Submit stories to: wowefastories@gmail(dot)com
with the title heading "WOWEFA Story Submission"

by APgeeksout

"You know, I sort of get it now?" Nikki says, with a smirk that she hopes looks as nasty as it feels. "Not, like, your whole petty vendetta thing, but why you keep sneaking up on me from behind.

"Cause that felt pretty good."

The Princess of Staten Island glares up at her from the floor of her hotel room, her gym gear or the crown jewels or whatever scattered across the carpet where she dropped it when Nikki surged out at her from the shadows. Her body is tense under Nikki's own, looking for her opportunity to leverage herself free. She's foiled by the way she's fallen: one arm trapped behind her own back, the other wrist held down by the weight of Nikki's knee, one of her own knees bent, with that leg pinned beneath her other in something that looks a little like a botched modified figure-four. Really, she's not held down all that securely, but she's hampered by the hand that Nikki has clamped against her throat. Her pulse is pounding, and Nikki can feel her throat work as Carmella swallows hard past her fingers.

Good. Let her be the one to worry about her neck this time.

Carmella doesn't talk back, for a change, just keeps on glaring up at her with hard eyes, slower to back down than Nikki would've given her credit for. Leaning over her like this, the room quiet now except for the way they're both breathing hard after the brief struggle, Nikki does feel pretty good. Powerful. Righteous. Turned on.

She's a little surprised at the lick of heat that slices through her belly, but not so shocked that she doesn't recognize it for what it is. She wonders first if Carmella can tell. Then, as she takes in the darkness of her pupils and the flush rising in her cheeks and the way she's fallen still beneath her except for the sharp, shallow breaths that make her chest heave, she starts to wonder instead if she feels it too.

"Is that what this has been this whole time?" Nikki wonders out loud, with a disbelieving laugh. "You getting off on ruining my show?"

"Oh, so it's your show now?" Carmella sneers, and Nikki presses just a little bit harder. Enough to cut off the rest of Carmella's sure-to-be-brilliant response. Enough to set off a familiar pulse between her thighs.

"Tonight it is."

Carmella's eyes are wide, but her face is still contorted into that snide little smile she wears to the ring, and she's breathing harder than ever. Nikki lets her gaze drop to the place where Carmella's thighs fall open, cut-off jean shorts covering the curve of her ass but leaving bare her long, tanned legs.

"'Can't touch' is part of your dumb theme song, not mine," Carmella says, the words coming out in a throaty rasp that rumbles under her palm.

Part of her knows that she really shouldn't dignify this with a response, that she shouldn't let some ungrateful rookie play head games with her (or that if it's not just a game, there's no good reason Nikki should give her anything she's asking for). The other parts of her are way too interested to back down from the challenge in that smirk.

She pushes her free hand under the fraying edge of the jean shorts, shoves a strip of soft cotton out of the way, and presses a couple of fingers inside Carmella. Even after her taunting, she's surprised by how wet Carmella is for her, by the shuddery breath Carmella pulls in under her grip, by how the sound of it goes straight to her own cunt.

When she's done this before - with Alicia, Natty, Naomi, Paige - it's always been gentle: laughter between teasing touches, and trying to make it last. This is not that. This is quick and dirty and reminding Carmella just who's in charge around here. She adds another finger and tries to fuck her with them viciously, though the easy slide of her skin against Carmella's slickness keeps it from being as rough as she'd like it to be.

Carmella's face and chest are flushed bright, and Nikki can't tell if it's from the pressure at her throat or from the fingers pumping in and out of her beneath the denim, but either way, it's something that Nikki is doing to her, and the rush of that is amazing. It's the most in-control she's felt since someone first said the words career-threatening surgery to her face. She closes the hand at Carmella's neck that much tighter, and lets the thudding pulse under her fingers and the little gasp that leaks out of Carmella's throat add to her buzz.

She doesn't know whether it's obvious to Carmella - Nikki has her a little distracted after all - but she can't remember the last time she was this excited. It's practically a current running through her, zipping through her veins, banked heat and energy concentrating in all the places beneath her clothes where she's untouched and aching. Carmella's hips push up harder against her hand, and Nikki clenches around nothing at the sight, at seeing what she can do to Carmella, at knowing that Carmella will have to be remembering this the next time Nikki submits her in the ring.

She's let herself get distracted thinking about it, apparently, because with another gasp and roll of her hips, Carmella has freed her arm from the awkward angle that had pinned it beneath her. Nikki starts to pull away, to brace herself for the fist Carmella's sure to throw at her face, but before Nikki's even got her hand out of her shorts, Carmella's hand simply drops to rub over her own chest.

"So, what, you a quitter now?" she rasps, her throat working hard now that Nikki's grip is barely there. She's still lying where Nikki dropped her, and she rolls the peak of a cotton-covered nipple between her fingers, watching Nikki's face as she continues. "What's wrong, Captain? Scared of little old me, or just afraid you like this too much?"

She should get up and go, leave Carmella sloppy and unsatisfied on the questionable hotel carpet, but it's too late for that; has been from the start, and Carmella's smirk says they both know it. Instead of what she should do, what she actually does is tip forward again, clamping her grip tight against Carmella's throat, bringing the tips of her fingers back to the slippery edges of her lips.

"You want to come?" she asks. When Carmella just smirks up at her, she adds more pressure to the vice of fingers under her jaw until she makes an involuntary sound, her eyes flashing. "You want to breathe?" Carmella squirms, hips shifting like she's trying to find friction, and it's Nikki's turn to smirk. "Make me think you deserve it."

Carmella goes into action like she's been waiting for permission, and Nikki can't ignore the shudder of pleasure that rocks her at that thought even before Carmella's hand leaves off teasing her own nipples to delve beneath the waist of Nikki's gym pants, dragging the soaked material of her own panties quick and rough over her clit. The angle is weird, and the whole scene is cheap and unclassy, but Nikki doesn't have time to be uncomfortable or embarrassed before she's coming, shuddery and messy, slicking her thighs around the edges of her underwear as Carmella continues to rub her through them.

She's still riding a wave of aftershocks when she finally deigns to get Carmella off. She shoves her fingers back inside where she's wetter than ever - maybe even wetter than Nikki - and makes her do the work of fucking herself on them until she finishes, clenching around Nikki's fingers, whatever sounds she might make trapped in her throat by the steady pressure of Nikki's palm.
"See you in the ring, Princess." She wipes her hand off on Carmella's trembling thigh, and pushes to her feet.

Carmella looks up at her, breathing in heavy pants while her fingers, still shiny from rubbing Nikki off, stroke over the band of pink rising on her throat. "Unless I find you before."

Nikki's surprised to find herself hoping that's not an empty threat.

Support by joining for only $4.95
Courtney Thorne Smith Fakes     |     Jennifer deJong Fakes     |     Gemma Atkinson Fakes     |     Women of Wrestling Fakes