Post by walkindude on Jul 14, 2018 4:57:15 GMT
If she wasn't busy enough prepping for another row with Amara Singh or defending her newly won Oil Pit turf, the Raven still finds time for a little off the books action with Best Coaster Caity Mason, in a two part contest that ultimtately draws in two not so innocent bystanders. Enjoy!
******
Two weeks ago…
LENORE LEMARCHAND:
Lenore Lemarchand lowered herself to a seat in the corner and draped her arms over the bottom rope before wearily raising her right hand to brush sweat frazzled hair out of her eyes.
“Yeah, you're learning bitch.” Caity Mason looked over her shoulder and nodded approvingly before unceremoniously slamming her thong-covered ass into the Raven's face.
CAITY MASON:
The third woman in the gym started the timer on her phone to count down from 50 seconds. This was supposed to be my day off, she thought again, while keeping her eyes fixed on Lenore's fingers. Anna Sharpe was playing fair in her role as timekeeper-slash-adjudicator of this unorthodox affair, but that didn't mean she wasn't hoping to see Lemarchand give up her grip and signal her submission.
ANNA SHARPE:
Caity's rep as a fighter to be respected hadn't suffered too much from her losses in the ring, but it had taken a bigger knock when Candice Akeley had made her quit in the arena she'd chosen. Redemption came in private, in a series of unpublicized and very specific endurance tests.
“Tap my ass bitch. I see that flutter in your fingers.” Twenty seconds into the count Mason's voice was tight. She bumped her booty against Lenore's features until dead on halfway into the allocated time, when she switched to an awkward but breathtaking squat on the Raven's face. Anna still watched Lenore's hands. She was holding the rope so tight it had begun to shake, but as Sharpe's eyes flicked from the expiring count to Lemarchand's tensed biceps to Caity's focused lipbite she figured the contest was going another round, her first cocktail of the evening put back still further.
At the timer's chime Mason straightened up with a frustrated curse and stalked across the ring. Lenore flopped to all fours, red faced and gasping, and crawled out of the corner to where her towel hung from the top rope. She snatched at it and scrubbed her face, pulling herself upright as Sharpe said, “Thirty seconds, you two.”
Mason swigged from her water bottle and stared out into the empty gym, sweat trailing from her dark ponytail to glisten on her back. Anna watched with concern. It was the first time anyone had lasted this long.
The two participants shared a stare as Caity trudged back to the corner and took a seat on the mat. The Raven poured water over her palm and wiped her face again before stretching out the waistband of her purple panties to ensure snug coverage of her butt. “A minute under my ass, Mason. That's a long time without breathing. Look at Anna, she's nervous as hell. Why not save her the suffering and tap my thigh.”
The timekeeping Brit wanted to shout out a warning but restrained herself, something Caity wasn't capable of. “Thought you were smart, bitch? Any scientist would tell you an ass that flat can't smotmmMMMPPPHHH.”
Lenore's backside shut the Cali Catfighter's mouth mid rant, leaving Caity facing her minute's imprisonment with far less air than she should've had. Lemarchand looked almost disappointed that her goading had been so effective, but the Raven worked her smother with the same skill and effectiveness she applied to all her endeavors.
The room was as quiet and still as a painting. Sharpe's breath caught in her throat as if in union with Caity's suffering. The brunette's face remained buried in Lenore's ass but there was movement in her fingers. The Raven saw it, shot a glance at Sharpe to confirm the Brit was watching, and as the seconds ticked down two pairs of eyes saw Caity's hand tremble on the rope, clench harder at the rubber coated steel. Sharpe gasped, caught between relief and pity, but Caity wasn't quitting. No, she was extending her middle finger in a defiant 'fuck you', and it stayed that way until the timer's chime brought her freedom.
Lenore blew her breath out in frustration but she stepped away without complaint. Anna's heart rate spiked again at the reveal. No longer held upright by the Raven's rear end, Mason's head lolled on her shoulder, clumps of her dark hair smeared across her face and what could be seen of her features beneath glistening with sweat. Her holstered tits threatened to fall out of their top as her body worked hard to take in air, their spectacular rise and fall and a rhythmic curl and uncurl of her toes the catfighter's only movements.
“Thirty seconds, you two,” Anna said again.
The sweat dappled Raven watched intently. When Caity raised her arm to snag the top rope and slowly drag herself upright Lemarchand acknowledged the continuation of the contest with a lowering of her head.
“Sit that bony ass down, bitch,” Mason slurred. She staggered out of the corner and Lenore took her place. Anna Sharpe knew Caity well enough to recognise just how much fury was boiling in that miraculous frame but even she was taken aback by the violent, slamming impact of Caity's butt. Lenore's head was bounced against the turnbuckle, bashed around and buffeted while Mason shuffled her feet to keep everything in position. Anna stayed watching Lenore's fingers, but she didn't need to be paying close attention to see the Raven's hands come flying off the ropes to shove and claw at Caity's smothering buttocks.
“Mmmppphhh cheating bitch,” Lenore gasped.
“Fuck you. You can't take my ass,” Caity spat. She'd lifted herself upright but hadn't vacated the corner, glaring down over her shoulder.
But Lenore's eyes were on Anna. “Your skank put her heel where she shouldn't,” she snapped. “Her saggy ass couldn't back up her mouth and so she cheated. For once in your life do something right and admit what you saw, Sharpe.”
The most wonderfully vivid image of her fist pounding that haughty face kept Anna from answering for a second. As it slowly faded she jabbed at her phone, resetting the still decaying timer. “The only thing I saw was your fingers come off the ropes, Lenore,” she said coldly. “Caity, you've got another minute.”
“Fuck yowwoooahhh.” Lenore's protest was cut off when Mason grabbed her ankles and dragged her out of the corner on her back. Caity sat down hard on Lemarchand's face and there was a moment or two when Anna thought the contest might have returned miraculously to the rails. But Lenore's hands were quickly back pushing at Caity's rump.
“Bitch, stay down.” Mason raked her sweat soaked hair in frustration. Dismounting the Raven to kneel above her head, Caity changed things up. Worming her fingers in under Lenore's shoulders, she stretched out on her belly and lowered her breasts until they sealed Lemarchand's airways. "Can't do this, can you baby?" she growled
The smothered brunette flattened her feet to the canvas and bridged up, fingers pulling savagely at Caity's sweaty mane. Mason's cheek rested on Lenore's much less formidable bosom, hissing breath between her clenched teeth as she fought the pain of the hairpulling.
Again and again Lenore fought exhaustion to bridge up, tried to twist them so that she was no longer on her back. Again and again Caity rode her down, the Cali Catfighter spreading her legs to make Lemarchand's task that much more formidable. A minute passed, longer. Finally, Anna leaned in and tapped Mason on her sweat slick shoulder.
“She's done baby. You won.”
Caity unlinked her hands and pushed herself up, her weight on her palms. Beneath her, Lenore mumbled, licked her lips, her arms sliding from Caity's mane to slap limply against the canvas.
Mason sat back on her haunches to survey her latest conquest. The Raven's bedraggled hair trailed across her face and lifted slightly with her breath. Caity smiled wearily and allowed herself to be helped to her feet. The FAWN fans might never hear of it, the records might never show it, but one by one the women of FAWN were learning that Caity Mason was not quite the hopeless case her trailing string of L's might suggest.
She poked at Lemarchand's pale ribmeat with her toes and got a mumbling protest from the Raven, who was still on her back, her arms across her face. “I told you this would stay between us and it will, Lesnore. But I want your bony ass out of here before I'm finished in the shower. 'K?”
One week ago…
“Now, you’re going to feel a little pinch.” Lenore muttered as she settled down in a heavy, vindictive mount atop the other brunette’s nose. “That’s normal, but if the pain gets to be too much you’re more than welcome to tap the fuck out.”
Hands pressed flat to the summer-warm canvas of the ring, Caity Mason replied with a muffled grunt and the disdainful thump of one bare heel, the only action she could take that didn’t violate the rules of this particular rematch. Hands on her thighs, Lemarchand didn’t quite grind, though she certainly adjusted her movements to better keep the Cali Catfighter sealed beneath her glutes.
‘Bitch.’ Sharpe thought when Lenore clenched her cheeks hard enough to raise a pained squeal from Caity.
Lemarchand maintained the pressure as she waggled her hips to and fro. “Give it up, honey.” the Courtier demanded when the hands-free pincer didn’t elicit surrender from her foe. “You were mouth breathing before you went under, hell I can feel your breath sucking on my trunks, there’s no way you make it through another--”
Sharpe’s phone buzzed, a harsh, grinding sound far less pleasant than the chime that marked the other intervals of their contest. “Time.” Anna called as Lemarchand pushed off her gasping throne.
Free of the Courtier’s haughty hindquarters, Caity sat up and mopped a forearm across her brow. “Bony ass nerd bitch.” she muttered to no one in particular.
Lenore ignored her. “What’s with the fire alarm?”
Sharpe hit a button, silencing her phone. “It means we’ve hit the end of regulation, at least by Vegas rules.” the Englishwoman replied. “Which means the result is a tie. Or you both agree to overtime rules.”
Lemarchand’s eyes narrowed. “And overtime entails what, exactly?”
“Everything, bitch.” Caity sneered, the voluptuous brunette sounding much more her old self now that she’d sipped some water and wiped her face. “It means I can twist your tits and rake your crotch the instant I take my seat.”
“And of course you get to go first.” Lenore snorted in disgust. “How remarkably convenient for the tramp that was just motorboating my ass.”
“You could always forfeit.” Sharpe said blandly. “Of course you’d have to admit as much before I let you slink through those ropes.”
The Raven took a step in Anna’s direction. “Gonna help her cheat to another tainted win, huh Sharpe? No wonder you two are the perfect pair. Neither of you can do a goddamned thing without the other--”
Caity closed in but stopped when Anna put a hand on her tummy. “You agreed to the rules, Lemarchand. You’re the one that demanded a rematch. It’s not my fault that you didn’t bother to familiarize yourself with--”
“Bullshit.” Lemarchand spat. “I know exactly what I signed on for. But it’s rather difficult to familiarize yourself with the rules when you keep changing them to pad your scratching post’s record.”
Caity chested in on her hard and Sharpe made no attempt to stop her. “Why don’t you just go ahead and submit right now, scarecrow?” the Best Coaster hissed. “We both know you’re going to burst into tears the second I get my nails on those mosquito bites you call tits, so just admit you’d never survive overtime and we can both be on our way.”
“You miserable cheating--”
RACHEL RAKER:
“She’s not cheating you, Lenore.” All three women turned their attention to the far side of the ring, where the Courtier’s second had observed the contest thus far in silence. Seeing as she had their attention, Rachel Raker continued. “The overtime stipulation is far from common, mostly because these sort of bouts rarely exceed twenty minutes, let alone thirty, but it is officially recognized by Vegas odds makers and it entails exactly what Ms. Mason has laid out. Namely the aggressor is allowed to target her opponent’s body however she sees fit, use of foreign objects not withstanding.”
Mason smirked, batted her eyes at the frustrated brunette. “Told’ja bitch. Now are you gonna give it up right here or into the crack of my ass?”
Lemarchand sighed, shook her head, then turned to Raker. “Keep your eyes on Sharpe. Make sure she doesn’t ‘miss’ anything this time.” Anna huffed in disgust, but otherwise held her tongue as Lenore dropped to a seat and laid out on her back.
Above her, Mason planted a foot on either side of the brunette’s head and made a point of ‘snapping’ her dusty orange briefs against her buns. “Ready to scream, tiny tits?”
“Do your worst, slut.”
Caity dropped into a crouch but didn’t slide forward until Lemarchand’s palms were pressed against the mat. Then she took her seat, those heavy glutes engulfing the Raven’s face from the bridge of the nose on down. Raker and Sharpe shared a glance as they hit buttons on their respective phones to start the countdown. “Won’t be needing this.” Mason hooked her fingers into the cups of Lenore’s purple sports bra and peeled it away. She’d thought the prude might instinctively cover up and thus grant her another minute on top, however Lemarchand kept her hands glued to the mat.
“This station sucks.” Caity teased as she ran her thumbs over Lenore’s nipples. “Let’s see what’s playing on K-B-I-T-C-H.”
With that she pinched down and twisted hard, the evidence of her efforts clear in the keening shriek that reverberated off her undercarriage. “Oh yeah, I love this song!” Mason pulled up on her grip and jostled it hard enough to make Lemarchand’s bounty bounce in place. “Don’t you love it too, baby?”
The Raven made no answer, but Raker noted, “Thirty seconds and counting, Lenore.”
Anna shot the blonde a withering look, but Mason didn’t care in the slightest.
“Yeah, only thirty seconds! I’m sure you can hold out that long, can’t you, tuff girl?”
‘Girl’ was still on her lips when she released Lenore’s left breast and clamped down on the center of her rival’s purple panties! Lemarchand shrieked and bridged up like she’d been touched with a defibrillator but Sharpe and Raker both confirmed her hands never left the mat. Narrowing her focus to the clearly limned outline of Lemarchand’s womanhood, Caity squeezed until her knuckles showed white. “Give it up, baby. You’re not woman enough to hang with--”
The chime went off and Anna called, “Time. Off her, Caity.”
Mason did as she was told, though she made a point to swat Lemarchand’s tits as she cleared off.
“Thirty seconds, ladies.” Rachel called as Lenore rolled to one side and sucked in deep, ragged breaths. She was still getting her bearings when Mason sat down beside her. “You may be hot shit in a wrestling match, but you’d never beat me on the strip. Mud. Oil. Penthouse. La Conquista, you name it. I OWN your bony ass.”
Lenore glared over one shoulder, dark eyes blazing. “Lay down and we’ll see who owns what.”
Caity blew her a kiss, then laid out and stretched her arms out at shoulder level. Lemarchand pushed to her knees and straddled Mason’s head but didn’t sit down. Instead she looked at Anna. “Ready?”
Sharpe raised one finger, then nodded. “Go.”
Lenore snuggled down on the Cali Catfighter’s forehead and reached forward to hook the midnight blue lycra of her top. “Pppfffhhh poseur bitchAAAWWWWWW SHIT!” Mason’s hands flew off the mat like startled birds when Lemarchand abandoned the hold on her top for a double handful of Caity’s waistband, which she raised by a good eight inches!
“Hands off the mat, Caity.” Sharpe’s voice was calm despite her growing dislike for Emily’s Lady in Waiting. You’ve got another minute Lenore.”
Lenore smiled and tugged the inverted thong back n’ forth, back n’ forth. “Damn, that was what, less than ten seconds, Caity Cat?” she teased. “Maybe you’re the one that can’t handle overtime!” Cursing herself a fool for falling for Lemarchand’s trap, Mason’s only answer was a muffled growl. More than happy to continue in silence, Lenore kept working the wedgie with a persistent sawing motion interspersed with the occasional violent jerk.
Eventually she released the distended bottoms to brace her hands against Caity’s inner thighs and push her legs apart. Right hand cupped slightly, Lemarchand raised it high and SMACKED Mason’s groin. “Submit.” Mason grunted something defiant, so Lenore treated her to three more slaps in rapid succession. “I said submit, honey.”
“One minute to go, Caity.” Raker said it half a heartbeat before Anna could do the same.
The Best Coaster smacked a heel against the mat to acknowledge, then mumbled, “Thadhallyoogod, bidge?”
“Hell no, sweetie. I got another whole minute.”
That brought no response from the other brunette, at least not until Lemarchand pressed her nails to Mason’s flanks and raaaaaaaaaaaaaaked all the way up to southern slopes of her breasts. Caity hissed but her hands didn’t move, so Lenore raked her two, three, four more times.
“Thirty seconds and counting.” Sharpe called over the buzz and hum of the ancient air conditioner.
Lips pursed as she thought over her next move, Lenore set her fingers against Mason’s sides once again, but rather than claw she pressed both thumbs into the catfighter’s navel and pressed down like she meant to punch her way through to the other side! Mason keened, stamped her heels and squirmed from side to side, but she couldn’t dislodge the Raven or free herself from those wicked probing claws. Finally she reached up and grabbed Lemarchand’s wrists in a desperate attempt to end the tummy torture.
“Fuck.” Sharpe muttered. “Hands off the mat, Caity. You’ve got another minute, Lenore.”
“Goddamn right.” the Courtier took hold of Mason’s wrists and slammed them against the deck. From there she rose up, stretched her legs and quickly sank back down in a perfect split. Seated with the full weight of her undercarriage on Caity’s greasy, gaping features, Lenore began to grind in earnest. “Nearly three minutes under my ass, Mason.” she huffed. “Tap out whenever you’re ready.”
The Best Coaster didn’t actually tap, but oxygen deprivation sent the rules out the window as she began to push, shove, swat and worry at the other brunette’s encroaching cheeks. At one point she made Lemarchand (along with Sharpe and Raker, truth be told) wince with a viciously prolonged wedgie, but the Raven only squeezed tighter and finally repaid earlier indignities with an equally callous double nipple tweak. After another minute and perhaps four more infractions, the Cali Catfighter snuffled a final time, then pooled out in an insensate sprawl beneath the preening Courtier.
Anna stopped the timer before she walked over to tap Lemarchand on the shoulder. “She’s out, Lenore. You won.”
Lenore didn’t much care for Sharpe, but she didn’t want the volatile Englishwoman as an enemy at the moment, so she got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. Pleased by the shallow, urgent hitching of the other brunette’s chest, Lenore reached out one foot and pressed down on the Californian’s defenseless rack. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Anna, but if your girl decides to come after me again she better do it by herself.”
“She doesn’t need me to help whip your ass, Lemarchand.”
“Maybe not, but as long as you two are joined at the hip you’re a distraction and an excuse, for both of us. Caity wants to hunt me everywhere but a wrestling ring? Fine, I’ll meet her wherever she wants. But she does it all by her lonesome.”
“I’ll relay the message.” Sharpe deadpanned.
Lenore smiled pleasantly, then turned around on one heel and made her way to Rachel, who offered her a water bottle and a towel. “Excellent effort today, but there are improvements to be made. Shall we discuss metrics?”
“After I’ve showered.”
“Fair enough. It’s all billable hours. Shall I start compiling a list of Ms. Mason’s preferred combat venues on the Strip?”
“And stipulations. Including any more of these overtime clauses, regardless of obscurity.”
“Consider it done, Lenore.”
******
Caity Mason had no plan for her evening beyond staying under the shower until the water ran cold. At least by that point Lemarchand should be well gone from the building, Emily's bony-assed Lady in Waiting having successfully torn up Caity's script. The Cali Catfighter ducked her head back under the stream at the intrusion of Lenore into her thoughts, splashing her face angrily, her back and soapy ass pointed at the locker room.
Alas, not a single one of Mason's plans was destined to work out that day.
The intense thrum of the water meant Caity didn't hear the door burst open and the brawling pair enter the room behind her. Didn't hear the spanking thud of fist on belly, the grunting and panting and shuffling of feet. In fact the first she knew of any of it was when Rachel Raker stumbled backward into the shower, tripped over her own feet and fell on her ass.
Anna Sharpe came right in after her. The dirty blonde shook the ache out of her right hand, the neck of her top hanging open. Caity noticed similar battle damage to Raker's smart shirt, which was missing most of its buttons and becoming increasingly soaked through.
“Had enough, arsehole?” Sharpe asked. But there wasn't the usual sourness in her tone. In fact, she sounded almost good humored.
Sat against the back wall of the shower, Rachel poked her tongue at the corner of her mouth, checking for damage. The Fixer's hair was dripping water. Thus far, neither she or Anna had even acknowledged Caity's presence.
“I don't lose fist fights to tennis players, Sharpe.” Raker said, her voice muffled by the misting air. She raked her sodden locks out of her face and smiled. “But if you want to keep going, let's finish this off in public.”
“Sorry, forgot these places bring up bad memories, prison bitch.”
“No need to apologize, you're a sorry enough piece of shit as it is, Sharpe.”
But the sharp words were undercut by their expressions. Anna reached out her hand to help Raker up before – Thump! – her knee smashed into The Fixer's chest, knocking Rachel flat on her back on the tiles.
“You won't even make it out of your corner, Rach,” Sharpe growled. “I'll beat you so bad you'll start thinking your sister's cosplay act is fun.”
Raker replied with a deft flick of her foot that caught Anna between her legs. Sharpe dropped to her knees on the shower floor, her face screwed up in pain.
“Keep her name out of your mouth or the fun's over. You get that bitch?” There was suddenly anger in Rachel's voice.
Anna pushed awkwardly back to vertical and this time there was no trick to the helping hand she gave The Fixer. The two women limped their way out of the shower in to the locker room, leaving a dripping trail behind them. Halfway to the door, Rachel turned and walked back to the shower.
“Hey Mason.” She prodded her finger into Caity's buttock, setting the soapy cheek jiggling. “You missed a spot.”
The Cali Catfighter watched, open-mouthed, as Raker and Sharpe closed the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts once again.
******
Two weeks ago…
LENORE LEMARCHAND:
Lenore Lemarchand lowered herself to a seat in the corner and draped her arms over the bottom rope before wearily raising her right hand to brush sweat frazzled hair out of her eyes.
“Yeah, you're learning bitch.” Caity Mason looked over her shoulder and nodded approvingly before unceremoniously slamming her thong-covered ass into the Raven's face.
CAITY MASON:
The third woman in the gym started the timer on her phone to count down from 50 seconds. This was supposed to be my day off, she thought again, while keeping her eyes fixed on Lenore's fingers. Anna Sharpe was playing fair in her role as timekeeper-slash-adjudicator of this unorthodox affair, but that didn't mean she wasn't hoping to see Lemarchand give up her grip and signal her submission.
ANNA SHARPE:
Caity's rep as a fighter to be respected hadn't suffered too much from her losses in the ring, but it had taken a bigger knock when Candice Akeley had made her quit in the arena she'd chosen. Redemption came in private, in a series of unpublicized and very specific endurance tests.
“Tap my ass bitch. I see that flutter in your fingers.” Twenty seconds into the count Mason's voice was tight. She bumped her booty against Lenore's features until dead on halfway into the allocated time, when she switched to an awkward but breathtaking squat on the Raven's face. Anna still watched Lenore's hands. She was holding the rope so tight it had begun to shake, but as Sharpe's eyes flicked from the expiring count to Lemarchand's tensed biceps to Caity's focused lipbite she figured the contest was going another round, her first cocktail of the evening put back still further.
At the timer's chime Mason straightened up with a frustrated curse and stalked across the ring. Lenore flopped to all fours, red faced and gasping, and crawled out of the corner to where her towel hung from the top rope. She snatched at it and scrubbed her face, pulling herself upright as Sharpe said, “Thirty seconds, you two.”
Mason swigged from her water bottle and stared out into the empty gym, sweat trailing from her dark ponytail to glisten on her back. Anna watched with concern. It was the first time anyone had lasted this long.
The two participants shared a stare as Caity trudged back to the corner and took a seat on the mat. The Raven poured water over her palm and wiped her face again before stretching out the waistband of her purple panties to ensure snug coverage of her butt. “A minute under my ass, Mason. That's a long time without breathing. Look at Anna, she's nervous as hell. Why not save her the suffering and tap my thigh.”
The timekeeping Brit wanted to shout out a warning but restrained herself, something Caity wasn't capable of. “Thought you were smart, bitch? Any scientist would tell you an ass that flat can't smotmmMMMPPPHHH.”
Lenore's backside shut the Cali Catfighter's mouth mid rant, leaving Caity facing her minute's imprisonment with far less air than she should've had. Lemarchand looked almost disappointed that her goading had been so effective, but the Raven worked her smother with the same skill and effectiveness she applied to all her endeavors.
The room was as quiet and still as a painting. Sharpe's breath caught in her throat as if in union with Caity's suffering. The brunette's face remained buried in Lenore's ass but there was movement in her fingers. The Raven saw it, shot a glance at Sharpe to confirm the Brit was watching, and as the seconds ticked down two pairs of eyes saw Caity's hand tremble on the rope, clench harder at the rubber coated steel. Sharpe gasped, caught between relief and pity, but Caity wasn't quitting. No, she was extending her middle finger in a defiant 'fuck you', and it stayed that way until the timer's chime brought her freedom.
Lenore blew her breath out in frustration but she stepped away without complaint. Anna's heart rate spiked again at the reveal. No longer held upright by the Raven's rear end, Mason's head lolled on her shoulder, clumps of her dark hair smeared across her face and what could be seen of her features beneath glistening with sweat. Her holstered tits threatened to fall out of their top as her body worked hard to take in air, their spectacular rise and fall and a rhythmic curl and uncurl of her toes the catfighter's only movements.
“Thirty seconds, you two,” Anna said again.
The sweat dappled Raven watched intently. When Caity raised her arm to snag the top rope and slowly drag herself upright Lemarchand acknowledged the continuation of the contest with a lowering of her head.
“Sit that bony ass down, bitch,” Mason slurred. She staggered out of the corner and Lenore took her place. Anna Sharpe knew Caity well enough to recognise just how much fury was boiling in that miraculous frame but even she was taken aback by the violent, slamming impact of Caity's butt. Lenore's head was bounced against the turnbuckle, bashed around and buffeted while Mason shuffled her feet to keep everything in position. Anna stayed watching Lenore's fingers, but she didn't need to be paying close attention to see the Raven's hands come flying off the ropes to shove and claw at Caity's smothering buttocks.
“Mmmppphhh cheating bitch,” Lenore gasped.
“Fuck you. You can't take my ass,” Caity spat. She'd lifted herself upright but hadn't vacated the corner, glaring down over her shoulder.
But Lenore's eyes were on Anna. “Your skank put her heel where she shouldn't,” she snapped. “Her saggy ass couldn't back up her mouth and so she cheated. For once in your life do something right and admit what you saw, Sharpe.”
The most wonderfully vivid image of her fist pounding that haughty face kept Anna from answering for a second. As it slowly faded she jabbed at her phone, resetting the still decaying timer. “The only thing I saw was your fingers come off the ropes, Lenore,” she said coldly. “Caity, you've got another minute.”
“Fuck yowwoooahhh.” Lenore's protest was cut off when Mason grabbed her ankles and dragged her out of the corner on her back. Caity sat down hard on Lemarchand's face and there was a moment or two when Anna thought the contest might have returned miraculously to the rails. But Lenore's hands were quickly back pushing at Caity's rump.
“Bitch, stay down.” Mason raked her sweat soaked hair in frustration. Dismounting the Raven to kneel above her head, Caity changed things up. Worming her fingers in under Lenore's shoulders, she stretched out on her belly and lowered her breasts until they sealed Lemarchand's airways. "Can't do this, can you baby?" she growled
The smothered brunette flattened her feet to the canvas and bridged up, fingers pulling savagely at Caity's sweaty mane. Mason's cheek rested on Lenore's much less formidable bosom, hissing breath between her clenched teeth as she fought the pain of the hairpulling.
Again and again Lenore fought exhaustion to bridge up, tried to twist them so that she was no longer on her back. Again and again Caity rode her down, the Cali Catfighter spreading her legs to make Lemarchand's task that much more formidable. A minute passed, longer. Finally, Anna leaned in and tapped Mason on her sweat slick shoulder.
“She's done baby. You won.”
Caity unlinked her hands and pushed herself up, her weight on her palms. Beneath her, Lenore mumbled, licked her lips, her arms sliding from Caity's mane to slap limply against the canvas.
Mason sat back on her haunches to survey her latest conquest. The Raven's bedraggled hair trailed across her face and lifted slightly with her breath. Caity smiled wearily and allowed herself to be helped to her feet. The FAWN fans might never hear of it, the records might never show it, but one by one the women of FAWN were learning that Caity Mason was not quite the hopeless case her trailing string of L's might suggest.
She poked at Lemarchand's pale ribmeat with her toes and got a mumbling protest from the Raven, who was still on her back, her arms across her face. “I told you this would stay between us and it will, Lesnore. But I want your bony ass out of here before I'm finished in the shower. 'K?”
One week ago…
“Now, you’re going to feel a little pinch.” Lenore muttered as she settled down in a heavy, vindictive mount atop the other brunette’s nose. “That’s normal, but if the pain gets to be too much you’re more than welcome to tap the fuck out.”
Hands pressed flat to the summer-warm canvas of the ring, Caity Mason replied with a muffled grunt and the disdainful thump of one bare heel, the only action she could take that didn’t violate the rules of this particular rematch. Hands on her thighs, Lemarchand didn’t quite grind, though she certainly adjusted her movements to better keep the Cali Catfighter sealed beneath her glutes.
‘Bitch.’ Sharpe thought when Lenore clenched her cheeks hard enough to raise a pained squeal from Caity.
Lemarchand maintained the pressure as she waggled her hips to and fro. “Give it up, honey.” the Courtier demanded when the hands-free pincer didn’t elicit surrender from her foe. “You were mouth breathing before you went under, hell I can feel your breath sucking on my trunks, there’s no way you make it through another--”
Sharpe’s phone buzzed, a harsh, grinding sound far less pleasant than the chime that marked the other intervals of their contest. “Time.” Anna called as Lemarchand pushed off her gasping throne.
Free of the Courtier’s haughty hindquarters, Caity sat up and mopped a forearm across her brow. “Bony ass nerd bitch.” she muttered to no one in particular.
Lenore ignored her. “What’s with the fire alarm?”
Sharpe hit a button, silencing her phone. “It means we’ve hit the end of regulation, at least by Vegas rules.” the Englishwoman replied. “Which means the result is a tie. Or you both agree to overtime rules.”
Lemarchand’s eyes narrowed. “And overtime entails what, exactly?”
“Everything, bitch.” Caity sneered, the voluptuous brunette sounding much more her old self now that she’d sipped some water and wiped her face. “It means I can twist your tits and rake your crotch the instant I take my seat.”
“And of course you get to go first.” Lenore snorted in disgust. “How remarkably convenient for the tramp that was just motorboating my ass.”
“You could always forfeit.” Sharpe said blandly. “Of course you’d have to admit as much before I let you slink through those ropes.”
The Raven took a step in Anna’s direction. “Gonna help her cheat to another tainted win, huh Sharpe? No wonder you two are the perfect pair. Neither of you can do a goddamned thing without the other--”
Caity closed in but stopped when Anna put a hand on her tummy. “You agreed to the rules, Lemarchand. You’re the one that demanded a rematch. It’s not my fault that you didn’t bother to familiarize yourself with--”
“Bullshit.” Lemarchand spat. “I know exactly what I signed on for. But it’s rather difficult to familiarize yourself with the rules when you keep changing them to pad your scratching post’s record.”
Caity chested in on her hard and Sharpe made no attempt to stop her. “Why don’t you just go ahead and submit right now, scarecrow?” the Best Coaster hissed. “We both know you’re going to burst into tears the second I get my nails on those mosquito bites you call tits, so just admit you’d never survive overtime and we can both be on our way.”
“You miserable cheating--”
RACHEL RAKER:
“She’s not cheating you, Lenore.” All three women turned their attention to the far side of the ring, where the Courtier’s second had observed the contest thus far in silence. Seeing as she had their attention, Rachel Raker continued. “The overtime stipulation is far from common, mostly because these sort of bouts rarely exceed twenty minutes, let alone thirty, but it is officially recognized by Vegas odds makers and it entails exactly what Ms. Mason has laid out. Namely the aggressor is allowed to target her opponent’s body however she sees fit, use of foreign objects not withstanding.”
Mason smirked, batted her eyes at the frustrated brunette. “Told’ja bitch. Now are you gonna give it up right here or into the crack of my ass?”
Lemarchand sighed, shook her head, then turned to Raker. “Keep your eyes on Sharpe. Make sure she doesn’t ‘miss’ anything this time.” Anna huffed in disgust, but otherwise held her tongue as Lenore dropped to a seat and laid out on her back.
Above her, Mason planted a foot on either side of the brunette’s head and made a point of ‘snapping’ her dusty orange briefs against her buns. “Ready to scream, tiny tits?”
“Do your worst, slut.”
Caity dropped into a crouch but didn’t slide forward until Lemarchand’s palms were pressed against the mat. Then she took her seat, those heavy glutes engulfing the Raven’s face from the bridge of the nose on down. Raker and Sharpe shared a glance as they hit buttons on their respective phones to start the countdown. “Won’t be needing this.” Mason hooked her fingers into the cups of Lenore’s purple sports bra and peeled it away. She’d thought the prude might instinctively cover up and thus grant her another minute on top, however Lemarchand kept her hands glued to the mat.
“This station sucks.” Caity teased as she ran her thumbs over Lenore’s nipples. “Let’s see what’s playing on K-B-I-T-C-H.”
With that she pinched down and twisted hard, the evidence of her efforts clear in the keening shriek that reverberated off her undercarriage. “Oh yeah, I love this song!” Mason pulled up on her grip and jostled it hard enough to make Lemarchand’s bounty bounce in place. “Don’t you love it too, baby?”
The Raven made no answer, but Raker noted, “Thirty seconds and counting, Lenore.”
Anna shot the blonde a withering look, but Mason didn’t care in the slightest.
“Yeah, only thirty seconds! I’m sure you can hold out that long, can’t you, tuff girl?”
‘Girl’ was still on her lips when she released Lenore’s left breast and clamped down on the center of her rival’s purple panties! Lemarchand shrieked and bridged up like she’d been touched with a defibrillator but Sharpe and Raker both confirmed her hands never left the mat. Narrowing her focus to the clearly limned outline of Lemarchand’s womanhood, Caity squeezed until her knuckles showed white. “Give it up, baby. You’re not woman enough to hang with--”
The chime went off and Anna called, “Time. Off her, Caity.”
Mason did as she was told, though she made a point to swat Lemarchand’s tits as she cleared off.
“Thirty seconds, ladies.” Rachel called as Lenore rolled to one side and sucked in deep, ragged breaths. She was still getting her bearings when Mason sat down beside her. “You may be hot shit in a wrestling match, but you’d never beat me on the strip. Mud. Oil. Penthouse. La Conquista, you name it. I OWN your bony ass.”
Lenore glared over one shoulder, dark eyes blazing. “Lay down and we’ll see who owns what.”
Caity blew her a kiss, then laid out and stretched her arms out at shoulder level. Lemarchand pushed to her knees and straddled Mason’s head but didn’t sit down. Instead she looked at Anna. “Ready?”
Sharpe raised one finger, then nodded. “Go.”
Lenore snuggled down on the Cali Catfighter’s forehead and reached forward to hook the midnight blue lycra of her top. “Pppfffhhh poseur bitchAAAWWWWWW SHIT!” Mason’s hands flew off the mat like startled birds when Lemarchand abandoned the hold on her top for a double handful of Caity’s waistband, which she raised by a good eight inches!
“Hands off the mat, Caity.” Sharpe’s voice was calm despite her growing dislike for Emily’s Lady in Waiting. You’ve got another minute Lenore.”
Lenore smiled and tugged the inverted thong back n’ forth, back n’ forth. “Damn, that was what, less than ten seconds, Caity Cat?” she teased. “Maybe you’re the one that can’t handle overtime!” Cursing herself a fool for falling for Lemarchand’s trap, Mason’s only answer was a muffled growl. More than happy to continue in silence, Lenore kept working the wedgie with a persistent sawing motion interspersed with the occasional violent jerk.
Eventually she released the distended bottoms to brace her hands against Caity’s inner thighs and push her legs apart. Right hand cupped slightly, Lemarchand raised it high and SMACKED Mason’s groin. “Submit.” Mason grunted something defiant, so Lenore treated her to three more slaps in rapid succession. “I said submit, honey.”
“One minute to go, Caity.” Raker said it half a heartbeat before Anna could do the same.
The Best Coaster smacked a heel against the mat to acknowledge, then mumbled, “Thadhallyoogod, bidge?”
“Hell no, sweetie. I got another whole minute.”
That brought no response from the other brunette, at least not until Lemarchand pressed her nails to Mason’s flanks and raaaaaaaaaaaaaaked all the way up to southern slopes of her breasts. Caity hissed but her hands didn’t move, so Lenore raked her two, three, four more times.
“Thirty seconds and counting.” Sharpe called over the buzz and hum of the ancient air conditioner.
Lips pursed as she thought over her next move, Lenore set her fingers against Mason’s sides once again, but rather than claw she pressed both thumbs into the catfighter’s navel and pressed down like she meant to punch her way through to the other side! Mason keened, stamped her heels and squirmed from side to side, but she couldn’t dislodge the Raven or free herself from those wicked probing claws. Finally she reached up and grabbed Lemarchand’s wrists in a desperate attempt to end the tummy torture.
“Fuck.” Sharpe muttered. “Hands off the mat, Caity. You’ve got another minute, Lenore.”
“Goddamn right.” the Courtier took hold of Mason’s wrists and slammed them against the deck. From there she rose up, stretched her legs and quickly sank back down in a perfect split. Seated with the full weight of her undercarriage on Caity’s greasy, gaping features, Lenore began to grind in earnest. “Nearly three minutes under my ass, Mason.” she huffed. “Tap out whenever you’re ready.”
The Best Coaster didn’t actually tap, but oxygen deprivation sent the rules out the window as she began to push, shove, swat and worry at the other brunette’s encroaching cheeks. At one point she made Lemarchand (along with Sharpe and Raker, truth be told) wince with a viciously prolonged wedgie, but the Raven only squeezed tighter and finally repaid earlier indignities with an equally callous double nipple tweak. After another minute and perhaps four more infractions, the Cali Catfighter snuffled a final time, then pooled out in an insensate sprawl beneath the preening Courtier.
Anna stopped the timer before she walked over to tap Lemarchand on the shoulder. “She’s out, Lenore. You won.”
Lenore didn’t much care for Sharpe, but she didn’t want the volatile Englishwoman as an enemy at the moment, so she got to her feet and put her hands on her hips. Pleased by the shallow, urgent hitching of the other brunette’s chest, Lenore reached out one foot and pressed down on the Californian’s defenseless rack. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Anna, but if your girl decides to come after me again she better do it by herself.”
“She doesn’t need me to help whip your ass, Lemarchand.”
“Maybe not, but as long as you two are joined at the hip you’re a distraction and an excuse, for both of us. Caity wants to hunt me everywhere but a wrestling ring? Fine, I’ll meet her wherever she wants. But she does it all by her lonesome.”
“I’ll relay the message.” Sharpe deadpanned.
Lenore smiled pleasantly, then turned around on one heel and made her way to Rachel, who offered her a water bottle and a towel. “Excellent effort today, but there are improvements to be made. Shall we discuss metrics?”
“After I’ve showered.”
“Fair enough. It’s all billable hours. Shall I start compiling a list of Ms. Mason’s preferred combat venues on the Strip?”
“And stipulations. Including any more of these overtime clauses, regardless of obscurity.”
“Consider it done, Lenore.”
******
Caity Mason had no plan for her evening beyond staying under the shower until the water ran cold. At least by that point Lemarchand should be well gone from the building, Emily's bony-assed Lady in Waiting having successfully torn up Caity's script. The Cali Catfighter ducked her head back under the stream at the intrusion of Lenore into her thoughts, splashing her face angrily, her back and soapy ass pointed at the locker room.
Alas, not a single one of Mason's plans was destined to work out that day.
The intense thrum of the water meant Caity didn't hear the door burst open and the brawling pair enter the room behind her. Didn't hear the spanking thud of fist on belly, the grunting and panting and shuffling of feet. In fact the first she knew of any of it was when Rachel Raker stumbled backward into the shower, tripped over her own feet and fell on her ass.
Anna Sharpe came right in after her. The dirty blonde shook the ache out of her right hand, the neck of her top hanging open. Caity noticed similar battle damage to Raker's smart shirt, which was missing most of its buttons and becoming increasingly soaked through.
“Had enough, arsehole?” Sharpe asked. But there wasn't the usual sourness in her tone. In fact, she sounded almost good humored.
Sat against the back wall of the shower, Rachel poked her tongue at the corner of her mouth, checking for damage. The Fixer's hair was dripping water. Thus far, neither she or Anna had even acknowledged Caity's presence.
“I don't lose fist fights to tennis players, Sharpe.” Raker said, her voice muffled by the misting air. She raked her sodden locks out of her face and smiled. “But if you want to keep going, let's finish this off in public.”
“Sorry, forgot these places bring up bad memories, prison bitch.”
“No need to apologize, you're a sorry enough piece of shit as it is, Sharpe.”
But the sharp words were undercut by their expressions. Anna reached out her hand to help Raker up before – Thump! – her knee smashed into The Fixer's chest, knocking Rachel flat on her back on the tiles.
“You won't even make it out of your corner, Rach,” Sharpe growled. “I'll beat you so bad you'll start thinking your sister's cosplay act is fun.”
Raker replied with a deft flick of her foot that caught Anna between her legs. Sharpe dropped to her knees on the shower floor, her face screwed up in pain.
“Keep her name out of your mouth or the fun's over. You get that bitch?” There was suddenly anger in Rachel's voice.
Anna pushed awkwardly back to vertical and this time there was no trick to the helping hand she gave The Fixer. The two women limped their way out of the shower in to the locker room, leaving a dripping trail behind them. Halfway to the door, Rachel turned and walked back to the shower.
“Hey Mason.” She prodded her finger into Caity's buttock, setting the soapy cheek jiggling. “You missed a spot.”
The Cali Catfighter watched, open-mouthed, as Raker and Sharpe closed the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts once again.