[Vivianne]

Damn it! I knew it would take more than that to put Punky away. I winced with every slam of her purple head to the mat, rejoicing at Rowan?s comeback, but part of me aching to know it was at Punky?s expense. But even as the ref slapped TWO I knew it wouldn?t be enough...and it wasn?t.

I realize I am breathing heavy now...on the edge of my seat. Hoping Rowan can continue her offense. Hoping she can put Punky away to claim the first fall. Hoping my panting and racing heart are due to my nervousness...and not wanting to admit they are due to my lust to see more.

[Rowan Chance]

As the referee's hand raises for the three count, I'm ready to whisper the word between your lips. I'm smiling. Beaming with confidence.

But then, you raise your arm and your shoulder lifts off the mat and all that confidence melts into confusion.

"NO!!!" I scream at your face. "NO!!!"

I push myself up and off of you, almost staggering into the ropes. I got up too fast. But I don't care. I'm screaming that word over and over again.

"NO!!!"


LVK: OHMYGOD! PUNKY GOT AN ARM UP!

RP: Let that be a lesson to all you youngboys out there. Never go for the sexy cover. Hook a leg!


My arms are thrown over the top rope, keeping me from falling down. Disbelief on my face. Hands in my hair. My eyes wet and red.

That's when I see Gemma in the crowd. Smiling. Cheering.

And a small flame erupts in my back.

I point at her.

"Bitch!" I shout. "You're gonna WISH she stayed down! I'm going to break your little wife and hand her to you on a fucking silver platter! You're going to fucking BEG ME to stop hurting her!"

That's it. That's fucking it.

Time for some real pain.

I've been playing so sweet with you, Punky. No more.

No. Fucking. More.

[RedEnforcer]

I am on the edge of my seat and I didn't even realize it.

That pin attempt had all of us excited and anxious and mostly aroused just watching.  I know a woman behind me had a catch in her breathing. The kind that told me that she either had felt that before or wished she was in it now. Her date I think actually might have had an accident in his pants.

I watch Megan's head driven into the mat once...twice...and a third time.  I know that has to be the first fall even though in my heart I hope she can rise.

But then....

Then...

Like the seductress she is, Rowan slithers up Megan's body. I shudder as my own body remembers just how that olive flesh feels moving, no...flowing up your body. Rowan has always been one to play to the crowd, but I can that this move here is just as personal as it is visceral.

She has become the domme and is showing Megan that she is in charge.

Megan's arms crossed over her head. Wrists pinned. Such a submissive position.

And then the knee...right onto Megan's pussy that still has to be aching from that earlier shot. Most here will think that's just more punishment. But after spending time with her, I know that for Megan it is so much more.

Rowan truly wants to break her.

With the one count, there's a whisper and a kiss.  This is more than just about winning for both. It's about dominating. Punky through her strength and power. Rowan through her seduction and control.

There's the two..more kisses..more whispers....

In my mind I'm screaming...

You damn well better kick out.
I taught you better than to lie back just because some fucking slut is playing with your pussy.
Now
Fucking
Kick
Out


My hands grip the railing before me, knuckles going white.  I don't mind Megan getting pinned, but not like this. Not in such a humiliating fashion.

And then her shoulder rises...

I leap up and pump my fist. I'm such a damn mark.

I see Rowan losing it, falling back into the ropes. Confusion, questioning....and then something darker...

Focusing on Gemma and screaming at her...

This is just going to get worse....

I realize I'm standing still with my arm raised...am I..am I cheering for Megan?

Rowan invited me because of our close connection. Shouldn't I cheer her on considering the times she's cheered me on?

As I slowly sit down I realize exactly what's happening. I don't want either of them to lose.

[ThePurpleVixen]

You roll off me, but not before I get a sweet taste of that scream of "NO!" in my face. Normally that's not a word I like to hear, but it sure is pretty fucking delicious in a wrestling ring. That furious, protesting cry of denial.

Of course, I don't get to bask in it or anything, since I've still just had my pussy punted into the cheap seats and my head expertly fucking spiked into the mat three times in a row. I feel like I was in a car wreck. A car wreck that crashed the steering column into my cxnt. But whatever.

Match ain't over yet.

I roll to my side, and curl my hands into fists, pressing my bruised knuckles into the mat. That makes me grin a drunken little grin. I liked beating you semiconscious a few minutes ago. I wanna do that again.

I push up, arms flexing taut as I drag my boots under me, feeling flushed with heat, aching, my head throbbing and the lights in the Zenith looking bright as nova stars. I'm dizzy, swaying, and everything fucking hurts as my battered skull pounds to beat the god-damn band. But I get up ... and I narrow my eyes, seeing you jawing at the fucking crowd as you lean on the ropes.

With Gemma. MY Gemma.

Gonna get yourself a silver platter, huh, Rowan? You didn't have enough of those growing up, you spoiled little bitch?

I stagger forward, almost at a lurch, looking like a drunk determined to get to the bar before last call.

I know you'll turn at the sound of my boots - you're so god-damn fast. So FUCKING fast that if I try to sneak up behind you and grab you by the shoulder or some fucking thing I'm liable to get another boot in the soft bits. So fuck it. I won't try to out-speed you.

You're smart. One of the smartest, wickedest bitches I've ever been in the ring with. Or to bed with.

But you've got a LOT of fucking pride.

So I square up just a couple of feet behind you, swaying a little but forming up in a pretty damn good boxing stance. I've always been a puncher, but since I've been with Gemma I've become a half-decent boxer as well.

"HEY," I bark. "I said eyes on ME, you fucking witch."

I know that'll get you to turn. You'll be smug, because you know I'm dizzy. You'll hear the thickness and heat in my voice. You'll know you have the advantage, know how furious seeing you taunt my wife makes me. You'll want to play and then strike with that dizzying speed.

So as soon as I get that pretty face turned towards my earnest boxing stance, as soon as I see that wicked smile - I lunge out and try to snatch the side of your pretty face, fingers slicking through your sweaty dark hair as my right thumb DIGS into your left eye, twisting into the lids to push at the soft jelly underneath, seeking the bony rim of your eyesocket - and intent on digging in as I try for a deep, old school Harley Race GOUGE.

I learned a lot of things touring the small towns in the South with Red. I learned about pride, and relying on yourself, and standing on your own two feet, and how fucking good grits can be when he makes them.

And I learned some REAL nasty old NWA tricks, because those bastards fought HARD.

[Rowan Chance]

A voice behind me and a word. You can call me a bitch, I don?t care. Call me a slut and you?re off my list. Cxnt...I?ve got friends and relatives in Ireland who drop that word like quarters in an old school arcade.

But use ?witch? in a derogatory way...and that gets my attention. Of course you know that. Of course you?re on your feet. Probably punch drunk and ready for the Pain.

I grin at Gemma. ?Here it comes...?

I turn and?

WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!?!?

Someone sticking a poker straight into my eye. Or a fork. I scream out loud, staggering back, my hands grasping at my eye, trying to pull your hands away. But not before the damage is done. I?m wandering away from you, trying to find the ring ropes so I can get away and get my sight back...

... but who am I fooling?

?You Dirty Bitch!? I scream in a random direction, swinging my free hand, trying to keep you away as I make sure you didn?t actually pull my eye out of socket.

No. No you didn?t. Doesn?t matter. Just keep swinging and hope I find the ropes before I find you.

[ThePurpleVixen]

On a practical level, I realize there's something a bit hypocritical about proudly refusing to grab a chair or a kendo stick to beat your semiconscious form into a bloody broken heap - and then turning around instead gouging you in the eye so viciously, so blatantly that even Nick Patrick would've had to disqualify me even if I was wearing an nWo shirt (Wolfpac 4 life).

But on the other hand, you kicked me in the pussy and then fucking tongue-kissed me during the pin, so fuck you AND your eyesocket.

You swipe out, ferocious, but even with my skull rattled I can manage to sway back from a half-blind woman. On the other hand, you're going for the ropes, and I can't have that. You don't need time to get your head on straight. You need some more fucking PAIN to think about.

And so do I.

I duck under a swipe like a drunk Jackie Chan and step into you, mashing my tits into yours, my left hand going for a grip on the back of your sweaty head to try to grip your dark hair and yank you forward, bending you into me, right hand hooking a grip on those little leather shorts as I try to press you back into the ropes and just DRILL my left knee straight up, aiming for your taut belly, Muay Thai style - believe me, kneeing you in the cxnt would be a lot more satisfying, but I want you good and fucking winded - before I bend low, snatching my arms around your taut form. My inked right arm cinches tight around your lower ribs as my left curls low, around those lovely hips, grabbing a handful of your exquisite ass in your little leather shorts as I give a roar of effort, aiming to drag you back off the ropes, hoisting you off the mat -

- and then I twist my hips and LUNGE forward, long legs churning, my bruised and battered right knee screeching in sudden protest that I grimly ignore and my poor pounded mound pulsing, my head throbbing and my vision doubling a bit as I try to dig my shoulder into your sternum, arms wrapping you in a classic spinebuster lift - and I bulldoze forward try to CRAZY TRAIN us forward to CRASH our combined weight into the corner and smash your aching back into the turnbuckles with a strong-style batorukurai, looking to shake the fucking ring with the impact and spill Beaujolais from the fans' cups.

"RRRRRRRRRRRAAAH!"

It's a bit risky as far as counterable moves go - but I'm counting on the greasy watering of your burning eye and hopefully the stolen breath from my knee being snapped up into your belly to make you just vulnerable enough for me to do a little SMASHING. I'm good at smashing.

And fucking no one likes it when I'm angry.

[Rowan Chance]

As soon as I feel your hands and arms wrapping around me, I know I'm fucked. I shift my center of gravity low, but it doesn't matter. You lift me right off my feet. My hands start hammering on your back and shoulders, linked together for the best impact, but it doesn't matter. You start running.

And I let my body go limp. Best way to take this. Just let everything soften. Don't tense up, that will give you--



LVK: Punky picks Rowan up and dashes across the ring toward the...

RP: GAWDDAMN!

LVK: That impact made every corner shake!


My body hits the corner and my limbs splay out, my upper torso bent over your back. My mouth makes a sound like a low moan, then changes to "SH-SHIIIIITTTT...."

My spine is now sending me unfriend requests. The top and the bottom caught on the top and middle turnbuckles, bending it in directions it was never meant to go...but has been before. Many, many times. Including one time in particular.

One time...

Time...

No. I'm not going to do that again. Not going to give you the satisfaction of that again. Even if she wasn't in the arena, I wouldn't give it to you But she is in the arena, isn't she? Watching this. Relishing it. Her little panties are probably dripping wet.

No, bitch. You don't get the satisfaction.

My hands grab the upper rope as my body inhales a ragged breath. My eyes narrow and my lips curl. I suck air through my teeth and make a low purring sound. My fingers clenching the ropes. My legs lift and wrap around the bottom rope, almost as if I'm locking myself in for a ride. A carnival ride run by a drunk, purple haired fiend who's intentionally removed all the safeties.

I look you in the eye. Lips trembling with pain and desire.

"Th-that all you got... Punky?"

[ThePurpleVixen]

The crash of the buckles against you sends a shudder through me that's almost as delicious as it is excruciating - because the jolt of painful impact that jars my aching neck and pounding head comes covered with a rich dripping caramel of your moan of pain, and I could eat that with a fucking SPOON.

That poor back of yours.

You've paid the iron fucking price for that night in North Carolina when the Countdown debuted and you and I had our official PUBLIC break-up. The Stroke of Midnight - my Psycho Killer straitjacket powerbomb into Gemma's Bitch Breaker backstabber - put a crack in your steely facade that's been gone after by every Tina, Dana and Harriet in the wrestling industry. Not all of them manage to do much - you're still faster, better trained, more experienced, smarter and crueler than pretty much anyone in the business - but those little shots add up, don't they? The backbreaker by the rookie who gets a lucky grab around your waist. The flying knees to the back by the luchadora who catches you unaware. The heavy leg dropped across your lower back from the big Polynesian girl who laid you flat. Each shots adds another spiderweb of cracks - waiting for enough impact, enough to pressure ...

... and oh, it's come close. Close enough to eternal agony that you probably thought you were fucking Hellbound.

But you're not broken right now. You're in pain - exquisite pain - and I see the lust it makes in your eyes. I was never the only who likes it rough. And where some nights I would whisper "Harder" in your ear -

- some nights you would hiss "Hurt me" in mine.

So maybe it'll just be for old times' sake, Ro - but I'm REALLY gonna fucking hurt you.

LVK: Dow has just PLANTED Chance into the corner with a running slam that literally shook the ring, and Rowan Chance is clearly in pain - but she's ... she's DARING Punky for more!

RP: That's what ya get with two nutcases who used ta grind their fun bits together, van Keel. They were already fucked in the head, and now they're just flat-out crazy.

LVK: Eloquently put as always, Rick.

RP: I'm a fuckin' bard.

I grin at you - or at least bare my teeth. My skull paint is streaked and smeared from the DDTs, from the kissing, from the sweat of the brutal match, making me look more like a Romero zombie than a calavera. I'm slicked with sweat, flushed, clearly hurting - but also very, very intent on you.

"Is it EVER all I've fucking got, Rowan?" I snarl back at you - and shove your arms back as I square up again in front of you.

Here's where I've got my rival in the corner. I should, per tradition, go for strikes intended to steal your wind, daze you. Chops to the chest, always popular in women's matches because the crowd leaves seeing our tits get punished. Back elbows are popular. Knee strikes. All intended to maximize impact before the 5-count.

But tonight ... there's no 5-count.

And there's not a fucking reason in the world not to use closed fists.

And with your feet hung up and your arms back on the ropes like that, DAMN if you don't look like a fucking heavy bag. Besides - I wanna show Gemma my form.

So my taped fists launch in a vicious, quick flurry, aimed for your ribs, your belly, snapping shots to your cheeks, and why the fuck not, a couple of punishing jabs aimed into your lush breasts - just trying to pummel the fuck out of you.

And I know you can take it. That's not how I intend to hurt you, Ro.

No.

That comes when I stop, panting, my fists aching, and reach for your jaw with my left hand, grip tape rough on your olive sweat-slick skin as I push your head back and lean in close, intimately close, letting you feel my body on yours in the ropes, breathe my warm scent - the tang of fresh deep bruises, the salt of a drench of sweat, the musk of a fight and the underlying thrill of arousal - and I purr in your ear, glossy black lips brushing it.

"Gemma showed me how to do that. But y'know who showed me this one?"

I peel off you and go to cup your chin in my left hand, thumb sinking into your jaw, trying to force you to look into my eyes as I bring my right arm back, chambering it with my palm flat towards you, elbow cocked.

"Thomas did."

I murmur softly - and twist my hips, punkytails snapping as I DRIVE my palm forward in a brutal strike aimed for the xyphoid process at the base of your sternum. To try make your fucking heart feel like it's been broken.

[Rowan Chance]

I gave you my chin. Held it out. Dared you to hit it. And you did.

Your jabs and punches hit hard, but I've felt that pain before. I want to show you--want to show the world--that you can't hurt me. I've move into the space where pain becomes an ally. Where all the pain in the world just strengthens my resolve. It's my version of second wind. When pain just...mmmm...yes. And I want more.

Tantalus helped me find this place. He knew I had it in me. Took me almost two years to find it, but when I did, I knew I had the weapon I needed. My own pain.

I was nearly finished with that journey when Vegas happened. I was close. So close. I could almost touch it...

And as your taped hands work me over, I feel the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. I feel my muscles tensing. Ready to explode.

Let her go, my body said. It's good...yes...more...MORE!

And just as you paused I was ready to do just that. Explode.

You shove my chin up, your thumb under it. Looking me in the eye. Cocking your hand back, turning it flat.

Yes. One more. Give me one more...

And then you say it.

"Thomas did."

And my eyes go wide. My mouth opens. My body does the exact wrong thing: stiffens with fear.

Because I know what's about to happen.

But that's nothing compared to knowing...

"Thomas did."

My lips almost mutter a quiet, "...no..."

But they never get the chance. The palm of your fist hits exactly where he would have taught you to hit. And I feel my chest compress. Feel my ribcage squeeze my heart. Blood flow stopping, reversing.

Everything turns Matrix Slow Mo. Your fist racing forward. Hitting me. My body reacting. Buckling forward. Every part of me seems made of rubber.

And in that slow motion, I fall...forever...face first...toward the mat.

And when my body hits, it isn't a safe fall. It's the fall of a woman who has no control. And the sound of my body hitting the canvas and the boards under it is an awful sound. I bounce just a little after the impact, but after that, there's no movement.


LVK: HOLY @#$%! That's Tantalus' finisher! How did Punky learn that?!?

RP: Guess Rowan isn't the only one he's 'Svengali-ing' with."


I gave you my chin.

You broke my heart.

[Lord Tantalus]

A sudden motion as I stand and shout, "NO!"

And remain there. Motionless. Hands clenching, helplessly.

[RedEnforcer]

I watch with a different mindset than most of these fans. I?ve fought with and against both of these two. Sometimes at the same time. I know from experience how the other will react. So when Punky gouges Rowan?s eye I smirk with a little pride even as my own left eye twitches.

The drive into the corner I know is almost as effective as head butting a Samoan in that Rowan in her current state will just use it as fuel.  These two and their love of pain is almost insane.

The flurry of punches don?t worry me. Just more Food for Rowan to feed off of and more fun for Megan to have.

But then Megan stops...

Tilts Rowan?s head just so...

ohfuck....no

Megan?s arm back. Palm in position.

Motherfucker!

?Thomas did..?

Words that rattle around in my brain as I see Rowan fall...

Not drop, not crash....

Fall...

I?m out of my seat without thinking, whirling around to the other masked man standing.

?You gawddamn motherfucker!!! This is all you?re gawddamn fault!!!?

I still have a snarl in my face when hands move to restrain me and assist me back to my seat.

[ThePurpleVixen]

His place was hard to find.

Even with my contacts, with the shady network of lunatics and fugitives who made up the majority of my dear friends and gentle hearts, it was hard to find Thomas' place. It wasn't in Portland, wasn't in Philly, or Chicago, or Charleston, or Phoenix, or Tokyo, or London, or San Juan. Wasn't in any of my usual haunts. And finding him was like finding Carmen Sandiego. I had to say the right thing to the right person and not get a straight answer.

But I found him.

'cuz I was gonna take his head.

I didn't that night. Not so soon after Vegas. What I did was dive back headfirst into the indies, into blood and sweat and chairs and tears and beers and Greyhounds, and find my way to Gemma. And closed that circle with you in FTW.

But before FTW I went back to him a second time.

It was dark in his room. He didn't have the mask on, but he always knows where to sit so the shadows lay on him just right. Or maybe they follow him.

I told him what I wanted. His heart strike.

I'd seen it.

I've seen heart punches since Crush's terrible one in mid-90s WWF. And even terrible ones took people down. But Tantalus? His heart strike CRUSHED. It left behind something limp, twitching and barely alive. Like fucking dark magic. And I had someone I really, really wanted to use it on.

"Teach me."

He'd just looked at me. Man knows how to look, I'll give him that. Did he know what I wanted it for, even then?

I mean, how could he have not?

"There will be a price."

I'd just grinned, eyes flashing in the dark.

"Fuckin' name it."

And he did.

And tonight, for the first time - didn't hit you with it in FTW, or in Tokyo, or even when I came after you when you took Gemma's wedding ring after breaking her arm - but tonight, I hit you with that fucking move. I break your fucking heart.

And it feels so fucking wonderful I can't even stand it.

You drop. You don't just drop, you COLLAPSE, boneless, hitting with a thud that bounces your slack face off the canvas.

I'd love to taunt you right now. To tell you that you broke my heart in Vegas, but what happens there doesn't always fucking STAY there. Sometimes it comes back on you. I'd love to tell you about karma and what a cxnt it is.

But there's no fucking point trashtalking to someone who's unconscious.

LVK: Sweet LORD, that impact was vicious. Rowan Chance is COMPLETELY out!

RP: Yeah, but I mean ... so was Punky after those Fire DDT things. Chance is crazy, maybe she ... fuck, she looks WAY done.

LVK: I don't know, folks, we might require medical attention out here for Rowan Chance. That move was beyond vicious - it was almost homicidal.

I bend down, my knee aching and pulsing and my head pounding and my cxnt hurting - but the endorphin rush makes all that feel like sweet, sweet summer. My tattooed hand, the black and red fight tape spattered with your blood and spit, wraps around your wrist, and I drag you behind me like a fresh carcass to the center of the ring, facedown, your domme boots dragging with slow heavy rasps of leather on canvas.

I could've pinned you right in the corner. There's no fucking rope breaks in a No Holds Barred match. But I want everyone - EVERYONE - to see.

I roll you to your back, let you unfurl into a full spread eagle.

And I don't fucking kiss you.

I step over your head and drop down, hard. My knees spiking into your biceps to pin your lithe spread arms, hissing as my right knee smacks down. I reach down, body dragging over yours, and grab your left leg in both hands, HAULING it up off the canvas, lifting that shapely ass up as I wrap my arms around your hooked leg, hugging it between my sweaty breasts.

I want you fucking PINNED, no matter how many pieces your little dark heart is in now.

And as the ref drops back, eyes alight as she checks your olive shoulders under the weight of my body, and slaps her hand down for a crisp "ONE!".

I don't whisper that into your mouth. I just lean back and grind my knees into your pinned biceps, hooking your leg high to show off your FAMOUS flexibility and gorgeous ass to the appreciative crowd as I try to settle you in.

For the first god-damn fall of your downfall.

With my hazel eyes locked on the masked man standing and staring in blank horror in the front row. Staring at his perfect little Galatea broken down by his own fucking hand.

I see Red, rage painted under his mask, being restrained by his friends and a few fellow grapplers, pulled back to his seat. And I grin. Like a wolf with blood steaming on her muzzle in the winter.

"Worth it," I growl - loud enough for the front row to hear.

Especially dear Thomas.

[Vivianne]

"NOOOOO!!!"

Punky delivers a blow unlike any I have ever seen and as Rowan absolutely crumples to the canvas I am up and screaming before her beautiful, yet now seemingly broken body has settled in place. I had hoped I could just sit here and watch, sneaking in and not drawing any attention to myself as I watched the woman whose face and body I cannot erase from my mind and heart take on the woman I recently met and found alluring too. I had hoped I could just peer down from this back row fortress of anonymity and sneak out when it was over. That blow though! Seeing Rowan crumple! The fortress walls came crashing down as my agonized wail caught the attention of those around me, if not those down closer. I stood there frozen, unable to get myself to move. Seeing Punky land on her and pin the object of my agony to the mat. Is this it?

No...it can't be...it's only the first fall...

Gawd Rowan...

[Rowan Chance]

"TWO!...THREE! RING THE BELL!!!"

And just like that, it's over. The first fall.

No poetry. No memories. No bullshit. Three seconds.

And I never saw any of it.

Later...much later...I'll watch it on replay. My motionless body laid out. Your ass on my chin, pulling my leg up. The ref dropping down for the count.

I don't move. Not an inch. My eyes are shut. My mouth closed. Arms splayed out wide.

And after the three count and the bell, you get up and my body jerks. My legs crossed, arm flopping over my face, almost to hide it. If I was conscious. But I'm not. I don't know where I am. I don't know who I am.

But I was beaten. By my teacher's move.

The one he had beaten me with so many times.

The one he swore never to teach me.


But he taught you.

...he taught you...

My body twitches. Blood on my lips.

The trainer runs in to check on me. I don't respond. I can't respond.

Not after that.

Tantalus' heart breaker punch. Delivered by you.

I don't know if I'll ever get up again.

[RedEnforcer]

After the three is counted my rage washes away. If I weren?t wearing a mask, you could see how white my face got.

She?s not moving

Rowan I met later than Punky. She was developing a rep on the West Coast and like most up and comers, she wanted to show she?s bi...coastal.  We crossed paths at a show before I knew she and Megan had a history. We started on the same circuit and she needed a travel partner. I was the least sketchy of everyone. I like to think she didn?t gag when she saw my 88 Dodge Shadow but she probably did.

Where Megan was chaos and energy and frenzy, Rowan was more refined. She tried hiding it but I could tell she came from money and was educated. What a woman like that was doing wrestling was a big question. But once you talked to her, the passion was obvious. This woman just loved wrestling.

But the fighters in the South weren?t easily impressed. In fact there were murmurs about her being a Damn yankee so often liberties were taken.  One night I saw this lithe, lovely woman lifted up high in the air outside the ring in an inter gender match and powerbombed onto the edge of the apron.

It was like she was hit by a shotgun blast the way she bounced off. The scream she emitted shook me. She hadn?t shown any special reaction to pain, not like this fight so I was genuinely worried.

The Carolina Caveman quickly rolled her into the ring and she just flipped over onto her stomach. He pounced on her quickly and ratcheted her arms onto his thighs. His hands met at her chin and he wrenched back violently.  She seemed nearly out but when the Caveman pulled back, her eyes flashed open and she just let out a savage cry of anguish.  I could see the tears welling in her eyes. She couldn?t think straight and she was about to give.

Don't you fucking submit!

I don?t know why I yelled it. She was done. But for some reason I don?t want her to lose to this piece of shit. Maybe it was him boasting how he?d break the yankee slut in the ring and let her suck him off after. Ok, so that definitely was the reason.

And somewhere deep inside her, my words reached her. Her eyes steadied. Her hips started to shift.  I saw it and can?t ezplain it, but she slithered her way out.  The Caveman was shaken and Rowan did one of the most impressive baby face comebacks I?ve ever seen.

When it was over, she found me in the back. I looked at her and grinned sheepishly. ?I was worried.?

She put her arm around my shoulder and said ?Trust me, you?ll know when you should be worried.?

?Let me take the winner out for a meal at least.? I said

She gave me that mysterious, mischievous smile of hers and said ?Ok, but later on, no ?rough sex? ok??

I laughed since it was the first time she ever said anything like that to me.  To this day I don?t know if she was teasing me or just testing my reaction. I?m sure the dinner at Waffle House didn?t do me any favors.

But now as I see that body....that woman with whom I?ve shared some high highs and low lows with just lying there. Not moving.

Now I?m moving.

Just fucking move