Can Do Ep. 03

This is the third episode of Can Do. I don't speak French--Google translate has been my sometime friend. Why not all in English? Mostly because I want Zenova to believe French is the only truly civilized language and Trinity will never understand or be able to speak it properly. It is a source of friction between them. And so, a mangled form of French is spoken and corrections are welcome. I hope you enjoy the plot and the action.

*****

Trinity Stone let the sumptuous leather of the BMW M5 enfold her as it sailed effortlessly through the dreary late afternoon of northern Wallonia, the French part of Belgium. Zenova de Crie handled the car with casual bravado, weaving through traffic as they drove out of Brussels toward some place called Braine-le-Chateau. The brunette showed no regard for speed limits or other drivers, which was fine with Trinity. Being on the cusp of sudden death kept her alert. She'd spent a few hours exploring Heathrow before catching a flight to Brussels, following Zenova's instructions to stay awake after the long flight from New York to London. The tactic was supposed to overcome the effects of jet lag if you didn't get any sleep until the evening. Still, even with the thrill ride style of driving, the blonde was getting tired: deep in the bone, eye-lid drooping, going to pass out any time now tired. They weren't even out of the Brussels suburbs yet, with another ten to twenty minutes drive after that. Zenova had promised her a fine dinner; then she could sleep.

Part of her plan to stay awake happened by accident. Driving at high speed with one hand lightly on the wheel, Zenova had reached over to fondle Trinity's cock through her cargo pants. The blonde loosened her belt and zipper to let the hand stroke her rising erection. She pushed her boy shorts down to let Zenova give her a fairly quick hand job, pressing herself into the seat as she came, erupting a miniature geyser of cum onto her shirt, pants, and the brunette's fingers.

Trinity responded by leaning over the center console for a very sloppy blowjob. Zenova put both hands on the wheel as the blonde lifted her skirt, pushing the panties aside to free the hard, wet cock. The blonde's hair was braided in tight cornrows to keep it out of the way, both for wrestling and for opportune times like this. Making sure to stay away from the gear shift, she teased the balls nestled up around the cock while lapping cum from the slit. As she deep-throated Zenova, part of her wondered what other people on the road thought. Then she realized, with the tinted windows and the speed, no one could see the gooey action.

Zenova's orgasm was as impressive as Trinity's; the brunette--hair also corn-rowed, with small beads at the braided tails--screamed her pleasure at the top of her lungs. Most of the cum went into Trinity's mouth instead of into the air, but a lot also splattered the skirt. The excitement, sexual and automotive, kept the blonde awake for the rest of the trip.

The weather was cool, mid-sixties--Fahrenheit; nineteen degrees Celsius made it sound too cold--with low clouds scudding overhead as they sped along a road southwest of Waterloo, then onto a narrower road through a small town called Sart-Moulin. Several harrowing minutes and angry bicyclists later, they passed a passed a what appeared to be a huge wine store. A sliding left through a roundabout and a sharp right put them on a narrow lane where Zenova performed a four-wheel drift into the driveway of a house nestled in its own small forest. An inconspicuous sign, Rue aux Racines, flitted across her vision as the BMW careened around the corners. Trinity was fairly sure 'rue' meant street, but 'racines' was unknown to her. Thinking about it kept her from throwing up as she got out of the car.

A small woman of indeterminate age met them, taking Trinity's two bags from the trunk of the sedan without being asked after a perfunctory peck on each cheek for both women. She gave the merest of glances to the dried cum stains on Zenova's skirt and Trinity's pants, just long enough to make sure each woman was aware she noticed.

The inside of the house was cozy and warm, with dinner already set on the kitchen table. The older woman came down the steep stairs--she'd apparently hauled the luggage to the second floor by herself--taking her bag and coat. With an airy wave of her hand, and a more personal kiss for Zenova, she left, saying something in French over her shoulder.

"Housekeeper?" Trinity asked, really wanting to sit down and eat so she could finally close her eyes.

"Grand-mère," Zenova answered, pushing Trinity toward a chair. "Grandmother. She lives down the street."

"And your grandfather?"

"Grand-père died in prison. We should eat. The sole is terrible if it gets cold."

There was no coversation while they ate. Trinity found herself incredibly hungry, realizing she'd had nothing to eat all day except two bags of 'crisps' and a bottle of water. The food, sole meunière with brown butter sauce and stoemp, a dish of creamy mashed potatoes and vegetables, was delicious, washed down with glasses of cool white burgundy.

Afterward, they sat on a tiny patio, warmed by a terra cotta chiminea as they drank more wine. Trinity felt relaxed, no longer desperate for sleep, although she was tired; her eyelids drooped often. "I'm sorry if I upset you when I asked about your grandfather."

"Ce n'est rien," Zenova answered, edging closer to the blonde American on the rattan love seat. "It's nothing, a matter of some pride in my family. Grand-père confessed to embezzling a large fortune. He did so to protect the Hexagon Consortium from being dragged into a larger criminal investigation. He was sentenced to twenty years but died of heart failure after ten. The Consortium were grateful for the sacrifice. I have great admiration for him. The Consortium have provided for Grand-mère and me in return."

"I suppose your parents feel the same way."

"We no longer speak. They disapprove of my life. I disapprove of the way they have tried to hide their relationship with Grand-père. Cowards." The brunette became pensive, sipping at her wine momentarily before brightening. She kissed Trinity on the ear. "Enough of that. Do you like my home? Was your flight horrible or wonderful?"

Things got fuzzy. The flight, the food, the wine all combined to give Trinity very pleasant tunnel vision. She remembered being helped up the stairs, but not being undressed or put into a very comfortable bed. She did remember a warm body and a warmer cock nestle against her back. A hand stroked her own cock as she drifted off. She may have come. More than once.

------

Breakfast was interesting. Trinity walked into the kitchen--refreshed, washed, dressed in baggy sweats--to the sight and smell of Zenova's grandmother carving thick slabs of fresh bread. Something sizzled in a pan. The brunette was still upstairs; she apparently wasn't a morning person.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Trinity. I hope you slept well. Ma petite fille did not keep you awake? She has been most anxious for your arrival." The older woman had the same sultry contralto as Zenova. Her sly smile told Trinity everything she needed know about what the woman really meant.

"Yes, thanks. I feel wonderful. Your granddaughter was, uh, respectful of my sleep." By which, Trinity meant Zenova had only groped her during the night, not actually fucked her. Not that the blonde would have minded. She'd awakened to a heady scent of musk and a large dried cum stain on the sheets near her semi-erect cock. There was a similar dried patch on her lower back.

"Sit and eat, si'l vous plait. Do not wait for the, eh, idle bones."

Trinity dug into the bread, butter, tart yogurt with fruit on the side, and something that looked like granola. The coffee was deliciously dark, with a strong flavor. Everything had an unfamiliar herbal/spice undertone. Probably a Belgian flavor, she decided. It grew on her as she ate.

"Are you similar to my granddaughter?" the older woman asked as if it were the most normal question in the world. "Not only her chosen profession, but in all things?"

Trinity took time to swallow her yogurt before answering. "Yes. We are, I believe, very much alike," she answered carefully, not exactly sure where the conversation was going.

"Excellent. You will be a great help, I think. She is a most determined person, with a high temper. I mean she is easily provoked by others who do not understand her. It leads to unfortunate results, which the gendarmes, so far, have been encouraged to treat with leniency. Someone who shares a common anatomie--you--will let her express herself without worry." The woman grinned. "Je pense."

"Uh, I don't mean to pry, but is Zenova, uh, unique? Or does her 'anatomie' run in the family? Because I am the only one in mine."

"Oui, the females in our branch of the De Bruyn family have a tendency to be so endowed. It skips a generation every now and then. My daughter, the poor, benighted soul, did not receive the gift. As such, she has no understanding of Zenova or how she views the world."

"Oh, I know how that song goes." Trinity shook her head, not seeing the older woman blink in confusion; she had no idea what the blonde meant. "I got lots of first dates. But every time a hand wandered too far south," she gestured at her crotch, "there was almost never a second date. My father thought I was a freak; my mother cried in her bourbon." The older woman nodded, indicating she now understood.

Trinity got a pat on the shoulder. "The two of you will do fine together, ma chaton."

The blonde was on her second helping of everything--thinking the new spice made it taste much better--by the time Zenova wandered into the kitchen wearing a sports bra and workout shorts. She suppressed a yawn and poured herself a huge mug of coffee, drinking half of it before mumbling a greeting to the room in general. Definitely not a morning person, Trinity decided. As she began slathering butter onto a slice of bread, her grandmother plopped a thick slab of grilled ham on each plate. Zenova stared at the meat as if she didn't know what it was.

"Oui, ma chère. It is not traditional." The older woman suppressed a grin. "But you will need your strength today, I think. And for a while. So I make le petit déjeuner in the American style, a bit." She failed to hide her amusement.

Trinity didn't care about family arguments over what to serve for breakfast. There was meat on the table. She dug in, finishing before Zenova decided it was acceptable to eat ham before lunch and began devouring her own hunk of animal protein.

------

The day was warming nicely, though still cool, as Trinity and Zenova walked across the patio into the back garden. Tall trees surrounded the property, muting noise from all but the insects and birds. Tucked into a corner, flanked by two large trees, was a pavilion with slatted wall panels that slid on runners. Inside was a small gym with free weights and a ring, the same size as the one at Trinity's house, about ten feet on a side--three meters, she reminded herself. Nice and cozy. No room for anyone to get away.

"It will be warm," the brunette said as she pushed panels into the corners. "Maybe twenty-five. A good day for an August workout."

Trinity did the mental math. High seventies. Pleasant enough to work up a good sweat without getting heat stroke. She figured out the wall panel latch mechanism to help open the building.

Zenova turned to Trinity after shoving the last panel out of the way; all four sides of the gym were now open. "When I visited you this past May, I said I came to confirm you were the woman the Consortium must choose for the tournament, that you will be the American champion. In truth, I feared I would be wrong. I also feared you wouldn't accept my invitation for a month of training, to find each other's weaknesses and learn how to change them into strengths. I want our fight in the final to be long and memorable, before..."

"Before you beat me," the blonde finished with a wry arch of her eyebrow.

"Yes. Exactly." The brunette's face was serious, intense. "There's no shame in being second to me. We will be, after this month, simply the best the Consortium have ever seen."

"So there'll be no place to go but down, huh?" Trinity was only partly joking. Despite the superficial assumption of superiority, the blonde knew, from the single day and night they'd spent together earlier in the year, Zenova was driven by a need to be the gold cap on the pyramid. The intensity had made for the best sex she'd ever had--a long fuckfight outside and an even longer fuckfest in her bed that night.

"Do not willfully misunderstand, Trinity. Being second only to me puts you well above any other fighter the Consortium sanctions. The purses for your future fights will be large enough to settle many debts."

The reference struck home. True, she and her manager Melanie had made a significant dent in the liability they inherited when Mel's husband absconded with their savings and a twenty year-old woman. Things were still tight, made more so by the impending arrival of Trinity's niece, a child six months from birth, conceived when Mel--also a hermaphrodite--impregnated Trinity's sister Wendy, who now called herself Willow. It happened on the day she and Zenova consummated their relationship, discovering a mutual talent for energetic sexfighting, as well as rowdy fucking afterwards. Babies were expensive, so she'd heard; money would help. Yet, there was still the nagging sensation what she really wanted was more than money.

Zenova was talking, but Trinity wasn't listening. The memory of her first meditation to adjust her aura, at Willow's inexorable insistence, flooded her consciousness. She'd found herself in a conversation with a disembodied voice--likely herself--which had asked a very difficult question: What do you want She'd answered it wasn't victory or fame or money that drove her: it was the primal need to be known as something more than a 'can,' a fighter without skill, hired to build the reputation of another. Wasn't that what was happening now? Not exactly, she decided. Zenova didn't think of her as a can, but as a difficult obstacle to overcome, a tall mountain to climb, so she could claim ultimate superiority in her profession.

A hand tapped her cheek. "Are you listening? Where is your mind?" Zenova appeared moderately flustered. It seemed she wasn't used to people ignoring her. The part of her that had been sort of listening said her host had been essentially saying what she was thinking. To cover herself, Trinity pointed to a corner of the gym.

"That looks fairly new." She ran her fingers along the central arm of the muk yan jong mounted on wooden slats near the heavy bag. "Got some wear. When did you get it?"

"After I returned from visiting you. I saw how you used yours. I decided I needed to add to my skill." She held up her hands. "They hurt for days after I first tried it. I thought about quitting, but the memory of you hitting it repeatedly to strengthen your hands and feet, to quicken your reflexes, pushed me forward. I am not as adept as you--yet--but my hands no longer ache after a practice." The brunette went back to the original conversation. "What do you think of what I said?"

"I think I need more practice." Trinity felt moderately proud she'd deflected the discovery she hadn't been listening. "You say you want our fight for the championship to be memorable, something people will talk about for years. If I'm going to help you do that, even in defeat, I need to get wrapped around you and see where I have to get better." Zenova grinned her agreement.

They warmed up with light calisthenics, followed by an hour of high-rep, low-weight routines to increase stamina rather than body mass. Despite the relative cool of the morning, both women were sweating enough for Trinity to remove her sweats and the running shorts underneath them, while Zenova shrugged out of her bra and tight shorts. They continued the workout wearing only their thongs.

Flushed from exercise and anticipation, Zenova led Trinity into the small ring, where they took turns with hip throws, take-downs, and gratuitous groping of tucked-up balls, cocks, and breasts. It was practice for a sexfight, after all. Zenova stopped more often than Trinity wanted to point out what she felt were the blonde's more obvious weaknesses. The difference was that instead of taking humiliating advantage of the shortcomings, her opponent showed her ways to defend, counter-attack, turn a take-down into a reversal. The maneuvers were half wrestling, half sex. After the third time, with her fingers past Zenova's thong and deep into her pussy, Trinity began to enjoy herself.

The mock fight turned sweaty, slick, and intense as both women became aroused. They discarded the thongs when the scant cloth was soaked with sweat and pre-cum. Their erections waved in the air, often slapping together in a rough counterpoint to the grappling. Around noon Trinity had Zenova in an octopus hold as they lay in the middle of the ring. There were no ropes to grab. The brunette flailed as the blonde held her own left foot, tightening the grip even more.

"Give up?" Trinity cooed. She'd been laid out, stretched, twisted, and bent most of the morning. It was her turn to enjoy being in control.

"Va te faire foutre," Zenova gasped, trying to get her free arm around to pull at the entwined legs holding her fast.

"Huh?"

"Fuck off. I was distracted."

"Love to, but my hands are busy playing Stretch Armstrong with you, and my cock is getting a nice rub between your shoulder blades. If I didn't have such good control, I might come." Trinity grinned, not that her opponent could see it.

"Put your free hand behind your head," the blonde said into a damp ear. Stick your fingers in my pussy. Yeah, that's it. Feel the rough patch behind my cock?"

"Yes." Zenova grunted with the effort to keep her shoulder from dislocating. "Right... there."

"Aaaahhhh." Trinity moaned, clamping her cunt muscles around the fingers. "Stop. No, don't fucking stop. More, to the left. Yeah. Harder. Oh, fuck, yes."

The blonde trembled violently, stemming the leap into a stunning--and cock-softening--orgasm only by thinking of the man who sat next to her in the airport eating a greasy steak and kidney pie. The women separated, Trinity holding her crotch to make the spasming stop, Zenova working out the knots in her muscles from being trussed up for almost ten minutes. The brunette laughed, a low, bubbling sound that nearly made the blonde come.

"There will be many uses for that spot in your pussy, Trinity. As long as I can reach it."

"Yeah, well, the nice bump between your cunt and your ass is going to be my favorite target. You yowled like a cat in heat when I poked it. I'm partly deaf in one ear."

Laughing, the women rolled together for a sixty-nine while they recovered.

------

Two hours later, Trinity was in control again, physically, if not mentally. Zenova was proud of her Kegel muscles. She took every opportunity to get the blonde's cock inside her so she could massage it into orgasm. Trinity's interior muscles were well developed, too, but she wasn't able to use them much.

In retaliation, she tricked Zenova into fucking her for five minutes, complaining she was tired, worn out. With the brunette's cock inside her, the massage contest began. Trinity rippled her Kegels along the hard shaft while Zenova pushed against the sensitive spot at the front of Trinity's pussy. Both women were gasping when the brunette pulled out, unwilling to risk coming too soon. Cocks rigid, balls beginning to ache from withheld ejaculations, they pair went back to grappling and stroking.