Fire on the Water

[BlackAkuma]

She was beautiful.

It was a simple thought, not complicated or controversial, but it was the main one that crossed Asp’s mind as she sat cross-legged on the gym floor, watching this voluptuous, gorgeous woman spin before her. She twirled on the pole with a preternatural grace, in total control of her moment, her speed, her weight, as if gravity were only the smallest inconvenience to be ignored. It didn’t look difficult, and that was the wonder in it - so many would have struggled to pull off a single one of these maneuvers, but she flowed from one to the next as if it came to her as naturally as breathing, here and there and there and here, spinning and twirling, her flaming red hair cutting crimson arcs in the air…

Aspasia hadn't come to the gym for this. Really, she hadn't expected to see any other women at this gym at all, let alone ones who would stun her like this. She only ventured to this gym for a change of pace, as much as she enjoyed LAW’s facilities, they could be a touch chaotic even at their best, and with a PPV on the horizon, they tended to turn into a hotspot. Lots of wrestlers there, and with so many in one place, it was a hotbed for backstage ambushes and spontaneous makeout sessions.

She wouldn’t have minded the latter, frankly, but the former made them not worth the risk. Her instincts told her to look elsewhere, and that elsewhere was the Rodriguez Gym, set up not too far away. A smaller facility, more intimate, more private, and willing to let her use the place without a full membership. It suited her needs.

She arrived as the sun was setting, slipped into her

, and hit the floor, running a circuit through the leg machines. It would’ve been an acceptable, if average, way to spend the night.

But then Asp spied her, this woman wrapping herself around the pole, and she found herself entranced. Before she knew it, she was spending too much time at the nearby water fountain. She preferred the weight machines closest to her. Asp was a student of dancing, of choreography, and she found this woman particularly mesmerizing. From one artist to another, she had to spectate.

That all led to where she was now. Sitting. Watching. As if it were a private show she had paid for.

She might still pay, too. There was no way to know how the woman would react to her watching, but she suspected it wouldn’t be taken as a slight. If it was, she was more than prepared to make amends.