Here's the conclusion to this story. Thanks to everybody who's posted and offered encouragements in PM. Thanks most of all to Tara and Tiffany for playing along.
Cheers,
Scrib
*****
Tiffany lay on the floor naked, alone in the dark with her pain and her shame. What the fuck had happened to her tonight? Everyone had watched Tara destroy her. Everyone had seen her submit to the blonde. She had owed Tara obeisance after that, and she had paid her dues, just as she had on any occasion when she had lost a fight.
But tonight hadn’t been like those other occasions. It hadn’t ended when she crawled from the arena, beaten. It had continued afterward – long after she could have stopped it, after she could have called enough. She had given the winner her due, as much as any woman who had ever beaten her and more. Why did I stay? Why did I let her use me like that?
Because she’s not just any woman who beat you, answered the insidious voice inside her head. She’s the one you always knew would come. She’s the one you’ve dreamed about.
That sudden terrible thought cut her to the core. No, that was just a dream!
Now and then, after a hard fight – and there had been plenty of those – she would dream about facing a woman whose face she could never recall afterwards. What she did remember was that all her strength, her endurance, her skill, every move she had ever learned in every battle she had ever fought – none of them had been enough against that woman. Whatever Tiffany did, whatever tricks she tried, her opponent had thwarted her, countered her, turned her strategies back on her to beat her, wear her down, hurt her and exhaust her, until she was a gasping mess, worn out and helpless, at her enemy’s mercy. Each time she had woken from that dream bathed in sweat.
It wasn’t only sweat that soaked the sheets though, the voice reminded her. It excited you. You were hot for a woman who was better than you in every way. You lusted for her.
No! She was just a dream – a fantasy at best.
Tonight you met her, said the voice.
No!
Tonight your dream came true. She beat you. She broke you. Tonight you knelt to her.
I had no choice! She made me kneel!
No. She made you want to, the voice corrected her. You’re hot for her.
I am NOT hot for her!
Then why are you rubbing yourself right now?
She jerked her hand from between her legs. Her fingers came away sticky. She felt herself blush in the darkness.
Musn’t do that, the voice teased her. She told you not to. She’ll be upset. She might punish you.
I am NOT afraid of her!
Then why do you obey her? countered the voice. There are only two reasons to obey her. Either you’re afraid to displease her, or you want to please her.
Tiffany had no answer to that, other than a tiny sob in the darkness.
*****
She must have fallen asleep eventually because the next thing she knew was when the door suddenly opened and a voice – Tara’s voice – said, “Well well. Look what we have here.”
Tiffany started awake and groaned. She hurt everywhere. She could still taste Tara in her mouth, feel the stickiness of the woman’s juices coating her skin. She levered herself up onto one elbow and used the other hand in a stiff, awkward sweep to push her still matted hair out of her eyes.
Tara stood staring down at her with the same smile she had smiled last night as she had shamed Tiffany in front of all the party guests, and later as she had used Tiffany for her pleasure, here in this room. “She must have spent the whole night here on the floor, curled up in front of the door.” Her smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful look, then reappeared again. “I don’t even have words to describe that. It would be adorable if it wasn’t – ”
“…pathetic?” offered Blair, looking over Tara’s shoulder through the doorway.
Tara’s smile widened a little but she did not reply directly. The thoughtful look came back to her face as she said, “She might have a lot more potential than I first thought.” The tone of her voice gave Tiffany chills, for more reasons than she cared – or dared – to think about.
Tara emerged into the living room, placing one foot on Tiffany’s bare rump as she stepped over her. Blair was merciful enough not to tread on Tiffany as she followed behind. Both were naked but then, as Tiffany blinked the remaining sleep from her eyes and shot them a second glance, she realized that was not quite true, and she gave a sudden start of horror.
Blair was indeed naked, but Tara was not. Hugging her hips, fitting her as though it was painted onto her, was the thong she had taken from Tiffany last night – the Society champion’s thong. The gold Society sigil emblazoned on the narrow vee at the front seemed to sit atop the shadowed cleft where the almost sheer fabric had pulled up between her nether lips in a brazen camel toe.
My trademark, thought Tiffany.
Not any longer, the voice in her head mocked her. It’s hers now.
It did indeed fit Tara like a glove. Tiffany had a sudden alarming thought – how would she get it back? What if Tara wanted to keep it? Tiffany could hardly take it by force – certainly not right now.
Perhaps not ever, said the insidious voice in her head.
What would the Society’s committee say? That thong was not hers – it was a symbol of her position in the Society. She was not supposed to wear it except for a title fight, and certainly not outside the Society itself. Last night had been an act of hubris, showing off her status to the crowd, letting them know what she was going to do to this amateur. It had all been a tragic mistake.
Tara noticed where she was looking. “It fits me perfectly, don’t you think?” she asked, addressing Tiffany directly for the first time. “And so does this.”
She reached to her navel and flicked at the gold charm that hung there. Tiffany’s eyes widened once more. It was the same emblem that adorned the front of the thong – the Society’s gold sigil. It was Tiffany’s own trinket, the one she had taken from her navel before the fight last night. Anger welled up inside her. How dare she just take it, and the thong too? Who does she think she is?
She’s the woman who’s too much for you – the one who broke you.
Tara strode over to the couch and sat down on the edge of it, watching Tiffany. She placed a hand on each knee and spread her legs wide, showing off the gold glinting in her crotch. “Come here, pet.”
Pet??? She called me pet – again! Anger, shame and despair battled for supremacy in Tiffany’s mind – anger that anyone would dare to belittle her that way, shame at the fact that she could do so, and despair that Tiffany was helpless to do anything about it.
“Come here.” There was that hint of steel in Tara’s voice as she repeated the command, and a twinge of fear joined the other emotions that choked Tiffany’s thoughts. Before she knew it, she levered herself up onto all fours and crawled slowly, stiffly across the room until she knelt before Tara.
What’s she going to do to me? Hurt me again? Humiliate me some more? What more can she do to me? She felt herself tremble in anticipation of the possible answers to that question.
“Look at me,” Tara commanded. Obediently, Tiffany lifted her head and gazed with trepidation into Tara’s eyes.
“Look at me,” Tara repeated, lifting both hands and gliding her fingertips down her body to show her meaning – over her breasts, her abs, her hips and her legs. Her body bore a few faint pink welts and yellowish bruises where Tiffany had landed blows on her. Tiffany knew though, that those would fade and disappear completely in a day or two. She could not help but glance downward at her own body. Her breasts were still bloated, bruised and discolored, scratched and sore from Tara’s claws. Purple, blue and yellow blotches marked the impacts of Tara’s fists on her belly. She could not see her pussy and did want to think about what she looked like down there. It was enough that every movement hurt and she did not trust herself to stand easily if at all.
She looked back at Tara and saw the same comparison – the same conclusion – in the other woman’s eyes. She’s better than me. Not just last night. Even now, she’s better than me – and she knows it.
Tara smiled again as she reached out and stroked Tiffany’s tangled hair with one hand. With the other she touched a finger to the Society logo between her legs. “Kiss me.” The ‘where’ was obvious.
Tiffany wanted to resist, wanted to disobey – she was the Society champion! – but her heart was not in it. Her heart – to her ever-increasing disgrace – wanted to kiss Tara there and not just through the thong. She didn’t want to stop there either.
You want her, sneered the inner voice. She beat you. She broke you. She owned you The voice laughed. She OWNS you.
Tiffany could not bring herself to answer. Instead she leaned forward on her knees, supporting herself on her aching arms, and stretched out her neck. She could smell Tara’s scent, a heady musk of mingled sweat and sex that filled her senses and brought back memories of last night, memories that filled her with shame – but not only shame. She felt a new rush of warmth and wetness in her loins, and the heat of embarrassment in her face was not from feeling forced to debase herself this way. It was that she didn’t feel forced – but she did it anyway.
She pressed her lips against the golden embroidered logo that shielded Tara’s mound, and failed to hold back a sob.
“Good girl,” Tara stroked her hair again. Tiffany shivered at her touch. “I have something for you. Blair?”
The other blonde had been sitting on the far end of the couch, watching with unconcealed enjoyment. Now she leaned over, reached out and handed something to Tara. Tiffany could not see what it was, but Tara twisted her fingers more tightly in Tiffany’s hair and turned her head to the left.
“Up!” she ordered as she half-guided, half-pulled Tiffany up until she lay stretched across Tara’s left knee. Tiffany hung there, awful memories of last night flooding her mind. This had been how Tara had finished her – no, not finished her because she had already been finished by then. It had been how Tara had finally forced her submission, her admission that she had given everything she had, and it had not been enough – not nearly enough.
Tara reached down and Tiffany jumped at the touch of the woman’s fingers on her belly. Oh God, please don’t claw my belly! Not again! That was not Tara’s intent however. Tiffany felt another touch, a harder touch, and a slight pressure as she pushed something into the piercing in Tiffany’s navel.
“There…look.” She lifted Tiffany’s head with her other hand, so that Tiffany could look down between her swollen breasts and see. There, attached to her belly button, lifted on Tara’s finger to display it, was a small gold charm in the shape of a cursive ‘T’.
T for Tara.
Tiffany stared down at herself, stunned. She marked me.
It’s only right, said her inner voice. You’re hers. It’s true. You know it.
Tara let go of the charm and it fell back against Tiffany’s skin. She let her hand glide downward over Tiffany’s lower belly, a feather-light touch, until her fingers rested in Tiffany’s crotch, just a fraction of an inch from her sex. Tiffany bit her lip but could not suppress the moan that came from deep inside her – a moan not of pain or despair but of anguished, desperate need.
She heard Blair laugh. Tara too smiled and flicked the pad of her forefinger across Tiffany’s swollen clit. Tiffany gasped and her hips bucked upward involuntarily toward the touch. “You want me to touch you there,” said Tara. It was not a question. “You want me to give you pleasure, to make you cum.”
Tiffany’s voice trembled as much as her splayed legs. “P…p….please…” she whispered.
Tara smiled again. “Climaxes are for winners, pet,” she said reprovingly. “Or at least for girls who earn them. You haven’t done enough to earn that reward yet.” She tilted Tiffany’s head until she was staring straight up into the blonde’s fathomless green eyes. “But you will.”
The look in those eyes filled Tiffany with dread.
THE END...OR PERHAPS THE BEGINNING...
