. Something more akin my usual battles. Or, in a panicked state, flail. Striking in every way she could. With every limb and at any target, just as I had done in my luck-led escape of her leg scissors.

    It might not surprise you, but Nazmin took the latter approach, firing out her arms, at first with fists closed and then with fists open. She trying to hit me and force me to loosen my choke. Her lungs sealed off from the air she desperately needed by my cruelly tight and squeezing arm.

    But as she spent her energy trying to hit me, I just leaned back into my seat on the couch. Pulling her nude body back into mine, as I whispered in her ear. “I’m going to use my favorite pink dildo to fuck her on top of you, Nazmin.”

    It was mean to say that. As I write this, I feel bad about it … at least a little. I say a little, because she started it! I was just minding my own business, or really Rheena’s business (as I work for her), when the crazy that Middle-Eastern harpy stormed into my apartment and grabbed my hair. So, no, I wasn’t really in the mood to go soft on her or let her forget what was at stake. Still though: mean -- I know.

    But as mean as I was -- as angry as I was, it felt good -- so good. Like, really, really good. Holding her against me. My naked body and breasts pressing against her back. Feeling her squirm and struggle to get away from me, as her sexy white-chocolate ass cheeks squeezed and pressed, again and again, against my exposed kitty.

    A series of sensations that made me moan, just a little into her ear. She, in response giving me these cute little squeaks -- cute, even though they were the sounds of her suffocating. Ha ha, I’m such a bitch.

    But just as all of that drove me wild, I felt her take it from me. Not by escaping my choke, but by sliding her ass off the couch, and planting her feet on the ground. A planting she used to then step her legs alone forward, even as I clung to her. That cling making her do a deeper than deep limbo, as her lower-half moved forward and away from the couch. All as her upper-body remained with me, and fully under my control. A truly untenable situation for her, that quickly turned into an untenable situation for me.

    For Nazmin, that clever little bitch, suddenly leaped back as she reached the absolute limit of her ability to walk her lower-body away from the couch. The weight of her rapidly returning legs and ass, causing her to smash into me. An impact which caused my pretty, but not overly sturdy couch to tip and then fall back. Sending both my rival and I to crash down to the floor.

    Well, her to the floor. Since, technically, I remained on my back on the couch. My sleeperhold releasing somewhere in the madness. My eyes closing on instinct, as my head smashed into the hard concrete floor of my apartment in a loud thud. Despite the pain that collision caused, one I felt in the back of my skull, after only a few seconds, I opened my eyes. Knowing I had to find Nazmin, to figure out where was she, and what was she planning to do to me.

    But even with my eyelids open, suddenly everything went dark, as I found my rival’s breasts lower down over my face. My mocha-skinned rival having landed on her stomach, her head just behind and to the side of mine on the floor.

    Even through Nazmin’s perfect breasts, though, I could hear her hacking. Coughing. She still suffering from the effects of my tight, asphyxiating chokehold. Effects she spoke through to taunt me. “I’ll be .... * HACK * … the one... * COUGH * … to use that precious little dildo, bitch….”

    Through her struggles for air, and taunts, I could tell where her face was, even as I felt sweat from her tits drip into my open and gasping mouth. She, with her arms wrapped around the back of my head, was laying on top of me. Her chest, over my face, and her face just between my breasts.

    Breasts that engulfed her, as I wrapped my own arms around the back of her head and squeezed. A squeeze that locked that sexy little she-devil and I in a mutual titsmother. Neither of us able to breathe. Neither of us free to do anything other than suffer and suck at sweat-scented air that did not come. Not fast enough at least, as we each had each other.

    Not in some hold meant to hurt -- one we could endure if only we hated each other enough. But one that had but one of two conclusions: escape or unconsciousness. Neither scenario being more or less likely by who had the top position. A fact that Nazmin must have known, as she quickly rolled, maybe hoping I would let her go when it was I atop her.

    But I just held on, and so did she. For one moment and then two. For two and then four. Neither us able to breathe or willing to relent -- each of us knowing we had the other, and if we could just hang on, the fight would be over. Yes, maybe in a tie. But both of us were making a different bet, at least at that moment.

    A bet that we could outlast the other.

    A bet that when sweaty tits were peeled back from salt-covered lips, that it would be us who would still be conscious and free to claim Rheena.

    But that wager did little to keep our lungs from burning, as the oxygen left in our lungs from our last real breath began to run out.

    She had to release, right...? I told myself, as a statement of fact, that curled into a question. A question that took all the fun out of being so close to a set of breasts as glorious as Nazmin’s.

    Even without that fun, we rolled once more to the right together. A roll, that after a moment or two more spent asphyxiating between each other’s chest-bound assets, we repeated. The two of us then beginning to squeeze the other with our arms, in tight little bursts of strength, hoping those tightenings might be some form of communication.

    A fighty Morse code, if you will (read that in the voice of Dusty Rhodes, baby), that might convince the other to realize the mutual destruction and unconsciousness we sprinted towards. Messages we seemingly each ignored, as we just continued to roll, this time to the left, neither of us allowing the other buried between our perfectly shaped breasts.
    Harder and harder though it became for us to focus -- to think, we together continued to move up and then over one another, as we traveled left. Until, after one or twenty of such rolls, we moved up the curved arm of the overturned, and back-laid couch. An angle that then quickly sent us careening back in a roll to the right -- the opposite direction. My tanned, but technically Caucasian body still atop the couch’s back and Nazmin’s on the floor as we spun in our body-stacked torpedo of suffocation.

    In that roll, one which did not stop and then reverse, but instead continued, the two of us picking up speed as we tumbled together. My vision and hers spotting in black as we moved more and more quickly. Our consciousnesses fading as we crashed into the opposite arm of the couch, only then finding ourselves freed from each other’s perspiration-lined breasts.

    A freedom in which we wheezed and hacked, each of us choking on rushing breaths only feet apart from each other. Neither of us able to stand or even speak. My fire and hers, fires which once raged, extinguished by each other’s long, desperate smother. A smother Rheena watched in horror, she only then, with Nazmin and I separated, finally speaking.

    “You two HAVE to fucking STOP this!” My exasperated boss began, speaking not in request, but in demand. And though she spoke in words I should have been able to understand, I couldn’t. For at that moment, I felt like I was dying. Passing from this world to the next. Not from pain, but an exhaustion like I had never felt before. The sum total of our battle, short as it may have been, either because of the passion of it. The intensity of it. Or that long, draining smother. Having taken my everything. Every ounce of energy. Every spark I had ever had.

    In fact, at that moment, as I laid there on the floor of my apartment next to Nazmin, I could not even picture standing again, let alone fighting again. But as one moment after another came and went, and my rival and I just laid there, Rheena moved between us and knelt. She placing a soft hand on both of our bodies, to check on us and make sure we were still alive.

    I don’t know how long she allowed us to rest, but before I felt even close to ready, our mutual lover reached out to our hands. Then, when she had them, she pulled us both back up to our knees, and after a pause, to our feet.

    A miracle though it was, that we had made it back to our feet, Nazmin and I were only capable of a lean. Both of us needing Rheena’s still clothed body pressed against ours as a brace. One to keep us from collapsing back to the floor. Neither of us able to do anything other than just suck at the air, with our eyes closed and bodies quivering from exhaustion.

    We must have looked like the hottest messes in the entire world to Rheena. Our hair disheveled by what seemed like an eternity of hairpulling. Our makeup smeared by each others breasts and intermittent tears. And our wobbling stances looking anything other than fierce. Sights which led Rheena to wrap an arm around each of us.

    “You both win, ok? You both get me tonight. Just, for the love of god, stop fighting….” Rheena offered softly, her nipples still hard as adamantium. She finding herself turned on by our struggle, regardless of her disagreement with the brutality with which Nazmin and I fought.

    It made all the sense in the world. We could just stop fighting. Stop killing ourselves and each other, and just fuck her. Fuck each other -- healing the wounds we had inflicted. And yet still, at the very moment Rheena attempted to name our competition a draw, Nazmin and I reached for each other.

    Not quickly, but weakly. Not with force and fire, but exhausted and spent. Our hands meeting, and fingers lacing, as we pushed at each other.

    “Get u-u-undressed, my … my love. I’m going to fuuuuuck you, after I beat this bitch....” Nazmin instructed, as she and I pushed together and then apart with what little strength we had left. Our palms pressing, and fingers lazily clasped as we tried to re-engage.
    Despite that attempt and the desire behind it, all my rival and I found ourselves able to do was move away from Rheena, and then together to stumble over to the wall next to my bed.

    There, after a series of unintentional spins, and trip-bought pushes, we landed hard against the brick of the wall. Nazmin against it, and me pressing into her. Our fatigue-riddled and sweat-covered bodies pressed together, as we leaned into each other, and against the wall to avoid succumbing to the overwhelming pull gravity had on us.

    “Rheena, strip! I’m -- gonna f-fuck you ... like you’ve never been fucked by this -- this -- cunt….” Despite the words and the confidence in them, my head rested on Nazmin’s shoulder. Just as hers rested on mine. Our laced fingers coming undone, freeing us to slap at each other. Our hands splashing down on thick, wet flesh. On hips and sides — thighs and arms.

    Not a single one of those attacks wounded or even hurt. My rival and I being too exhausted to summon any real force with which to hurt each other, even though we continued to try. Delivering the most ridiculous of slaps as we pressed body-to-body. Our mirrored breasts pressed together, and rubbing. So much so that our nipples began to harden and stab into each other.

    Stabbings of pink and brown centers that drove us each to whimper and moan, and then in turn, as those sounds aroused us, our weak, stumbling legs to part and then advance. Our legs extending between each other’s thighs and then raising and pressing into each other’s bared sexs.

    “I CAN’T EVEN WITH YOU TWO! STOP!” Rheena screamed, she not yet realizing that what she wanted was already happening. The transition from hate to lust -- from jealousy to desire. And yet still, even as our mutual lover moved herself to a place just to the right of our leaning bodies, our war of words did not stop.
    “Strip…. Rheena….” I almost mumbled, unable to find anything more with which to propel my words. My thoughts on the aftermath of my victory, even though I had no clue how I would procure it.

    “Don’t … even … talk to her….” Nazmin responded in a voice drenched with exhaustion. “You can’t fuck her like I doOOooooO....” She added in challenge. One I accepted before it even came; my leg lifting and thigh sliding against her already wet sex.

    “Better than you….” I spat back, in a half-non-sequitur, and in no less of a dare. One I issued as Nazmin and I lifted our heads from each other’s shoulders and then looked soul-deep into each other’s eyes.

    Eyes which sought. Which asked. Which begged. And before I either of us could even understand for what, in thought or in voice, we were kissing. My rival and I. Our lips sealed and tongues dancing. A passionate, and yet still exhaustion-slowed kiss that we fell into. Both figuratively, and literally, as we began to collapse backward. Neither Nazmin nor I able to keep our feet with the added distraction of that sudden and incredible moment of nascent desire.

    All as Rheena finally exclaimed. “FINALLY! FUCK! A shout she gave before laughing. Her heart finally free from the worry of her two favorite playthings destroying each other. But even as she celebrated the turn, one she had hoped was coming, she found herself needing to scramble.

    “Oh god!” The olive-skinned leader of the WWN blurted out in panic as she noticed Nazmin and I falling not back onto the floor cleanly, or the bed in entirety, but onto the edge together. The middle of my back landing awkwardly on the Tiffany blue comforter-covered edge of my mattress. Rheena having to rush over and after a quick lift, pull my brunette rival up and onto the bed together. She who lifted giving us a final push to send us into a roll, one that took us to the center of it.

    As Nazmin and I rolled, our thighs parted, and wet centers met, as the two of us froze together. Each of us pulling back from our kiss, only far enough for our tongues to separate, though our lips still pressed together.

    “FuuuUuuuuuuck yoOoOouuu….” I said in a lust-drunk gasp.

    “Biiiiiiiiiiiiiitccchhhhh.” Nazmin responded, with the only word she could find, her concentration stolen by the electric meeting of our womanhoods.

    Womanhoods which a moment later began to rub -- to grind. Not hard or fast, but slow. Each of us feeling the almost invisible stubble of each other’s returning pubic hair -- even through a coat of our own juices. Juices which began to flow as we pressed together on that wall. As our slowness became sexy and our weakness became wanton.

    “Oooooh shiiiit….” I moaned, my face turning from Nazmin’s, in part so I could endure the sensation of my sex and her’s gliding together. No pain being inflicted on each other. No wrestling for control or position. Just pleasure. Just my pussy and hers.

    “Kiss me….” I heard my rival say in a whisper. A whisper -- a request that confused me. Did she really just ask me to kiss her? After all we had just been through? After all we had just done to each other? Confused though I was, I still looked back, as we laid there in a sexy little heap in the center of my bed.

    “What…?” I asked softly, almost in disbelief, as her eyes and my locked together.

    “Kiss me….” Again she said it, and again it caught me off-guard. And yet still, I still leaned in and kissed her. Each of us releasing small little whimpers and moans into each other’s mouths as our hands ran up and down each other’s bodies.

    That kiss — our kiss was so soft. So sensual. So bereft of strife and torture that I let myself drop from atop Nazmin, down to my side. And though I expected my rival to roll atop and mount me, she didn’t. Instead, she too rolled to her side, adjusted her legs, aligned our kittens, only to grind hers into mine once again. All as we continued to kiss and moan softly for each other -- into each other’s mouths, as our tongues met in a series of gentle twirls and delicate twists.

    Sounds which grew louder and louder as our slow, soaked tribbing began to quicken. Our mile-thick thighs, and apple-bottom behinds seeming to rebound from every stroke. Rebounds that aided as our calves hooked and flexed, pulling us forward again and again.
    And though that incredible collision of lustful sex-to-sex fucking bore not a single hallmark of our prior violence and contempt, still did I pull back from our locking of lips and whisper. “Fight me.”

    And still, did Nazmin respond: “I am.”

    Words we shared before diving back into our kiss -- our grinding. Neither of us hardening in the slightest, even though it was once again clear what we were doing.
    Competing with our womanhoods.

    Fighting with our sensuality.

    Still locked in a war for Rheena, thought the weapons and battlefield had changed.

    “MMmnnnnn” I sounded out in our kiss.

    “OooooHHhhh.” Nazmin moaned in the same.

    Our hands moving to each other’s asses to pull and push and drive our sexs together harder. But with every effort-driven thrust of our layered lower-halves, we found the energy enough, despite out smother-born exhaustion, to move faster. Fuck harder.
    Not just for ourselves, but for Rheena, who stood at the end of the bed watching us. Her own passions and lusts gripping her hard -- making her salivate at the idea of either my rival or I taking control and fucking her as we promised. Her panties wetting at the thought of one of her two lovers defeating the other and then, after a well-earned collaring, taking control.

    And yet, though we had fought tooth and nail for her, wrecking each other just to, for a single night, claim her and each other as our own. And though we each believed ourselves to be continuing that battle. As every moment of that sex-to-sex struggle continued, Rheena began to fade from Nazmin and I’s minds. The cause of our clash turning to mist somewhere in the haze and fog of our driving asses, pulling calves, and grinding folds.

    Nazmin’s clit and mine negotiating the terms of an ongoing peace between us. Even as the last shots in our war were fired. Shots which caused us each to whimper, then moan, and then, in the last few strokes of our careening cunts, scream for each other.
    Screams which came from my rival first, and then me, only a second later. My rival and I avoiding a simultaneous orgasm by only the slimmest of margins. A fact known only to Nazmin as she laid there next to me in defeat and crippling exhaustion, and I, doing the same, in victory and overwhelming fatigue.

    Our gentle kiss not breaking.

    Our essence-wet inner thighs coming not uncrossed or our cunts apart.
    At least not until we each reached down for the other, moving our fingers past breasts and stomach, and then into our rival’s sex. Each of us wanting to not only explore, but to slowly bring one another down from the high we just reached.

    Enemies turned soft.

    Rivals turned lovers, at least in that moment.

    But as we two remained in that moment of lingering passion and lounging lust, Rheena called to us.

    “So?! Who won?!” She began, as she found herself unable to tell, given how close our screams were. That confusion doing little to hide the expectancy and excitement in her voice. “Come on, which one of you is going to backup all that shit you were talking? Fuck me like I’ve never been fucked….”

    She was ready to watch us try. To watch one of us dominate and own the bodies of she and the loser, whoever that might be. But even as she called to us, Nazmin and I just continued to kiss. Continued to slowly, playfully finger each other. Our bodies on our sides on my now half-disheveled bed. Our sexy thighs remaining overlapped, as our calves, which were once hooked behind each other, began to run up and down in soft, gentle rubs.

    “HEY! YOU TWO! It’s my turn! LET’S GO!” Rheena began to shout, the frustration of delayed pleasure making her almost manic. Her eyes scanning over us, wishing that she was laying there between us, and that instead of pleasuring each other, we were instead pleasuring her.

    Despite her increased volume, the only response Rheena got was Nazmin and I beginning to moan again, as we worked each other back into excitement. Our eyes closed, tongues swirling, and index fingers moving from lower lips to still-aching clits.

    Clits which sent shock waves of pleasure through us once again, as we heard the door open and then slam shut. Rheena having stormed out. Leaving her two lovers to play in their exhaustion. Knowing that neither Nazmin nor I would be any use to her, for that day at least -- as frustrating as that truth was.
    Last edited by Rivals_Rapture; January 15th, 2019 at 01:02 PM.


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    Re: When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story

    Quote Originally Posted by Rivals_Rapture View Post
    When Life Starts: Chapter 3



    I could see it peeking out from behind her sweet smile and peppy nature. Sense it hiding beneath her nervous speaking and Pinkie Pie from My Little Ponies impression. Strength, toughness, and most of all, heart.

    Qualities which led me to hire her, when the decision was mine to make. She was young, but so were most of us in a company willed into existence by the Bowman brothers and their quickly expanding empire.

    Along with that youth, came her pedigree, she coming from a family I bet would make her special -- even if it was once or twice removed.

    A bet that inspired me not wait for my office to clear of sweaty, catcalling construction workers. And instead to invite her to my apartment so that we could finish up her signing, and officially add her to the roster of the Women's Wrestling Network.

    “Great!” I said brightly, out of expectation more than true excitement as the friendly brunette handed me back her newly signed employment contract. A contract I took and placed to the side of my black skirt-covered hip, a skirt I thought went super well with my emerald green blouse. “Ok, now that it’s official, I wanted to go over some of our plans for you.”

    “Plans sound good! Where do we start? Where am I starting, actually? Anywhere’s good, but somewhere good would be … uh … good … too.” As she spoke in her frantic, overly-excited manner, I laughed softly. Each of us sitting on my thin-framed white-fabric living room couch.

    “Well, good is what we got, sister! Since we’re starting you out with The Doll!” As I said it, I watched her face, knowing it would light up as soon as she heard the news. An expectation that became reality as the cute, thick-browed Latina leaped out of her chair, her eyes seeming to triple in size from shock.

    “What!? Wait, are you kidding me? You’re kidding me…. Why? How? No…. This is all fake, right? You’re filming me, and this is one of Chavo’s mean jokes….” I’d say I could see the wheels in her head spinning as she spoke, but instead, it was more like they moved so fast they broke off and crashed into a stack of anxiety-riddled kittens.

    “No, this isn’t a joke. And though I would have loved to, I haven’t met Chavo Guerrero, Jr.” I tried to calm her, though I don’t know that I was equipped with those specific spells, in Jennifer’s case.

    “Ha! I haven’t heard anyone say his full name like that in years. We just call him Chavvy. But if you wanted to meet him…. I could…. He trained me! He’s like my cousin’s cousin or something. Wait! You knew that. You hired me. Sorry! Where were we?”

    Almost being confused myself, I took a moment before answering. “We … were … uh … about to talk about you and Doll.”

    “Right! Yes! Tell me…. Me and Doll. Go…. No, wait; you’re MY boss. Tell me when you want to. Which hopefully will be soon, since I really want to know. But no pressure….” Again Jennifer set loose, almost squirming with anticipation as she brought herself back to a seat. And though she was manic, almost painfully so, she was still engaging and intensely adorable. Qualities which seemed to increase before my eyes, as her lower lip began to curl outward.

    “Are you pouting at me so that I tell you?” I asked, more amused than annoyed.

    “Yes.” For once, the Latina said little more than what I needed -- she making sure to keep her extended lip on full display

    “Alright, well … only because you pouted, here’s the deal. We want to put you and her in a storyline a little like the one Trish Stratus and Mickey James did. You’re The Doll’s biggest fan and a new wrestler who wants her as your mentor.” Despite my duty to tell her about it, I was torn about the storyline.

    Like, it made sense and had gone well in the WWF, but I hated copying them. Knowing to the depths of my soul that we had the talent to do better. But I wasn’t a writer, just the one who tasked with conveying the writers’ ideas to the talent.

    “I love that! It’s like … the truth! I AM a giant fan of hers! And having her as a mentor would be like….” I knew that if I let Jennifer, she would talk forever. So before only a sentence or two, I cut my brunette guest off.

    “But first!” I interjected, over her still accelerating mania.

    “You need to go talk to her. To Katherine. To get to know her, and more importantly, to let her get to know you. She is the biggest star in the company, and she needs to like the stories we give to her.” With every word, I began to realize that the prospect of being in a program with The Doll was something so exciting for our new luchette, that she was willing to listen. Not just listen, but think. Calmly.

    “So … head over the to our new training facility tomorrow. Sundays are Kat’s private training day. Introduce yourself. Ingratiate yourself. And make her like you, or at least, as close to that feeling as you can, ok?” Despite the speed of her previous responses, Jennifer just sat when I finished my instructions.

    As she did, I watched her, just sitting there, her muscular legs crossed, in her tight, shorter than short cutoff jeans. In them, and her pretty white sweetheart top, I could tell she was processing and playing out her meeting with the legendary Katherine Dahl in her head. Something I saw as a positive, knowing Kat’s temperamental temperament and her reputation as a diva, though not Vince’s kind.

    “Any questions?” I asked, half-impressed and half-worried by Jennifer’s sustained silence.

    “Just one, but it isn’t related to WWN. Are you … uh … interested in—” She began, with a shyness I had yet to see expressed on her beautiful face. But mid-sentence, and loudly, someone knocked at my apartment door, interrupting her.

    “Ugh! One sec.” I replied, after a frustrated sigh. An irritation I carried with me as I stood and walked to my door, not knowing who it might be or why they knocked like the kool-aid man. To answer that question, I leaned in and peeped through my peephole. In it, I saw a woman I did not recognize. A brunette with a scowl on her face, one who again pounded on my door, even as I looked her over.

    Maybe her expression should have kept me from opening the door, but being a graduate of Penngrove University, I was not the kind of girl who sought to avoid conflict with angry women. Especially when they were as stunning and well-built as whoever this woman was.

    And so with the thought of a confrontation with her quickening my pulse, I opened the door, preparing a glare of my own for the stranger, just to set the tone between us.

    As my eyes hardened into that glare, I began to picture some kind of angry shouting match between me and the knocking woman. One which took us chest-to-chest as we glared into each other's eyes.

    But instead of getting to enjoy myself at either of those half-points, as soon as I opened the door, the knocking woman charged in. The red, silk halter top and leather black skirt wearing woman grabbing my hair, and slamming my back against the wall of my entryway.

    “What. The. Fuck!?” I shouted, more in surprise than outrage, but regardless of cause, I quickly got my answer.

    “You the one fucking with my Rheena, huh?” In an instant, all of my short-lived confusion dissolved and I knew. My shocked grimace changing, in an instant, to a confident smirk. A smirk I wore with a tilting head, as the newly arrived brunette pinned me against the wall, her arms fully extended, her voice dripping with jealousy. “Answer me bitch!”

    Instead of attacking her, I just raised my hands up and into her hair, taking my own grasps and holding. Warning her with small but stiff tugs that I would fight back if she escalated. Warnings I gave her as I spoke around my sudden attacker to my couch-bound guest. “Jennifer, you need to go….” I said calmly, but still loud enough for WWN’s newest wrestler to hear.

    “I’ll stay, if you don--” She began, a longing in her voice, that upon hearing, I tucked away to poke at some other time.

    “No, Jennifer. Go!” Came the same instruction, but not from me, or the woman glaring at me. Instead, the demand came from Rheena, who charged into my apartment, her breath short, and face contorted in the same outrage I had chosen to avoid.

    “Please, can I stay…? I promise, I’ll—” Jennifer pled, even as the woman who held me and I began to pull each other’s hair with increased force -- each of us wincing at the pain the other caused.

    “Jennifer! Get. Out!” Again Rheena demanded, and at the sounding of it, Jennifer jumped -- she being fully aware it was her boss who was speaking.

    “Fine!” The Latina said in a pout, clearly wishing that she could stay for the fireworks that seemed to be imminent. Agreed in words though she had, Jenn left slowly, she stealing what moments she could to watch me and this mystery woman pull each other’s hair in a surprise standoff in the entryway of my apartment.

    But, when Rheena could take no more of Jennifer’s slow pace, my olive-skinned boss charged over, grabbed the beige-heeled Latina, and escorted her to the door of my apartment.

    Then, just as the door began to shut, I shouted to my new hire. “Go see Doll!” A final instruction, one that seemed to make my attacker mad. As even before the door had shut, the brunette used her grip on my hair to pull me away from the wall and then slam me back into it.

    God, I wanted to hurt her -- to just UGH! But first, I wanted to know what we were fighting about and who I was fighting with. “Who is this bitch, Rheena?” And though I asked only one of the two women left in my apartment, I got two answers.
    “This is Nazmin.” Came from Rheena in an exhausted tone that displayed her frustration with what was happening.

    “I’m her fucking girlfriend.” Offered Nazmin, at the same time Rheena spoke. An unasked for answer that came with a hard tug of my hair, one that pulled my head harshly back to center.

    “She is NOT my girlfriend.” Responded Rheena, her desire to assuage any guilt I might feel for our previous encounters clear.

    “Looks like she isn’t your girlfriend, Nazmin.” I said cruelly to the ethnic woman who held me, knowing that it would spark a reaction. And spark a reaction it did, as within a blink my body and hers were pressed together, she pulling hard first and then me responding. The two of us pulling away from the wall and then slamming back into it, as we stumbled together. Each of us pulling the other’s hair as hard as we could, neither of us able to withstand the pain without yelping and yammering hushed curses at each other.

    And though for a moment we had forgotten about Rheena, she quickly reminded of us her presence. My first opponent in Seattle walking over to us, reaching between us, and then pushing us apart. Nazmin and I clinging to our grips on each other’s hair, causing our separation to stop at arm’s length.

    “Stop it you two! NOW!” Rheena demanded, her voice shaking with anger.

    “I will fight this bitch for you, Rheena.” Nazmin said with a sexy Middle-Eastern accent I was not cultured enough to place.

    Not wanting her to think she was the only one who wanted to fight, I yanked hard at the brunette’s hair, making her respond in pain. “Owe, owe, BITCH!”

    “No, god, Nazmin … I am not some kind of prize to be fought over! This is 2019, and I want you both. You’re not my girlfriend, and neither is Brooke. I met you both the exact same way -- looking for a sexfight. Now, let go of each other!” I knew what Rheena was saying. That she didn’t want to be treated like some piece of meat for two tigresses to fight over. Not wanting to lose one of us, when really, she should be able to enjoy both me and the sexy cunt that held my hair.

    But no matter what as at stake, Nazmin was going to get hurt, I didn’t need a reason why anymore. She had pissed me off, and turned me on in the process. So Rheena on-a-pole or not, the battle Jennifer had wanted so desperately to watch was going to happen. Even if Jennifer wouldn’t be there to see it. Poor girl.

    “Screw girlfriends, then. Winner fucks Rheena, and the loser is the other’s bitch -- tonight only.” I think I could have said and set anything as the terms, and Nazmin would have agreed. For only a quarter-second after I offered, she spoke.

    “Deal, bitch.” Words that came as she and I both gave the other a hard, scream-inducing pull of hair.

    Maybe out of a resignation that there was no way Nazmin and I were going to let go of each other’s hair, or this chance to hurt each other, Rheena gave in. “Fine….”

    As if that word were a gun being fired at the starting line of a race, Nazmin and I launched into action, tearing at each other’s locks hard. Each of us giving the other delicious sounds of pain and agony. “Owe, owe.” “Fuck.” “Shit.” “Oowwwweeee.”

    And though every second that she and I pulled at each other’s hair hurt, a pain which was made worse by how long that same attack had continued, neither of us let go. No, instead we only tugged harder, as our bodies pulled tighter, our effort-reddened cheeks coming to a warm press. The two of us together leaning over further and further, as if we were tasked with giving some kind of royal bow with our bodies having been glued together.

    But as that bow dipped lower and lower, we each began to falter. Barely able to stay on our feet, and completely unable to straighten our bodies, with the other’s death grip on our locks -- mine golden and her’s a rich auburn-brown. Suffer though we did, in the exact same way, neither of us relented. If anything, even as we began to whimper cheek-to-cheek at the pain we inflicted upon each other, we just yanked harder. Each of us driven by a mutual desire to hurt one another that continued, even as we together collapsed to the cold cement floor of my apartment.

    Even then, as we fell to our knees and then to our sides, we never let go of our holds. Just pulling. Just tugging. No matter how much it hurt, or what sounds came out of our mouths. In that hell, we remained, side by side, until Nazmin burst into action, trying to mount me.

    A coup she was able to accomplish by pushing me to my back and crawling up my body. Her thighs raising and placing on either side of my blouse-covered abdomen.

    But as she took that position of assumed power, I angled her neck down harshly, with my grip on her brunette hair. A folding that left Nazmin bent painfully in two, as she found herself stuck atop me. She and her beautifully-hued mocha skin having no way to advance. As any movement forward she made caused my yanking of her precious black hair to be even more painful.

    Despite trying again and again, to find someway to turn her mount into dominance, eventually, Nazmin was forced to retreat. Forced to backtrack until she laid down on top of me. Her left cheek, and my right again pressing together, as we held desperately to our grips on each other’s hair. Neither of us willing to release first, even as tears began to form and then fall from our eyes.

    Tears, and the sounds that accompanied them, that pushed Rheena, who has been watching the whole time, to finally intervene. “Oh my god! Stop pulling each other’s hair! I am not interested in either of you being bald! Even if seeing this is sexy as hell.”
    At our lover’s command, we stopped our cruel pulling, even if we held tight to our grips, Nazmin and I just remaining -- resting. Body-to-body, as our tears dripped and mixed in a small pool beneath us.

    Even without our pulling, Rheena spoke again. “Ok, you’re going to let go of each other’s FUCKING hair in 3…” She paused letting us realize she was counting down to what she expected to be a release. “2…” She counted again, her voice stern and forceful. “1!” She shouted, and as she instructed we did release our hold on each other’s hair.
    Maybe Rheena thought with our holds abandoned we would separate. But instead, as three became one, we just slapped at each other: hard. Really, really hard. Our palms landing in harsh stinging slaps anywhere we could land them. Not letting that spree end with one or two, but instead hitting one another again and again. The resulting claps, each which stung, echoing through my apartment.

    Echoes that mixed with our every yelp and yell, until, when we could take not a second more of such strikes, we grabbed for each other’s hair again. Settling back into our long war of hairpulling attrition -- it feeling safer than the explosive round of slaps Nazmin and I had unleashed on each other when free from it.

    “Ugh! I said no more hairpulling!” Rheena complained again, even as Nazmin and I shared with each other and not our lover, tiny whimpers of pain. The violence and intensity of our battle being far more than either of us anticipated. Each of us surprising the other with our willingness to follow the other into the depths of such an intense fight.

    Whimper though we did, at Rheena’s prompting, I quickly withdrew my left hand from Nazmin’s hair and began to punch. Not forward like a boxer, but by extending my arm out wide to the side, and then after a sharp hook, back in. Landing my closed knuckles in her still-clothed ribs. Strikes that caused her to groan out atop me, before reaching for my punching arm with a right hand she took from my hair.

    As my ethnic rival reached for my striking fist and clasped her fingers around my wrist, I bridged on one side, and with my half-raised body, sent Nazmin falling off of me to her back. But I did not just let her go, instead, I followed her. Mounting her, just as she had tried to do to me before, each of us, at that moment, having completely abandoned our hairpulling. And though I tried to move fast, before I had pressed myself down on top of her, Nazmin reached for my blouse and pulled it not only out from its tuck in my skirt, but over my arms and face.

    At that moment I could not see her, but as she pulled, I still in the darkness, reached for her halter and yanked it hard, trying to take it from her. Each of us moving all of our focus to pulling the other’s top off. Even to the detriment of my mount, which I abandoned by standing. In part to take Nazmin’s top up and over her head, but also, to get my own top out from in front of my eyes.

    It was then, that finally, we broke. Me throwing not only her halter top but my blouse to the floor, as I glared at her. The two of us already wounded combatants wiping drying tears away from our faces, as she joined me in a stand.

    “Brooke. Nazmin. This is so. Fucking. Stupid. Look what you’re doing to each other….” Rheena pled, she seeing how harsh our battle for her had been. But at that moment, neither of us recognized her words. The two of us only able to hear the heavy beating of our hearts, which pounded under our heaving, bra-covered chests. Neither of us able to see anything other than each other, and the anger that burned in our rival’s jealousy-filled eyes.

    Wanting to stoke that jealousy and drive Nazmin insane, I stormed over to Rheena, raised my tired hands to her cheeks and pulled her into a kiss.

    One second passed, and then two, before I felt Rheena’s lips pulled from mine -- as Nazmin took her from me and into her own kiss. And though I gave her a few moments, uninterrupted, I then took Rheena back, pressing her lips to mine once again. Only to find Nazmin steal her from me, only to engage her in the same.
    And though such rebounding kisses seemed as if they might continue forever, suddenly, I felt Rheena pull back from both us. Then, before either of us could react, and with my boss’ hands placed on the back of not only my head and but my rival’s, she pushed Nazmin and I together.

    Not into some kind of headbutt, but into a kiss. One which began slowly and awkwardly, our minds taking a moment to realize what had occurred. Neither of us having tasted the other before or felt the other’s tongue dance with our own. But as if it was a challenge from our mutual lover, we dove. We pressed. We kissed, as if the other’s mouth was only source of air.

    The two of us kissing hard and hatefully. Fighting each other with our tongues, as our hands moved from Rheena to each other’s skirts. Unsnapping and pushing them down, before moving onto each other’s bras.

    Kiss though it was, we were anything but soft. Anything but loving. Each of us grabbing and tearing at each other cruelly to remove not just the now loosened fabric that held our breasts, but the thin-stringed thongs that hugged our hips. My rival and I eating each other’s faces with our lips, and trying to choke each other with our tongues.

    I knew what Rheena was thinking when she pushed Nazmin and I together. That if she could just get us to kiss, we would stop hurting each other. And that instead, we would settle our dispute, as I have in every other battle I’d had in my short time in Seattle, by testing each other with our sexual prowess. But when finally our clothes had been removed, and our matching beige flats had been kicked off, we separated -- our eyes still locked in a hateful glare.

    At that moment, I could feel it, I was snarling -- even though I did not do so intentionally. A look Nazmin returned, before spitting at me. The mix of her saliva and mine landing on my chest and dripping from there down. A trickle quickened as I charged at her. Wanting to hurt her. Wanting to beat her and claim our lover as my own, at least for that night.
    When my charge brought us together, I tackled the brunette interloper to my couch, causing that piece of furniture to rock precariously as we landed. There, she tried to fight me -- to push me off and free herself, but I had her. And as my nude thighs slipped about either side of her bare body, I lifted her by the back of her neck off the couch and then buried her face between my tits. My right hand gripping the sofa’s edge, as my left hand shifted up to take a firm grip of the back of Nazmin’s head.

    I could hear her murmuring, speaking, or maybe even yelling into my tits, but not what she was saying. And at that moment, I really didn’t care. Something I told her as my sexy breasts cupped her pretty, red-lipsticked mouth. “I can’t hear you, cunt. But I’ll just go ahead and assume you're telling me how excited you are to watch me fuck your “girlfriend” (Yes, those are sneer quotes).”

    With every word, I could feel her naked body squirm more and more forcefully beneath me. But finally, when that desperate wriggling began to slow, I could taste it: victory. A quick, soul-crushing victory over the woman that had the nerve to march into my apartment, mid-business meeting, and attack me.

    But just as I thought I had Nazmin beat, I felt her nails dig deep into my ass, and drag up my back. Even describing it now, I can feel it. The sting of her sharp nails, pulling up small layers of my skin. Layers which hurt so bad as they peeled. So bad, in fact, that on instinct alone, I released her and raised back up from my heavy forward lean, into a seated position in my rival’s lap. And when I did, even as she gasped for air, she reached up and dug those same cruel nails of hers into my tits.

    I wish I could tell you I reached back for her breasts and dished out the same punishment she gave to me, but instead, to get away from the pain, I fell back between her spread thighs.

    Thighs which clamped down on my abdomen in what seemed like a second, locking at the ankles high above me, as I screamed out in pain. Me laying and facing upward, with she beneath me, aimed the same way. Our heads on opposite sides of the couch. Her legs tightly locked around my ribs, and mine spread out. With my left foot braced on the back of my couch, and my right dangling just across her left shoulder.

    “Scream for me, bitch.” Nazmin taunted as her legs gave a powerful pulse that made me scream once again. And just as I was dealing with that pain -- one so bad it made me nauseous, I suddenly felt her claws dig into my bare sex. Her claws moving in and clamping down between my foolishly parted thighs.

    “Shit!! OOwwweeee” FUCK! I cursed, both in pain and because of how completely screwed I was. She had me trapped, Nazmin did, between her powerful thighs. All as her long nails dug deep into my sex. And all I could do, at least at that moment, was moan out in pain, as I slammed my thighs shut.

    Closed tight though my legs then were, Nazmin’s fingers were already in place, and so the closing only drove her nails deeper. Making me whimper, as her thighs squeezed me once again. Harder. Tighter. To be real, I was in hell, and could barely deal with the pain, let alone think of a way out. In that hopelessness, the pain continued, and for the first time, giving in entered my mind. Conceding to the bitch who ravaged me.

    A third consecutive loss. DAMNIT! I thought to myself, as I writhed in pain between my rival’s thighs. Feeling her still-dry sex press against my lower back, as she pinched at my folds. Trying to ruin me. Destroy me. At least until I told her she had won. And as I suffered there -- dwelled there, on the verge of another consecutive defeat, I heard her say it.

    “Just give up, Brooke.” It was a whisper. A mutter, made under Rheena’s breath, as she sat across the room in a zebra print chair watching us, but still, I heard it.

    Rather than do as she asked, however, I began to throw what we in the fight business call a wild hissyfit. One that took hold as I began to kick my legs and swing my arms angrily -- desperately, unable to endure the pain or come up with a way out.

    At least that’s what I thought before I felt the heel of my right foot come down hard on something soft. An accidental strike on my rival’s lips, I could only guess, that caused Nazmin to end the squeezing of her legs and the clawing of my labia.

    Through my mind ran scenarios of sitting up, and trying to turn my brown-haired rival’s release into some kind of offense, but … I just … couldn’t. I was still in too much pain from those attacks she had made, even with them released. And I, despite knowing the pressure had been relieved, really didn’t know what state Nazmin was in. So, instead of keeping she and I glued together, I just rolled off of her and my couch, onto the floor between it and my heavy wood coffee table.

    As I laid there, I could hear Nazmin groaning, her hands clearly pressed to her mouth, based on the amount of mumble in the sound. And though she sounded wounded, I knew I couldn’t just rest. I had to get up, even as my ribs ached and sex stung. So I pressed my palms down to the floor and began to raise up.

    As I did though, moving backward and up into a stand, I found Nazmin sitting up. Her bell rung, and hands still pressed to her lips -- she not seeming to care where I was or what I was doing.

    It’s in moments like that, in a catfight, where you have so many different options running through your mind. Options which each could take the battle in one direction or another. And though there were many to choose from, I settled on one.

    One that led me to drop my ass down on the couch behind Rheena’s other booty-call, and wrap my right arm not only under her chin but around her throat. Then, before she could react, I cinched up -- locking her deep in a sleeperhold, just like the ones I had seen in the WWF. One that would make Roddy Piper and Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake proud.

    As that hold pulled tight, I felt Nazmin’s hands move to my forearm to pull, just as my left palm pressed to her forehead to keep her from leaning her upper body forward and away from me. That’s when I heard her say it. Curse, knowing how bad I had her. How deep my forearm was sunk under her chin, and how little mercy either of us had shown each other. A mercy that one has to be given to survive a chokehold like the one I had on her.

    Given that impossible dream of me doing anything less than destroying her, after all that had happened, Nazmin could have gone one of two ways. She could have softened. Taking a chance at changing the tone of our battle to something other than complete bitch-fest of violence and pain, as it had been, to something more sexual. Something more akin my usual battles. Or, in a panicked state, flail. Striking in every way she could. With every limb and at any target, just as I had done in my luck-led escape of her leg scissors.

    It might not surprise you, but Nazmin took the latter approach, firing out her arms, at first with fists closed and then with fists open. She trying to hit me and force me to loosen my choke. Her lungs sealed off from the air she desperately needed by my cruelly tight and squeezing arm.

    But as she spent her energy trying to hit me, I just leaned back into my seat on the couch. Pulling her nude body back into mine, as I whispered in her ear. “I’m going to use my favorite pink dildo to fuck her on top of you, Nazmin.”

    It was mean to say that. As I write this, I feel bad about it … at least a little. I say a little, because she started it! I was just minding my own business, or really Rheena’s business (as I work for her), when the crazy that Middle-Eastern harpy stormed into my apartment and grabbed my hair. So, no, I wasn’t really in the mood to go soft on her or let her forget what was at stake. Still though: mean -- I know.

    But as mean as I was -- as angry as I was, it felt good -- so good. Like, really, really good. Holding her against me. My naked body and breasts pressing against her back. Feeling her squirm and struggle to get away from me, as her sexy white-chocolate ass cheeks squeezed and pressed, again and again, against my exposed kitty.

    A series of sensations that made me moan, just a little into her ear. She, in response giving me these cute little squeaks -- cute, even though they were the sounds of her suffocating. Ha ha, I’m such a bitch.

    But just as all of that drove me wild, I felt her take it from me. Not by escaping my choke, but by sliding her ass off the couch, and planting her feet on the ground. A planting she used to then step her legs alone forward, even as I clung to her. That cling making her do a deeper than deep limbo, as her lower-half moved forward and away from the couch. All as her upper-body remained with me, and fully under my control. A truly untenable situation for her, that quickly turned into an untenable situation for me.

    For Nazmin, that clever little bitch, suddenly leaped back as she reached the absolute limit of her ability to walk her lower-body away from the couch. The weight of her rapidly returning legs and ass, causing her to smash into me. An impact which caused my pretty, but not overly sturdy couch to tip and then fall back. Sending both my rival and I to crash down to the floor.

    Well, her to the floor. Since, technically, I remained on my back on the couch. My sleeperhold releasing somewhere in the madness. My eyes closing on instinct, as my head smashed into the hard concrete floor of my apartment in a loud thud. Despite the pain that collision caused, one I felt in the back of my skull, after only a few seconds, I opened my eyes. Knowing I had to find Nazmin, to figure out where was she, and what was she planning to do to me.

    But even with my eyelids open, suddenly everything went dark, as I found my rival’s breasts lower down over my face. My mocha-skinned rival having landed on her stomach, her head just behind and to the side of mine on the floor.

    Even through Nazmin’s perfect breasts, though, I could hear her hacking. Coughing. She still suffering from the effects of my tight, asphyxiating chokehold. Effects she spoke through to taunt me. “I’ll be .... * HACK * … the one... * COUGH * … to use that precious little dildo, bitch….”

    Through her struggles for air, and taunts, I could tell where her face was, even as I felt sweat from her tits drip into my open and gasping mouth. She, with her arms wrapped around the back of my head, was laying on top of me. Her chest, over my face, and her face just between my breasts.

    Breasts that engulfed her, as I wrapped my own arms around the back of her head and squeezed. A squeeze that locked that sexy little she-devil and I in a mutual titsmother. Neither of us able to breathe. Neither of us free to do anything other than suffer and suck at sweat-scented air that did not come. Not fast enough at least, as we each had each other.

    Not in some hold meant to hurt -- one we could endure if only we hated each other enough. But one that had but one of two conclusions: escape or unconsciousness. Neither scenario being more or less likely by who had the top position. A fact that Nazmin must have known, as she quickly rolled, maybe hoping I would let her go when it was I atop her.

    But I just held on, and so did she. For one moment and then two. For two and then four. Neither us able to breathe or willing to relent -- each of us knowing we had the other, and if we could just hang on, the fight would be over. Yes, maybe in a tie. But both of us were making a different bet, at least at that moment.

    A bet that we could outlast the other.

    A bet that when sweaty tits were peeled back from salt-covered lips, that it would be us who would still be conscious and free to claim Rheena.

    But that wager did little to keep our lungs from burning, as the oxygen left in our lungs from our last real breath began to run out.

    She had to release, right...? I told myself, as a statement of fact, that curled into a question. A question that took all the fun out of being so close to a set of breasts as glorious as Nazmin’s.

    Even without that fun, we rolled once more to the right together. A roll, that after a moment or two more spent asphyxiating between each other’s chest-bound assets, we repeated. The two of us then beginning to squeeze the other with our arms, in tight little bursts of strength, hoping those tightenings might be some form of communication.

    A fighty Morse code, if you will (read that in the voice of Dusty Rhodes, baby), that might convince the other to realize the mutual destruction and unconsciousness we sprinted towards. Messages we seemingly each ignored, as we just continued to roll, this time to the left, neither of us allowing the other buried between our perfectly shaped breasts.
    Harder and harder though it became for us to focus -- to think, we together continued to move up and then over one another, as we traveled left. Until, after one or twenty of such rolls, we moved up the curved arm of the overturned, and back-laid couch. An angle that then quickly sent us careening back in a roll to the right -- the opposite direction. My tanned, but technically Caucasian body still atop the couch’s back and Nazmin’s on the floor as we spun in our body-stacked torpedo of suffocation.

    In that roll, one which did not stop and then reverse, but instead continued, the two of us picking up speed as we tumbled together. My vision and hers spotting in black as we moved more and more quickly. Our consciousnesses fading as we crashed into the opposite arm of the couch, only then finding ourselves freed from each other’s perspiration-lined breasts.

    A freedom in which we wheezed and hacked, each of us choking on rushing breaths only feet apart from each other. Neither of us able to stand or even speak. My fire and hers, fires which once raged, extinguished by each other’s long, desperate smother. A smother Rheena watched in horror, she only then, with Nazmin and I separated, finally speaking.

    “You two HAVE to fucking STOP this!” My exasperated boss began, speaking not in request, but in demand. And though she spoke in words I should have been able to understand, I couldn’t. For at that moment, I felt like I was dying. Passing from this world to the next. Not from pain, but an exhaustion like I had never felt before. The sum total of our battle, short as it may have been, either because of the passion of it. The intensity of it. Or that long, draining smother. Having taken my everything. Every ounce of energy. Every spark I had ever had.

    In fact, at that moment, as I laid there on the floor of my apartment next to Nazmin, I could not even picture standing again, let alone fighting again. But as one moment after another came and went, and my rival and I just laid there, Rheena moved between us and knelt. She placing a soft hand on both of our bodies, to check on us and make sure we were still alive.

    I don’t know how long she allowed us to rest, but before I felt even close to ready, our mutual lover reached out to our hands. Then, when she had them, she pulled us both back up to our knees, and after a pause, to our feet.

    A miracle though it was, that we had made it back to our feet, Nazmin and I were only capable of a lean. Both of us needing Rheena’s still clothed body pressed against ours as a brace. One to keep us from collapsing back to the floor. Neither of us able to do anything other than just suck at the air, with our eyes closed and bodies quivering from exhaustion.

    We must have looked like the hottest messes in the entire world to Rheena. Our hair disheveled by what seemed like an eternity of hairpulling. Our makeup smeared by each others breasts and intermittent tears. And our wobbling stances looking anything other than fierce. Sights which led Rheena to wrap an arm around each of us.

    “You both win, ok? You both get me tonight. Just, for the love of god, stop fighting….” Rheena offered softly, her nipples still hard as adamantium. She finding herself turned on by our struggle, regardless of her disagreement with the brutality with which Nazmin and I fought.

    It made all the sense in the world. We could just stop fighting. Stop killing ourselves and each other, and just fuck her. Fuck each other -- healing the wounds we had inflicted. And yet still, at the very moment Rheena attempted to name our competition a draw, Nazmin and I reached for each other.

    Not quickly, but weakly. Not with force and fire, but exhausted and spent. Our hands meeting, and fingers lacing, as we pushed at each other.

    “Get u-u-undressed, my … my love. I’m going to fuuuuuck you, after I beat this bitch....” Nazmin instructed, as she and I pushed together and then apart with what little strength we had left. Our palms pressing, and fingers lazily clasped as we tried to re-engage.
    Despite that attempt and the desire behind it, all my rival and I found ourselves able to do was move away from Rheena, and then together to stumble over to the wall next to my bed.

    There, after a series of unintentional spins, and trip-bought pushes, we landed hard against the brick of the wall. Nazmin against it, and me pressing into her. Our fatigue-riddled and sweat-covered bodies pressed together, as we leaned into each other, and against the wall to avoid succumbing to the overwhelming pull gravity had on us.

    “Rheena, strip! I’m -- gonna f-fuck you ... like you’ve never been fucked by this -- this -- cunt….” Despite the words and the confidence in them, my head rested on Nazmin’s shoulder. Just as hers rested on mine. Our laced fingers coming undone, freeing us to slap at each other. Our hands splashing down on thick, wet flesh. On hips and sides — thighs and arms.

    Not a single one of those attacks wounded or even hurt. My rival and I being too exhausted to summon any real force with which to hurt each other, even though we continued to try. Delivering the most ridiculous of slaps as we pressed body-to-body. Our mirrored breasts pressed together, and rubbing. So much so that our nipples began to harden and stab into each other.

    Stabbings of pink and brown centers that drove us each to whimper and moan, and then in turn, as those sounds aroused us, our weak, stumbling legs to part and then advance. Our legs extending between each other’s thighs and then raising and pressing into each other’s bared sexs.

    “I CAN’T EVEN WITH YOU TWO! STOP!” Rheena screamed, she not yet realizing that what she wanted was already happening. The transition from hate to lust -- from jealousy to desire. And yet still, even as our mutual lover moved herself to a place just to the right of our leaning bodies, our war of words did not stop.
    “Strip…. Rheena….” I almost mumbled, unable to find anything more with which to propel my words. My thoughts on the aftermath of my victory, even though I had no clue how I would procure it.

    “Don’t … even … talk to her….” Nazmin responded in a voice drenched with exhaustion. “You can’t fuck her like I doOOooooO....” She added in challenge. One I accepted before it even came; my leg lifting and thigh sliding against her already wet sex.

    “Better than you….” I spat back, in a half-non-sequitur, and in no less of a dare. One I issued as Nazmin and I lifted our heads from each other’s shoulders and then looked soul-deep into each other’s eyes.

    Eyes which sought. Which asked. Which begged. And before I either of us could even understand for what, in thought or in voice, we were kissing. My rival and I. Our lips sealed and tongues dancing. A passionate, and yet still exhaustion-slowed kiss that we fell into. Both figuratively, and literally, as we began to collapse backward. Neither Nazmin nor I able to keep our feet with the added distraction of that sudden and incredible moment of nascent desire.

    All as Rheena finally exclaimed. “FINALLY! FUCK! A shout she gave before laughing. Her heart finally free from the worry of her two favorite playthings destroying each other. But even as she celebrated the turn, one she had hoped was coming, she found herself needing to scramble.

    “Oh god!” The olive-skinned leader of the WWN blurted out in panic as she noticed Nazmin and I falling not back onto the floor cleanly, or the bed in entirety, but onto the edge together. The middle of my back landing awkwardly on the Tiffany blue comforter-covered edge of my mattress. Rheena having to rush over and after a quick lift, pull my brunette rival up and onto the bed together. She who lifted giving us a final push to send us into a roll, one that took us to the center of it.

    As Nazmin and I rolled, our thighs parted, and wet centers met, as the two of us froze together. Each of us pulling back from our kiss, only far enough for our tongues to separate, though our lips still pressed together.

    “FuuuUuuuuuuck yoOoOouuu….” I said in a lust-drunk gasp.

    “Biiiiiiiiiiiiiitccchhhhh.” Nazmin responded, with the only word she could find, her concentration stolen by the electric meeting of our womanhoods.

    Womanhoods which a moment later began to rub -- to grind. Not hard or fast, but slow. Each of us feeling the almost invisible stubble of each other’s returning pubic hair -- even through a coat of our own juices. Juices which began to flow as we pressed together on that wall. As our slowness became sexy and our weakness became wanton.

    “Oooooh shiiiit….” I moaned, my face turning from Nazmin’s, in part so I could endure the sensation of my sex and her’s gliding together. No pain being inflicted on each other. No wrestling for control or position. Just pleasure. Just my pussy and hers.

    “Kiss me….” I heard my rival say in a whisper. A whisper -- a request that confused me. Did she really just ask me to kiss her? After all we had just been through? After all we had just done to each other? Confused though I was, I still looked back, as we laid there in a sexy little heap in the center of my bed.

    “What…?” I asked softly, almost in disbelief, as her eyes and my locked together.

    “Kiss me….” Again she said it, and again it caught me off-guard. And yet still, I still leaned in and kissed her. Each of us releasing small little whimpers and moans into each other’s mouths as our hands ran up and down each other’s bodies.

    That kiss — our kiss was so soft. So sensual. So bereft of strife and torture that I let myself drop from atop Nazmin, down to my side. And though I expected my rival to roll atop and mount me, she didn’t. Instead, she too rolled to her side, adjusted her legs, aligned our kittens, only to grind hers into mine once again. All as we continued to kiss and moan softly for each other -- into each other’s mouths, as our tongues met in a series of gentle twirls and delicate twists.

    Sounds which grew louder and louder as our slow, soaked tribbing began to quicken. Our mile-thick thighs, and apple-bottom behinds seeming to rebound from every stroke. Rebounds that aided as our calves hooked and flexed, pulling us forward again and again.
    And though that incredible collision of lustful sex-to-sex fucking bore not a single hallmark of our prior violence and contempt, still did I pull back from our locking of lips and whisper. “Fight me.”

    And still, did Nazmin respond: “I am.”

    Words we shared before diving back into our kiss -- our grinding. Neither of us hardening in the slightest, even though it was once again clear what we were doing.
    Competing with our womanhoods.

    Fighting with our sensuality.

    Still locked in a war for Rheena, thought the weapons and battlefield had changed.

    “MMmnnnnn” I sounded out in our kiss.

    “OooooHHhhh.” Nazmin moaned in the same.

    Our hands moving to each other’s asses to pull and push and drive our sexs together harder. But with every effort-driven thrust of our layered lower-halves, we found the energy enough, despite out smother-born exhaustion, to move faster. Fuck harder.
    Not just for ourselves, but for Rheena, who stood at the end of the bed watching us. Her own passions and lusts gripping her hard -- making her salivate at the idea of either my rival or I taking control and fucking her as we promised. Her panties wetting at the thought of one of her two lovers defeating the other and then, after a well-earned collaring, taking control.

    And yet, though we had fought tooth and nail for her, wrecking each other just to, for a single night, claim her and each other as our own. And though we each believed ourselves to be continuing that battle. As every moment of that sex-to-sex struggle continued, Rheena began to fade from Nazmin and I’s minds. The cause of our clash turning to mist somewhere in the haze and fog of our driving asses, pulling calves, and grinding folds.

    Nazmin’s clit and mine negotiating the terms of an ongoing peace between us. Even as the last shots in our war were fired. Shots which caused us each to whimper, then moan, and then, in the last few strokes of our careening cunts, scream for each other.
    Screams which came from my rival first, and then me, only a second later. My rival and I avoiding a simultaneous orgasm by only the slimmest of margins. A fact known only to Nazmin as she laid there next to me in defeat and crippling exhaustion, and I, doing the same, in victory and overwhelming fatigue.

    Our gentle kiss not breaking.

    Our essence-wet inner thighs coming not uncrossed or our cunts apart.
    At least not until we each reached down for the other, moving our fingers past breasts and stomach, and then into our rival’s sex. Each of us wanting to not only explore, but to slowly bring one another down from the high we just reached.

    Enemies turned soft.

    Rivals turned lovers, at least in that moment.

    But as we two remained in that moment of lingering passion and lounging lust, Rheena called to us.

    “So?! Who won?!” She began, as she found herself unable to tell, given how close our screams were. That confusion doing little to hide the expectancy and excitement in her voice. “Come on, which one of you is going to backup all that shit you were talking? Fuck me like I’ve never been fucked….”

    She was ready to watch us try. To watch one of us dominate and own the bodies of she and the loser, whoever that might be. But even as she called to us, Nazmin and I just continued to kiss. Continued to slowly, playfully finger each other. Our bodies on our sides on my now half-disheveled bed. Our sexy thighs remaining overlapped, as our calves, which were once hooked behind each other, began to run up and down in soft, gentle rubs.

    “HEY! YOU TWO! It’s my turn! LET’S GO!” Rheena began to shout, the frustration of delayed pleasure making her almost manic. Her eyes scanning over us, wishing that she was laying there between us, and that instead of pleasuring each other, we were instead pleasuring her.

    Despite her increased volume, the only response Rheena got was Nazmin and I beginning to moan again, as we worked each other back into excitement. Our eyes closed, tongues swirling, and index fingers moving from lower lips t
    Clits which sent shock waves of pleasure through us once again, as we heard the door open and then slam shut. Rheena having stormed out. Leaving her two lovers to play in their exhaustion. Knowing that neither Nazmin nor I would be any use to her, for that day at least -- as frustrating as that truth was.
    Hot, exciting, well written ! Do not stop !! How close is chapter 4 ?

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    Talking Re: When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story

    Giannis-CB, thank you so much! I am glad you enjoyed it!

    In the near future, I have a next story in the When Life Starts (uni)verse coming, but not chapter 4. At least that's my plan right now, though my plans super often.

    The tale I do have coming is one I set up here in Chapter 3, that being Jennfer and Katherine Dahl in an intimate pro match.

    I do certainly intend on writing a Chapter 4 and then beyond, just not super soon.


    https://www.RivalsRapture.com - My Collected Works

    Instagram: @Rivals_Rapture & @When.Rivals.Tangle

    Trillian: Rivals_Rapture

    Email: [email protected]

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    When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story


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    Re: When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story


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    When Life Starts: Chapter 3 - Story
    Rivals-Rapture,

    Once again, a beautifully written tome that displays your almost uncanny ability to craft each individual sentence into a thing of beauty. I'll stop before I become too effusive but, damn, girl, you can write!!!

    A Penman

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