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When Life Starts: Chapter 4 by Rival’s Rapture

Call it a soft open. A test run. Because no matter which words you might use to describe it, it was a HUGE success. Like, I can barely put it into words — even now. The marketing from Facebook to Snapchat — streaming services to good old fashioned mass transit ads worked.

Worked in that we had a sellout for our first ever event, which, by itself, was amazing! But also, in that the Q score of our fledgling female wrestling brand was high. How high? Think Rob Van Dam high. Matt Riddle high.

Yes, it took a TON of money to make it all happen. A sum that no other owner or company would dare spend on a rasslin’ promotion after WCW crashed and burned.

But our owners, The Bowman brothers, were committed to making the WWN a success from day one. And I would — ugh(!) — kiss them for that and all they had done, if I ever met them. Well, maybe not really kiss them. I mean, they are cute, but also taken. Taken and a little too “My-name-is-Chad-and-I-row-crew”-looking for my tastes.

But still, they — we had pulled it off. And though I would have loved to just run down to the bar in the lobby of the hotel where the talent and I were staying, and dive right into a bottle of champagne, I still had work to do.

Namely, after our incredible first-ever televised event, to have my own little conversation with Katherine Dahl. The Great, The Doll, The Goddess, or whatever other made-up names she had chosen for herself.

It wouldn’t be my first conversation with her. But it would be the first one where I was more than a nodding and affable blonde, standing just behind and askew from the head of the person speaking.

But, first or not, I was a brave little head of talent relations, and knocked on her private dressing room door. A dressing room we whipped together with all items she had written into her contract riders.

A bowl of only red Skittles.

Three cans of Beverly, a Coke product from, like, Italy which is the most disgusting thing you will ever taste in your entire life.

One ice-chilled Yoohoo.

And finally, an at-least-32-inch screen, somewhere in the room, that displays highlights of her career on repeat. Set to epic music, of course.

But it wasn’t all that which made me a little nervous as I waited for Kat to answer my knock. No, I was nervous because of what Rheena had told me, in words that I will never forget.

“She’s an upfront cunt, Brooke. A brat like you’ve never met. Literally the most ungrateful, rude, spiteful little bitch that has ever lived.” And though Rheena’s description didn’t stop there, when she’d finally finished, she added. “But she’s the best damn wrestler in the world. So don’t make her hate you — no matter how bad she gets.”

Yeah, so … quite the pep talk to get me ready to meet our very own boob-equiped Steve Austin. A stone cold bitch who left me waiting. Even when I knocked again. Even when I called out her name in the sweetest, most submissive voice I could find within myself. “Ms. Dahl? Can I come in? It’s Brooke. Head of talent relations.”

As I spoke, I pressed my ear to the door and listened. Listened and heard Kat saying something, though I couldn’t make it out. Yeah, sure, I could have just waited or given up. Stood there like an idiot while the wrestlers I was there to handle walked passed me and snickered. Or gone back to my make-shift office and, I don’t know, read whatever mean tweets Becky Lynch was tossing out.

But I had a job to do. A standard to set. A reputation to uphold. And so I twisted that damn door handle and walked right in. Kat was going to talk to me. Not when she was ready and willing, but when I was.

Could that decision have put my career in jeopardy? Could it have made The Doll hate me on our first encounter? Yes, and yes. But not going in. And NOT asserting my rank as head of TR could have done the same thing.

I had to set a tone. Had to establish that of the two of us blondes, I was in charge.

Because I was. Maaaayyyybbbbeeee.

And so I marched in. Ready. Confident. And bolder than I probably should have been. But even with all that at my back, I still froze when I walked in.

Still looked around the dressing room confused when I found that the voice I had been hearing was from one of the promos the production crew had woven in amongst The Doll’s other career highlights.

“Ms-uh-Katherine?? Are you in here?” I asked politely as the door shut to my rear. “I wanted to go over what creative has planned for you and Jennifer, going forward.” Despite the silence I was met with, I just kept moving — stepping through and across the main section of her dressing room.

“The match you two had tonight was incredible, by the way.” Though I had heard compliments were the quickest way to Kat’s heart, icey as it supposedly was, I wasn’t lying. Their match, the one that closed the show, had been incredible. Each proving something to not only the fans in attendance, but the wrestling world.

Real though the compliment was, I still didn’t get a response to it. Not even a distant one from the dressing room’s adjacent shower, the one I continued to step towards, assuming Kat was in there.

“I don’t hear a shower running, so unless you’re putting on makeup in the nude, I should be good to come in, right?” It should have dawned on me that she wasn’t there. That the 8 people I asked were wrong when they told me she was in room marked with her name on it. But, it didn’t. And so I kept moving, deeper and deeper into Katherine “The Great”’s territory.

Then, as you might imagine, as soon as I stepped into Kat’s personal shower. My red heels clicking with an echo against the dry showerroom tile. The door to the dressing room, the same one I had entered through, slammed open.

At the sound I bolted. Not back and out, since I couldn’t, but forward and in. The sudden entrance happening behind me leaving me just enough time to skitter into the shower without being caught.

“We need to talk about what happened, Kat.” Demanded a voice I could tell was Jennifer’s.

“No, no we don’t and get the fuck out of my dressing room.” Responded another voice I knew in an instant to be Doll’s.

“Shut up.” The brunette I still couldn’t see muttered in words that seemed entirely unlike the sweet, peppy, overly-hyper Latina I had signed in my living room.

“What did you just fucking say to me…?” Kat wasn’t one to take shit, especially from a new girl, and so as I expected, she flared at Jennifer’s comment.

Bang! Rang out a moment later, and though I was still tucked deep in the corner of the room’s adjacent shower, I could tell. Someone had gotten slammed against a locker. And though I assumed it was Doll doing the slamming, it wasn’t.

“I said, shut up….” In a voice not filled with anger but instead a soft, sensual confidence, Jennifer reiterated her brazen and unexpected order.

“Fuck you, this is MMMMMPPPHHhhhhh.” Kat suddenly spat out in a rage, though a second after she began, her words turned from spoken syllables to muted mumbles, then a flash thereafter, into the telltale sounds of a kiss.

The soft pops of one pair of lips peeling from another, only to reseal a moment later. Pops which, along with barely perceivable moans making their way even to the far recess into which I had shoved myself.

And yet even there, in that relative safety, I began to panic. Had I really found a way to get myself stuck in a situation ripped from an episode of a sitcom? Trapped without escape, and forced to listen to two other people have sex?!

Was that even what was happening? I asked myself, as my eyes closed in disbelief.

I didn’t even know Kat knew how to smile or laugh, let alone kiss. And though the thought of Jennifer and Doll together was an instant turn on for me, I resisted the urge to move to the edge of the shower to sneak a peek.

Which, turned out to be a great idea, as a moment after the thought entered my mind, the two grapplers broke their kiss and began to speak again.

“Tell me this isn’t what you want….” Jennifer whispered in a closeness I couldn’t see, though behind my closed eyes, I pictured it. Their still gear-adorned bodies pressed together, along with their foreheads. Each of them drunk with lust, with drooping eyelids and glazed over eyes.

“I need….” Kat began before her words failed.

“To lock me in sleeper hold? A bearhug? Is that what you need to make this OK? A hol….” Jennifer replied, in a voice that teased, though she too found herself cut-off. Not by a loss of words, but instead a suddenly responding Kat.

“No, I don’t need that…. We can…. I want….” Weakness, desperation, and desire is all that the Doll’s words conveyed. Something Jennifer must have understood too, as a second after Kat spoke of her need, the Latina who pinned her advanced her play.

At least that’s what I assumed was happening in the frantic sounds I heard. More kissing, whispers I couldn’t make out, but also and most terrifyingly the sound of fabric and spandex pulling.

Shit, they were undressing! Crap, I had to get out. And though I wanted to, and needed to, I couldn’t! Where could I go? AAAAhhhhhhh, I screamed internally as remained there crouched, my back pressed against the dry tiles of the shower’s locker room separating wall.

And though at that moment I felt like my predicament couldn’t get any worse, a moment later, Jennifer ran into the shower and past me naked. She dragging an equally bare Kat with her by the hand.

I was sure they would notice me. Sure they would see me hiding there like the world’s biggest perv. But instead, lost in their own affair, they didn’t. Even as Jennifer threw Kat against the shower wall, turned on the water and then dropped to her knees between the Doll’s spread thighs.

With Kat’s eyes closed and Jennifer facing away from me, I made a break for it. Slowly. Carefully. Not wanting my heels to click against the hard floor of the shower and reveal my presence or escape.

That’s when, as I rounded the corner I heard Kat say: “I need to-unnggh- beEeEee in control….” In a voice that was already broken by pleasure.

“You are in control….” Jennifer replied, after no doubt pulling her lips and tongue from the Doll’s sex. And though the kneeling brunette said the words in a purr, they were false. She knowing full-well that at that moment, Kat was hers to do with as she pleased.

“This … is … control…? Fuuuucccckkkk” I heard as I made my way through the locker room proper, opened the door softly, and then closed it doubly so.

Fuck…. Thank god…. I thought to myself in relief, as near breathlessly, from anxiousness and not effort, I pressed my back to Kat’s locker room door with eyes closed.

“Uh, Brooke…?” Came a confused and familiar voice.

“Rheena!” I shouted awkwardly, as my eyes shot open.

“Yup, that’s my name. Are you ok…? What did Kat say?” Worried though the black-haired beauty may have been about my odd behavior, she was still all business.

“Oh, I … uh … I didn’t ask her.” In a broken sputtering mess of a sentence, I replied to my rival-turned-boss’ question. Giving her an answer I knew she would be unhappy with.

“Well, get back in there and ask her!” Rheena demanded as she stared at me, like I was not only crazy but stupid.

“No, I…. I can’t. I’ll ask her later.” I said as I shook my head, knowing the last thing in the world that I wanted was for Rheena to find out my newest hire (the one I chose personally), was busy domming our company’s top star.

“Fine, I’ll ask her.” Came Rheena’s confident, albeit irritated reply.

“No!” I almost shouted as I dove back in front of her, pressing myself flat against the door I had just exited from.

“Brooke, what the hell is going on?” Tired of my shit, the girl who outfucked me on my first day in Seattle asked tersely.

“Rematch!” I called, without context. Knowing Rheena would know what I meant.

“We’re at work. No!” My olive-skinned conqueror replied.

“That didn’t stop you from making me eat you! In front of your frickin’ boss….” I whispered in a growl.

“Shhh!!” Rheena responded, as she stepped forward and into me. She finally sharing the panic I felt.

“Rematch….” I reiterated, seeing the cracks form in her defense.

“Look, we can’t just sneak off into a broom closet and fuckfight while we’re working — are you mental?” She sounded certain. Sounded resolute. And yet as she spoke, her hand reached for my red blouse and gripped it in a soft pinch. A sign I had learned to read years ago, in the halls of Penngrove.

A reading that pushed me to lean in and kiss her. My brandeis blue cross-over top wearing boss. She, in her short black skirt (one that matched mine) not pushing me away, but instead kissing me back. Not softly or timidly, but passionately. Before in a sudden jerk, she pulled back.

“No…. We can’t do this….” Rheena said, as she tried to refocus and reforge her splintering will.

That’s when we heard it. Both of us. Loudly. Clearly. A deep, and yet distance-lessened moan from within Kat’s locker room.

“What was….?” Rheena began, just as I grabbed her left hand with my right, and drug her down the hall and away from the door. My red heels and her black ones causing a series of echoing clicks and clacks as I pulled her into the nearest, unmarked door I could find. Which, of course, turned out the be the mythical broom closet Rheena had mentioned moments before.

“Brooke … what the fuc–mmmmnnpphhh….” Perturbed by my dragging. Concerned by the moaning. And frustrated at my refusal to tell her what was happening, Rheena set out to tell me.

That’s when I kissed her again — pressing my body against hers. At first, her hands moved to my shoulders to push me away, but as our kiss endured, her hands softened and then grabbed. She instead pulling me deeper into her, as her will gave way.

That kiss, there in that narrow, rack-lined closet, became a battleground. The two of us fighting to not only take control of the other’s mouth and tongue, but to turn the other on. Our hands running up and down each other’s bodies, as we sought to relearn what we had forgotten in our time apart.

Time in mind, that very moment was when Rheena’s iWatch binged. Warning and reminding her of her next meeting. A phone call with Mrs. Reid. A phone call she could not miss.

“Wait….” Rheena spoke into my lips as she leaned back from our kiss just far enough to speak.

“We don’t have time….” She added as she pulled back from me half breathless.

“Yes, we do….” I wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not only because I didn’t want Rheena catching Kat and Jennifer, but also because I wanted it. My rematch. My chance at redemption.

“I have to call Mrs. Reid in 30 minutes.” Explained Rheena.

“Then we’ll be quick.” I replied, ready to volly any excuse she gave me.

“How can we….?” She began before my actions muted her. Specifically me moving to the far end of the room, and sitting down on the dirty and stained cement floor. My skirt riding up my thick thighs and my fingers moving down and shifting aside my thin, red-lace panties.

“Your pussy vs. mine; until one of us cums. We don’t even need to get undressed.”As I explained, I looked up to Rheena. Making sure to keep both my thighs and lips spread for her as temptation.

“Alright, but if I win, AGAIN….” My beautiful rival began, as she locked the door, set her cellphone on a nearby rack, and then turned back to me.

“We don’t do this at work ever again. Deal…?” She continued, while stepping forward and lowering herself down to the filthy taupe gray floor on which she gave her terms.

“Deal….” I said in acceptance, as Rheena too reached down and pushed aside her black panties. A displacement made as her left leg crossed over my right, and her right slid under my left. The two of us scooting forward on our butts, only coming to a stop when a single centimeter was left between our hungry, bare-shaved kittens.

“And if you win…? Which you won’t….” Not wanting to leave it to me to decide AFTER our impromptu and time-sensitive battle, Rheena prodded.

And when she did, I leaned forward and whispered what I wanted in her ear. At the hearing of which, Rheena leaned back and looked at me with a smirk.

“You really are a bitch, aren’t you?” My rival asked, though she needed no answer.

“Yup!” I said cutely with a wink, before thrusting myself forward. A move that brought not only our already moistened cunts together and simultaneous gasps from our mouths.

“No moaning.” Rheena instructed, when the initial pleasure of our meeting pussies ebbed.

“Oh, you’re going to moan.” Without waiting for Rheena to come back with something equally as catty, I started. Shifting myself back on my ass cheeks, and then driving my sex forward into Rheena’s.

At the contact I knew she didn’t expect, Rheena seized and then gasped again, all before she too began to play our little game. Knowing that it was time and that we had to hurry.

God, it was dirty. Not just the floor, or the various cleaning implements that surrounded us, but also the scene. Rheena and I, fully dressed, still in our heels and office attire, scissoring.

Our meaty thighs crossed, as we leaned back on concrete-braced hands. Each of us avoiding eye contact as we adjusted ourselves — knowing that when our eyes locked, we’d be off to the races.

Now, my sexfights are usually slow and passionate, a game of cat and cat in its purest form. But Rheena was in a hurry, and if she and I took our time with each other, even locked pussy to pussy, our contest would take WAY too long.

And so, when she looked up at me, and I to her, we went hard. Neither of us seeking to keep our most sensitive of triggers from each other, but instead to share them. She offering her G-spot to me as I offered mine to her. Not with words, but adjustment. Not by agreement, but necessity.

After all, we had to hurry. We had to fuck. And with enough time to let Rheena call Mrs. Reid, one of us had to cum.

So we chased it, the other’s pleasure as we tribbed. Studying each other’s faces as our pussies dueled between us. Our lips spreading on every meeting and clits colliding with every such parting. The combined liquid essence of our desire coming to form as strings. Strings which hung between us like spit left from a deep Brazilian kiss.

Studying eyes closing when the pleasure became too great, only to open again when somewhere in the maelstrom we found the focus.

Bracing hands moving from concrete to leg, and then when the balance could be spared to each other’s still-clothed body. Our fingers narrowing to pinch or spread to feel and massage. The pair of us wishing the other was naked. That breasts were bare. And that all avenues of attack were fair.

I can’t tell you how long we remained there in that equal scissor. Holding in our moans. Biting our bottom lips to remain silent, though really, it was our purpose to make the other squeal.

And though we each wanted to drag sound for the other’s lips, we did not speak. Not to insult or dare one another. At least until a perfectly aimed thrust by Rheena capsized my ship and sent me down to my back.

I tried to rise back up, when the pleasure from the precision strike passed, but Rheena was already upon me. Already leaned up, forward, and then over and on top of me.

“You’re going to cum again for me, bitch.” Rheena hissed, as she brought her body down and into a missionary press.

“Shut unnnggghhhh….” I tried to argue. Tried to tell her that I was still strong. Still on equal footing. But with her above and me below, everything got harder, more pleasurable, and distractingly intense.

“You’re lucky we don’t have more time….” Bringing her lips to my ear, as her cheek met mine flush, she whispered to me. “….Because I would loooove to punish you in here.”

“Fuck!” I shouted, though in a volume compressed voice. My rival’s thrusting driving me towards an orgasm, there on that filthy janitorial closet floor. But it wasn’t just her thrusting. But also her whispering and the image of her sitting on my face and keeping me there. As the wrestlers and staff of the Women’s Wrestling Network pass by not a foot away.

The image was hot. Hot enough to, by itself, drag me closer to orgasm.

And though I was almost certain at that moment that I was toast. That Rheena had me and was going to beat me again, in the rematch I begged for. In the rematch I ate her pussy for. Not just after my first loss, but then again in front of her leggy, sexy-voiced boss.

“FUCK!” I shouted, still in a volume that would keep us from getting caught.

But just as I began to give into Rheena’s control. To her pussy dragging against mine in elongated strokes. Our clits meeting, catching, and fencing until they could cling to each other no more. I heard it.

Rheena moan. Not shortly or in the very beginnings of a still-building orgasm. But instead deeply. It being clear that she, like me, was close.

How?! I wondered. I’m on bottom and seconds away from releasing all over her for the second time! But that was just it. I was wracked with pleasure and as a consequence moaning. Softly and with passion. Weakly and sensually. All as my lips pressed to her ear.

Something about that sharing. Something about that weakness and announcement of my own sexual shattering was driving her. Not in a leisurely stroll towards the edge, but fast and hard. So much so that she started muttering. “Shit. Shit. Shit….”

That’s when I did it. Made my gamble and play. My arms wrapping around Rheena’s arms and back. Just as my legs lifted and did the same around her hips. My ankles locking together thereafter, just above her ass.

Holds that trapped my bliss-lost boss in place and kept her from thrusting and driving me any closer to release and defeat.

“What are yo….” Rheena asked in confusion.

“Stop i–uuunnnngggghhhhh!!” She demanded in part and then broke, as I began to moan into her ear in the sexiest little way I could muster.

In an instant I could tell it was working, as Rheena desperately tried to fu ck me, even as I held her tight, keeping our clits locked together, but stopping her from driving into me with her own. All as I tried to push her closer to cumming. Not with drags or bounces — bashes or strikes between our womanhoods, but instead with sound alone.

Sound I gave to her again and again. Moaning like the ridiculously vocal women you see on PornHub. Making sure to pitch my voice to be as withered and pitiful as possible. Believing, from what I was hearing, feeling, and seeing from Rheena, that it was the melody of my previous weakness that was turning her on.

“You…. Bitch….” Rheena cursed at me, as suddenly her struggling ended. She collapsing onto me completely, as I continued to bathe her ear in the sonnance of a feigned pleasure.

“I’m … oh god … I’m cumming, Rheena…. Shit….” I lied, though I sold it. I fibbed, though I made it something her deviant mind could enjoy. A fictional defeat I knew would trigger her, even if deep down she knew I it was only she who neared the cliff.

A cliff she then careened over. A wild, cataclysmic orgasm taking hold, as I held her. Binding her to me with my arms and legs. Her body seizing and then shaking. Like a kitten left out in the cold. Her own lips, which still rested against my ear giving me the same joyous moans I had given her, though hers arose from true and overwhelming ecstasy.

A revelation of defeat that let me know it was safe.

Safe to let my ankle-locked legs lax and then spread. So that once more, I could fuck her. My hips lifting when my feet hit the floor, once and then again. Each raising made with the aim of not making Rheena cum, but instead to allow me to do the same.

A focus, along with Rheena’s own sputtering, spectacular, and ongoing orgasm that allowed me to reach my zenith just before hers ended.

She and I lifting and shifting our heads, so that even in her unexpected defeat and my quivering victory, we could kiss.

Hotly.

Deeply.

And in a perfectly passionate sentence-ending punctuation on our impromptu battle of wills and ways.

One that lasted for so many minutes, that I swear my time-nervous boss had forgotten the clock. A bliss during which she and I rubbed together — mound to mound and sex to sex.

Gently and then firmly.

With force and then friction.

Our soaked panties finding themselves pushed in and then out of the way. Their presence almost adding to the erotic nature of the moment.

My boss and I, on the stained concrete floor of a wrestling arena, luxuriating in the aftermatch of a quick and dirty sexfight. One that evened the score.

One that proved that I was Rheena’s equal; though she had won the first round.

And though it was heaven, eventually our kiss ended. Our still-clothed bodies separated. And my defeated boss stood, before helping me up to my feet.

“You’re a fucking cheater.” Rheena accused, though her tone made clear she wasn’t actually angry.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…. Call her….” I commanded excitedly, in anticipation of the phoning I had asked for in my whispered stakes.

“Ugh! Fine….” As she grunted and complained, Rheena reached for her cell, and when she had it in hand, began to dial.

The other end of the phone rang loud enough for me to hear, though the phone wasn’t on speaker. For a moment I was worried that we had missed her, but then came the pick-up.

“Hey, Nazmin? It’s Rheena…. Yeah…. I know…. But, hey, look…. I … um … kinda promised Brooke if she beat me in a sexfight I would bring her next time you and I got together. And…. Well…. She beat me…. Even though she cheated….” Rheena avoided eye contact with me as she spoke, no doubt because she was embarrassed at having lost.

Her avoidance and shame made me smirk, but that minor glee was nothing compared to the smile I wore when I could hear Nazmin screaming from the other end of the phone.

“Yeah…. I-I know…. OK…. Look, Naz … I have to go! No. No…. ugh!” Suddenly Rheena’s phone went silent. Nazmin having hung up on her in a rage. A rage I looked forward to taking advantage of.

“God, you’re a bitch.” Rheena muttered at me with a smirk she tried to resist.

“Mmm hmm….” I answered, infinity pleased with myself.

To Be Continued in Turns in the Dark! Click Here to Read It!

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7 thoughts on “When Life Starts: Chapter 4 by Rival’s Rapture

  1. drewpowell says:

    This was an incredibly hot story as usual 😉

    A bit of trivia: where individual tastes may vary, and sometimes necessity calls a product to life (like Fanta in Nazi Germany), the Czechs really do have a herb-flavored called Kofola.

    However, I can factually refute “the worst you’ve ever tasted”. Oh no, mon ami, that title goes to natto soda.

    In a nutshell, the Japanese is an import heavy economy, that for centuries lived in isolation, so a lot of things are sourced locally. Where their whiskey and sake are world leaders, that’s not the only thing they distill or ferment.

    I’m not talking about tastes that are different to us Westerners, oh no, this is something so terrifying it’s actually a punishment on their game shows.

    Because, you see, the natto is fermented beans. So far, so good, it’s actually very healthy, except… there’s a boss fight in Banjo Kazooie with the King of Poo, I don’t wish to go into more detail. People literally dare each other to it, but there’s one more level of Hell…

    You see, the real batsu geimu comes from its carbonated version. Imagine the combination of the two for a hot second. Now that’s literally the worst you can taste and smell in drink form.

    Reply
      1. Dinos says:

        I wrote which chapters RULE, which are the better until know. Imho. Idid not mean that i did not like the rest.

        Reply
  2. sexfightftw says:

    Came here after reading More than a Match on a different site, wow I hope the story keeps going!

    Reply

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