Brooke went to Vegas at the age of twenty-one. She had dreams, from girlhood, big dreams, of a career as a dancer. Dreams forged in hours of lessons, ballet, modern, and jazz. Such dreams linger, but eventually they die, broken into irretrievable pieces.
The day after she turned twenty-two, Brooke found work dancing in a strip club. It paid the rent, and in time, it paid much more. She was good at it. She had flawless and natural breasts and an erotic athleticism that intoxicated the men and women who watched her and paid to touch her. In some ways, she blossomed, free of the anorexic atmosphere of dance studios and the hypercritical eyes of choreographers. Her body became fully ripe but hard with muscle. Her dark beauty made her queen of the club and she luxuriated in the role. The biggest whales of Vegas came to her club when they tired of gambling. She easily had them eating out of the palm of her hand or - if she wanted - her pussy.
The club was where she met David.
David was a guest at the club with some regularity, but without the neediness of the every-nighters. He was casually handsome, in his forties, his body fit and his face calm. He was rumored to be well connected and powerful in channels both within and above the law. He was also free with his money. And so, the girls eagerly sought his company, and he gave it without favoritism, at first. That changed, when Brooke claimed him. His generosity didn’t flag, and Brooke rewarded him just as generously. Their private dances became slow and sensual marathons of risking the club’s license as she stretched on a couch and sucked him while he slipped his fingers into her wetness.
To make a wealthy man her exclusive client was to alienate her colleagues, but Brooke found she didn’t give a damn. Frankly, she had never cared about being liked by the other dancers. She ignored the catty remarks, but that did not mean she ignored infringements. Along with her beauty, Brooke harbored a temper, and a history of catfights. And so, one night, when she strode from the dressing room to the club floor, her smile froze at the sight of another dancer perched in David’s lap, a curvaceous Latina named Salma. The club manager looked the other way and let the girls settle such things themselves. David paid to take both of them to the Champagne VIP private lounge.
The fight was furious, and brief. Salma staggered sobbing from the room without her top or earrings, her mouth bleeding. Brooke was unhurt, and sexually supercharged like David had never seen her. She pushed him onto the couch and for the first time took his cock inside of her. She came, violently, as soon as she did, then came a second time when he emptied into her.
He stroked her hair afterwards as she languidly licked his cock. “That excited you,” he said. “Fighting another girl.”
Brooke didn’t try to deny it. She nodded and stretched, cat-like, across his thigh. It was power in another form, and she was irresistibly drawn to power. “It excited you too,” she said. She knew how many men loved women fighting, how they fetishized it. His cock pulsed against her lips and she took him into her mouth. She was gratified by how he thickened, so soon and so hard. She took him deeper, into her throat, gagging a little and gasping when she withdrew. She knew how to play this game, but even then something had changed between them and she wasn’t so sure it was only a game.
“Maybe you know a girl you’d like to watch fight me?” she said, emboldened. She made her voice teasing but with an edge. “Maybe even a girlfriend…..or your wife?” She stroked his shaft as she spoke, letting her mind return to the rush that had taken her when Salma had screamed surrender. Brooke had been in fights before, but now she felt drunk with the adrenaline, how he had reacted, how she had wanted him.
“She would hurt you,” he said.
She recoiled. It stung her, strangely, and viscerally. He had just watched her fight for him, and fucked her in the aftermath of victory - and he still thought some other bitch was superior?
“Maybe not, she said sharply. “Maybe I would hurt her. Like I did Salma.”
He smiled. He gripped her hair and slid his cock into her throat again. “Salma is no one. You know that.” He reached along her belly and slipped his fingers into her pussy, softly stroking her clit. Against her will she shuddered. “I said the woman that I know would hurt you,” he said softly. “I did not say that you couldn’t defeat her. You have a fire in you, Brooke.”
Along with the skill of his fingers, this spurred a fresh flow of her juices. Normally, it was she who set hooks into the man, she who drew him along, she who used him to get what she wanted. Part of her saw that now instead he was luring her. She found that she didn’t care.
“Who is she to you,” she said, her voice ripe, nearly panting as he worked. “Would she be angry that we fucked?”
“She would not be angry at me,” he said. “She understands my needs.” His fingers slipped inside Brooke and she moaned. “At you, she would feel very strongly a need to humble you, to teach you your place.”
Brooke arched as he found her spot. She suddenly wanted all his desire. She wanted him to want her more than he wanted this specter that he described. His words bloomed in her mind, of a woman who would humble her. She lifted her head and moaned, “Fuck me again.”
He shook his head and stroked her, and she was the only one who orgasmed.
When he left, she didn’t count the money he laid beside her.
********************
After that, Brooke looked for David every night. It was two weeks before he returned to the club. From the catwalk above the stage, she saw him enter with a sleek blonde woman on his arm. Brooke tensed. She studied his escort as they found a table - her walk, her body, her clothes, her cool calm face. Her hair was pulled into a glamorously tight bun. Her nose and cheekbones were sharp. Her breasts were displayed by her neckline, but not ostentatiously so. Still, she commanded the room. Men turned their eyes from the stage to watch her, rather than the writhing nude dancer of the moment.
When it was Brooke’s turn on stage, she brought their attention back. She moved with cat-like precision, flowing effortlessly. Her legs flashed. She revealed her body gradually. She exuded sex. She knew every man in the room wanted her. When her music ended, she hugged the brass pole between her naked breasts, and looked at David.
His eyes were on the blonde woman. Brooke felt that sting again, even deeper. Her gaze followed his eyes to his escort’s, waiting for hers. The blonde rose, her martini glass in hand, and took the hundred dollar bill David held to her. Her strut to the edge of the stage was a masterpiece of casual, erotic seduction. She beckoned to Brooke, who crouched deeply at the edge of the stage to meet her. She slipped the bill into Brooke’s thong as she sipped her drink. She shook her head.
“He’s wrong about you,” was all she said.
The bond between them was electric - a primal competition; an alpha urge. Impulsively, Brooke slid one hand into the blonde’s décolletage, taking the weight of her breast, the bullet of her nipple on her palm. She turned her head and kissed the blonde on her mouth, hard.
“He’s not wrong,” she replied, when they broke apart.
The blonde smiled, luminously. “My name is Valerie,” she said. “Join us when you’re finished.”
**************************
Brooke slid into the chair on David’s left, and kissed his cheek. “Hello, lover,” she purred. He motioned a waitress to their table and one promptly brought Brooke her usual, leaving it with a sidelong glance. On his right, Valerie ran a fingertip around the rim of her glass. “You call him lover because you fucked him one night,” she said. Her tone was one of amusement. Her voice held an exotic hint of an accent. Her free hand was out of sight, in his lap; the flex of her bare shoulder was the only subtle sign that she stroked him under the table, an act of possession as much as an act of sex. “Tell me, stripper. I have fucked him countless times. Do you really think you are a match for me?”
“Does it matter what I think?” Brooke said. “Or does it matter what I do?” Beneath the table, her hand joined Valerie’s on his shaft. Their fingers intertwined; their thumbs rimmed his cockhead.
“It is his game that he plays,” Valerie said. “To find whores stupid enough to challenge me.” She tilted her glass at Brooke. “You - you are nothing special. You are just another whore.”
“You are kept by him,” Brooke said. “More whore than me. And, you are here, why? Did you hear something in his voice when he told you of me?” Her voice turned, and slashed. “What do I think? I think he has tired of you, Valerie. I think he sees in me the one who will replace you.”
Valerie’s eyes glittered. “He told me you fought a brown girl for his cock in your backroom. He said you were quite fierce.” She stood. “I want to see this room where you fought. In private, away from prying eyes. A tour, please, whore?”
David paid the VIP room fee without comment. Brooke led the way down the darkened hall, away from the throbbing music. When the three of them were alone, Valerie swung David to her and dropped to a deep crouch before him. “Did the brown one try to suck his cock?” she asked Brooke. She undid his slacks and greedily took him in her mouth. Brooke stepped forward in sudden fury, reaching for Valerie’s hair, but Valerie caught her wrist. The blonde woman rose smoothly to full height again, reaching behind her neck with one hand to unclasp the halter of her dress. She released Brooke’s wrist and she tugged her bodice to her waist. Her breasts rivaled Brooke’s, flawless and firm. Her nipples were juts of dark pink, nearly red.
“What do you say to her idea, David?” she asked, her voice cold. “Do you tire of me?”
“No,” David said. “But - Brooke excites me. And you - you have grown complacent, Valerie.”
His words caught Valerie by surprise. Her facade of mocking coolness faltered, raw anger flashing across her face like headlights across a window.
“Complacent,” Brooke said, pushing. “Another word for weak.”
“So then we fight, stripper bitch,” Valerie hissed. “You will see my complacency.”
“Not here.” David’s voice was sharp. “Not now.” He softened. “Do you remember what you asked me here, Brooke? If I had a woman to pit you against?”
“I remember,” Brooke said. “It was while you fucked me.” She added this gratuitously, to rub it in Valerie’s face. She lowered her own bodice now, and drew her finger between her breasts. “After you came inside me. While I made your cock hard again with my mouth.”
He stepped fully between them now. Both women were breathing hard.
“Valerie is that woman,” David said. “Perhaps now, you regret asking? Perhaps you find her too much - or perhaps you will find my terms to be too much.”
Brooke’s nostrils flared at that. So he had verbal knives for each of them.
“I find Valerie very much to my liking,” she said. “And I accept any terms you want. I have only one of my own: When I beat her, I take her place in your life.”
“Fuck you, you little bitch,” Valerie hovered on the edge of incandescent rage. “I will destroy you.”
David placed a hand on Valerie’s breast, above her heart. Brooke took his other hand and brought it to hers. His words were slower than their furious heartbeats as he set the scene.
They would meet at his mansion, in the desert night, in the darkness of his veranda.
They would enter the spotlight glow of the jacuzzi, recessed floodlights within its walls, its blood-warm water.
His contrasting bettas, blue and red.
There would be no rules to limit them.
It would be a baptismal pool of pain, and one woman would be christened superior.
She would take the loser, and do as she wished with her.
All to be decided by four syllables of brutal rhythm, steps counted in Brooke’s mind: To the finish.
******************************************
Brooke drove the empty private road into the desert, pausing at a gate that silently opened after a camera light glowed red to study her carefully-composed face. At the end of the pavement, she parked, then sat as her engine cooled. She thought about how she could still reverse, how she could start a new dream, one that didn’t depend on a man willing to turn his woman into sport.
But she didn’t want to do that. She had failed to make it as a real dancer. Not good enough. Four syllables again. She had asked for this. Valerie had answered her. She couldn’t miss another chance.
David met her at the door, in a robe. She kissed him, lingering in case Valerie was watching. He was warm, but only that, no more. Brooke felt a flare of anger at this, and nourished it. He led her through the house, its dark halls and curated furniture, to a guest bedroom. She tried fleetingly again to seduce him, kissing him once more and slipping her hand into his robe. He smiled and stepped back, shaking his head. She fed her inner flame with the fuel of his second mild rejection, reminding herself of his untrammeled passion that first night in the club VIP room. He did want her, she told herself. He did. He did.
“Follow the candles to the veranda,” he said, and closed the door.
A royal blue bikini was laid out on the bed for her. It was perfect for her coloring, a natural complement to her dark hair and honey skin. She undressed before touching it, turning naked before the full-length mirror in self-inspection. She breathed deeply to swell her breasts, ran her fingers over the flat muscle of her abs. She touched the bed in turn, its luxurious duvet, its carved footboard. The house exuded wealth and power; she closed her eyes, absorbing the hushed ambiance of the place, the cognitive dissonance of luxury as a staging ground for violence.
She wanted this. This place, this life.
The bikini fit her body like a second skin. Its bra clung to the curves of her breasts, her nipples a bulging shadow. From her hips hung billowing silk, ornamental fins that flowed alongside her dancer’s legs, gossamer accoutrements. This was his conceit; to style them as Siamese fighting fish, infamously territorial, cold-blooded killers. She was the blue betta. Brooke closed her eyes and heard his words in her mind, as she had each moment between that night and now. To the finish.
Her journey through the house was surreal, the candles as her ghostly guide. With each step, she heard him still, each syllable landed like a heavy footfall. She thought of how Valerie’s gaze had held hers, in that moment, as they had absorbed the meaning of the words: Only the victor could determine the end; the clash would not - could not - be ended by simple surrender. It was the mocking light in her ice-blue eyes that had sealed Brooke’s decision as well, her bravado turned to hate. That blonde bitch - she couldn’t deserve this, this life of wealth. “I do,” Brooke whispered to herself.
The desert night held a billion stars. There was no moon but the simmering glow of the jacuzzi. The air had not yet cooled from the heat of the day. David nodded as Brooke emerged. Valerie stood with him, the incumbent; mistress of the house. Her bikini and silken decorations were a brilliant scarlet. Her hair was down, cascading over her shoulders. Her posture was almost military and transparently arrogant. Her hand - for now - slowly massaged his cock, her assertion of territory.
“You remember my promise to you, stripper?” Valerie purred. She turned and descended the few steps into the jacuzzi. Her silken fins floated, spreading on the surface of the water like a bloodstain. She turned and waited in the center of the circle, the water lapping low against her hard belly. The jacuzzi jets were silent; they were to churn its water, with flesh and blood, not mechanical devices.
Brooke followed, dream-like. Her bare feet gripped the pebbled pool floor. The water rose up her legs until it darkened her bikini bottoms, swallowing up the spot already touched by her wetness. She glided face-to-face with her rival. Equal in height, the fabric of their tops brushed as their nipples met and whispered in the stillness.
“Immerse,” David said. Together they sank, then rose back, faces tilted up, hair streaming down their backs, water running off their shoulders and breasts. He waited as their eyes opened again, a long heartbeat.
“Fight.”
Before the plosive end of the command cleared his tongue, Valerie drove the heels of her hands into Brooke’s diaphragm, just under her breasts. The brunette was thrown backwards, staggering in the water, her lower body sending a wave toward the wall behind her. Valerie hit her again in the same spot, this time then forcing her palms up under Brooke’s bikini top, peeling it upwards over her dark jutting nipples. The hard impact of the two blows drove the air from Brooke’s lungs. The strap of her top cut into her back below her shoulder blades like a tourniquet as Valerie twisted its front. The blonde jerked her sideways and forced her under, her shocked gasp for breath suddenly turned to strangled bubbles.
Valerie cursed as the back clasp on Brooke’s top tore free and the brunette’s face surfaced. She left the top hanging around Brooke’s neck and plunged her hands into her hair, dragging her with stumbling steps to the pool wall at David’s feet. Brooke’s back arched as Valerie forced her head and shoulders over the lip to the pool deck. The brunette still choked for air, water spilling from her open mouth. Her first full breath she spent on a scream as Valerie dug her fingers into her upthrust nipple.
“Tell me again, stripper,” Valerie snarled. “Tell me how you suck his cock?” She dragged Brooke’s nipple outward, stretching her dark areola with painted nails. “Tell me how you fought a whore even more pathetic than you.” Brooke beat at Valerie’s shoulders frantically as her breast deformed and twisted. The pain was incredible. The blonde ground her against the wall, belly to belly. As if she could read Brooke’s mind, she spoke her wildest, panicked thought for her. “Maybe I will tear it off, bitch?”
Perhaps had Brooke’s breast been dry, Valerie’s grip would have held. Even as the wet flesh of the brunette’s nipple squirted free, the blonde’s thumbnail slashed a shallow ragged cut through the edge of its areola. Still wrenching Brooke’s head back, Valerie theatrically slipped her thumb into her mouth to suck the crimson from her nail. “First blood,” she cooed to David, then drove her fist into Brooke’s stomach. Brooke’s body jerked, her breasts slapping together then swaying apart. Valerie released her hair and gathered in the bikini top, wrapping it in her left hand until it was a choke collar cutting into Brooke’s neck just below her jaw.
Valerie pulled her from the wall, her head tilted, her breathing constricted. Brooke’s lacerated nipple dripped blood into the water. She clawed at the blonde’s arm but Valerie simply took another twist of her improvised garrote. She hit Brooke in the stomach again, just above the water level. The brunette tensed her abs and the resistance infuriated the blonde. Her wet hair whipped back and forth as she plunged her fist into the dancer’s belly, over and over. After three, Brooke’s abs failed, her mouth gaping in silent pain. Valerie’s biceps were rigid, her taut back flexed, her fist still pumping. A thin stream of saliva hung from Brooke’s lips as she bent forward.
No one counted how many times Valerie hit her while strangling her with her bikini top. She took each blow in her belly, each one drumming a fine mist of droplets from her body, aerosolized by the impact. It might have been six; it might have been eight. Only then, her arm aching, did the blonde let Brooke breathe, let her sink to her knees, convulsed with cramps. Valerie circled her, red fins floating, and contemptuously shoved her face into the water again. Gagging, Brooke lurched away, desperate to gain some space. Valerie let her, tossing her blue bikini top to David’s feet. Brooke hunched against a wall, her breasts just floating, gulping air. “I hit you in your ovaries,” Valerie said to her. “I will many, many more times, too. Until I break all your eggs, stripper bitch.”
Cadence of four. Break all your eggs. To the finish.
The night had begun to cool. Brooke stared at her rival through the mist now lifting from the heated water. Valerie waited against the opposite wall, grinning. Behind her, David’s robe hung open now, his hand stroking his erection. Brooke’s cramps eased, but she felt the ice of fear creeping at the edges of her mind. She straightened, pushing it away, forcing it down. She drew her shoulders back. Her breasts gleamed wet. “Fight my tits, cxnt,” she said. ‘Woman to woman.” Valerie’s smile disappeared in a snarl at this challenge. She undid her top and tossed it to David as well. Her pale breasts swayed as she waded forward. Their hands instinctively came up as they met, fingers intertwining. Thet braced their legs and slammed their torsos together.
Both heads snapped back, one fair and one dark, at the impact of their breasts smashing together. Brooke whimpered as Valerie’s hard pink nub stabbed into the cut on her nipple. Their hands twisted, seeking leverage as they lunged again. The wet slap of their breasts echoed from the pool walls. Both panting, they crashed together a third time, and it was Valerie who mewled in pain. Brooke surged forward, grinding into her, and she gave a step. Her breasts were reddened, her nipples pinned under the brunette’s. Brooke surged again, and again, until she had backed Valerie to the wall, her breasts flattened against her ribcage. She pressed the blonde’s arms back, and down, pinning her hands to the pool deck.
David loomed just above them. “She is stronger than you, Valerie,” he said. Valerie flinched at his words. Her shoulders and arms strained, her hands lifting, moving their quivering stalemate back to even. Brooke moaned, but forced her hands back down, her nipples dragging Valerie’s upward as the blonde's body sagged slightly. “Tell him …. how it hurts,” Brooke gasped. “Tell him … how it feels - my tits crushing yours, bitch!” Valerie whipped her head forward with savage suddenness, but Brooke anticipated a headbutt and jerked her head to the side, then turned her face into Valerie’s neck. She bit into flesh, jawbone against her nose, feeling the blonde’s screams as much as hearing her. The blood in her mouth was hot copper, the ambrosia of a goddess.
Crush your weak tits. Open your veins. I can do this. To the finish.
Valerie tore her hands free and shoved Brooke back, her hand then flying to her neck. Her face was twisted with rage, her eyes lit with insane fury. Brooke licked her lips, her teeth tinged with blood. The desert stars glittered soullessly above them as they clashed again, both screaming. The water boiled, waves rolling as their bodies thrashed. Footing lost, first one was forced under, then the other. They clawed at each other’s face, tearing at eyes and lips. Valerie forced Brooke’s head to the bottom of the pool, her dancer’s legs whipping above the water as the blonde dragged her cheekbone across the rough pebbled surface. Brooke dug her nails into the raw wound on Valerie’s neck as she bit her afresh, this time her breast, the ring of teeth marks just larger than her teacup areola.
It was a savage, draining, furious battle, a frenzy of splashing and slashing, red and blue silk entangled, blood dark in the water. One head burst above the water, Valerie, though nearly unrecognizable to David. She had the brunette trapped in a guillotine choke, her spine bent backwards in a cruel arch. Brooke’s hair floated free, her breasts like islands above the surface, as Valerie wrenched her neck hard to force her head back, to keep her mouth and nose just under. Brooke’s hands blindly battered, slapped, clawed, uselessly.
A broken back. No air in lungs. No one knows her. Now finish her.
Brooke tore free, gasping for air, backpedaling through the waist deep water. Valerie slumped against the wall. Somewhere beyond the veranda, a coyote howled as it scented blood.
David moved, and opened a valve. A tiny tornado formed, spiraling upward from the jacuzzi drain. The two women rested, panting, gooseflesh rising in the cooling air as the water dropped down their legs.
“Now,” David said, when the last inch gurgled and was gone, “My fighting fish no more. Now, the pool becomes a pit.”
They detached their ornamental silks and abandoned them. They circled the wall, steadying their breath, measuring their hate. When they lunged together, without the water to slow them, their impact was a savage collision. Again, Valerie’s breasts caved beneath Brooke’s. Together, they crashed to the floor, snarling, grappling, twisting, straining. They broke apart and rose and collided again. Valerie staggered back, cradling her breasts. Brooke lunged for her, a panther sensing wounded prey, eager for the kill. Too eager.
The blonde had decoyed her. Valerie slipped to the side, her leg slashing in to trip Brooke. The brunette crashed belly-first into the side, the rim of it catching her just below her breasts, her arms thrust forward on the pool deck. Valerie leapt and drove her knee into her spine, with all her weight.
The sound Brooke made wasn’t human. Valerie used her knee again, as a spear, as a battering ram, into her spine just above her ass. Brooke’s face went slack. Her body sagged. Valerie turned her and smashed a knee into her belly.
Break all your eggs.
Brooke’s arms were stretched along the pool edge. Her head lolled back. The coyote called again but its wail was lost in her scream. Valerie’s fists pistoned into her ribcage, her breasts at ground zero. Right, left, right, left. Brooke buckled in pain and panic. Valerie threw her back against the wall. It was the blonde who moved like a dancer now, perfectly balanced, deceptively strong. Right, left, right, left. She drove vicious punches into the brunette’s defenseless body.
“No,” Brooke moaned. Valerie paused, her own breath harsh. But the interval was mercilessly brief. “Fucking cxnt,” she whispered to the crippled brunette. Then, slower, more methodically, more focused, with all the strength Valerie had, she beat Brooke’s left breast.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
I’ll. Crush. Your. Tits.
Brooke opened her mouth to quit. Valerie’s fist slashed into it, whipping her head sideways, shredding her lips against her teeth.
Brooke sagged sideways. Please she said, somewhere in the kaleidoscope fragment of her thoughts, but only there and nowhere else. Valerie’s knee lifted to her chest, and mashed her breast against the pool wall.
“You tell him how it feels,” Valerie spat, and she let the brunette bonelessly sink to the pit floor, propped semi-sitting against the wall.
To the finish now finish her to the finish finish her now.
Valerie stomped Brooke in the chest, in the stomach, in the pussy. It was mindlessly cruel, primitively savage. She stomped her abdomen, her ovaries, until Brooke fainted, her body simply jerking as the blonde’s heel did its work. Brooke was beaten, but Valerie didn’t care.
She wasn’t finished.
The blonde stripped Brooke of her blue bikini bottoms, entrusting those to David. Her own red bottoms, Valerie stuffed into Brooke’s unresisting mouth. She fashioned a slip knot in the abandoned blue silk, turning it into a leash and a noose around Brooke’s neck. Valerie dragged her broken doll from the pool, and through the house. The candles were guttering now, nearly out.
She left Brooke curled on the floor of the master bedroom as she fucked David furiously, the massive bed creaking. Brooke came out of her faint at the feral sounds of her rival’s orgasm. She curled into a ball, and wept silently. Valerie had made good on every promise. She was broken, body and mind. David grunted as he came. Valerie left him, breathing hard, and returned to Brooke.
“I do as I wish,” she said.
She dropped upon her and fucked her there on the floor, if the flat sexual slap of that word could adequately describe the humiliating way she ground her pussy into the brunette’s face. She strangled Brooke with the silk noose as she climaxed, her back arched, her own bruised breasts thrust out. Her juices and David’s cum filled Brooke’s eyes and nose and soaked the panties in her mouth.
She pulled Brooke to her knees and bound her wrists behind her back with the blue panties. She forced her swelling breasts over the footboard of the bed and tied her leash tightly there, so that her head was thrust forward, her dark wet hair lank in her face. She pulled the red panties from Brooke’s mouth as she claimed David’s cock with her hand yet again.
“Do you still think I am weak?” Valerie slapped her until she shook her head. “Do you want to call him lover now, stripper?”
Brooke shook her head again.
“Good girl,” Valerie cooed, yet she still pulled the noose tighter.
Brooke shuddered, blood and cum dripping from her trembling lips. Valerie toyed with her lacerated nipple. “Your tits did hurt mine,” the blonde said, conspiratorially. “And you bit my neck and my breast! You thought you were my match - you even thought you would win.”
Brooke's eyes shifted to Valerie’s fingers stroking David’s shaft.
“Don’t look away,” the blonde said sharply, “Don’t dare to look at what’s mine!”
“I won’t,” Brooke whispered. She kept her eyes on Valerie’s. Her body hurt abominably. Her breasts burned.
“Stupid fucking bitch,” Valerie said. “Do you really think you should be meeting my eyes?” Brooke dropped her gaze immediately but the blonde dug her thumbnail into Brooke’s nipple anyways. She strained against her bonds and screamed. Valerie leaned forward and bit Brooke’s lower lip as she stretched her nipple and breast.
“Please …. No….” Brooke sobbed.
“I promised you,” Valerie said. “There in your club, your VIP room. I told you that I would destroy you.”
Outside the window, the coyote listened, and whined. It scratched the ground; it bit at the night air.
To the finish.
