The War: Bianca "Bubbles" Burste vs. Femke "Golden" Brouwer

No-DQ Last Woman Standing Oiled Up Hardstyle Hentai Prisoner of War Match

1. No disqualifications, ringouts, or rules.
2. Last woman standing wins.
3. The wrestlers will be covered in baby oil before the match begins.
4. Each wrestler's attire is chosen by the opposing manager/wife.
5. The losing wrestler, along with her manager, will be the property of the winner and her manager for the next twenty-four hours.

Spoiler:

Femke "Golden" Brouwer, six-time European champion, stood nude in front of the mirror, warming up for her very first match here in Tokyo, Japan. She flexed her arms, out to the sides, watching the way her skin tightened over the expanding muscles in the mirror. Those big, beefy arms had choked out half a dozen women, and had squeezed a solid fifteen more into quivering, pathetic unconsciousness. They had thrown impressive, proud women out of the ring entirely, without the airborne body even coming close to touching the top rope. Femke relaxed her arms, then tensed them again, closing her eyes and letting her mind extend out into first the left limb, then the right, sifting down from the shoulder to each and every fingertip, making sure she could feel every single muscle, making sure that each and every one was warm and ready for action. She opened her eyes and swung the right arm suddenly outward, taking a quick jab at her image in the mirror.

Facing down a mirror image of herself. From what Darya had told her, she would be doing much the same again, very soon.

Even the muscles in her pinky fingers could be critical in a match like this one. In a fingering contest, racing another woman to orgasm with multiple digits shoved in each other's hot cooches, a dexterous pinky could mean the difference between sweet victory and bitter, euphoric defeat. Femke did not normally need to worry so much about her body prior to her matches. The last three years had not been difficult for her, as every challenger who dared to stand against her was summarily picked apart, reduced to a moaning, spasming mess on the canvas. Her league's ring-cleaning budget had skyrocketed ever since Femke had pioneered the hardstyle hentai match in the Berlin-based promotion, during her heated rivalry with...

...with the woman who was now the love of her life, her wife. As Darya entered the dressing room, carrying a small box, Femke turned away from the mirror to blow Darya a kiss. Darya giggled, reaching up and "catching" it with one hand, before dropping the box on a table and hurrying over, as if guided by a powerful magnetic force, to Femke, where she pressed herself into the nude brawler and pressed the fingers of her kiss-catching hand against Femke's lips, with her own lips following soon thereafter. "Mmmmmm," the two of them moaned together, in perfect matrimonial harmony, as Femke brought her hands to Darya's elbows and gently pried her away.

"Stop it," the Dutch woman would insist, her face flushing red. She bit her lip and looked down at her feet—the shy schoolgirl look which drove her Russian wife wild. "I don't want to be all hot and bothered going into the fight. It will give her an advantage. I shouldn't even be looking at a woman as sexy and perfect as you right now."

Darya squealed in delight, swooning over her adorable wife, nearly collapsing into her arms. She knew that would just make things more difficult for Femke, so, stoically, she pulled herself away from the Dutch woman, though she could not remove her eyes from that perfect bronze frame. Massive, firm tits sat above toned abs which could have passed for a satellite view of the hills and valleys of Heaven. Golden hair, long, but somehow perfectly coifed, with not a strand out of place, poured over broud shoulders and framed fiery, determined orange eyes. Thick, meaty thighs which had trapped Darya's head more times than she could count framed a womanhood which could only be described as...scrumptious. Femke was no ordinary mortal wrestler. She was a heroine out of myth, a triumphal statue come to life. She was the very vision of the perfect human specimen.

"My champion," Darya cooed, her eyes almost watering as she beheld Femke's beauty. Sometimes her romanticism almost got the better of her. "My love, my muse, my sweet sugar-bear, my night and day, my conqueror, my incomparable spouse...do I tell you enough how much I love you?"

Femke strangled a squeal of glee in her throat. She could not let herself get so worked up! "Please!" she barked, a desperate look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry!" Darya wailed, stricken by the thought of doing her wife's chances in this match harm. She just could not turn off the fount of her love. "I vill do someting else. We have a package, ze package, zat is, from our impressive opposition." Together, the two of them walked over to the table where the small box sat. Darya fished a knife from within the meager folds of her tight-fitting dress and sliced the tape neatly open, folding out the first two flaps. She looked to Femke for approval before she pulled out what was inside for the both of them to inspect.

Femke nodded. "Let's see it."

* * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile, in another dressing room, on the other side of the arena, a very similar package arrives addressed to another bronze Amazon...

Dear Sweet Bubbles,

Since you will need all the luck you can get tonight, please accept this small gift. We have confirmed it is the right size and I think that the color suits you very well!

And tell Mariah that I said...direct hit.

Hugs and kisses,
Darya

Spoiler:

Spoiler:

There Bubbles stood in the gorilla position, as she had done many times before in wrestling leagues around the world. Mariah stood before her, as she had also done many times before in wrestling leagues around the world. The main difference today, though, came down to attire. Mariah had broken out one of her fanciest cocktail dresses, a billowy white number that showed off her long and lean legs. Bubbles, however, was wearing something...less formal.

She didn’t know Femke or Darya, hadn’t met either of them in person and only had Mariah’s description to go off of. But if their choice of her attire was anything to go by, she could already tell that she’d take a liking to both of them. The outfit was a sea-blue fishnet bikini, one that left absolutely nothing to the imagination and clung to her like a second skin. Her breast threatened to spill out at any more, as if they were both aching to be free of their confines, and it did an excellent job of accentuating her every curve.

For all intents and purposes, she was stark naked, but it was funny how something so simple could make a woman look hotter with it than without.

Bubbles stood in front of a mirror, then turned, the bent over, then turned again, enjoying the sight of her body from every angle. After a moment, she look over her shoulder and wiggled her hips in Mariah’s direction.  ”You know I love you, right?”

Mariah just smirked and strolled over to Bubbles side, where she reached over and started plucking at the fishnet. ”I do recall you saying something like that.” She ran her hands over the hips, tracing the contours and muscles with her fingers. ”What are you thinking?”

”I’m thinking I know what to get you for Christmas, that’s what.”

”No! Well, yes, actually. If you could find one of these in black, it’d be perfect.” Mariah chewed her lip for a moment, idly wondering both how she would look in a bikini like that and how Bubbles would look if she wore it into the tanning bed. ”But, no, the match. You ready for this?”

Bubbles looked over to her wife and saw the glee in her eyes, the way she bounced and smiled, but her ears told a slightly different story. This was not the first time she’d asked Bubbles that question this week. Her readiness was a frequent concern, even as Mariah got her to up her usual training regimen. Her manager was worried - maybe not too much, but more so than she’d ever been in a good, long time. It was understandable. If Femke was even half of the woman that all their information made her out to be, Bubbles was about to step into a sexual battlefield.

Bubbles turned around in full, took a step forward, leaned down and planted a single kiss on her wife’s forehead. A small thing, but even that little gesture was enough to bring the redness out of Mariah’s cheeks. ”I’ve got you in my corner. That’s all I need to win.”

Mariah opened her mouth to reply, then shut it and closed her eyes with a wistful sigh. ”So corny.”

”And you love it.” She ruffled up Mariah’s hair, then went right back to the mirror. They’d be getting called out any second now, but until then, she wanted to strut about in her new bikini as much as possible. ”Remind me to tell Darya thanks when we get out there, okay? Loving this, owe her one.”

At that, Mariah just shook her head and came up to Bubbles from behind. She reached around, wrapped her arms around that lovely, muscular bare waist, and pulled her wife close. ”Don’t worry about that.” She planted her chin on Bubbles shoulder and stared into her deep, blue eyes in the mirror. ”I already thanked her. In my own way.”

* * * * * * * * *

To Mrs. Ambrosova,

I really enjoyed our little talk the other day. So much so that I found myself thinking about you and Femke while I was out shopping. I came across the most lovely number, and I’d be ever-so honored if your buxom beau wore it out to the ring. Have fun!

PS: It can be a little difficult to get on, I know, but you’ll find some instructions underneath that should help. It’s a tight fit, but that’s sort of the point

Spoiler:

Femke's eyes ran up and down the vision of her powerful body in the mirror, doing much the same dance as Bubbles was a few dozen meters away as she inspected the attire she had been gifted by her opponent's wife. She was wearing a sexy little black number which looked like a cross between swimwear and bondage gear. The whole thing fit quite snugly, collar perfectly looped around her neck, crotch practically skintight against her pussy, each and every length of the elaborate latticework straining as it tried to contain her powerful muscles and perfect curves. She turned, bent, pushed her butt out, wiggled it in the mirror. She spun and straightened up, putting one hand on her hip, flexing her other arm.

That movement let a boob pop out of its cup, and Femke blushed slightly as she watched her massive orb bounce out of its sleek container, jiggling and jiggling, seemingly never to stop. Darya was blushing, too, as she would help her wife out, cupping her hand underneath that breast and pulling on the cup of the attire, sliding the breast back inside, making sure the material covered up as much of the Dutch wrestler's areola as possible. The slinky number was so tiny, though, that it just couldn't cover up the whole disc. Darya couldn't help but let her mouth hang open, drool pooling just above the dam of her lip, as she stared at her wife in the ensemble.

"I believe, looking at ze outfit," the Russian would intone, in a husky, low voice, "that Mrs. Burste has a little crush on you. Should I vorry?"

Femke grinned at her wife, then turned back to the mirror, giving herself a nice long stare, this time bringing both arms up to flex. Her breasts stayed in place, this time. She bent a leg up, striking a pose half between supermodel and superheroine. "Can you blame her?"

Darya barked in mock shock, as she gave Femke a teasing little slap on her upper arm! "Please, modesty vould be much more becoming!" she insisted, and let Femke chuckle at the phrase a battered and devastated Englishwoman had once used when staring up at Femke from her vantage point flat on the canvas. After a few seconds, though, Darya's feigned indignance would soften, and she slid behind Femke, nuzzling her face into her wife's neck, wrapping her pale arms around that strong bronze midsection. "But it vould not be you. It is no vonder vhy so many vomen love you."

Femke moaned softly as her lover pressed her curvy, powerful Slavic body into her back. Darya's little black cocktail dress left little to the imagination, and the Dutch woman could feel those sharp nipples digging through the fabric and into her back, even snagging the straps of her sexy swimsuit. "Mmmn...you have nothing to worry about." She didn't need to say it. Darya already knew that. But she wanted to say it, because she loved her. "We have a bond that no one else could ever hope to imitate. No other couple could ever hope to love each other like we do. And even if I was stupid enough to fall for another woman, even this Mariah...I know you could kick her ass."

Darya purred and snuggled tighter against Femke. "I know I could."

"Modesty would be much more becoming!"

"Oh, you stop!" Darya brought one arm down, and gave Femke's rear end a little spank. The Dutch woman squeaked cutely, in a way she hardly ever did in the ring for her opponents. That sound, that genuinely vulnerable sound, was just for Darya. But Darya was happy to share her wife with other women under certain circumstances. She pressed her lips against Femke's ear and whispered: "I vant to see you destroy her. I vant you to slam her into ze floor and fuck her until her pussy is throbbing and raw. I vant to vatch her beg for more as your slave...and I vant to see Mariah's smug American face turn to horror vhen she sees her vife obliterated."

Femke whistled quietly at the series of requests, before turning to Darya and putting her hands on her wife's shoulders. "It sounds to me like you've got a fondness for this Mariah, you know that?"

Darya smirked and shrugged. "Ze two of us have much in common. I bet she has tventy different vays to rub it in my face if Bubbles is the vinner. Tventy styles of how to fuck me as her slave."

"A fellow scheming mind. I can see why you like her."

"But I vill best her, like you vill best her voman. I have fifty different vays to fuck her after your victory."

Femke laughed and wrapped her arms around her wife, hugging the Russian tight, squeezing her and making Darya let out a soft croaking noise as her breathing was, momentarily, constricted. "I hope that at least one of those includes me?"

Darya craned her head forward, black hair brushing across Femke's face. "One little preview." She leaned in and whispered in Femke's ear, outlining just one of the fifty ways she had decided she wanted to fuck Mariah. As she spoke, Femke's eyes widened, her cheeks flushed, and...

"Fuck. Now I'm wet."

She unwrapped her arms from around Darya, and the Russian woman cooed, patting her lover's bronze butt gently. "Ooooh, poor baby, I am sorry. I vill not fill your head with ze naughty thoughts any more." And, just after she spoke, a knock came at the door, a staffer telling them it was time for Femke to make her first appearance on the AFW stage. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. She was nervous, but she did not tremble. She would win this match, and dedicate that victory to her beloved wife.

"Let's get you into ze ring, Golden."

”You want to do what to her?”

Bubbles thought she was beyond blushing at this point, having been through so many deviant acts - many of them instigated by herself - that she’d grown numb to any idea that could be thrown her way.  Though she was new to the AFW, she had kept up with the league since its inception, and she rarely miss an episode, particularly when there were juicy matches on the card. Beyond that, there were her own in-ring antics and Mariah’s constant need to experiment and keep their sex life unpredictable.

But, when she heard one - just one - of the things that Mariah was planning to do with their potential Prisoners of War, even she couldn’t keep a shade of crimson from breaking out on her face.  Even with dark-skin, it was still bright enough to light up the room. ”Are you sure? I mean, I’m not against that idea, but I’m not sure the harness could hold her like that. And the drill and the maintenance and are they even going to let us do that in the hotel room? Heck, is that legal in this country?”

Mariah, who had made her way over to the mirror for one less check on her dress, shrugged off Bubbles’ worries. ”Details, details. Let me worry about that.” She bit her lip and a feral glare came over her face, the same look she always took on when her mind overflowed with devilish ideas. ”We’re going to show them one hell of a time tonight. And in the morning. And afternoon. Maybe give them a little break after that, but when the sun falls...”

Mariah was enthusiastic as always, but Bubbles had seen her work with power tools before - if you could call their failed apartment renovation project last year ‘work’. She had her doubts and was about to voice them, when one of the stagehands came in through the curtain.

”Mrs. Burste?” The both of them looked her way in unison. ”It’s time for...you...to…” Her words trailed off as she got a look at Bubbles, staring her up and down with a look of wonder and more than a little lust. A small thing, but she and Mariah both saw the significance of it. This stagehand had no doubt seen hundreds, maybe thousands of women in all stages of undress, and despite that, Bubbles still managed to get this sort of reaction out of her.

A vote of confidence? Definitely.

The awkward silence hung for a couple of seconds, before Mariah ended it with a clap, drawing the stagehand back to reality with a few quick winks. ”My wife is hot. I know.” She gave the girl a soft, understanding smile. ”You were saying?”

”Oh, right!” She shook her head and stared at Mariah, with the occasional furtive glance in Bubble’s direction. ”You’re up. For the ramp, I mean. One minute.” With a bow and a long sigh, the stagehand scurried back behind the curtain as quick as her legs would take her, muttering as she went. Bubbles’ Japanese wasn’t the best, but she swore she heard her say something about ‘crazy brown giants’.

She just chuckled and turned to Mariah as she came strolling over to her side. ”I take it back - I want this outfit for my birthday next month. Sooner, that way.” She reached over and gave Bubbles’ breast a squeeze, a quick fondle through the flimsy material holding it inside. ”Let’s get you out there, tiger.”

The crowd was suitably pumped as Bubbles and Mariah came strolling down the ramp to her theme music, stepping in time to every beat as they made their way down the ramp. Each beat made the stadium shake, made it feel like Bubbles’ footsteps were causing the world to tremble, and that was the desired effect. It worked beautifully if they crowd’s cheers were anything to go by.

Of course, there excitement could’ve had something to do with what they knew was about to happen. It wasn’t every day that an oil match with stipulations as crazy as this occurred, and having it involve a newcomer added to the intrigue. This match had been adequately hyped up  for the past week, and AFW management had even gone to the trouble of getting them a special ring for it - one that was slightly raised at the edges, just enough to hold a thin layer of oil over a black tarp. Mariah had a bottle of oil on hand to get her nice and wet at start, but the ring’s design ensured it would be a constant factor, something that could help and hinder Bubbles and Femke throughout.

She hopped up on the apron and sat on the middle rope while she pushed the top one up, giving Mariah ample space to enter after she’d taken off her shoes. The two of them entered and made their way to the center of the ring, with Mariah taking deliberate steps all the way, careful not to slip and fall and ruin her dress.

”So,” Bubbles turned to face the entrance as her music began to fade away. ”Do you want to go ahead and oil me up now, or wait until they get down here? Play some of those mind games you love so much?”

”Hm?” Mariah managed to get stable footing long enough to perk up and look Bubbles way, genuine confusion on her face. It gave way to a smirk after a moment, though. ”Now, now." She waved the bottle about. "Who said this was for you?”

"What do you mean it isn't for me?"

"Shush, shush, my sugar-bear. You vill understand soon enough."

Femke and Darya stood at the top of the ramp, just behind the curtain, as Bubbles and Mariah made their entrance. The roar of the crowd was deafening, almost overwhelming, even for a seasoned veteran...even for a legend. Max-Schmeling-Halle's crowds, enthusiastic and nationalistic though they may have been, could never generate a roar like this, shaking the rafters with the thunder of their voices. This crowd knew what they were about to see. A limitless war between two oiled-up, scantily-clad titanesses, one which would not end until one was fucked and beaten into total, pathetic, whimpering defeat. Femke's AFW debut would go down in the history books, regardless of the outcome.

Femke closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. In her mind, she pictured Bubbles, similar to her in so many ways, verging on identical in most, wearing the skimpy blue fishnet sling bikini which Darya had purchased for the American and she herself had tried on to confirm a proper fit for the other warrior. She was out there, right now, this vision out of Femke's mindscape, waiting for her. As confident as Femke was in her ultimate victory, she knew that this would be the battle of her life. And, even though they had never met, she was certain that Bubbles could feel the same sense of destiny as the final few seconds to their fated meeting ticked away.

A flustered little staffer came up to the two European women and gave them a wave of her hand. On the other side of the curtain, speakers came to life with Femke's elegant, but fierce, theme music, violins musing and fiddling their way through wistful lines as a lower, driving modern beat carried them forward, ever forward. Darya caressed Femke's rear end once more—how she loved that big, fine ass!—and gave it a hearty slap, ushering Femke out onto the ramp and into the arena.

The roar of the fans for even a new AFW wrestler was deafening. A few of them might have known her from her days in Berlin, or from the intercontinental challenge which, years ago, she contested in Fukuoka. But most, surely, were seeing her for the first time, and were awed by the sheer majesty and strength of her figure, or the...uniqueness of her attire. Quite a large section of the crowd was probably amazed by the similarities between the two combatants tonight. Regardless of the reason they cheered, Femke appreciated them. She raised a fist in the air, basking in the glory of the moment, the singing of strings and the thudding of the bass, as she stood at the top of the ramp. Darya, standing behind her in her little black dress with a bottle of oil in her hands, looked on adoringly, eyes glistening, never once leaving Femke.

The Dutch woman was on the move, then, making her way briskly down the ramp, each titanic step covering a shocking distance until she was at the ring apron, staring up into the ring, finding the two women already there. Trying to find Bubbles's eyes with her own. Trying to lock their gazes.

Darya was only a step behind her wife, and as soon as she caught up to the Dutch wrestler she interlocked her right arm and Femke's left. With their other two arms, the two of them pulled themselves up by the ropes, together, onto the apron. They bent over and slid through the middle and top ropes, face to face. Halfway into the ring, the two of them, smiling, gave each other a quick smooch, a moment which elicited another loud cheer from the adoring audience.

And then there were four women in the ring. Darya, like Mariah, stepped carefully, making sure that she did not slip and ruin her dress. She moved slowly towards the center of the ring, giving Mariah a little wink as they were together again, at long last.

Femke was not so careful. Something came over her once she was in the ring. As she got her first good, in-person look at Bubbles, she felt herself coming under something like a trance. Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared. Her legs kept moving as if they had a mind of their own, carrying her towards the center of the ring. She wanted to collide with Bubbles right away. She did not want to wait one more second to feel that body against hers. The buildup of the last several weeks, of ferocious training, of watching the woman's highlights online...it was all about to come to a head. She scanned that body, so like hers in skin tone, in hair color, in size, shape, tone...she found herself scouring it for a wart, a mole, distinguishing marks, something to try to break this magnetic spell which had come over her, as two doppelgangers finally came face to face.

Mariah was many things - amazing in bed, a snappy dresser, a Battlestar Galactica fan, a mathematician, an inexplicable lover of country music - but one thing she was not, ever, was boring. Her cryptic word raised Bubbles’ eyebrows and left her wondering what sort of devious mischief her wife had planning. She rarely kept secrets, but when she did, she always had a good reason.

She was about to open her mouth to press the question - not that she thought it would get her anywhere - but before she had the chance, she was interrupted by the shrill shriek of a violin. It caught her off guard immediately, as did the steady beat that followed after it, thumping through the arena at a steady pace. Not the typical sort of entrance music, but then, this wasn’t a typical wrestling match with typical wrestlers.

It didn’t matter. It might as well have been the sound of wailing cats. Bubbles stopped hearing it a moment later, because her every sense became devoted to one thing and one thing only: the figure at the top of the ramp. The one that was walking her way and steadily growing larger and larger and larger still.

She watched and waited as the towering figure made her way down and came into the ring, stepping into the light and raising up to meet her eyes on the same level. This was not the first time Bubbles had seen Femke, of course. She’d watched the compilation along with Mariah, and managed to get through twenty minutes of it before it all became too much and they had to use each other for relief. She knew their uncanny similarities. The frame, the hair, the skin, the strength, their proclivity for fucking women repeatedly in both private and public settings.

But that was on a computer screen, with camera angles and cutaways and the poor quality of a hotel internet connection. Seeing her up close was a whole different thing. Those breasts, so round and firm, were made to be sucked and squeezed. Those hips, fulsome and firm, were made to be slapped. Those muscles were iron covered in flesh, made to be rubbed. And, as her foe started to walk towards her, she knew that Femke was thinking the same thing about her.

Bubbles didn’t think about moving forward anymore than a magnet has to think about being attracted to metal. She just did it. A hungry, maddened grin came over her face as she moved forward, her eyes widening with each bold step, and she could feel her heart pumping at a staccato pace. They moved closer and were just about to collide…

...until the referee got in the way.

To her credit, getting in the middle of two horny, hot-blooded giantesses was no feat for the faint of heart, so it seemed like management had decided to throw in one of their ballsiest officials. She was a short thing with a brown bob cut, barely coming up to the twin towers’ chests, but she was well-built, solid muscle all over. They could clearly see that, too, because she was wearing a bikini with referee stripes. Cute.

”Hey, hey, hey!” She got between them and pushed at their chest, trying to postpone the inevitable clash. ”Not yet, geez! Wait!”

The push was barely enough to slow Bubbles down, but she registered the yelling and stopped moving forward, ceasing her charge. Her gaze never left Femke, though. Never stopped staring into those fierce, red eyes.

”Easy love, easy.” Mariah strode forward and gave Bubbles a nudge in the side as she passed. ”You’ll be able to play with your new toy in a minute, don’t worry. Just have to get some minor preparations out of the way.”

She looked at Darya - whose existence Bubbles was only now even registering - and gave her a nod. If Mariah knew the Russian like she was sure she did, then she was fairly certain they had the same idea. ”Shall we begin?”

The magnetic attraction was not going to be broken even if Femke found a mole or some other imperfection in the bronzed goddess before her. It was not because she felt that Bubbles was perfect—such an opinion would be oddly self-serving, in the end—but because she recognized in Bubbles all of the same things which drove her, which gave her strength. The physical resemblance had acted as a conduit to allow Femke a way to peer into the American's soul, or so it seemed to her. They had both hungered for this moment. They had both trained long and hard, hour after hour, driving themselves forward through pain and fatigue. And they had both had just a tiny piece of themselves missing before tonight, when this close encounter with a woman so alike to themselves made them whole—and made them both even more determined to shatter the other's whole, shatter it with caresses, with kisses, with kicks and punches, with squeezes, with slams, with licks...

Perfect unity in opposition. It was all very poetic, like the compositions Femke used to play as a member of an orchestra. She supposed it was possible she was wrong, at least about Bubbles's reasons for being as drawn to her as she was to Bubbles. But she didn't think so. The American's crazed grin was almost as big as the eager, toothy smile on Femke's face. The raw intensity of this moment, their hot bodies so close to each other, almost made Femke scream. Her red eyes stared hard into Bubbles's cool blue ones, never blinking, never losing their focus on the American. She had a feeling that, if she tried hard enough, they could even share their thoughts telepathically.

I'm right, aren't I? she thought, keeping red and blue eyes locked, trying to beam the words right into her opponent's brain. We're connected, somehow, someway. There are too many coincidences for them to actually be coincidences. But only one of us will own the other at the end of the day.

Femke barely even noticed the referee, but the fact that she felt something obstructing her path forward, coupled with the authoritative barking, got her to stop moving. She was instinctively accustomed to obliging referees much smaller than her after half a lifetime of wrestling. She stopped where she stood, barely a referee's length from that destined collision with Bubbles, breathing heavily, eyes still caught on her foe. Once we start, she won't be here to protect you. You are going to be mine, mine, mine.

While her big, bull-headed wife nearly barreled right into her opponent before the match had even started, Darya couldn't help but giggle and roll her eyes. She walked up to the Dutch giant and gave her a nudge as she passed. "One more ting, and zen you vill be able to rip her apart and smash her back together all you like." Darya took a step forward, towards Mariah, nearly getting nose to nose with her. The referee's eyes widened in alarm as it looked as if she might need to step in between the managers, too. But Darya didn't attack Mariah. She leaned in, gave the American's nose a quick peck with her lips, and then pulled back. "Yes. Let's start."

Clearly, the two of them were reading each other's minds, as well. Darya stepped to the side and past Mariah—giving the light-haired woman a hip bump as they passed each other, and strode around to Bubbles, opening the bottle of baby oil and squirting a generous dollop into one hand. "Hello, sweet Bubbles. You look vonderful in ze outfit I got you," she would say. "Vhere vould you like me to start?"

Only then did Femke realize what was happening. She had barely looked at Mariah, but now she finally broke her eye contact with Bubbles, glancing down to the slightly-shorter American with her eyebrows raised in confusion.

Questions, so many questions, raced through Bubbles mind as she faced off with her counterpart. How strong was Femke? She looked powerful, obviously, but obviously one of them had to have some advantage in power. They couldn’t be that identical? And her skill, that was a consideration, too. Did she favor submission holds, or was she all about the pure power? Was she fast? Bubbles couldn’t move quite as quick as she used to, but she was capable of the occasional burst when need be. Those arms looked nice and sturdy, but how good was she with the strikes? It had been so long since she’d been able to get into a real slugfest with someone…

”Oh me, oh my.” She had to have a long exhale, doing her best to calm herself and resist the urge to storm into her foe and start a furious fucking session. How long did Mariah want her to wait? Heck, why was she waiting? She loved her wife, really and truly, but if she held back for much longer, there wouldn’t be any stopping her forward momentum. She could tell from the look in Femke's eyes that she had the same hangup, that the referee was only there to declare the winner and do little else. Once that bell rang, there wouldn't be a force in the universe that could stop their heavenly bodies from crashing. Don't worry, darling. She spoke through her gaze, let her stare convey the message. I'm coming for you, soon enough.

It was only when she heard Darya speak that she managed to tear her gaze away from the statuesque stunner in front of her, turning her attention to another, slightly less statuesque stunner. Mariah had mentioned this one, but she either hadn’t told Bubbles how built she was or she’d obsessed over Femke so much that she’d forgotten. She was certainly a solid, busty woman, and the sexy accent was a big plus. She could see why Femke would want a woman like this, at least on the looks alone.

What she didn’t understand, though, was why she was coming over to her. And why Mariah was going over to Femke. And why she was squirting oil in her hand and asking where she wanted to…

”Oh.” Bubbles blinked, twice, as the realization hit her. ”Ooooooooh.”

This was an unexpected surprise, but not an unwelcome one. As much as she craved Mariah’s touch, she was never averse to feeling a new pair of hands on her skin. Could be fun, and it would be nice to get to know this woman a little better in the typical sense before she got to know her in the Biblical sense. ”Oh, yeah, was meaning to thank you for that. You’ve got good eyes for…” She cringed. ”Well, a good eye. Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

Bubbles laughed it off with a sheepish giggle, hoping Darya didn’t take the slip too personally. She seemed like an amiable sort. ”Anyway, I’m not picky.” She lift her arms up and did some stretching, getting out a few more kinks while she gave the one-eyed wonder full access. ”Lady's choice.”

As Darya went to it, Bubbles looked over at Mariah, watching as she did a quick circle around Femke’s body, scanning her up and down while she poured the oil in her hand. ”Look at you, look at you.” She whistled, as she made her way back to Femke’s front and stared up at her with a Chesire grin. ”You’re the total package, aren’t you?” She reached up and planted a wet hand Femke’s right breast, giving it a tentative gentle squeeze. The oil started to seep down, already slipping under the tight fabric. ”I’m a breast woman. Mind if I start here?”

Femke knew that Bubbles understood the look in her eyes. Even if they weren't actually sharing words, the emotion present in those lovely blue irises told Femke everything she needed to know about what Bubbles was thinking. The two of them were in complete accord, both ready to go after each other with everything they had, simply waiting for the little people—only someone her size could think of the six-footers Mariah and Darya as "little," it occurred to her—around them to finish up with the match's final preparations before they got underway, at long last, with a match that seemed to be not just a few weeks in the making, but years.

Once her eyes were torn away from her fellow bronzen Amazon and to the also impressively endowed, albeit slightly shorter, paler American, however, Femke did get a little anxious. She should have known Darya would tease her like this. She glanced in the direction of her wife, who was sidling up beside Bubbles with eager eyes. Darya caught her gaze and gave her a wink. Femke blushed and stuck her tongue out at her beloved before turning her attention to the equally-devious manager right beside her. She blushed a little more as she checked out the woman, who was dolled up in a white cocktail dress which almost rivaled Darya's. Like Bubbles, Mariah had wide hips, large breasts, a naughty little glint in her eye...she carried herself with confidence, walking into a room, or over to a wrestler, with the body language of someone who knew she owned it.

Or owned her.

Mariah was appreciating Femke, and Femke smiled back at her, giving a little bow as she was showered with compliments. "I like to think so. So does my wife," she replied. Mariah walked up to her, and slipped a breast into her oil-slick hand, making Femke gasp softly as she was played with. She bit her lip.

"Mmmmn...start wherever you'd like...go ahead and take the full tour." Femke would put her hands on her hips and push out her tits for a closer inspection.

Darya, meanwhile, enjoyed the display that Bubbles was putting on for her. The woman was a born performer, as well as a born warrior. The Russian chuckled, covering her mouth with one hand and letting the fingers of the other flutter at the big brawler. Bubbles was obviously a little awkward, despite her cheerful demeanor, however, seeing as how she had mentioned Darya's optical situation. The Russian took no offense. "Do not vorry, my dear. It is often ze first ting people vill notice, and I am used to it. As I am sure...you are also used to having zis vonderful bum noticed, yes?" Darya moved around behind Bubbles, letting her oil-covered hands drop to the woman's rump, which she began slathering in a very generous coat of oil. As she did, she rested her chin on Bubbles's shoulder, so she could whisper in the woman's ear—and give Mariah a teasing raised eyebrow across the way.

"So, vhat do you tink of my darling Golden? Incredible, yes?" she asked, murmuring into Bubbles's ear. "Ze two of you, so similar...but feeling your body, and knowing hers as I do..."

Bubbles rarely paid much attention to the audience. It wasnt’ that she hated them, just that they were a non-issue as far as she was concerned - she did what she wanted to, what she enjoyed, and if the people didn’t like it, then that was their problem.

But even she couldn’t fail to notice that there was some boos coming from the crowd’s more impatient members. They wanted a battle, wanted the war they’d paid for, and this foreplay was up to their taste, it seemed. A bunch of morons, really. The match had already started.

Bubbles could be dense at times, but even she couldn’t fail to see what Darya was doing, here. Those hands on her ass were soothing, and she shivered at the cold touch made her hairs stand on edge. If she hadn’t been aroused before - and she was, massively - she’d certainly be so now. How couldn’t she be with that husky voice whispering in her ear? That was the whole point. She was trying to give Femke a head start.

Not that Bubbles was going to do anything to stop it, though. She’d never stopped a beautiful woman from touching her body before, and she wasn’t about to make an exception today. ”Incredible? Oh, yeah.” Aside from the shiver at Darya’s vibrations, Bubbles spoke plainly, like they were two strangers striking up idle conversation. “Your wife is extremely fuckable, Darya.” There was a sentence that rarely got uttered.

Darya’s last words raised an eyebrow, though. ”’But’.” She thrusted her ass into the Russian’s lap, giving her a quick, teasing grind. ”What? You’re saying I don’t measure up?”

Nearby, Mariah had noticed Darya’s teasing face, but she didn’t have much time to really look at it. She was busy, going about the arduous task of making Femke look even hotter than she already did. If such a thing was physically possible.

”Hope you don’t think the outfit is a little too much. I just saw it on display, and, well…” She sighed and let that sentence complete itself, as she slipped a hand underneath what little covering Femke’s breasts had and started working on the tender flesh underneath. Making sure to get the oil in all those hard to reach places, letting it slip into the crevice of her chest as she moved from one gorgeous globe to the next.

That was just what one hand was doing, however. The other worked down below, sliding along Femke’s hardened abs, rolling about her hips, then slowly working her way between the brawny beauty’s legs. ”A little more snug than I’d pictured, though. Was tempted to have Bubbles try it first, but I didn’t want to risk snapping it before she had the chance to do that to you in the ring.”

Her fingers found two strings and tangled them between her fingers. With a little tug here and a slight pulled there, she worked them against Femke’s pussy, sliding them along the slide. She kept her gaze upwards the whole time, never losing an innocent smile. ”Too tight?”