Toes and Ten Counts: The Better Woman vs. Sarah182637

Jennifer “The Better Woman” vs. Sarah182637 from FCF


It feels like forever. Forever since I have had a chance to get on the mats with the Amazing woman Jennifer. Forever since my body got to push, resist, struggle, pin, be pinned, and pleasure along with hers, but FINALLY I am here again. In your spare bedroom, looking into the full length mirror as I quickly take off everything, getting down to my firm naked body, smiling at myself at what I see and what I know is coming. I reach up to fix my hair, checking to make sure I am still looking my best from my shower before I left. I take a small bit of my perfume just to add a nice hint of the smell. I grab my silk pink robe, throwing it over my shoulders and I open the door to walk through your place, to walk to where the mats are and finally get to meet you again, feeling giddy and smiling wide with each step.

Jennifer “The Better Woman”

Everytime we have gotten together, it has been magic. Absolute and unforgettable magic. Naked body pressing and pinning naked body. Toes covering toes only to be pinned by the same a moment later. But life, as it does, got hard and distracting and I lost track of matches and mats — beauties and battles. But finally my schedule has cleared and here I am. Posing in front of my mirror undressed. My strawberry-scented perfume already spritzed on my body. And my shoulder-length brown hair curled cutely. Not for a night out on the town, but to wrestle you. To pin you or be pinned in the same. And though to others that might sound like madness, for us … it is heaven. A heaven I move towards, as with confidence I reach for the handle of my bedroom’s master bathroom door, pull it open, and then march out to the mats in my living room to meet you.

Each of us reaching those wide, blue mats at the same time. Glints of excitement in our eyes, as once more we study each others beautiful bodies. “Ready for another round, Sarah?” I ask, the giddiness in my voice undeniable.


Upon seeing you, finally again, the robe comes off and we reach the soft blue mats laid out in your living room together. My eyes are going up and down your body, seeing your feet sink into the mats with each step. I can feel my tummy turning and flipping, butterflies abound seeing you, knowing what is to come and then I hear the question. The question that really doesn’t NEED to be asked, as if the answer would be no! I can hear the giddiness in your voice, sense your excitement matching mine as the start approaches.

I bite my lower lip and smile as my eyes come up to meet yours. “Oh yesss Jen I have been ready for ever!” I respond, the same giddiness, the same excitement in my voice and on my face. I keep walking towards you, one foot in front of the other “Lets lose ourselves” I purr ready to get back at you.


With my soles and dainty toes sinking into the soft, top layer of the mats beneath us I move. Towards you. Towards US. An us I want sooo bad I can taste it! And so I don’t stop. Don’t wait.

Instead, just continue to step, though slowly. Teasingly. Until finally I can reach you and when I can, I do. My hands reaching out, not to your shoulders in a tie-up, no matter how much I know we would both love one. But to your sexy hips, which I then use as a handle to pull our wonderfully bare bodies together in an audible splat of flesh and dagger-sharp nipples.

It would be an odd way to start a match where long, lingering pins are the key, but before we get to such a war. We have another to start with. One we both love. One I offer to you, as my feet on either side move forward and the tips of our toes touch.

My forehead sealing against yours, before softly I remind you. “Whoever can pin the others toes starts on top.” My voice almost quivering with anticipation and relief — the relief of knowing we are back together after so long.

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Your hands go for my hips, grabbing onto me and pulling me in fast. I let out a little gasp, both because the feeling of your hard sharp nipples meeting mine along with the rest of our bodies and because I know how close we are to starting. My own hands go for your hips grabbing an equal hold so that when I feel your forehead seal to mine I am showing that I am ready for competition. Thats when I hear your offer and for a moment I feel my knees weak, a quick little hitch in my breath as excited for your offer as you are. With the tips of our toes touching I bite my lower lip doing my best to not let my own voice shake when I say “Deal…….ready?…..wrestle” My eyes staying on yours, as I lift my toes up off the mats ready to go anywhere with you!


Something about our connection makes even our competition and fierceness of purpose a happy and giggle-bringing affair. In part because we are so pleased to be reunited, but also because we trust. That no matter what happens or who wins, we will together enjoy it. Regardless of who is on top and who is on bottom. A truth, pleasant though it is, that does little to diminish our spirit of competition. Each of us, at the very moment you say “wrestle”, springing into action. Our toes lifting and engaging between us. All as our eyes remain locked on the pair across from them.

A mutual gaze that lets us see the mental effort, the enjoyable frustration, and passionate desire to pin the other’s toes. Even as they tangle and cross, lacing together against our will but in the hottest of ways. Our every toe, in our pursuit of lifting and pinning, sliding between those of our rival and catching.

Leaving us, for a moment, only to squeeze with our lower digits. To hopefully win a little game of mercy and then capitalize thereafter.


The mutual desire, the mutual feelings we have is amazing. Those desires being both for each other, but also to be the one on top, be the domme for the other, while risking being the lesser on the day. But our mutual trust allows for this while keeping us in the best of moods.

You react at the same time I do at the word wrestle and I can see the lust already in your eyes as our toes come in. Pushing past until we are locked together, toes laced together in a lower version of mercy. I can feel my pupils dilate for a moment as we begin to struggle for the dominance we each want, even if its in such a small way.

I squeeze my lower digits trying to push and bend but you are just as eager. My focus going more to my right foot trying to bend your left ones back even as I can feel my left digits starting to give way


It is too much to focus on both feet at once. As we are in so many ways, including our feet, so very equal in strength and skills. And so we split our efforts. Both of us pushing forward and straining to out-squeeze and out leverage with our right feet, even as the toes on our left suffer in the most sensual of ways.

But even as that dichotomy of dominance advances, I can feel it. Our bare mounds pressed together and rubbing. Our majestic breasts acting as our fulcrum, as together we lean. Our nipples driving in hard, just off-angle enough to stab into one another’s areolae, and not to duel between us — at least not yet. And there is our forehead to forehead seal. One which leaves us to fight to pull of distraction The pull to kiss, or to focus too much of our attention for the desire for the same.

A desire I feel pulling at me, hard and then harder. Its seductive draw only abating when suddenly, as a result of our efforts, our toes on either side pull free, and we win each other. The toes on our right feet overlapping those on our left.

A happening that makes me gasp and then shudder — all as I whisper to you. “Mmm, I’ve got you and you’ve got me.”


Finding myself losing on the left and winning on the right, I can’t take my eyes off of yours, wanting you, wanting this, and ultimately wanting a kiss.Your hard nipples teasing mine as mine do yours, each poking just offset enough. I can feel your mound on mine pressing as well.

But then I feel it, and we each end up winning and losing, each catching the others left set of toes and pinning them into the mats. I gasp out and shudder, almost closing my eyes at the moment we share. Your words whispered, only for me and shiver again in the embrace. I can smell your strawberry perfume as I take a deep breath and then whisper back “Then I guess we aren’t finished yet”. I can take it no longer and I plant a kiss on your lips unable to contain my desire for a moment before pulling out of the kiss gasping. Taking a moment before trying to pull on my left toes. Starting to think for this battle the one who can control her desires best may end up on top!

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We have only just begun our long competition, and yet each of us stand nude, leaning together in the wake of both victory and defeat, at least one one small skirmish. A feeling of frustration and joy that seems to melt us long candles. Our wanting and deep appreciation for each other making our lips pucker, eyes soften, and then together to dive into a kiss.

Not a wild, fiery engagement of tongues, but a slow, testing, desperate tasting of temptation. One we enjoy for a moment, and then pull back from. Our eyes closed, and souls on fire.

But even in that wrecked state of sensuality, we battle. Neither of us willing to accept the other toes on top of ours. Our left pairs pulling and pushing upward, trying to free themselves and then to earn a full and one-sided victory.

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Even when we kiss, we continue to battle. We know, and want one of us to gain the first full victory and I can feel your left toes fighting back. Pushing up and pulling as my set does the same. “Just get pinned” I moan out sounding desperate. Sexually desperate and emotionally frustrated at the stalemate. Our bodies continue to rub, our mounds pressing and rubbing slowly, sensually. I can feel your wet lips on mine and I end up letting out a gasp. I can feel it, your toes slowly starting to slide out from my pin. Paying attention to the feel of your left set struggling to get free not paying attention to any progress I may or may not be making. I still pull at my left but in my heart, in my mind I feel like I am losing my grip, losing the battle as I moan out “Ohhhh nooooo”

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The joyous meeting of our tongues fading into our memory, as we focus once more and completely on our war of toes. So much so that our foreheads, which had been pressed together for so long, slip to opposite sides and we bring our heads down to a rest on each others shoulders.

That’s when the sweat of our thrill and effort-warm bodies begin to loosen our pins of each others toes. Loosen and then lose. Lose and then find freedom! Not with one solitary pairing, but both! Leaving our feet to once more rise and struggle to find purchase on top of the others.

When that mutual escape happens, we lament in a whisper into each others ears. You with a devastated whimper of “ohhhh nooooo” and me with a panicked and yet excited: “No, no, no, noooo.”

Sounds of dismay we share with one another, as between and below us our sweaty feet lunge and grapple — dive and dodge. Until finally, in a moment of chance and skill, you catch me. Not on one side but both.

Your lips, as they press against my ear starting their count only a moment later. “1…” You begin, as the sexual power of your foot-based dominance makes me swoon with excitement.

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I hear your excited words, feel your hot breath in my ear as our heads go side to side. With both of us freeing our toes, it becomes a wild grapple, each set of feet trying to find the right angle trying to get the right moment, and then BAM I catch you!

My count a gasp in your ear, an excited gasp knowing I am close to winning this. Your toes are indented into the mats by mine and my heart is racing! “2……..”I moan out breathing heavy. I adjust my upper body and I feel our nipples meet making me gasp out loud and push my mound more into yours loving the electricity…..I almost have her, almost have my starting position for the wrestle, and I do have her body, and her undivided attention. “Ohhhhh”

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They are so small, our little toes. And yet into them and our struggle, we put everything. Every ounce of energy, force, and focus we could muster. And so, though I know I have the count of 10, I know that I will not be able to, by force alone, escape your pinning. For even if your lower digits are as spent as mine, they are on top, and have the benefit of your body pressing down atop them.

Hopeless! I curse to myself without words. Trapped! I know, as I hear you count slowly. “3…. And then 4….” But then I feel it. Hear it. And sense it with those skills I have acquired in the world of fighting other women.

Your distraction and dimming of force as your nipples and mine cross. Your shiver and shake, as our mounds, without intention rub softly — the tps of our valleys meeting therein. And so I strike. Using my grip of you to shift us. Until our nipples cross, catch, and then align perfectly.

A matching of point that occurs, just as my hips drive my lower half in, so that I can drag my mound across and over yours.

Then, knowing how your low voice transfixes me, I turn my shoulder-placed face towards your neck, and whisper to you. “Kiss me Sarah, I need you….” The words dripping with a weakness I know will drive you wild, just as you count “5…”


I keep counting, keep moving towards my pin I want to hold. Number after number I go, but the connection of nipples shows a weakness. My pin ever so lightly less pressed, my mound pressed into yours more as our lower lips kiss. You sense it though, you are experienced in fighting and competing with other women and when you sense your life raft unintentionally thrown by myself, you latch onto it and I feel you adjust our bodies more, crossing our nipples even more, your lower body dips dragging your mound up and all over mine making me moan again moaning out “6” into your shoulder.

I hear your weakness in your voice, not knowing if its real or faked but either way, driving me mad, turning me on more than you can know. Your words asking me to kiss you and I moan out again but can’t control myself and I turn my face towards you, pulling back enough to plant my lips on yours again, kissing your soft lips and taking in a deep breath with my nose. Shivering against you again and my toes lighten even more.


I have you! I think to myself as our rigid nipples meet, and at their ends drive together — each pair giving way and inverting in half. “7….”

I’ve got you! I believe, as I begin to thrust forward and give you the contact that you … that WE want. “8….”

If you give it to me, another incredible kiss, I can escape your pinning feet and restart our battle of toes and temptation anew! “9….”

But I am wrong. Not in that I could have escaped, for just as your lips and mine meet and our tongues once more begin to dance, I feel your feet weak just enough for me to pull free. But at the same sensation, and from the same weakness we each suffer at each others hands, I collapse with a long, lustful moan, just before your lips move to count 10….

Me dropping back to the mats with you atop me. My back and ass sinking deep into its blue surface as you, in your experience cover me in a pin. Your count then starting anew. “1….” Not of my toes under yours, but the next section of our battle. Your victory in our struggle of feet a given. One that makes me curse, cutely beneath you, even as I begin my efforts to break free.

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The count going up 1 by 1 still even as our nipples now struggle against the other set and your mound rubs over mine. Asking for the kiss a smart idea on your part, one I was only too eager to accept. Except that there was one small mistake in your plan that you seem to have misjudged as our tongues once again meet and dance. That mistake being your own desires, your own weakness, and when we kiss there is an opening for you, clear as day, but you are unable to take advantage. Rather I feel your body weaken and collapse as we drop to the mats.

Your back and butt sinking into the mats with my body landing on top, still sealed together, I move my legs to get them on either side of your legs, my body pushing down on yours as I start a new count. My hands looking for your wrists now to try and pin your hands to the mats even as you cutely curse out. A smile wide on my face followed by a bitten lower lip. “2…………3……..” I count as you struggle under me pushing up against me as I try to keep you down. My mound now grinding down into yours to try and keep my pin.


Each of us is wilted, wet with sweat, and weak. But that weakness is not a soreness of muscles or lack of energy, it is instead, apart from our toes which do so suffer, our minds. The toll of our desire for each other, and our efforts to resist. Resist the pull to kiss, to soften, and to let out competition become nothing more than blisfully hot sex.

And though when we were standing, each having a foot planted atop that opposite them, now you are free. Free to entice and seduce me, hoping it will keep me distracted. Hoping it will leave me defenseless to resist your pin. And so you begin to thrust your mound and kitten into mine. Not roughly, but with every intent of making me go wild.

It is a sound tactic. A perfect tactic, for my own particular triggers. And yet still, I fight you. Resisting the urge to give in and succumb to your soft, driving triangle.

My arms moving quickly and almost at random to avoid your attempts to grab my wrists. Efforts which keep you from taking my right, thought you do grab, slam down to the mat, and then pin my left. Your count reaching “4…” as my free hand reaches down and plants beneath and under your left hip before it begins to push up.

Push up to keep you from grinding against me. To keep you from robbing from me my already threadbare efforts to fight back against your pin. My success in doing so aided, as I plant my right foot and bridge, trying to turn us, even as your lips count “5….” In a confident whisper from lips that move ever closer to mine.


My pin count is but a whisper, a hot whisper as I rub and grind my womanhood down onto yours knowing how it makes you feel, but also knowing that you will do what you can to resist your desires that I am attacking.

There is a wild flurry of arms flailing as I want to pin both of your hands down to the mats wanting to emphatically slam them down, but unluckily, I only manage to catch your left wrist and with a slap slam it down into the soft blue mats. I feel your hand down under my left hip as you push up at it, blocking me from fully being able to grind down on your kitty at will. I drop my mouth to your neck as I count 5 following it by giving your neck a gentle bite.

This is when I feel your foot plant into the mats and your body bridges up. I yelp right into your ear moaning out “NO”, trying to adjust my body to counteract but not able to in time as you push up on my hip with your bridge and suddenly, you have swept me and rolled us over, putting me onto my back now and on the defense making me gasp again now under you


It is empathy, familiarity, and care that makes me shudder and second-guess my attempted escape of your pin when you moan out “NO”. As there is nothing more in the world I would want, outside of our engagement, than to let you have what you want. To let you keep me pinned and fucking me.

But our struggle is mutual, in fire, desire, and destination. And so through that moan-created doubt I push. I drive. Sending us over, and you to your back as in a new spree of adjustments, I narrow the spread of my thighs and place them just atop yours. Our legs mirrored down to our bent feet and outstretched toes, with yours just beneath mine.

But even with that lower binding, our mounds still pressed and in our shifts stroking, I look to lace our fingers so that I can keep you pinned beneath me entirely. My hands searching for yours, as I count out “1….”

My forehead coming down to a gentle rest and then a firm hold, while I count out, “2….”.

And my eyes and yours locking together in a wanting gaze, our adverse pushing beginning with the number “3….” leaving my lingering and already advancing lips.


I have my back on the mats, body pinned by yours now, and you once again bring your forehead gently down onto mine before pushing down on it to pin my head there. It was just moments before, but it feels like a lifetime since I had you pinned but I can not focus on what was lost, but rather focus on fighting. Giving you the fight that you and your desires deserve.

Your body fully laying down on mine, all the adjustments continuing to rub our kitties together, your toes outstretched on top of mine, and I feel them even intertwine with mine like you are holding them there. I gasp and feel your hands lace your fingers with mine and my hands are pinned to the mats as well, all the while you continue looking into my eyes and counting your pin. I am pushing and struggling seeing your lips coming ever so closer to mine as you count 3. I whisper up to you “I will make you mine”.

The words meant as much to show a sexy defiance as to also remind myself to fight. You count “4………5” with our lips together. Your tongue dancing around in my mouth. I am trying to push my right heel into the mats trying to shove up with my right hand wanting, and needing to get us rolling again struggling with my body as much as I can even as you shake my desires and build up my need underneath of you.

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With you trapped completely beneath me, I know what I must do. What will aid me the most in earning a pinfall and count of 10. Distraction. To do, just what you did to me. And though you were brutally effective at it, I know I must do better or you will fight through it — past it, and then turn us.

And so I begin. Tracing your lips with my tongue, and keeping our mouths not together but as close to as much as I can. So that I can whisper to you, with passion-wet eyes.

“Give in to me Sarah….” My first words of seduction a backdrop of sound for my first slow, grinding drag of river-wet kittens. Kittens which catch and stick to each other as if they laid in glue. A glue that connects us in long, narrowing strings while I count “6….”

“Let me have you…. Let me own you….” I mutter sensually, before whispering as softly as I can, “7….”.

“I promise you will never forget a night with my collar on….” Again in a voice meant just for you, and with our mounds once and then again meeting between us, I try and tempt you, while not forgetting, to count, “8….”, at such a volume you might miss it.

“Will you?” I ask gently. “Can I have you?” My lips query again, before I mouth with almost no volume “9….”

But as the number turns, I see in your eyes something. Something I hope is agreement. Submission. Not because I do not love fighting you, but because beating you will be even sweeter.

But my expectation and desire distract me, leaving you an opening. An opening I do not see. Will you take it? Will you break free?

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You know exactly how to get to me, how to push all of the right buttons, and damn right you are pushing them. Every. Last. One. Through all the distraction, all the seduction, your words soft even though the meaning behind them has consequences for me. Closer to 10 you get and with each passing moment, I feel my kitty pulse, feeling yours drag and catch on mine, sticking to one another with each pass.

Your queries are so sensual and I can see in your eyes how much you want what you are asking, and in part it breaks my heart to have to try and deny you what your heart desires. But if I stop fighting, stop trying to get out it will be unfair to you, me, and the competition we have with one another. With that last thought entering my mind, I feel the opening and I turn the opposite way pushing and trying to bend my knee enough to get my left sole on the mats and push hard with my leg to try and push you off of me. I can feel how close I am to a sweet orgasm though and instead of following up, I try and push away wanting to roll to my knees if I can. Eyes on you purring out seductively “You can have me…….if you can tame me.” eyes flashing you a challenge that I hope you can not deny, my body ready for a struggle for dominance.

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So close I have you. So near I am to pinning you and claiming you for the night. Would I be harsh and demanding? Sweet and soft? As the count of 9 leaves my lips, I do not know.

But with luck, yours as a matter of fact, you find the will and a way to push me off of you. To throw me into a roll at your side. A tumble, I recover from just as you push up to your knees. A half-raised position I meet you in, as without waiting or hesitation I reach out for you and we lock-up. My hands moving to your shoulders, as I try to wrestle you back down to the blue mats beneath us. Our knees sinking in, as we push and pull at each other. Our hair whipping back and forth, and our eyes never even blinking. Each of knowing how easy it is from a battle like this to find ourselves beneath the other.

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Meeting on our knees, we waste no time in continuing the struggle. Knees placed wide for support and pushing and pulling back and forth, it’s not just our hair but our breasts as well that sway between us. At this point, I know anything can happen and with that I try to lift up on my knees a bit higher, wanting to try and force our bodies, and specifically lower bodies closer together.

I have decided to take a risk. One which could have many different outcomes, both good and bad but without risks what would life be worth? What would our battle be worth? So with that in mind, I suddenly take my left hand off your shoulder and shoot it down fast attempting to get my hand right at your kitty. Hoping, no, praying I can get my hand down there and fingers into you before I am bullied over and taken down to the mats.

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We’re going to wrestle! To grapple! To struggle like the pros in the Women’s Wrestling Network. At least I believe, as we battle there on the mats and our knees. But then, after nearly a minute of exhausting, back-and-forth pushing and pulling — leveraging and lunging, you change tactics. Shooting your right hand down between my thick, excitement-stained thighs, and plunge your index and middle finger into my molten-hot cunt.

It is an insertion and incursion that in an instant make me fail and flail, my focus shattered and my efforts at using my muscles alone ceasing, as both of my hands move to your wrist, and I fall back to the mat on my back.

A placement you use so expertly by throwing yourself down atop me. Not face-to-face and mound to mound as we had been, but across me; forming us into a lowercase t shape.

Your fingers still deep inside me as I begin to squirm, fighting to escape before you secure me.


My fingers going inside your hot wet lips I feel all the resistance leave and both of your hands go down for my hand that has you. It’s simple to drop down with you and drop my body across while keeping my fingers inserted inside of you. But it’s at this moment that I have a small pang of regret having seen the surprised look on your face, feeling your body crumble. It feels like it was a smart move but for some reason I worry I stole something from you, a struggle that you wanted and changed the game mid turn.

I can’t let up though, you are still squirming and struggling trying to pull my hand out of your pussy as I pump my fingers in and out. I look over my shoulder at your beautiful face and whisper “sorry….” kind of feeling almost like I cheated but I continue to try and pin. I bring my other hand down for your wrist trying to pry your grip on my hand, having to focus on the hand battle even as you squirm and shift your body under my ineffective at this point pin. I even have my side turned a bit so I am using the side of my body on you instead and looking down at your legs completely oblivious to the movements your body is making.


As I struggle wildly beneath you, you focus on prying my right hand from your wrist. Knowing that if you can, I will be trapped and defenseless to stop your fingering. But then, even as you pry and pull and my fingers, you turn your head and apologize. And when you do, wanting you to know that all is fair in the love I have for this war, I count for you.

“1….” As you succeed in freeing your wrist.

“2….” As your legs, in your new freedom wrap around my outstretched left arm.

The, “3….” as you turn back from your on-side lay, and with your non-fingering hand reach for my wrist.

A search I fight to make harder by moving my hand as far away from you as I can. An effort you in return make harder by increasing the pace and depth of your fingering. Your deadly little digits diving so deep into me that I lose myself and my focus. Just long enough for you to capture my wrist, and fully pin me to the floor.

A success you claim, as finally you begin to count: “4….”

Guilt though I know you feel, I waste not a second’s thought on what contest we might have had on our knees. Knowing that all I can think about now is bridging — high and then higher. All as you lay across me. Driving your delicate daggers into my ready and waiting kitten. Again and again.

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You start counting for me after I say sorry, and in part it breaks my heart with love, showing me everything is ok, and essentially saying it’s ok. At this point it’s a different battle now and I smile being able to catch your wrist and slide it between my legs rolling back to put my tummy and breasts on top of you. Now the fight is for your other hand and I keep the fingering up deep and repetitive knowing if I can break your concentration enough…….there it is you lose yourself just long enough for me to grab that arm and plant it into the mats.

Finally I feel I can start counting and I take over counting 4 and your hips start to bridge driving me in even deeper and slowly sliding me towards your head. “5……….Just take it Jen….take it and all will be over and we can cuddle, and I can make you mine….own you” I whisper trying to stay on top but feeling like the sweat on our bodies giving you the ability to slowly start sliding out from under me “6…….”


Beneath me it pools, just as it does on my chest and stomach, the sweat dripping from our tiring bodies. It being a sign of our nearing physical limits, and yet for me it is hope. It is the chance, slim though it may be at freedom. It’s liquid drips sliding up my body and beneath you with every attempt I make at bridging.

And though with that advancing wetness I might earn escape, with every thrust up, in an attempt to bridge, I I give you more and more access — a better and more effective angle from which to finger-fuck me into oblivion.

My mind hazing more and more as you continue your good works. The muscles in my sex gripping at your fingers and convulsing around them as an orgasm builds deep inside me.

A release that grows more likely and more undeniable as you count, “7…” and then “8…” As you beg me to stay down, and take it. Each offer sounding better and better by the second.

But just then, and just as your lips form to count 9, I bridge with all my strength and energy. So high that you roll, in the pool beneath you, up my upper body, over, my face, and then onto the mat above me as my shoulders break free and shoot up.

Your pin lost, or at least your count, you release me, your stroking hand already pulled free by your displacement. And with my newly earned freedom, I spin and then leap on top of you. My plan is to lock you in another body-to-body pin, but in my haste and your fatigue, you collapse down to your back, and I land atop your face in a sit. My calves sliding beneath your biceps, just as my thighs drop down atop both.

It is all by chance and madness, and yet after a second of thought and reexamination, I realize I have you. Pinned beneath me in a reverse facesit — your shoulder hard-pressed to the mat. A fact that pushes me, even without breath to spit out: “1….”


I am desperate, desperate for you to take my offer for me to win this battle and secure the pin on you and as I get closer to 10, you are struggling. Maybe it feels like your struggle is getting weaker, but at the same time I am getting closer and closer to your head, the sweat from our bodies helping you a lot more than me at the moment but I don’t see it, I just see the win at the end of the tunnel.

A win you force to vanish in front of me when you put all of your energy into bridging up one more time when I go to count 9. One hard bridge that sends me even off your body slightly and I am forced over your head down to the mats above you on my back. You are free and I know I need to attack otherwise……”NOOOO” I moan out sitting up and feeling you come at me already. A whirlwind of scramble and action and suddenly here I am on my back, your legs trapping my arms and having your butt right on my face. My face turned though so that your cheeks are pressing right down on my face instead of being directly between them and your foot is right there in front of my face. You have me pinned and suddenly I realise how much danger I am in hearing you count. “2…………3……….” my legs squirm around a bit turning side to side, struggling in your pin.


I am tired. Mentally frayed. And half-breathless as sweat, in one trickle after another, runs down my breasts, to my tummy, between my thick Latina thighs, and then spreads over your upturned cheek.

But even in that state I smile. Knowing I have you in a pin I would be terrified to find myself in. ESPECIALLY under my own, mile-wide and yet perfectly pinchable ass.

“4….” I playfully yell, wanting you to hear me. My right hand slowly tracing a line between your tits, down across your stomach, and then devilishly between your spread and bridging thighs.

Thighs which only slam closed after I drive my fingers into you, just as you had done to me moments before. They pushing my digits even deeper, as I bend the foot of mine that rests between your face, and in a testament to all you have taught me in the foot-fighting realm, I use my big toe and its nearest partner to clamp your nose shut. My upper sole pressing as flat as I can make it against your precious, moaning lips.


Your loud playful count of 4 tells me exactly how much you love the position you have, how much you love being in the dominant position. That and it tells me how much you know, how much trouble I am in. Your hand slowly sliding down between my breasts, down my tummy and then plunged DEEP inside my womanly cavern. I clamp my thighs by instinct but it’s too late, you are inside and my mouth opens moaning out loudly “Ohhhhhhhhh fuckkkkkk”. My predicament isn’t ending there though, no, your foot moves and suddenly I feel my nose pinched and your sole is pressed to my open moaning lips. You will be able to feel my body physically shiver when you do this.

It’s humiliating to have your ass on my face and your foot right there on my face, working against me as well. But deep down, I love the humiliation. I would love the humiliation as much if it was you taking it because it is such a turn on for me when the dominant wrestler, dominant woman does things to humiliate the lesser. In our lovely previous battles, ones filled with lust, love and desire nothing like this has happened and now that it is, I can feel an orgasm building quick, my pussy clamping down while I moan out “OHHHHHHHHH NOOOOOOOOOOO” against your foot. My legs opening, more and more, my hips starting to move with your fingers.

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“5….” and “6….” come as I smother you with my pressing foot and pinching toes. A stealing of air that makes me moan out in just the thought of your pleasure and desperation. Thoughts that make me grind atop your hot cheek with the hottest and wettest part of my body.

“7….” I could, as you reach your nearest hand for my pinching toes, trying desperately, despite your enjoyment, to pull them free. But to your dismay, they lay just out of reach.

And though focus you should, on finding breath once more, as you do, I finger you like my life — like our lives depend on it. My two fingers and then three slamming into your sopping cunt as your thighs betray you and spread for me. Your legs bridging, not to escape me, but to beg me to break you. To drag it from you, an orgasm I know will be your end.

But you’ve had me here before, and I know how talented you are at stealing my thunder and control. And so, while I stab into you again and again — harder and further with every plunge, I lift my ass just a smidge, and loosen my toes just a little. Giving you not air, but the chance to turn your face. The chance to escape my pinching digits and pressing sole, but only into my waiting and desperate kitten.

One I want — one I NEED to finish you with — even if the chance at earning as much costs me my place atop you, the match, and a night as your sex slave.

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My hips are moving with your hand feeling you finger me more and more, getting me closer and closer to my orgasm. Moans emanating from underneath of you getting louder and louder. I am focused on nothing but the orgasm that is coming. Completely ignoring your pin count, not trying to get out at all at this point because you have broken my will this time. I feel you easing up on your pin, lifting a bit but it’s not a lot and I feel your foot even trying to guide my face up. I just happen to notice your wet pussy right there and I decide to turn my face, bringing my mouth directly for your womanhood. Instantly starting to use my tongue, starting to eat you out and pleasure you as much as you are to me.

But then I feel it, the orgasm hits, and I feel my toes curl, my hips thrust up hard as I moan LOUDLY into your womanhood, my walls clenching down on your fingers when I feel my body tense and the waves of pleasure and excitement runs through me exploding in absolute bliss at your fingers. My mouth and tongue trying to do the best I can through the orgasm.

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I leave you an opening — a silver lining — a chance, and you take it. Not desperately, but wantonly. Your head turning, lips parting, and tongue darting up to my sex as if it was the first glass of water offered after a month in the desert.

It is a submission. A glorious, incredible, soul-swelling admission. Not of your defeat, but of my victory. One I try to complete by counting out through moans and screams. “….8…. FUCK!!!…9…OH GAAAAWWWDDDD!!!!…..te-te–TTTEEEENNNN!!!”

I scream out the final, determinative numeral, as I collapse forward and between your legs. My mouth diving deep and lips clasping shut around your sex, as I desperately seek to claim every last bit of the juice I have drawn from you. My tongue lapping at it, like milk in a kitten’s dish.

Just as you, my delirious, half-smothered partner in feud lick and skewer me with your tongue. You working fast to drive me to an orgasm, as atop you I lay. Lingering as you lavash me. Loving as you lash at me. A soft acceptance I take with a wide smile formed from my whimper releasing lips.

Until finally, and atop you I cum. Not in a quiet, delicate release but in a veritable apocalypse of devastation and barely-clung-to sanity. My already wet kitten exploding in a squirt of juices that you take and swallow like a baby from a bottle. My body quaking, toes curling, and cunt muscles seizing in random, Kegel-aided bursts.

Until finally in a heap on the floor we lay without word or moment. Our worlds brought together and fused, only to be shattered by one another’s struggle.

A struggle that I won, though only barely. Though only atop the face of my beautiful, pin-mistress: you.

A goddess of mat and counting I roll off of and then sit up though slowly and fatigued to the point of fainting. My hands reaching for your hair, and dragging you up to me and your lips to mine so that in our weakness we can share our earnings. The taste of one another’s essence. All before, I pull back from you and whisper. “Tonight, you are mine….”

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