“No, honey… No.” Refused Brenda, as her husband Mark shouted his pleas from the kitchen.

“Babe, please. I know tonight’s our date night. I know we had plans. But it’s David…. He needs a guy’s night.” The fit, half-handsome man’s begging didn’t come from a need to drink, or a desire to cheer at some playoff game, but instead, in his desire to support a friend.

And yet still, the words fell on deaf ears. “No, what David needs is a confession booth and an ass-kicking after what he put Lauren through.

“Look, I know you and Lauren are friends, and so you believe her. But David has been my best friend since high school, you know that. And I want to get his side of the story.” The sincerity and empathy in Mark’s voice was the only thing keeping Brenda from completely ignoring him.

“Mark, I love you, but no. Tonight, we’re going to go out to dinner. We’re going to hold hands. We’re going to laugh at each other’s jokes. And make out in the backseat of the Uber after having too much wine. So that we do NOT end up like those two.” Not once since her backseat encounter with Samantha had she truly worried about Mark’s fidelity. For the only possible rival she knew of had been faced, fought, and defeated in the backseat of her Escalade.

But after hearing Lauren’s tale of woe, her co-worker and confidant, Brenda spiraled. Her every thought filled with painful and pillaring questions. Who was next? Who was coming to take him? And the lament of how much time she had wasted not securing their relationship, both from without and within.

“Babe … I….” Mark began as he walked out from the kitchen and towards Brenda. But seeing the look on his wife’s face, his words ceased, as he abandoned his hope of giving David the night out with the boys that he so clearly needed.

“Look. Just give me tonight. You and your cheating scumbag of a friend can go out tomorrow night, ok?” As harsh as the words read, they were playful. Brenda reaching up and wrapping her arms around Mark’s neck before pulling him into a soft and loving kiss.

She leaning into him in her tight, satin, strapless red dress. One that showed off her moisturizer-shined and drool-drawing legs. Legs which traveled long and fit well into her tall black heels.

Perhaps because of that attire, Mark replied “Deal,” with a smile. One he wore between soft, sweet meetings of he and his wife’s lips.

But as their lips met and eyes closed, a familiar bell sound rang out throughout the home.

“Mmmnnn….” The blonde sounded out in enjoyment of their kiss. “That must be your babysitter.” She then added, as her eyes opened to find his.

“Our babysitter, babe. You’re going to like her. She’s sweet.” Mark said confidently, his eyes soft and glistening with a deep and affectionate love.

“Don’t put her on me. You chose her. So, if she’s bad, I’m putting the blame squarely. On. You. Mr. Evans.” With the last word of the bouncing, still-toying sentence, Brenda pulled back her arms, and then with a single finger tapped the tip of Mark’s nose.

“Well, if I don’t, I’m just going to send Cadence over to Jamie’s.” Hopefully, she wouldn’t need to. Hopefully, she wouldn’t want to. But the option was there. There, in a house a few blocks down in their gated community. The home of a kind, cheerful young woman, who was more than willing to watch little Cadence.

But Brenda and Mark had already relied on her countless nights before. And, like the good neighbor she was, Jamie wouldn’t accept payment. And so Mark demanded. A babysitter. Someone to watch their child, who wouldn’t fill him with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

And though the blonde mother and wife didn’t necessarily disagree with his decision or motive, she found it difficult to trust someone with her child.

Still though, Brenda hoped as she made her way to and then opened the door to her happy home, that whoever Mark had chosen, would be someone that she could trust.

“Oh…. Hi, Mrs. Evans!” Came a quick and sickeningly sweet greeting. One that left Brenda speechless and gap-jawed, as she found herself unable to believe what she saw.

WHO she saw.

A girl Brenda knew all too well. One who wore a pair of white yoga pants and infuriatingly not else below. That lack of panties, under the brunette’s intensely form-fitting bottoms, made the blonde swear that could see the faint bristles of once shaved and yet returning pubic hair. A sight, imaginary or not, that came topped with a midriff revealing, “Pink” labeled tube top from Victoria Secret’s summer slut catalog, as Brenda called it.

“Sammy! Thanks for coming!” Shouted Mark, as he approached his open front door and shock-frozen wife from behind.

And though he came nearer, before he could truly see his wife’s face or much in front of her, “Sammy” stepped in, and with a forceful bump, past Brenda. The young brunette making sure her breasts met and then drug across those of her still-shaken rival. Just as they had, that fateful day in the backseat of Brenda’s Escalade.

“Maaarrrkkk.’” Brenda suddenly began in a panic, as Samantha walked over and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

“Uh, yes, babe?” He asked, truly confused, as with a single arm he patted Samantha’s back.

As that arm wrapped, however, Sammy clung and turned with a confident smirk. Knowing that Brenda must be boiling at seeing her body pressed against her husband’s.

“Go get David,” Brenda instructed, as her eyes closed and pulse raced.

“What!? I thought we were….” Mark began as he released Samantha and stepped towards his wife. He being confused after all that had been said and all that had been refused.

“Are you sure? This isn’t a trap, right? One of those things where you tell me to do something, and then get mad at me when I do it?” He’d fallen for it before. Got in trouble for it before. And yet, even as he asked, he could feel something different going on — even though he couldn’t exactly put his finger on what it was.

“No, honey, you go. Be the good man. The good friend. We’ll go on a date some other night.” As Brenda spoke and assured, Samantha retreated. Not far or fast, but into the living room and onto the couch next to Cadence. She beginning to speak to the 8-year-old boy, though she could hear every word spoken.

“Oh-I-ok. Thanks, babe. I swear I’ll make it up to you.” With every word, he studied his wife’s face. Her expression. But when he found nothing to act on or any look that he recognized specifically, he did all that he could. The worried and surprised husband giving Brenda another quick peck on the cheek, before he turned to Samantha and spoke.

“Might have to put the babysit-” Mark began, before his wife pressed a finger to his lips.

“Let her stay. You go.” With the words came a smile. The calmest, kindest, most loving smile she could feign.

One feigned enough, apparently, to set Mark’s fears aside and give him the peace he needed to break from his wife and rush towards the door. “Again, babe. Thanks. I wouldn’t have aske….”

The brown-haired husband began before Brenda interrupted. “I know. He’s your friend….”

“He is. But I love you!” He responded as he pulled the front door open once again and took a step outside.

“I love you too,” Brenda replied as the door shut on her car-focused husband. She immediately thereafter turning back to Samantha and her child.

“Cadence, dear. I need you to run over to Jamie’s. Tell her I need a night. She’ll know what you mean.” Despite the fact that Samantha sat next to him. Speaking whatever poison she no doubt was, Cadence still stood and replied quickly.

“Ok, mom.” He was dressed. He was mature enough. The neighborhood was safe. And given his response, he wasn’t averse to making the short trip to the nice lady who let him eat cupcakes.

And so, go he did. Gathering his Nintendo Switch, power cord, and Fortnite-themed jacket before running to his mother and then after a kiss, the door.

His departure leaving Brenda and Samantha alone for the first time that night. For the first time since the former broke the latter, and left her naked on the front lawn of her own home.

“You stupid, little bitch.” Not a moment did Brenda waste, before cursing at her defeated and yet suddenly returned rival. Words she dared not share until her child and husband were out of earshot.

“Shut up!” Responded Samantha as she bolted up from the couch, and marched around it and back towards Brenda.

“You’re the bitch!” The brunette continued as nearer and nearer she came to the fuming blonde standing between she and the closed front door to the home.

“Really? Well if I’m a bitch, I’m the bitch that made you cum. The one who….” As Brenda began, intending to let off a litany of reminders of what happened last they met, she found herself interrupted. For Sammy continued stepping forward, and when there was no distance left, she grabbed. The young brunette thereafter pressing not only her body but her lips into Brenda’s.

“Mmnnnmm….” The blonde mother mumbled into sealed lips and over suddenly wrestling tongues. A moment of contact she gave into for a flash, remembering how intense and unforgettable their competition had been. In the backseat of her sports luxury utility truck, not even three months before.

But Brenda had won, and beaten the upstart Samantha. And so with a fire, the former pushed the latter back and away from her, breaking their brunette-brought body-to-body kiss.

You would think they would then flow, Brenda’s words. Her curses. Questions, and immediately thereafter answers to the same. But instead … she just glared at her once-defeated rival.

A rival who did not lower her eyes in shame or show even the slightest sign of submission as she stood there trembling with excitement a handful of steps away.

No, for Samantha was ascendant once more. Certain of herself once again. Not the broken youth Brenda had left on the first blades of grasp of her front lawn, but a tigress and a threat.

“What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want?” Asked Brenda, each word falling and then landing like a sack of bricks onto concrete.

“You know what I want. Your husband. Are you going to give him to me…?” Samantha explained and then asked, her arms still half-lifted and her fingers moving out and in, as if she were a Cat ready to attack.

“Literally never.” Brenda hissed back, as closed hands moved to anchor themselves on her hips.

“Then let’s go, grandma.” As she spoke, rather than when the sentence ended, Samantha began to disrobe. The brunette reaching down and grabbing the bottom of her pink top before pulling it up and over her head. A removal which allowed her braless and perky young tits to pop out and then bounce. A sight which in an instant drove Brenda to speak.

“Ooohhh no. I already made that little pussy of yours cum. Remember….?” With every word of denial and rejection uttered, Brenda moved towards Samantha. The blonde reaching out and grabbing for the young brunette’s arms to stop her from removing her last remaining garment — her skin-`tight white yoga pants.

“You cheated, you old bitch, and you know it!” With her argument, came attempts. The cruel, jealousy-fueled babysitter trying to pry down her pants, even as Brenda fought to resist her.

“STOP CALLING ME OLD!” In a flash of white-hot anger and sensitivity to the accusation, Brenda snapped. Not only figuratively, but literally. She lifting and then crashing her open-palmed right hand across Samantha’s blush-applied cheek.

At the sound of it. The happening of it. The striking of hand against cheek, the two froze.

Wife and babysitter.

Mother and aspiring mistress.

Neither with a newly donned glare or yet-to-be spoken words dangling from their lips. No, instead they were lost in it. The questions. The fear. The uncertainty.

Not for a handful of seconds but for ten of them, and then twenty. They together and without speaking trying to decipher what had just happened — what their engagement had just become.

And though for what seemed like an eternity they did not know, in an instant and a flash the answers came.

“OLD ASS BITCH!” Sammy shouted as her hands lifted from her hip-high waistband to her blonde rival’s hair and then gripped.

“STUPID LITTLE SLUT!” Brenda yelled without a moment’s separation from those words the brunette upstart had just spoken. The angry and once-victorious wife grabbing two deeply woven handfuls of Sammy’s silky brown hair.

The two women, with their matching grips, pulling themselves together body-to-body and breast-to-breast — the blonde’s covered and the brunette’s bare. They not then wrenching or yanking, but instead pulling not only close but cheek-to-cheek in the center of the living room.

There, in the tight press of bodies and held locks, they hissed, as lips neared waiting lobes.

“You don’t deserve his cock inside you….” Came Sammy’s hatefully whispered venom, as she and her rival’s nipples woke and hardened in the intensity of the moment.

“I already beat you for his cock, cunt.” Brenda replied with a confidence earned in she and the brunette’s last battle.

Each have spoken, and their press yet to relent, they, in a sudden occurence of movement, spun together in a stagger. Neither letting go of their tightly held locks or allowing their bodies to separate even a hair’s width.

“Beat me again….” In half, the hushed request was a dare, but in the other, it was a plea. One made in desperation, though the words that followed tried to cover that track. “You know you can’t…. You’re too old…. Too dried up….”

It was a trap. A ploy. A wild, reckless attempt to push Brenda into putting up-for-grabs a prize she had already won. Surely, she would refuse it and quickly thereafter evict Samantha, half-naked out of her family home.

Any sane person would have refused the challenge.

In fact, Brenda would have refused the challenge on any other day.

But with Lauren’s tale of despair and devastation fresh in her mind, Brenda knew what she had to do.

For though a million lessons could have been taken from her best friend’s tale of betrayal and defeat, Brenda took only one.

Lauren had let David drift away. She had failed to drag him away from whatever distraction gripped him when first his eyes began to glaze. She had allowed her marriage to weaken and degrade until finally David strayed. She only deciding to fight — to try, when Claire already had him.

When David was already in play.

Brenda would not make that same series of mistakes. She would beat this little girl again. Right there. Right then. And end whatever threat she might pose before she ever made a tangible play for Mark.

This wife would break her rival’s body, mind, and spirit, before her husband could even have the chance to betray.

A decision the blonde mother made as she stood there, holding the jealous young neighbor-girl’s body tightly against her own. Not only hearing but feeling that marital threat’s hot, excitement-hitching breath wash across her cheek and ear.

A closeness and binding that Brenda pushed away from, shoving Sammy back and away from her. The brunette’s tits bouncing with youth-retained buoyancy as she stumbled backwards without answer or certainty, but expectant nonetheless.

“Fight me….” Samantha growled, as she waited for some sign. Some signal from her beautiful blonde rival.

And though she who growled wanted it said. Wanted it given in words. Brenda’s pouty-cute lips bent only into a smirk, as she reached down, and with a quick grip and practiced pull, drug her strapless red dress up and then over her perfectly formed body. The blonde free of its curve-hugging satin for only a moment before she moved to remove her bra.

As she then did, unsnapping its burgundy back and then allowing it to fall, Sammy pressed for more than an unspoken acceptance.

“If I win, I get him, right? I get Mark?” Every word Samantha spoke made clear how much she wanted it — how deeply she longed for another chance to claim the man of the house for her own.

Still though, even as the youthful mistress-in-wanting came close to begging, Brenda remained wordless and smirking. The blonde instead focusing her every effort on removing her panties, as she kept her eyes locked on her rival’s. The middle-aged and yet smoking hot wife feeling her confidence swell as Sammy’s exigency began to not only show but glaringly so.

But such swelling came not only from Samantha’s nervous tone or pressing for Brenda to accept her terms, but also from the former’s eyes. Eyes which drifted from one end of Brenda’s newly nude body to the other. They pausing with a glaze at each asset along the way. The blonde’s mirrored and still-well-held breasts. Her toned, and yet feminine stomach. As well as her shaven kitten and seductively thick thighs.

In their first battle, Brenda’s body meant nothing to Samantha, save for it being one she must conquer. Yes, it was far more tight and toned than the young brunette had imagined, without wrinkles and rolls. But it was still just the body of a woman she sought to master and then discard thereafter.

Indifferent and dismissive though Sammy had been then, after their battle in the backseat of Brenda’s Escalade, her feelings had changed. The young neighbor girl finding herself fantasizing about the blonde mother and wife, both as the sting of defeat still lingered, and even after it had passed.

Yes, Brenda was an obstacle.

Yes, she was old in Sammy’s eyes.

Yes, she was a bitch and a cheater, but still….. She was the woman who gave the would-be mistress a sexual encounter and an orgasm she would never forget, even though it came in defeat.

Those thoughts, those memories, those fantasies haunted Brenda too, though askew. The tabooness of confronting, competing, and fucking the barely-of-age girl that lived across the street calling to her darker side. The intensity of the engagement, not a soft, sensual, loving affair, but a battle — a war — a fuckfight for Mark being too naughty to put behind her.

And though those mutual feelings of desire and excitement were alive in both of them, it was Samantha who seemed taken by them. Sammy who felt herself distracted as Brenda, and her now nude glory advanced on her. The blonde wife using every sexual lesson she had ever learned as she stepped slowly and sensually towards her young rival.

A young rival who did not meet that advance with her own, but instead, in a bewilderment born from fantasy coming to life, stumbled backwards, one step and then two.

And though a third such step would have thereafter come, on the second, the back of Samantha’s calves caught on the front of the couch seat. A gentle and yet unexpected collision which caused her to fall in a soft crash onto the fabric of the sofa. Her white yoga pants, which she had hung about her wide hips, tugging down to her mid thighs in the landing.

Only then, as Sammy tried to stand back up, did Brenda speak again. “Sit down.”A command the blonde gave as she reached out with both hands, and with palms pressing to the brunette’s shoulders, sent the same back to her bare ass on the couch.

“Wait, bit….” In protest and rebellion the neighbor girl complained as she tried once more to stand. But as she did, Brenda dropped down to her knees. She once more reaching out with her palms and pressing them to Sammy’s hips as they raised. The forceful but glancing force of the push sending the brunette back to the couch.

Then, before Sammy could try to stand once more, the Blonde wife grabbed those white yoga pants that still lingered around the brunette’s spread legs, and with a quick application of force, ripped them down to the would-be mistress’ ankles and then off.

“Bitch, let me staAaAAaa….” As she spoke it. Her wanting request for allowance, Brenda made her move. The wife in defense wrapping her arms around the neighbor girl’s thick thighs, and with them drug her forward. Then, as the ass of the unwanted babysitter drug across the felt of the couch, Brenda leaned forward and with all the ferocity of a hungry tigress attacked.

“Oh, FUCK!” Sammy exclaimed as she reached out her hands to push Brenda’s face out from between her legs. “Bitch…. Get…. Get … off … me.”

Though her words rang of it. And though her defensive squirming hinted to it. The young brunette’s weak pushes at forehead and light pulling of blonde hair betrayed how willing she was to let her rival continue. That is to say nothing of how wet her sacred crevice was already . It seeping its juices into Brenda’s latching mouth like the rippest of fruits does on its first bite.

“I get Mark if I win….” The brunette seemingly declared as her eyes closed and her head fell onto the top of the couch’s back cushion.

“Right…?” Strong though the words sounded, not a moment later were they amended by question.

Question and then a moan. “Oohhh ggaaawwwddd….” Samantha sounded out in pleasure, as the wife she had come to confront lapped at her clit and licked at the doorstep to her still-tight sex.

“Say it….” The brunette demanded in a desperate whisper. One she offered as she fought meakly to pull her sex away from her rival’s mouth. An effort that succeeded only in allowing her own juices and Brenda’s saliva to drip from her over-excited kitten to the couch cushion below.

“Please, say it….” Again, even as she felt an early orgasm building within her, Sammy begged.

A begging met not by words, but instead by a more and more focused attempt by Brenda to bring her young rival to to the cliff. The wife’s practiced tongue working around and for brief flashes over the brunette’s unhooded and wanting core.

And with every second that dance of tongue and touch continued, Samantha fell deeper and deeper under the blonde’s control. The blinding light of an oncoming, steal-roller of an orgasm being too bright for her to ignore or think past. The Mark-less babysitter only able to moan and then cry out, in tiny, half-breathless whimpers.

On the verge of it though she was, a second, brutal, and rebuttal-free defeat, somewhere in the madness of her desire she found it. The strength to grab at Brenda’s hair, and in a sudden tug, drag the blonde’s tongue out, and head up and out from between her legs.

“You little slu..!!!” The near-instant-victory-expecting wife cursed in part, before she found her own lips drug forward and into a kiss with Samantha. Their mouths, despite their unequal states of disrepair and distraction, still opening for one another. An opening which allowed their tongues to shoot forth and in a wild, tangle of hatred, jealousy, and desire crash.

Kiss though they did. Passionately, and as if they, wife and meant-to-be mistress, were destined to do nothing else, still did Brenda fight. She reaching her right hand down and between Samantha’s still spread and soaked inner thighs.

And though there the blonde expected to find a tight little sex, waiting to be finger-fucked to orgasm, she found instead Sammy’s hand clamped down tight around the same.

There in that valley of perfectly soft flesh and spilt secretions, Brenda struggled to insert her fingers past and then pry loose her rival’s covering hand. But as one moment after another passed, Sammy found her once depleted focus returning, and the orgasm she once feared would take her ebb.

A distance from defeat that gave her the confidence to make a move of her own. One that came without warning as the young, husband-seeking neighbor broke she and her rival’s kiss and then after a quick quarter-stand, dove forward and on top of the blonde before her in a naked tackle.

A blonde that under the weight of her rushing rival collapsed back to the carpeted floor. The two ending up not in a tangled mess of nude bodies and splayed hair, but instead with Brenda flat on her back, with Samantha sitting atop her. The brunette’s river wet sex sitting atop the sternum of the wife below her, with the arms of the same pinned beneath and between pressing thighs.

“Get off me!” Brenda hissed as she glared up at her suddenly resurgent rival atop her.

“No way. Not until you say it.”Not a glare, but a smirk was worn on the brunette’s face as she looked down at Mark’s once victory-certain wife

“No….” Brenda muttered in frustration, as she turned her head to the side. No longer wanting or even willing to look at Samantha, though she had done so with such fire before.

“Say it, bitch!” The sitting brunette demanded, as she extended a pair of ready-to-pinch fingers and attached them to the blonde’s still-hard nipples.

“NooOo!” Louder than before, and in far more than a mutter, Brenda refused once more, as she suddenly fought to free herself from beneath her young rival.

“Ugh! You’re such a cunt!” In her own spell of swelling frustration, Samantha cursed as she fought to keep her balance. She leaning left and then right — back and then forward, before moving her hands from yet unpinched nipples to the carpeted floor before her to brace herself.

“I’ll NEVER give you another chance to take him from me!” Her effort to dislodge having failed, Brenda finally looked to the neighbor girl atop her. Her alight and ablaze with annoyance and anger.

“Whatever, you ancient bitch…. I’ll make you….” Without a single doubt in her mind, or a hint of as much in her voice, Samatha righted herself. The brunette doing so by shifting herself back, with a drag of her wet cunt across the blonde’s chest.

“STOP CALLING ME OL-mmmnnnnppppphhh….” Mid-resistance and mid-refusal, a palm suddenly pressed down over Brenda’s speaking lips and breathing nose.

“Shhh, shhh, you wrinkled old slut.” At the very moment Brenda found her mouth and nose covered by Samantha’s hand, she thought back. To what Lauren had said. To how she, that poor life-evicted woman had described the loss of her fight with Claire.

It was this!

Exactly this!

And so Brenda fought. And so Brenda bucked. Wildly and with everything she had. Bridging high and desperately on flexed calves and extended toes. Pushing with her pinned arms and slapping with her awkwardly placed hands.

None of those rebellions alone would have done the trick, but with all of them in play, Samantha failed in her defense of balance. And in so doing, slid forward — off of sternum, over breasts, and onto Brenda’s effort-contorted face.

A sudden and unexpected change of placement that caused both wife and threatened mistress to speak at the same time.

“Oh, I will sooo sit on your face, Betty White.” “Mmmmrrrrppphhh” The former spoken by she above and latter muttered but muffled by she below.

“Mmmm, now what were you saying? Hmmm…?” As Sammy asked mockingly, she could feel it. Her kitten lips parting and then sliding down each of Brenda’s anger-reddened cheeks. They catching and entrapping both the blonde wife’s mouth and nose. “

“You love it; I know you do. The taste of my young pussy.” As the catty brunette spoke, she wiggled. Shifting her lower half left and right. Not far or forcefully, but playfully and in a tease of the woman whose face remained firmly placed between her thighs and in her sex. The only visible part of the same being the blonde’s glaring, and black-mascara-winged eyes.

“Must be nice to see one up close. You know, a pussy that’s not old, stretched out, and wrinkled like yours.” With every teasing word out of her mouth, Brenda wriggled and resisted. She trying once more to bridge, and thereafter to kick her legs high up into the air and forward, hoping to catch Samantha and somehow drag her back and off. The blonde’s finally free hands moving to the husband-seeking neighbor girl’s ample ass cheeks to push and to press — searching for any relief that could be earned by such efforts.

And though the words stung, and though Sammy meant them to, there was a calmness to them. A patience lacking from those insults she spat when first she and Brenda warred. The young brunette feeling comfortable and at home in her struggle with Brenda, after countless nights spent dreaming of the same.

Despite that comfort, the jealous neighbor girl knew, or at least felt, like she could not earn victory this way. In smothering out her rival. And so, when first Brenda’s eyes began to dim in even the slightest, Sammy lifted her pressing and oxygen denying sex. Just enough for the blonde wife to breathe — just enough for her to hear and then respond.

“Say it, and I’ll get off you. Whoever wins gets Mark.” It was fair, Samantha thought. After all, Brenda had cheated in their first battle — at least in her mind. The sexfight challenging wife trapping her young rival between the first and second row of seats in her Escalade, before tribbing her to orgasm and defeat.

Despite that one-sided belief, however, Brenda still replied defiantly, through sputters and gasps for air. “…n…nn… NoOoo….”.

At the sound of it — the gall of it. Refusal?! When she was so clearly trapped?! Hell no!! Samantha raged without words, as her eyes went wide and she shifted herself back down, to once more seal her rival’s mouth and nose within her still-wet sex.

But as the wide and sex-ready hips of the brunette lowered once more, the blonde beneath her leaned up. Leaned in, and in a desperate attempt to earn her own salvation, pressed her own lips through Sammy’s. Not in the dead center of her carnal cavern, but just beneath her velvety hood. A hood she displaced and then dove into with teeth. Using them not to bite or chew, but instead catch Samantha’s clit.

“Sh-” The brunette began in panic, as she felt Brenda’s tongue lash her captured clit.

“N-no, fuck! FUCK!” Knowing full-well what the blonde wife below her intended to do, Sammy, despite her previous proximity to dominance, tried to stand. Tried to lift her pressing and pinning lower body off of Brenda.

And as she on top sought such freedom, she on bottom tried to wrap her arms around the withdrawing legs of the same. The resilient wife knowing she had her rival and that if she could only keep her seated there atop her face for a few more moments, she could drag an orgasm from her youth-sheened body.

Odd and unexpected though that switching of intentions was, for she who sat to want escape, while she who was sat upon fought to keep, Samantha moved first. The brunette escaping her rival’s grasping, just as her clit escaped the teeth of the same. The neighbor girl scrambling not only off of her carpet-bound rival, but into a stand several feet away.

“Oh my god, come here you FUCKING BITCH!” Brenda shouted as she too made a mad dash from her back to her feet.

“Wait, you need to say it! What are we even doi–” In an attempt to talk out what they were fighting about, if not ownership of Mark, Samantha tried to speak. But at the hearing of her rival’s tone and the sight of her stomping towards her, Sammy halted her sentence and began to backtrack.

Backtrack and then in a hurried, breast-bouncing jog, move. Not to the door of the home, where their the first sparks of their second fire flew. But instead deeper into Brenda’s home, down the hall, and into the room Samantha guessed to be the master.

A trip from one end of the house to the other that Brenda took too. The blonde chasing after her naked rival, until finally, when there was nowhere else to go, that rival climbed onto the home’s marital bed and turned back to face her pursuer.

“Right here, bitch.” Samantha dared, as she let her hands glide over the soft, white, goose-down comforter.

“Right here in your fucking bed, you dried up whore.” Again the words were hateful and cruel, and yet as she spoke them, the brunette’s eyes flashed with both desire and excitement.

She wanted it.

The confrontation.

The collision.

For Brenda to crawl onto the bed and meet her.

For she and the wife she sought to overcome to lock bodies once more.

Yes, for Mark.

Yes, in a contest of wills and wiles.

But also and deeply, for the heat and intensity of the battle itself. A battle she had dreamed about — fantasized about again and again since their first encounter took place.

“You want to fight me for Mark…?” Brenda asked as she sauntered slowly towards her own bed, though she knew the answer.

“You know I do, bitch….” Samantha answered from a spread-leg kneel.

“You want to go body-to-body for my husband, you slutty little skank…?” Again Brenda asked, as she crawled onto her rival-occupied bed. Knowing the answer, but wanting to hear Sammy say it.

Curse at her. Tell her how old she is. How ugly she is. How much hotter and younger you are than her — Samantha’s ego begged. And yet as the brunette’s lips opened, and Brenda came near, all she could stutter out was a quivering, half-whispered, lip-licking, “yes….”

A word, as desperate and lust-drenched as it was, that seemed to echo about the otherwise silent room as Brenda brought herself to a stand.

A stand from which she then challenged with an equally wanting growl. “Then earn it, babysitter.” At the very moment her words sprang from lips, the blonde wife reached out and grabbed a handful of Samantha’s hair. A grip she then used to pull the same forward and into her strawberry body wash scented mound.

“Lick me….” Brenda demanded. “Make me cum.” The once victorious blonde dared. “Show me what a good little girl you can be, and I’ll–UUUNNNGGGGHHH”

Before she could even finish her lust-driven ultimatum — her breathless dare, Sammy rolled her soft, blush-reddened cheek across the blonde’s bare mound and then complied. She not able to wait. Not able to resist the siren call of her rival’s red-hot and waiting sex.

The brunette instead burying her face between the wife she sought to overcome’s thighs, as she searched hungrily for the kitten buried within.

“Nnnnnnnmmmm, yeeessss….” Brenda exclaimed after a hum. Sounds that came as Samantha found the taste and the trigger she sought to overwhelm.

A trigger in the form of a clit that the brunette vixen ravished with her tongue. That she caught and then massaged with her chapstick-spackled lips. That she nibbled on with the same fervor and drive she had in her dreams.

And what a dream it seemed to be, her rival handing her the keys to her own destruction. Presenting her sex and daring she who sought to find it to do her worst. But at that moment, the same madness that must have pushed Brenda to offer, threatened to rob Samantha of her ambition to revel or exploit.

For there in that bed, wife and would-be mistress’ focus on destruction and eviction seemed to fade into the fog — into the distance. Each for that moment appearing to focus on nothing but each other. Nothing but living out the fantasies each had seen play out in their dreams.

The pair’s body-language and pace — softness and synchronicity presenting the image of not rivals at war, but instead a lusty wife and her willing and submissive babysitter. A donning of demand and deference that each looked to take as Brenda spread her legs and reached down to her brunette neighbor’s shoulders to brace herself.

“That’s right…. That’s right…. You good little bitch.” As Brenda praised, Sammy pushed. Diving deeper and deeper into the pussy of the wife who stood before her. Lapping at it, like a kitten with a fresh bowl of milk. Skewering it, again and again with her tongue — each such intrusion drawing a quaking moan from the bliss-lost blonde.

“You….You want him. You want him soOoOo bad, you hateful little cunt.” The words were true. They were known. And yet in their speaking, Brenda drove herself deeper into fantasy and fetish.

No, she wouldn’t give Mark up. No, she wouldn’t abandon her claim. But their trist. Their tangle. Their sexual duel for her husband turned her on and excited her beyond both measure and reason. Even more, after hearing Lauren’s tale.

So much was on the line, in a feud like her’s with Samantha.

So much was at risk in every touch and every word.

Anything could happen there, in the depths of their battle. A single twist could take her to tragedy. A solitary curve could sweep her to an unforgettable and threat-ending victory.

Dagger-tip balanced though the moment was, as Mark’s sensuality-diverted wife stood and chirped in delicate, bouncing moans and whimpers. Her eyes closed tight and her feet sinking into the soft, comforter-made bed beneath her. All she could think about was Samantha’s tongue and lips and how badly she wanted them to continue in their attention.

Despite that desire — that animalistic need that seemed to mount and multiply — tug and thunder through the defending wife like a bolt from the heavens, she pulled herself back. From the edge and the brink of an onrushing orgasm so she could spring her trap.

A trap Brenda concocted when first Sammy called her to the bed.

Back into a fight she had to wage — a war she had to win, even if in any other moment or context she would have thrown herself to the starving dogs of lust and passion. She doing so by moving her shoulder-placed hand to Sammy’s hair and pulling. Hard and angled in such a way that the force sent the brunette back from her placement on her knees to her back on the bed.

In an instant Sammy knew. What had happened and how she had been tricked. Tricked into distraction and now displacement. The young, Mark-obsessed neighbor girl immediately moving to try and sit up. But even in her speed, before she could lift off of the comforter, Brenda was upon her. The blonde wife of he who was prize sitting upon the brunette’s chest, just below her breasts, in a mirror of what had been done in reverse before.

“You lying b–!!” Enraged, Sammy sought to insult and curse. “Mmnnnppphhh” But before she could speak in full and in fury, Brenda cut her off. Planting her own palm over the jealous neighbor girl’s lips, though not her nose.

The blonde not wanting to smother, but quiet and muffle. The once again focused thirty-something wanting a moment of peace as she leaned back, and then reached with her free hand. Not to pinch or slap — hurt or harm. No, for she had only one thing in mind.

Now that she had her rival trapped between her legs.

Now that she had her pinned, arms and all.

“Now, you jealous little slut.” Brenda began, as beneath her Samantha squirmed and shouted into palm.

“I’m going to show you what you should have done when you had me down.” Without response, at least one that could be made out, the blonde continued both her words and working. The former to her seemingly helpless rival and the latter her fingers down and into the crevice between the thick thighs of the same.

“MMmmmnnnnppphhh!! Mmmmnnnnppphhh!!” Again and again Samantha tried to protest, both in muted and palm-muffled screams and with legs that fought to close tight.

But it was too late.

Too late to reason or argue.

Too late to evict fingers which had already found their ground. A warm, wet, stimulus-hungry ground that seized around those fingers that entered and began to stroke. Brenda’s digits sliding deep within already-glistening lips. Lips which played curtain to a play Shakespeare might have written.

Sorrow and happiness.

Tragedy and titillation.

All acted out by experienced, talented fingers that knew just where to search and just where to strike. Lessons learned and deftness earned that could be seen in Samantha’s eyes. Which softened from their hateful, wicked glare to glazed, unfocused roll. Not from one side, up, and then over, but back and into her head as the pleasure welling within her began to multiply and then divide within her like a disease.

An equation of sexual mastery that the once-defeated youth could not resist, though she wanted to with every fiber of her being.

“Thank you for that, by the way.” Brenda teased as she continued to finger fuck her focus-broken brunette rival. “For eating me on command. We might just have to keep you on as our babysitter. What do you think…?”

To the mocking, not necessarily disingenuous question, Samantha did not curse or scream — twist in rage or seize in hopeless defiance. Instead, she only moaned. Only whimpered into Brenda’s pressing hand. She giving into it, the pleasure that in waves rippled through her young, rival-pinned body.

So deeply had Sammy lost her focus on fighting and freedom, in fact, that as the wife above her fingered, she began to kiss. Gently. Lazilly. Letting her lips smear and tongue drag slowly across the releasing palm of the woman atop her. Something she did on instinct alone, being so turned on and ready to release that nothing over than those carnal desires called to her.

The consequences of such distraction, as she laid there writhing upon her rival’s bed, skittered and bounced just above Samantha’s conscious thought. Out of the brunette’s reach, as Mark would be if she could not find the strength to derail the momentum of her own sexual yearning.

Evade though that onrushing reality did, Samantha’s young and lust-drunk mind, Brenda could see it, hear it, almost taste it.

She had her, the hopped up neighbor girl who sought to take her husband. Not just below her and pinned, but on the precipice of orgasm. An orgasm that would leave her unable to push for spoken terms or earn the requisite victory, even if she could.

Only then, when she had her youthful rival on the crystal-cut cliff of cuming, did Brenda move once more. The victory-sure blonde sliding back from Sammy’s chest, down her stomach, and then, after leaving a trail of wetness down all of the same, onto her babysitter’s bed-flattened left thigh.

Once there, the battling mother reached down, grabbed, and then, as a cocky smile took to her face, pulled up the right leg of she beneath her — locking they two in an unequal scissor.

“Now it’s time to finish you off….” Brenda bragged in a voice most coy, during a sudden thrust most effective.

“NoooOo!!” She could speak again! She could move again, the orgasm-near brunette! But even with those freedoms, all Sammy could offer was that. A no. A pathetic, desperate no. A quivering word of impotent rejection that lingered in the moist, sex-scented air of the master bedroom. Linger though it did, at its end came, one moan and then another — one skipping whimper and then the next escaped the lips that had spoken it.

It was time. She was there. Orgasm.

Brenda was certain of it, as she watched the brunette’s arms lift and hands grab at her own bed-matted hair.

Positive of it, as the thrusting thirty-something in her dominance ran her hands up and down her rival’s ceiling-aimed and perfectly smooth right leg.

And so she said it. As a taunt. As a cherry on the decadent, strawberry milkshake of her Mark-wanting rival’s imminent defeat.

“And yes, you stupid little bitch, winner gets Mark….” There was no cause, no need, no push at that moment for Brenda to finally speak the terms, save to hurt her. Save to wound her, the moaning, quivering, pillow-grabbing brunette whose thighs crossed with her own.

And yet, she said it.

And yet, she offered it. Offered him up as reward for the winner. Mark. Her husband.

It was a safe bet — a sure bet, with Samantha so exceptionally close to orgasm. But then it came, swung as hard and as ruthlessly as it could possibly could be. One of Brenda’s heavy, silk-swaddled pillows. One that slammed into the blonde’s face and chest so hard that at the contact she fell back. Not just out of her sex-to-sex press with Sammy, but then off of the bed in what felt like a slow-motion and endlessly awkward tumble.

Slow enough in fact, for Samantha to with speed sit up and dive forward. She wrapping her arms around and catching Brenda’s thighs as the unrestrained and unbalanced upper body of the same fell back and down to the carpeted floor below.

“My turn, bitch….” Her mind still fogged with pleasure, and body still quivering from barely held off ecstasy, Sammy taunted as her rival hung backwards off of the bed. The blonde’s neck bent painfully and restrictively, as the brunette who struck and then caught’s mouth hovered mere centimeters from a sopping and defenseless pussy.

A pussy the jealous neighbor dove into, locking her lips upon those of her rival. Lips, both upper and lower, which then spread as the brunette’s tongue fired out and in — against and then across, again and again. Not slowly and teasingly, with care and patience, but quickly and wildly. As if everything the brunette wanted rode on forcing Brenda to cum. And for the first time in their battle, it did.

A truth that was not just known to Sammy, but to Brenda who hung awkwardly from her own bed cursing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck….”

What had she done? What had she risked? Everything! Her husband, her lover, her son’s father, and her home! Her entire life hung there with her, off the bed and in the balance.

Regret! Self-loathing! Terror! All of it came to her in a single, heart-breaking second. A second in which her rival had all the cards. All the leverage. She, the lapping and lusty youth, with her pussy inaccessible and for all intents and purposes miles away. All while Brenda was hopeless — helpless, and caught upside down and moaning. Already moaning! As Samantha ate at her.

“No! Noo! Let me go!” Brenda cried out in panic as she tried desperately to pull herself further off the bed and her sex out of Sammy’s attacking mouth.

“Neeevvveeerrr….” The bed-positioned brunette almost hummed into the hanging blonde’s sex. She between thighs using her refusal to drive she whose kitten she devoured closer to orgasm.

“FFFfFFfuuuuCCCCKKKK!!!” Mark’s wife cried out as she moved her palms to her temples and closed her eyes. She shaking her head from side to side in utter and inconsolable despair. But a despair wrapped in pleasure. A pleasure she did not want and could not withstand for more than a few more moments!

It was only then, when Brenda truly felt doomed that she tried one more angle. One more attempt at freeing herself from such a nauseating, life-changing, and intensely humiliating defeat. She doing so by sitting up as far as she could and then reaching.

Grabbing.

And when she felt something, anything, she pulled. Hard. As hard as she possibly could. The blonde exerting such force that with the brown hair she had somehow caught, she drug Samantha not only out from between her sex-wet thighs, but off the bed and on top of her in a crash. The brunette only a second later rolling off to the side.

There on the carpet of the master bedroom, mirrored in a side-by-side lay, wife and would-be mistress locked together in a near-frothing ferocity, despite their states of sexual-fever and intensity-fatigued minds. They each coiling their legs and locking their mutually stimulated and friction-burned clits together once more, as they grabbed tightly to each other’s hair.

“That fucking hurt!” Samantha bewailed, even as she and her rival fought for leverage and space.

“Fuck yo-UNG!” Mid-word, their thrusting began, breaking Brenda’s focus.

“That’s what I’m doing you old cUUNNNGGGHH!!” Before her age-aimed curse could be said, Samantha suffered the same fate. A stroke of pussy dragging against pussy breaking the train of thought in her mind as it suddenly became clear.

Sammy had no advantage.

No lead.

Her moment of one-sided stimulation lasting not long enough to give her distance from her own suffering of the same minutes earlier.

“You’re never laying a FFiIIIIiIiiiInnnggeeeerrrr on MMAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!” As Brenda spoke his name, the name of the man they both fought over, she screamed out in pleasure.

“I’m going to fuck him right here in this BBBBBBBBEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDD!” Wail, did the brunette, as she swore to her rival. As she made promise to her rival, to lay with her prize once she had earned him. Not in some other house or in the backseat of the Escalade in which the two women’s first battle occured, but there in the marital bed that sat next to them.

“Bitch!” Brenda hissed, before she spit. Not figuratively, but actually. She pulling back just far enough to launch a ball of saliva and sex at Samantha’s hateful face.

“Wrinkly wh-!” In the addition of one word to a second, Sammy’s mouth lingered open. And with it in such a state, the blonde’s projectile response hit not cheek or nose, but instead flew into the mouth of her rival.

A rival who in a repulsed fit of anger went to gather that same spit, add it to her own, and then fire back. An attack telegraphed and communicated so clearly, that as she who sought to let it loose reared back, she who was meant to receive it leaned in and sealed their mouths closed in a kiss.

In the fire of it — the intensity of it, that kiss and their pussy-bound bodies, the two women writhed. Mother and babysitter. Wife and would-be mistress. Blonde and brunette.

Their legs wrapped together in a double helix of flexing calves and gripping thighs. Pulling, yes with their clasped and straining hands, but not to hurt. Not to inflict. But to keep one another close and counter any force that might dare try and tear them apart. They, in a cataclysm of jealousy, determination, and lust, clinching and binding their nude, newly sweat-moistened bodies together. An imprisonment of choice and conflict in which tongues dueled in the calescent cage that were their sealed and sex-seasoned mouths.

The two women, in the only freedom of body that remained, thrusting wildly in one moment, then in unison and met-intention the next. Each knowing the end was coming — the end of one cuming.

No other fate could there be for the warring pair.

No other future would either of them allow to come to pass.

It was a race of firing hips, dragging cunts, and intended collisions. Brenda seeking to make every madenned meeting of wet, sticky labia endure, so that when clit found clit, the destructive concussion meant more.

Samantha, on the other hand, rushed every hip-driven plunge of power and passion. She thinking, in her youth and inexperience, that speed was the key to driving a woman to orgasm. She knowing no other tactics, than those inflicted upon her by her inept high school conquests

And though perhaps with a phallus, speed of insertion might be the key, for women…. Clit-fencing, lip-locked, side-by-side rivals, it is folly.

As Samantha, with every advancement, gave way too soon. The hateful duo’s every meeting of fleshy, blush-hued sabers, ending with the brunette’s clit retreating after only a flash of inflicted pressure. Meanwhile, the blonde Sammy had bound herself to followed through and even chased, keeping their sensitive centers locked and on one side pushing. Grinding. Caressing, even as the turgid target pulled away.

Favoring though that dichotomy of strategy and practice was to one side, neither Brenda or Samantha saw it. It and its consequence, dissipating into the din of desire and pleasure that overwhelmed their already exhausted minds. Minds which focused on nothing other than continuing.

Continuing to fuck and to fight, not just each other but the orgasm that screamed towards them like the oncoming blast wave of a mushroom cloud. A wave that pulled them — ripped them from their kiss. They, as the moment of their battle’s end approached, being able to do nothing more than moan and cry out in pleasure, side-by-side. Their foreheads pressed and their lips quivering as they spoke to one another.

“Cum … for … me … grandma….” Even wrapped in ecstasy, Samantha was cruel.

“I’ll make … you … lick Mark’s cum … from my pussy … slut.” On the verge of verging though she was, Brenda hated her bitchy little rival. Hated, but wanted. As a slave. As the bereaved mistress of an affair that never was.

“You’ll be … our … oh-oh-OH-GOD-babysitter….”The brunette sputtered out amongst closed-eyed moans.

“Mark won’t even KNOOOOOWWWW-FUUUCCCKKKK(!!!) … where I keep you….” In every word — in every promise, they put what they each felt into words. A desire they could not define or describe — understand or utter.

A desire to keep. A desire to own. A desire to watch the other suffer in the humiliation of their loss. Not just on that night, but every night thereafter.

“Never, BITCH!!!!” Sammy refuted and then screamed, as the orgasm that was coming came around the last turn.

“Always, CUNT!!!!” Brenda did the same, just a moment before it happened.

Samantha’s sudden seizing, convulsing, and yelling out in defeat. “No, no, nooOOoOOOooOo!!!”

Brenda felt the same in her own body a second or two after. She having been pushed over the edge as her young rival’s will and body broke against the blonde’s own.

“Yes, yes, yeeEEeEeeEEesssss!!!” Brenda cried out in jubilation. She had won again! She had defended Mark once more! After her stupid decision to put him on the line once again. It was a glorious victory! A desperate, joyous victory! But at that moment, Brenda was only vaguely aware of it.

The still-writhing wife thinking of nothing other than the eruption of molten pleasure that cascaded through her clenching and essense-dribbling body.

Sammy, thought she had said it — though she had screamed it, “no”, felt the same earthquake of the soul. The brunette latching and pulling her body into Brenda as together they, in a clump on the bedroom’s floor, came. Their bodies shaking and shivering, as their once warring pussies seeped and shared their battle-earned juices. Brenda’s oozing down and into her rival’s kitten, as the brunette’s made the same drizzle into the blonde’s.

There, together on the carpeted, and yet still-hard floor, they would have laid together. Until Brenda had the energy to claim and punish — mount and perhaps enslave her husband-obsessed babysitter. But before such a happening could occur, they each heard it. A voice, that was not theirs.

One that was low and quivering — emotion-filled and enraged. “What. The. FUCK! Is going on here, Brenda?!” The voice asked in a growl — one that came from the doorway to the master bedroom.

“Oh no….” The blonde muttered near inaudibly as her eyes widened and soul froze. “Mark….” She added in no louder a lament, though she could still not see her unexpectedly returned husband.

“I just … can’t … believe….” Mark began, before closing his eyes and raising a closed fist to his teeth. Teeth which thereafter bit into index and then released, as the normally well-tempered man tried to process the betrayal he had found upon his early return home.

“Honey, honey … I can explain….” Brenda said in a quivering voice as she peeled her cum-and-sweat-glued body from her defeated rival’s. A sight which made anything she could possibly say next ridiculous.

Or at least that’s what Mark thought, as he turned his back to his naked and adulterous wife, who was still fighting her way to a wobbly stand.

“No. No, Brenda. You can’t explain….”Mark could barely see straight. Barely think. And worse of all, he couldn’t assault the person with whom his wife had cheated on him with. As it was a woman. A girl, no less. The neighbor girl, he had just hired as a babysitter.

“You…” He began as he started to storm down the hall and back to the front of the house. “… and that … that….” He didn’t even know what to call her — the girl next door who had just fucked his wife into a sweaty and sex-stained oblivion. What words would even make sense…? What words did a girl that young deserve to be called…?

Having not the focus or control to answer those questions, Mark gave up the hunt for syllable and sound and instead, decided to storm. The tall, semi-handsome man of Brenda and Sammy’s dreams marching to the front door, as his shame-faced wife gave chase.

“Mark. Mark! Please, wait! I swear, it wasn’t what it looked like!” Was it…? Wasn’t it…? Even as she said it, she wasn’t sure. Not because she had at any moment before that thought she was cheating on him by battling the brunette, but as she watched her husband leaving. Their home. Their marriage. And possibly her life, she could find no difference — no clause in their spoken vows. Be faithful, unless a rival appears.

Guilty of the charge or not, still Brenda gave pursuit. Crying as her body ached from exertion and sex dripped from expulsion. Begging as the thought of returning to her naked and defeated foe called to her like a drug-filled syringe ready for injection. The blonde, with every fatigue-slowed step, gesturing unseen for the man she was supposed to grow old with.

A man who didn’t stop or slow in the slightest, even when he made it to and opened the front door.

“I’m going to go get Cadence from Jamies’ and then…” In a raised voice, the brown-haired betrayed instructed, as he walked out to his driveway-parked car. But before he could say where he would then go, or for how long, his wife yelled in plea.

“Please! Baby, I.…” The blonde wife paused, not knowing what she was, other than despondent. “Don’t leave, me….” She begged.

“Don’t cheat on me, babe…. How ‘bout that…?” Mark replied as with a fury he pulled the door to his Japanese sedan open, so hard it bounced back when the hinges caught.

“No, no, no….” Brenda muttered in a desperate chant. One she spoke as she tried to run after Mark to his car — she still nude, but not caring. Her husband meaning more to her than her dignity.

But before she could reach him, his window, or his car — Mark pulled out — peeled out, and disappeared down the road.

She could try, the devastated wife could, to run naked down the streets of their gated community to Jamie’s. But she’d never make it. Not in time. Not before Cadence and Mark were gone.

And so, teary-eyed and shattered, Brenda walked back to her open front door and yellow-lit home. Her shoulders drooping. Her heart aching. And her mind on everything she had just lost, and how she would get it back.

She would call him. She would text him. She would try to explain, why she and Samantha had been … fucking…. It would work…. It had to…. She would never give up, she thought to herself, a moment before.

A moment before she entered her home, closed the front door, and then found herself slammed. Not violently, but forcefully back against the cold-polished wood of the door in an audible THMACK!

The victorious and yet agonizing wife’s eyes going wide as in utter shock she felt Sammy’s lips and body press to her’s once more.

To Read a Semi-Sequel to This Story Starring Sammy, Click Here!

Tangler Tales:
Alayna vs. Sammy

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