By Brittany
There was nothing going on between us. He was my boss, I his underling. He was engaged---due to marry in about a year. So was I, and my wedding was about 3 months away.
That's what actually led to this evening. I, of course, wanted to look smashing in my wedding gown, so I knew I needed to lose about 15 pounds before the wedding. I knew he used to play racquetball, so I figured we could play after work a few times a week, I could lose weight, and that would be it.
Jeremy thought it was a great idea. He loved Jenna, I knew. But he and I---well, there was always a little flirty thing between us. He was cute, and I knew he was attracted to me. So why not get all sweaty together---literally---without endangering our other relationships? It seemed harmless enough.
Jenna didn't quite see it that way. She simply hated the fact that he and I played together. He told me that he had tried to explain it to her logically. They only saw each other on weekends, since she lived about 60 miles away. Because we worked together at a private school, we were able to get the company discount at the local YMCA to play racquetball. And, as a result of playing, he also was starting to tone up, which she should find a nice benefit.
But logic didn't work. She hated the idea, but was really in no position to set limits with him. So he and I played with each other every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday after work, she fumed, and I kind of liked it.
The arrangement was simple enough. After work, we would change into our workout clothes, he would drive us to the Y, we'd play for about 60 minutes, then drive back to the building. By then, it was empty---he'd drop me off at my car, and we'd both go our own separate ways.
After about 8 weeks, I was looking pretty good. I had dropped about 10 pounds, my arms and legs were getting toned, and I felt great. As I started looking better, my workout clothes evolved. No more baggy sweats, but now lycra or shorts and a tank top. I was physically flirting, and he was noticing. More than once he had to pause our game, after we were both getting kind of sweaty, to use the bathroom or get a drink---when really I knew it was because he had a hard-on and was too embarrassed to let me see. I added to the tension by throwing out comments like, “Want me to hold your balls while you get a drink?” and, “Oooh, your racquet is so long and hard,” which I knew drove him crazy.
It was a particularly hot day in July, and we decided to play a little longer than usual, as the matches had become quite competitive between us. After about 90 minutes, we had had it, and toweled off before heading back to the school.
It was just starting to get dark, and there were no other cars in the lot as we pulled up.
“I'll wait until you get in your car,” Jeremy offered, ever the gentleman.
“Don't bother,” I countered. “I have to go in and use the ladies room, and then I want to check my email. I'll see you tomorrow.”
He shrugged, watched me exit the car (taking in my firmed-up ass, I'm sure), and then drove off.
I unlocked the school's side door and let myself in. I stopped in the restroom, splashed some water on my face and looked in the half-length mirror. With the sun (and some chemical help), my hair was almost a dirty blonde for the summer, shoulder-length, and looked great against my tan (which was real). I admired my 5'7” frame, my toned arms, my ample chest. I still could have afforded to lose another 10 pounds or so, but I knew that wasn't possible. But I looked and felt really good, so I was happy with myself. My tank top was clingy and form-fitting, and still damp with sweat.
I heard the outside door close, and my heart jumped. I opened the bathroom door and called down the hall, “What did you forget this time?”
But it wasn't Jeremy. It was Jenna.
“Jesus, you scared me!” I said. We knew each other, as we had met numerous times at faculty parties and events. “Jeremy already left---you just missed him.”
“I know---I saw him leave,” Jenna said with a slight hint of sarcasm. “The two of you were here awfully late. Must be some pretty intense, uh, racquetball .”
Now, although I would have loved to tear one on with Jeremy, the fact that there was nothing going on, coupled with her obvious insinuations, started to make me angry. I decided not to feed into it by arguing with her.
“You can think whatever you want. He's not here. So you should leave.”
“I came to see you , not him,” she responded. She came closer, stopping about 3 feet away from me.
“I don't want you spending any more time with him. Play racquetball with your own fiancé, and leave mine alone.”
“You're jealous to the point of insanity. When he tells me he doesn't want to play anymore, then we'll stop. But till then, fuck off.”
I turned and headed into the school's all-purpose room, a large room with a pool table, couch, gym mats, TV, various video games, and a soda machine, which was my objective.
I sighed when I heard the door close behind me, meaning that she had followed me in.
“Do you not get it?” I demanded. “This conversation is over.” Deciding to ratchet things up a notch, I threw in, “It's not my fault if he finds my company more desirable than, well, yours .”
Yup, I pushed her button.
“Fuck you, you slut,” she countered. “You won't be able to play much racquetball with a broken arm.”
I turned around from the soda machine and faced her. She was about an inch shorter than me, about 20 pounds lighter, with light blonde hair and really a beautiful face. It was obvious what Jeremy saw in her. She was also wearing shorts---quite short, to show off her toned, smooth legs. She was wearing a sleeveless half-shirt, exposing a smooth, flat stomach. She was fair-skinned, and obviously stayed away from the sun. Her breasts were firm, but a little small. Nothing compared to mine, I thought with a snicker.
“I'll wipe that smile off your face, you whore,” she sneered. “Last chance---tell him you don't want to play racquetball anymore.” That beautiful face, marred with the ugliness of jealousy. What a pity.
What the fuck? I thought. This could be fun.
I kicked off my sandals and took a few steps toward her.
“Make me.”
I easily had her with height, weight, and probably strength. But she didn't back down. She slipped off her sneakers and took a step closer.
“You're making a big mistake,” I warned, “but you'll learn that soon enough. But before we start, …” I walked over to the closet, slid open the door, and pulled out three of the gym mats.
“Just to make sure you don't get too many rug burns when I push your face into the carpet.”
She actually helped me lay out the mats, and we ended up taking a few more out of the closet. In all, we had a matted fighting area about 12 x 12 when we were done.
I stood in the middle of the matted area, and motioned her to face me. She walked over, and we glared at each other, crouching slightly, arms in front of us, each waiting for the other to make the first move.
At least, I was waiting. Jenna wasted no time initiating. She came right at me, hands raised, and grabbed my neck, pushing me backwards and squeezing my throat. Her aggression and speed surprised me, and I was too stunned to respond at first. She continued to squeeze and push me backwards, until she pushed me off the mat and backed me into one of the support poles in the room.
I started to cough, and one of my hands went to her wrist, trying to loosen her grip. I balled my other hand and shot it forward into her hard, flat stomach, burying it in as far as I could.
The blow knocked the wind out of her, and she let go of my throat. Not wanting to lose the advantage and waste time massaging my throat, I grabbed her shirt and pulled it up over her head, but didn't take it off her. She was doubled over, trying to catch her breath, and now blinded and partially restrained by her own shirt.
I clasped my hands together, raised them over my head, and brought them down full-force on to her shoulder blades. The blow was energizing for me, and she crumbled to the floor, on hands and knees.
I bent over, grabbed her by the ankles, and dragged her back on to the mats. Dragging her made her shirt ride up even more, and by the time I had her in the middle of the mats, she was shirtless, lying on her stomach.
I dropped full weight on her back, grabbed her under the chin with both of my hands, and yanked her head up and back, hard. She cried out, her hands clawing at mine, but I just leaned back even farther, arching her spine backwards, stretching her neck. I was smiling---this was too easy.
“Now, I think I'll continue playing racquetball,” I taunted,” if that's OK with you.” I leaned back a little more, just to get my point across.
She pawed at my hands, but I was in total control, and loving it. As I pulled her back, I looked at my arms, and was pleasantly surprised to see muscles rippling. Then I looked down at her, saw the same in her arms, but they were essentially useless. I could see her breasts, nipples hard, pointing up. Then I looked at my own, which were unfortunately constrained by my shirt. That gave me an idea.
I let her go, and she fell face forward to the mat. I stayed sitting on her back, and pulled my tank top off. Yes, that's much better .
Working quickly before she could get her bearings, I got to my knees, rolled her over to her back, and dropped on top of her. Grabbing her wrists, I pinned her arms above her head, and inched up her body, until my chest was over her face.
“Say goodnight, Gracie,” I joked, and then lowered myself on to her, positioning my breasts over her face. She instinctively turned her face to the side, and I repositioned, pushing myself down so that my breast was covering her mouth and nose, held in place by my upper arm. Now she was trapped.
She writhed under me, but was essentially powerless. I kept pushing down, knowing that while I probably couldn't make this work like those fake breast-smothering woman-wrestling videos, that at least I could make her fight to breathe, and ultimately, humiliate her to no end. Again, I smiled at my easy and total domination over this bitch.
Muffled words---threats? pleas?--- emanated from her, but they were indecipherable due to a mouthful of my breast. I couldn't see her face, but in my mind, she was turning red from lack of oxygen. Now and then I could feel her head tremble, which I took to be sobs of frustration. After a few minutes, she stopped trying to free herself from the pin, and her arms relaxed. In fact, she gave up the fight totally, just lying there, in submission.
“Let this be a lesson,” I taunted, “don't start something you can't finish. And by the way, be grateful that Jeremy wasn't here to see this, because he'd probably dump your ass after seeing how pathetically easy I beat you.”
I smothered her for another minute or so, then, getting bored and knowing I had proven who was superior, I eased off her and released her hands. I remained sitting on her stomach, and saw that her face was indeed red, and her eyes closed.
Sweet , I thought. I got to my feet, placed one of them on her face, and claimed victory. Her hand went to move it from her face, but as with every physical attempt she had made since we started fighting, it was futile.
I prolonged her struggle a moment, made sure she got a brief taste of my sweaty foot, then laughed and ambled over to the soda machine, fishing in my pocket for some change. Although she was easy to beat, I had become really thirsty due to the heat.
I opened the tab and took a few gulps of Coke---it was ice cold, and felt great going down.
“This isn't over, slut.”
I whirled around, can in hand, and was surprised to see Jenna standing on the mats, hands on her hips. She was, of course, wearing just the shorts, and despite the beating I had just given her, she looked damned good---that beautiful body glistening with sweat.
“It is as far as I'm concerned,” I said. “Be thankful I stopped when I did, because I could have easily done some permanent damage to you. Let's face it, honey, you're no match for me,” my glance dropped down to her breasts and I smirked, “in any department.”
“I admit that I wasn't prepared to fight such a cow,” she countered, “but now I know that I'll have to take into account your gross tonnage when I kick your immense ass.”
Ouch . Now it was my button that was pushed.
I took another swig of Coke, put the can down, and sauntered over to the mats. Shaking my head in dismay, I said, “This time, you're not going to be able to get back up.” I glanced up at the clock, and added, “Hmmm, I figure about 5 minutes to finish you off, then I'll humiliate you, gloat, change, drive home---should be home in time to catch CSI .”
“Come on, Bessie,” she teased, “ let's go.” She smirked, flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulders, and motioned for me to engage her.
We circled each other again, and this time I was looking out for the throat thing. We were both a little more cautious this time, looking for an opening, a weakness, to take the advantage.
She feinted a punch, and my hands went up to block. She laughed, and feinted another one which I again was ready to block. Again laughing, she balled her fist, and started another one. Not wanting to be made a fool of, I waited to see what she would do, but that was a mistake. This one landed squarely on the right side of my mouth, jarring my head to the side.
I staggered back a few steps, and reflexively put my hand to my mouth. She came right at me, and buried her fist into my stomach.
As I felt the jolt of pain in my gut, Jenna taunted me, “Whew, I thought it would take a week for my fist to get through all that flab.” She then followed up with another shot to my face, which connected on my left cheek.
I felt my knees weaken, and my face felt like it was on fire. The only thought I had was to stay on my feet. I staggered a little, got her in my sights, and launched a punch of my own, aiming right at her smug mouth.
I missed by about a mile, and she laughed at me, and then like lightning landed a blow to my ribs. I covered up and staggered back, but she just kept coming. She landed another blow to my face, then more jabs to my stomach and ribs. I threw some feeble punches at her, but none landed. My arms felt like rubber, my head ached, and I figured my only chance to kick her ass was to do more wrestling and less boxing. She may have been quick, but I knew I was certainly physically stronger than she was. That meant that I'd have to get her down on the mats.
Another jab, this time full force into my breast. I groaned, covered my breast, and she followed through with a shot to the head. By design or not, I went down---hard. I was on my back, looking up at her. I felt a tear in my eye, and willed myself not to cry.
“Had enough, Elsie?” she asked. Please, come down here so I can destroy you , I prayed.
“Fuck you, “ I mumbled, and realizing she wouldn't budge, I got back to my feet.
She rushed me, and I braced for a punch, but instead she threw her hands out in front of her, grabbed my breasts, and pushed me back. In an instant, we were off the mats, literally running backwards, and she shoved me into the pool table. I groaned as my back smashed into the edge of the table, my hands locked to her wrists, trying to pry her hands off my breasts.
She kept pushing me back and squeezing my breasts. I was helpless---I couldn't get her to let go, and I was now bent backwards, my back inches from the felt of the table. With no notice, she let go of one of my breasts, and smashed me in the jaw with her fist. You know, you really do see stars. I shook my head, only to be greeted by another blow to the face.
At this point, I kind of lost control of my body. My hands fell to my sides, even though I so wanted to fight back. Jenna grabbed me by the hair, pulled me up from the table, and again buried her fist into my stomach. This time, it knocked the wind out of me, and I dropped to the floor, holding my stomach, making some strange noise as I tried to breathe.
Again, she grabbed my hair, and starting dragging me back to the mats. I tried to crawl to keep up with her, but I still couldn't breathe. The last few feet, she actually did drag me across the carpet, and I could feel the heat on my knees as the prophesy of carpet burn came true.
She dropped me in the middle of the mat, and then did a place-kick into my side. I fell to my side and curled up into a fetal position, trying to get my breath so I could concede the fight. But she would have none of that. She kicked me over to my back, then dropped full weight on my stomach. I looked up at her and saw her smiling, knowing she had turned the tables on me. I felt scared, too, because I actually thought she might kill me if I couldn't either give up or fight back.
As if reading my mind, she asked, “Is this it? Are you even going to try to fight? I thought you were so big and bad? What was the line?--- finish me off, then humiliate me ? Yeah, we'll see about that.”
Out of nowhere, she slapped my face, hard. She followed with a backhand slap, and I started bawling. She was still on my stomach, so it was all I could do to try and breathe and cry. I put my hands up to defend myself, but she swatted them aside like bugs, and, as if teaching me a lesson, again jammed her fist into my jaw.
I don't know if I blacked out or what, but the next thing I remember, she was pulling me up from the mat by my hair. Another gut punch kept me off-balance, and then she wrapped her arm around my neck while I was doubled over, and put me in a killer headlock. I tried to free myself, to break her grip, but she had grabbed her wrist and tightened the hold. I felt the blood rush to my already heated face, and pawed at her arms a couple of time, to no avail. I remember seeing black in the periphery of my field of vision, and then I remember just letting my arms go limp, dangling down as Jenna continued to crush the life out of me.
This time, I did black out, because the next thing I remember, I was opening my eyes as a result of another stinging slap to my face. It was blurry at first, but I quickly realized that Jenna had me pinned on the mats, and had taken her off her shorts and her underwear. Her crotch hovered above me, and I looked down at my body, seeing that I was totally naked as well.
“You seem to like ending a fight with some smothering,” she said. “You can thank yourself for teaching me this, then.” And with that, she dropped herself on my face.
My arms were pinned by her knees, and she was sitting too far up on my body for me to buck her off. I struggled, pushing against her knees to no avail. I tried to bring my feet up and over to knock her off, but I couldn't reach. Worst of all, she had expertly dropped her nakedness right over my mouth and nose. She tightened her thighs around my head, and I felt as if it were going to explode. I opened my mouth to breathe, and gagged when I felt her pubic hair on my tongue. I could feel her body shaking with laughter when I gagged, and again, I started to cry. I opened my mouth one more time, holding back my gag, in an effort to concede. But even I couldn't understand my own words, they were so muffled.
Although it felt like weeks, this torture, I would guess, lasted for a few minutes. I felt my body go slack, and I started to drift away. But just at the moment that I may have passed out again, I felt her grab my hair and yank my head up.
She had moved down my body a bit, so now her crotch was on my neck. I could breathe, but barely.
“Do you give up?”
I nodded.
“Say it, Cow.”
“I give up.”
“Not good enough,” she said, and slapped my face.
“I give up, Jenna,” I pleaded between sobs, knowing that she wanted absolute submission. “You win, you're stronger than me, you kicked my ass, and I'm sorry. You are the better woman. I won't play racquetball with Jeremy any more. I promise.”
I stared up at her, tears streaming down my face, praying she would accept this. She seemed to consider it, and then finally smiled.
“Well, I can see that you're sincere, Bessie. So I guess it's time to end this.” And with that, she let up the pressure with her thighs, rose up to her knees, and slid off me.
She stood over me, and I, like a beaten schoolgirl, just lay on my back crying. I was so humiliated. I so wanted to get up and kick the shit out her, but my body was one giant bruise, and I doubted I could even stand up without assistance.
Surprisingly, Jenna bent over and held her hand out, beckoning me to take it. Sniffling, trying not to look like the loser I was, I took her hand, and she pulled me to my feet. I staggered, and fell into her. She held me up until I regained my balance. I turned to her to thank her, and was met with an uppercut punch that actually lifted me off the mat for a second, then dropped me to the floor in a heap.
“Just a reminder,” she said as she started collecting her clothes, “no more racquetball.”
The End.