Can Do Ep. 13

Snow drifted down from the sky in small, erratic flakes. Coffee steamed up from two cups, leaving vaporous tendrils swirling in the chill air of the cafe before evaporating between Trinity and Zenova.

Trinity nearly decided not to call, to accept everything she thought she wanted was gone. The long sleepless night, the ache in her gut that had nothing to do with a knee or an elbow, pushed her to call the Grand Hotel and keep calm through Zenova hanging up twice and her hanging up once before they talked and agreed to meet.

"Anyone see you leave?" Trinity asked. "Anyone important to us?"

"No. I was careful. Most of the Consortium and their guests are late risers. They continued the party long after we left." The brunette tried unsuccessfully to hide her disappointment. It was clear she'd planned to celebrate with one or more of them--until she won the second test but lost overall on points. This morning she was grouchy and out of sorts.

Zenova raised her face to show a bruise under her left eye. "You hit me," she pouted.

"Sorry," Trinity said. She raised the floppy hat she originally planned to wear until she discovered that a stocking cap kept her ears warm. She smirked without humor around a nasty bruise along the right side of her nose and above her lip.

"Sorry," Zenova said. "We are both sorry--pitoyable--in the American sense of the word, where we put ourselves in a position that should never have been. Would you have hit me last night, if the referee had not intervened?"

"Yes," Trinity admitted. "I was as angry at you as I've ever been. Would you have hit me?"

"Oui. You looked so, eh, smug. I wanted to wipe the look from your face, make you hurt. I knew I would suffer, but it was important I made you suffer as well. Today, I do not want it."

"But the match, the final, this is what you wanted, isn't it?" Trinity asked, though she knew what bothered Zenova was the same thing that kept her awake the night before. "What you are destined for?"

"Yes, but I find I am enjoying it much less than I expected. After I win, I will take you to our home and let you be on top for a month."

The blonde bit back a snarky reply. Her lover was apologizing, rationalizing, trying to make amends for what she saw as her inevitable victory. The day before, Trinity would have said something awful, spinning them both into a temporarily satisfying war of inventive insults. This morning she wanted to take Zenova's hand, but the gap across the table was far too wide.

"You expect to win," Trinity said between sips of coffee, as if that made what she was about to say less painful. "I expect to win, too. Only one of us can. I want to get it all over with so we can fix whatever's wrong and bury the past in sex and wine."

Zenova laughed. The ice between them cracked but didn't break. They drank another cup of coffee, then left together holding hands. Outside, the bracing cold made both women shiver as they walked by a narrow alley between buildings.

The brunette pulled Trinity into the alley behind a small bump-out that shielded them from the wind and sight. Zenova pressed against Trinity, who pressed back, hands fumbling to unzip their coats. The women kissed, exchanging tongues down the throat, hands pawing breasts and asses, crotches grinding together. The pair dry humped with increasing frenzy until Trinity stiffened, mouth open, shuddering through a climax. Zenova gave a final shove of her crotch before burying her head on the blonde's shoulder, shaking as an orgasm wracked her body.

"Did you come?" Trinity gasped out when her eyes refocused. Zenova nodded, still clinging to the blonde. "Me, too. Fuck, that was incredible, babe."

Zenova backed away suddenly, eyes wet. She zipped her coat, straightened her hat, and wiped her nose with a gloved hand. "I..."

She ran from the alley, leaving Trinity growing cold through her open coat and the spreading wet spot in her jeans. She reassembled herself and walked carefully to the street, where she met Eric who watched Zenova run along the sidewalk before turning to stare at Trinity with a cocked head.

Even packed in a long heavy coat, breath rising in clouds around his face, the man looked like a GQ model. He swept snow off a bench and motioned for her to join him. They sat for a while until Trinity was unable to stand the silence.

"The truth is, it's exactly what it looked like," she told the man, who nodded absently. "How much trouble are we in?"

"It depends on whether anyone besides me saw you together in what I assume was a compromising position. None will hear of this from my lips."

"Uh, thanks."

"I owe you and Mlle de Crie that much. Likely, I will owe more." His face wrinkled, making him seem human.

"You look terrible. Party too hard last night?"

"I would have enjoyed the hangover. I have had a long, painful meeting with Roderick. He is not happy with the championship."

"Bunny? Why does that bother you? He's a high roller, for sure, but doesn't the Consortium have a lot of those guys--and gals?"

"Roderick, His Grace the Duke of Denver, is one of the three founding members of the Hexagon Consortium."

Aw, fuck. Trinity felt the knot in her stomach tighten again; it was happening a lot lately. I wonder if Eric knows about the week of fucking in St. Croix. Aloud, but with a quavering voice, she said, "OK, one of the big guys isn't happy. What about the other two?"

"Their financial indiscretions are the reason Mlle de Crie's grandfather volunteered to go to prison. After, eh, 'beneficial' negotiations, the two miscreants--who nearly ruined the Consortium--were left free but penniless, while Roderick became the majority shareholder. If he is unhappy, all are unhappy."

"Did Zenova and I do something wrong?"

"No, the opposite. The committee charged with managing the sexfight tournament failed to recognize the emotional strain a three-match final placed on you and your lover. Don't look shocked, Ms. Stone, it is common knowledge you and Zenova have been romantically attached since August. It was the main reason the committee decided to expand the final."

Eric scratched idly at his cheek, which Trinity noticed was uncharacteristically unshaven. "Roderick is fond of you and Zenova and believes you are rare assets for the Consortium. He was skeptical when the expanded final was proposed, but allowed himself to be persuaded because the wagering on the fights was beyond expectations. After last night, when you two nearly came to blows, he now believes it was a large mistake and the tournament committee misled him about the consequences. He fears the Consortium may lose the two of you as a result. We--those of us on the committee--are tasked with making sure you stay with us. He was most emphatic that our positions are in jeopardy if we do not succeed. I hope never to see him so emphatic again."

"So you used us to get more money and Bunny is pissed. What are you going to do?" Trinity was angry; the Consortium--some of them--had messed with Zenova and her to line the corporate pockets. She decided to wait for his answer before decking him.

"I don't know. I fear the damage is done and irreparable. All I can tell you is I am heart-fully sorry to have caused you and Mlle de Crie pain. I was looking for you when we met. Given the circumstances, I thought it unwise to stop Zenova. I will go to the hotel and speak to her directly. What happens tonight, I have no idea." He stood, adjusting his coat until he was GQ perfect again. "I have grown to like you, Trinity Stone. It makes me ill to know I have caused this rift. I cannot say I can fix it, but I will try."

Eric strode off toward the Grand Hotel leaving Trinity alone to think about what she should do. She could quit, tell the Consortium to fuck off, and go home; maybe she could go back to boxing. She could let Zenova win, and figure out how to live with herself later. She could win and lose the woman she loved. Eric was right, it might not be fixable; it might already be too late to save her relationship with Zenova. She ambled slowly toward her hotel, deep in thought.

What a fucking mess.

------

A light snow fell as Trinity walked across the narrow footbridge from the Nolda to the Grand Hotel. She wore her jeans tucked into her boots, bulky jacket over a shirt and sweater, stocking cap shoved over her slicked-back hair and ears. Gloves did nothing to keep her hands warm; she held them deep in the jacket pockets. Overall, she looked shabby, downtrodden, dispossessed. Which was exactly how she felt.

The afternoon had gone by quickly. She slept, and to her great relief, didn't dream--or didn't remember the dream. Either was good. Two hundred euros bulged the wallet in her jeans. She wasn't sure why she needed them, but it felt good to have the extra cash.

She walked in, invisible to partiers in formal gowns and tuxedos who dotted the lobby but not the desk clerk--the same one she'd met three days earlier. He waved her on with a wan smile. The stairs were nearly empty, she took them instead of the elevator, pacing herself to nod to the guards outside the Presidential Suite at twenty hours.

The foyer was nearly empty. Bunny stood apart, sipping from his ever-present flute. He noticed her, inclining his head in invitation. She ambled to him, blowing on her hands, jacket still zipped up.

"You are well, m'dear?" he asked. His arm twitched as he resisted putting it around her shoulder.

"As much as I can be, Bunny," she answered truthfully. No sense lying to him when he likely already knew everything about her, including that Melanie had been placing side bets on her matches. Had known for a while, she imagined. And yet she'd spent a week with him in the Caribbean and he never hinted he worried about her or Zenova conspiring. That counted for something.

"Zenova is here, she only had to walk the hall," he said amiably. "Can I assume there's butterflies? Zenova is an emotional wreck, though she does a fair job of hiding it. You seem to be doing better."

"Because there's no pressure on me, Your Grace." Trinity performed an ungainly curtesy, at which man laughed loudly. "I'm not the one destined to win, so I can enjoy myself." She allowed her smile to drop. "Mostly."

"I do understand, dear Trinity. Regardless of the outcome, may I still count you as a friend?"

"Ah, well, you know, I'm not sure you'll want to be seen with me if I am as inept as predicted. But, yes, I am pretty sure I'll be available for an 'exhibition match' with your lady of the month, should you decide to ask."

"I'm gratified to know," Bunny said. One side of his mouth curled up. "I was thinking of dinner."

He motioned to a woman who led Trinity up the stairs to the bedroom. She was nearly used to the tarps and what lay beneath them. She undressed slowly, for once folding the clothes, putting socks and underwear in her boots. A black silk robe lay on the bed, 'The Hurricane' elegantly embroidered in gold across the shoulders. She put it on, an expectant shiver convulsing her in a very good way. Her cock stiffened, her pussy tingled, her nipples throbbed, the knot in her stomach evaporated. She sat in an enveloping chair, her mind suddenly calm.

I am Trinity Stone, The Hurricane, she intoned to herself. Like a hurricane, I rose from nothing but a faint breeze to a storm that makes people run and hide, leveling all in its way. I fear nothing, all fear me. I will be champion. Nothing survives The Hurricane. She stopped, suddenly embarrassed, then grinned broadly. Aloud she said, "Yeah, I am The Fucking Hurricane."

She dabbed the pheromones behind her ears again; Zenova was surely doing the same. The woman who showed her to the room appeared. "It's time Ms. Stone. As you won the test matches, Mlle de Crie is announced first. She is downstairs, waiting."

Zenova stood at the main room entrance as Trinity came down the stairs. She wore a similar robe, in scarlet, with 'The Python' on the back. She didn't turn around. From within, Eric's voice rose.

"Mesdames et Messieurs, Dames en Heren, mein Damen und Herren, Ladies and Gentlemen, Damy i Gospoda, welcome to the final match of the première of the Hexagon Consortium World Sexfight Championship. Your patronage during this tournament will be rewarded ten fold, if the two test matches re any indication of the skill and intensity of the contestants. The rules are simple: there is no time limit, the match continues until one fighter is unable to maintain an erection or is unconscious; a five-minute rest period is given after each ten-minute round; the winner must be erect and conscious, there are no other conditions; fists, feet, or other direct blows are prohibited and are grounds for disqualification; number of orgasms do not count toward victory, a woman may have extracted more climaxes from her opponent yet still lose the contest. I am the referee for this evening. My judgement is final and without appeal."

Trinity was in the foyer, well behind Zenova. Eric was in plain sight. He wore an obviously bespoke tuxedo that accentuated his height and athletic frame. Despite the confidence in his voice, he looked ill at ease, out of place, doing something he didn't want to do.

"Our first fighter is well known to many of us. She is the granddaughter of Henri de Crie." There wast an approving murmur from the guests. "Standing at one hundred seventy-eight centimeters and weighing sixty-three kilograms, with a record of thirty wins, no losses, and no draws--twenty-eight wins by submission--is the European champion from Braine-le-Château, Belgium: Zenova 'The Python' de Crie."

Zenova entered the main room. A driving, throbbing bass line filled the room, augmented after a few seconds with an energetic guitar and persistent drums. The wailing guitar built to a crescendo, receded like a wave and built again. Trinity found it familiar. It was similar to the theme of Shinsuke Nakamura, the NXT wrestling champion. She never said she had a theme. I thought she didn't like them, Trinity thought with mild wonder. She tapped her foot in approval. I like it. Never gonna tell anyone, even Zenova, I follow pro wrestling.

The music faded after a minute to vigorous applause and several cheers. Zenova was among friends. She bowed her head, raised her hands over her head. The robe fell open, showing her hard nipples, firm breasts, and erect cock. Her olive-skin glowed with sweat as she turned to face the entrance.

"Our second fighter," Eric said when the applause stopped, "is in her first full year with the Consortium and something of a fan favorite. Standing at one hundred seventy-eight centimeters and weighing sixty-two and a half kilograms, with a record of twenty-six wins, two losses, and no draws--all wins by submission--the North American champion from Sonoma, California, United States: Trinity 'The Hurricane' Stone."

Trinity walked in, noting that the Consortium had officially changed the outcome of her first fight from a draw to a win, because her opponent had taken a performance enhancing drug. It seemed to be form of peace offering. Wonder what they'd do if they knew both Zenova and I are enhanced tonight. Not our fault. Mostly.

'When the Levee Breaks' began, filling the room with its insistent, wild rhythms. Trinity loosened the tie of her robe, stopping three feet from the brunette. From her shocked look, Zenova hadn't heard the song before. Like Khulan at the semi-final match, she had trouble standing still with the music. Trinity did not. She swayed to the beat, enough that some guests mimicked her until about half the guests were moving in unison. The music ended with firm applause and one moderately wild whoop, quickly stifled. She bowed, using her whole body, letting the robe fall open to show off her nipples, breasts, and cock. Despite the bitter cold outside, Trinity was sweating as well.

Eric motioned the women to him. He gave them each an appraising stare, foot to head. If he was affected at all, he didn't show it. "Any questions?" he asked.

"Why you?" Zenova asked before Trinity could. "Aren't you above this? Observing instead of participating?"

It was a cruel comment, yet the man only nodded morosely. "This is part of my penance to you," he said softly. "I am lucky. Others on the committee thought Roderick was joking and they failed to take him seriously. I learned long ago to never assume he is joking. Which is why I am here and several others are, eh, not. If you have no more questions--about the fight--please return to your corners to remove your robes and then back here to start."

Trinity dropped her robe on the chair and stretched, which caused two men near her to turn pale. She was first to the center. Zenova took her time, but that was expected as she was bottom for the start of the match, and didn't know what Trinity planned.

"How do we start?" the brunette asked as she walked tentatively toward Trinity. "You didn't tell us."

"Ms. Stone places you in the position of her choice. The fight begins. When the gong sounds, you may begin, Mlle de Crie."

"Begin what?"

"To extract yourself from whatever predicament you are in."

"How long before the gong sounds after we start?" Zenova's expression told all about what she thought of the rule. Her difficulty was she'd agreed to it, obviously thinking it would be her on top for the final. Trinity suppressed a grin, keeping an impassive face.

Eric didn't answer, The pained look said he didn't know, either. He waved at the two fighters: get on with it. The committee had seemingly made up the rules as they went along. No wonder Bunny is pissed, Trinity thought.

"On your hands and knees," Trinity said. "You can face whatever direction you want."

"You are starting with anal sex?" Zenova plainly didn't approve. "It will not work, Trinity, I know all you can do. It will not bother me."

"You won't know until you get down," the blonde answered, abruptly aware her opponent was unintentionally giving her more advantage. "Unless you're worried about what you don't know and are afraid." Trinity put just enough emphasis on the last word to make it sting. The guests watched her, waiting. Zenova finally recognized the box she was putting herself in and knelt with ill grace.

Trinity knelt behind her opponent, pressing the hips down, rubbing her cock against a sweat dappled pussy. It slid home easily, which surprised both women. The blonde pushed Zenova until her lower body lay on the mat, upper body stretched up, arms draped back over the Trinity's knees, the blonde's hand laced around the olive chin. A modified camel clutch, something the women had tried several times on each other with mixed results. The position was awkward for both and brought neither satisfaction. Trinity knew this--and counted on it. The idea had come to her in the afternoon as she watched an Evolved Fights Lez video on her laptop, looking for ideas. Settled as best she could, the blonde nodded to Eric, who dropped his hand, stepping back.

The match began.

Zenova immediately flexed her Kegel muscles, rippling them along Trinity's cock. This was usually bad for the blonde: her opponent was an expert at internal cock massage, making several of her opponents orgasm convulsively in the first few minutes of a match. Trinity was sure it wouldn't happen this night. The angles were all wrong, the arched back made Zenova think about strained muscles. Trinity's cock pointed forward along the patch of skin behind Zenova's cock that drove her crazy when it was rubbed. The brunette's cock was pressed between her body and the mat; when she moved, it was rubbed in all the right places. Within a minute, Zenova went from active defense to struggling to get loose. The blonde felt the panic rising as she fucked her former lover with slow, steady strokes. The pheromones wafting off the brunette made it even better.