Climbing Her Fake Girlfriend's Grip

The apartment door clicked shut behind them and the sudden quiet hit harder than the four flights of stairs. Jenna dropped her chalk bag on the kitchen counter, the rough canvas scraping against the laminate. Her forearms still burned from the lead session, veins standing out under the dusting of white powder that hadn’t fully washed off in the gym showers. She was still in her tank and the black climbing pants that clung to every hard line of her thighs and ass. Riley kicked off her yoga flats and padded after her in the tight gray leggings that showed every shift of muscle in her calves and the high curve of her ass.

Three months of this fake shit. Three months of holding hands at family dinners, of Jenna’s best friend Aisha shooting them knowing looks while their parents beamed about “finally settling down.” Riley was Aisha’s little sister, twenty-four, flexible as hell, all soft voice and sharp eyes. Jenna had agreed to the arrangement because the alternative was endless setups with nice boys from church. Riley had agreed for the same reason. That was the story. That was supposed to be the whole story.

Riley leaned against the fridge, watching Jenna fill a glass at the sink. The climbing instructor’s shoulders rolled under the thin fabric of her tank, lats flaring as she drank. White chalk still streaked the side of her neck where she’d wiped sweat earlier.

“You spotted me on the overhang today,” Riley said. Her voice was low, almost casual. “Held my hips so I wouldn’t peel. Your hands were right there.”

Jenna set the glass down harder than she meant to. “That’s the job. You were projecting the crux.”

“I was wet before I even left the ground.” Riley’s tongue flicked over her lower lip. “Every time you yell ‘I’ve got you’ and dig those calluses into me, I soak through my fucking shorts. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. What it would feel like if this stopped being fake.”

Jenna turned. The apartment was small; two steps and she was close enough to smell the clean sweat and residual bergamot on Riley’s skin. Riley was petite, five-four of coiled muscle and soft tits that pushed against her sports bra every time she breathed. The yoga instructor’s dark hair was still in its messy bun, a few strands stuck to the damp skin at her nape.

“Riley—”

“Don’t.” Riley stepped in, closed the last inch, and took Jenna’s right hand. The climber’s palm was thick with old callus, knuckles scraped raw from a bad jam earlier. Riley guided that hand down, pressed it hard against the tight swell of her own ass. The leggings were thin; Jenna felt the heat of bare skin underneath, the firm give of muscle. “I want you to pin me against the wall the way you pin me on the wall at the gym. No belay. Just you holding me up while you take what you want.”

Jenna’s fingers flexed once, involuntary, digging into the lower curve. Her cock—no, her clit—throbbed heavy between her legs, the seam of her pants suddenly too tight. She had spent three months telling herself the fake kisses were just for show, that the way Riley melted against her at Thanksgiving was performance. She had lied to herself every single time Riley’s thigh brushed hers under the dinner table and Jenna went home and fucked her own hand until she came gasping Riley’s name.

Riley didn’t wait. She shifted her weight, slid one lean thigh between Jenna’s legs and rolled her hips deliberately, grinding the hard muscle of her quad right against Jenna’s cunt. The pressure was perfect, filthy. Jenna’s breath punched out of her.

“Fuck—”

That was all it took. Restraint snapped like a worn rope. Jenna’s free hand shot up, fisted in Riley’s bun, and yanked her head back just enough to crash their mouths together. The kiss was open and wet immediately, teeth and tongue, no preamble. Riley moaned into it and ground harder, working her thigh in a slow filthy circle that made Jenna’s hips stutter forward. Jenna shoved her back two steps until Riley’s shoulders hit the wall beside the fridge. The smaller woman went willingly, thighs already parting, hands dragging down Jenna’s sides to fist in the fabric of her tank.

Jenna’s calloused palm stayed locked on Riley’s ass, squeezing hard enough to leave marks under the leggings. She hauled Riley up onto her toes so their cunts lined up better and rutted against that grinding thigh like she was trying to climb it. The friction was raw, pants-on and desperate. Riley’s sports bra had ridden up; one soft tit spilled free against Jenna’s collarbone. Jenna broke the kiss just long enough to duck her head and bite the upper swell, sucking hard enough to leave a dark circle.

“You feel that?” Riley panted against her ear, voice wrecked. “That’s three months of watching you haul yourself up 5.12s with those arms and wanting them wrapped around me instead. Every belay, every fucking spot, I’ve been dripping for you to just take it.”

Jenna growled and shoved her thigh higher, pinning Riley fully to the wall with body weight the same way she would pin a climber mid-crux. Her hand left Riley’s ass only long enough to yank the waistband of the yoga leggings down over one hip, exposing smooth skin and the top of a neat dark landing strip. She shoved her fingers between Riley’s legs from behind, found her already soaked through the thin cotton of her underwear. Two thick fingers pressed the fabric into Riley’s slit, rubbing hard over the swollen clit.

Riley’s head thunked back against the wall. “Jesus—yes, just like that. Don’t be gentle. I climb V6 for fun; I can take it.”

Jenna kissed her again, messier, tasting the salt on Riley’s upper lip. Their tongues slid and fought while Jenna worked those fingers in tight circles, feeling Riley’s hips roll and chase. The climber’s other hand yanked Riley’s sports bra the rest of the way up so both tits were free—small, perky, dark nipples already tight. Jenna pinched one, rolled it between chalk-rough fingers until Riley whimpered into her mouth.

Clothes were still mostly on. That made it dirtier. Jenna’s tank was rucked up under her breasts; Riley’s nails scraped down the defined ridges of her abs and hooked into the waistband of the climbing pants, shoving them low enough on one side that the dark curls at the top of Jenna’s cunt showed. Riley’s thigh kept grinding, slick now with the wetness seeping through Jenna’s own underwear. Every roll sent a hard pulse through Jenna’s clit. She was soaked, dripping down her own thigh, three months of denial boiling over.

“Been dreaming about bending you over the crash pad,” Jenna rasped against Riley’s mouth. “Fucking you with my tongue until you scream loud enough the whole gym hears. You wanted real? This is real. You’re going to come on my fingers against this wall and then I’m taking you to the bedroom and doing it again slower.”

Riley’s laugh broke into a moan when Jenna shoved the soaked underwear aside and pushed two fingers straight into her cunt. Tight, hot, slick walls clamped down immediately. Jenna fucked them in deep, curling against the front wall the way she knew would wreck her. Her thumb stayed on Riley’s clit, rubbing in rough circles timed to the thrust of her hips. Riley clung to her shoulders, one leg hooked high around Jenna’s hip so she could open wider, take it deeper. The wet sound of fingers sliding in and out filled the small kitchen.

“Harder,” Riley demanded, breath hitching. “Pin me. Use me like the holds. I want bruises tomorrow so every time I stretch in class I feel you.”

Jenna obliged. She planted her free hand beside Riley’s head and drove her fingers faster, the heel of her palm slamming against Riley’s clit on every stroke. Riley’s tits bounced with the force. Jenna ducked and sucked one nipple into her mouth, teeth grazing, tongue lashing. Riley’s cunt fluttered and clenched; a fresh gush of wetness coated Jenna’s wrist. The smaller woman was close already, thighs shaking, nails digging half-moons into Jenna’s shoulders hard enough to sting.

They were both breathing like they’d just redpointed something brutal. Sweat slicked the places their skin touched. Jenna’s own cunt ached, empty and throbbing every time Riley’s thigh flexed against it. She could feel how swollen she was, how ready. But she kept the focus on Riley, on the way the yoga instructor’s eyes had gone dark and hungry, on the filthy little sounds punching out of her throat every time Jenna’s fingers bottomed out.

Riley dragged Jenna’s face back up and kissed her like she was starving, biting Jenna’s lower lip hard enough to draw a metallic tang. “I’ve wanted this since the first time you fake-kissed me at my parents’ place and I felt you get wet through your jeans. Fake girlfriends my ass. We’re done pretending.”

Jenna twisted her fingers, added a third, stretching Riley open. The wet clutch around her knuckles made her groan. She kept Riley pinned, body a solid cage of muscle and intent, and worked that tight cunt ruthlessly while her free hand finally shoved down her own pants far enough to rub two rough fingers over her own clit. The dual sensation—Riley pulsing around her hand, her own wetness coating her fingers—almost dropped her. She rubbed hard, matching the rhythm she was fucking into Riley, chasing the edge without going over yet.

Riley’s head fell to Jenna’s shoulder. “Don’t stop. Don’t you fucking stop. I’m gonna—”

Her words cut off in a high, broken sound as her orgasm hit. Riley’s cunt locked down in rhythmic waves, soaking Jenna’s hand to the wrist. Her whole body shuddered against the wall, thighs clamping, tits heaving. Jenna kept stroking her through it, slower now but deep, milking every pulse until Riley was whimpering and twitching from overstimulation.

Jenna didn’t pull out. She left her fingers buried and rocking gently while she finally shoved her own pants lower and rubbed her clit in earnest, forehead pressed to Riley’s, both of them panting the same humid air. Riley’s hand slid down between them, clumsy and eager, covering Jenna’s fingers and helping grind. The pressure was perfect. Jenna was right there, right on the edge of spilling all over both their hands, when Riley whispered against her mouth:

“Bedroom. Now. I want your mouth on me and then I want to sit on your face until you can’t breathe. And after that you’re going to fuck me with that big strap I know you keep in the bottom drawer. I found it last month when I was ‘looking for a charger.’ I’ve been touching myself thinking about it ever since.”

Jenna’s laugh was dark and wrecked. She finally slid her fingers free of Riley’s cunt, shiny and dripping, and painted the wetness across Riley’s lower lip. Riley licked it off without hesitation. Then Jenna scooped her up—easy, the way she would lift a tired climber off the wall—and carried her down the short hall. Riley’s legs wrapped tight around her waist, still-trembling cunt rubbing against Jenna’s abs with every step.

The bedroom door was already half open. Jenna kicked it the rest of the way and dropped Riley onto the unmade bed. Clothes came off in frantic jerks—leggings peeled down, sports bras flung, climbing pants shoved to the floor. They were naked and starving and nowhere near finished. Jenna crawled over her, knees bracketing Riley’s hips, and pinned both of Riley’s wrists above her head with one hand the exact way she’d been asked. Her other hand dragged down the center of Riley’s body, over the still-slick folds, and she leaned in close enough that their nipples brushed.

“You wanted the real thing,” Jenna said, voice raw. “You’re about to get every fucking inch of it. And when I’m done with you tonight, we’re going back to that family dinner next week and I’m going to look your parents in the eye knowing exactly how hard their daughter comes on my tongue.”

Riley arched up, chasing her mouth. The kiss that followed was slower only by comparison—still hungry, still wet, tongues sliding deep. Jenna’s free hand kept exploring, two fingers circling Riley’s clit again, building her right back up while Jenna’s own cunt throbbed untouched and desperate against Riley’s thigh. Outside the window the city kept moving, but inside the room the only sound was skin and breath and the wet slide of fingers reclaiming what had never really been fake.

They had all night. And Jenna planned to use every minute of it making sure Riley felt the grip of every callus.

Jenna’s mouth crashed back onto Riley’s, the kiss all teeth and shared spit as she rocked her soaked cunt against the smaller woman’s thigh. The bed groaned under them, sheets already twisted from the frantic strip a minute earlier. Riley’s wrists stayed pinned above her head, her back arching hard enough that her nipples dragged over Jenna’s collarbones. Every breath tasted like chalk dust and the sharp tang of pussy still slick on Jenna’s fingers.

“Living room,” Jenna growled against her lips. “The board. Now.”

Riley’s eyes flashed. “Fuck yes.”

Jenna hauled her up like she weighed nothing, arms locked under Riley’s ass, and carried her naked down the short hall. Crash mats already covered half the living-room floor from the last training session; the wooden training board was bolted solid to the far wall, holds bolted on in a brutal overhang pattern. Jenna kicked a mat closer with one foot, then lifted Riley higher and planted her back against the board. Wood bit into skin. Riley’s legs hooked around Jenna’s waist for one second before Jenna yanked them open wider, shoving one bare foot onto a high hold so Riley was splayed and half-suspended, weight hanging off her arms and the single foothold.

“Hold,” Jenna ordered.

Riley gripped two slopers above her head, shoulders flexing, tits pushed forward. Jenna dropped to her knees on the mat, yanked nothing because they were already naked, and buried her face straight into Riley’s cunt. No teasing. Long, aggressive licks from hole to clit, tongue flat and relentless, the same way she attacked a crux sequence. Riley’s taste flooded her mouth—salt and sweet and the leftover mess from the kitchen finger-fuck. Jenna shoved two calloused fingers in hard, curling immediately, fucking her open while she sucked the swollen clit between her lips and lashed it with her tongue.

“Shit—Jenna—” Riley’s voice cracked. Her hips bucked, thighs shaking around Jenna’s ears. The board creaked as she adjusted her grip, chalk still ghosting her palms from earlier. Jenna added a third finger, stretching her, the wet sounds loud and filthy in the quiet apartment. She ate like she was starving, nose smashed against Riley’s landing strip, free hand pinning one of Riley’s thighs wider against the wood.

Riley came hard, cunt clamping down in hard pulses that soaked Jenna’s chin and wrist. A broken cry tore out of her; her whole body shuddered on the holds, toes scrabbling. Jenna kept licking through it, fingers still pumping deep, until Riley was whimpering and trying to twist away from the overstimulation.

“Enough—fuck—flip,” Riley gasped.

Jenna pulled back just long enough for Riley to drop off the board. They hit the crash mats in a sweaty tangle. Riley shoved Jenna flat onto her back, swung a leg over, and dropped her dripping cunt straight onto Jenna’s mouth. At the same time she spun, shoving her face between Jenna’s spread thighs. The 69 was desperate and imperfect—sweat-slick skin sliding, knees bruising on the mats. Riley ground down hard, smearing herself across Jenna’s tongue while she buried two fingers into Jenna’s soaked pussy and sucked her clit like she meant to bruise it.

Jenna moaned into Riley’s cunt, the vibration making Riley grind harder. She fucked upward with her tongue, hands locked on Riley’s ass, spreading her open so she could lick deeper, tongue fucking the clenching hole while Riley’s fingers crooked inside her and her mouth worked Jenna’s clit in wet, rhythmic pulls. They rocked like that, grinding, sucking, fingering each other in the same brutal rhythm. Chalk dust and sweat mixed on every inch of contact. Riley’s thighs trembled around Jenna’s head; Jenna’s hips snapped up off the mat, chasing the pressure.

Riley came first again, a gush straight into Jenna’s mouth, body locking and shaking. The clench around Jenna’s tongue pushed her over a second later—orgasm ripping through her so hard her vision whited out, cunt spasming around Riley’s fingers, clit pulsing under the relentless suck. They stayed locked, riding the aftershocks, tongues still working slower now, messy and wet, until both of them were twitching and gasping for air.

Still trembling, Riley slid down Jenna’s body. She crawled off the mats just far enough to reach Jenna’s gear bag dumped by the couch. The harness and the thick silicone cock strapped to it came out easy—Jenna’s favorite, heavy and realistic, the one Riley had found weeks ago. Riley stepped into the harness with shaking hands, tightened the buckles around her hips and thighs until the base of the cock sat flush against her own still-throbbing clit. She stroked lube from a packet over the shaft, then hauled Jenna up by the wrists.

“Wall. Now. Hands on it.”

Jenna went willingly, palms flat against the living-room wall beside the board, ass pushed out. Riley stepped in behind her, rubbed the slick head of the cock up and down Jenna’s dripping slit, then shoved in deep in one hard thrust. Jenna’s groan was raw. Riley fucked her like that—standing doggy, full strokes that slapped skin on skin, one hand fisted in Jenna’s short hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Every thrust ground the harness base against Riley’s clit, making her moan with each snap of her hips.

“Look at you,” Riley whispered filthy against Jenna’s ear, voice wrecked and low. “Fake girlfriend my fucking ass. Taking this cock like you’ve been dying for it. Your cunt’s so wet it’s dripping down my balls. I’m gonna fill you up every night now. No more pretending at dinner. You’re mine—this pussy, these tits, that mouth that just made me come on the mats. Say it.”

“Yours,” Jenna panted, pushing back to meet every thrust. The wall thumped softly. Riley’s free hand snaked around and rubbed Jenna’s clit in rough circles timed to the fucking. Jenna came again with a broken shout, walls fluttering and squeezing the cock, knees nearly buckling. Riley fucked her through it, chasing her own edge, hips stuttering until she ground deep and shuddered hard, the harness pressure tipping her into another orgasm that left her slumped over Jenna’s back, both of them dripping sweat.

They collapsed onto the crash mats in a heap, cock still half-buried, laughing breathlessly between gasps. Riley unbuckled the harness with clumsy fingers and tossed it aside. Jenna rolled onto her side, pulled Riley in close, sticky thighs tangled.

“Fake arrangement’s officially over,” Jenna said, voice hoarse. “We’re real. Very, very real. Next family dinner I’m holding your hand knowing exactly how you sound when you come on my tongue.”

Riley laughed again, soft and wrecked, pressing a kiss to Jenna’s shoulder. “Good. Because I’m done pretending I don’t want to climb you every fucking day.”

They lay there catching their breath, the city noise faint through the windows, mats cool under their overheated skin. Jenna’s arm stayed locked around Riley’s waist, but something cold started threading under the afterglow. The laughter faded. Riley’s breathing evened out against her neck, satisfied, trusting. Jenna stared at the training board still marked with the ghost of Riley’s chalked hands and felt the first real spike of doubt cut through the haze. Three months of lies to both their families. Aisha’s knowing looks. The way Riley’s parents already called her “honey.” What if this was just the adrenaline crash talking? What if Riley woke up tomorrow and the real version felt heavier than the fake one ever had? Jenna’s grip tightened almost involuntarily, but the quiet certainty she’d felt while fucking Riley open was already fraying at the edges. The sex had been perfect. Everything after it suddenly felt like it might not hold.