Giselle and Ashley : a tale of diversity
By The Masked Writer
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The air in the luxury suite was thick with the usual scent of lilies and expensive cleaning products, but also with unspoken contempt. Giselle, all angles and sharp edges, reclined on one of the king-sized beds, her very long legs draped over the silk duvet. Her eyes were sharp daggers fixed on Ashley.
Ashley’s curves defied every industry standard Giselle worshipped. Right now she was meticulously arranging her toiletries by the vast marble sink. At 230 pounds, she was a force of nature in a world that always preferred wilting flowers. Her presence alone seemed draw Giselle’s ire like a moth to a flame. Actually, Giselle felt like Ashley was breathing so much air there wasn’t enough left for her. They were sharing the suite during a high-profile fashion week. Giselle found this arrangement downright offensive.
“Honestly, I don’t know why they even bother,” Giselle drawled, her voice a thin, brittle wire. She wasn't speaking to Ashley but to some unknown presence. The words hung in the air, pointed and accusatory. “It dilutes the brand, don’t you think? Real models, actual artistry… and then this.” She waved a dismissive hand towards Ashley’s reflection. “It’s just… fat.”
Ashley paused, her hand hovering over a tube of moisturizer. She didn't turn around immediately. The muscles in her broad shoulders tensed, though. She’d endured weeks of Giselle’s snide remarks, condescending glances and muttered insults. Every swipe of Giselle’s credit card on room service, every condescending comment about Ashley’s “appetite” or “size,” had been burning inside her like a slow fuse.
She turned slowly, her dark eyes meeting Giselle’s defiant stare. They were both in their underwear – Giselle in a barely-there lace thong and a wisp of a bra, clinging to her thin, almost skeletal frame. Ashley wore an equally elegant, black set that hugged her generous curves. The contrast was stark It might have been comical, if the tension hadn't been so palpable.
“You done?” Ashley said with an unusually calm, low voice.
“Done? I’m just stating facts. You stand there, a monument to… gluttony, and take up space that actual professionals, people who work for their bodies, deserve.” Giselle finally swung her legs off the bed, planting her feet on the plush carpet. “You’re just a novelty act. A PR stunt.”
Ashley took one deliberate step towards Giselle, then another. “You really think you’re better than me, Giselle?”
Giselle scoffed, rising to her full, willowy height. She was taller than Ashley, but Ashley was twice as thick. “I know I am. You think your… bulk… is going to scare me? Please. You’re just obese.” And with that, Giselle took a swing, a flimsy, open-palmed slap aimed at Ashley’s face, more designed to humiliate than to hurt. She expected a flinch or a clumsy deflection.
Mistake.
What Giselle did not know was that Ashley was actually a regular gym goer, lifting weight with respectable results. She also had practiced wrestling in high school. Soooo….
Before Giselle’s hand even connected, Ashley’s arm shot up, a blur of toned flesh. She didn't just block the slap; she caught Giselle’s wrist. Giselle cried out, under an iron grip, as much in surprise than in pain. Ashley’s fingers were squeezing with an undeniable, crushing power.
“Soft?” Ashley’s voice was still quiet, but it vibrated with controlled fury. She twisted Giselle’s arm slightly, and Giselle gasped, her long, delicate arm twisting irresistibly.
What happened next was a blur for Giselle. Ashley moved with an almost unsettling grace, her strength clearly disciplined. She didn’t slap or punch back. Instead, with a deceptive ease, she used Giselle’s own momentum against her.
One moment, Giselle was flailing, trying to yank her arm free. The next, Ashley had spun her, using her own body weight, and with a surprisingly effortless motion, she lifted Giselle completely off her feet. Giselle, all 115 pounds of her, was airborne for a terrifying second, suspended by Ashley’s powerful arms.
Then, she was unceremoniously dropped. Not thrown, but set down hard, face-first onto the thick carpet. The air rushed out of Giselle’s lungs in a pained grunt. Before she could even scramble, Ashley was over her.
Ashley knelt, pressing Giselle’s face into the carpet with unyielding pressure. Giselle tried to buck, to scream, but her face was muffled, her arms pinned by Ashley’s knees. She felt the incredible, crushing weight of Ashley’s thigh on her back.
“You think ‘big” means fat and weak, Giselle?” Ashley’s voice was a low growl, right beside Giselle’s ear, making her whole body tremble. “I lift. Every damn day. I work for this body. Not starving myself, not surviving on air and validation. I train for power. What about you?
Giselle could only let out a muffled sob, a mix of pain, shock, and dawning horror. She felt a sharp twist in her arm as Ashley adjusted her grip, reminding her how in control she was. Ashley shifted, her weight still pinning Giselle, and Giselle felt Ashley’s hand grab her ankle, twisting slightly until a sharp crack echoed through the room. Giselle cried out, a raw, animal sound of pain as her ankle screamed in protest.
Ashley released her, leaving Giselle disoriented by the sudden absence of Ahley’s weight on her back. Giselle lay there, gasping, face-down on the carpet, tears streaming down. Her ankle throbbed, a dull ache beginning in her shoulder. Her delicate lace underwear in tatters.
Ashley stood over her, breathing very slightly heavier, but composed. Her undies, intacts seemed to cling to her powerful frame with quiet defiance. She looked down at the trembling, defeated Giselle, who was now weeping openly, her shoulders shaking.
Ashley said, her voice now calm : “Some of us are built for more than just looking hungry.
Now you will leave me in peace, or this will be just an appetizer.”
Giselle just continued to sob, curled into a pathetic ball on the luxurious hotel carpet, her humiliation complete, her arrogance shattered.
The end
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