No Holds Barred in Boston

Trish said they did but that was only half true. The cabin had satellite TV but they rarely watched it. In fact, unless it was showing WWE or porn, it stayed switched off. And when it was switched on they were usually otherwise engaged.

'Molly broke her wrist in that fall,' the Commissioner enlarged.

They'd missed the fall but nodded and made sympathetic noises.

'She's out for a month,' said the Commissioner, 'and she was supposed to be headlining with Lita on Saturday. Now The Sioux's headlining with her instead.'

The Sioux let out a little yelp. That was the sort of push she'd been yearning for.

'That's great news,' Trish said sincerely. 'Does she get to win?'

'Sadly, no. But she gets close. The audience will be crying out for more.'

'What about me? Do I stay here alone?'

'I want to keep you out of circulation until the end of the month, at least. But don't worry. When we collect The Sioux we'll bring you a new companion. I'm just not sure who she'll be, yet.'

*****

The Sioux was scheduled to leave on Friday morning. The two of them hardly slept on Thursday and had said their goodbyes long before the 4x4 arrived. Not that they wanted to pretend they were anything but lovers but hey, these security guys were colleagues; it wasn't professional to be gushy and girly in front of them.

'I'll miss you,' Trish said as the vehicle pulled up outside the cabin. 'And I meant it when I said I want to keep seeing you. I want to keep seeing you for ages.'

'Don't worry,' The Sioux said, 'you will.'

'This is it, then.' Trish pecked her friend on the cheek. 'Off you go. And remember to give Lita a chick kick for me.'

The Sioux pecked her on the lips then went towards the vehicle. As a security guy gestured her to get in a door slammed on the other side. Thanks to tinted glass, Trish hadn't been able to see the people inside. Curious, wondering who her "new companion" could possibly be, she took a couple of steps forward.

And froze.

It was Mickie.

*****

While Mickie bounced about the cabin, cooing and whistling appreciation like a little girl, Trish wondered what the Commissioner was playing at. A couple of years ago a storyline had Mickie obsessed with her. And, as the story progressed, lesbian kisses were exchanged. Come to that, it was implied that a lot more had been exchanged between them . . .

At their first rehearsal Trish had taken the girl aside. She was an enthusiastic newcomer back then, and it had seemed important to have a quiet word before she got carried away.

'I'm going along with this,' Trish said, 'but it's only an act. When the camera rolls I'm not me, I'm the person the fans want me to be.'

'I know,' said Mickie. 'You don't have to tell me that. I'm an actress, too. Off camera I'm straight. When it's rolling I'll do whatever it takes to further my career.'

Trish had laughed. 'We sort of complement each other then. Off camera I can swing both ways. But when it's rolling I'm the sweet straight girl everyone loves.'

The storyline escalated and went on and on. Trish enjoyed it and quite liked Mickie but did start to get concerned about her acting. Not that there was anything wrong with it; it was just too realistic. The way she saw it, sometimes there wasn't a heck of a lot of difference between Mickie in front of the camera and the way she behaved behind the scenes.

So what was the Commissioner playing at? Was it a punishment for some crime she didn't know she'd committed? Was it supposed to be a reward? Or was it a test? Was she expected to react in some specific way? And, if so, what the fuck was it?

'It's fantastic,' Mickie said, rejoining her in the TV room. 'I'm going to have a swim then do a few light exercises. Swimming's good for dislocations, isn't it?'

'What did you dislocate?'

'My shoulder. Back in Calgary. You'll have missed it because you'd already dissed Victoria. That was fabulous, too. Boy, was she spitting mad afterwards. I don't think she's over it even now.'

'How long are you out for?'

'The doc says another two weeks. I couldn't believe it when the Commissioner suggested I spent them here with you.' Then, smiling knowingly: 'I'm sworn to silence about The Sioux, by the way. I won't be starting any rumours. It would be more than my life's worth.'

Trish bit her tongue on that. Part of her wanted to preserve The Sioux's reputation, but part of her wanted to shout out proud and loud.

'She's a lovely girl,' she said eventually. 'And she's going to go a long way.'

'Yeah, I heard about tomorrow night. Will I get a really big fight after I've slept with you for two weeks?'

Trish laughed in spite of herself. 'It's separate rooms for us,' she said. 'Behind the act you're very straight; remember?'

'I remember you giving me the new girl lecture,' Mickie countered. 'But that was ages ago. People change.'

*****

The weekend passed uneventfully, with much swimming and gym work but no sex. Not that sex was a taboo subject: Mickie talked about it most of the time. Trish mostly listened, trying to resist temptation. Her new companion was, she had to admit, beautiful and equipped with big tits and a body that oozed strength and sexuality.

By Saturday morning she realized they'd slipped into their old roles. Hiding her urges like the pro she was, she had reverted to playing the sweet straight girl. Mickie, by contrast, was pursuing her like an eighteen-year-old with a hard-on.

It was laughable when Trish considered it in any depth. There was Mickie, continually complimenting her on her looks and prowess with weights. And there was she, wanting a go at those tits and not doing anything about them.

Fuck's sake, she thought, we're not exactly virgins.

Saturday night was spent watching WWE and The Sioux was magnificent. Even though she knew how the match would end, sitting back and viewing it like any other armchair critic, Trish couldn't believe she lost.

'What did you think?' she asked as Lita celebrated.

'She's as strong as an ox and sly as a fox,' said Mickie, 'and red-fucking-hot with it. No wonder you can't get over her.' Then, grinning, 'Although I'm sure you'll have got over her many times while she was here.'

*****

Trish lasted until Monday morning before she cracked. And her absent-mindedness played a big part. Or maybe it was her subconscious, bored with all the prevarication.

The new (fucking-free) routine still involved a swim at seven o'clock. It did for Trish, anyway. And it also involved bikinis. Not that morning, however. Reflecting on it later, she told herself she had got so used to being naked that she simply forgot to cover up. Then she told herself she forgot on purpose. As is the case with many things in life, the truth was probably somewhere in the middle.

Anyway, there she was, churning out circuits of the forty-foot pool, when Mickie showed up in a jazzy leopardskin two-piece.

'Oh wow,' she cried, 'get an eyeful of you.'

Trish frowned then, realizing she was au naturel, laughed. 'Come on in,' she called, 'the water's fine.'

'I feel overdressed,' Mickie said, unfastening her top. 'Mind if I match you?'

'I'd be disappointed if you didn't,' Trish replied with a bawdy chuckle.

The swimming lasted perhaps ten minutes. Then, aware Karl would be knocking at eight, Trish climbed out of the water. Mickie immediately followed her.

'Get an eyeful of you,' she said again. 'My knees have gone all weak.'

Trish approached her and, maintaining eye contact, grabbed hold of her tits. Mickie responded by putting a hand on Trish's pussy. Not to be outdone, still squeezing Mickie's right tit, Trish slid her other hand down a water-specked body, onto a rather engorged bit of anatomy.

'It's what you've always wanted, yeah?' she said starting to rub.

Mickie nodded and rubbed back at her. And a contest sprang up out of nowhere. The more Trish explored, the more Mickie adventured. The harder Mickie rubbed, the harder Trish rubbed back.

'Cum for me,' Trish gasped.

'You first,' Mickie countered.

And so it went on, neither of them prepared to yield; faster and still faster they went, harder and yet harder.

Trish, bordering on thermonuclear, grew convinced the other girl was cumming without admitting it. For her part Mickie probably believed the same. But no two clits could take that much attention forever, not even theirs.

'I'm going,' Mickie finally howled.

'Me too,' Trish agreed. 'On three. One . . .'

'Two,' Mickie added.

'Three!' they yelled together.

*****

The revised routine from then resembled the one established with The Sioux. That is to say it did apart from including toys.

'Please don't think I'm presumptuous,' Mickie said that first Monday evening, 'but I brought a few along, just in case.'

By then at ease with the new relationship, Trish invited her to show all she had. So she did: two pairs of handcuffs; three bottles of lube; one adjustable harness; six dildos of various shapes and sizes; and a rabbit vibrator that looked very space age.

'I don't think you're presumptuous,' said Trish, 'I think you're a sex maniac.'

'And I'm proud of it,' Mickie chuckled. 'I really have wanted to fuck you for years, but you can do me first. And you can do me how- and wherever you want: in your bed; my bed; right here on the bearskin rug . . .'

Trish settled for a medium-sized dildo and the bearskin rug. And she gave Mickie the fucking of her life. Then they swapped roles and, using the smallest item in her collection, Mickie surprised her with a sensual seeing to that seemed to go on forever.

And my, wasn't the bearskin drenched after that!

'This is my favourite.' Mickie was holding up a toy made out of glass. It had twisty, multi-coloured lines in it and was shaped very much like a cock.

'It looks hard,' said Trish.

'That's because it is hard,' said Mickie. 'There's no give in it at all. You'll have to be subtle when you do me with it.'

'When I do you? I thought you were going to do me.'

'Later, my darling; I don't want to be too greedy too soon.'

*****

The next video conference took place on the Wednesday of their second week. After it, aware the sands were beginning to run out on them, they indulged in more sex than ever. And, without ever being anything other than tender, Mickie started to take more and more liberties.

Trish never complained. By then they had used all the dildos on each other many times. And the rabbit too, of course. But there had been no bondage games, and they simply hadn't found the need for lubricant.

Yet.

She knew Mickie was after her ass. She'd been fondling and kissing it from day one. Just recently she'd taken to drawing tongue-tip circles around her puckered starfish. On Wednesday evening, while munching away at Trish's clit, she went a step further and inserted a finger.

Then she wiggled and waggled it, and Trish astonished herself by instantly cumming.

Does that count as lost virginity? Trish wondered the next morning. I've been fingered before, but fingered to a cum! More to the point, will I have to beg to get her to do it again?

The answer to her second question was "no". She found that out shortly after Karl had completed his first visit of the day. Comfortably naked again, they drifted through to the gym. Mickie's heart wasn't in it for training just then, though. She wanted another mouthful of pussy and Trish, on her back on a padded weight bench, wasn't about to refuse her.

Sure enough, another insertion soon ensued. Mickie used two fingers that time, wiggling and waggling them, making Trish cum twice.

Then she was on her feet and pulling Trish upright, leading her by the hand through the cabin.

Omigod, Trish thought, unable to articulate, wildly excited and ready to accept any fate. Omigod, omigod, omigod!

Her heart thudded, jumped and juddered as she sat on the bearskin rug, watching Mickie adeptly fastening her harness, adjusting the straps so her treasured glass dildo pointed up past her belly button. Mickie's eyes were gleaming like they did when she acted "infatuated".

'I'm using this one at first,' she said, waving her smallest toy at Trish before generously coating it with lubricant.

Trish blanked her mind while the other girl fingered her again, not wiggling and waggling now but applying more lube. Then the small dildo was pressing against her. Opening her. She felt just one moment of discomfort but soon enough it was in. And it was in comfortably. That was all down to Mickie. She was normally tender and gentle but was surpassing herself here. Slowly and with the utmost delicacy, she eased the toy in and out.

In and out.

Again and again.

Trish wasn't surprised to find that she enjoyed it, but had expected to climax almost straightaway. When she didn't she began to enjoy it even more. She did briefly wonder if she was building up at a snail's pace, then decided it didn't matter whether she was or not. It was absolutely awesome anyway. Who cared if the orgasms didn't show!

All good things come to an end. Fortunately, some of them are followed by even better things. And that was definitely the case that morning. Trish was disappointed when Mickie withdrew her tiny toy and tossed it aside. Watching her apply lube to her glass erection was, however, the best cure for disappointment she had ever found.

'I want you to do as I say,' Mickie said authoritatively. 'Your knees need to be up on your tits and your legs can go over my shoulders.

Trish, her heart thudding, jumping and juddering harder than ever, obediently drew her knees up to her chest. Mickie, meanwhile, sat facing her on the rug and edged closer and closer, her legs parted, one either side of Trish's body.

'Okay,' she said, 'legs over shoulders.'

Trish obeyed and gasped when Mickie edged closer still; penetratingly closer. The discomfort lasted a fraction longer this time but suddenly the dildo was all the way in. And no exaggeration, it was in up to the hilt. Mickie's groin was up tight against the cheeks of her ass. She'd never felt fuller in her life.

Then Mickie began to move, proving she could be delicate with her lower body as well as with her hands. And what wonderful rhythm she had! It was almost tidal. Slowly out. Then slowly back in.

And again and again and again.

If the tiny toy had been awesome this glass marvel was beyond belief. Trish didn't waste time wondering about orgasms or build-ups, she just revelled in the sensations. The feel of the dildo was first and foremost, naturally, but there was also the tender human contact.

Her legs, sliding over Mickie's sweat-slickened shoulders.

The insides of Mickie's thighs, sliding along Trish's equally sweat-slickened body.

The regular tap, tap, tap of a harnessed groin against a very receptive ass . . .

Best of all, Mickie was tireless. She went on forever and ever.

*****

They whiled away the rest of the day trying to find sixty-nine positions to sixty-nine in and playing with the rabbit. Then, after Karl had been and gone for a second time, they ate pasta and sipped white wine. And then, as they cleared away after themselves, there was a knock at the door: four sharp raps, exactly the way the security officers did it.

Trish assumed Karl had forgotten something but, even after weeks of nothing happening, wasn't rash enough to unlock without first having a look out of the peephole. She could only see the very top of someone's head, so it couldn't be one of the guards.

'Who is it?' she asked.

'Me,' a female voice replied. 'It's Erin. Let me in.'

Oh no, thought Trish. 'Erin Brook?' she said out loud.

'Yeah. Let me in or I'll tell the world where you're hiding.'

Trish shut her eyes for a second. Erin was a reporter for one of the big New York papers. At least that was how she always introduced herself. In reality she just about was the newspaper. Rarely off the front page in one way or another, she had a daily "column" which ran to two inside pages and contributed other lengthy articles, two or three times a week.

'There's no story for you here,' Trish said, opening the door. 'I'll be back in circulation soon. Ask me for an interview then.'

Erin stepped inside, grinning. She was a very small woman but made up for lack of height in other ways. Her ego, for example, could fill Yankee Stadium twice over.

And the stories she broke! Trish had once been the subject of one. It had queried her sexuality in great depth. As a single woman she hadn't been bothered so much by that. She was free to fuck whoever she wanted to; what did it matter if her latest date didn't have a cock? No, it was she as a celebrity who was upset. A lot of hard work had been invested in her public image; Erin's story had blown holes in that. And she'd feared the powers-that-be in WWE would not be happy.

As it turned out she needn't have worried. The Commissioner more or less shrugged and said he was "sick of suing that bitch", she always walked, whether she wrote the truth of not. Then he'd said it was free publicity after all, and suggested Trish volunteered an interview, which she did and which Erin accepted. They'd got on surprisingly well and had been on warmer terms ever since.

Until possibly now.

'I've travelled two thousand miles to see you,' Erin said. 'You could at least offer me a drink.'

'How did you find us?' Trish asked.

'Us?' Erin's elf-like ears pricked up. 'So I've caught you with your panties off, have I? Who is it? Anyone I know?'

*****

Erin was delighted to meet Trish's companion. 'So it's true after all,' she said. 'That's tomorrow's front page . . . unless you give me a better one, of course.'

Trish had been getting bad vibes about this visit from the off. Now they were getting worse. 'How did you find us?' she repeated.

The three of them were in the spacious kitchen, sitting at the table, wine glasses before them.

'Through brilliant investigative journalism,' Erin said, laughing. 'I tell you, you give back in return, right?' Taking the response for granted, she pressed on. 'Remember that big Mafia case three or four years ago? Jimmy Scarface? I wrote an article panning him just before the verdict. It was the one time in a thousand my information was wrong. Lucky me, huh? I accused him of the wrong thing. I accused him of a lot of the right things, too, but a big part of my story was incorrect.'

Once started Erin never paused for breath. 'Anyway what happens? He only gets acquitted, that's what. So the guy's back on the street and maybe a week later I'm at this art exhibition. Some Brit was showing off a pile of bricks. You know how it is; everybody's wondering what it's meant to be, but no-one dares criticize it. I go to the rest room, powder my nose and suddenly there's this guy stood behind me. There in the ladies' rest room.'

She shook her head. 'I'm no racist but this guy was obviously Italian, know what I mean? He grins at me and says he has "a message from Jimmy". But he doesn't tell me what it is. He just grins at me and leaves. Now I don't scare easy. Okay, so once I spent the night in The Ax Murder House; it's haunted by ghosts from 1912 and it scared me shitless, I'll admit that, but I'm normally heroic with humans. That Italian guy shook me, though. I thought about reporting it for maybe a second but why bother? The city just spent a billion dollars finding Jimmy not guilty. What are they gonna want to spend on one of his sidekicks?'

She had a gulp of wine, giving Trish chance to speak. 'Is there a point to this story?'

'Yeah. I mentioned it to your Commissioner and he brought me here, to keep out of the way a bit. I stayed maybe a month. Then this bozo gets into trouble for using Jimmy's name, reckoning he's something he's not. They fished him outta the Gowanus Canal. I saw his picture. It was the guy from the rest room.'