This story is the result of collaboration with a bisexual lady friend (Christine) who has been an active female combat participant for years. When I told her that I had co-written Untamed Rivalry: Scenes from a female fight club (with Alexis) she told me she wanted to appear in Book Two. I promised her a cameo, in exchange for hearing her fantasies. We literally stroked this story out of each other over a very creative weekend. The physical descriptions of Christine and her rival are real; she is someone we both know and both would love to do, are accurate and added to the excitement. Let me know if you like the way the story is written; I would appreciate feedback and might post more if encouraged. The women are both in their 50s.
CLUB COUGARS SETTLE IT
Rules of Engagement
RG walked across the marble hall of the London hotel foyer towards the elevator. She was poised and as usual in control of her emotions despite what she was about to initiate. However, as she entered the elevator to take her to the rooftop bar, she felt the adrenalin surge at the thought of the coming contest. Sharp minded as well as being genuinely intellectual, she had applied her intelligence to analyzing the understanding the intersection between female sexuality, physicality and psychology. On her homepage in the Bitchcraft section of the Black Scorpion Club’s intranet web, she described herself as a Psychosexual Trainer, a concept she illustrated with a triangle, the apex labelled Psychological and the other two angles Physical and Sexual. RG carried a small elegant brown leather overnight bag. It contained a mid-brown body stocking, and a black strap-on spraycock , standard issue at the Scorpion club and a change of black silk panties. (A spray-cock is strap-on dildo with a sensor that detects when the wearer is coming and ejaculates according to the power of the orgasm. It is a favorite device for a victory fuck.)
The warm September evening was pleasant after the chill air conditioning of the foyer and elevator. RG made straight for the semi-privacy of a cabana where she knew her rival, Christine, would be waiting for her. It was a Friday but there surprisingly were few people outside in the warm autumnal darkness, most were clustered around the bar. Christine was a regular guest at the Foster & Partners designed hotel; she had no difficulty in securing the highly sought after cabana for her exclusive use. A half bottle of Roederer champagne sat chilling awaiting RG. This was where they would negotiate the rules of combat; the actual fight would happen in the secluded privacy of Christine’s sumptuous suite. It was good that it was the only room on its floor as she knew that when two alpha cougars clash there could be a lot of noise.
Through the club network, Christine had sent RG an invitation to meet her during her business trip to London. She was delighted how quickly the acceptance arrived, together with a thinly veiled challenge. “Christine, I would be delighted to meet you and perhaps test put your reputation to the test, to see if you really are as formidable as your club profile suggests? I have a free weekend; I think we might need at least a day’s recovery.” Christine replied, “As I have to be out in public, I cannot risk any bruises or breakages, but an all-out confrontation of a sexual nature would play to both our strengths, wouldn’t it?” RG had replied affirmatively, “Look forward to it and discussing the precise details of our confrontation, face-to-face. I can’t imagine there will be much off-limits.” Christine was immediately aroused; as far as she was concerned there was nothing to beat the adrenalin rush of discussing what you were going to do to each other, then doing it immediately afterwards. Perhaps it was the lawyer in her, but Christine really thrilled at the prospect of negotiating the rules of engagement; she could only imagine how ready they’d be to lock up once they had finished. Christine was French but had spent much of her career in the US and was more often present at New York (where she now resided), Chicago or San Francisco meetings of the Scorpion Club. Even so it was surprising she had not met RG before. Her high profile job meant that she had to be particularly discreet.
It was RG’s skills, as well as their physical similarities and proximity in age (mid-fifties) that had really intrigued Christine. RG had been an early member of the Scorpion Club, she was now its most sought after trainer for fighters needing more edge or simply their rough edges honing. Her service description for potential clients was simple: “Learn to work your opponent’s body and sexuality against her.” Recognizing the importance of deportment to the members of the club, she also offered some “bitch dressage” services. As might be expected for a club full of sophisticated, sexually experience women, style counted for a good deal. How a woman fought was almost as important as the result. (Bitch Dressage is “deportment” for novices wishing to gain membership of the Scorpion Club. The theory is that becoming a true alpha female is best studied from a submissive position. To quote club president Beatrice, “You have to break a bitch before she can really unleash her inner bitch.”)
In particular, there was one dressage option made Christine lust to give RG her own master class: “Dominant Bitch Aesthetics” described as “looking good when you are taking your reward.” Christine thought back a few weeks back to a memorable fight in Mexico City where she had fought a voluptuous haughty 50 year old member in her luxury villa. Thanks to the mirrors surrounding the fighting room had Christine had been able to bear witness to her own victory fuck, she pushed her strap-on ruthlessly in and out of the moaning loser. She had admired the firmness of her own body, the tautness of her thighs as she knelt, one knee on the ground while one foot held the loser’s head pinned to the floor. As her victim had come for the tenth time, she had raised clenched her fists in victory admiring her own poise and had been gratified by the rapturous applause of the small, select sisterhood watching.
Another service RG offered was, “Knowing How to Take It”. The ability to show resilience and even defiance when being fucked by the victrix could earn a fighter a reputation and mitigate the reputational blow of a defeat. “Yes,” thought Christine, as she eyed RG up and down, “I want to see if this bitch really knows how to take it.” She imagined herself doing to RG what she had done to Consuela; she’d do it in front of the full length dressing mirror so RG could give herself notes, just as she did her mentees. Christine checked herself; she knew she could not take victory for granted.
Christine sat upright as she heard high heels clicked assuredly towards the cabana. As the curtain parted, she found herself looking at a woman her about her own height and build; the chief difference was the hair color, a mid-brown to her salt and pepper. Despite the apparent warmth with which the women greeted each other they were assessing each other as rivals; both really liked what they saw, a near mirror-image rival. As Christine stood, it was clear they were both tall at around 5’10’’ with the Parisian an inch taller. Their sporting firm physiques had been honed by skiing and the gym while RG was tanned from sailing, Christine was an avid swimmer with Mediterranean color.
With a slight incline of her head Christine indicated RG should sit, saying, “I am so glad we could meet tonight, I have been looking forward to this all week.” Her French was accent barely audible, a testimony to her time in the USA. RG smiled and kept her eyes on the lithe torso on her as she took her seat opposite. Christine filled the two flutes, adding, “I hope you will join me, I think we can allow ourselves a small drink before we get down to business.” RG nodded affirmatively as the golden liquid filled the glass, replying “I don’t think a little bubbly will affect either of our performances.” Christine sipped, and said mischievously, “By performances, you mean, I suppose during the contest and afterwards.” RG countered in her even cultured English voice, “Well you certainly need more energy to perform as victrix than as the loser,” adding coolly, “a role I doubt either of us intends to play.” Christine smiled and then said in a business like way, “Well, let’s agree the terms of combat before we think about the fruits of victory.”
All the while the two women were noting their rival’s physique. Of course, they had checked each other’s profile on the club site. There were various pictures but no film of them in action. Each woman acknowledged to herself how evenly matched they seemed to be physically. Of course, both had successfully put down physically superior women through focus and willpower, so this was a genuinely even match. As they each took a sip of their champagne they steeled themselves for the combat negotiations to set the rules of engagement. RG remained silent, and inclining her head slightly to one side, left it to Christine to make the first move. Christine swallowed slightly, and despite her cool poise, her voice betrayed a little tension as she said, “Let’s discuss the prefight phase first. I propose we will fight naked from the start, so let’s undress in front of each other so we can show what are bringing to the contest.” She paused, waiting to see how RG would react and what she would suggest.
RG reached forward and picked up her champagne flute, letting the anticipation build, “Agreed, I also suggest we build the pre-fight tension by posing in our harnesses before we fight,” and she sipped her drink and drawled huskily, “To remind each other what is at stake.” Christine signaled her agreement, as she imagined herself and her refined rival parading their strap-ons at each other. After all, that was what this fight was about; finding out who was going to be the bitch on top. The familiar pre-fight tingling was starting now as warm blood began to suffuse their erogenous zones. With an edge in her voice, RG raised the stakes by suggesting a prefight contact ritual, “Let’s prowl and probe , single digit to pussy only; each fighter will present herself to her rival once for as long as both want it.” (Prior to a sexfight two rivals may agree to drop to all fours and circle each other, taking the opportunity to display their poise and musculature to each other, and to any audience. Beforehand they will have agreed what areas may be permitted to be probed and in what way, e.g. fingers, tongue or (rarely) a strap-on.)
Christine purred her approval, “Agreed, then we both present for a feel-out , that way we will both have a good idea about how the other works, right?” (A feel-out is an opportunity to test the other woman’s resolve and sexuality. In particular, before sex-fights it is common for the women to finger each other’s clits, while looking into each other’s eyes, searching for weakness.) The brunette smiled thinly, adding, “We’ll both know when to go C2C ?” (Pussy-to-pussy or clit-to-clit.)
Christine responded emphatically, “Oh yes, I am sure we’ll know when it’s time to really go at it; I am actually starting to spike now.” (To spike” describes the process of a clitoris becoming erect.) RG recognized the Christine’s sexual drive was starting to make her say what she felt. In contrast, RG deliberately said nothing about her own hardening flesh both above and below; she enjoyed the sense of control. She was however, excited at the thought of her rival’s nascent arousal, and knew it was time to bring the negotiation to the fight itself.
“If we have finished with the pre-fight rituals, let’s get down to the real contest itself,” RG ventured waiting for a reaction. Christine slowly and deliberately said, “When we lock up, anything goes, we just follow our instincts loose and unleash the bitch within on each other.” RG quickly added, “I agree, just flesh on flesh, not toys” then, changing gear she suggested, “Perhaps we should wrestle for a while to get the competitiveness going. After all, not so long ago we’d have settled this by kick boxing.” Christine inhaled deeply, thinking about how she used to enjoy the aggression of submission kickboxing, her eyes flashed, “Oh yes, I think we’d both really enjoy matching muscles before we let our pussies do the talking.”
RG nodded, commenting positively, “Sure, a ten minute bout of aggressive physical contact will tone us both up for the main event.” While Christine added, “We should confine ourselves to wrestling to gain pins and straddles; nothing too violent that might injure us for sexual combat.” Christine appeared to be imagining the fuck-fight as she continued dreamily, “I thought one hour of C2C would be enough to establish dominance, most forced orgasms wins.” RG leaned back and eyed her rival, “I agree, one hour should also mean that the winner has plenty left for the victory rut,” RG paused giving real emphasis to the words victory rut.
The thought of a victory rut caused Christine to roll her hips slightly, and she brushed her thumb against an engorged nipple through her dress. At first RG thought that her rival was getting ahead of herself, then realized that as a really experienced sex-fighter, Christine was just displaying confidence. A less experience fighter showing this much abandon might be on her way to a spate of premature orgasms. RG decided to show her own confidence, adding, “The victory rut should reflect the experience we bring to the mat, so I think we both want to have triple access don’t we?” (A term describing a pre-fight agreement for the winner to have access to the loser’s pussy, tail and mouth and for the loser to service the winner in those places if directed.)
She was gratified to hear Christine swiftly assented and upped the ante by adding, “Yes, and I want the right to scent the loser.” (The most common way of “scenting a loser” is by a golden shower but in a sexfight, a victrix may also choose to express the thrill of victory by fingering herself until she squirts over the loser’s pussy. The most extreme version of scenting a loser is “deep scenting” whereby a winner uses a dildo, smeared with her own juices to penetrate the loser. Another version is for the winner to soil the loser’s underwear or a handkerchief with her juices so the winner has a scent record of the loser’s juices while insisting that the loser wears the panties stained with her for the next 24 hours to remind her of her defeat.)
Her voice betrayed a tremor of passion as did RG’s as she replied, “Oh yes, I want to scent you and whatever you are wearing against your pussy now. I hope it is something silk.” Smirking and now pinching a nipple openly, Christine husked, “Don’t forget, it may well be me wetting your panties.” Enjoying the controlled trash talking, RG responded by elegantly raising a long shapely leg and resting it on the empty chair next to her. In direct response to Christine’s earlier comment about spiking, RG said, “I think we should get to your room soon, or we will both have wet panties.” Christine drained her glass and rose to leave the cabana. The negotiations were over, and while they had not touched physically the exchange had aroused they both to the stage where they were hungry to put each other to the test.
