Jessie's lips smacked. It was unconscious, and she did it when she read. Her gum, long drained of flavor, was a bland rubber thing that got tougher and tougher as her smacking got louder. She turned the page of the report.
Smack
.
A list of names ran down the page in a tidy column; five more tidy columns ran down the page beside it, but these had numbers. Decimals, percentages, and averages.
Jessie skimmed through. She noted the average's column, and used the other numbers to create context. She always saw these numbers as parts of a painting. Each part worked together, telling what happened and, if she was lucky, what will happen. She turned the page and smacked her lips, louder.
There were thirty pages in the manilla folder, hundreds of names to sift through, and too little time to do it. She put the folder down and ran her fingers through her auburn hair. She leaned back in her chair and took in the room. The carpet was lusciously red and the walls were beige. Bare, the room was nothing to marvel at. A touch on the dull side, Jessie believed.
But when she became a scout, she took it upon herself to spruce the place up. Dried leaves from towns she visited hung in frames lining the walls. Tapestries draped over the office's single window, and a bronze statue of a naked woman sat on the corner of her desk next to her pens and a bundle of carnations she replaced weekly.
Her office still had room for improvement, but this was better than the bleak walls she inherited. She looked back at the open folder. The numbers painted pictures. These pictures were tools, useful in guiding her to the next move, and if she was a gambling girl, they were pretty damn accurate.
But pictures never tell the whole story in catfighting.
Some girls have astonishing averages but hit the mat cumming and never get that spark back. Some girls are rock bottom of the curve, but are unbreakable vixens to the core. Numbers helped Jessie see the girl.
Watching the girl fight let Jessie see her spirit.
She closed the folder and tucked it away in her satchel. She recognized two names from the paper this morning. Avina, a twenty five year old from the country, and Lera, a thirty year old gatekeeper to the league.
The two were set to fight in, Jessie checked her watch and dashed out the door,
right about now
in the town square arena.
Avina crossed her legs. They were slender and tight. All she wore for the fight was a leather thong and silver nipple pasties with emeralds in the center. She had nothing to hide. Her pride surged as the crowd gathered. Onlookers peered at both fighters, but Avina was sure she caught the most attention.
A young rookie on a hot streak. Never been cummed on the mat and won in dominant fashion--her pussy tightened at the thought of afterwin punishment. Her name was growing. She knew a win here would cement her reputation.
She stretched, for the crowd, and lightly shook her perky breasts. They slapped into each other. She pushed out her chest, also for the crowd, to accentuate her slim waist and firm rear. Finally, for the crowd, she flipped her dark hair over her shoulder so that it partially covered one of her breasts.
For Lera, she locked eyes and yawned.
Lera, if she was three years younger, might have taken offense. She might have taken offense to the crowd chattering about Avina's showboating. She might have even taken offense to the crowd's apparent favoritism for the dark skin rookie from the woodland.
But Lera was not three years younger.
She was a veteran catfighter. She had been cummed and she had cummed several girls. She had been at the receiving end of afterwin and the taking end. It was part of the game, and she had even become friends with old rivals.
While she never became a league fighter, she rightly earned the title of gatekeeper. She was a catfighter with a generous record, but this year, she aimed to have a remarkable record.
She sat at the other corner of the arena. She, similarly, wore just jean shorts, that let half her ass hang out, and black tape-crosses on her nipples. Her body, having endured more clawing, twisting, and slapping than the rookie's, was still the body of a pretty young thing. Her breasts were ample, just more than handfuls, and her ass was toned, just one size too big for her struggling shorts.
In a cheeky reply, she crossed her legs and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder. Her blue eyes never broke from Avina's brown eyes as the two exchanged silent threats.
The rookie was fast, but the gatekeeper was experienced.
The rookie was confident, but the gatekeeper was levelheaded.
The rookie was explosive, but the gatekeeper could take a beating.
Despite all differences, both girls shared one similarity: They needed to impress the scout that just nudged her way to the arena.
The ref stepped through the ropes and walked between them both. She inhaled and spoke into a mic clipped to her ear.
TODAY WE HAVE A NEW VERSUS OLD MATCH. AVINA.
The ref turned and pointed to Avina. She stood and shook her breasts again, harder. The crowd roared and whistled.
AND LERA.
The ref turned to Lera, who stood and waved. Most the fans here had seen her breasts in action. It was nothing new. Still, the crowd cheered.
Lera found comfort in that.
The ref beckoned for the girls to approach. They did, but the ref made sure to keep them arm's length from each other.
BOTH GIRLS HAVE INFORMALLY AGREED UPON A ONE CUM, AFTERWIN MATCH. DO YOU AGREE AND HAVE YOU DRANK THE ELIXIR?
The ref asked Avina.
Avina, never breaking eye contact with Lera, smugly nodded. The smugness was a natural part of her bravado. An extra edge to have on opponents before the fight even began. But today, the smugness had bonus cause. The elixir, whether by miracle or tolerance, was duller. Lust burned in her nether regions. Her thong clung to her pussy because of dampness, and the need to fuck raged inside her.
But she could focus. It was not like the other times, where she knew that if she did not climax by the end of the hour, she would... she didn't know. It was just so bad she could shove anything into her aching pussy for relief.
That sensation was gone today, replaced by sharp, narrow focus.
She would fuck Lera.
She would have her way with the blonde bruiser.
DO YOU AGREE?
The ref asked Lera.
Lera leaned in. Evil flashed across her face, giving her a smugness that took Avina aback, though the rookie would never show it.
"I do not agree."
The ref, ready to start the match, stuttered her words as she stared at Lera puzzled.
Y-you... DO NOT AGREE.
She said it as a statement but, from her face, it was a question.
Lera stood straight and inhaled. Projecting as loud as she could, she announced to the crowd:
I DECLARE A DRINK SUB MATCH.
The arena's volume shriveled. Not a single word passed until the ref's licking lips subtly broke the silence.
A DRINK SUB MATCH?
Lera nodded, her smugness having broken through Avina's.
The rookie was stunned. Whether she was nervous, not even she could tell, but she was certainly stunned. A drink match. To put that much on the line for an under league match.
Avina looked up and realized. This was it. The scout at the ring's edge watched in anticipation for the next decision. This was Lera's plan. Few people cared about these matches but to make it a drink sub match would make it the talk of the town.
And if Avina won, she would be the talk of the town...
if.
Avina confidently rolled back into her smug smile and nodded.
I ACCEPT.
The crowd gasped as one. Murmurs rose. New energy zapped through the arena. This was a sight hardly seen.
The ref nodded her approval.
