Maximum Top Models

For some, the most passionate of Earth's creative minds, art isn't just a hobby. It's a way of life. An artist's works can be an extension of who they are, a window into their souls, and the way they think. Some artists can, at times, take their art a bit too seriously. Some even go crazy obsessing over every last detail. And on the surface, Maxxine Dupri was every bit that starved artist. Merely the surface though.

Maxxine wasn't crazy! No, no, she, unlike her contemporaries, was a genius! A visionary! Picasso, but without paints or pastels. Maxxine's brush, an ultra high-definition camera, her backdrops the calm, somber hotel rooms between shows. Maxxine wasn't just a professional wrestling manager (and wrestler in training), she was also a photographer, and leader of the fastest-rising modeling agency in history!

Oh, MMM? Nope, sorry, not that one! Maxxine hadn't been so fond of that agency recently. Sooo....last year, way out of season. Since leaving Maximum Male Models, Maxxine Du-PRI had started a brand new, far more suiting organization for a woman of her class and stature. MTM: Maximum Top Models.

Growing MTM had become Maxxine's sole focus, her sole purpose, even. The bigger the organization becomes, the larger her portfolio grows, satiating her incredible desire to showcase her fellow WWE Superstars in compromising positions, specifically the bigger, stronger "wrestlers" who severely lacked the brains to match all of that brawn.

Names like Charlotte Flair and Bianca Belair stuck out, big, strong alpha women on the surface, but big, strong submissive bitches with a little privacy. Her latest muse though? A fearsome wrestler who fit those qualifications to a T. A wrestler, a world champion who, despite that fact, found herself knocking on Dupri's hotel room door at the exact time she'd been ordered to. Just like she had been once a week ever since the WWE draft little over a month ago.

Looking as smug as ever, even daring to bring her glowing, newly-minted Women's World Championship along with her, was Rhea Ripley. The Nightmare. Mami, the terrorizer of the Raw brand but lately, in secret, Rhea had been nothing more than Maxxine's latest Maximum Top Model, a fact she somehow glossed over as L'artiste opened the door.

"Fantastic! You're right on time, Rhea. I'd like to compliment you on fulfilling your duty as my latest client but uh...I think we both know the payment more than justifies things," Maxxine smiled seductively as she greeted, only half of her red satin-robed body peeking out of the room.

Rhea, keeping her game face up, rolled her eyes.

"Damn, this isn't my room? My mistake," Rhea joked, doing her best to play coy. Unfortunately, her "best" fell under that all-brawn, no brains category. Classic toughie.

"Oh, Rhe-Rhe, you're so funny," Maxxine giggled. "Yeah, as if you aren't thrilled to pose for me again! Haha....get the FUCK in here, now." The slight raise in Dupri's voice was enough to get Rhea to lower her head and enter the room; deep down, she knew it was against her best interest. After all, becoming the alpha of WWE was her dream. But...something about Maxxine, about posing as a "Maximum Top Model" just... just titillated the juices of her guilty pleasures.

Maxxine lead Rhea into her make-shift studio, or, in other words, the smallest, most well-lit individual room inside of the hotel room; beggars can't be choosers, and being on tour with WWE meant her proper studio was almost inaccessible, a small trade for the dozens of "Models" available. It wasn't long before they arrived, and even less time for Rhea to notice that Maxxine already had everything in place.

"You're uh, you're all set, huh?" Rhea said readjusting the World title around her shoulder as Maxxine closed the door behind them.

"Well of course! I'm a fucking professional after all, in more ways than one. Which, clearly, you are not! Dressed like that? Those clothes are soooo YUCK! I swear, I nearly vomited," Maxxine declared, of course referring to Rhea's rather simple ensemble of a tank top, tattered skin-tight jeans, and sneakers. Sooo YUCK, Sooo not 'IN'. Maybe for the dregs. But not for a Maximum Top Model. "Did I not tell you last time to come dressed in something more appropriate?"

"Yeah, and I told ya last time I'm not goin' out in public dressed in my fucken knickas!" Rhea barked, her temper getting the better of her which, occasionally, was expected of someone called The Nightmare. But luckily, Maxxine had just the thing for toughies like Rhea Ripley, what she liked to call "intimidating pretenders". So, she did what most women and even men on planet Earth wouldn't do if you paid them, and slapped Rhea square across the face.

"Mouthy bitch!" Maxxine scolded. "Have you forgotten who owns your ass? I have the decency to let you titillate the juices of your guilty pleasures in secret! I fuck your disgustingly fat ass ass and don't tell the whole world? And this is how you speak to me? What do you have to say for yourself?"

Rhea, seething with rage, rubbed her cheek. Then, she responded exactly how Maxxine wanted, how Maxxine knew she would. "I'm...I'm sorry, Maxxine."

"No, I'm sorry. Who?"

Rhea rolled her eyes. "Maxxine, my...my Model Mistress."

"Good, good, so you do know my official title. Nice to hear. Maybe try using it once in a while?"

Rhea ignored her, but Maxxine wasn't bothered. Instead, she continued setting the stage for their night.

"Alright, now that I've read you the riot act.... compliment time! I'm so glad you brought your belt with you, Rhe-Rhe. Classic WWE Superstar, taking those things to hell and back! But I like it! The pics are gonna be especially spicy now."

"Spicy?" Rhea questioned, and immediately backtracked once she realized, "Oh no, no way!"

"Oh, yes way!" Maxxine argued with a slick smile plastered across her gorgeous face.

"Sorry, mate. I'm not wearen' my belt during the shoot. That's disrespectful. I earned this, I worked my arse off to become the very first holder of this belt! And now, ya expect me to devalue the bloody thing by posin' with it?"

"Yes," Maxxine admitted sternly. The tone of her voice and the fire in her eyes told Ripley that she was dead serious. Surely a badass like Rhea would stand her ground, right? Right?!

"Okay, okay, I'll wear it! But I'm taken' it off before I show my bum or whatevah." Once again, Rhea was powerless against Maxxine's will.

"No. You're wearing it until I say otherwise, just like the rest of what you'll be modeling tonight." Maxxine motioned to the small collection of lingerie, among other things, set up on a table adjacent to them. A black lace set: a top and bottom to cover the goods, a pair of sheer black stockings, matching garter belt to hold them up, and an expensive-looking pair of stiletto heels. La pièce de résistance? A collar, black of course, to match the rest of her outfit, except for the big silver letters in the middle: MTM.

Rhea groaned. "Can't I just pose in my own underwear again?" Obviously, Rhea's undergarments were a lot less revealing and, subsequently, a lot less humiliating to be photographed in.

"No, because your clothes are ugly! I thought we established that already?" Maxxine reminded.

"I just thought-" Rhea began, but was quickly interrupted.

"I don't pay you to think, I pay you to be a fat-assed bitch who can pose for pictures! Right or wrong?"

"You don't pay me at all!" Rhea snapped.

"I pay you with cock up your grotesquely huge fucking bum, right? That's why you're here? Because if you pose for me, I'll fuck your ass and keep it a secret? So you can continue pretending to be some world-beating top when in reality, you're just one of my Maximum Top Models?"

Immediately, Rhea backed off, the truth of that statement putting out her fire in an instant. She lowered her head, and drifted towards the table as Maxxine directed traffic. "Yep, that's what I thought. Now hurry up! That little mouth of yours has already set us back ten minutes! That's ten minutes and counting that I'm not banging your worthless fucking butt, Rhe-Rhe."

Rhea didn't respond; submitting to Maxxine's will was shameful enough as it was, much less "dolling" herself up with all of the fancy lingerie. She sat her belt on the table, then kicked her shoes off, her socks following immediately after. Then her shirt, quickly up and over her head, Rhea not worried about putting on a show for Maxxine, who made it perfectly clear that they were, in fact, on a time crunch.

The Nightmare's gorgeous, ample chest, formerly covered by the rather plain sports bra belonging to her was revealed, a money shot for the ages; Maxxine would photograph them in time. Her jeans went next, followed by the not-so-sexy briefs Rhea wore underneath.

Now fully nude, Rhea turned her attention back to the table, which sat low enough that she had no choice but to bend ever so slightly to retrieve the first garb, a chance that allowed a certain twinkle to catch Dupri's eye. A twinkle, the shine of a butt plug, the same butt plug that Maxxine had given to Rhea after the second of their many photoshoots. A butt plug with the word "MAMI" emblazoned on the front, to distinguish it from the "QUEEN" and "EST" plugs Maxxine had already distributed.

"I see you were smart enough to wear the plug I gave you. That's surprising," Maxxine joked, giggling like a schoolgirl

"Why's that?" Ripley asked, stepping into the far sexier panties that she definitely DID NOT feel as comfortable in, and pulling them up until the tiny, needle-thin string had disappeared completely between her huge, pale ass cheeks.

"Because, you're just like all of the other 'alpha women'. You're stupid. You have a fat ass. You're insecure and yet, you pretend to be more than what you are. All you toughies are the same."

Rhea groaned as she clasped the bra together, flipped it around, and easily threaded her arms through the straps. "Not quite, mate. I'm the champion. The world champion, in case you've forgotten."

Maxxine grinned. "And yet, your night will end with a cock in your ass. How fitting of my champion?" The founder of MTM burst into laughter again as Rhea fastened the garter belt, doing her best to ignore Maxxine's taunts. After all, this whole model thing, it was only temporary. A phase, if you will.

If anything, Rhea was just getting all this nonsense out of her system! Yeah, that's it! Just letting it out during the uh...during the run of a lifetime. She won the Rumble, beat Charlotte in a marquee Mania match for the world title, and to top all of that off, her stable has been on fire ever since! But yeah, all of this? Just Rhea tying up a few loose ends.

Not like her stockings, to which "tying" wasn't necessary, not with the garter in place. Just pulled up her gorgeous legs, toned beyond human comprehension and presto! Little clips held them in place. Fully decked out, Rhea slipped the high heels on and just like that, her outfit was complete. That was, except for the accessories.

"Don't forget the collar," Maxxine reminded redundantly.

"You're a pushy lot, huh?" Rhea asked in her own redundant regard. Nevertheless, she didn't hesitate to strap the collar around her neck, a bold proclamation of the brand she represented best. Now...for the brand Rhea represented second best. The Raw brand, her sparkling eyes, surrounded in her signature dark, gothic make-up, locked on Raw's premier title, The Women's World Championship.

Admittedly, Rhea felt much more comfortable than she had just moments ago, but even still, she hesitated to strap that belt around her waist. Her life's work; she wished she hadn't brought it along. But that stupid ego of her's, telling her to try and look tough and intimidating even though she knew where tonight was headed. Even though she'd be unable to resist an opportunity to get viciously bummed by her photographer. It wasn't easy, but eventually, after sulking in her own incompetence for a while, Rhea lowered her self-worth enough to grab that shiny gold-plated, white-strapped beauty and fasten it around her waist.

"Magnificent!" Maxxine declared; Rhea's outfit was finally completed. "God, sure took you long enough. That's three more minutes off of your little playdate with my cock."

Rhea groaned again. She hated hearing Dupri speak about her as if she was some nothing bottom, but it would hurt a lot worse if losing time with Maxxine's dick didn't bother her.

"But anyway," Dupri continued, "Go ahead and get into position for me, in front of the camera." Rhea shook her head, and clicked her noisy little heels all the way over to the shooting area. A camera was set up on a tripod a few feet away from where Rhea was supposed to stand, in front of an all white backdrop, a pair of lines on the ground telling her not to come too close or to go too far.

"Okay, perfect," Maxxine hummed to herself as she darted over and picked up the camera. "Now, first position: standing up straight, right hand on the hip." Rhea, not wanting to seem too willing, hesitated briefly. But, was quick to jump into position upon noticing the photographer's brow furrowing. Nearly perfect.

"Uh, pull the title a little more to the left," Maxxine advised and, naturally, Rhea pulled it to her left, which really set off the CEO of MTM. "No, no, no, you dumb bitch! MY left, not your left!"

Rhea blushed, and quickly adjusted the title so...you know...it could actually be in the shot?

"Alright, good, good. Stay still, and 1, 2..."

FLICK! The camera's flash sounded. Then again, and again, and again, Maxxine always snapping several pictures in each pose to ensure that, no matter what, she always shot the best result possible. A real trademark of the professionals. Yet still, something was off and, given Maxxine's status as a professional, she knew exactly what it was.

"Hey, I know it kinda goes against the whole goth, counter-culture thing you've got going on, but you do know that you're supposed to emote to make the photos livelier, right?"

Rhea looked puzzled. "How...do I do that?"

Maxxine sighed, "God, you suck," before sarcastically shrugging her shoulders and suggesting, "I don't know, you're modeling lingerie, your fat ass and huge tits are basically jerkoff material for hundreds of men and women across the world? Maybe do a backflip? Or, you know, try to look sexy, and not like an overgrown bimbo whore."

Rhea gritted her teeth but, ultimately, submitted, throwing on the sexiest, most seductive smile a stud like her could muster, which led Maxx to snap a few more photos in the same pose. Yes, most definitely, these were the keepers!

"Okay, good, that's better. Now, same face, but lean forward a bit and push your breasts out." The directions were easy enough to follow. Rhea did as she was told, and the camera flashed a few more times.

"Fantastic! Let's see that ass! And before you ask: no, no asshole yet! Just turn around, turn the belt around properly, and side-eye the camera." Again, easy enough to pull off. Rhea adhered, facing away from the camera, her gorgeous butt cheeks in full view, and the large center plate of her world championship displayed just above them

SNAP!

SNAP!

SNAP!

Three more for the secret portfolio, Maxxine's passion in life that, for now, she shared only with her models. For. Now.

"Alright, now undo the clasps on your bra and kinda let the straps fall down your arms."

Rhea struggled with the clasps briefly, but managed to undo them without taking too long and, more importantly, bothering Maxxine even more. Ripley placed a hand on each of the bra's cups, keeping her breasts covered. Then, she turned her head and smiled for the camera.

KA-CHICK!

Another handful of embarrassing Rhea Ripley photos for The Founder's collection.

"Awesome stuff, Rhe. You're killing it now that you're a bit more comfortable," Maxxine pointed out and snapped another photo.

Rhea shyly argued, "I'm...I'm not comfortable."

Maxxine groaned. "Oh God, here we go again. Look, we've been over this. You don't have to pretend to be a toughie in front of me, okay? I know what you are! Now, face the camera again, and drop to your knees, but don't let go of the bra yet!"

"I'm not a bottom," Rhea sternly argued, proving herself quite the hypocrit as she followed her orders and fell to her knees.

SNAP!

"Oh, Rhe-Rhe, I never said you were a bottom..."

SNAP!

"I said you were a pathetic, fat assed bitch! Trust me, there's a difference," Maxxine assured with a wicked grin.

"And that is?" Rhea asked, blindly loosening her hold on the cups, allowing more of her luscious breasts to come into frame.

"The difference is, I don't fuck bottoms. I fuck tops, hence the name Maximum Top Models," Maxxine explained, snapping another photo.

"I'm not interested in photographing and fucking the dregs of our company. YUCK! You know how many people have fucked Liv, or Bayley, or Zelina? Dozens! But, how many people have fucked you, Rhe-Rhe?"

Rhea lowered her head. "Just you."

"Thaaat's right!" Maxxine gleefully assured. "Just me, Maxxine Du-PRI! Your Model Mistress! That's why I'm an oasis for you toughies. I can keep a secret so long as fake, wannabe tough girls like you, and Bianca and Charlotte keep lining up to get their disgustingly fat asses photographed and fucked. Now perk back up, it's time to drop the top."

"But I'm-" Rhea began, but was quickly interrupted.

"SHOOSH PLEASE! I said 'drop the top', not run your mouth."

The orders were simple, and after a short moment of hesitation, Rhea followed them, dropping the bra, letting her large, natural breasts breathe.

"Ooh yeah, that's it! Still, still, 1,2..." Again, Maxxine slammed her finger down on the button. A second and third photo followed, just as they had every other time, before the CEO of MTM directed her model into the next position. The position that they'd all been waiting for.

"Okay, okay, that's enough of your front. Now turn around, bend over, and stick out the only aspect of your worthless existence with any real value," Maxxine ordered, tightening the focus on her 4K camera.

"Ya know, lots of people online would disagree with ya, mate," Rhea snipped, once again undercutting her own argument by mindlessly following the directions that she'd been given.

"Ha, you can't be serious, right? Mouth-breathing incel fanboys blowing their loads behind a keyboard? Their opinions mean shit, and even then, that still doesn't change the fact that you're nothing more than my fat-assed little sub bitch."

"Ya keep sayin' that, but I'm not the only Superstar in the WWE with a fat arse. Yours actually looks pretty fat in its own right!"

Maxxine scoffed. "Uh, no. My ass is not fat. Fat is YUCK! It's toned and tight, and it matches my body, unlike your grotesquely huge ass! I'm not some jacked, muscle-bound freak. Seriously, what's the point of all those muscles if you're still going to have such a huge, fuckable ass?"

Confused by Maxxine's logic, Rhea simply ignored and got into position. Maxx wasn't interested in any more jaw-jacking either, instead lining up the camera for another one of her artistic masterpieces. This one, Rhea's huge, fat, pale ass in all of its glory. The Nightmare, bent over, those cheeks on full display, the tiny, almost non-existent g-string unable to cover up the shiny diamond protruding from the seemingly proud champion's asshole.

FLASH!

FLASH!

"Good, good, now smack your right ass cheek as hard as you can!"

Rhea didn't have to think about that one. She quickly raised her hand up, only to bring it crashing down, more than enough force to create the exact visual effect that Dupri desired. The strength in Rhea's hand left a bright pink mark on the pale flesh it came in contact with. Then, Maxxine took a few more pictures.