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Subject: {ASSM} REV: "The Case of the Masochistic Wrestlers" (MMF oral rough)
Date: Thu, 31 Aug 2000 23:10:24 -0400
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<1st attachment, "trudy1.txt" begin>
"The Case of the Masochistic Wrestlers" (MMF oral
rough)
by Souvie
Copyright August 2000
=====
Permission is granted to repost, given that my name and
copyright information are left intact. Comments or
questions are encouraged and can be directed to:
souvie@txucom.net
More of my stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Souvie/www
=====
"Tolliver, get your ass in here!"
I sighed. "Coming," I hollered right back. Mr.
Peterson was a major pain in my aforementioned ass, but
when he called, you didn't dally.
I shut the door to his office, behind me. "You
bellowed?"
"Can the cutesy stuff, Tolliver," he said, talking
around the chewed up stogie clutched between his teeth.
"I have an assignment for you."
"I can hardly wait." So far my assignments, if you
could even call them that, had been covering society
functions and gardening club shows. Here in the south,
society ladies loved their garden parties. There were,
however, only so many different ways you could write
about mint juleps and magnolias.
"Are you familiar with the Dastardly Duo?"
"Are they a new rock group?" I asked, tentatively.
"Christ, Tolliver, don't you pay attention to the news?
I mean you help write it, for shit's sake! They're a
wrestling team, part of that group performing this
weekend at the Arena. My friend inside the police
department called earlier. Seems like the pair have
been charged with..." he looked at a sheet of paper on
his cluttered desk. "..rape and masochism."
"Masochism?"
"That's what I was told. A woman named Delta Murphy
has brought the charges against them. They haven't
been arrested yet; they're waiting for a judge to come
back from golfing or hunting or some such bullshit, to
sign the warrant." He sat down behind the desk,
propping his feet on top. "I want you to get down to
the Arena, ASAP. I want the scoop on this story. You
fuck it up and I'll see you busted back to the
mailroom, understand?"
"Is that a threat?" I didn't like threats, even when
they were from my boss.
He grinned, his tobacco-stained teeth making my stomach
cringe. "Of course not, Tolliver. It's an ultimatum.
You *do* want your name on a byline, don't you?"
Only slightly more than I wanted to fuck Harrison Ford.
"Of course I do," I replied.
"Give me this story, before the Sun runs it, and you've
got your byline."
"I could just kiss you," I said, not able to keep a
smile off my face. I could see my name in print
already.
He grunted and gestured toward the door with the cigar.
He didn't have to tell me twice.
I stopped at my minuscule desk to get my purse.
"Where are you off to in a hurry?"
Shit! I'd hoped to escape without "it" noticing me. I
turned around, the biggest, most fake smile I could
come up with on my face. "What makes you think I'm
going to tell you, Dirk?"
Dirk Drummand, my rival there at the Daily Press. He
was the one that got all the stories I wanted. If you
asked him, he'd tell you he was God's gift to women.
If you asked me, I'd tell you he was an A-1 asshole.
If you didn't sleep with him, that automatically made
you a lesbian. He'd been trying for the
past three months to figure out which secretary I had
my eye on.
"You ever ask out Shelia?" he questioned. If there was
anything faster than his hands, it was his ability to
switch topics.
"Shelia's that new girl down in payroll, right? The
brunette with the big rack?" Shelia wasn't my type.
Now Eric, down in the mailroom, *he* was definitely my
type.
I shook off my adolescent daydreaming and noticed that
Dirk was practically drooling. "Yeah, Shelia, that's
the one." I wondered if she'd turned him down, too.
I shouldered my bag and looked him in the eye. "Bite
me, Dirk." I turned around and walked off without a
backward glance.
"You're just frustrated because you want it, but it's
not in your nature," he shouted out after me. I held up
a hand and flipped him the bird.
"She needs to get some pussy," he muttered under his
breath, sitting back at his desk.
"I think it's a phase he's going through, dear,"
elderly Mrs. Beermeir said, patting me on the hand as I
passed by her. "Venus is approaching its equinox and
Mars is at its zenith, you know." She had been
cleaning the newspaper's offices for over 40 years. I
think that's the only reason management tolerated her
eccentricity. I found her quirkiness refreshing.
"Either that, or he's got something stuck up his ass,"
she added, an absent look on her face.
I bit back a laugh and walked out the door.
==**==
The Arena was packed even for the middle of the day,
and parking had been a bitch. I brushed a lock of
shiny, blonde hair behind my ear and adjusted my bra.
I'd changed clothes before heading downtown. If I was
going to be an honest to God reporter, I figured I had
to dress the part. To me that meant wearing whatever I
could that would ensure I got the story. From the
stares and catcalls I was getting from the construction
workers across the road, my choice of black denim mini-
skirt, red tank top and high-heels had been the right
one.
I showed my Press credentials to a burly man at the
side entrance and he let me in. I guess it was up to
me to find the wrestlers.
It didn't take me long to find them, after all.
I stood on the fringe of people crowded around the
ring, and looked for someone who could help me. A
middle-aged, bald man with bulging biceps and horn-
rimmed glasses started walking up to me. "Can I help
you?" he asked.
"I'm looking for the Dastardly Duo," I replied, batting
my eyelashes for good measure.
"That's them up there," he said, jabbing a finger at
the two guys in the ring. "They should be done in a
few minutes, if you want to wait for them."
"Thanks." I studied the men in the ring. I might be a
blonde, but I wasn't as ditzy as I let people believe.
I'd stopped off in research before leaving the
newspaper.
The Dastardly Duo was actually Hank and Henry Smith,
originally from Cooperstown, Alabama. They were
examples of the "small town boys made good" story.
Young boys leave their hometown in pursuit of their
dreams, and overcome insurmountable odds to make it
rich and famous on the pro wrestling circuit. Both
weighed in at 230lbs and topped out at 6 foot even.
Not bad looking either, if you liked them tall,
muscular and sweaty.
"Can I ask you a couple of things?" I said, turning to
baldy.
"Sure."
"First of all, is it always this crowded before a
show?"
He laughed. "This is nothing, you should see it on a
holiday weekend. Then, you can't even scratch your
nose without bumping into someone." He looked around.
"This is your typical mix of agents, trainers, go-to
boys, groupies, lighting crew and various other
technical people. It'll clear out some before the
first match starts."
"Okay, now, about Hank and Henry up there. What in the
hell are they saying?" I'd been listening to them for
over ten minutes, but they might have well been
speaking Greek for all I could understand.
Baldy laughed again. "It's some kind of made-up
language they use to communicate in the ring. No one
understands it but them. They say it's to keep their
opponents from anticipating their moves."
"Ah, idioglossia."
"Huh?"
"Idioglossia. That's the term for their made-up
language."
"You a teacher or lawyer?" he asked, suspiciously.
It was my turn to laugh. "No, I'm just a fan, hoping
to get an autograph, or something."
"Ah."
The action in the ring stopped and I watched as Hank
and Henry edged through the ropes and hopped down to
the concrete floor. People immediately surrounded
them. I decided my original plan wouldn't work.
Finding a young boy setting up folding chairs in a row,
I slipped him twenty dollars and hiked my skirt up a
bit. In no time, I was heading down another hallway,
on my way to the Dastardly Duo's dressing room.
I was ready when they came in. Lucky for me, they were
alone. I was sitting in a corner of the dilapidated
couch, legs crossed and skirt hiked up once again. I'd
also freshened my red lipstick and knew that with my
long blonde hair and baby blue eyes, I made quite a
picture.
"Hey, Hank, lookit what we got here," the brother with
red-highlights in his hair said. He must be Henry, the
older of the brothers by 2 years. His face was a bit
battered, attesting to the violent nature of their
chosen profession, but, in my opinion, it only added to
his character.
Hank had been busy inching out of his tank top, but
turned our way when he'd tossed it aside. The glint in
his eyes let me know that my chosen method of
introduction had been right on the mark.
"What are you doing here, little miss?" Henry asked,
taking off his tank top now.
"Why, I just wanted to meet y'all up close," I said. I
laid on the southern charm only when it suited me, like
now. "I've been a fan of y'all ever since y'all
started wrestling." I stood up and adjusted my bra
strap, even though it was perfectly fine. I could
practically feel the testosterone level in the room
rising.
"Isn't that sweet," Hank finally spoke up. "A fan,
come to show her admiration." I knew from my research
that he was the only one of the two to have taken some
college classes.
"What can we do for you, Miss?" Hank continued.
"Trudy. Trudy Tolliver." I stuck out my hand and Hank
took it and planted a kiss on the back of it. I
giggled.
"A nice name for a nice lady," Henry said, not wanting
his brother to get all the attention.
"Why, thank you." I twirled my hair. "I was just
hopin' I could get an autograph... or somethin'."
"We have time set aside to sign autographs after our
match," Henry supplied.
"But, I guess I'd do just about anything to get an
autograph. It's for my collection." I formed my lips
into a small pout.
"What did you have in mind?"
"I dunno," I said with a small shrug that caused my
tank top to fall off one shoulder. By the way Hank's
tight wrestling trunks had become tighter, I could tell
he was interested.
"I think we can come to some kind of arrangement,"
Henry said, carefully. He wasn't as slow as I'd
thought he was.
"Oh goody! Can we have a drink or something? My throat
is a little dry." I only hoped they had something that
didn't taste like piss-water. A good southern girl
does have her standards, you know.
"I think I have a bottle of '96 Chateau Fourcas
Loubaney in the fridge," Hank said.
I almost fell back onto the couch. I quickly composed
myself. "Well, it's not a '98 Domaine de Pouy, but I
guess it'll do," I said, nonchalantly.
"Nice, but my absolute favorite is Chateau Grinou,"
Hank shot back, heading for the fridge to get the wine.
Damn! I'd never pictured him for an oenophile. I
wondered just what kind of college classes he'd taken.
I turned to Henry, hoping he didn't feel left out
during our talk of wines. He was thumbing through a CD
collection. "Henry, you wouldn't happen to have some
aspirin would you?"
"I dunno. We might have some Tylenol or something like
that."
"Ibuprofen? I just need some type of analgesic, pretty
please."
"Uh, sure, I think we've got some of that."
Thankfully he didn't ask why I needed it, just ambled
off into another room to get it. I'd learned in
college, the hard way, that if I downed three or four
aspirin before I drank wine, it caused me to do things
I'd probably not normally do. At least that's what I'd
gathered from the story the lacrosse team had told me.
==**==
An hour later the bottle of wine was gone, our clothes
had mysteriously melted away, and so had my
inhibitions. I found myself on the receiving end of
some serious foreplay. Any woman who's not had two men
eating her out at the same time, doesn't know what
she's missing out on. The second time I came, I
thought I was going to pass out.
After the Duo had gotten me nice and wet, Hank sat down
on the couch and lowered me onto his extremely hard
cock. I was facing away from him, my feet dangling
toward the floor and my ass resting against his hairy
crotch. He wrapped his callused hands around my waist
and started moving me up and down, slowly but steadily.
Henry had been stroking himself, but now moved in front
of me and stuck his dick in my face. I opened my mouth
and sucked it in, using my hands to guide it. It
wasn't that long, but it was thick and my lips hugged
it tightly.
I matched my own cock-sucking rhythm to the rhythm Hank
had established. In out. In out. My right hand
reached down to finger my clit while my left hand
played with Henry's balls.
Henry let out a moan that started in the back of his
throat, and quickly turned into more of the odd sounds
I'd heard him speaking earlier in the ring. Hank
answered him. I hoped they weren't critiquing me or
anything like that. I closed my eyes and imagined they
were praising my perfect figure and impeccable sex
skills. Hey, a girl can dream.
Finally, Henry started talking in a language I could
understand. "Harder," he instructed. I wasn't sure if
he wanted me to suck harder or squeeze harder, so I did
both.
"Ah..." Suddenly, Henry grasped the back of my head
and stilled my motions. "Now bite it."
I scrunched up my face and looked up at him
questioningly.
"Bite...my...cock."
Did he want me to just take it in my mouth and give it
a mighty chomp, or was I supposed to give it small
little bites all along the shaft? Once again, I was
left to wing it so I did both.
"Oh yeah, baby, that's good," he moaned. "Harder,
honey, harder."
I was lost in my own wave of sensation, and did as he
instructed; I bit harder. Not enough to draw blood,
mind you, but hard enough to let him know I was using
my teeth. I also started to squeeze his balls again.
*Really* squeeze them.
I guess I must have done something right, because with
a loud grunt and a shove of his hips, Henry shot a
torrent of cum into my mouth. I started sucking it in,
trying not to choke. His hand was still tangled in my
hair, and he held me in place until he was spent and
starting to go limp. He pulled out of my mouth and
collapsed on the floor. I could have sworn I heard him
snoring.
Hank increased his motions, slamming me down onto his
cock, and my own fingers sped up their tempo on my
swollen clit. I could feel the pressure increasing and
knew I was approaching my own orgasm. I stiffened my
legs and let out a small scream as wave after wave of
pleasure rushed through me. Hank gave one final slam
and I felt his hot juice stream into me.
Lightheaded and suddenly sleepy, I crawled off of Hank
and lay down on the empty section of couch. He flopped
over, using my hip as a pillow.
"Hank," I murmured, remembering that I'd been sent
there to do a job. "Do you know anyone named Delta
Murphy?"
"That bitch? Henry used to be married to her sister.
Why do you ask?"
Things were beginning to click in my wine-and-sex
soaked brain. "No reason." I curled into the couch
cushion as sleep overtook me.
==**==
"Great work, Tolliver. I knew you could do it." Mr.
Peterson slapped me on the back and I almost swallowed
my gum. Bullshit. He'd probably started an office
pool on how long before I came back with my tail tucked
between my legs and no story.
I looked down at the freshly printed newspaper in his
hand. There was my name, just under the title, as
promised. "Dastardly Duo falsely accused by jealous ex-
sister-in-law" the cumbersome copy read. I'd chosen a
much nicer title, but Mr. Peterson had said something
"grittier" was needed to attract attention.
"Okay, Tolliver, tell me again how you busted the case
wide open." He pulled out a fresh cigar and set about
mangling it.
"It's all there in black and white..." I started to
say, but gave in. "After, uh, interviewing the Duo, I
did some digging on Delta Murphy. It seems that her
sister, Camille, had been married to Henry, but
divorced him before him and Hank became rich and
famous. She was pissed that she couldn't touch any of
that money, to say the least, so she cooked up this
scheme with her dim-witted sister. Camille knew about
Henry's weird masochistic tendencies in the bedroom, so
she coached Delta in what to say. They faked the rough
stuff themselves, got the story straight, and then
Camille sat back and mentally counted the money they'd
get, while Delta sobbed her story to the police. She
was going to say that they'd all been high on pot the
night it happened, which would supposedly account for
Hank and Henry not remembering a damn thing."
"But the police never arrested them, because you got to
Delta Murphy first, and she ended up recanting the
whole thing." Peterson laughed. "I love it. Fucking-
A, love it!"
"Yeah," I said, chuckling along with him. "I just
flashed Miss Murphy a phony badge and told her I had
some more questions. It wasn't long before she was
sobbing and spilling her guts. Evidently Camille, who
is still denying the whole thing, got all the balls in
the family."
"Well, Tolliver, like I said, that was some damn fine
work. Why don't you take the rest of the day off,
you've earned it."
"I'll say I have," I muttered. "Thanks, boss," I said.
I was going to go home, change into my pyjamas and veg
out in front of the television for the rest of the day.
"By the way, Tolliver, I know interviewing those crude
wrestlers must have been a royal bitch. Anything I can
get or do for you?"
I thought for a couple of seconds. "If you're serious,
why don't you rustle up a bottle of aspirin and a good
bottle of wine and get Eric from the mail room to run
them over to me?"
THE END
Copyright 2000, by Souvie
Permission is granted to repost, given that my name and
copyright information is left intact. Direct all
comments or questions to: souvie@txucom.net
More of my stories can be found at:
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Souvie/www
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