Fetish Pro Wrestling Ch. 02

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Authoress’ note: Thank you all so much for the reviews and comments! This is meant to be an intersection of story and sex, with “real” and meaningful characters, both “on-screen” and “backstage”. Think of this like an episodic multimedia show, kind of like if WWE seamlessly blended Raw or Smackdown with Total Divas and a “reality” show backstage. It’s not always going to be all wrestling, all the time. Yes, I’m smashing kayfabe with the “reality” stuff, while holding on to it with the “in the ring” and “on-camera” stuff. Nobody ever accused me of consistency. This is “using wrestling to tell kinky stories” rather than “wrestling as a kink itself” – but I’m going to weave a lot of kinks and wrestling in with the story, I promise.

Kink Warning – watersports, pee-drinking, lactation, and incest-couples – sisters as well as mother-daughter – and shemale and herm characters are all going to be featured going forward. If you can handle those, I’ll think about going kinkier. ¦

Bright light blares into the bedroom, bathing everything in warm radiance. It’s the next morning, and I’m busy trying to wish it away when a pair of lips press against mine. Cinnamon-toothpaste-breath tingles my nostrils. “Nnnnnhhh,” I complain, blinking up into Jess’ blue-gray eyes.

“Come on, get up, Vanquished Vixen,” she sits back and teases, tearing the covers from my naked body. The sunlight warms my pale skin – I can almost feel it peeling, cracking, and charring. This isn’t a vampire novel, but I’m probably the closest thing to one you’ll find in this fictional universe: I stay up late, hate mornings, and the sunlight hates me – just look at all the freckles! I even drink bodily fluids – just, not blood – and for fun, not sustenance. Her hands shove on my side, “Let’s go, Ness! We’ll be late for work!”

Light barges in through my cracked eyelids. I blink a few more times. My mouth’s dry, and there’s a faint stretchy ache in my asshole. Faint salty and coppery flavors vie for dominance on my tongue – what did we do la… oh, that’s right.

Let’s pause a moment. You’re here for the sexings, I know. Can we maybe just do a “last night” montage for now as an appetizer? It’s really too early for this, and montages are a thing now, right? Ok.

Cue Sabrina Carpenter – “Almost Love”. No. That’s too slow. Um, Bea Miller – “S.L.U.T.”? It’s not bad but… let me pick through my YouTube music list. OH! PERFECT! AC/DC – “Thunderstruck”, but covered by a bunch of hillbillies with a drumset, banjo, ukulele (? I think that’s what that is), bass, and accordion. YES! That’s perfect!

¦ So Denny’s. The food does in fact taste like haggis – or what I imagine haggis tasting like. Fiona’s there, too. The little Scottish herm’s sitting across from Jess and I – Fi is literally tiny. Nobody ever believes that she’s 22, despite having two photo IDs: a driver’s license and Scottish passport with an E3 visa. Partly it’s her style: cute t-shirts paired with a skirt or shorts, tube socks that vary between calf-high and thigh high, and sneakers. Always sneakers. You might get Fiona into a nice dress for a special occasion – but you won’t get her out of sneakers. Mostly it’s just her: she’s 4’9″ and 90lbs, if you put a 5lb weight in her pocket, and has bright flame-red hair that’s usually in twin ponytails; sparkling blue eyes and an oval elfin face that ends in a sharp-pointed chin complete the picture. She’s tiny and gorgeous and has the most amazingly pornstar-ish cock on such a small frame. I heard that record scratch – yes, she’s a herm. Cock & pussy outside, balls inside.

Do you want a sex montage or an alternate fictional-universe biology lesson? … Ok then, that’s what I thought.

Fiona’s expression confirms that the food does in fact taste like haggis – she should know, she’s from Edinburgh. That’s the capital of Scotland, even in a universe with hermaphrodites and shemales – #Geography.

So. Back to the montage? The vocals are starting already, even after the three-minute-long intro.

¦ We’re back at Jess’ & my house. All three of us are naked on the living room floor on a large floor rug in the midst of the grayish-brown hardwood laminate. Jess is on her back, rolled-up. I’m sitting on her face, facing her upturned slit & cheeks, holding her thighs under my arms – almost exactly the pin she used to “vanquish” me a couple hours earlier. Her tongue’s lashing at my ridged ring in slow, distracted laps. My tongue’s swirling through her boiling folds, lips slurping the juices bubbling from her, and Fiona’s face is buried between her cheeks. Her hips roll for a few moments before she “geysers” and squirts past my tongue.

¦ I’m on my back, Fiona’s between my legs, my legs are resting on her narrow shoulders. My asshole still hasn’t totally recovered from the stretching Jess gave me earlier in our match, but casino oyna Fiona’s “Scottish Claymore” is buried to the hilt, stretching it back open as she stabs away in me, and Jess peeks from over the top of Fiona’s fiery hair. Take your mental-image camera and rotate it around so you’re looking at us from the side, it doesn’t really matter which one. Now you can see that she’s got a feeldoe (that’s a strap-on that doesn’t have straps – it has a bulb that slips inside you. Kegels really help with using it), and it’s buried in Fiona’s asshole. All three of us are making that “ecstasy O” face, as hitching gasps and colliding hips lead to crashing orgasms that tear through us like dominoes: Jess hitches, driving the feeldoe deep and battering Fiona’s prostate one last time. Her hips roll, grinding it against Fi’s little gland. Our Scottish best friend seizes, muscles standing out all over her small body as she throws her head back in a silent roar, almost smashing Jess’ nose – and her other head spurts hard slaps of molten gooey cum in my asshole. Fi’s shaved slit squirts hot juices on my pale cheeks – and all of my wiry muscles leap out as I seize in a pink-electric-jolt of orgasm.

¦ Fiona’s on her back, and so am I – under her! My face is between her cheeks, tongue voraciously devouring her coppery asshole. Her cock is buried to the base between Jess’ lips as my wife swabs my coppery juices from her shaft and siphons the last few drops of salty goo from our best friend. Fi’s arms and legs are spasming as if she’s being electrocuted by pleasure; spoiler alert: she is.

¦ Jess releases Fiona from the electrifying blowjob after a few moments. Fi rolls off of me and over onto her back, her tiny breasts heaving as she pants – hard. Her glistening cock waves in the air like a balloon with a tiny leak. Jess straddles my shoulders in a front-facesitting schoolgirl pin. Her shaved lips cover my pale ones, and she grinds – move your mental-image camera to an angle where you can kind of see my neck, and zoom in. See it moving? Her tiny exit’s lined up with my lips, and hot, briny, cheap-beer-flavored pee is pouring over my tongue and down my throat.

¦ Fiona lays in the middle of the rug, and Jess and I stumble back to our bedroom, barely crawling under the sheets in time as “you’ve been thunder-struuuuuuuck!” blares, and the last few banjo-strains slow to a crawl and die out with a final flourish.

Montage over, and back in present-time – it’s Thursday morning, kind-of, still-ish: I sit upright, fingers brushing my dark chocolate hair behind my ears, and Jess shoves on my shoulder again. I roll off the bed, thumping on the hardwood flooring with a dramatic flourish of arms and legs. Scooting my knees under me, I sit up, resting my chin on the edge of the mattress. A goofy grin’s roosted on my face, and Jess beams a bright smile back. “Get up, silly. Let’s go! I’m teaching a new girl today,” Jess’ enthusiasm and energy are more infectious than your favorite zombie plague, no biting required! I palm the bed and push to my feet. Taking a small blue scrunchy off my nightstand, I pull my hair back into a ponytail and stretch the scrunchy over my fingers – “That looks like last night – twice,” Jess quips, earning herself a loving glare as I pull my hair through it, twist the scrunchy, and pull again. My small cheeks roll as I step over to the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face, and “birdbath” in the sink.

“The new girl,” I wonder, loud enough for Jess to hear, “Ellie?” I pluck our toothbrush from its holder, and squeeze a little toothpaste onto it – yes, you read that right, the only thing we don’t share is clothes, and that’s only because we’re different sizes.

“Yes! Have you seen her audition video? She’s amazing! Nic did her tryout personally, and hired her as soon as it was over. Nic said Ellie pulled her aside before the ‘match’ and sketched out a couple of spots with her for her audition. None of the other tryouts did that.”

Cinnamon flavor scours my mouth with cleansing fire as I brush a few moments more, then spit the foamy paste into the sink. “None of the other tryouts did? That’s…interesting,” my tone dripping with disappointment.

“Most of them were escorts, and a couple of cam-girls. They all thought we were basically doing ‘sex in a ring’ porn; only a couple could keep up with even basic sequences. Aidria was getting frustrated, and you know how incredibly patient she is. Ellie showed up ready and impressed all of us, especially Nic. She was the only one we hired.”

A sigh heaves my chest – it’s hard to find people who “get” what we’re doing. Most people with actual pro wrestling training look down on us with open disgust. Escorts, cam-girls, porn-stars and random people off the street who “think it’d be fun” severely underestimate the canlı casino amount of athleticism pro wrestling, even the sexual kind, requires.

The washcloth makes its rounds – face, neck, breasts, pits, slit – I shave there because hair gets in the way and retains odors, but after last night? A few quick swipes might be a good thing. I rinse the cloth, squeeze, and hang it up, then turn and leave the bathroom, almost running over a fully-clothed Fiona, who brandishes a cup of coffee in each hand with a beaming smile. “I made ye both coffee, and made us all breakfast sandwiches since we’re running late,” she lilts, pressing a cup of light beige coffee into my hand – Jess always jokes that I drink “cream and stevia, with a shot of coffee.”

I realize you’ll only take so much “boring”, so I’ll save you the rest of the house-minutiae. We’ll do that fast-forward thing where we all move super-fast – I pull on a long-sleeved lightweight dress that’s loose everywhere but my hips and comes down to my mid-thighs, pairing it with over-the-ankle black leather boots. We collect breakfast sandwiches, and rush out the front door, across the yard, and pile in my truck, with Fiona slipping in the back seat. “But Ness, girls don’t drive trucks.” This one does – a deep gray 2008 Nissan Frontier King Cab, 4 wheel drive, and stick – if that upsets you, I’m not sorry. We speed down the freeway a while, exit, pull off on a side street, then into the back parking area of a studio-type building, pile out, and slip in the back doors.

Back to normal-time: we finish the last few bites of our breakfast sandwiches and sip coffee silently. Jess finishes first, “I’m really excited to meet this Ellie girl. I’ll catch you both up later!” Fi and I each get a quick peck on the lips, and Jess jets down the hall.

“Aye, and I’m going to warm up and get ready for my match tonight,” Fiona smiles. “Tis a little hard to read Abbi sometimes, but I think she’ll be a fine, fun match. We’ll put on a good show for you, Nessi,” her fiery hair bobs with a confident nod, and she heads for the dressing rooms.

My boot heels clack on the tile floor as I head to my office. I round the corner. Both my door, and Nicole’s across from it, are open. Problems? Drama? Neither one is super-common, but when it happens, holy shit does it happen. Nobody’s yelling, in fact it’s dead silent but for the hum of fluorescent lights and air conditioning. Resting bitch face is my curse-turned-secret-weapon, and I take a breath and relax into that neutral expression, then step into my office.

Sitting on the dark hardwood desk, wearing a The Pretty Reckless t-shirt and short black skirt, with her lithe legs spread and calves and black Converses dangling over the side, is Nicole LaRue, the General Manager. Nic is striking: mid-back-length hair that’s naturally raven-black contrasts skin so white that even my freckled paleness looks bronzed next to her, and frames a perfectly oval face set with almost-emerald eyes topped with angular, dark – and expressive – eyebrows. Nic and I could almost be body-doubles: she’s a couple of inches shorter, and a few pounds lighter, with mounded breasts that a B-cup struggles to contain, instead of my almost-absent As. Little curves of lithe muscles hint at the power in her arms and legs, and the little valleys of muscle in her belly take a really hard hit, or a lot of punishment, to dent. Years of martial arts make her strong, skilled, and extremely tough; like all of us in this promotion, kink is her “fatal flaw” in the ring: there are very few kinks that fit with wrestling that Nic isn’t into.

She’s alone. A warm smile melts my cool neutrality – Nic is hard not to like. She’s only a few years older than me, one of the youngest GMs in the business, and one of – no – is the best. When I think of “old-school cool”, Nic is the first face that pops up in my mind.

“Let’s talk Ellie,” she has a hint of vocal fry creeping into her contralto, “What do you think?” Nic says what she means, asks direct questions and wants equally-direct answers, and has a zero-tolerance policy on bullshit. Put together, those things mean we get along amazingly.

I slip around the side of my desk, smooth my dress against the backs of my thighs, and sit in my chair. It’s an ergonomic one, with the breathable mesh seat and back. It’s comfy, but the mesh leaves these little irritated hash marks on bare skin. “I haven’t seen her audition video yet.” Nic spins to face me, lifting her legs and folding her shins on top of each other in a half-Lotus slit – sit – her shaved lips stare from beneath the shadow of her skirt. The dark arches of eyebrow settle over her green eyes, lips drawing thin in her own version of resting bitch face.

My features settle into a serious expression that lasts a moment – then my kaçak casino tongue pokes out a raspberry at her: “I was kind of busy getting my ass kicked – and licked – last night.”

Her resting bitch face remains, one second – two – passing before the corner of her mouth turns in a wry smirk. “Just ‘licked’? You know usually when you go tonsils-deep, it’s from the front, not the back.” I gasp, feigning shocked offense. Her lips draw tight and disappear – she’s trying not to crack up, but after a moment that little restrained laugh snorts at the back of her throat, and we both break into laughter, the sound carrying down the hallways.

A few moments pass before we get control of ourselves. As the last laughs die away to quiet, I decide to poke the bear: “Was that jealousy I heard?”

“Fuck yes. Absolutely.” She’s smiling, but her eyes are a brighter green – I told you, no bullshit.

I meet her gaze. My eyebrows aren’t as dark and perfect as hers, but I quirk the left one up, my eyes slowly tracking to my left, and the electronic whiteboard wall that serves as my “storyboard”. “I’ll ask her,” I offer, turning back to meet Nic’s literal green-eyed gaze.

She smiles, “It’d be fun! It doesn’t have to be an actual story-line, just an occasional one-shot match even – you’re the Creative Director, be creative!”

I slip out of my chair, crossing to the wall-board, and pick up the stylus, swirling it across the surface in neat, looping semi-cursive: Nic vs Jess – one-shots. Maybe more?

The note made, I turn back to Nic. “So, what about Ellie?”

“She’s fucking epic,” a broad smile graces her lips, and her fingers slip around her phone, tapping on it. “Come here and watch this.”

I step around the desk and lean over Nic’s shoulder. The video on the small screen is paused, the time-slider almost at the end. A nearly-nude Ellie – a bronzed wavy-haired blonde wearing just plain white sneakers, who looked like she just stepped off a lifeguard tower – was backed in the corner. Her face was frozen: eyebrows arched upward, lips in a pouted O, blue eyes half-lidded, in unmistakable “deep trouble”.

Nicole taps play. On-screen, her pale curves of cheeks and slit blocked the blonde’s midsection from view. Her black her head hung as Nicole’s shoulder caved her soft belly, a grunt exploding from Ellie’s lips. Pendulous breasts topped with round, dark areolae bounced, flapping against Ellie’s ribs with a smack! Nic never gives breaks in the ring, and her right hand cupped the underside of Ellie’s left breast, fingers dimpling the soft flesh as she squeezed, lifted – and dropped her head. An agonized “Ooooohhhhhhhh!” poured from Ellie’s lips, followed by a faint sigh, as the beach-blonde sagged and sat on the middle buckle.

The cameraman scrambled around the corner of the ring, then the next, shooting from an angle below Ellie’s left hip. Nicole’s pink lips worked, suckling, as her fingers kneaded and squeezed the underside of Ellie’s breast. Several seconds passed, and another, louder sigh rolled from Ellie’s mouth. Nic’s lips slipped from Ellie’s nip with a slurping pop! – the camera shaking a little at just the wrong time – did I just see what I think I saw? I reach around Nic’s arm and touch the screen, pausing it. “Was that-”

Watch, Ness,” Nic cut me off, tapping the screen to resume the video. On-screen, her lips were sealed, tracing up the dewy skin of that dangling bronze orb. She paused a moment, the tip of her tongue dragging across the top of Ellie’s rounded swell – the camera zoomed in as Nic’s lips parted, and viscous white milk ran down Nic’s tongue and made a little river coursing down Ellie’s earthen-colored globe. Before the creamy flow could disappear into the crease between breast and ribs, Nic’s face dove back down, her tongue dredging up the little river and slurping it back between her lips. Green eyes and a satisfied smile greeted the camera. Nic swallowed, and her fingers twined through the blonde’s wavy hair, grabbing two handfuls before planting her boots and dragging the dazed beach-blonde out of the corner.

“Wow, I – how did you-”

“She takes prolactin. Keep watching!” On-screen-her tugged Ellie forward, slipping her left arm over the back of Ellie’s neck, and the cameraman went back around the corner to catch a perfect angle of Nicole’s fingers crooking between Ellie’s round, muscled cheeks. A twinge through the blonde announced Nic’s fingers had hooked Ellie’s asshole, and her thumb parted the manicured blonde bush guarding Ellie’s meaty lips and disappeared between them. The blonde tensed – Nicole tensed, and the cameraman shifted a few steps, showing a side view of the two. Steely ropes of muscle slithered under Nicole’s arms and fishnet-stockinged legs. Guided by Nicole’s fingers in her holes, the blonde’s hips went up-up-up – at the vertical, her breasts swung down, hitting Nicole’s forearm and Ellie’s jaw with a fleshy WHAP! before momentum carried them over. The two crashed to the canvas with a thunderclap, Ellie’s breasts quivering like jello.

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