…tape review?

“Alright.” Gold Rush says, walking back from the TV to sit on the bed next to you. She’s just slotted a VHS tape into its player, and the footage is starting to play. “I figure we should start with something less… physical, since… since you don’t know much about it yet and all. Something just nice and easy like this….”

You nod, understandingly. She’s Gold Rush, so she’s definitely right.

Her room is really nice, too! The bed is very well-kept, and the sheets are super clean. Either she doesn’t get much use out of it (from training all-nighters), or she’s just super orderly and disciplined, and it’s probably both of those.

The tape review begins, and honestly, it’s a little boring. Normally you’d love to watch a Gold Rush fight, even when it isn’t live, and especially with the woman herself sitting right next to you (which is VERY COOL), but she keeps jumping to her feet in the middle of the tapes and changing to a different one. And it’s always right when the action is getting good! It’s probably smart, since it saves time compared to watching all of the fights through to the finish but still lets her new coach see enough of what she’s capable of pulling off in each fight. But you don’t have her elite disciplined martial artist brain just yet, so for you, it just keeps interrupting the flow.

“I don’t actually have a tape of my first run of fights.” She explains to you as she switches out the tapes. You’re melted back onto her bed from boredom a bit, but still paying attention to her words. “The run of victories I had to begin. See, they don’t actually- hup!”

She springs up and walks back over to the bed, to sit next to you again. Even though you’re quite bored, Gold Rush seems pretty enthusiastic about this whole thing, and the rewatching of some of her finest moments.

“They don’t actually routinely record fights at the Arena. Just recently, people started taping only mine, and sending them to my dorm room after the fact…. and sending more replacement copies if they ever find out I’ve gotten rid of one from the collection.”

Ah, yeah, that does make sense. The best fighter would of course have fans that want to preserve her bouts forever, as much for future entertainment as for their own future study. You sit up again to watch as the new fight begins, hoping that this is the one you’ll get to see all the way through.

Gold Rush is in her usual fight kit — a matte gold lace bra under an unbuttoned school shirt. Her luscious orange hair flows freely as the match starts and she rushes towards her female opponent, hoping to get a quick finish.

"Ah, see here? That's my high kick, I'd been practicing it for this fight. I can do it pretty accurately now." She says, gesturing to the screen as she points out her kicking technique. "Now then, that's enough from this one..."

Gold Rush rises up from the bed to switch the tape again, but you reach out and hold her back by the wrist.

"Just a sec!" You say, leaning forward in your sitting position. "I wanna see the end."

"Debbie- Debbie, let me-!" Gold Rush says, trying to break from your hand, suddenly acting a bit more **** as you watch the recording through past its usual switching point.

That's when her opponent on the TV reaches forward and takes her golden bra boob cup softly into her hand, and squeezes. Gold Rush freezes next to you as you both watch her on the TV. With her boob held up by the other combatant, Gold Rush's lips part in what might be a low moan, but is too quiet for the camera to pick up. She weakly stumbles, and loses her footing.

The prerecorded Gold Rush whines pathetically as her opponent follows her down to the ground, grinning evilly and keeping her tight squeeze going. The camera, seemingly operated by somebody else standing in the ring, moves to get an overhead closeup of Gold Rush's face as she slowly touches down to the mat on her back. The closeup shot perfectly frames her from the top of her head down past her smooth shoulders to the bottom curve of her breasts, perfectly capturing her reaction as her opponent's hand finishes the squeeze and makes Gold Rush’s eyes roll around in her head.

A deep moan is **** from her lips, just before she goes still and silent. Her head rolls to one shoulder, and that's when the tape cuts off. The TV screen goes black.

There's a long silence in the room, before Gold Rush solemnly sits back down on the bed next to you, staring into her lap. You let her wrist go, confused and a bit shaken, as the tape begins to play over from the start again.

“…Well, I guess the cat was already out of the bag.” Gold Rush says at last, breaking the silence.