Can Do Ep. 04

The older woman winked at Trinity. "This one," she patted her granddaughter on the shoulder, "thinks the yellow was destined to win. Each time she watches, she pretends it is for the first time and there is no final fight. It offends her sense of truth that the outcome does not match her wish, so she refuses to watch the next match or admit it exists. Almost as if her own dream of ultimate victory is threatened. But that cannot be, eh? You are unstoppable, are you not, ma chaton?"

Zenova chewed her ham to mush before swallowing loudly, her face dark. Trinity was suddenly uncomfortable. What she had thought was a pleasant month of wrestling and sex was really a test, not of her ability, but of Zenova testing herself. Was it possible, despite the constant insistence of her superiority, the brunette was unsure of her dominance?

Amélie-Francois' sly grin said she was enjoying her granddaughter's discomfort. Pricking the balloon, huh? Trinity wondered. Where do I fit into all this? Innocent bystander or tool?

"We have exercises to continue, not idle chatter." Zenova stood, pointedly leaving her plate on the table. Trinity put all the dishes in the sink before following her partner into the garden. While closing the back door, she gave the older woman a rueful glance. Amélie-Francois returned a gaze that looked unnervingly like a cat regarding a ball of catnip.

The brunette waited for her at the pavilion, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"She does not understand," Zenova began earnestly, turning to talk as Trinity slid the walls open. "Her day has passed, she forgets the lesson that failure to prepare leads to failure--that cannot be recalled. The Japanese should have won the match Grand-mère talks of, she is stronger, more cunning, better trained. She listened to those who told her she would win for all those reasons. She began to expect it, as if it were a gift. That is why she lost. That is why I will not lose."

"You realize you're talking to the woman you plan to beat--so you won't lose?" Trinity arched an eyebrow.

Uncomfortable calm expanded to fill pavilion and the yard. Zenova studied her bare feet, then wordlessly began moving the rest of the panels. When ring was open to the air, she touched the blonde lightly.

"I will win. No matter what Grand-mère says, I will be ready. You are helping me to be the best. As we train, you improve as well. The fight will be decided in the last moments, I can feel it. My victory will be hard fought and you will be famous for an epic battle."

"In a lost cause?" Despite that the brunette was telling her she had no real chance of winning, Trinity stifled a laugh. If the rest of the month was like the first few days, Zenova might be surprised on New Year's Eve. She was certain her skill would be at least the equal of her opponent. Maybe better.

"King Leonidas and his Spartans were defeated, killed to the last man. Yet they are remembered forever. A lost cause is a victory seen through the eyes of those who know nothing of valiant struggle." Zenova ran her hand across her rough corn rows. "Enough talking. We need to teach each other."

The day went well. Within half an hour they were wrestling nude, enjoying the friction of nipples, cocks, and pussies rubbing against bare skin. Trinity discovered she liked having a cock inside her instead of the other way around. It gave her the opportunity to work her internal muscles, making Zenova moan almost constantly as she thrust her dick far into Trinity. The sensation was intoxicating. The blonde lost focus more than once, relishing the feel of small orgasms ripple through her. Zenova wasn't amused.

"This is not fucking, Trinity. That comes tonight or tomorrow. You must concentrate on defeating me, not letting yourself get lost in the pleasure. The vapid smile on your face when you come is disgraceful." All this was said as Zenova fought to keep the corners of her mouth down.

Trinity reversed their positions, sitting astride Zenova, impaled on the olive cock. She flexed her Kegel muscles in rhythm with grinding her hips around the brunette's crotch. Zenova's eyes fluttered, she clamped onto a pale breast. Trinity did the same. For long moments there was only heavy breathing until, with a huge gasp, Zenova came. The orgasm rattled her whole body for what seemed an eternity. Trinity didn't notice, she was too busy with her own climax.

Afterward, they lay together in a puddle of sweat, cum leaking from Zenova's soft cock and Trinity's still spasming pussy. "You mean like that?" the blonde purred.

------

Sweat- and cum-slick hours slid by as the women wrestled and fucked, neither one able to completely dominate the other. The fight became more intense as the day wore on, the humor and playfulness of the morning forgotten as each one pushed the other harder for a definitive, debilitating orgasm, which never came. Trinity was aware she should be curled in a corner, sleeping. She'd lost count of how many times she came. Yet, ten minutes later, she was ready again, cock hard, pussy wet, her brain fixed on getting Zenova to fill her pussy one more time.

By early evening, they were both exhausted. The plan to pace themselves had failed spectacularly. If anything, the practice was more intense, more brutal than Monday. Heads smacked the mat more than once. Arms and legs were bent in awkward, painful directions. When Amélie-Francois called them to dinner, they were sweaty, filled with each other's cum, and angry. Zenova limped, a large bruise forming alongside one breast. Trinity sported a scrape on her cheek where it had been pushed roughly along the mat. They dressed in accusatory silence. As they walked to the house, their hands touched and retreated.

Dinner was quiet after the older woman left. A beef and onion stew hinted of beer and the ever-present spice. As they ate, the atmosphere calmed to the point that they were eating from the same bowl and drinking from the same glass again. Food finished, dishes done--Zenova insisted on washing--they wandered into the garden. Zenova lit a fire in the chiminea to warm the cooling air. They stripped, sitting together on the double chaise, watching the stars begin shimmering in the darkening sky, stroking their revitalized erections. Both women fought their orgasms successfully by allowing themselves several small climaxes that oozed cum from their cock slits and seeped heady flows of silky essence from their pussies.

"The woman who threw a rock at you?" Trinity asked as they rested between rounds.

A long pause stretched to awkward silence before Zenova spoke, her voice tight, anger barely controlled. "Some here think Grand-père cheated them. It is a lie. He was an accountant, he manged the finances of many shopkeepers. When he went to prison, some accused him of stealing from them. The police audited his records; they found nothing amiss, except those of the Hexagon Consortium, which was as expected. Still, long after his death people blame him for their own stupidity. That woman is the daughter of a man who--without Grand-père to help him--wasted his savings and ruined his business. He blamed Grand-père; nowthe bitch daughter does. I would kill her without a thought."

"But you haven't."

"No, because les gendarmes know the truth. The policeman who spoke to me reminded me that not all hate my family and I must control my temper."

Trinity took the brunette's hand, kissed the fingers, and rubbed a thumb across the palm. "You got me, babe." she said, belatedly ashamed at the reference to a corny song.

Zenova produced a bottle of dark red wine, a Syrah they shared while taking turns impaling themselves on the other's cock, mixing their viscous cum with slowly grinding hips. Trinity came twice, Zenova only once. The brunette's orgasm left her gaping for air while the blonde's climaxes merely crossed her eyes. Each claimed victory in the impromptu sexfight. Wine done, cocks mostly soft, they damped the fire and went to bed, postponing a video until the morning, a rest day again. Their exertions had worn them out, with only enough energy to slowly fuck themselves unconscious over a long hour.

------

Thursday dawned sticky and dense with the musk of hours-old sex. Zenova stumbled from the bed, heading for the bathroom with the gait of a sailor recently ashore after a long stretch at sea. Trinity smirked until she tried to get up, thinking it was better no one saw her fall twice. It reminded her of their first night together in May. When she joined Zenova in shower, they leaned together.

"We need to stop doing this to each other," Trinity said.

"Why?" the brunette replied. To which, the blonde had no good answer.

Breakfast was different. No meat this time, only yogurt, fresh fruit and the granola-like cereal. Trinity noticed the milk wasn't fresh, but something called UHT that didn't have to be refrigerated until it was opened. It had an odd taste. She drank it anyway. The yogurt and granola had the same spice taste as before.

"You will change the bedding today before you leave the house. And put on fresh linens," Amélie-Francois told them sternly. "I will wash them before the house stinks permanently of energetic copulation."

Now that it was mentioned, Trinity did notice the air had a certain women's locker room tinge. Probably not as bad as a guy's locker room, she told herself in silent defense of her actions over the last three days.

They left the house when the sheets were changed, taking a five kilometer trip through the Belgian countryside. The last half was a jog turned competitive in the last klick, both women sweating and panting as Trinity eked out an arm's length win. Zenova protested she'd cheated by weaving toward the brunette, forcing her to slow down on the narrow lane. Trinity ignored her, preferring to savor the victory.

Instead of going to the home theatre or the bedroom, Zenova walked swiftly through the kitchen--stopping for a quick peck to her grandmother's cheek--on her way to the pavilion. She didn't open the walls, but stripped naked before the muk yan jong.

"We won't wrestle today. But we can increase our strength here. I want to watch you again, as I did at your home. It was very arousing then, even though you wore clothes." The brunette's face betrayed her eagerness.

Trinity undressed, slowly, deliberately, making Zenova wait until the brunette was nearly bouncing. Her boxers eventually dropped to her ankles, revealing a mostly erect cock with a small drop of pre-cum at the tip, a hint of wetness between her thighs.

The blonde stood before the dummy, centering herself before beginning her standard warm-up routine of four hundred arm and leg blows to the wooden arms and single leg. It felt good. She normally completed three thousand reps a day, hardening her hands, arms, and legs. It took several repetitions to get her rhythm; the positions of the dummy's arms and legs were just different from those of the one she had at home. She fell into the routine with greater and greater ease, increasing her speed, seeing each move ahead. Block, strike, arm, leg, strike, leg, wrist, block, block. The cycle felt good, her aches from the previous day beginning to fade, not completely, but enough that they no longer fogged her concentration.

She finished sweaty and mostly satisfied. Her sister's insistence she continue meditating to adjust her aura gave her an attitude of accepting nothing less than perfection, combined with the patience to know that some things took time: practice, life... relationships. Trinity turned to see Zenova watching her with a distinctly unprofessional gaze.

"The first time I saw you was when you worked at your own dummy. I didn't speak for fear of interrupting your concentration. You have become even better since then. I expected it, so I had something made to challenge both of us. I have been using it for a month. I want to see if you like it." The brunette inserted a long, flexible arm into a hole above the dummy's leg, adjusting it several times until it pointed up and out. "Do it again." She couldn't keep the excitement from her voice.

Trinity began her routine, deciding on a thousand reps. She told herself she needed the practice, and it would take her mind off the erect cock waving just inside her vision. At least for a while. The set started well: blocking, striking, moving.

The additional arm didn't get in her way, but she didn't see how to incorporate it into her routine, until she slid in and sideways. Her cock slapped against the arm; it was just firm enough to feel like another hard dick. The shock of contact sent a thrill into the base of her cock, through her pussy, and up her spine to the primal centers of her brain. She stopped, startled, yet wanted to do it again.

"I knew you would like it." Zenova said, sliding up behind her to roll stiff nipples between eager fingers. "It is my own idea. To simulate a sexfight. Try again." She backed away. Trinity felt a pang of disappointment as the brunette's hard cock slid from between her ass cheeks. The muk yan jong beckoned.

More repetitions, more striking, more blocking, more slapping of her cock against the flexible arm. She stumbled through the set of a thousand reps, taking much longer than she expected, but very much aroused when she was done. Cum dripped from her cock. She resisted the temptation to masturbate. She could do that when it was Zenova's turn.

She completed another thousand reps before letting the brunette step into the dummy's embrace. Watching her go through a set--she definitely needed more practice, the blonde thought smugly--Trinity forgot about stroking herself. She became lost in the intense sexuality of watching her partner dance around the dummy, seeing and hearing the olive cock smack the flexible arm. She needs to keep her feet on the ground, Trinity told herself, she's too bouncy. But, damn, that's hot.

The rest of the day oozed by in a haze of sexual heat. They spent the time alternately exercising and fucking slowly, working cocks and Kegel muscles until they were moaning into their mouths, longing for release, stubbornly unwilling to come first. As the sun lay low in the west, they lay on the pavilion floor, bathed in sweat and trickles of cum, still hard, still wanting more, but they were exhausted, unable to continue. The stalemate was broken when Amélie-Francois called them to dinner.

Dinner, as had become usual, was from a common plate and glass. Trinity didn't know why she liked it so much. She'd known the woman sharing her fork for less than a week, including the first time they met. It seemed right; they went together well, not identical, but like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that almost fit. In time, maybe they'd match better. At the moment, sipping from the same glass of wine, she was content. She hoped Zenova felt the same.

They watched two fights after eating. One was a female bantamweight MMA match that ended in a bloody split decision. Neither woman looked like she'd won. Trinity and Zenova disagreed over the results. They wrestled on the theatre floor for ten minutes until Zenova brought Trinity to a screaming orgasm. When the blonde licked the dusky cock as a reward for winning, Zenova came almost immediately, spraying Trinity's face and breasts with gobbets of sticky cum. The brunette complained she was distracted by something, to which the blonde only laughed. There was an uncomfortable silence as Zenova searched for the next video.

What she found was the most unusual fight Trinity had ever seen. The title was Mutual Aggression Pact. It featured two well-muscled women, dressed in garish open front corsets, fishnet stockings, and tiny thongs that did nothing to hide their large cocks and balls. The brunette wore green, the blonde wore blue. The match was brutal and intensely sexual.

They fought in a low-walled, padded ring with three odd-shaped lumps randomly spaced around the inside, whose use became clear as the fight progressed. Neither woman seemed to care about defense, they only wanted to hit and fuck the other. Which is what they did constantly.

Zenova and Trinity forgot their earlier dispute, mesmerized by the violence and seemingly inexhaustible supply of cum. They stroked and fingered each other to complete arousal, pausing the video occasionally to suck a cock or fuck with the same intensity as earlier. After more than an hour of video time, almost two hours of real time, the video ended with both fighters naked, still punching, still fucking, bruised and coated in cum. 'To Be Continued' floated over the fading image of the fighters landing mutual right crosses, cocks whacking together.

"That was, uh... that can't be real, can it?" Trinity wasn't sure how she felt, other than well fucked. She rubbed her pussy, coating her fingers in her own and Zenova's cum, which she smeared on the brunette's nipples before licking it off.

"Grand-mère says it is altered with computer graphics. She says no woman can endure so much punishment or have so many orgasms, especially in only an hour."

"Looked real to me," the blonde said, offering two slick fingers to Zenova, who sucked them absently, watching the now blank screen.

"Je suis d'accord," the brunette answered. "Though Grand-mère should know." That was all she would say about her grandmother.

"If we could do that..." Trinity's voice trailed off.

"The Consortium would not approve. For us, they like their sex and violence separate. Others are recruited for the more extreme contests. Still, it is fun to imagine, n'est-ce pas? To be able to test ourselves." Zenova's voice became dreamy. Trinity agreed.

They cleaned the couch again as best they could, walking slowly up to the bedroom without stopping this time. The sex was long and languid. They spent most of the night with heads between their crotches, savoring the taste of cum from cock and pussy, legs locked around chests, noses and lips buried deep between slick thighs. Trinity fell asleep with a cock in her mouth, dreaming of a glorious fight.

------

Friday went by in an angry blur. Zenova woke up cranky. She said she'd dreamed about her failure to hold her climaxes the day before. She was determined to end this day hard, balls full of cum, while she expected Trinity to be depleted, unable to rise to the evening's fucking. The blonde had other ideas. By early afternoon, both women were on edge, openly insulting each other. Each had come once in the morning. In the mid-afternoon, they settled into getting twisted into pretzels and fucking endlessly, all without orgasms, which only scratched at their increased sense of competition. Zenova uncharacteristically snapped at her grandmother when the older woman brought lunch. Amélie-Francois walked away stiff-backed. Trinity bet there wouldn't be any dinner. She was right, and it only made the brunette more angry.

They'd poked each other mentally and physically all day, making dinner not only unspectacular but tense. After the meal, which was something Zenova pulled from the refrigerator at random and not very good, she hauled Trinity back to the pavilion for more 'practice.' They hadn't bothered to dress while eating, which meant they began grappling almost immediately, cocks and nipples rubbing. Trinity had learned from the last few days how to keep her erection, also discovering her Kegel muscles were in better shape than she realized. Her mindset was calmer than Zenova's, she thought, though she, too, felt the frustration of the day. The practice turned into a contest of wills that neither won. They fucked roughly for an hour, never giving in, never allowing the other to rest. Trinity decided to let it all happen, enjoying the strenuous sex. Zenova became frustrated and eventually stalked off, leaving the blonde to close the pavilion.