What’s hotter than two spicy tamales? How about one Mexican Spitfire and one Brazilian Bombshell. Put a couple of oversexed and fiery Latinas together in the ring and stand back, fellahs-it’s gonna get explosive real fast.

But this isn’t the usual ring. This one is an oil ring…or more properly, a large wading pool filled with a concoction of baby oil and vegetable oil. The girls are going to slip into something slippery for a charity fundraiser at a local strip club. And who better to draw the big donors with big boners than tonight’s special guest celebrity wrestlers?

Over there on your left, in the stunning yellow bikini, is Nina Mercedez, former Miss Nude Universe and current porn star. You can see the sizzling heat radiating from her nut-brown body that threatens to overflow her suit. She flashes a dazzling smile as she waves to the cheering crowd. Then she turns and flashes her luscious ass, giving it a provocative jiggle as she undulates back to her corner.

Mercedez’s stats: 5’6”; 134#; 34DDD-25-34

On your right, in the blazing orange bikini is none other than Barocca, champion wrestler and former exotic dancer. She concedes nothing to her opponent with her slim and stacked body that has made her a favorite of millions. Her broad beaming grin melts hearts as easily as it stiffens joints. Raising both arms in acknowledgement of the crowd’s adulation, she basks in glory and returns to her corner.

Barocca’s stats: 5’10”, 135#; 36FF-22-36

Before we get underway, our two lovely, lusty luchadoras are going to circulate among the crowd to collect your donation checks. And feel free to tip the ladies with cash contributions. Your tips are their donations, so give it up to our jumbo-jugged honeys. Nina and Barocca told me backstage that they will personally reward especially generous donors.

It takes the girls 15 minutes to collect all the checks and cash. Each has to make two trips because their bikinis don’t have enough room to hold all the money. Plus they needed time to thank the big donors with kisses, brief lap dances, or posing for photos. Then the girls return to their corners.

Both charming chicas remove their high heels and prepare to clash the moment the bell rings. As we wait for the crowd to simmer down, the ladies limber up with bends, stretches, squats, and gyrations that only keep the spectators cheering and screaming for more. The girls slowly work their way completely around the outer edge of the oil ring, giving every one of their fans a good last look before they dip into the slimy goop.

Barocca is the experienced pro, having fought countless battles and winning all but a small handful. She’s in perfect shape thanks to careful attention to her diet and regular workouts that keep her waist one of the slimmest in the business: 22”. Mercedez is relatively new to the femme fight game, yet she exudes confidence in the face of such a formidable foe. She has youthful exuberance on her side-but will that be enough? Then again, this is a charity match…a sexy exhibition rather than a true fight.

Two guys approach the girls and offer them $100 apiece to oil up their bodies. The delicious dolls confer with a wink and eagerly agree. The money is passed to the charity representative and each guy picks which woman he will lubricate. Barocca steps in first and kneels demurely in her corner. Her man scoops up two big handfuls of oil and applies them-where else?-to her magnificent mounds. The Brazilian acts shocked-SHOCKED-at his bold groping. She slaps his face playfully and wags a scolding finger at him in mock admonishment. He ignores her and continues oiling every square inch of her from the neck down.

In the opposite corner, the other dude can’t wait until Mercedez kneels. He goes to work on her ankles. The oil is about 3” deep-quite a lot compared to the usual oil fight. The closer his hands come to Nina’s nookie, the louder the crowd reacts. She lets him grope her pussy through her yellow thong, which becomes quite translucent when wet. At last she kneels and he finishes her oil job. About a hundred envious men look on, wishing they’d forked over a C-note for a chance to cop a feel of this hot Hispanic honey.

Barocca’s assistant suffers acute distress below his belt and instinctively grabs his crotch-leaving a big oily handprint on his khaki slacks. The crowd roars with laughter. Nina’s man laughs so hard he almost loses his balance. In steadying himself he steps into the pool, filling his shoe and soaking his sock with the thick goo. More raucous laughter. A club employee escorts them backstage before they embarrass themselves further.

On their knees, the women make their way to center ring, their perfect bodies glistening with oil. Mercedez slips and falls forward, catching herself on outstretched hands. Her sudden stop jolts both juggs, which spill out of overburdened top and sway like wind chimes in a stiff breeze…except the don’t tinkle; they twinkle. “Whoops,” she gasps in affected astonishment. “Occupational hazard,” she shrugs, scooping her award-winning whoppers back into her top. Her dark brown areolas are easily visible through the thin wet material.

Barocca twists to the drooling donors with a look of mock shock on her face. Her chocolaty areolas are also discernable despite the thin layer of gauzy orange fabric. Whatever this material is the girls are wearing, oil makes it quite translucent. She returns her gaze to her partner and slaps her face playfully, admonishing her, “Shame on you, naughty Nina. Letting you puppies out like that. What will these gentlemen think?”

The bell sounds and the slick chicas lunge together in a mutual bearhug. Some of their left-and-right swaying is tactical; some of it is simply trying not to slip and slide in the slimy oil. When they disengage, both of their tops have slid off their glistening globes, exposing their extraordinary assets. Mercedez snatches at Barocca’s bra and it gives up without a fight. Feigning embarrassment, the Brazilian crosses her arms over her treasure chest, but the gesture is futile: there’s too much area to cover up.

The almost all-male audience-yes, Nina and Barocca have quite a number of devoted female fans, too, and some of them are here-have been shouting their encouragement, strategic advice, and sexual desires steadily since the Bombshell slapped the Spitfire. The din rises and falls only slightly, generally maintaining a deafening level that can be heard for two blocks in any direction outside the club.

As Barocca retaliates by ripping Mercedez’s top off and hurling it into the thundering throng. The Mexican grabs two handfuls of the Brazilian’s hair and throws her face forward. Barocca’s knees slide out from under hair and she belly-flops with a huge splat that sends a spray of oil at the audience. She lifts her dripping face from the oil pool and gapes at the crowd. Rising on all fours, she pauses to let them drink in the sight of oil streaming off her hanging hooters.

Mercedez has waded up behind Barocca. She reaches around the Brazilian’s waist, grabs hold of her meaty tits, and drags the diva into a sitting waist scissors. Barocca shouts in protest, trying to pry Nina’s knees from her hips. The oil affords her the ability to reverse her position, so the Brazilian is now face-to-face with her Mexican tormentor…but the scissors is still locked tight.

Mercedez rears up on her back-stretched hands and arches her back to amplify the pressure on Barocca’s midsection. Such a maneuver requires a certain amount of friction where the hands meet the surface, and in 3” of oil, the friction is zero. Her arms shoot back, Nina splatters into the oil, and Barocca is free. She belly-flops onto Mercedez and almost immediately slides off with another smaller splat. The lubed Latinas roll from one side of the pool to the other, drenching themselves thoroughly (as if they weren’t already oily enough), and sending showers of oil droplets in every direction. Talk about a chocolate tootsie roll!

When at last they break apart, the slick sisters kneel a few feet apart, catching their breaths-and letting the horny horde stare at their wet heaving bosoms, flowing with runoff residue. Their carefully coifed hairdos are a thing of the past. The black tresses now hang in strings matted to every skin surface on their faces, necks, shoulders, and backs. Barocca’s longer locks are even plastered to her shiny upper balcony. That won’t do tonight, so she thoughtfully sweeps that hair aside to give the customers an unobstructed view of her dairy queens.

After a decent-or rather, an indecent- interval, the girls get back on their knees for a second go-around. Accustomed to real wrestling, Barocca finds the oil an interference that prevents her from applying familiar holds. Everything is simply too slippery. “Oh well,” she reminds herself, “This battle is for charity, not for the record books.” The Bombshell eventually bends Mercedez over and presses her body onto Nina’s back. She grabs the back of the Spitfire’s thong and jerks it hard. The slim yellow strip disappears completely into Mercedez’s crack and the fans go wild.

Nina’s not so enthusiastic about this but at least the oily fabric isn’t hurting as it invaded her pussy. She feels her luscious ass being maneuvered toward the spectators, their response growing louder with each tug. She has to admit, it feels wonderful. “Keep going,” she mutters to Barocca. “I love this.”

“I knew you would, dear. I’ll keep this up until you cum. Just remember you owe me one later in the match.” Barocca methodically pumps the yellow thong up and down with her left (downstage) hand. The spectators-assuming that the thought even occurs to them-assume her right (upstage) hand is holding Nina in position and preventing her escape. Actually, the Brazilian’s right has slipped beneath the front of Nina’s thong and is tickling her swollen clit and hastening her orgasm. Just as the Mexican reaches her climax, the overstressed thong snaps. This party is over-but Mercedez sure had a great time.

Naked Nina needs a moment to compose herself. Barocca overreacts to the torn thong and uses it as an excuse to break the hold, falling backward into the ooze with another big splash. She pretends to have trouble standing-she doesn’t have to pretend hard-while Mercedez gathers herself together. The Brazilian also kills a little time for real trying to clear some of the oil from her ears. Next time-and there will be a next time; she finds she loves oil fighting-she’ll insist on less oil in the pool. A little goes a long way in oil fights. Frankly, whatever doesn’t cling to the girls’ bodies is wasted. This shit clings to everything.

Also wasted is Barocca’s effort to rid her ears of oil. While she is preoccupied wiggling her little finger in her ear, Mercedez sneaks up from behind and pulls her off her feet. Both gals go down, triggering an oil tsunami that gushes over all four sides of the pool. In the scramble to gain supremacy, Mercedez winds up on top of Barocca, who is folded into a crushing matchbook pin and resting on her shoulders. This position, in addition to the sloppy scuffle preceding it, fills her ears with even more oil than before. “I’ll be showering for days to get this shit out of my hair and ears,” she thinks.

Barocca is blind. Her hair covers her face so she can’t see Mercedez gesturing to the spectators, silently asking their opinion about removing Barocca’s orange thong. The garment in question is dislodged, exposing the brazen Brazilian’s mouthwatering pussy lips. With her booty high in the air, every one has a spectacular view of this focus of intense desire. Nina points to the gaping pink pussy, raises her eyebrows inquiringly, and shakes her head yes. The overstimulated crowd screams their approval. Flashing the OK hand signal, Mercedez peels away the obstructing garment, sliding it down Barocca’s long legs.

She whips the oily fabric over her head in circles and calls out, “How much? What’ll you bid for Barocca’s thong? It may be the closest to paradise you’ll ever get.” Bidding is spirited and brisk. Mercedez hikes the value of the artifact by seesawing it up and down the Brazilian’s slit. Of course, this is Nina’s payback, stimulating her partner’s clit while driving up the price of the thong.

Down in the oil, Barocca endures the otherwise humiliating ordeal via multiple orgasms. She rationalizes, “Oh well, it’s all for a good cause.” Charity and orgasms both qualify as worthy causes in her opinion.

The winning bid is $1,000. “And worth every (s)cent,” Mercedez beams, inhaling a deep whiff from the thong. She tosses the prize to the charity rep and tells the high bidder, “Pay the man.” Stretching her cramped legs, Barocca catapults the Spitfire forward into the oil, officially closing the auction.

The girls are getting tired and the heat in the club isn’t to be believed. With all those bright lights trained on the oil ring, the club’s low ceiling, and over 100 rowdy spectators, the women need a break. Barocca confers with Nina, who nods in agreement. Each steps to a front corner of the pool and holds up her hands to quiet the crowd. Photo flashes make it look like an indoor fireworks display has just reached its climax. And in a way, it has.

“Hey, guys,” Barocca intones. “This isn’t fair. We’re up her busting our humps for you in all this heat. You’re sitting out there guzzling gallons of booze.”

“We’re thirsty, too,” Mercedez chimes in. “We’re only wet on the outside.” Nina and Barocca share a quick grinning sideways glance. “How about buying us a drink?”

Over a hundred drink orders are shouted to the bartender in the next five seconds. He whips up two tequilas, in keeping with the Hispanic theme of the evening’s event. Doubles. Dozens of male hands grope for the glasses and the honor of serving the sexy sirens who thirst in the ring. Being closer to the bar, Barocca gets hers first. The moment she takes the tapered glass, it shoots up out of her oily grasp and arcs into the crowd like a mini-rocket. The crowd roars.

“You’ll have to feed me mine,” Mercedez chuckles to the fan with her drink. This clumsy technique guarantees that some of the tequila spills down the Mexican’s magnificent mounds. She invites the guy to lick it off and he willing accepts. Barocca has the same difficulties and offers the same solution with the same result. A second round of drinks appears and two more lucky stiffs get to nurse those nubile knockers. “Mmmm,” Nina purrs. “This is the cleanest my casabas have been in ever so long.”

Barocca calls out, “You know, fellahs, we’ll both be hungry after the fight. And we’re just as messy with spilled food as we are with drinks, right Mercedez? I’m terrible with chocolate pudding.”

“Hot sauce,” Nina added.

“So while we’re washing off this muck afterwards, you guys can bid for the job of feeding each of us dinner.” Pandemonium breaks out. “Not now, boys. You have to wait until after the fight. Which we should resume right now.” She wraps her drink server in a big slimy hug and kisses him. The happy horndog doesn’t mind in the least that he’s coated with Barocca’s oily body print.

The guys clear away as the girls meet for a gooey handshake. Barocca turns it into a windmill armflip that rotates Mercedez clean off her feet. The spinning Spitfire miraculously doesn’t let go and drags the Bombshell sprawling into the slop, too. By now oil is splattered all over the floor, the walls, the spectators, everywhere. At least this kind of oil is water soluble and comes off easily.

The naked nymphs have the time of their lives rolling and splashing to the ecstatic cheers of all these rich guys. They must be rich to be able to afford such generous charitable donations, right? Such lofty motivation, supplemented with liberal doses of purely medicinal alcohol and morale-lifting female entertainment, lowers a man’s inhibitions-as if they could get any lower.

Nina traps Barocca in a headlock, pivoting her tempting tush for all to see. The Brazilian slips out of it easily and hammerlocks Mercedez, arching her back severely so her bazookas thrust forward. An abrupt spasm frees the Mexican. By now there’s only about an inch of oil left in the pool but the footing is no less impossible. The girls spend more time sweeping their oily hair from their faces. The slick stuff has also blurred their vision, but they continue by relying on the grope and feel method. Any part of their rival that they can grab is good.

The battle settles down to both babes on their knees in center ring-exactly where they began-squeezing each other’s big titties. The guys love this…and so do the wrestlers. You grab her boobie, close your fingers, and feel it slip away like a water balloon. Then she does one of yours. Theatrical gasps of feigned pain soon give way to giggles and sensual moans as the melon mauling continues. It doesn’t take much of this before both babes are oozing jizz down their inner thighs, undetectable thanks to the coating of oil.

The Mexican Spitfire manages to topple the Brazilian Bombshell just as she’s about to quake with a particularly intense orgasm. She grabs Barocca’s leg and raises it high in the air while straddling her other leg. They’re grinding it out clit-to-clit with Mercedez sliding the upstretched leg between her glistening gazongas. Barocca finishes off what was interrupted and writhes her opponent into a tangled heap. She emerges on top, sitting on Mercedez’s face.

While Nina tongues Barocca’s steaming pussy, the Bombshell clams on what appears to be a crotchlock. But Mercedez isn’t squirming from crushing pain or suffocation. No, it’s from Barocca’s long probing middle finger, deftly inserted deep in her creamy cunt. The lusty Latina thrash not in combat but in ecstasy, carried away by the realization that they are cumming before a crowd of sex-crazed men and women, most of whom are completely unaware of exactly what they’re witnessing. It’s a secret shared only by the oil wrestlers themselves.

Mercedez raises her legs and scissors Barocca’s neck, pulling her off. In the scuffle that follows, she says, “We should end this soon. I’m getting tired.”

“And hungry,” Barocca agrees. “I did’t eat for hours before a match and my stomach is starting to growl.”

Those two double tequilas the girls gulped during their intermission went straight to their heads. The crowd takes their tipsy movements and unsteady stances as a natural side effect of wrestling in oil. But that much strong booze on an empty stomach is bound to affect their performance. It also makes them a bit slap-happy.

After a few more gyrations, Barocca lays Mercedez out spread-eagle on her back and applies a full-body press. “Don’t struggle too hard, hon, and we’ll wind this up.” For a first-time femme fighter, the Mexican Spitfire gives a remarkably convincing impression of a defeated fighter struggling to shake off a winning pin. She even begs Barocca to let her up. Grinning, the Brazilian Bombshell turns to the audience and asks, “What do you say, fellahs? Have I won? Who’s Number One?”

The entire club reverberates with the chant “Barocca! Barocca! Barocca!” Having thus been declared the winner by unanimous voice vote, the Brazilian beauty dismounts her victim and tries to stand. She manages to avoid falling down and she slips and slides her way to the ring ropes, which she grabs for stability. Mercedez opts to crawl as best she can to the edge of the pool before steadying herself on the ropes. One of the club employees brings each of them a large beach towel and they begin wiping themselves off while the crowd goes ballistic.

Barocca signals for quiet and reminds them, “For two lucky donors, the evening isn’t over yet. Nina and I are still hungry. While we’re backstage making ourselves presentable in public again, you dudes start bidding for the right to take us to dinner. We should be ready for you in about half an hour.”

“Better make that an hour, Barocca,” Mercedez amends. “We’re a fucking mess, right guys? It’ll take at least that long to put ourselves back together again.”

As the dinner auction begins, the dripping dolls stagger back to their dressing room and the hot shower. Mercedez confides, “God, I hope women don’t win the auction. No offense but I’ve had enough lady loving for tonight. I want some meat tonight-man meat.”

“I know just what you mean,” Barocca concurs. “You have a great pussy, Nina, but right now I’m in the mood for a big helping of cock.”

“I intend to wrap a washcloth around my guy’s dong and use it to clean the oil out of my cunt,” the Spitfire laughs. “Get him deep inside, getting that much out of every crevice.”

“Don’t you mean out of every nook and cranny?” the Bombshell corrects.

The tiny dressing room has only one shower. To save time and to do a thorough job, the lubed Latinas decide to shower together, scrubbing each other’s backs. The hot water and mildly detergent soap makes it an easier job than either had anticipated. Then they blow-dry each other’s hair and comb it out, There’s just enough time left to wriggle into their ultra-snug minidresses and apply their makeup.

As they slip on their stilettos and gather up their purses, Barocca observes, “You know, Nina, I could get to like this oil wrestling. I’m not nearly as achy as when I fight for real. It’s fun and almost as satisfying as beating up your rival.”

“Yeah, it was fun for me, too,” Nina agrees. “I was just about to ask you about how I might go about getting into real femme fighting, Barocca. This was…stimulating, but I’d like to try something more intense.”

“I’m just the girl to ask, dear.”

“Now let’s go out and meet our dinner dates.”


Mr. Skin