Hi everyone —
A long-time reader, I finally decided to write the kind of story that pushes all my buttons: a slow (but not too slow)-burn, jealousy-fueled pantyhose catfight. Ravage Rehearsal is my erotic-fiction debut, and here are my first two chapters — no spoilers beyond the setup. Hope you enjoy
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Chapter 1: Auditions
Laura and Stacey were actresses in the same theater troupe. They were never really friends, and from the outside, they appeared to get along just fine. Privately, though, they harbored a deep dislike for each other. To call it hatred would be a bit severe — but not by much. They often auditioned for the same roles and were constantly beating each other out for parts. Both stood around 5’8” and were in their late 20s. Stacey weighed 128 pounds with 34C breasts, while Laura was 138 with 36Ds. Even their hairstyles were similar in cut and length, though Laura was a brunette and Stacey a blonde. Stacey had blue eyes and had been with the troupe much longer than Laura. Laura found her a bit cocky — and while Stacey constantly complimented the other actresses in a way that seemed humble and down-to-earth, Laura could tell it was fake. It was that very fakeness that pushed brown-eyed Laura’s buttons. More than the competition over roles, it was that polished, performative attitude that bothered her the most.
Like most L.A. actresses, they were both incredibly attractive. It was a cool autumn evening in Hollywood, and the theater troupe was holding callbacks for its new play. Naturally, both Laura and Stacey had been called back for lead roles. In the lobby, Stacey waited to be called into the theater. She wore a short blue-patterned dress with a plunging V-cut neckline, paired with a blue-and-white jacket, nude pantyhose, and pink open-toed heels. She sat on a bench with her legs elegantly crossed, absentmindedly swinging one foot and letting her heel dangle.
Laura arrived in contrast, dressed in a tight, edgy black gothic dress — just as short and low-cut as Stacey’s. Her look was more rebellious: lilac-colored tights and bold four-inch black, white, and green heels. Both women had done their makeup to perfection. They looked stunning. They looked ready to kill.
Laura checked in and sat on the bench next to Stacey.
“Wow, Laura, you look beautiful!” said Stacey.
“Thank you,” replied Laura, rolling her eyes in her mind. “You look nice too.”
Both women sat, reading over their lines with their legs crossed, facing each other. Stacey continued to bounce her leg nervously. Each woman noticed the other’s perfectly smooth legs, and a flicker of jealousy crept in. They had never been seated this close, with such a clear view of each other’s nylon-clad legs.
Stacey accidentally — or perhaps not — kicked Laura’s foot with her own, causing Laura’s shoe to fall off.
“Whoops! Sorry, Laura. I’m kind of nervous,” said Stacey.
“Sorry indeed,” Laura thought to herself, but she replied kindly, “That’s okay… I know you’re nervous.”
“I’m not that nervous… I feel pretty good about this,” Stacey said.
“Oh yeah? Me too.”
There was a brief silence between them, broken when Stacey reached down and placed a hand on Laura’s lilac tights.
“These are really nice. Where did you get them?”
Inside, Stacey was fuming at how smooth and shapely Laura’s legs were. She rarely met anyone who came even close to having legs as good as hers.
“Thank you. I got them at Macy’s. Yours are nice too,” said Laura, as she touched Stacey’s leg around the knee. “These are nice quality for plain pantyhose.”
“Yes, but I was going for a more classy look… maybe I should’ve gone with something more attention-grabbing like your bright tights,” said Stacey.
Their hands stayed a little too long. Then squeezed, ever so slightly. Neither moved.
“Stacey, it’s your turn!” the stage manager called.
Both women flinched. Hands retracted quickly. Stacey stood, smoothed her dress, and looked over her shoulder.
“Well… good luck, Laura.”
Then she walked into the theater like she already had the part.
“What a bitch,” Laura thought. She always acts like she’s better than everyone… then turns on that outwardly sweet act so people think she’s humble and friendly. But Laura wasn’t fooled. She sensed the subtle, aggressive female energy behind the smile — the kind few others ever noticed.
Chapter 2: A Staged Catfight
Both women had strong auditions, and as it turned out, there were two female leads in the show and both were cast. Over the next few weeks of rehearsal, working so closely together only made things worse. Their relationship soured even more, devolving into a quiet contest for attention — one not helped by the fact that the director was a semi-famous, young, and very good-looking B-list celebrity.
To the rest of the cast, everything seemed fine. But behind the scenes, Laura and Stacey exchanged catty remarks and passive-aggressive jabs every chance they got. They remained professional, at least outwardly — but inside, both were at their wits' end. Each secretly wished to be rid of the other.
Then came the twist: their characters were written into a small fight scene.
In the play, Stacey’s character was married — to a man who’d begun having an affair with Laura’s character. When the betrayal is revealed, the script called for a physical confrontation: slaps exchanged, some comedic hair pulling, and a little rolling around on the floor — classic farcical tension.
Until now, they’d always skipped over that scene during rehearsal, as the fight choreographer had yet to be available. That changed today.
Andrea — a well-known fight choreographer — had arrived.
Both women were a bit nervous. They had been simultaneously dreading and longing for this fight. They were sick of each other — and neither could wait to inflict a little pain on the other, even if it was all staged… But at the same time, neither wanted to look like they were losing. The fight was written to end in something of a draw, and both silently hoped it would stay that way.
Laura and Stacey arrived at the same time, each dressed as instructed by the choreographer. Laura wore black yoga pants and a loose white T-shirt over a black sports bra. Stacey wore shiny blue spandex leggings and a pink T-shirt over a blue sports bra.
Andrea — the fight choreographer — was a striking woman in her late 30s. She had long blonde hair, glasses, black yoga pants, and a gray sweatshirt. She was all business.
First, Andrea was going to teach the girls how to perform the opening slaps. Stage slaps are choreographed so one actress throws the slap, while the other snaps her head to the side and quickly claps her hands together near her face — creating the sound of impact. To the audience, it looks like the hand connects, but there’s zero actual contact.
Stacey was to “slap” Laura first. On the first attempt, Laura was just a bit late pulling back. The slap didn’t land, but the timing was off, and it looked sloppy. They had to rehearse it several times to get it right.
“Come on,” Stacey urged, “you have to count in your head and fall back on the throw!”
Laura, already frustrated with herself, found Stacey’s attitude infuriating.
“I’ll get it! Keep going,” she snapped.
Stacey drew back and, this time, threw the slap faster than the count — and smacked Laura straight in the face.
The sting was instant and sharp.
“Ouch!” Laura yelped, stunned. “What the hell!?”
“Ooh! I’m sorry!” Stacey said, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips. Andrea immediately stepped in. “Stacey, this is why it’s so important to count. You really need to be careful. There’s no reason for actual contact in a stage slap if you do it right. Focus.”
“My bad. I’m sorry,” Stacey said. But she shot Laura a cold, unmistakable glare.
Laura’s face burned — and not just from the slap.
Eventually, they both got the timing down to a science. Next, it was Laura’s turn to throw the slap. Stacey nailed the fake reaction perfectly on her first try.
“Excellent,” Andrea praised.
Stacey shot Laura a dagger of a look, smug and sharp — as if to say, See? I got it on the first try. What took you so long?
“Again,” Andrea ordered.
Laura’s anger was simmering. This time, she threw the slap early — and her hand made hard contact with Stacey’s pretty face.
“You bitch!” Stacey shouted.
“No-no,” Andrea interrupted, thinking it was a scripted line. “Let’s not worry about lines yet. Let’s just get the movement right first.”
Stacey stood holding her cheek, stunned. Laura shot her a sly face — subtle, but unmistakable. It hadn’t been an accident.
“Sorry, Stacey. I’ll get it,” Laura said, tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m just not the natural you are.”
That’s how it begins. Things unravel from there.
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