Title: Fear Fixation
Author: Kora
E-mail: KrazyKora@aol.com or WinterViolet24@aol.com
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: The following characters belong to WWE and all the people and companies who deal with all that legal stuff. I am simply using the characters for my own twisted enjoyment.
Author's Note: My first WWE femslash piece. I am so ashamed of myself. ::o_O::
This is from Stacy's POV. I had been meaning to write this story for quite sometime but never got around to it, so excuse me for its lateness. This would be more aptly set around the 11/25/2002 episode of 'RAW', but in some ways it could still be relevant around now.
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Sometimes I wonder how I ended up like this but I find it's better not to wonder about it because that makes my head hurt and my stomach ache. No one seems to notice any difference. They still see me as bright eyed, bubbly Stacy Keibler with the mile-long legs and nice ass. All smiles no troubles, no dark circles under my eyes…make-up helps with that.
God, people don't know shit about me, do they?
They don't see my problems, don't see the troubles that lie just beneath the surface of my skin. My perfect porcelain skin. See, that's precisely it. Porcelain skin. Perfect porcelain skin. I'm perfect, flawless, at least that's what I want you to think or what you want to think or what they want you to think.
But I digress 'cause I don't want to get too damn philosophical.
Instead I should just shut the hell up and focus on the matter at hand. The matter of hand being how sheltered I've always been, how small my world was until she entered the picture. She tore it all up, my happy little bubble of existence. She blew in like a hurricane and tore me apart, tore it all down and exposed me to things I wasn't even aware were in the world.
You know, I had never thought of myself as naïve until her. I thought I knew the score. I thought I had it all figured out. I wasn't a child, I wasn't a baby, I mean, for god's sake, I was blowing McMahon so I could have a job, so I could get past the glass ceiling and get the glory.
I bet if I had kept it up, sucked off that wrinkled piece of shit a coupla more times I would have even secured myself the women's championship belt. I mean, look at Trish Stratus, she got on her knees and behaved like a good girl and look where it got her. A legion of fans and the belt more times than you can count, certainly more than she deserved it.
Anyway, I thought I had myself, my place, and the world pegged down pretty good. And then she came a long. She was an upstart, she came up like fire onto a lake of gasoline-quick, silent, deadly, and with a forceful impact. She was behind Molly Holly of all things, a second in command, a rookie, a sidekick. Then out of nowhere, she exploded onto the scene big time.
She tossed Trish around like a rag doll, started acting like a friggin' psycho and getting in everyone's face-superstar, diva, it didn't matter. She was ravenous and fearless, like an un-caged animal hungry for blood and action. She drew that nut Richards to her like nothing, she was as vicious as his ex, Jazz, but she was a hell of a lot better looking.
People back stage were comparing her to Chyna back in ol' Chyna's hey-day, but they were quick to point out that while she may have been like ol' Chy, she was a helluva a lot better looking than she was. I didn't notice that of course. Why the hell would I?
I don't check out other chicks. I don't look at their breasts or their bodies and lick my lips 'cause I'm no carpet muncher. Or at least, I wasn't…
Um.
Back-up a bit. See, as I was saying, I didn't give a shit about her looks. I didn't even go through the trouble of comparing her to me. I've done that before. The comparing. I'd compared me and Trish numerous times and frankly have always thought out of the two of us that I am ten times better looking but that's besides the point.
Being so popular with the male superstars, I often get a backstage pass to the men's locker room and I heard them talk about her enough. They all thought she was crazy but they all admitted they would have loved a swipe at her.
Hell, even Shawn friggin' Michaels, the married religious upstanding guy, admitted that back in the day, when he was his old ring-humping self, he would have taken a hit at her 'cause she was a fine piece of work.
I was jealous naturally. Normally it was me the men lusted after, I had overheard them more than once talking about wanting to fuck my brains out and frankly I'm not the kind of girl who gets insulted by that kind of thing. I've always thought that if a guy wants to fuck me or jerk off to me or whatever that I should take it as a compliment.
I mean, it just tells you how attractive you are if a guy has actually given you some consideration as sex material. Sure, men are animals and they view a lot of women as a piece of meat and I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me sometimes but frankly, like I said, I truly see it merely as a compliment.
'Cause I'm not star-eyed. I don't lie to myself like some little girls and say I'm going to get romance, marriage, and happily ever after 'cause that's bullshit. No, if I'm lucky, I'll get immortalized as some guy's memorable fantasy, wet-dream girl and make money while doing it. That's reality, that's the way it really is.
I know, I know, it's surprising to hear how bitter and cynical I really am. What did I tell you? No one knows what I really think or what I really feel. Isn't it all shocking as shit?
Anyway, I was talking about her, and if you haven't figured it out yet, by 'her' I mean our one-time women's champion and psycho diva, Victoria. She's the one this whole rant is about. She's the one who changed my life.
As I was rambling about, I was jealous 'cause the guys in the locker room were drooling after her instead of me and I, feeling so secure in my little place and world, wanted to confront her on it. Surprisingly enough though, she all ready had her own plans.
She had been pegging divas-divas with pretty faces and puppies and all that and tearing them apart. I, unexpectedly, became her next target. The newest object of her warped obsessions. And that's when she tore me apart. She frightened me. I had never been frightened before. She tore off my goddamn nail with her teeth and then later thrust me up against a wall, held me tight, and licked the side of my face, saying that she loved me because I tasted like fear.
And that moment, the one where she licked my face, was the clincher.
Yeah, I was afraid.
But not for the reason everyone thought.
And certainly not the reason I was originally afraid of her to begin with.
No, I was afraid because when she was that close to me, when she slid her soft, silky wet tongue along my cheek, I felt a sliver of emotion shoot through me, pool between the center of my legs. I felt arousal.
Her actions had made me wet.
I couldn't believe it.
I was disgusted with myself for days after, thankful for the fact that I had shown fear and not any other emotion on camera, but honestly, when she had attacked me I had felt shivers of fear and arousal mingle together to make some new emotion. And that emotion, whatever the fuck it was, I began to crave like a junkie.
So, from then on, my world was tilted on its side a bit. Off center, but not yet crushed. I would end up crushing it though, I did it the night I finally worked up the courage to see her. To dare to even enter her dark domain or whatever you want to call it. I wandered on to her turf, into her lair, and she didn't kill me or attack me…at least, not the way you'd think.
Hell, the night I went to her I was shaking, trembling with fear and anticipation and all sorts of things. My stomach rolled around so much I thought I'd be sick but I stuck to my guns, was brave and asked her face to face about the situation. What I felt, how she might feel, what the fuck she had done and what was happening.
And her answers, what she did, has led me here to now. To this moment, where my world, the one I knew, is gone, smashed and ground to dust to what it is now. Here I am, outside her hotel room as I have been so many times before, my body quivering as I lift a hand and knock briskly.
The door pops open and a hand reaches out, snatching the front of my purple nylon shirt and dragging me inside into the darkness of the room. The door slams behind me and I'm thrust up against it.
She's all over me like she always is. Hot and panting, hungry. Her mouth covers mine and she's kissing me like I'm water and she's thirsty, her tongue thrusting in like a hot poker to stoke the roof my mouth.
I don't struggle, instead I try, as always, to keep up, my own tongue clumsy. Her fingers are digging into my shoulders, leaving claw marks as always. She's making those sounds again-the ones that drive me crazy. I never thought I could get so fucking turned on by the noises another girl makes but shit if I don't when Victoria's the one doing it. She makes these purring, whimpering, growly kind of sounds.
And she rubs her body all over mine. Our breasts mashing together, caressing and touching, nipples hard as rocks and hips grinding together. I always tangle my own hands in her hair, wrap her dark locks around my fingers.
My own sounds are always quiet…confused. Like I can't believe I'm doing this. Oh sure, the first time I made them they were genuine. I didn't know what I was doing and couldn't believe it but now, after having done this so many times, I don't know why I still make them.
'Cause this isn't new.
We've done it before and were going to do it again.
And right now, we are definitely doing it.
She grabs handfuls…no…clawfuls, of my shirt and tears it up and off over my head. I hear the material rip but she gets me so hot I don't care. My bra goes next and she's nuzzling my neck, licking and biting. Literally biting. She's left marks. I always have to cover those up. Test, Andrew, has never questioned them 'cause he's never seen them. Like I said, make-up. I'm really good with it.
Andrew, I'm with him yet I'm not and he has no idea about me and Victoria. Frankly, In don't know whether he'd be angry, shocked, jealous or all of the above. Maybe he'd just like to watch like most men would, but whatever the fuck he is, it doesn't matter at this moment.
Because when it's me and Victoria in a room it's just that. Me and her and…the thing we have between us.
She's pawing at my breasts and I'm moaning, my knees shaking, falling apart. It's amazing the strength and force she puts behind these sexual assaults. It's almost like she's a man the way she goes about it. All heated lust and hunger. God only knows what she does to Richards when they fuck. He is probably the bitch in their relationship 'cause lord knows, I'm the bitch in this one.
Her mouth is moving lower and I'm practically breaking glass with my keening cries of desire. I only get loud with her, don't ask why, because lord knows I don't know.
Oh Jesus….she's…sucking my…
Okay, I'm back. God, I love it when she does that.
I have to return the favor, don't I?
This is new as I lash out, biting her nipple thorough her shirt.
She squeals and the look on her face….
Oh shit, she liked that.
I can tell I earned brownie points.
Her crazy dark eyes are full of fire and she gives me that crazy grin of hers as she tears off her own shirt and bra, then reaches both hands out to take fistfuls of my hair, thrusting my head down between her breasts. I do like she wants, licking and sucking and kissing all the flesh I can and she's loving it. We both fall back on the bed and I can see she's got the handcuffs out, one attached to each post of the bed. Oh lord, I'm in for more trouble.
She loves to punish me. Torture me.
She gets a real kick out of it. The first few times were especially good because I really was frightened and helpless. See, it's my innocence she craves from me, my naivete. The things I didn't think I had but she saw. Even though she and I do this now, I guess I still have it or she probably wouldn't want me anymore.
She's got both my wrists in a vice like grip and she's practically humping me with her hips, holding me to the bed with an inhuman amount of strength. She eases my hands into the cuffs and, naturally, I let her. I always do. She's got me chained up and she's tugged off my skirt. Her fingers and mad mouth now scoring my long legs.
I'm only wearing my aqua blue mesh panties now and she's slowed down, relaxing. This is always a bad sign because whenever she takes a breather it only means when she does catch her breath that she's going to be even more outrageous than before. She nuzzling my thighs now, her cheeks warm and soft.
I can still remember the first time I confronted her, when this began and I asked her why she does the things she does, why she's the way she is. See, in these activities, we don't talk much-obviously, what's there to talk about? I'm not about to be all, 'how was your day, honey?' Our…relationship isn't like that.
But anyway, when I asked her, she was short and to the point, all she said was, 'Because I can.' I took that for that and we haven't talked about it much since but I have to admit she has been…well…more civil to me since this began.
She still beats the shit out of Trish and hates all the other divas with a passion but me, I guess she has something of a soft spot for, 'cause she hasn't laid a finger on me publicly since that last attack. The one with the face licking, the one that led to this.
Sure, she sometimes clubs me in the arm or talks about how pretty I am and my puppies and blah, blah, blah-the normal psycho diva bullshit but I can tell it's just for appearances. Not that anyone would ever think that she and I are in this kind of relationship. It's inconceivable. Hell, it's inconceivable to me and I'm in it.
I suck in a breath as her face is now centered above my underwear, her breath whooshing over the very center of my being, the area where all my blood is currently pumping, all the sensitivity.
She can be vicious here or gentle, depends of her mood and for the moment it seems we're going gentle as she delicately traced me through the material, her fingertips dancing lightly over me.
I let out a kittenish moan of pleasure. I'm so wet and eager and frankly I'm not in the mood for slow right now. I struggle against my bonds and, ironically enough, it too is for show. When I want out it's obvious. At this moment I only partially want out. If not to just grab her hair and force her face down into my...
Ohhhhhhh….never mind, she got the picture herself.
I start thrashing now, literally fighting my bonds and she begins to mouth me through my panties. I wish she'd just take them off. In fact I'm asking her to now, my voice tight and desperate.
She smirks and does as I ask for once, which is a shock, normally she never does as I ask. I must have said the magic words though and soon enough she's devouring me whole, her tongue driving in and out and moving over every lush region, my legs wrapped around her. I'm lucky I've never broken her neck when this happens considering how much I tighten up when I'm close to climax.
And I'm so close right now. She's doing an absolutely lovely job on me and I feel her hands fondle my breasts, teasing my nipples then going around to cup my ass, squeeze it as she lifts my body closer to her mouth, feasting away on me.
My cries are growing louder and thicker with intensity. I'm writhing now and I feel myself titter on the edge. Then one hand goes lower, her fingers find me and she's thrusting in and I tumble over, starbursts exploding in front of my eyes and I wonder if it'll ever end.
Slowly my being floats back down to earth and my wrists begin to ache from fighting my restrains. Oddly enough that was pretty quick. A lot of the time she really drags it out, teasing and torturing until I can't see straight. She has me go down on her sometimes but a lot of the time she seems to derive more pleasure from tormenting me then in satisfy herself.
Maybe that's her way of being a considerate lover, who knows.
Anyway, she's sedated for the moment and crawls up my body. She'll leave me chained up for a while as she rests, never eager to let me be free. When she releases me she never caters to my sore wrists or mouths platitudes. Instead she normally toss me my clothes and leaves the bedroom until I'm gone.
That's the way it's always been and the way it probably always will be.
And then it's business as usual until I come knocking on her hotel room door again. Ready for another round of…what we do. There's always some variations, like I've said. Maybe next time she'll force me to please her. I've never actually gotten to chain her up, doubt I ever will but who knows? She seemed to enjoy when I attacked her tonight, so maybe her kinks are taking another turn.
I never really elaborated on one thing though, the thing that drove this whole thought process in the first place.
Victoria destroying my world.
How and why.
Well, from her I learned what sex really was, why people are so addicted to it. I learned passion and lust, want and desire. I learned how to have a fulfilling orgasm and I learned about fear. She said once that I give her the one thing no one else does, fear. And I do give her that, that and more because that emotion I felt the first time she licked my face.
It was fear.
But it's a new kind of fear.
A kind of fear that you grow addicted to and want over and over again.