It had been three days since the encounter at the market.
Jay couldn’t stop thinking about it—how Rajeev had promised to speak to his wife, how perfectly matched the women seemed. It was rare that fantasy and reality edged so close together. But Jay had learned not to get too hopeful—plenty of women showed interest, only to back out. Still, when the text came the next morning from Rajeev—“She’s interested. We should talk.”—Jay damn near dropped his phone.
They arranged to meet at a quiet coffee shop on the edge of the neighborhood—neutral ground. Private. Not a place for loud families or students typing on laptops. Jay made sure the table was in a corner, far from eavesdroppers. It felt… intimate. Strategic.
Tracy sat beside him, her thighs spread slightly in black leggings, tank top snug across her chest. She didn’t say much on the drive over, but Jay could feel her energy. Calm. Ready. A little hungry.
When the couple arrived, Jay and Tracy both stood.
Rajeev looked polished, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, his expression cool and amused. But it was Priya who drew every ounce of attention the moment she entered.
She was stunning—not in the cover-model way, but in the way of a woman who knew what she was. Her hips swayed with deliberate grace under a knee-length fitted skirt. Her top was tight, low enough to show cleavage without being crass. She wore minimal makeup, but her black eyes were sharp and calculating. Her jet-black hair was swept back in a casual clip, and she moved with a quiet authority that made even the barista pause mid-order.
When Priya’s eyes found Tracy, there was a shift—small, but unmistakable. Not quite a smile. A challenge.
They shook hands, firm and unsmiling.
“You’re Tracy,” Priya said. Her accent was smooth, but her voice had gravel in it—years of experience, maybe even fights, behind it.
“You must be Priya,” Tracy replied. “Jay’s told me a lot.”
“I’m sure he has,” Priya said dryly, flicking her eyes toward Jay. “My husband, too. Men and their fantasies.”
That got a slight smirk from Tracy. “Sometimes we turn those fantasies into something real.”
The women sat. Jay and Rajeev remained silent for now—this wasn’t their conversation.
There was a pause. Then Tracy leaned in, her voice low. “So you used to fight back in India?”
Priya nodded. “In the village. No ring. No mats. Just bare dirt and pride. Usually with a crowd. Other women, sometimes older. Sometimes younger. Always watching.”
“What were the rules?” Tracy asked.
Priya sipped her tea before answering. “We didn’t have many. You wrestled until one gave up. Or couldn’t get up.”
Tracy’s lips curved slightly. “Sounds familiar.”
“You?” Priya asked. “How long?”
“Fifteen years,” Tracy said. “Private group. Matches in basements, hotel rooms, old barns. Usually naked, or close to it. Husbands watching. No ref. Just two women.”
“What are your rules?” Priya asked.
Tracy didn’t hesitate. “No biting. No punching to the face. No eye gouging. No armbars. Everything else’s fair.”
Priya looked across the table. “So crotch attacks? Breast claws? Hairpulling?”
Tracy nodded. “If you can take it, you can dish it.”
Priya didn’t blink. “Good.”
The men exchanged glances. This was going better than either expected.
Tracy leaned back, one arm draped across the back of her chair. “You’re my size. That’s rare. Same age, too.”
“Almost,” Priya said. “You’re heavier up top. I’ve got you in the hips.”
They both smirked at that—acknowledging, for the first time, that they’d both done their own visual math.
Jay decided to speak. “We’re not asking for a commitment today. Just… let’s talk details. If it happens, it should be on terms you both agree to.”
“Agreed,” Rajeev said.
“I’d prefer private,” Priya said. “No crowd. Just us. No filming. One room. Two women. One winner.”
Tracy nodded. “Agreed. Location?”
“We can host,” Rajeev offered. “We have a basement. Finished. Clean. Padded floor. Soundproof.”
Tracy looked to Jay. He nodded.
“What do we wear?” Priya asked, her eyes lingering on Tracy’s chest.
Tracy smiled slowly. “Whatever you’re comfortable losing.”
“Thong bottoms?” Priya asked. “Topless?”
“That’s usually the way it ends up.”
Priya gave a slight shrug. “Fine.”
Jay’s voice was cautious. “Would you be okay with a scoring system? Submissions and… other ways of scoring?”
Priya looked at him square. “You mean orgasms.”
Jay flushed slightly but nodded.
Priya looked to Tracy. “You’ve done those?”
“Plenty,” Tracy said, without shame. “Sometimes that’s how you win. Grind her down. Make her moan. Leave her wrecked.”
Priya leaned forward slightly. “I’ve done that too. But I don’t let it happen to me.”
Their eyes locked.
Neither spoke for a long, silent moment.
Then Priya said, “Let’s do it.”
Tracy nodded. “Good. Because I’ve got one more match in me. And I want to feel it.”
Jay swallowed. Rajeev leaned back, clearly intrigued.
Priya asked the final question, her voice low and even: “How many rounds?”
Tracy grinned. “First to five points. One for a verbal submission. Two for an orgasm.”
Priya’s face remained neutral, but her eyes flashed. “Winner does what she wants with the loser afterward?”
“Yes,” Tracy said. “That’s always the deal.”
“Then we have an agreement.”
They stood. The handshake this time lasted longer. Harder. Each woman leaning in slightly, their chests nearly touching, eyes inches apart. It wasn’t affection—it was a silent declaration.
The next time they touched… one of them wouldn’t be standing.
