Money Mella Makes Her Mark Ch 04

Months and months had passed since Sasha Banks and Carmella had set their date with destiny into motion, a heated confrontation that set into motion a series of world-shattering events within the WWE. Much had changed, for the better and for the worse, and, when it came to The Boss, it was mostly the latter.

For starters, Sasha had lost her Raw Women's Championship in another rematch with Charlotte at SummerSlam, once again without successfully defending it once. A real pity, made even more horrific by the actions of The Queen following their match. In true overconfident fashion, Sasha bet her ass against Charlotte, whilst her bet with Carmella still lingered in the background, mind you. It was a bit of foolishness she lived to regret too, considering she was humiliated again.

Luckily, Sasha was able to weasel her way out of the bumming by offering up her good friend Paige's services instead. For whatever reason, Charlotte was able to pass up the chance to steal her arch rival's anal cherry, just when it was in her grasp. Funny, isn't it? How could an uber-tier alpha female like Charlotte Flair do something so strange?

Whatever the case may be, the title was back in Charlotte's genetically-superior hands, giving her the go-ahead to focus on her scheduled brand-to-brand invitational with the reigning SmackDown Women's Champion Becky Lynch at Survivor Series. Which just so happened to be the place where Sasha and Mella's date with destiny had been confirmed to take place. See, with them being on different brands, both traveling around the States in opposite directions, scheduling the match was tough work. Mella had gone out of her way, trying to sweet talk upper management to allow her a Raw appearance or tour, but to no avail. Every attempt was cut off with the same "It'll confuse the audience" promo, promptly sending Carmella on her way.

Even on SummerSlam, a co-branded show, Mella was forced to wait for her match with The Legit Boss. Try as she might, she couldn't bring herself any closer to exposing Banksy's facade, any closer to claiming another fuckhole for her collection. For a while, it seemed as though Sasha only ran her mouth and agreed to fight because she knew actually bringing the match to light would be incredibly tough. Proving that patience truly is a virtue, Mella had to wait several months, until Survivor Series, to get her match with The Boss. Which brings us to the night itself, a night that Sasha Banks had been dreading as she reached out and turned the doorknob, opening the women's locker room and slipping inside.

Needless to say, Sasha's life hadn't exactly been on the up and up since formally meeting The Fabulous One. She lost her title shortly thereafter, her short-lived alliance with Paige had come to an end after she backstabbed The Glampire and forced her to bottom in her place. Thankfully, Paige hadn't broken, but everybody knew that was only because Charlotte hadn't been trying to. Then, she'd been unable to regain the title at Hell in a Cell with no stakes attached.

Loss after loss, failure after failure had begun to weigh on her. Sasha began to doubt her own abilities, something she knew was foolish but was unavoidable nonetheless. Understandably, Banks wasn't in the same headspace that she had been when she agreed to the match with Carmella months prior. Against her own better judgment, Sasha even began to wonder if she could beat Mella. Which was silly in hindsight, now that she'd spent the last few weeks psyching herself up, cycling between her two bitches, AJ Lee and Bayley, in preparation for the asshole pummeling she planned to give the uppity New Yorker.

Sasha knew doubting herself wasn't healthy, and that's why she ditched that mindset entirely. If she was going to win, which she was, then she needed to be The Legit Boss, the neck breaker and cash claimer that ruled over Raw for a couple of weeks during the summer. Which was kinda hard once she entered the locker room and caught sight of what had been going on behind her back.

Off to the side, out of the center stage limelight but bright and visible enough to piss her off was AJ, mouth firmly wrapped around Carmella smooth, hairless mound. Her bitch, her cocksleeve, servicing someone else! Not just anyone, but the woman she was moments away from going to war with, no doubt a blatant attempt to get into her head before their match. And God damn, did it work!

Snarling, Sasha approached the pair and barked, "What the fuck do you think your doing?" AJ immediately stopped in her tracks, her brown eyes looking up for reassurance not from her actual mistress, but the woman whose pussy she was enjoying and whose pussy juice coated her lips.

Holding up one long, outstretched index finger, Mella puzzledly and leisurely answered, "Well I'm uh...doin' whatever I want?" Then, once she had, she motioned for AJ to continue that excellent tongue work. Naturally, the weak little bitch adhered, returning to the big, short, short, big lick formula she'd been using before.

"Whatever you want, huh?" Sasha asked redundantly, sassily crossing her arms. "So...what? You think you can just use my bitch without permission? You do know that I can run a train on you for fuckery like this, right?"

"Y-Your bitch? Who...who said anything about AJ being your bitch?" Mella questioned, struggling through her response thanks to the skillful little rug muncher lapping away at her cunt. AJ was damn good at putting her mouth to use, maybe even better than The Bellas, though it was too close to really be sure. In any case, the whore's oral skills were top notch, as evidenced by the way each lick made even a simple task like speaking difficult for Carmella to perform.

Confusedly, Sasha answered, "Ye-Yeah, I broke her the day we made our bet, remember?" She certainly did, but for some reason, Sasha herself even doubted the words as they left her mouth.

"No, I don't! I remember you screwing me out of a nice double-bumming sesh, and I also remember you forcing her to say that she was yours in order to cum. But, as far as being yours? Belonging to you, mind, body, and soul? I don't think so. Ain't that right, AJ? Why don't you show Banksy who ya really belong to?" Mella's demand was quickly processed and adhered to without a second thought. With her movements as smooth as silk, AJ kept her tongue pressed against Mella's clit as she reached back and pulled down her tight jean shorts, eventually revealing a tattoo that had obviously been inked quite recently, the red outline around the art proof of such.

Eventually sliding into frame was a rather large dollar sign with a circle surrounding it, a silent symbol of who AJ Lee's services belonged to. She didn't have to outright say it, because it was obvious. Without her knowledge, Mella had swooped in and stolen AJ right from under her. Or...did she? Was AJ ever her slave to begin with? Dammit, the whole situation was too confusing.

Not for Mella though, who casually sat back, allowing herself to enjoy the cunnilingus as her rival struggled to process everything going on. Well, for a few seconds anyway, before the urge to bash The Boss became too much for Mella to resist. "Yeah, I f-felt so bad for the bitch. She probably never told you, Banksy, but she had it bad for Charlie. Real bad, to the point where she was begging The Queen to pipe her down. But ol' Queenie wasn't interested. 'Too many whores, not enough time', can you believe that? She actually said that to AJ!"

Sasha rolled her eyes as Carmella continued, "Not me though, nuh uh! I had more than enough time for ya, didn't I, pet?"

Surprisingly managing to pry her mouth from that mound for even a second, AJ pulled her head from Carmella's crotch to briefly admit, "Yes, my Money Mistress. You pummeled my hole and now it's yours."

"Aww, what a good girl you are! Who's my good girl, AJ?" Mella asked, petting the tiny brunette babe, the former Divas Champion reacting positively to the demeaning act.

"I am! I'll always be a good girl for my Money Mistress!" AJ proclaimed, her words getting barely a second of air before her head was forced back down, deep between Mella's strong, luxurious thighs.

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard enough. Hurry up and eat my cunt, I've got a match to prepare for," Mella growled, showing a rougher edge to the softer side she'd just displayed moments before. All the while, keeping a cold, sadistic grin targeted towards the former Raw Women's Champion.

Groaning, Sasha unenthusiastically chirped, "A tattoo? Really? That's so trashy, you know. Forcing someone to brand themselves for life?"

"Hey, it wasn't my idea," Mella comedically argued, pointing out into the crowd of worthless buttslut. "It was...Brie's idea. She pr-propsed that her, Nikki, and AJ all get matching tatts to show their appreciation for me! I find them kinda cute, especially Brie's."

"Why's that?" Sasha questioned.

Snickering, Mella confirmed, "Because her's is just an empty circle! That's funny, right! Mmmm-fuck, she hasn't earned it properly yet." Sasha rolled her eyes at Mella's sick sense of humor. But even still, she couldn't help but be impressed by The Fabulous Diva's cunning and cleverness. "Anywho, like I said, I need to prep. So please, leave me be, will ya?"

"Prep all you want, but you don't stand a chance against me," Sasha assured before walking away, changing into her gear before slipping outside, likely to separate herself from the hustle and bustle in order to get into the right headspace.

Under her breath, Mella sneered, "We'll see about that," as she pushed AJ away, ending her oral stimulation early. Which was fine, seeing as though she didn't want the pussy eating to drag on for too long anyway and risk cumming, thus draining herself. "Yeah, we'll see alright."

________________________________________

Much of the match had gone by roughly two hours into the Survivor Series mid-card. And, just as Sasha had promised, things had mostly been under her control. Mella had done her best to fight back against the more skilled Banks, but to no avail. Nothing she tried worked, and when she did manage to land a big superkick or lock in her patented Code of Silence submission, it wasn't enough to get the job done. Sasha was proving to be a difficult adversary.

The crowd roared in support of The Boss, the more known and popular of the two, no doubt. As the match trekked on, it became increasingly clear that no matter how hard she tried, Carmella wasn't walking out of this one with the victory, and before long, Sasha was ready to put any doubts away for good. With an entire match's worth of stamina already drained from her slim, sweaty body, Banks, standing tall in the center with her battered opponent clawing at her feet, slowly lifted Carmella up and spun her around. A quick glance at the crowd followed, first left and then right, building the anticipation for her finishing move.

With a quick snap to her movements, Sasha clamped down on Mella's shoulders, using her rival to elevate herself up before falling backward and pulling The Princess of Staten Island down with her, The Boss's knees driving deep into Carmella's back. Following the backstabber setup, Sasha transitioned into her finisher, The Bank Statement, grabbing hold of Mella's neck and wrenching back in classic crossface fashion. In a flash, it looked like things were over for the most FABULOUS Diva in all of WWE. That was, until her plan began to fall into place.

You see, Mella wanted to beat Sasha clean without any kind of under-handed tactics, she really did. Carmella wanted to prove that she could hang with the best but, sadly, it appeared as though she couldn't, at least for the moment. Call it less experience, call it Sasha being a generational talent, it doesn't matter. Her skills were nothing compared to The Boss and it showed. But while she lacked the aptitude in the ring, she had cunning and instincts in spades.

Carmella was well-aware of the possibility that a situation like this may occur, and thus, she used her superior intelligence to prepare for it. Sasha continued to wrench her neck back in an obvious attempt to try and put the match away, but it mattered little to Brie Bella, who ran down to the ring, much to the confusion of the crowd.

Brie hadn't been involved for the buildup to the match, she hadn't even been seen on TV in quite some time. Yet, here she was, storming down to the ring with all the vigor that a broken butt bitch such as herself could muster, getting on the apron once she'd arrived at her destination and screaming incoherent obscenities.

Similarly to the audience, Sasha was hopelessly perplexed, as wrestlers often were after a run-in of this sort. She knew that Brie was Mella's bitch, and that was probably the reason why she came out, which again, was a testament to how alluring and captivating the bombshell blonde really was, considering Brie had still yet to take her Mistress's cock, even months after being claimed. Most puzzling though, was how the broken Bella could actually think her distraction would help Carmella.

Sasha almost found that level of devotion and stupidity amusing, until she began to wonder why her own loyal subject Bayley, a fat-bootied bitch she'd tamed years ago, had never attempted to help her win before, regardless of the circumstances. Regardless of the stakes. And that was how Sasha Banks sealed her fate.

In a fit of either blind rage or focused jealousy, of that Sasha wasn't sure which, she released her hold and bolted to the ring rope, slamming a forearm into Broken Bella Butt Bitch Brie's pretty, well-made face, sending Mella's faithful and devoted slave crashing down to the floor below. Then, before she could even think, she felt an arm wrap around her neck, and a leg hooked around her own.

Some would call it sneaky or, possibly, underhanded. Fans of the tactics would call her genius. Call it what you will, but as Mella pulled Sasha closer to the ring's center and swept her leg out, The Boss's neck heading straight for the canvas as well as her shoulders, Mella could only be called one thing: a winner.

One of Carmella's long, powerful legs coiled itself around one of Sasha's arms, the other arm blocked by Carmella's own upper appendage. Her legs kicked and failed into the air, hoping the erratic movements would pry her shoulders from the mat but, to no avail. The ref counted one...and then two...and then three, before signaling to the time keeper to ring the bell.

Mella's iconic theme began to blare out, failing to drown out the chorus of boos Mella's victory received. The fans rejected not only Brie's involvement in the match, but the finish itself. A real shame, but it really went to show how popular and admired Sasha Banks was and how now, it didn't matter one bit. Because now, Carmella was going to fuck her in the ass; a woman who managed to a gain a loyal servant without doing exactly that was going to bum her long and hard. That was the reality Sasha had no choice but to live with.

Mella was the first to leave the ring, exiting the hostile situation as soon as possible with what the audience perceived to be her new partner, but who Sasha knew was actually her slave, in tow. Which allowed The Boss to paint the entire 20x20 canvas in her tears, fearing the worst from her inevitable fate. Doubting herself once again, despite the fact that Sasha knew that doubting herself could only make the situation worse. But, she couldn't help it, doubting herself was in her genes, it was part of her genetic make-up.

The pity party didn't last forever, though. Eventually the referee approached Sasha and informed her that they needed to get the next match underway, to which she sniffled and got on her not-so-merry way, much to her own chagrin. As she walked up the ramp and eventually through the curtain, Sasha's heart began to pound feverishly. Accompanying her ticker's loud knocking were a sudden, cold sweat and the horrific thoughts of what Carmella may say or, even worse, do to her. Scariest of all though, was the feeling that no matter what, there was nothing Sasha could do in response.

Mella cheated, that much even a blind squirrel could figure out. But in the WWE women's hierarchy, how something occurred mattered little when compared to the black and white, on-paper result, and on this occasion, the record books would show: Carmella defeats Sasha Banks via pinfall. No mention of the interference or even the cheap roll-up, not a single sentence to put over The Boss and how she dominated most of the match. Just that she'd lost and, because of that, there was no excuse she could make to weasel her way out of the inevitable torture that Carmella had planned for her.

Pictures began to run throughout her mind, each more sadistic and taboo than the last, all which acted as a slideshow of her potential future. These pictures, growing ever more graphic in nature as the seconds passed, rushed through even faster the closer Sasha got to the women's locker room, the closer she came to her destiny unfolding, ultimately leading to Sasha pinching herself in an attempt to snap out of it.

After a few deep breaths, the big, wooden locker room door right in front of her, Sasha managed to push those gruesome thoughts out of her mind, instead focusing not on what would happen, but how she would survive it. I mean, it was Carmella, a wannabe in the grand scheme of things. A first-year rookie, still fresh from NXT who had what? Three subs? Sasha could have as many subs as she wanted if she didn't devote so much time into honing her ring work, or at least that's what she always assured herself. But nevertheless, Sasha allowed the worry to slip away, desperately grasping for the security blanket that was Mella's relative inexperience. Once she had, Sasha turned the door's handle and entered the locker room for the second time that night.

Just as before, those not busy preparing for a match were either topping or bottoming in accordance to their standing within the hierarchy. Some switches were doing either or, and Bayley was off to the side, patiently awaiting her mistress's arrival after a hard-fought loss. But among everyone was a major absence: Carmella. High and low she looked, but Sasha didn't see the Money Mistress anywhere. It was almost as if she had disappeared. Gone, without a trace, which brought a smile to Sasha's face.

Banks wasted no time darting towards her locker, quickly undressing out of her gear and throwing on a more comfortable attire, putting off a shower for now in exchange for a quick escape from the locker room. It wasn't exactly honorable, but running away from her problems was definitely better than staying and getting her ass fucked. She could argue that they never agreed on the details of "when" later to avoid getting gangbanged, and maybe even find an even better solution with a little time. Whatever the case, Sasha was getting the hell outta dodge!

Once fully clothed, her bags in hand, Sasha dashed toward the exit. But, before she could escape, she was cut off by an awfully familiar pair of annoying, bratty twin anal bitches. With Brie on the right, still clutching her cheek from Sasha's stiff forearm earlier, and Nikki on the right, fresh as a daisy and looking lovely as ever, The Bella Twins now guarded Sasha's planned escape route.

"Where do you think you're going, Sasha?" Nikki asked, grinning slyly.

"Yeah, where?" Brie added in, removing her hand from her face long enough to sassily hold out her palm to emphasize her question.

Continuing the annoying questioning, Nikki asked "You're not trying to run away from your new reality, are you?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sasha replied sarcastically, failing to stop a sign from escaping her mouth in the process.

"Of course you wouldn't! I mean, you have a date with the most fabulously amazing woman in the entire world," Brie gleamed before adding in under her breath, "lucky."