Takedown at Tryouts

[🍷 𝗔𝘀𝗵𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝟳𝗖 🍷]

From the fantasy mind of a males perspective, take it as it is. 

The studio had emptied an hour ago. The last of the hopefuls had limped out with their duffel bags and their crushed dreams, sweat still fogging the mirrors that ran wall to wall, floor to ceiling. The sprung maple floor held the day's heat, and the air smelled of rubber soles, rosin, and the ghost of thirty girls' exertion.

Only two remained.

Isabella stood at the mirror doing slow hamstring stretches she didn't need, her dark brown ponytail swaying against her bare shoulder blades, her black sports bra cutting a severe line across her back. Twenty-six years old, six seasons on the squad, and a body carved from ten thousand eight-counts. She stands 5'7", all lean muscle and cruel symmetry, her ass poured into yoga shorts so tight the seams looked painted on.

Jennifer was still on the floor where she'd finished her solo audition, kneeling, chest heaving, her own chestnut hair half-fallen from its tie. Same height. Same build. Same vicious hazel-dark eyes. The same black sports bra, the same shorts, because of course the bitch had matched her. Jennifer always matched her. Six years of this.

One captain's spot. One. The coach had looked at both of them all afternoon like a woman choosing between two identical knives.

"You can leave," Isabella said to the mirror, folding deeper into the stretch, showing off the flat plane of her stomach. "We both know how this ends. Some girls are flyers. Some girls are the base. You're the floor, Jennifer. Always have been."

Jennifer rose slowly, sweat tracing a line down her spine into the waistband of her shorts. "The floor?" Her voice was low, scraped raw from an hour of choreography. "Sweetheart, I carried the pyramid while you were still peeing your bloomers at regionals. Coach watched *my* solo twice. She checked her phone during yours."

Isabella straightened. Turned. The mirror behind her caught both of them now, two brunettes, two killers, reflected twice and hating in quadruplicate.

"You stole my choreography," Isabella said, walking forward, bare feet silent on the maple. "That arabesque into the floor roll in the second eight? I've been doing that since camp sophomore year. You might as well have worn my skin up there."

"Your skin?" Jennifer met her halfway, closing the distance until the heat of their bodies touched before their skin did. "You wanna talk about stealing? Let's talk about who told Coach I rolled my ankle last season. Let's talk about who hid my fucking shoes before the home opener." Her tits were heaving against the straining fabric of her bra, nipples hard from the cold air and the rage, and Isabella's eyes flicked down for one betraying half-second. Jennifer caught it. She smiled. "See something you want, slut?"

"Everything you've got, I had first," Isabella breathed. "You're a photocopy of me that's been through the wash too many times."

"Then come get your original back, bitch."

The kiss hit like a collision at midfield. Jennifer lunged first, no warning, just open hands seizing Isabella's face and crushing their mouths together, teeth clicking hard enough to chip, and Isabella answered with a moan that was half laughter, half murder. This was how cheerleaders settled things. Not with fists. With *this*. Six years of sideline smiles and locker-room death stares, and it all detonated on the studio floor in a kiss that was an invasion, tongues stabbing and dueling, spit sliding between their sealed lips, both of them breathing ragged through their noses because neither would break first.

"Fucking... bitch," Jennifer gasped into her mouth, and her hand shot up into Isabella's ponytail and *yanked*, wrenching her head back, dragging a hiss from Isabella's throat.

"That all... you got... whore?" Isabella snarled, and fisted her own hand in Jennifer's fallen hair, hauling sideways until they staggered, locked together, and slammed into the mirror wall. The glass shuddered. They ground against each other there, hips rolling in slow savage circles, yoga shorts rasping against yoga shorts, the slick heat of their mounds already bleeding through two thin layers of fabric. Thigh fought thigh for position, each trying to force a leg between the other's, muscles flexing and trembling with the effort of leverage, hair still fisted in both their hands, scalps burning.

"Feel that?" Isabella rolled her hips up into Jennifer's and watched the girl's jaw clench. "You're already wet, you desperate little copy. Soaked through your shorts like a rookie at her first away game."

"That's sweat, bitch"

"That's not sweat and we both know it."

They fought down the length of the mirror wall, trading slams, each reversal a hard thud of shoulder blades against glass. Jennifer hooked her fingers into the waistband of Isabella's shorts and ripped downward; the fabric fought, then surrendered, sliding over the tight curves of Isabella's ass. Isabella retaliated by stripping Jennifer's shorts down her thighs in one vicious yank, then both of them were tearing at sports bras, Isabella's went over her head and whipped across the floor, Jennifer's followed, and suddenly it was skin.

All of it. Acres of flushed, sweat-slicked, heaving skin.

"Oh, *fuck*," Jennifer groaned as their bare tits collided for the first time, and it was obscene, four hard peaks meeting in open combat, nipples dragging across nipples with a friction that lit both of them up like stadium lights.

The sound of her own voice betrayed her instantly. Jennifer heard it and hated it, that cracked, guttural moan, dragged out of her before she could strangle it. Don't give her that. Don't you dare give her that. But the thought was already drowning. All she could feel was the impossible heat of Lisa's breasts crushed against hers, the staggering softness of them wrapped around a core of firm, defiant density, and those nipples... God, those nipples... hard as pebbles, raking across her own with a drag so precise it felt like being struck by flint. Every nerve ending in her chest was screaming information at her brain faster than she could process it: pressure, heat, slick skin, the electric catch of tip against tip, the springy recoil of flesh flattening and rebounding. Her nipples had been hard before they even touched. Now they ached. Now they throbbed, each one a live wire, and every time Lisa's tits rolled across them the current ran straight down her spine and detonated between her legs.

She's wet. She has to be as wet as I am. She has to be. That became Jennifer's anchor, the single thought she clung to as her vision blurred.... that this obscene pleasure tearing through her wasn't hers alone to carry.

Lisa heard that moan and something savage unfurled in her chest. There it is. That's mine. I pulled that sound out of her. She thrust forward and rolled her shoulders, putting her whole back into it, and their breasts went to war in earnest .... soft flesh mashing, flattening, mushrooming out against each other until neither of them could tell where one woman's body ended and the other's began. Lisa had done this before. Lisa had won this before. She knew the geometry of it, the angles, how to roll her chest so her nipples dragged upward across an opponent's, how to use the weight of her tits as a weapon instead of just decoration. She came in high and ground down, feeling Jennifer's peaks bend under hers, flatten, then spring back with that obscene little snap as they slipped free.

And then Jennifer's nipples caught hers on the return stroke and Lisa's whole body lurched.

Oh. Oh, no. It was like biting down on a live wire. The shock of it punched the breath out of her, and for one treacherous second her hips jerked forward all on their own, seeking friction, seeking anything. Her nipples are harder than mine. How are her nipples harder than mine? It was an absurd thought, a humiliating thought, and it made her furiously, dizzyingly aroused. She'd expected to overwhelm Jennifer in the first thirty seconds .... to feel those tits yield, retreat, soften in surrender. Instead, Jennifer's flesh met hers with a density that matched her stroke for stroke, and every collision sent a throb through Lisa's chest that echoed lower, lower, a pulsing ache that was quickly becoming the only thing in the world.

Jennifer ground upward to meet her and their tits slapped together audibly ...  a wet, meaty crack of skin on skin that echoed off the walls. Sweat had sealed them together now, a slick sheen that turned every separation into a wet little kiss of flesh peeling apart, every reunion into a slippery, frictionless glide that somehow made the contact worse, made it unbearable, because now their nipples skated across each other with nothing to slow them down, flicking, stabbing, catching at the tips and bending sideways before springing free.

I can't lose this. Jennifer's mind was fragmenting into a slideshow of pure sensation and stubborn pride. I can't lose this, I can't ...  oh God, right there, she just ... focus, FOCUS. She watched Lisa's face through the haze, hunting for cracks, and found them, the flutter of Lisa's eyelids every time their nipples dueled and Jennifer's won the angle. The way Lisa's lower lip had gone slack. The shallow, stuttering rhythm of her breathing that matched Jennifer's own. She's drowning too. She's exactly as drowned as I am. And the knowledge was intoxicating ... it made Jennifer roll her chest in a slow, deliberate circle, dragging both of her peaks across both of Lisa's in a wide, obscene spiral, just to watch Lisa's eyes flutter shut.

Lisa's eyes snapped back open. Don't you dare smirk at me. She answered with a short, brutal upward thrust, tits uppercutting into the underside of Jennifer's, lifting them, letting them drop and catching them again. Jennifer's mouth fell open. Lisa did it again. Again. Each impact sent Jennifer's breasts bouncing, sent aftershocks rippling through flesh that was flushed an angry, a blotchy pink now, skin sensitizing with every pass until even the air between strikes felt like a caress. But Lisa was paying for every strike ... her own nipples were taking Jennifer's on the way up, scraping over them like strikes on a matchbook, and the sparks were accumulating somewhere deep in her belly, a pressure building toward something she refused to name.

Cum. I'm going to cum from this. From tits. From her tits. The realization hit them both at nearly the same moment ... Jennifer read it in the desperate grind of Lisa's hips, Lisa read it in the trembling of Jennifer's thighs, and instead of shame it detonated something mutual and feral.

They came together like a collision, arms wrapping around each other's backs, hauling in, crushing four breasts into a single straining mass of slick, heaving flesh. No technique anymore. No angles. Just two brunettes welded together at the chest, grinding in frantic little circles, nipples fencing in the sweaty dark between their bodies, each woman chasing the exact friction that would ruin the other first, each one silently screaming the same thought into the steam of the other's shoulder:

Break. Break before I do. Please -- break one second before I do --

Neither did. They declared a draw as they shifted their focus on one another.

They stumbled away from the mirror and went down in a controlled collapse onto the sprung floor, a tangle of brunette hair and brown limbs, the maple cool against their overheated backs. Six years of rivalry, and it came down to this: two naked cheerleaders rolling across the dance studio floor, clawing for the top position, thighs scissoring, hands yanking hair hard enough to tear gasps from throats.

Isabella won the mount and immediately ground her bare, drenched pussy down onto Jennifer's stomach. "You're dripping," she hissed, smearing herself across the taut muscles, leaning down until their faces were an inch apart, sweat falling from her chin onto Jennifer's lips. "Smell that? That's me, you bitch. That's the captain's pussy, and it's all over you."

"Get it in my face then, coward--" Jennifer bucked, reversed them with a hip throw straight out of warm-ups, and suddenly she was on top, dragging her own soaked slit up Isabella's thigh, leaving a shining trail. "Smell yours. You're fucking flooding, Isabella. You reek of it. Sweet and sharp and beaten"

The scents rose off them in waves, six hours of sweat, the lingering vanilla of body spray, the sharp musk of two aroused women going rancid and heady in the warm studio air, combining into something feral, something that smelled like the back row of a championship bus after midnight. Both of them breathed it in. Both of them got wetter for it.

Jennifer slid down and spread Isabella's legs with brutal hands. "Look at this sloppy cxnt," she breathed, almost reverent. "Puffy. Red. Lips all swollen open like it's begging. Is this what you do after tryouts every year? Find the better girl and spread for her?"

"Better girl?" Isabella laughed, wild, and dragged Jennifer down by the hair until they were chest to chest again, legs scissored wide, pussies hovering an inch apart, heat radiating between them. "There is no better girl. There's just you and me and this floor, and I'm going to fuck you into it. Labia to labia. Clit to clit. Winner takes the captain spot."

They slammed together.

The first contact ripped twin screams out of them, slick flesh slapping, swollen lips spreading and engulfing, folds kissing and sucking and sliding. Their vulvas mashed flat against each other, and both of them felt it, every detail: the velvet give of labia smearing and folding, the wet seal that formed and broke with every thrust, the hard slippery knots of their clits colliding head-on with a bolt of pure white agony & pleasure that made their eyes cross.

"FUCK -- you -- fucking -- BITCH--" Jennifer's hips became a machine, grinding in tight savage circles, smearing their mingled wetness everywhere, across Isabella's mound, her own, the creases of their thighs, the floor beneath Isabella's ass where a puddle was already forming on the varnished maple, dark and spreading.

"That's it -- hump me -- hump me like the desperate little second string SLUT you are" Isabella met every thrust, pubic bone battering pubic bone, clits grinding and bumping with friction that hurt, hypersensitive, raw, two swollen pearls trying to crush each other into submission. Their juices foamed where they joined, hers and hers, indistinguishable, mingling into one slick river that pooled and spread across the hard floor beneath them. "Feel us mixing? That's you losing, Jennifer. That's your cxnt admitting it ... all over mine ..."

"Yours is doing the SAME -- THING--" Jennifer grabbed the back of Isabella's head, fingers twisting deep into the sweaty brunette mass, and Isabella's hand came up and did the same, and they pulled until their faces mashed together, wet, sweat-drenched cheeks sliding, panting mouths, lips grazing one anothers, eyes locked and crazed. Forehead to forehead. Nose to nose. Breathing each other's spent air.

The first orgasm tore through Isabella like a dismount gone wrong, no warning, just her whole body seizing, cxnt clamping rhythmically against nothing, against Jennifer, a hot gush flooding out between their grinding lips. "FUCK... FUCK... you bitch, you BITCH, I'm  don't   stop   DON'T YOU STOP"

"Never stopping ... oh GOD" Jennifer felt it, the pulsing, the flood, the obscene heat of her rival coming against her clit, and it ripped her own orgasm out of her, her spine bowing, her pussy spasming and squirting in hot pulses that splattered Isabella's mound and dribbled down her ass to join the pool on the floor. They came against each other, into each other, clits still grinding through it, every spasm milked by the enemy's flesh, pleasure ripping through their systems in massive waves while their raw, battered clits throbbed with a pain that only made it hotter, dirtier, more filthy...

And they didn't stop.

That was the rule. That was how cheerleaders settled things. You stopped when you couldn't move, and both of them could still move.

"Again," Isabella snarled, sweat streaming down her face, dripping off her jaw, her hand locked around the back of Jennifer's skull like a vice.

"Again," Jennifer agreed, her own grip mirrored, their wet faces pressed so close their eyelashes nearly tangled.

They ground on. The floor grew slicker, the pool beneath them spreading, shining under the fluorescents, reflecting two writhing brunettes in the dark maple like a second pair of girls fucking in the wood itself. Their scents had fused completely now.

No longer hers and hers,

just theirs,

thick and animal and everywhere. Their tits bounced and slapped with every desperate thrust, nipples still dueling, raw and throbbing. Orgasm after orgasm ripped through them, Jennifer's third sobbing and guttural, Isabella's fourth silent and seizure-violent, a fifth that took them both at once and left them screaming into each other's open mouths, cxnts fluttering against each other in helpless sympathetic rhythm, juices gushing with every pulse.

Neither yielded. Neither would.

Hours. They'd be there for hours. Their wills had never been tested like this,  not by tryouts, not by championships, not by anything, and both of them knew, with the last lucid corner of their ruined minds, that this was the truest audition of their lives.

"Cum again," Isabella commanded, grinding her destroyed clit in a slow circle against Jennifer's, both of them sobbing from the overstimulation, bodies drenched head to toe in exertion. "Cum again for me, bitch. All night. Until you admit it."

"Never... you first... you first, whore"

Wet faces pressed together. Hands locked around the backs of each other's heads. Brunette hair fused into one dark tangled mass. And on the hard studio floor, in the spreading pool of their combined excitement, two rival cheerleaders now pounding together. Screams not heard, faces contorted, mouths opened wide with each ripping orgasm they had. Soaking slaps of soft flesh and excitement filled the room as they fucked for bragging rights. They fuck themselves into oblivion,  orgasms ripping through their bodies without pause, without mercy, without end.   settling it the way cheerleaders do.

Heavy breathing, a window shattering scream consumes every molecule in the room......"I give, no more. No more!!"

[🍷 𝗔𝘀𝗵𝘁𝗼𝗻 𝟳𝗖 🍷]