No Holds Barred in Sacramento

And yes, keeping up the what-I-like-having-done-to-me theme, she had made sure that lots of her body parts touched lots of her subject's . . . while always maintaining reassuring hand contact, of course.

'If that's enough you can turn over,' she'd murmured into Mari-Lynn's ear. 'If I missed somewhere, just let me know.

Mari-Lynn's eyes had shone as she rolled onto her back. 'I've never been so relaxed,' she purred.

Vic started stage two by massaging the younger woman's breasts, progressing steadily on to her arms, stomach and legs. Mari-Lynn might have been relaxed but by then Vic had never been less relaxed in her life. And the sight of all that glistening lady juice didn't help.

Theoretically she should have concluded by massaging Mari-Lynn's pussy and the area around it. In practice she'd just dived into her groin, nose and tongue first, and . . .

Well, here they were; it was hours and hours later and she for one wasn't done yet.

*****

Vic wasn't the only diva to wake a lover with kisses that morning. Trish did it too. And, even if she was oblivious to her rival's doings and whereabouts, she more than matched her for effort.

Licking around and at a clit had always been one of Trish's favourite pastimes. She loved having it done to her and loved doing it. From her viewpoint that put it right up at the top of the list.

Was it better to give or receive? Usually she had pre-defined opinions. When it came to licking a clit she wasn't so sure. To be thrilled and thrilled, taken from orgasm to orgasm . . .

Or to thrill and thrill, taking a glamorous girlfriend down the same route . . .

Jackie was still asleep when Trish began. She soon started to sigh but, with her face buried deep in succulent pussy, Trish wasn't to know how aware she was. Had Jackie woken or were her best dreams ongoing? And did it matter either way?

At first Trish concentrated on running her tongue along Jackie's folds. Jackie's folds were perfect. In fact they were as perfect as perfect could be. It was an honour to stealthily stimulate them and a privilege to supplement her sleepy fantasies

But only too soon dreamscapes became beautiful reality. From sighing as she slumbered Jackie was gasping out loud and yelping.

Then, when Trish at last abandoned the folds and dabbed her tongue-tip onto her swollen clit . . .

It was hard to know if the girl squirted or merely gushed. All Trish knew for certain was that a tide of wet warmth suddenly flooded over her chin, her neck and the top of her tits.

No way was she about to quit. Even though Jackie's body juddered across the bed she went with her, maintaining tongue/clit contact now . . . maximizing it.

Then they were engaged at a crazy angle, legs in the air, and Jackie gushed again, splashing all over Trish's chin, neck and tits yet again, wetter and much hotter this time.

Or maybe that was her imagination. Whatever it was, she persevered and conjured another, even bigger cum. And then Jackie grabbed her under her armpits, hauling her up her body, their slick, sweaty skin skating on skin.

'You wicked, calculating bitch,' she said, before burying her face in Trish's tits, her tongue lapping up the juices she had so readily spilled.

Trish's head nearly exploded. The very idea of Jackie licking her own cum off her tits . . .

Well it was way, way too much. Trish came almost immediately. Then she came and came again as it became obvious Jackie wasn't for stopping.

'My God,' she squealed. 'What's it like?'

Jackie hesitated. 'What's what like?'

'I just came on your pussy. I mean . . .'

'What are we like combined?' Jackie laughed as her hand glided between their trembling bodies. 'That's a good question. Let's find out. You can taste it first.'

*****

Leaving Mari-Lynn's room was a wrench. The sex had all been what some might call "vanilla", but that wasn't to say it hadn't been great. And they'd parted on good terms with not a single regret in sight. Indeed they'd agreed that relationships were "out" but doing "it again soon" was a must.

For her part Vic was one hundred per cent sincere. If Mari-Lynn hadn't have had a plane to catch she'd have switched "soon" for "right here and now".

Mari-Lynn is fun to be with and older than her years, she decided as she climbed the stairs to the top floor. She isn't needy and isn't looking for a bung-up . . . not unless her acting skills are right off the scale.

Do it again soon? Darn tootin' we will!

For a moment Vic paused. There was a window at the top of the staircase, giving a view across the bay (well, it was Oakland!!). The view wasn't as good as the one from her suite, though. Still pleased with life, she pulled out her phone as she set off along the majestic central corridor.

Vic was accustomed to receiving zillions of messages and emails all the time. Even her state-of-the-art spam guard only reduced the flow to millions. Just as well she was good at filtering wheat from chaff, then, wasn't it?

Flicking through her incoming, ignoring congratulations, invitations and out-and-out propositions, she couldn't help but notice there were lots from The Sioux.

She sighed. The Sioux was not what she needed right now. The novelty of demeaning her had been wearing thin for a while. Flogging and fucking her admittedly sexy ass wasn't fun anymore. Well, okay, she had her good points. It was all the misery afterwards that was getting her down.

Suddenly it occurred to Vic that she hadn't been simply fucking Mari-Lynn. Oh no, she'd had real sex with Mari-Lynn and possibly even made love with her.

Suddenly that didn't seem like weak "vanilla"; suddenly that seemed like much better fun.

Vic tried to consider having vanilla sex with The Sioux and couldn't do it.

It's not me, she concluded, it's her. And we can't go on like this.

*****

The Sioux hadn't been impressed by Victoria's chosen venue: the downstairs coffee shop instead of her private suite! Did that speak volumes or what!!

Getting there early, taking a secluded table and watching the door, she raised a hand as Victoria finally arrived. She needn't have bothered: Victoria said something into the greeter's ear and he knew instantly where to escort her.

Provisioned with enough coffee to serve a wagon train, left alone by the waiters, the black-maned beauty began.

'Sorry Suzanne, but we're bad for each other. We need to end it now.'

The Sioux had been expecting shit but not such deep brown stuff. Not before she'd taken her first sip of cappuccino.

'No,' she bleated. 'Not just like that.'

Victoria passed a mobile across the table. 'The photos are on there,' she said. 'I haven't made copies so you are in control. It's entirely up to you what you do with them. You can delete them, put them on Facebook or sell them for a few million to the National Enquirer.'

'I don't want any of that,' said The Sioux, her voice sounding pathetic even to her. 'I want to carry on as we are.'

'I'm sorry but I don't.'

Victoria stood. She hadn't even touched her own drink. 'I really am sorry, but this is it.'

'It's part of the game,' The Sioux said desperately. 'You're punishing me, aren't you?'

There was genuine sadness in Victoria's smile. 'No,' she said softly, 'I'm afraid playtime's over.'

'You can't leave me like this.' The Sioux was gabbling. Victoria was dressed very conservatively, she suddenly noticed. Modest-length leather boots, new Levi's and an unrevealing white blouse. She really had come ready for Armageddon.

And suddenly The Sioux had no fight left in her.

'Please,' she said.

And Victoria answered with the worst words a girl could ever hear.

'I'm afraid it really is over. But let's still be friends . . .

Chapter Four

Trish had spent Friday morning training, not pushing herself too hard now the big fight was just a week away. But it had been a hot start to the day and her version of light exercise wasn't really so light; consequently her body was slick with sweat.

She grinned to herself as she looked at the poolside shower. There were ten minutes before her video conference; plenty of time to rinse off in advance. But looking hot and sweaty was probably better than cool and freshly washed to some eyes. And it was a television, not smelly-vision; they wouldn't know how badly she reeked. Why shower when she would be back to work straight after lunch?

There again, her sports bra was only too obviously soaked through . . .

In the end she compromised by ducking her head under the spray unit and replacing the bra with a new string bikini top. Then, with sexily wet hair, she went into her rented house, switched on the screen and pressed the appropriate buttons on her remote.

The Commissioner was already waiting for her in England, Spenser on his right and Abrahams on his left.

'Hi all,' she said cheerily. 'What's the weather like over there?'

'It's Manchester,' the Commissioner replied, 'so it's raining. Need I ask what it's like in LA?'

'The smog burnt off early today. I'm going to have to eat my lunch in the shade.'

Spenser decided that was enough small-talk. 'How's the training going?'

'Don't worry yourself; I'm bang on schedule.'

'Are you under media pressure?' he went on.

'I'm getting much less than usual. The civilian security firm is good and our guys are working with them very closely.'

'Are you ready for Sacramento?' the Commissioner enquired.

'Believe me; I've never been readier for anything.'

'What if you lose?' Spenser put in.

'That's not going to happen.'

'But it might,' he persisted. 'This is a step into the unknown for all of us. I've made contingencies; so should you.'

Trish sighed. She'd made a policy of banishing all negative thoughts, but the slimy little bastard did have a point. And talking about points, she wasn't going to let him score one over her.

'Okay, there are three possible outcomes,' she said, making it up as she went along. 'First: I win and life carries on as normal. I guess your contingencies include fixtures and have storylines that are already written. I'll go along with them as always, even if you don't intend to have me reigning forever.'

'Hmmm,' went Spenser.

'Second: The fight ends in a draw. I know that's extremely unlikely but it could happen. If it does I would hope to have a rematch. Maybe we could go somewhere exotic, like Tokyo. And if needs be, maybe we could have a gimmick; like starting off in kimonos or something.'

'Very intriguing,' the Commissioner observed.

'Third: I lose. In that case I'll also go along with your fixtures and storylines. I would hope to be given another chance, of course. And I would hope that the storylines make it clear that I will not rest until I win back the belt.'

Abrahams spoke for the first time: 'You wouldn't consider retiring?'

'What rock did you crawl out from under?' Trish was indignant.

'I'm sure Mr Abrahams meant you might retire temporarily,' the Commissioner said, placating as ever.

'You mean for like six months before making a comeback?'

'Yes, I mean something like that.'

Trish sighed again. She had advisors but liked to handle as much of her own business as she possibly could. At times like this she wished she wasn't so hands-on.

'I don't think that would work a second time,' she said. 'I've only just recently disappeared and made a comeback, haven't I? But, if the worst comes to the worst, I will consider any and all suggestions you might make.'

The conference fizzled out from there, with the Commissioner being upbeat about ratings and receipts and Spenser being a wet blanket at every opportunity. And, fortunately for all of them, Abrahams kept his trap shut.

More determined to win than ever, Trish lunched on tuna and salad, washed down with chilled bottled water. Then, discarding the string bikini top as impractical, she dived into the pool and hammered out a couple of hundred topless lengths.

Thirsty, she hauled herself poolside and grabbed another bottle of chilled water. And then her mobile rang.

That puzzled her for a moment. She normally got hundreds if not thousands of calls a day but, in strict training, she'd gone incommunicado; very few people knew her up-to-date number.

Frowning, she answered the call.

*****

Vic was surprised by an attack of nervousness. She rarely did nervousness and just about never got it as extremely as this.

'Hi Trish,' she said, amazed by the steadiness of her voice. 'I got here early and thought I'd look you up.'

If Vic was nervous then Trish sounded utterly flabbergasted.

'Oh,' she said, 'it's you.'

'I've messed up my travel arrangements,' Vic went on, liking Trish's hesitancy, increasingly self-confident. 'I'm here for a week of acclimatization and I've arrived a day before everyone else. I don't suppose you want someone to watch the Manchester Spectacular with, do you?'

'Manchester is a bit of a way away,' Trish replied. 'And they'll be starting soon, what with the time difference and all.'

'That's exactly what I reckoned,' said Vic. 'It's on pay-to-view though. I was stood here, wondering who I knew who would want to watch TV at this time of day. And I thought of you. So am I invited or what?'

The hesitation was longer this time; much longer. 'Victoria,' Trish said finally, do you think it would be for the best?'

'Absolutely,' Vic replied. 'I'm here incognito, nobody knows where I am, not even Fred. I've sorted a hire car and can drive myself anywhere I want. No one's ever to know.'

'Where are you?' Trish asked, blatantly hedging.

'LAX. Where are you?'

Vic held her breath waiting for the reply. Just as she was about to expire, Trish came across.

'I'm in a secure compound,' she said, quoting the address. 'It has civilian security. Ask for Don. I'll make sure he knows I'm expecting a visitor.'

Vic's grin felt as if it was splitting off the top of her head. 'Don't worry, I will,' she said. 'It's not so far but I can't say how long I'll be. You know what the freeway is like this time of an afternoon. Put us a bottle on ice.'

*****

It was ten o'clock in rainy old England (well, the north-west bit was rainy; apparently the rest of the country was having an Indian summer). The Sioux was due in the ring within the next hour but she wasn't exactly up for it.

And how mad was that!

Tonight she was only going to beat Lita. In fact she was going to come back from the brink of defeat against one of the top divas and grind her into the canvas.

Yet somehow it felt hollow.

Okay, so Lita was part of WWE royalty, right up there with Trish and Vic. At one time, not so very long ago, she had even been higher up the tree. Getting to beat her was a massive bonus . . .

Except she was only getting to win because she was Trish's latest pet.

And she daren't ring Trish anymore; daren't delete those incriminating photos. No reason why not, of course; no reason apart from having lost her reason.

Talking about reason, she really had lost the plot. Here she was, in her early twenties, she'd been with WWE almost a year, was a star in the making . . . and she was torn between two lovers like a love-struck teenager.

Torn between two lovers who happened to be fucking each other rather than her!

Well, so she supposed . . .

Chapter Five

Trish hadn't been sure how to play Victoria's arrival. Cool and collected or warm and friendly? It was a given that her rival was coming for sex, so perhaps warm and friendly would be best. There again, she didn't want to appear too obliging.

Or did she?

And how should she dress? Victoria had been travelling so she wouldn't be in workout gear or swimwear, she would be wearing something more practical. Should her hostess politely match her, or was she okay as she was?

It was impossible not to laugh. Trish was currently naked apart from her very brief bikini bottoms. Why not greet her with an eyeful of tit? If that wasn't a statement of intent, she wasn't sure what was.

She's coming for sex, she reminded herself. Why be coy?

Deciding to compromise just a little, Trish showered to get rid of the smell of swimming pool and, after towelling herself halfway dry, hair sexily wet again, she donned the string bikini. Then, for the first time in over a month, she poured herself a glass of chilled white wine.

Perhaps ten minutes later she heard a car pulling up in her driveway.

'I'm here,' she called from her sun lounger, 'poolside, round the back.'

Victoria's idea of "practical" was very Southern California: black leather boots, sawn-off Levi's and a scrap of white cotton for a blouse. Most of her tits and a lot of flat, tanned stomach were visible; visible and very, very appealing. To perfect her incognito status she had a pair of Ray-Bans up on the top of her head; ready to hide her eyes if necessary.

'Afternoon,' 'Trish said, standing to welcome this vision of womanhood, 'you're looking good.'

'So are you.'

Without further ado Victoria kissed her. At first . . . for maybe as long as a second . . . it was little more than a friendly hello. But it escalated like a bush fire. Afterwards Trish found it impossible to accredit blame. It could have been Victoria who upped the passion, but it might well have been her. If the truth be told, it was probably both of them.

And what a kiss! Hands were almost instantly roaming, and roaming wildly. Hers were all over the expensive and thin denim covering Victoria's ass. Victoria's were all over the even thinner fabric of her brief bikini bottoms.

The tit-to-tit contact was amazing. So was the groin-to-groin contact.

Trish had intended to offer vino and suggest they retired to the TV room. Victoria didn't seem to be interested in such trifles. She pressed her tongue through Trish's parted lips, into her mouth. Trish met it with her own, fencing with it, relishing the sensations.

Victoria shifted position without breaking the kiss. Suddenly her hands were inside Trish's flimsy top. She was stroking and gently squeezing. A bolt of excitement shot all the way through Trish, rocketing from her nipples via her pussy, right down to her toes.

Not to be outdone, she slipped her left hand between their bodies, touching Victoria's exposed six-pack then heading south. She wasn't sure if Victoria would feel any friction down there while wearing jeans, but needn't have worried . . . she certainly could.

Both of them were juddering by now. Trish didn't know if she'd already cum or not; she seemed to be permanently up on the edge, maybe holding off or maybe cumming constantly but not realizing it. Hopefully her visitor was up on that same plateau; it felt as if her body was experiencing some sort of happy trauma, anyway.

Oh my, oh my, Trish thought. So much for cool and collected!

They stayed that way for a long time, kissing and tongue-fencing, tenderly squeezing breasts and briskly rubbing pussy, probably cumming in a ragged sort of harmony. Then Victoria swapped the tongue-fencing for an urgent stabbing, leaving Trish with a big decision to make.

Do I resist or do I succumb?

'Too fast,' she gasped, 'pulling her mouth away.

Victoria's chest was moving in all sorts of interesting directions. She was gasping for breath and her eyes shone crazily. 'Bed,' she said. 'Let's go to bed.'

'What about watching The Sioux's breakthrough fight?'

'Fuck her. Take me to bed. Fuck me instead.'

Trish's eyes narrowed. 'Do you mean that literally?'

'You bet I do.'

*****

'Who are you?'

'What?'

Trish chuckled. 'You look like Victoria. You sound and smell and taste like her too. But you seem completely different.'

Vic laughed. It was twilight outside. They had been in Trish's bedroom since early afternoon and had at last taken a break.

'I'm definitely me,' she said. 'I'm just in one of my more loving modes.'