Author: Elizabeth Heath
Category: Other
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It was nearly all rehearsed and acted to a script. As there were at least two live shows each week, the fighters would either been crippled for life or dead by middle age if it had been genuine. Injuries were infrequent, and usually strains picked up during training.
After shows the "fighters" laughed with each other, shared jokes, stayed in the same hotels. Sometimes they would rehearse the words for the next "catfight". Feeding the image of grudges between 'fighters" that were fictional.
The only exception was the annual challenge contest. The company would select who they thought was the best potential candidate to challenge the Dyke Grappler Champion, or The Dyke for short. The criteria were vague, supposedly performance and fitness. In reality what would sell best to the internet subscribers.
This year and last the challenger was easily selected. Sweet, how she hated the name given her, was a superb athlete, strong, fast, supple and with genuine wrestling skill. Day by day she got closer in standard to the previously unbeatable Jess.
Taller even than Jess, Sweet had short blonde hair, a boyishly pretty smile, and was leaner and very much faster than Jess. She was also twelve years younger. It was only in technique she fell short against the champion, and she was learning fast.
Last year she had won two of the five rounds, but Jess had dominated the other three. Jess often won by submission of an opponent but this had never been on the cards . Sweet had found it difficult to be ruthless with Jess. She admired the champion, even thinking about her made her feel light headed. She relished their times laughing together and enjoying each others' company
A year later it seemed Jess was facing defeat in the challenge: the first four rounds had clearly gone to the challenger.
In round 5 Jess began to feel all of her 38 years, slow, breathing heavily, just wanting it to end, so she could relinquish her title with dignity. To be no longer "The Dyke" would be a relief. Jess just felt a great warmth towards Sweet, if she was to lose her title, she was happy it would go to her friend. She often wished they could be closer friends, possibly lovers.
There would be a ritual humiliation at the end, but it was mainly for show. Even if strap-ons were involved, the girl on the receiving end was treated fairly gently, most enjoyed it. There was even a retractable strap-on if any girl could not deal with it. The crowd and internet viewers were left unaware they were being conned. So if Sweet won, Jess was sure she would be treated fairly lightly, verbals yes, but those were for the fans, nobody bothered about that. She more than liked Sweet, they were often chatting together or exploring towns together as the Company toured the country.
Seconds to go, soon her reign would be over, but Sweet seemed to relax, already savouring victory. With a huge upward push Jess sent the challenger off her, into the air, and onto the canvas. Jess jumped on Sweet, forcing the younger woman into the submission position. The count started and finished, Jess had retained her crown
Jess forgot all the usual consideration towards a loser, forgot the times early in her career when she had been shown mercy, the times she had shown it, and when she had stopped a fight, risking the sack, when her opponent had an emotional breakdown. She forgot her feelings towards Sweet, forgot Sweet herself, forgot everything but the elation and relief of victory.
Wordlessly and harshly she fucked Sweet with the dildo, not hearing the cries of anguish. She even laughed as the challenger sobbed her way off the stage.
Jess entered the changing room ready to gloat and goad. Her blood ran cold. There in the fetal position was Sweet, rocking herself, weeping her soul out. Jess felt like a devil, full of self-disgust. She knelt down and took Sweet in her arms, saying sorry over and over. She was crying too. Crying at what she had become. She felt just total love for Sweet, but also that she had polluted something beautiful. She felt dirty inside, that she was not even worthy to be with this kind and beautiful woman. The fact that Jesse was still champion now seemed to her to be some kind of horrible bad taste joke. She wished she could hand the stupid, meaningless thing over to Sweet. So somebody can beat someone in a fight, so what!
This was the last fight, she determined. "I can never trust myself again", she thought. "I lost it. I hurt someone who had no intention of hurting me. I have put my pride ahead of my humanity."
But weeks passed, pain in both eased, the friendship at least in part restored. Jess agreed to fight for one more year, then to retire as champion, or hand over the crown, probably to Sweet.
A year of tedious, scripted touring followed. Sweet seemed less confident, less committed; but the fans craved a rematch, wanting to see the "The Bitch" Jess brought down by Sweet. Lusting for revenge, revenge the lowest of all motives.
Well they would have it, Jess decided she would make sure Sweet won; she would throw her title, but subtly so everyone, including Sweet would think it genuine.
The night of the fight was hot and humid, Sweet seemed nervous, Jess thought, but in the opening exchanges Jess used her skill and knowledge to get Sweet on top. The confidence seemed to surge back into the previously uncertain Sweet. As usual both girls had become naked. Sweet held Jess in a scissors position. Jess tried to resist, but now Sweet was too strong. So be it, thought Jess. Even the feel of the younger woman's fingers on her clit and pussy did not trouble her. To her amazement Jess realized she was going to come. This supposed ultimate humiliation had not happened to Jess since her earliest days as a lesbian wrestler.
Now she wanted it, needed it, because Sweet was turning her on, and she felt she should be shown up in front of this baying crowd, because of what had happened a year ago. Her mind went with her body into rapture, shouting Sweet's name. Soon she felt Sweet's lips on hers, the deepest kiss she had ever experienced one of honeyed love. Gentle words soothed Jess, her new lover telling her what happened a year ago was washed away, that all was well, that they had both found love in and for each other.
Sweet gently helped Jess up, hugged her, and the women walked towards the exit.
"The contest isn't over." growled the leering referee.
"Oh yes it is, and you can keep your title, neither of us want it, we have each other," Sweet said, squeezing Jess's hand devotedly.
"This time," Jess said, "We have both won."
The End.
Corset Conquest
"What have you done to me?" she said, looking in the long mirror, "my God, what's happened to me?"
He thought to himself, "Nothing by comparison to what's coming, my dear," but he stayed silent.
Instead, he said, "You look amazing. Exciting. A lover's dream."
"Oooh nnnooo," she was beginning to scream now as she placed her hands on her waist, "it'll kill me. Something must burst in me."
She reached round the back of the corset, to see if she could unfasten it, but she couldn't. The knot he tied was too complicated for her to untie behind her back.
He placed his own hands on her waist and drew her to him, kissing her forehead among her dark hair.
"You felt it closing; so now it's made you a wonderful shape," he tried to reassure her.
"I didn't know it would do this to me. Now I see it, it must damage me. I didn't reali-i-i-i-i-ise," she was wailing again and he cuddled her gently. He felt her relax onto my chest.
Reaching round her corseted body, he could tell it was open by about 2 inches at her waist, but almost closed shut at hips and ribs. That meant her waist was 20 inches round; and she'd had a natural waist of 30 inches earlier that night.
Earlier that night, he'd talked her into the corset which was new to her.
"Let me show you something really nice for your figure," he'd suggested casually as they held each other when she first arrived in his apartment.
"Like what?" she'd queried, "Don't you like my figure?"
"Your figure's wonderful," he said; and that was true. He guessed she had measurements of 36C-30-38 inches. At 5ft 6in tall, she looked magnificent in her long denim skirt, fitted embroidered waistcoat and high heeled boots.
"Bu
t I've an idea to make you very pleased about your figure. Even more than now. Go on – let me show you," he'd adopted a slightly pleading tone.
"OK," she said, "what is it?"
"A little corset for your waist; that's all. Yes?"
"Mmm. OK."
His words "little corset" seemed to reassure her; as if he meant a slight, flimsy, fashion accessory, like the shiny basque that a burlesque dancer might wear. But what he had hidden to one side was a tight-lacing, waist-training corset from one of the most prominent names in English corsetry. It was heavily boned, would reach from her bra-line to the widest part of her hips; and had strong lacing at the back, through no fewer than 30 steel eyelets. This corset was small in his favourite sense: it could reduce a woman's waist to the minimum of anatomical possibility. Small? Certainly a small waist and that was his goal for this shapely woman.
She had undressed down to her bra and panties, and he had blindfolded her; "Just part of my little game. Yes?"
"Mmm. OK."
And so he'd placed the blindfold over her head and led her to the bedside. There he sat in front of her and wrapped the "little corset" around her torso, being careful not to tighten it at this stage. It simply rested on her skin, settling into her hips slightly. Then he removed her bra and they lay down. He kissed her breasts and played with his hands on her body. She mewed like a kitten as he used his experience and skill to give her pleasure. His fingers and tongue explored the crease under her breast as well as her nipples. With his mouth still gulping on her breasts, his hand pushed down over the corset front, all the way from top edge to bottom, and then further into her pubic area with its little fuzz of blonde hairs. And so into her labia, where he found her wet and receptive of his finger; two fingers; more fingers he guessed would be possible some day.
Then he followed his hand down the front of her corseted body until he could place his tongue on her clitoris. He moved his face and mouth around in an exploratory way until he found the pressure and rhythm that she seemed to like. And so he settled down to bring her to her first orgasm of their time together. And it happened; and she mewed again with more volume, until she relaxed her head back into the pillow, with eyes closed inside the blindfold. He stayed still and quiet, resting his face on her corseted abdomen, just above the fuzz-line. He raised one of his hands to hold one of her breasts as if he were a bra-cup. And she placed her hand on his, to stop him from moving it away. Which wasn't his intention, anyway. So they rested after her climax. At one stage, she opened her legs a little further which he assumed was an invitation for him to enter; but he had other ideas and plans for later. So they just rested.
Some time later, he lifted himself off the corseted figure and spoke softly to move her, for some tightening;
"Keep the blindfold on but just roll over onto your tummy. OK? I'll tighten you a little."
The corset was still quite loose on her at that stage but 3 minutes later he'd tightened her waist by an inch or two. Also, he'd moved the top and bottom edges so that almost met, closed on her skin. Fortunately, he'd guessed her measurements correctly and they would eventually meet without exerting any pressure. But her waist was something else, and that was the centre of his interest.
He rolled her onto her back again and she slumbered, holding her waist lightly and feeling at the new indentation over each hip.
Ten minutes later, he recommenced his exploration of her body. She'd moved a little this way and that, as his hands and his face delved into her creases. Smoothing, pulling and licking her skin almost everywhere it was exposed apart from the corset and her panties. These panties came off, of course, during one of these "explorations" and she allowed his hands to move over her, and under her and into her.
At one point, he placed his hand on her flattened abdomen and asked softly, "Is this OK? Comfy?"
"Mmm. I can't feel it now, at all," she'd replied in a dreamy voice.
"So let me tighten you a little more. Tell me when you can feel it again. Yes?"
And she'd agreed with a waggle of her head inside her blindfold, so he laced her waist an inch or two further.
"That alright?" he'd enquired and got another waggle of her head.
She didn't realise it, but her waist was now 5 inches smaller than when she'd arrived, maybe two hours earlier. She placed her hands on the shrinking waist but expressed no concern.
So this was the way it went from time to time. He played on her body. She had another orgasm. He would tighten her waist a little, while she relaxed into the new shape developing inside the ferocious corset.
Eventually, there came the time for another lacing, more serious this time. He rolled her over and played with his mouth and hands on her back and shoulders and her bottom. He reached out for a small conical butt-plug and slowly introduced it into her anus. She seemed to be expecting it and made all the right motions and sounds. He pressed it and she pushed out, so that her sphincter opened. It was only one-inch diameter, and settled into her smoothly with the black flange showing against her fair skin. Then he kneeled up across the backs of her legs and reached up for the knot at her waist. He leaned down to her ear and spoke softly:
"This is a bigger tightening now. But you'll be fine. Your body has got used to the corset now. Yes?"
"Mmm. I'll tell you if it's too much," she said into the pillow.
This time, he braced himself and crossed over the laces to get leverage against the eyelets: the first time he'd adopted this method of lacing. He braced his shoulders and pushed the two lace-loops outwards, drawing the corset edges almost together. He could see what she couldn't; her waist was almost at its smallest and the tightest the corset could be made. But not quite. Not yet.
"Mmm. Enough," she'd said, and he had stopped. He would resume in a short time; he knew that.
At one stage, he'd also tied her hands so that she wouldn't be able to feel the reduction of her waist; which might have startled her. So her hands were tied up to her shoulders; each hand crossed over her breasts and tied to the opposite shoulder, with the soft rope round her back.
"Why this?" she'd asked from behind the blindfold.
"So your figure will be a surprise when you feel it next," he'd said in his soft matter-of-fact voice.
+++++++++++++++++++
Now it was the early hours of Saturday morning. He'd had her blindfolded for six hours while he gradually laced her into the corset. At the start, she'd been excited at the feel of the white satin covering; smoothing her hands against her changing figure. After each reduction, she'd asked for a rest. And he'd agreed, so they lay down and he played on her some more with his hands and mouth. At one stage, after some minutes for her to recover her quietness, he reached out for a favourite vibrator and they'd played some more. He was keeping her body for his pleasure later. She orgasmed easily, this beautiful shapely woman, and she'd clung to him each time, in her pleasure. Together, they'd gone to the bathroom from time to time so that she could relieve her bladder and he helped by cleaning her from the tub of gentle wipes he kept there.
The latest lacing had been done with her lying on her stomach and relaxed, but with her arms still crossed over her breasts. Now her waist was 20 inches: almost half her hip measurement and 10 inches smaller than it had been when she arrived the previous evening. There was only a short waist acing still to be completed.
He turned her over onto her back, untied her arms, and helped her to stand in front of the mirror. Her eyes were wide open, and her mouth.
"What have you done to me?" she said, looking in the long mirror, "my God, what's happened to me?"
"Oooh nnnooo," she was beginning to scream now as she placed her hands on her waist, "it'll kill me. Something must burst in me."
Until that moment, she'd been relaxed and quiet in her corset, but the visual image of her own figure in the mirror had provoked a panic. For the first time, she thought she should be gasping for breath; struggling to move; fighting against the constraints of the bones and the lacings. She
ran her hands over her figure, into the waist, over her hips, round and over her contained buttocks, up and round her ribs. As he knew, the corset was not tight at the bottom edge, nor at the top. She slid a finger under the bottom edge to realise that it was simply touching her skin. And she tucked her thumbs in the top edge and discovered the same there. But her waist was tight. Really tight. Tighter than she'd realised before this view in the mirror.
After her little outburst subsided, he held her and felt at her figure for himself. From behind, looking into the mirror and into her eyes, he ran his hands over the flat rigid front of the corset; feeling the tautness of the busk fastening over her muscles and containing her ribs. Then he moved his hands to left and right to feel the curve over her hips, which now felt like little shelves.
He traced the bones in the corset from top edge, over their laced-in tightness and down to the bottom edge. He imagined he could feel her hip bones, the fabric of the corset stretched tightly over the curve of her iliac crest; the broad sweep of bone. But what were her bones and what was the rigid taut corset was impossible to distinguish. Even so, it felt good to him.
He held her waist, pressing his fingers and thumbs together as if to encircle her. Almost but not quite, and she was almost rigid in her waist. She felt like warm wood; carved into the shape of the most erotic feminine waist. There was no movement in her waist at all; no "give" as he pressed; no flexibility as she swayed a little under his grasp and his groping.
Then he allowed his hands to roam over her lower abdomen and down to her pubic area, to discover a little bulge below the corset. Her intestines and skin-fat had been gradually rearranged during the slow corseting, and now was located in a beautiful little mound above her pubis. He anticipated how that would feel when he next lay down with her; on her; inside her. But he could wait a little longer.
He led her back to the bed and helped her to lie down. A woman in a tight-laced corset hasn't the flexibility to lie down buy herself. He knew that and let her down gently onto her pillow, lying on her back. She was panting a little by now and holding her waist; remembering the image of her own figure in the mirror.