Rival’s Previews

A glimpse into the * possible * future stories of Rival’s Rapture.

Now, I say “possible” because I can never guarantee that a story I plan will ever be finished, even if at some point it is one I absolutely love.

That caveat being given, enjoy the teasers!

Keep in Mind: The information below will change as the stories advance, or my plans for them change. So check back to see where the stories you’re excited about are in their march towards being released.

Want to Give Your Thoughts on the Stories Below?

Head on over to The Rival’s Forum and then under the Rival’s Rapture’s Stories section, open a topic.

Lone Star State

Style: Slow, methodical tests of strength / Sexfight

Description: Two geek girls with style to spare start frequenting the same, newly reopened bar. At first, they try to avoid each other, but before too long they are forced to not only meet, but share their mutual friends. One night, after the two find themselves in a somewhat heated argument in front of everyone, they decide to try and become friends over a few drinks at home. But every second they spend together alone, their jealousy grows.

Until they can stand not another second mired in parity.

Until their fingers lace, palms press, and bodies meet in a contest they hope will finally set them apart.

The Idea: So, this is another models first story. One where the two girls hair and cute thickness made me want to press them together. And what better way to do that then to have them lock palms and push — locks legs and strain.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Excitement by Proxy

Style: Lust-Heavy Catfight

Description: When Claire, the firm’s best attorney calls in sick, not with a tale of sneezes and coughs but hairpulling and adultery no more, it plants an image in Brandy’s mind. One that the firm’s sexy brunette partner can’t get out of her mind.

Not until she and her pretty young assistant act it out, in the final caving of the months of sexual tension that existed between them.

The Idea: So, I have always wanted to return to Who is This? given its success and critical acclaim. But, there is so much disagreement about whether there should or shouldn’t be, I decided instead to tell some spin-off tales.

One, on Lauren’s side, was to be the rewrite of Backseat Battle. And though that was has taken the path not traveled, this story is the one that I have planned for Claire’s side.

Now Claire won’t actually be in it, but she will be calling and communicating with her boss Brandy. The call coming early and then emails thereafter following.

Emails that describe Claire’s fight with Lauren, in graphic and gratifying detail. A detail that turns Brandy on. So much so that when her assistant comes into her office, she has her read the emails.

And when she has read them and stands. The excitement begins.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Working Title: Vulcan vs. Betazoid

Style: Mind-Reading Sexfight

Description: When two vibrant young officers (a Vulcan and a Betazoid) chase after the same Trill, an impasse is reached. One which will take every ounce of energy, strength, and sexual skill to overcome. Oh, and the telepathic/mind-reading abilities of each. Prepare to boldly go.

The Idea: A request from a dear friend for a Betazoid vs. Vulcan mind-manipulating sexfight on a space station.

Excerpt:

“Jarra, I….” The brown-haired Trill began to speak. He meaning to tell her something she needed to know.

“Yesss…?” The Betazoid asked softly as she tried with all her might not sense what he meant to say. She shutting off her abilities, as best she could — wanting to hear it from his lips first.

And though she did then hear words that sprang from lips, they were not his. No, they were someone else’s. Cold words. Seemingly emotionless, but somehow anything but. They coming like a phaser blast to the hull. One which knocked both Jarra and Gerzed from their beautiful moment of long-denied desires.

“And who is this…?” Asked a woman, whose very presence set Gerzed’s mind alight like a star going nova.

“Oh, uh….” Muttered Gerzed, as he backed away from Jarra, literally pulling himself from her grasp. “This is….”

In a flash, the Betazoid’s love-glistened eyes hardened, as she saw Gerzed struggle to remember her name. “Jarra…. My name … is Jarra.” The black-haired beauty said as she tried to restrain her desire to hit Gerzed.

A Trill who looked from the woman to Jarra and then back. The sight on one end of that bounce being a gorgeous, red-headed Vulcan. One just as tall as Jarra, standing 5’5’’, whose body appeared to have been poured from the same mold.

She, just like Jarra, wearing the shortest dress-bottomed uniform Starfleet would allow. Dresses which revealed, apart from their equal rank of lieutenant, their strong, muscular legs, and perfectly shaped C-cup breasts.

Move though Gerzed’s eyes did, from Vulcan to Betazoid, their eyes became locked. Not on the Trill who stood between them and to the side, but on each other. Each examining and judging the other’s body and beauty against their own.

A scan which continued until those eyes, each pair dark blue like a Terran sea, raised, met, and then fused together. Not in a glare, but in a deep, penetrating study of the other’s everything. A peering that intensified, as Jarra read not only Gerzed’s mind but the Vulcan’s. Finding in each a long, sordid tale of heated sexual encounters, near-miss relationships, and worst of all — a sense from at least she, that they were not yet done writing that log.

“Uh … Jarra, this is….” Gerzed, began before he was cut-off.

“Tellus. But you know that already, don’t you, Betazoid…?” When written, it looks like a question, but it was more an accusation. One that Jarra took as nothing less, as she hardened her stance and crossed her arms across her chest.

New Babysitter
Sequel to Backseat Battle

Style: Catfight / Sexfight

Description: [REDACTED]

The Idea: <<Re-calibrating>>

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

Working Title: Mary Jane vs. Gwen Stacy

Style: Catfight / Sexfight

Description: When Peter finally decides that because he can’t choose either Mary Jane or Gwen Stacy, he must move on without either of them, two close friends decide to make the decision for him. Not because they want to fight. Not because they hate each other. But because they will not accept their lives without him.

And so in the midst of a tight hug, and on the tale-end of gently spoken words of regret does their battle begin.

The Idea: Ok so, most of you know this, but maybe not all of you. I came from a world of comic book roleplay. And so, it has always seemed natural that at some point, I should start writing stories about comic characters.

BUT! Every time I try to write such a tale I run headlong into a wall of questions. But what about their powers? Wouldn’t she just…? Well, wait … they hadn’t even…? Whoa, whoa, whoa, everyone knows she could…. And somewhere after the 900th hurdle, I give up trying to write such a story.

Now this is a story that avoids most of those questions because Mary and Gwen, at least in the verse we’re writing them, have no powers. So it’s just human vs human, woman vs. woman. Which makes it easier.

But Luffy already wrote a super hot story between these two characters, which you can find on his page. So, that gives me anxiety about even writing this tale! Even if Sprite wants it bad. lol

So we will see if this one ever surfaces.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Working Title: Step-Mother vs. Girlfriend

Style: Super Lusty Catfight

Description: When a father dies just after his son’s 18th birthday, that son is left with a loving step-mother. A loving step-mother who perhaps loves, just a bit too much. She wanting to claim her deceased husband’s offspring as her next sexual and marital prey.

But just as she was to spring her carefully laid trap of seduction and manipulation, he meets a girl. A girl who is ready and willing to fight for him. A girl that knows exactly what game is being played.

The Idea: So this one I am looking forward to writing. It started out as a real mother and son, but the more Sprite and I went over it, it just made sense to give us the breathing room of step-mom.

A breathing room that led us to have her be trying to seduce the poor, innocent boy. One who is, as most rapture males, not only powerless, but also completely without the ability to resist.

But then that same boy (18+ of course) meets a beautiful redhead. One who claims him quickly, and then lures the step-mother into a battle.

A battle of sex and violence, in an effort to show their mutual interest that they are the woman that truly deserves him.

By that, I intend to have them, while fighting, being not only overtly, but heavily sexual. Not because the other turns them on, but because they are, even as they war, putting on a show for the male lead. Trying to show him how ravenous they can and will be for him.

Both being devious and cruel — manipulative and endlessly sensual, in all the best ways.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Just. Trust. Me.
Sequel to Showdown at the Saloon

Style: Titfight/Sexfight

Description: Rival’s Ranch has been purchased, and due to it, closed for two weeks to be rejiggered and refit to meet the needs of their new owner. But without the Saloon open, Kaylee is left without her favorite spot to prowl and hunt, for a man to take home. And so she turns to Brie for satisfaction. “The roomy clause” she calls. And though Brie makes an early fuss, she gives in — on one condition. That they try out something Brie just learned first. A titfight. Saying to her needy roommate “Just. Trust Me.”.

The Idea: So this one has been kicking around my head for just about as long as Showdown at the Saloon. I figured that Brie had really just learned about titfighting, from Kylie at the bar. Not that Kylie knew exactly what she was challenging Brie to, but she was certainly the driver of their breast-to-breast competition.

So in my mind popped the idea, what if Brie, excited and having enjoyed beating Kylie, wanted to show an equally endowed friend of hers titfighting. Not because they are rivals or hate each other, but just to have some fun.

It kind of goes back to the excitement I feel for the idea of one woman training another how to compete in a titfight or sexfight. The idea of softly, reassuringly explaining to the woman pressing her breasts to yours how to do it. How to press. How to swish. How to line up nipples and fence.

That’s where this one is going to linger for a little bit, but quickly I am going to have Kaylee catch on and press forward. Not just matching Brie tit-for-tit, but then pushing her further. As if the competition of bodies and wills almost instantly makes sense to her. So though the story starts with Brie teaching, tit then turns into Kaylee pulling Brie past the next line: sexfighting.

A line Brie will then know how to cross with Kylie, when they meet again in Bar Top Battle.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

The Fire Dies Not

Style: Threesome/Sexfight

Description: It is their world — their social status. Their friends and cliques — sexual conquests and boyfriends. And so when the most popular guy either of the college freshmen know shows interest in them, they leap at the chance to have him. But he doesn’t want one. No, he wants both. Leaving both Hope and Hannah to try and pry the other’s hands off who they perceive as their world-changing acquisition.

But as they focus on each other, he focuses on the drink. Taking in one after another until they get back to a hotel room. There, as their battle escalates, he passes out. Leaving them with nothing in the world to do but finish what they started. To fuck one another, until only they can truly lay claim to their incapacitated big man on campus.

The Idea: So this one, is another case of models calling for a story. I found Hope, and then Hannah right after another. And when I did, I knew I had to get them together. They both look pretty young, and innocent, and so I had to think of a story where they could be students of some kind. And then over a drift-thinking session, I came to the idea of fighting over like a quarterback or someone popular.

Somehow, it ended up a little A Night in Harlem-ish, as it starts in a club, but then it moves to an Uber and then a hotel room.

Now, as those who follow me know, I tend to make my male characters either absent or buffoons. This was actually the original buffoon, he he. As he is just a douche, drinking, loser. And almost as soon as the girls meet his cock, he cums and then passes out.

And when he does, the girls have a sexfight. That last part is a little vague, because that’s where I have been stuck for almost a year. Should he get back involved? How? What should the girls do to each other and where?

Iono.

At least not yet.

But I will! Someday….

Excerpt: As the hours passed, the two girls began to focus more and more on spitting one another, rather than entertaining Brandon. Each finding their own personal character flaw of being spoiled triggered with ferocity by the others refusal to leave and abandon their claim on Brandon. He was theirs, they each thought — they each KNEW. Why? How? What gave them that certainty? Not a word they could speak if asked. They just felt it. They just wanted him, and because of that DESERVED him. Neither familiar or accustomed to the feeling of being denied what they truly wanted, or anything for that matter.

And so, confronted with that ugly, painful feelings of jealousy and half-denied desire, as they were, they each acted out. Striking at each other like children, in any ways they could, until their competition for him grew white-hot — until it absolutely consumed each of them. Until, as Brandon laid back against the booth back, the two seemingly sweet girls found their pulses racing and hearts pounding. In such a wild state, and without either speaking a word to Brandon or each other, the two new women communicated only through kicks and sharp tugs on the other’s hair.

Tugs through which they each fought to lean forward and look around their near-comatose quarry, just so they could lock eyes in a hateful glare. In the heat of such an intense connection, their once event-triggered tugs of the other’s locks became constant, excruciating pulls. Pulls that were so harsh, that tears began to form in their loathing-etched eyes. Each fed on those silent tears, their smiles widening as each began to roll down the others cheek, expressions worn even as they themselves struggled to endure and survive.

Finally, and just as both girls were mere seconds away from screaming out for the others mercy, Brandon sat forward like a lightning bolt, and with his arms around each, lifted them from their seats. As each found themselves lifted, and their then coiled and straining legs pulled apart, they released each other’s hair. Finally free of the pain, they each tried to collect themselves, sniffling as they wiped away tears. But as they did, and oblivious to all and everything that had transpired between his two ladies, Brandon finally spoke:

“Leeet’s gooo, girlssssss; it’s time for youuuuuu b-both to fiiiind out why I’mmmm the hottest guuuuy … hiccup … at The M.” His words not only sounded of liquor, but reeked like them too, but neither Hope nor Hannah cared as they gazed up at him, for their god had spoken — their lord had called.

The Beautiful Game

Style: Sexfight

Description: Women across the hall from one another find exactly what they were searching for in the challenge the other presents.

The Idea: This is a sexfight I am writing for AnubisX’s Fight Compellation book, and the kicker is it has to be 5,000 or less words. So this story will lack the build-up and character introduction of my normal stories. But, as I am using previously introduced characters and a simple cause for the fight, it shouldn’t be too jarring.

Excerpt: Then, with the other in hand, each of the women used their grips to pull the other forward and their bodies together in a sudden, jolting press.

“My body vs. yours? You don’t stand a chance….” The words were resolute, but their tone drifting. For just before she spoke them, Hope drew in a deep breath through her nose, one that allowed her to take in and enjoy Beatrix’ beautiful perfume.

“Is that why I feel your nipples hardening against mine already?” When read, Beatrix’s words sounded bold and unaffected, but she too found herself caught. By smell and sight — feel and fire.

They two women standing in the entryway of Beatrix’ pricey New York apartment clinging to each other.

Their eyes not caught in some hot, hateful glare but instead moving this way and then that, as each studied every inch of the other.

A study that continued as both blonde and black-haired beauties’ heads weaved slowly from one side to the other.

Their moving lips calling to each other desperately, as closer and closer as they leaned.

“Kiss me, you bitch….” Hope commanded, as such was only a eyelash’s width distant from occurring.

“Mmm, I knew you’d beg….” Beatrix fire back, just a shave of a second before she pressed her lips to Hope’s and locked her into a deep, passionate kiss.

Working Title: Cubicle Story

Style: Sexfight

Description: When co-workers find themselves miles-deep in a silent feud of comparison and compulsion, their proximity in a back-to-back cubicle leads their rivalry to ignite and then explode.

The Idea: When I first came up with this story is was supposed to be something entirely different. But as I started writing the women’s office rivalry it just took shape.

More, when I looked at the models, I just felt like their voices would sound sexy. And with that, I decided I’d use that as a point of comparison between the two so there are some unique elements with that.

Overall, at least to me, the story has a SUPER lusty tone, kinda like Wrong Number.

Excerpt: Every move, every sound, and even every decision their competition, as they saw it might make. They, lost in their need to compare, searching for any small difference they could cling to, desperate for something, ANYTHING, that would set them apart.

And yet still, despite their intense focus on each other, our black-and-blonde-haired cubicle-mates exchanged only those words they had to, and not a syllable more. Neither pushing for more, or allowing themselves to stumble into a situation where such might be required. One leaving work early, where the other might leave late, so that they did not need to walk from hall to exit together, or god forbid, find themselves locked in the same elevator.

That refusal to engage one another directly caused a dizzying and palpable atmosphere of tension to grow between them with every passing minute. A cauldron of rivalry and frustration, it was. A sauna of requited jealousy, and projected self-loathing. Despite the intensity of their own feelings, however, both Beatrix and Emily imagined that it was only they who felt such things, assuming that the other was oblivious to their silent struggle. But eventually, when they had truly settled into the daily grind of their competing qualities, that belief was shattered.

More Than a Match

Style: Pro-Style Match

Description: When the WWN’s newest signee (“The Better Woman”) is tasked with winning over the company’s most important wrestler (“The Doll”) sparks fly — both in the locker room and the ring.

But when their match is over, neither Jennifer or Kat will ever be the same again.

The Idea: In my time on FCF I fell in love with a certain pairing that I cannot wait to bring to life for all of you. At least my version of it. 🙂

Excerpt: While Jennifer examined, so did Kat. Her eyes scanning the fully visible shape of her upstart opponent’s body. A body which, to Kat’s dismay mirrored hers in every way. In height and weight. In definition and tone. In bust and build. And even in thighs, a fact that drove The Doll especially insane. She finding those to be her most prized possessions.

Possessions which were no longer unique in the WWN; at least until she could get rid of the girl who dared to stand across the ring from her. Something she planned to do in the next five minutes.

“I am going to make you regret ever signing with this company. You are WAY out of your league.” Kat threatened from her own, far corner of the ring. Her eyes still narrowed and glaring.

“Yeah, I don’t think so…. I just have to prove it to you! And I will!” Her attitude still unaffected, Jennifer began to walk to the center of the ring. Slowly, not out of fear, but respect. She knowing, that at least on that day, the match was Kat’s to begin.

As Jennifer moved, glancing up at the clock for a moment, Kat held up both arms, and with palm-up hands gestured. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, take your boots off.”

“Wait, why?” Jennifer replied, her tone making her confusion clear.

“Do you not listen? This is MY ring, and I what I say goes. So take. Your. Fucking. Boots. Off.”

“Ugh, ok…” Jennifer replied as she bent over and started to untie her nearly knee-high boots. “…but I’m pretty sure we have to wear boots when we’re on TV.”

The comment, oddly, received no reaction from Kat. Not a word of retort, nor a huff or a puff of irritation or fury. But, believing that her compliance had earned that silence, Jennifer just continued to unlace and loosen. She, without looking up, removing one boot, then the other, and then the socks underneath.

But just as she stood back up, and tossed that now removed footwear out of the ring, she heard loud quick stomps. Stomps which caused her to turn her head, but too late, as before she could even figure out what was happening, Kat buried a raised knee deep in the brunette’s gut.

Breast is Best

Style: Lactation Catfight

Description: After two gym rivals find their contests of body and will interrupted by pregnancy, they spiral into a morass of shame and despair. That is until they, on chance alone meet again. Each deciding that the other’s pain and destruction will be their salvation.

The Idea: This is a fight for fans of catfights and milking. A subset, but one I know is out there and hungry for a story to enjoy.

Excerpt: Entry Coming Soon

“Why am I not surprised you’d feed your baby formula? I guess with breasts like yours, you’d have no other choice.” The words seemed almost comically cruel, and yet they were no different than the words the two had spoken to each other before. Neither holding back. Not once. Not ever. Their every conversation acidic. Their every contact cutting.

Standard though the tone was for they two, still, the insult made Neha close her eyes and sigh, before responding to her rival as she turned. “I would never…. Though I’m sure you’d feed that trash to your baby girl….” The Indian mother paused as a smirk formed on her face. “But, I’m glad you finally decided to crawl out of your hole, Holly. How brave of you with all that baby weight still hanging…. You’re an inspiration to fat women everywhere.” As if the words weren’t harsh enough, Neha made them even worse by reaching out and pinching — yes, PINCHING a small lip of skin that still protruded past Holly’s skin-tight leggings.

“Ooooohhhh….”Holly exclaimed in a long, drawn-out exhale, one she released as she pushed her cart forward, leaving it parallel with her rival’s. “Fat, huh?I guess that’s how you justify my breasts being so much bigger than yours now.” The white woman began as she leaned in close and said in a hush. “In fact, if yours weren’t filled with milk, I bet you they’d only be half as big as mine.”

As Holly leaned in, Neha’s heart raced. As the lips of her rival parted, and a tiny gust of anger-warmed air was pushed out, a shiver went up the Indian mother’s spine. She hearing every word of insult spoken, with her eyes closed and body shaking with both excitement and rage. But even as those emotions swirled within her, Neha still grabbed for her rival, and with a soft tug of shirt, kept her from pulling away. A grab Holly matched, as she took the same, light, singer-grip of Neha’s top.

It was then, that with the pair’s bodies gently pressing together in that closeness, that the Hindu blogger whispered back, her cheek coming to press against her rival’s as she did so. “You don’t want to compare breasts … or milk with me, cuntttt.” Neha let the last word — the C-word drift, as she and her rival clung not only to each other but the moment. The first moment in so long that made them feel anything other than disgusted and depressed.

Working Title: Movie Theatre Meetup

Style: Sexfight

Description: When two 19-year-olds are taken to the same theater by their boyfriends, they find themselves bored to tears by the action film they are subjected to. That is until one of their bare thighs brushes that of the other. It is the slightest and most accidental of touches, but it sets them on a wild ride of sexual competition. One that is far more entertaining than the movie their boyfriend’s had taken them to see.

The Idea: This was originally a blog post, but the idea is exciting enough to me that I wanted to turn it into a full story. So, I removed it from the blog, and have it somewhere int he queue.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

Until Godot Arrives

Style: Catfight / Sexfight

Description: When a returning soldier’s feuding mother and wife are convinced to wait for his return home in the same house, a fuse is lit. And though he was supposed to be arriving only a few moments after Bri, he is late, and then later, and then before he can arrive, the fuse that was set brings on an explosion. One so violent and intense that the wayward soldier becomes but an afterthought in both women’s minds.

The Idea: A story inspired by a friend on FCF. Where violence is bond and agony satisfaction.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

I’m Player One!

Style: Soft Apartment Wrestling Sexfight

Description: Two geek-first roommates decide to have a night of old-school video games but when one tries to choose Mario and relegate the other to Luigi, an argument ensues. Not a harsh one, but a playful one. One that leads both to wrestle softly and compete for the controller, until what they really wants becomes all too clear.

The Idea: Soft apartment wrestling has always turned me on, and this story (along with Netflix and Chill, which isn’t on this page yet) is going to be my way to share all of that with you.

Excerpt:“Fine then!” Julie replied as she felt her roommate’s palms press against her shoulders. Instead of giving into it, and letting her friend push her off and back to the carpet, the redhead rebelled. She doing so by reaching both arms around the brunette’s head and neck, and then with a sudden seizing, pulling her forward, and without intention, between the cleavage of her breasts.

It was then, as one roommate’s nose and lips pressed against the dress-exposed fleshy-valley between the other’s breasts, that everything stopped. The speaking. The laughing. The pushing. And even the pulling hold, Julie had taken not a moment before.

Then, a few seconds after that cessation began, each leaned back. Julie away from her unintended smother, and Steph from playing victim to it. Such reversing allowed for the sitting pair’s eyes to meet, to connect, and then … question.

What had just happened? Was it nothing more than just a playful attempt at claiming Mario’s player one glory for their own? Or an excuse….

What were they feeling at that moment? Nothing more than shame and embarrassment of a moment gotten out of hand? Or something more….

What was next? Would they laugh the moment off, swiftly end their moment of contact, and just play roshambo to see who played Mario? Or would they choose a different path? One they had both wanted. One they had wanted since the first night they met.

“Wrestle me for it.” Steph dared, though her tone was soft and her eyes shifting left and right in a deep, shame-driven study of Julie’s face.

A look which pulled the redhead in like gravity — like fate. Her body leaning in, her neck bending forward, and her lips moving closer and closer to her roommate’s.

In truth, they each wanted it. A kiss. A soft, loving kiss, but instead. Pushed to deny those feelings by a fear of rejection and taboo, Julie took a different route. One that guaranteed that she would get to feel her body pressed against Steph’s for just a few moments more.

Masks Come Off

Style: Catfight

Description: When the Jonas brothers’ ladies are suddenly and surprisingly left alone together, they can’t help but get tangled together. Until one is names queen of the Jonas throne.

The Idea: Another Sprite tale. One about two celebrity girlfriends caught in each other’s web. This is a bratty catfight with heavy sexual humiliation and domme in the end.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Where Hate Dies

Style: Brutal Catfight

Description: When two widowed women on opposite sides of a river and a war meet, they are swept away in the current.

The Idea: So I believe the idea behind this one is for it to be a truly vicious battle for survival, the likes of which I do not often produce.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

Working Title: Best Legs

Style: Leg-focused and Lusty Tests of Strength

Description: When the office award for best legs is a tie, two ‘frenemies’ decide to break it.

The Idea: So I know there is a healthy community of leg/foot fight fans out there, and this one is going to be for them. And, as I find the models cute and playful looking, I am going to take it in a little bit more sensual and competitive a direction than hateful and violent.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

Reach for the Same

Style: Sadomasochistic Catfight

Description: When a rich American twenty-something travels to the depths of the Middle-East looking for a cure for vapidity, she finds it — though not in a way she ever would have imagined.

The Idea: Some of my stories are from dreams, and this one is probably the most closely linked of those. I had a dream about two women in the back of a Middle-Eastern store, reaching for the same piece of clothing and then immediately bursting into a catfight. Now, clearly my tale will have a little more subtlety to it, but I am pretty excited about this one — even if it has been sitting on my shelf for awhile.

Excerpt: To some women, it comes east: being real – – being substantive. To others however, it is a struggle, a journey, something that must be earned and obtained.

It is that truth, that has recently began to weigh on Nicole’s mind. For though she has friends, followers, and as many likes on her pictures as hairs on her head, she feels it. The gnawing, the emptiness, and all-encompassing boredom with life. Not life in general, or life is it may be, but her own – – what she has made – – where it is headed, if she does not become more.

But how does one become more? How does one go from being shallow to deep? From vapid to authentic? From press-on and fake to real and engaging?

Learning and education, perhaps? Classes on different cultures and jazz – – women’s studies and basket weaving. Or instead of the formal, might it be suffering, poverty, going without or through. But as Nicole examined those options, she found herself paralyzed and pulled, her path leading in too many directions at once. So she decided to just continue doing what she had been, to continue to travel, to explore the world around her.

For you see, since she had turned 17, Nicole had traveled. To England, Moscow, Sydney, Paris, Beijing, and Berlin. In those cities, and amongst those landmarks there in, she stayed at the most luxurious hotels and ate at restaurants of equal taste and grandeur. How, you might ask, could a girl so young afford such opulence? Her parents, or perhaps parent would be more accurate, Nicole’s father being a business magnate on Wall Street; one listed, who has lasted, for now decades on end.

High as he had risen on his own exceptional savvy and worth, Nicole’s mother did so on looks alone. She being successful only in finding a man who could and would carry her up the societal ladder, whether she be deserving, or not.

That dichotomy of quality never bothered Nicole, until recently. Until her own fears about lacking substance, and a value of her own, became heavier and more of a fixation than a frustration.

Was she just another trophy wife? A piece of arm candy? A pair of breasts, and ass, and defined purely by her follower count? Those questions haunted her. Tormented her. And night after night kept her from sleeping.

Not What We Do

Style: Catfight (Mother vs. Daughter)

Description: When a strictly religious mother discovers her daughter is working at the sin palace of Hooters, she decides to confront, control, and put an end to the shameful endeavor. But when her orders are met with “whatevers” and her warnings with back-talk, tempers flare and long-unsaid truths are yelled. That’s when the claws come out and mother and daughter roll.

The Idea: So I am not averse to incest stories, and I think my intent is for this tale not to be such a tale, but leave the readers who might want one desperate.

By that I mean, this story will be a vicious catfight between a true mother and daughter pair, in which no overt sensuality occurs. But, given the closeness of it — the passions of it — and where I plan to leave the characters in the end, I intend to make the reader wish I would give them something they may not have wanted before.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

The Useful Rival

Style: Catfight / Domme

Description: He is the perfect husband for Kiran, save that he lacks the sexual aggression she wants. That is until a beautiful new neighbor moves in next door. One the brunette uses to excite her husband with thoughts of a threesome and even a rivalry. But when fantasies become reality, and imagined interest becomes real, Kiran has no choice but to subjugate her neighbor, before that neighbor does the same to her.

The Idea: This is a story Sprite and I came up with, where you have a man at play between his wife and the neighbor. And though it will be a catfight, the ending is one I am kinda taking over. As it will become a full on domme scenario, with the winner asserting her control over the loser.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

Where is My Husband

Style: Sexfight / Catfight

Description: Every night Sonia asks Siri the same question: “where is my husband”?

And every night Siri answers with the same location.

But when husband falls ill and is forced to come home to rest, Sonia sets out to find the woman who has stolen her husband’s attention.

A woman named Hope.

The Idea: I discovered this feature on Siri and realized it would be a great premise for a story. So when Sprite asked that we work on a story of a wife and a mistress, I decided it was time to put it to use.

And though his was not the plan at the time it was conceived, this will be Hope’s first or second appearance, depending on how things evolve with two other stories. One posted on this page, and the other not.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

Taking it All

Style: Pubic-Hair-Heavy Catfight

Description: When a friendly neighbor (Evie) becomes to wife (Sunny) best friend and babysitter, and to the husband confidant and mistress, the seeds of desire are planted. A desire not take part but all — not some but EVERYTHING.

A plan both revealed and perhaps perfected in a grand struggle of woman against woman and bush against bush.

The Idea: This is another piece I am writing with Sprite. One that again leans into a particular fetish of the community. This one having to do with a husband who pushes his wife and mistress to grow their pubic hair long and proud.

And though the fight is way more than just pubic hair, that is one of the heavy elements.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

One Bump, Two Bump, Three Bump, Whore!

Style: All Styles

Description: When a dorm is too small and its occupants too similar, two college students drift slowly into a feud that will from that moment on become their obsession.

The Idea: So this is a story that was come up with by myself and the same partner I worked on Where Waves and Breasts Crash with.

Now, they aren’t working with me on it any more, but I do like the ideas we came up with for it.

That being said, I am not sure what to do with it, given the length it will most likely be. As, at least currently, I plat it to be a story that is multiple different engagements in a bunch of different styles as the two characters explore their rivalry and each other.

I am partially thinking that I will split it up into smaller chapters like When Life Starts, but I am not sure yet.

Excerpt: “Like … why are you staring at me?” Demanded Emily, her voice dripping with equal parts frustration and irritation.

“I wasn’t, weirdo, I was just working on that assignment for history; you know the one you haven’t even started on yet….” Came Madison’s response, as she kept her eyes locked on her laptop screen, knowing full well she had been caught.

“Bullshit,” Emily replied as she pushed off her bed to her feet. “You were staring at me. You always stare at me.”

“What!? Are you kidding me right now?” Came a quick retort and a rude glare from the blonde, as she too left her bed in a stand. “You’re the one, who’s always staring at me!”

“ME? Oh my god, whatever!” With a single step forward, and then another, the redhead replied, her anger growing with every word spoken. “You’re the one who won’t leave me alone for half a fucking second.”

As soon as the words were spoken, Madison’s eyes closed, and her head tilted to the side in disbelief. “What the fuck are you talking about!?” Exclaimed the blonde as she too began to step towards her roommate. “You’re the one who never leaves! I’m studying here! I have classes to pass! And unlike you, I don’t wear skimpy fucking clothes like a SLUT to do it!” As the accusation passed from lips to ear, Madison dared to reach out, slide her fingers into the waistband of Emily’s uber-tight leggings, and then pull — causing them to snap back against the redhead’s soft, white skin.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!” Came in a shout from Emily, who wasted not a second before she lunged forward, and shoved Madison’s shoulder, causing her to stumble backward, and back to her bed. On as much, the back of her legs caught, and she fell in a seated position on her sloppy blanket-covered mattress.

“Ok, bitch. If that’s the way you want it…. FINE!” With a crooked ‘I-can’t-believe-this-bitch’ smirk, Madison put her hands on her knees and pushed herself back up to a stand. There she stood for maybe a half of a second before she started walking — no, CHARGING towards Emily, who readied herself for a fight.

Smaller and smaller the space between them became, until, when finally they were only inches from locking up, they each raised their hands to grab at the other. And though grab they did, their palms on both hands met mid-air, fingers laced, and each began to push. The effect of such force stopped Madison’s advance, and left the two in the middle of the room, trying to overpower the other. And though that was their goal, each of them found their efforts stymied, as their hands pressed together with equal force, with neither gaining an advantage.

Bar Top Battle

Style: Sexfight / Titfight

Description: With their showdown having ended with her victorious, Brie looks to assert her dominance over her blonde Rival. But when Kylie resists, our busty bartendresses find themselves once again battling for control, but with more than just their tits this time.

The Idea: The sexfight forum called for it, and I am of the same mind. Brie and Kylie need to have a rematch, and when they do, it needs to be a sexfight.

Now, it was always my plan to have them battle again, and for it to be a sexfight, but originally the plan to get them there was a little different. Different or not, I look forward to writing this one, and you should look forward to reading it.

Excerpt: Not Yet Written

Working Title: Roll of a Lifetime

Style: Catfight

Description: Still in the planning phase

The Idea: I loved these two models, and really wanted to write a story with them in a catfight.

I’ve gone back and forth on the cause from two starlets fighting for a role to girlfriends of the same man who stumble upon each other and then with each other, but I haven’t really nailed it down yet.

Excerpt: But as such comparisons ran through her head, and the door to the condo came open at her pull, a pair of hands suddenly reached through. Not just through, however, but up and into her hair. Hair that was then pulled, and used as an anchor by which she was pulled and slammed into the entryway wall.

“Owe, owe, what the fuck?!?” Sydney questioned in absolute astonishment, as her head and neck were twisted cruelly from side to side.

“Oh, yeah, right, bitch!” Was all she got in answer. One that came in a voice without accent. A voice the young Australian actress did not recognize. Despite that unfamiliarity, a hand still came down hard, the palm of it splashing against her cheek as if a mallet tenderizing a piece of uncooked meat.

“Owe! Christ! Who are y-” Sydney tried to speak — to ask in a panic, but before she could, a hand sealed over her mouth, cutting off her words.

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know who I am, slut.” Demanded the voice, as Sydney opened her eyes to see a pretty but rage-faced brunette, one that continued to pull her hair with one hand, and covered her mouth with the other.

“Hmm Emmm Ymmm?” The white tank-top-wearing Ozzy tried to respond, though she found her every word smothered out.

Though the words were muted and muffled, the brunette’s face twisted into one bent with dismissive amusement. One that she kept on, as she leaned in and whispered into the blonde’s ear, even as the same continued to struggle to free herself. A struggle that suddenly ceased at the words spoken.

That freezing and the look on Sydney’s face as the brunette leaned back, was all the latter needed to see to know she had been right.

“Thought so, slut.” Came through her once again sneering lips, as the surprise visitor retracted both her pressing palm and hairpulling hand.

“Oh, my god — I am so so….” Sydney began, realizing in an instant who this woman was, and why she was so angry. But as the blonde’s apology came, so did the brunette, who surged forward and rammed a raised knee into the gut of the woman sleeping with her boyfriend.

“Oooggh” Came the sound of it, as Sydney collapsed to the marble floor of her director and lover’s condo.

“Fucking BITCH! I can’t leave town for 10 minutes without one of you fucking sluts coming after him! The brunette spoke, her tone almost calm, as she paced in front of the bent over and winded blonde.

“Do I need to put a goddamn collar on him that read’s Isabella’s? Huh…? Cunt…? Do I?…” Isabella asked, as she grabbed a handful of Sydney’s hair, and pulled her head up so that she could look in her eyes.

And though it hurt, Sydney, with an anger quickly welling within her, responded. “Maybe if you weren’t such an ugly fucking slag, he wouldn’t be looking for someone else to fuck.”

What We Deserve

Style: Post-Match Punishment

Description: It has ended. Their friendship. Their battle. Sierra’s resistance and Terra’s need to earn her rival’s submission. But now comes the punishment. The consequence for every cruel word spoken and every wound inflicted. How will it begin? How long will it last? How will it end? Only Terra can decide that, and only Sierra can suffer it.

The Idea: So the idea for this one came from the top picture in the edit. I saw it, and immediately found myself lost in the scene. The girl on bottom unmoving, her hands not even placed, and the girl on top proudly keeping her pinned with pussy applied to lips.

Now oddly, that image inspired me to write When BFF’s Battle, but the story I came up with did not include a scene such as the one pictured in the image. Nor did it contain a long punishment phase as the image makes me envision. So! I have let it inspire me to make another tale. One that is ONLY a punishment phase, with the catfight that led to it already having ended.

It’s a unique idea for a story, and I really look forward to playing with it and the emotions I plan on adding. As basically, the characters were once best friends, but as they grew up they became not only less than that but then enemies.

So this fight takes place years after their insecurity-laced feud began and each had spent so much time and energy trying to hurt one another.

So this punishment phase will basically be the two former friends exercising their demons, coming to grips with what they have become, beginning the process of forgiving each other, and then finally mending what had been broken.

I know, I know, it’s too soft for some. But I want to write it and I think it will be super hot.

Excerpt: Suddenly Terra heard it. The sound the two women had been trying to pry from each other’s lips since one stepped into the other’s home. Submission. Complete and utter from Sierra, who groaned in pain before struggling to turn her anguish into words.. “Uggnnnhhhaaarrrrgggghhhh…. I give…. I give…. Please….”

Terra had been so close — sooo very close to releasing the same cry — the same plea. Instead, she held on — held out, and finally broke the will of her enemy: Sierra.

The two met as children in 4th grade and had quickly become not only best friends but as close as two could be without some sort of blood relation. Together they went to movies and shopped — hung out together at lunch and walked home together after school.

They were inseparable, their teachers chided. Sisters, the two liked to pretend they were. But as happens when the young, grow older, the two girls developed; not only mentally, but physically. It was both such occurrences that began the slow turn of the pair from the closest of friends, to the most bitter of enemies.

For you see, as the Terra and Sierra’s bodies matured, on nearly identical physical paths, boys began to take interest in them, and as their minds developed, they too began to fall for their suitors. But without fail, each time one of the two found themselves as either hungry predator or wanting prey, the two would find themselves at odds … with each other.

For the first few years, the two pinky swore to choose each other, over whatever boy came calling. But as each matured, they found it harder and harder to keep the door closed, when opportunity knocked.

Working Title: Sisters in the Shower

Style: Tests of Strength / Sexfight

Description: When poverty and a paucity of time presses two at-odds sisters into the same shower, rivalry flares and steam rises.

The Idea: So this began originally as a Tumblr blog post, that got far too long to be a blog post. And though I could have found a way to shrink it or cut it off abruptly with a “To be continued….” I decided to just keep it for a future tale.

Now, I have gone back and forth on whether the girls should be real sisters or step-sisters, and I think I have settled on the former. It will be controversial, no doubt, but it gives the story a more taboo feel, one that I think helps it.

Excerpt: A day on which the two had already argued about a boy they both wanted at school. A day on which they had almost come to blows over said boy. A day on which, a single bump of hips, an inevitable occurrence in such a small space, triggered an immediate and violent attack from both on each other.

Fingers and hands locked together, as each wrestled with the other for control, trying to hurt their sister, and punish her for everything that she had done, And though they did so violently, and passionately, each was extremely careful, and methodical in their movements, not wanting to break the glass walls of the shower or alert their temper-prone parents who sat just outside the unlockable bathroom door.

It was the way such limitations affected the two 18-year-old’s every movement, and the focus each paid to ebbing the other’s reactions to their attacks that caused it. A sudden slowing. A turn from attack to attrition. A switch from each seeking the impact of blows, to each seeking instead to overpower and impress their will on their sister — their new rival.

There they stood straining, moving not an inch to the left or the right, instead each simply standing, pressing body-to-body and using muscle to overcome muscle. After 10 minutes of their slow war of dominance, their hot water turned cold, and they had no other choice but to, without words, accept a draw, at least for that day — at least for that shower.
The next day, without speaking of it, or reaching any form of understanding or truce, the two engaged again, as soon as they stepped into the steaming hot water.

Forehead-to-forehead. Nose-to-nose. Chest-to-chest. Stomach-to-stomach. They stood. No moving. No thrashing. Just pushing into and against each other. Knowing that they could settle their differences nowhere else, without being found — without being caught and punished by their oft-disapproving and violent parents. Minutes and moments passed, until again their hot water ran out, again having reached not but a stalemate — not but another nauseating draw.

And so they returned the next day, and the day after that — weeks passing — months — there routine only changing that before they would begin their struggle, each would allow the other to wash
themselves, leaving no outward hint of their distracted showers. Even that allowance, however, became an avenue for they two to battle. As one day among the many, Diana grabbed Gabriela’s wrist and stole from her the sudsy rag she held.

Then, as each glared at one another, Diana began to wash her sister’s body, each scrub harsh, and every necessary reposition as contact-heavy as it could be. Gabriela did not try to regain her rag, or try to escape, instead of allowing it, her face etched with resentment. Once Diana had finished, Gabriela took her turn, forcefully washing her sister’s body, inch-by-inch, allowing their bodies to engage in minor battles whenever possible until she had finished, and both of their bodies had been cleaned. But she did not stop there, as her step-sibling did, instead, resisting Diana when she tried to re-engage, pushing her back against the shower wall.

As her sister tried to understand what was going on, Gabriela grabbed the shampoo bottle, popped its lid, and then motioned without words for her sister to hold out her hands. Once she did, Gabriela squeezed a few spurts of shampoo into those outstretched and cupped hands and did the same into her own. Without any explanation or uttered agreement, the two finally pressed their bodies together again, setting their soap-filled hands into each other’s hair, washing and pulling, at times lightly, and at other times hard.

Show Her This

Style: Lusty Catfight / Sexfight

Description: She sees. She heard. She knows, that he cheats. That he fucks her, this woman named Maria. And though she waits, when finally she can take it no more, she, while nude, demands he takes her picture. Then, as he questions and worries, she tells him: “send this to her.”

The Idea: So, this is a wife vs. mistress story that all stemmed from a pair of similar pictures I found on one of my model searches. Not the ones used in the edit, but images that seemed almost as if the models were copying the other’s post. Which made me picture one rival sending an image to the other as a dare — a challenge, almost. A little like Wrong Number, but intentional.

Now, for this one, it will be a catfight, but one that is absolutely dripping with sensuality. And the punishment will be no less.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Working Title: Riya vs. Katie 2

Style: Catfight / Sexfight

Description: It was a spontaneous eruption of anger and hate when first they met. Unplanned, unwanted, and yet unforgettable — their first battle.

But this time, the fight is sought. Coveted. And dreamed of, night after night: their second round. A rematch. One in which all inhibitions are shed, and all denials of desire forgotten.

The Idea: So, I have gotten a LOT of requests for a rematch of Riya vs. Katie and Sprite and I worked out a way to make that happen.

And though this time, I will be taking the lead, it will still be a catfight — if maybe a little more sexual throughout.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Working Title: Unheard Racket

Style: Catfight

Description: She assumes it is happening. An affair between her ex-husband and her best-friend. But is she right? Has she in fact been betrayed? She waits not for answers, and instead lets her claws do their digging on the tennis court. Where their racket will be unheard.

The Idea: This is one of Sprite’s creations, a brutal catfight on a tennis court, with some post match weapon usage.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

London Nights: First Bidder

Style: Arranged Catfight with Host

Description: There is a mansion in London that is more than it seems. One in which women who have made mistakes in life are taken. Women who need money or aid — clemency or irretractable absence.

This provided for a cost. By a society of the rich, who ask only that those who need such help battle for their amusement and excitement. Battles arranged and led by Mrs. Pierce, who forges those struggles to be whatever the highest bidder most desires.

This is the tale of one such bidder and the women who for them perform.

The Idea: So before I had even written my first released story, I had imagined women from my own past being taught to catfight, titfight, and/or sexfight.

And since then, the idea of an instructor or fight leader has been interesting to me. Also, though I really dislike the “underground fight league” concept, I recognize there is a desire for stories of that type.

So, I decided to come up with a version that would be more palatable for me. One where there is a crowd but they cannot be seen or heard. And there is an organization, but it is perceptible only in the presence of one. Mrs. Pierce.

A character I CANNOT WAIT(!) to bring to life for all of you. She is both master and mother — torturer and friend. A dichotomy I am sure you will all love, once I get it written and on page.

Excerpt: Not yet written.

The Submission

Style: Catfight / Heavy Punishment/Domme

Description: Two brilliant young women and friends — roommates and biologists, have graduated from the same school, with the same degree, but have decided to take two completely different routes thereafter. One to hypothesize, experiment, and then present a proposal to a newly established science research arm of Bowman International. And the other to rest, after an arduous jaunt to her PhD.

And yet still, despite those disparate plans they decide to spend a week together in the depths of a remote rain forest they had always hoped to visit together. A place without reception or connection to the outside world. But when finally they step inside their cabin, alone with only each other, without a way to summon aid or extraction, a voicemail is received. One that tells of treachery — of betrayal by one of the other. A voicemail that rips those two friends apart.

The Idea: So this is one where I saw the models and wanted desperately to put them into a story together. Then, as I searched for images for some other edit, for a premise I have now forgotten, I found pictures of a jeep driving through the jungle. And the idea of a jungle battle, one where they were trapped alone together for a long time came to mind.

Now apart from the setting, the cause for the battle came to me after a few nights of what I call drift-thinking. Where I lay in bed and just think about what I want a story to be or where I want it to go. I like the idea of the voicemail getting through, as we all know how finicky voicemail reception can be.

Also, the cause, though left vague in the description, will be way traitorous, and will certainly give enough anger for a fight.

A fight which, when it ends, will lead to a heavy, HEAVY domme period that I plan on almost turning into a captive thing. With one playing the role as the other’s slave for near the entire week that they remain in the cabin.

The only question is really, will it be traitor or vengence-seeker who becomes that domme. Hmm…. 🙂

Excerpt: Not yet written.

Working Title: Train Battle

Style: Catfight

Description: When a flirty Scottish girl does a little too much of what she’s good at with British Indian woman’s man, sparks fly. And when the shirtless hunk leaves the train, those sparks burst into a wild, uncontrollable flame.

The Idea: Two women tough girls, who have had a little too much to drink square off in a stationary train. Until one is broken, and the other satisfied.

This one’s for Sprite. I love the models we’ve chosen, but I can’t say the idea is as much mine.

Excerpt: Not Written Yet.

Fight After Five

Style: Catfight

Description: Entry Coming Soon

The Idea: Entry Coming Soon

Excerpt: Entry Coming Soon

More Coming Soon

Not all of the stories I am working on have entries here, but I will post entries for those stories when I have edits for them.

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