Divas in Dubai Pt. 02

Trish doubted that Victoria was anywhere near cumming . . . unlike herself. Personally that dwarf star had already turned into a red giant. Titanic explosions weren't just knocking on her door; they were kicking the bastard thing down.

'Not yet,' she groaned, lying through her teeth, trying to sound complacent, trying to pretend that she hadn't got a nuclear time-bomb inside her, trying to pretend that its mass hadn't just suddenly gone critical.

Resistance was futile. And Victoria had been fibbing about her own readiness. Or so it seemed to Trish as she fought off a whole procession of orgasms.

Tireless, relentless, Victoria's hand clasped and relaxed, clasped and relaxed: hard, harder and harder still.

Surviving such provocation one minute was an achievement. Surviving it two minutes was next to miraculous.

Surviving it three minutes was impossible.

And then Trish was lost. Climaxes came like British buses: there'd been none for ages and ages then three or four all at once.

That felt good, too. No, it felt better than good; it felt fucking fantastic.

Yet Victoria was nowhere near done. Pressing Trish back against cold, wet tiles she gripped her beneath the knees and simultaneously lifted and opened her legs.

By then Trish had given up all thoughts of supremacy. Supremacy could wait for New Orleans. It was time to submit, not to oppose.

So she told herself as Victoria pressed herself close, using incredible skill and just about all of her sex to stimulate one tiny, teeny-weeny clitoris.

Trish didn't wail at that; she shrieked.

'Yes, yes, yes, oh thank you, thank you, yes, yes, yes . . .'

Being held up and against the tiles, being fucked hard . . . it was brilliant. Strong and direct as she was, Victoria didn't limit herself to straight up and down. Oh no, she added in twists and rotations of her pelvis that would have made a seasoned courtesan blush.

Skilled or what!

Perhaps twenty thousand cums later Victoria let go of her knees. Feeling like a Plasticine effigy of a woman, Trish shakily landed her feet on the tiled floor.

Tiles, tiles everywhere, she thought. And all the boards did shrink . . .

'Give me your leg,' Victoria demanded.

Surprising herself by instantly understanding why, Trish raised her right knee. Straddling it, taking full advantage of plenty of shower water and lady juice, Victoria began to slide up and down, her dark eyes captivating as she moved.

'I'm champion,' she growled, 'and as long as I am, this is the way it's going to be.'

Trish watched her through orgasms one, two and three. Then she laughed out loud. She still had shaky legs but was feeling stronger by the minute.

Seeing Victoria's expression as she came hadn't hurt.

Well it couldn't have, could it?

'I'm going to fuck you,' she announced.

Victoria pushed her back against the tiles, forcing her legs apart again, seemingly all powerful.

'No,' she countered. 'I'm the one who . . .'

'Hello,' a voice unexpectedly called, 'anyone home?'

Shit, it was Fred, head of Security.

Their situation suddenly came home to Trish. Seemingly hundreds of rules and regulations had been broken. They were having extra-marital sex. They were having same-sex sex. They hadn't had the decency to go back to the privacy of their hotel.

Victoria hadn't even bothered locking the dressing room door . . .

And those were just the local concerns. If anyone from the worldwide media was snooping about and in on this they were doomed. In fact if this got out it'd probably be classed as match-fixing.

Well, it would at best. Knowing that lot they'd come up with far worse.

Meanwhile the Dubai authorities would be mobilizing resources . . . ready to honorably uphold the law.

'Hello,' Fred called again. 'Is there anyone there?'

'Frig off,' Victoria shouted, beating Trish to the punch by a mile.

'Miss Trisha,' said Fred, his usually deep, confident voice untypically uncertain.

'I said frig off,' Victoria countered. Leave us alone.'

Us, thought Trish. That's brought everything down in ruins around our ears!

'Are you okay, Miss Trisha?' Fred asked after a lengthy pause.

'Right as rain,' she replied in strangled tones. 'Do me a favour, will you please. Make sure nobody else walks in on us.'

Silence ensued while Fred presumably retreated.

'Okay,' Victoria said finally, where were we?'

Trish couldn't believe her basic physical urges had got her into a scrape like this. 'We were about to get dressed and get outta here,' she snapped.

'No we weren't. Where were we?'

'Vic, listen to me . . .'

'No sweetheart, you listen to me. Where were we?'

Trish shrugged. Perilous as their situation was, the impulse to linger a while was still lots stronger than the impulse to flee.

And she was, after all, proud to be what she was.

And times a trillion, Vic's hand was back between her legs . . . squeezing her.

Much more than merely encouraging her.

'I was about to screw you,' she replied, bolder than she felt.

Victoria snarled and shoved her back against the tiles. This time it was her right hand that landed so-squarely on Trish's snatch. If anything, that right hand was stronger and even more clasping.

'I'm the champion,' she said again. 'Until that position changes, I'm going to do what I want.'

Part of Trish wanted to rebel. But a bigger part of her wanted to be gripped and clasped.

It's only for a fortnight, she reminded herself, opening herself ever wider, so why not?

Then she did a double-take as Victoria held up her soap-on-a-rope. It was a brand-new bar, oval in shape, the size of her hand but twice as thick.

'Oh my,' Trish gasped. 'Surely you wouldn't!'

But surely Victoria would. Taking her time about it, no longer at all rough, she eased the bar into Trish's vagina.

Trish's eyes nearly popped out. She'd never felt so full. And the soap could have been designed with her internal contours in mind. Every last muscle down there clenched, determined to hold it in, determined to prolong the pleasure forever.

But she'd reckoned without the rope. Tugging on it gently, Victoria slowly eased the bar out again, ignoring Trish's pleas, overcoming her attempts at retention.

'Fuck yes,' Trish yelled as her efforts come to nothing and the soap left her with a loud plop.

Fortunately her yell coincided with another big roar out in the arena. And even more fortunately, Victoria slowly, tauntingly eased the bar back in.

'I'm the champion,' she murmured. 'I can to do whatever I want.'

Dimly Trish was aware that Erin would be wondering where she was. Dismissing such worries for now, saving them for later, she nodded.

'Come on then, Champ,' she said. 'Fuck me again.'

As if Victoria needed prompting!