"A Goddess Returns" with Alexa Bliss

[TheLW]

A Goddess Returns
With Alexa Bliss
Written by TheLW
Codes: MF, Blowjob, Handjob, Fingering, Shower Sex
Disclaimer: This FICTIONAL story was written for entertainment purposes only.


Alexa Bliss, a woman known by many names, Little Miss Bliss, The Goddess of WWE, Five Feet of Fury, had been absent from the ring for two long years. In that time, life had changed. She became a mother, and nothing compared to the joy of holding her daughter in her arms. It was the greatest blessing she’d ever known.

But that itch, the one every wrestler knows, started creeping back. The roar of the crowd, the adrenaline rush, the lights, the chaos, the magic of standing center ring with tens of thousands of fans screaming your name… it haunted her. She missed it more than she could say.

She was ready.

And lucky for her, WWE’s Performance Center was right there waiting.

That’s where I come in. I was tasked with getting Alexa Bliss ring-ready. We ran the ropes. We drilled the classics. We pushed through the grind, sweating bullets and shaking off the rust. Move by move, minute by minute, she started coming back to life, sharper, stronger, more determined.

We kept going. We didn’t stop at the warm-ups, the drills, or the rope runs. This wasn’t just about knocking off some ring rust. Alexa wanted the full grind, wanted to sweat, to ache, to earn every second of this return. And she wasn’t holding back. Not even on me.

One moment I’m giving instructions, the next, bam, she scooped me up like it was nothing. Her strength caught me off guard, and before I could react, she drove me into the canvas with authority. That wasn’t just instinct. That was muscle memory, focus, and fire all rolled into one thunderous slam. And yeah, it hurt like hell. But I smiled through it, because that was the Alexa Bliss I remembered. The one who could flip a switch from sweet to savage in the blink of an eye.

We kept at it for two straight hours, nonstop drills, chain wrestling, striking, bumping. She didn’t complain once. Not about the pace. Not about the sweat. Not about the bruises already starting to bloom. She pushed through it all, breathing heavy, chest heaving, hair a mess, but eyes locked in. There was no quit in her. Not even close.

Eventually, we hit the wall, physically, at least. I called the session.

“Two hours. That’s enough,” I said, wiping the sweat from my brow, trying not to limp too obviously.

Alexa? She just smiled. That damn smirk she gets when she knows she still has more in the tank.

We grabbed our water bottles, both drenched in sweat, muscles sore, adrenaline still humming under our skin. The session was over, but the air between us wasn’t cooling down, not even close. As I took a swig, her hand brushed against my arm. At first, I figured it was accidental, just two people worn out from a brutal two-hour grind in the ring.

But then she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she smirked, her eyes glinting with something playful… and dangerous.

"You know," she said, her voice lower, softer, but with that trademark Alexa bite, "I’ve been feeling everything during those drills… and not just in my muscles."

My brows raised slightly, but I didn’t say a word. She stepped a little closer, close enough for me to feel the heat radiating off her body. Her finger traced a slow path down my forearm.

"You're definitely packing something under all that gear," she added with a grin that made it very clear she wasn’t talking about wrestling boots.

I froze, caught somewhere between disbelief and anticipation. This was Alexa Bliss, WWE royalty, The Goddess herself, and here she was, casually peeling off the wrist tape, like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.

"I'm gonna hit the showers," she said, glancing over her shoulder as she walked toward the locker room. Then she looked back, lips curved into a wicked smile. "You’re more than welcome to join me… if you’ve got any energy left."

And with that, she disappeared around the corner, leaving me standing there, heart hammering, brain short-circuiting.

I stood there for a second, still catching my breath, trying to convince myself I’d heard her wrong.

But I hadn’t.

The look in her eyes, the way she walked off, that wasn’t a joke. That was an open door.

And I sure as hell wasn’t about to leave it swinging.

I grabbed my towel, took one last gulp from the bottle, and followed her. The locker room door was cracked. Steam curled through the gap.

I pushed it open.

Inside, the showers were already running, hot, judging from the thick mist hanging in the air. Towels lined the benches, gear scattered here and there. Her boots. Her gloves. Her top.

Then I saw her, half-turned under the spray, hair slicked back, water running down her shoulders and over every curve like something straight out of a fever dream.

She looked over her shoulder again, just like before.

“You took your time,” she said, lips twitching into that same teasing grin. “Thought maybe you chickened out.”

I stepped forward, letting the door swing shut behind me.

“Not a chance.”

Seconds after taking my stuff off, she reached out, hand wrapping around my wrist, pulling me under the spray. Up close, Alexa was all confidence, soft skin, hard muscle, wild eyes. She moved like someone in control of everything, even now.

Especially now.

Then she pressed me flat against the wet tile.

“The real training starts now,” she whispered into my ear.

Alexa gripped my hips, yanking me forward, before dropping to her knees on the shower floor. She had one hand wrapped around the base of my cock, squeezing just enough. She looked up at me, blue eyes intent, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

And then she took me in, lips parting with a greedy, practiced ease. Her tongue was hot and slick, swirling circles around the tip, then licking along the length as Alexa slid her mouth down to the base. Warm water rained down on us, pounding my shoulders, pooling at our feet, but I barely noticed. Then she dragged her tongue along the underside, eyes narrowed, and took me into her mouth,

Alexa set the pace, relentless and patient at once, working me with the same focus she brought to the ring. Every bob of her head, every flick of her tongue, working its magic. Alexa wasn’t just showing off, she was enjoying herself, humming a little as she worked my shaft over.

The steam made it impossible to focus on anything but her. Alexa’s oral skills were measured and strategic, as though she was breaking down an opponent's defense. Each gasp I made seemed to amuse her, fueling her to go harder, deeper. The power she had, even down on her knees, was staggering.

Alexa kept her rhythm going, moving in deep, then pulling back with a pop and a softly sinister laugh. The sensation was unreal. Every motion, every glance up, every shift in pressure from her lips to her tongue was calculated, years of mind games and manipulation in the ring applied here with devastating effect.

I reached for her, fingertips tangling in her wet hair, but she batted my hand away with a sharp look. This was her show, and I was just along for the ride.

She kept me right on the edge, working my cock so expertly, so mercilessly, that after a few minutes my legs truly threatened to give out. Only then did she let up, mouth breaking away with another satisfying pop. She stood, water streaming over her body, pressing her breasts, against my chest.

“Pin me,” she whispered. “Show me what you’ve got.”

I grabbed her by the waist, spun her around, and pressed her into the tile wall with just enough force to make her gasp. She arched, pushing back into me, bracing herself with both hands on the wall. For a split-second we were silent, the only sound was the water hitting us, and the uneven churn of our breaths.

Then I slid inside her in one slow, relentless stroke.

Alexa let out a noise that was all hunger, hips rolling back to meet me. She was tight, incredibly so, every inch of her body clenched and shuddering under my touch. I gripped her waist, burying myself deep, then pulled almost all the way out before thrusting in again, harder this time. She took it, every inch, her head dropping forward, forehead pressed against the streaming tile. Her blonde hair stuck in wild, wet clumps to her back.

“That all you’ve got?” she panted, glancing back with a grin that dared me to keep up.

The shower’s roar barely masked the slap of skin on skin, the wet, obscene noises we made as we moved together. Alexa met every thrust with a push of her hips, grinding back, panting, breathing out sharp little moans that got louder every time. I picked up the pace, slamming into her, driving us both closer to the edge.

Her athleticism was something else, she balanced on her toes, flexed every muscle, meeting every thrust with another of her own. It was a power struggle, even now. I reached up, grabbed a handful of her soaked hair, and yanked her head back. The move made her shudder, made her clench hard around me. Her eyes rolled back, lips parted, the sound she let out was something else.

Every movement, every sound, every muscle in her body was on fire. She didn’t just want to get off, she wanted to take everything I had and leave me begging for more. Alexa let out a moan so sharp it felt like it should echo in every empty locker and hallway of the Performance Center.

For a moment, I watched the water stream down her back, tracing the ripples of muscle, the curve of her spine. She was ridiculous, powerful and elegant and filthy and fun all at once. When I slowed, she met me with a sharp snap of her hips. When I tried to speed up, she rode the rhythm, taking charge of the pace, controlling every beat.

I dug in my heels, hands gripping her hips, driving into her with everything I had left. The sharp slap of our bodies echoed through the tiled, steam-choked room. She bucked back against me, each movement deliberate, demanding. She wasn’t being rag-dolled or dominated, she was leading, goading, matching me move for move. On the verge of climax, she dropped one hand from the wall to between her legs, circling her clit in time with my thrusts.

Her finger moved in quick, practiced circles, a blur beneath the swirl of steam and water. She didn’t ease up for a second, if anything, the added stimulation just made her more frantic, more desperate to draw out every possible sensation. The tempo between her fingers and my hips synced up, stuttering whenever one or both of us got close.

She was shaking, shuddering, pushing herself over the edge. Then, with a gasp that turned into a feral little snarl, Alexa came, hard, body spasming under mine, arms and legs quivering with the effort to stay upright. When her arm finally dropped, she half-slumped into the wall, hair plastered wild and tangled down her back. Her face was flushed scarlet, mouth open and gasping for air between ragged, greedy laughs. But she wasn’t done, not even close.

She pressed herself against me, hot water cascading between us as she turned us so my back pressed up against the tile wall. Her nails raked down my chest, hard, not playful, and she dropped to her knees again. This time, she worked with ferocity, pumping my cock in both hands, licking and sucking, nothing sweet or demure about it. She wanted to push me over, make me lose my footing, make me collapse for her.

“Getting close?” she said, cocking an eyebrow at me. Like she already knew.

I grunted, focusing, determined to give as good as she gave.

She swallowed me as deep as she could, breathing hard through her nose, and the feeling was like being pulled through a rip current. She was too good. Too much, too focused. I looked down, caught the wicked satisfaction on her face, the spit-slicked glisten that ran from her mouth to my cock, and I realized she’d dismantled whatever composure I thought I had.

She moaned, the vibration burying itself deep. I clutched the back of her head, letting instinct take over, bucking once, twice, barely managing not to scream. At the brink, I jerked out, and Alexa aimed me at her face with a playful, mean little grin. I spurted, hard, the first shot catching her cheek, pearled hot and sticky in the rivulets of bathwater and sweat.

The next landed just below, then more pumped out over her lips, her chin, her tongue sticking out to taste the milky mess. The look in her eyes was not innocence, but satisfaction, hard-earned and deserved, as if she'd chiseled this release from me with nothing but will and wickedness.

The shower had long gone cold by the time we stepped out, wrapped in towels, breathless from more than just the steam. We didn’t say much. Didn’t have to. The silence between us was heavy, but in the best way. Satisfied. Spent. Charged.

We got dressed, the occasional glance exchanged like a secret neither of us had the words for yet. She slipped her hoodie on, tying her damp hair into a loose knot, still glowing with that post-battle, post-bliss heat.

Then, just as casually as she’d invited me into the shower, she turned to me with a wicked little grin tugging at her lips.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Her tone was playful, but there was something real under it. Like this wasn’t just a one-time slip or a heat-of-the-moment decision. She wanted more. Not just another workout session. Not just another stolen hour in the locker room.

She wanted us, whatever the hell this had just become, to keep going.

I looked at her, still towel-drying my hair, the corner of my mouth curling up into a grin of my own.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She smirked, slung her bag over her shoulder, and started toward the door.

“Good. Because I plan on working you even harder tomorrow.”

And just like that, she was gone, the echo of her voice, and a fire that sure as hell wasn’t cooling off anytime soon.

The End