Susan Wayland vs. Rayveness in a Bounty Huntress Sexfight
The villa was a skeleton bleached by the sun, white stone and terracotta tile clinging to a hillside that fell away into a valley of grapevines. The heat was a physical presence, pressing in on Susan as she moved through the cypress-lined drive. Dust, kicked up by her rental, hung in the still air. Julia had been precise in her instructions: find her, engage her, break her. Julia’s recent business rival, Rayveness, a woman whose name was whispered in boardrooms with a mixture of awe and fear, had a reputation that preceded her. She didn’t just close deals; she consumed her rivals, leaving them hollowed out and broken. Julia, it seemed, had finally become a target.
The security, Julia had warned, would be professional. Susan found her exactly where the dossiers said she would be a dark-haired vision of lethal grace patrolling the perimeter of the property. Adrian Morgan. She was leaning against an ancient stone wall, a simple cotton dress clinging to her form, a Glock 19 in a thigh holster starkly out of place against the idyllic backdrop. Her eyes, the colour of strong coffee, scanned the landscape, missing nothing.
“You’re lost,” Adrian stated. It wasn’t a question. Her voice was low, calm, the kind of calm that came from absolute confidence.
Susan stopped a few feet away, letting the silence stretch. “I don’t think so. I’m looking for someone.”
“We don’t get many lost tourists who walk half a mile up a private drive in four-inch heels.” Adrian’s gaze dropped to Susan’s shoes, then travelled back up her body, a slow, deliberate appraisal. There was no malice in it, only assessment.
“I have a message from Julia Ann,” Susan said, her own voice a soft counterpoint to the afternoon heat.
Adrian pushed off the wall, her movements fluid and economical. The dress shifted, revealing more of the toned muscle in her legs. “Does she now? And she couldn’t send a text?”
“She wanted to be sure it was delivered personally.” Susan held up her phone. “She’d like to speak with you.”
A flicker of something—annoyance, curiosity—in Adrian’s eyes. She took the phone, her fingers brushing Susan’s. The contact was brief, electric. “Julia.”
Susan watched Adrian’s face as she listened, the strong set of her jaw, the way her gaze drifted toward the main house. The only words Susan could hear were clipped, professional acknowledgments. “Understood… Yes… Of course… My reputation?… Understood.” Adrian’s eyes met Susan’s, a new understanding passing between them. She ended the call and handed the phone back.
“Julia is very persuasive,” Adrian said, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “She assures me my professional standing remains… intact.”
“She’s good at that,” Susan replied. “My contract with her is very specific.”
“So is mine,” Adrian murmured, her gaze holding Susan’s for a moment longer than necessary. The air between them crackled with unspoken possibilities. “She’s in the atrium. The glass one at the back of the villa. She’s been expecting someone…”
As Susan turned to leave, Adrian’s voice stopped her. “Susan.”
Susan looked back.
“Good hunting.” Adrian’s smile was genuine this time, a shared secret in the oppressive heat. “She has a… reputation for taking what she wants.”
Susan returned the smile. “So do I.”
The atrium was a cathedral of glass and steam; a humid pocket of jungle tucked away in the heart of the villa. Ferns unfurled from hanging baskets, orchids dripped colour from mossy branches, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth and sweet blossoms. In the centre, on a stone bench slick with condensation, sat Rayveness.
She was exactly as the descriptions had failed to capture. Not beautiful in the conventional sense, but striking, a force of nature contained in human form. Her dark hair was pulled back, revealing a high forehead and sharp cheekbones. Her body, even beneath the thin silk robe she wore, spoke of power and control. She didn’t stand as Susan entered, simply watched her with an unnerving, predatory stillness.
“You’re not who I expected,” Rayveness finally said, her voice a husky purr that seemed to vibrate in the humid air. Her eyes, a startling, almost luminous green, swept over Susan. The assessment was quicker than Adrian’s, more intimate, more possessive.
Susan let her look, standing her ground. She was taller than Rayveness, her frame lean and athletic, the simple jeans and black bikini top a stark contrast to the other woman’s silk loungewear. “Julia doesn’t like to disappoint.”
A slow smile spread across Rayveness’s face, a genuine expression of amusement and something hungrier. “No. I suppose she doesn’t. She sent me a huntress, not a lawyer.”
“I’m here to collect,” Susan said, her voice flat, devoid of the seductive charge that filled the room. “On a debt. Julia’s debt.”
Rayveness laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Julia’s debts are her own. But since you’ve come all this way…” She rose from the bench, the silk robe parting slightly to reveal the swell of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach. She was shorter than Susan, but her presence was immense, filling the space. “You’ll have to earn your fee.”
Susan didn’t move, her body a study in casual defiance. She watched as Rayveness shrugged the silk robe from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet in a whisper of fabric, leaving her completely bare. Her body was magnificent, curvaceous and toned, a testament to a life lived with sensual abandon.
“The rules are simple,” Rayveness said, her green eyes glowing with anticipation. “We touch. We kiss. We pleasure. The one who breaks, who begs for more or begs for it to stop, loses. Are those terms you can accept, huntress?”
Susan didn’t answer. She simply took a step forward, then another, her booted feet silent on the flagstones. She stopped directly in front of Rayveness, towering over her. She didn’t undress. She didn’t need to.
Rayveness reached up, her hands aiming for Susan’s waist, but Susan caught her wrists. Her grip was like iron. Rayveness’s eyes widened, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by excitement. This was what she wanted. A challenge.
Susan pushed her back, forcing her onto the stone bench. Rayveness landed with a soft gasp, her legs spreading instinctively. Susan followed her down, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand. She used her height, her strength, her unyielding presence to dominate the space. Her other hand traced a line down Rayveness’s neck, between her breasts, over her quivering stomach.
“You came here for a fight,” Susan murmured, her lips close to Rayveness’s ear. “But this isn’t a fight.”
She didn’t kiss her. She didn’t fondle her in the way Rayveness expected. She simply explored, her touch light, impersonal, almost clinical. She mapped the territory of Rayveness’s body, finding the sensitive spots, the places that made her shiver, the places that made her gasp. She played her like an instrument, her movements precise, her goal clear.
Rayveness arched against her, a moan escaping her lips. She tried to free her hands, but Susan’s grip was unbreakable. She tried to bring her legs up, to wrap them around Susan, but Susan was already there, her knee pressing firmly between Rayveness’s thighs, denying her the friction she craved.
Susan’s fingers dipped lower, sliding through the slick heat of Rayveness’s arousal. Rayveness bucked her hips, a desperate plea for more. Susan obliged, but not in the way she expected. She curled her fingers, forming a fist, and pushed forward.
The invasion was sudden, overwhelming. Rayveness cried out, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Susan didn’t move, didn’t thrust. She simply held her there, a solid, unyielding presence inside her, stretching her, filling her completely. She watched Rayveness’s face, the way her eyes rolled back, the way her mouth fell open in a silent scream.
“Please,” Rayveness whimpered, her body trembling. “Stop.”
Susan leaned in, her breath hot against Rayveness’s ear. “Stay out of Julia business affairs,” she whispered, her voice a cold, hard command. “This is your only warning.”
Rayveness tried to nod, but she was lost in a haze of sensation. Susan began to move then, her fist a relentless, brutal force. She pumped into her, hard and fast, her knuckles dragging against her most sensitive spot with every thrust. Rayveness screamed, her body writhing, her orgasm tearing through her with the force of a hurricane. It was too much, too intense, a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on pain.
“I will,” she sobbed, the words torn from her throat. “I yield.”
Susan didn’t stop. She drove into her again and again, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her body, until Rayveness was a trembling, whimpering mess. Then, as suddenly as she had begun, she stopped. She pulled her hand free, leaving Rayveness empty and aching.
She stood up, looking down at the woman she had broken. Rayveness lay on the stone bench, her body glistening with sweat, her limbs limp. Susan wiped her hand on the discarded robe.
She took out her phone and dialled. “It’s done,” she said, when Julia answered. She held the phone out to Rayveness. “Tell her.”
Rayveness struggled to sit up, her body protesting with every movement. She took the phone, her hand shaking. “I will stay out of your business affairs, Julia,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I promise.”
She handed the phone back to Susan.
“Good,” Julia’s voice came through the speaker. “You’ve earned your fee.”
Susan ended the call and put her phone away. She looked at Rayveness one last time, a flicker of something—pity, perhaps—in her eyes. Then she turned and walked away, leaving the conquered woman alone in the humid, steam-filled atrium.
***
Julia’s villa was a world away from Rayveness’s rustic lair. This was a fortress of modern minimalism, all sharp angles, floor-to-ceiling glass, and a sterile white palette that seemed to absorb the sun rather than reflect it. Susan’s boots echoed on polished concrete floors, the sound swallowed by cavernous spaces furnished with a few brutally elegant pieces. The air was cool, conditioned, smelling faintly of lemon and money.
Julia was waiting for her on a terrace that hovered over the infinity pool, the water’s surface a perfect, unbroken sheet of blue that merged with the distant sky. She wore a simple white pantsuit; her blonde hair pulled back in a severe knot that emphasized her strong jaw and the predatory intelligence in her blue eyes. She held a glass of amber liquid, the ice cubes clinking softly as she turned.
“Susan,” she said, her voice carrying an undertone of cool approval. “I was beginning to think you’d decided to enjoy the countryside.”
“The job is done,” Susan replied, her tone flat. She didn’t step onto the terrace, remaining in the shadow of the glass wall. “Rayveness will no longer be a problem.”
“Oh, I know,” Julia said, a thin smile touching her lips. “She called me ten minutes ago. Crying. I haven’t heard her that broken since the market crash of ’08. You have a… talent for finality.”
Julia took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving Susan’s. She set the glass down on a chrome table and walked to a sleek, unadorned cabinet built into the terrace wall. With a press of her hand, a section slid open, revealing not a kitchen, but a meticulously curated bar, backlit with soft blue light. Rows of crystal decanters and bottles stood like soldiers on parade. She selected a heavy, dark leather briefcase and a simple, unlabelled bottle with a label that was little more than a black stamp. She brought them to the table, the soft thud of the briefcase the only sound.
“Your fee.” Julia gestured to the case. “As agreed, And a bonus.”
She opened the briefcase. Inside, neat stacks of non-sequential bills were banded together, a small forest of green that smelled faintly of ink and power. Beside it, she placed the bottle of whisky. The liquid inside was the colour of old gold, catching the light like a trapped sunset.
“This is a twenty-five-year-old single malt from a distillery that no longer exists,” Julia said, her fingers tracing the lip of the bottle. “They produced a thousand casks, and this is from one of the last. It’s not for drinking, not really. It’s for appreciating. A collector’s item. Like you, Susan.”
Susan stepped forward finally, her boots silent on the terrace. She didn’t look at the money. Her gaze was fixed on the bottle. She picked it up, feeling the surprising weight of it in her hand. She didn’t inspect the label or admire the colour. She simply held it, a quiet acknowledgment of the gift’s value.
“Is that all?” Susan asked, her voice still a monotone.
“For now,” Julia replied, her smile widening. “But the world is full of troublesome people, Susan. And my business continues to expand. I have a feeling our paths will cross again.”
Susan closed the briefcase with a decisive click. She picked it up in one hand, the bottle of whisky in the other. The briefcase was heavy, but her grip was steady. She didn’t say goodbye. She simply turned and walked back toward the house, leaving Julia on the terrace, a solitary queen surveying her kingdom.