Dora Otto smiled to herself behind her over-sized oval sunglasses. It had been a good day. The morning’s client meeting in San Francisco had gone well, as had their subsequent lunch at one of her favorite Italian restaurants. It would cost her a hard hour in the gym later but it had been worth it. Even the traffic on Rt.101 coming back north hadn’t been too horrible. It was barely 4pm when she swung her red BMW M3 into the underground parking lot beneath her office in San Vicente.
After pulling into her reserved space near the elevator, she got out of the car and gratefully stretched her tall, svelte frame, shaking her long blonde hair across her shoulders and feeling her clinging dress pull tight across her chest. She allowed herself another grin. The scarlet silk jersey dress, with its deep vee neckline, showed off her bosom to great effect. Along with the matching stiletto pumps that accentuated her long, shapely legs, it had been a big hit with her middle-aged male client – a long time friend – though she had tempered the outfit with a business-like black jacket in deference to the tone of their meeting.
Tara Taylor, her firm’s attorney, got out of the car on the passenger side. A statuesque redhead in a black pencil skirt and a copper-colored silk blouse that matched her hair, she was a perfect physical counterpoint to Dora. So was Haley Savage, the woman who had been seated behind her. A willowy brunette, she too was pushing six feet tall in heels, and was the company’s vice-president of finance.
“Good job today, ladies,” said Dora as the three came together at the rear of the car. She kissed Tara lightly on the cheek – they were occasional lovers but Dora always kept things professional in the office. “Thanks for all your help, honey.”
“Any time, sweetie,” smiled Dora in reply, and headed for her own car parked further down the row.
Dora and Haley walked in step to the elevator that led up one floor to the building’s lobby, chatting inconsequentially about the day’s events. Otto Construction had inked another deal that would keep the company busy for at least a year. Dora couldn’t wait to tell Peter, her son and co-owner, the good news.
They emerged into the atrium, a broad expanse of polished wood and marble. It was empty though the double glass doors were just closing behind a departing visitor and as Dora’s eyes idly strayed to the forecourt beyond the doors, she glimpsed a figure just climbing into the black Lincoln Town Car, she suddenly stiffened.
It couldn’t be.
She crossed quickly to the reception desk where the firm’s diminutive but all-knowing gatekeeper didn’t so much occupy her desk as hold court there. “Hi Dora.” Everyone was on first-name terms here.
“Hello Penny.” Dora didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “Who was that who just left?”
Penny didn’t even need to consult her computer. “A banker from Chicago, here to see Peter. Her name’s Catherine Medici.”
Dora paled. Catherine Medici. That was a name she had hoped never to hear again.
Her mind immediately flashed back twenty years. The last time she had crossed paths with the Medicis, Dora had been working in corporate communications for Hor-Mart. The retail giant had been expanding west into California and Dora had helped run a number of promotional events. Catherine Medici had been dating Henri Valois, son of Phillipe who was Hor-Mart’s finance wizard – an unholy alliance as Dora had realized even back then. They had later married, and the Valois family had split from Hor-Mart to develop their own nationwide chain of shopping malls, presumably with Medici money.
Dora’s husband David had recently started Otto Construction and had successfully bid for construction contracts on a number of the proposed Hor-Mart stores down in southern California. He and Dora had talked about the potential for a conflict of interest but Dora’s boss had dismissed Dora’s misgivings with a wave of his hand. “These aren’t government contracts. Nobody will care and besides, finance tells me your husband won the deals fair and square.”
Somebody did care, though. A crusading reporter named Sue Ann West, editor and columnist for a local newspaper down there, had dug up stories of political corruption and under-the-table campaign contributions. She had laid such a feast of scandal on the table that Hor-Mart had gotten cold feet and canceled many of its proposed new stores. David had avoided much of the spotlight but the canceled stores included those for which Otto Constructions had bid, which had hit the company hard.
David had sued to recover the money he had already spent on the new projects, a move that had not gone down well with Phillipe Valois. The corporate power broker was not a forgiving man and the work environment at Hor-Mart had grown immediately icy. Dora had resigned before she was fired – or worse. It had been a lean time. Their son Peter was in elementary school, they had just moved to a new house in the seaside town of Blue Water Harbor. Money had been tight.
Then had come that awful afternoon when she had gotten the call from the California Highway Patrol. Even now she had to bite her lip to hold back tears. David had taken the coast road home from San Francisco one afternoon, as he loved to do, and something had gone terribly wrong. His car had gone out of control, crashed through a barrier and plummeted over a cliff into the ocean.
Dora had spent the next year in a fog of grief. She had taken over personal control of Otto Construction and buried herself in the business. That and her son had kept her sane, and then only marginally. If it hadn’t been for Al Starling, David’s Chief Engineer and right-hand man, she would probably have lost her business and her mind. Al was retired now and lived in Phoenix with his wife. Dora made sure he was well taken care of. That man had saved her life.
There had been an inquiry into the crash, of course. The police suspected foul play since David’s car was only three months old and had just been serviced, but they couldn’t prove anything. Dora had her own suspicions.
Phillipe Valois was not a forgiving man.
Now his daughter-in-law had appeared on Dora’s doorstep, and Dora knew that no good would come of it. She turned abruptly away from the desk, realizing she had been standing there staring into space.
“Is something wrong?” asked Haley with obvious concern.
“No,” replied Dora, perhaps too hastily. “Just a surprise, that’s all. I need to talk to Peter.” She strode toward the twin elevators on the far side of the lobby that would take her upstairs.
The executive suite was on the top floor of the four-storey building. Dora and Peter occupied corner offices with a private conference room between them. Haley accompanied her since her office was next to Dora’s. She thanked the finance head for her work that day, dropped her purse in her office and then went down the hall to David’s. His door was open and he was at his computer, silhouetted in profile against the afternoon sun streaming in through the window behind him.
Dora knocked to get his attention. He turned. “Hi Mom. How’d it go?”
She smiled. “Just as we expected. Haley went through the numbers and Westbury signed on the dotted line.”
“Great!” He laughed. “Probably didn’t hurt that you, Tara and Haley were all sexed up, either.” He was only too aware that Dora knew how to use her feminine wiles. Then his smile turned somewhat wry. “Of course, now we have to actually build the damn mall.”
Dora had no doubt that Peter, and the company, would deliver. They had a top-notch staff and her son was both a crack engineer and a born leader. That wasn’t what was uppermost in her mind however. “I hear you had a visitor.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The woman from Chicago? Yeah. Damnedest thing…right out of the blue. She ambushed me in my own office…not even a phone call.”
Dora almost sighed with relief. She had had the most horrible fear that Peter had arranged a meeting with Medici behind her back. He didn’t know the history of course – he had been too young at the time and she had never told him since. Nevertheless, Dora was afraid.
She sat down in the chair across the desk from him. “What did she want?”
“She’s representing Valois Holdings…her husband’s company. They’re planning an office park down near San Jose. Her company is backing the venture. You know she’s Chairman…Chairperson…of Medici Investments.”
Dora’s face was an impassive mask. “Oh I know exactly who she is.”
“They want to bring us in on the deal. She’s talking a third share after we recoup the construction costs.”
“We do the construction?”
He nodded. “No bid contract.”
Dora raised an eyebrow. “And the head of one of the country’s biggest private equity firms, wife of the CEO of a major development company…not to mention a prominent Chicago political figure…arrives in person at our door, rather than sending one of her people, and without even calling first? Anything strike you as strange about that?”
He grinned. “Definitely. I asked her straight out. Apparently she was out here on other business and decided to kill two birds with one stone.”
Dora managed not to wince at the word ‘kill’ and instead asked, “Did she have any paperwork?”
He shook his head. “She’ll be back out here next week and wants to discuss the deal over dinner. She said she’ll bring draft contracts then.”
Dora tried to ignore all the warning bells in her head and think like a professional. “Let’s see if we can get them ahead of time and have Tara look at them before the meeting.”
“Good idea.”
She pushed herself up out of the chair. “Okay, I think I’m going to call it a day. I have a few errands to do on the way home.”
“Okay. Going out tonight?”
“Yeah, I’m meeting some friends at Bill’s for dinner…then who knows?”
He grinned tolerantly. “Okay. We’ll see you in the morning then…or maybe early afternoon.” Dora shared a house – she didn’t like to call it a mansion though that was really what it was – on the beach with Peter, his wife Samantha and their two daughters though Toni, the eldest, had now moved out to her own place. Dora had what was essentially a self-contained apartment on the lowest floor, directly on the beach, and came and went as she pleased without disturbing the rest of the family.
She collected her purse and headed downstairs. She had planned to spend an hour or two at the Platinum Gym in Blue Water Village before heading home to change and then back out to dinner. Bill’s was a beachside restaurant and watering hole in the neighboring hamlet of Blue Water Harbor. Over the past several years, it had become a favorite place for those looking for amorous companionship – not that such companionship was hard to find in Blue Water these days.
It wasn’t quite correct to call Bill’s a pick-up joint since that implied that people met there and went elsewhere for their assignations. At Bill’s, people frequently satisfied their carnal desires right there in – or even on – the bar. Dora had done so herself on numerous occasions. Such lack of inhibition was something she would never have dreamed of in her younger days, but lately it just felt right. She had joked on several occasions, after a few drinks, that she wanted to fuck her way through the entire town. It was only partly a joke and, come to think of it, she had probably made considerable progress toward that goal.
Tonight she was confident of finding a partner – or two, or three – for a fun night of sexual gymnastics. At fifty she looked thirty-five and she was proud of her looks. Okay, the boobs had had some attention from one of the best doctors in California but the rest was all hard sweat and long hours in the gym. She deserved to enjoy the fruits of her labor and besides, sex was a great calorie-burner.
Now though, she had other business to deal with first. She stopped by reception again, where Penny was just packing up for the day. “Anything I can help you with?” she asked as Dora approached with a purposeful stride.
“The lady from Chicago…I don’t suppose she happened to mention where she was staying, did she?” Let it be somewhere local. She didn’t want to have to chase the bitch all the way to San Francisco.
“She didn’t, but she asked me to book a car for her, going to the Four Seasons.”
“Thanks.” Dora smiled at Penny’s inquisitive expression. “She left something behind in Peter’s office,” she explained. “I figured I’d drop it off on my way home.”
“I can do it if you like,” offered Penny. “It’s not far out of my way.”
“No, thanks,” Dora called back over her shoulder. “This is something I’ll take care of, myself.”
*****
The Four Seasons was fifteen minutes away, a low Spanish-style building set in acres of rolling gardens. Otto Construction often put up visitors there and Dora knew the place well, along with the route to get there, which was just as well since her mind was in turmoil. What’s the bitch’s game? Catherine Medici did nothing without a purpose – often more than one.
The staff knew Dora, and the desk clerk greeted her with a friendly wave as she came through the door to the lobby. “Hi Dora!”
“Hi Dirk.” She gave him a smile as she noticed his eyes riveted on her cleavage. Dirk was as gay as they came but like many gay men, he had a boob fetish. Dora had let him touch hers at a party once and he’d been devoted to her ever since.
She decided to take a small risk. “I’m here to see Catherine Medici.”
“Sure…you know the way to the Presidential Suite, right?”
“Yes I do, thanks.” In truth, she probably didn’t need to ask. Catherine Medici wouldn’t stay anywhere but the Presidential Suite – only the best would do.
Riding up in the elevator, she wondered what she say to Medici – what she would do when she came face to face with the woman. She honestly didn’t know. One thing was certain however – there was no way in hell that Otto Construction would ever do business with Valois Holdings. The last time she had gotten into bed with that nest of vipers, it had cost her her husband. Phillipe Valois had died some years back – his death had made the financial press – and the company was now run by his son Henri. Dora had known Henri back then, and the spawn of the spawn of Satan was no angel.
The Presidential Suite was on the top floor, at the end of the hallway, behind a double set of mahogany paneled doors. There was a bell on the wall to the right, and Dora pressed and held it for a count of five, then stood back in full view of the peephole in the door. Let the bitch see me.
There was a long pause – Dora counted the hammering beat of her heart – before the door opened. Catherine Medici stood in the doorway, wrapped in a white terrycloth hotel robe that swept her ankles. She was older than Dora remembered her of course, but it had been twenty years. There were a few lines at the corners of her brown eyes, but the years had been kind to her. Her dark brown hair was loose on her shoulders.
They stood staring at one another for another long moment before Catherine finally spoke. “Dora Otto. It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough.” Dora was surprised at the venom in her own voice. She had never liked this woman, her husband or her father-in-law, not even when she worked for them, but over the years that aversion had blossomed to something deeper, fueled by grief and anger. Looking into Catherine’s eyes now, she knew with absolutely certainty that this woman and those she was in bed with – literally in bed with – were responsible for David’s death. She struggled not to clench her fists.
“What can I do for you?” Catherine asked with a smile that went nowhere near her eyes.
“You can stay the hell away from my company and my family,” replied Dora icily. She wanted to say ‘stay the fuck away’ but moderated her language with an effort.
“The San Jose project is an excellent opportunity. We needed a third party to handle the actual construction and your company has all the right credentials.”
Dora took a step forward, until she was barely a pace away from Catherine. The other woman stood her ground. She was a good four inches shorter than Dora, even without Dora’s three-inch heels, but she stared up unabashed into Dora’s eyes. Dora returned her gaze in kind. “Why not have one of your people call us? Why not have them arrange a meeting? Why turn up in person, unannounced?” Her eyes narrowed further. “And don’t tell me you didn’t know I was out of town today.”
“I wanted to have an introductory meeting with Peter,” said Catherine, “without any…baggage. He obviously doesn’t know about our past dealings.”
“If he did, he’d have thrown you out of the building.”
Catherine ignored that comment. “He’s a very impressive young man…the spitting image of his father.”
Dora snapped. She leaned forward and hissed in the other woman’s face. “You took his father! You took my husband!” She blinked. For the first time in twenty years, she had said that out loud.
Catherine seemed unfazed as she looked levelly at Dora. Then her smile broadened. “Oh honey, I had him wrapped around my little finger.” While Dora was still open-mouthed in shock – what the hell does that mean? – she added, “Just like I’m going to do with your son. Men are so easy to control, aren’t they?”
Dora found her wits. “Bitch!” The slap that she swung at Catherine, pivoting her body all the way from the balls of her feet, had twenty years of anger and pain behind it. It hit Catherine on her left cheek, hard enough to slam her sideways into the heavy door.
Catherine’s eyes were wide with shock as she raised a hand to her cheek. So were Dora’s. She hadn’t come here to fight. She didn’t know exactly what she had come here for – to stop Medici’s scheme, whatever it was. She was simply making it up as she went along – or events were making themselves up for her. The slap was as much of a surprise to her as it was to Catherine.
Then Catherine lowered her hand and smiled slowly. “You have no idea how much that’s going to cost you.”
The tone of her voice – almost relishing the moment – set Dora’s blood boiling. “Then I’d better make sure I get my money’s worth!” She took a step forward and before Catherine could do anything to react, Dora’s left hand – balled tight into a fist this time – took her under the chin and sent her reeling backwards to crash into the heavy circular table in the center of the suite’s foyer.
Dora stepped through the doorway, her heels clicking sharply on the marble tiled floor, and flung her purse aside. As Catherine struggled to push herself up off the table, eyes still glazed, Dora’s arm lashed out and grabbed her under the chin. As the door clicked shut behind her, she hauled the brunette upright, grabbed the front of Catherine’s robe with her free hand and with a strength that surprised her, she hurled Catherine bodily onto the table.
Holding the squirming, gasping Catherine down by the throat, Dora snarled in her face, “You will stay away from my family!” Her spit speckled Catherine’s flushed cheeks.
Catherine began to recover from her initial surprise, and began to struggle harder. Her left hand came up to grab at Dora’s wrist that pinned her down, and she writhed furiously on the table. She might not have been as tall or as fit as Dora but she was more sturdily built and in good shape. Her robe had fallen open, freeing her legs, and now she rammed a knee into Dora’s ribs under her left arm.
Dora let out a sharp grunt of pain and her grip on Catherine’s throat slackened for a moment. Catherine fired a punch of her own that caught Dora firmly in the jaw. Unsteady in her high heels, Dora stumbled to the side, half-dragging Catherine off the table before letting go of her enemy. She stumbled across the foyer, trying to keep her balance and avoid rolling an ankle, careened off the frame of the doorway that led into the living room, and went down hard on her butt with a cry of frustration.
As Dora kicked off her shoes, cursing her own impatience for not getting rid of them after that first slap, Catherine pushed herself to her feet using the table for support, and came at the blonde. Her robe was completely open, revealing a black lace bra and matching panties beneath. She shrugged the robe off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor without breaking her stride.
Dora had risen to her knees by the time Catherine reached her. She threw her hands up and managed to deflect the knee that would have otherwise caught her full in the face, but the impact nonetheless threw her over onto her back on the living room carpet. Her dress rode up high on her lithe thighs but showing her panties was the least of her concerns.
“I see you haven’t changed much over the years,” sneered Catherine. “Once gutter trash, always gutter trash.” She bent and seized a handful of Dora’s hair, dragged her halfway to her knees again, and slapped her savagely across the face. Dora saw stars. Catherine’s return slap – or more correctly a backfist – tore her free of the brunette’s grip and sent her sprawling to the floor once more with a groan. She lay there for a moment, shaking her head, trying to focus her scattered thoughts.
“It’s going to be pleasure to teach you a long and painful lesson,” hissed the financier, standing over her with a clump of platinum blonde hair still in her hand. “I’m going to ruin you…but not before I ruin you.” As Dora rolled onto her belly to push herself up, she stabbed a bare foot into Dora’s back between her shoulders, slamming her back down, crushing her breasts into the carpet.
Dora gasped as the air was forced out of her chest. The bitch knows how to fight. Fortunately, so did Dora. You didn’t live in Blue Water – not over the past few years, at any rate – without learning how to take care of yourself. In her nighttime escapades in the bars and clubs, Dora had attracted a number of unwanted advances and on occasion had had to literally fight them off. Not the men of course – men had no right of combat in those things – but women could claim her by right of conquest. Dora hadn’t always won, but she had won more than she lost and she’d learned a lot along the way.
Now she didn’t bother trying to rise again, and instead scissored her legs rapidly together at floor level, rolling her body to the left as she did so. Her right foot connected with Catherine’s leg just below the knee, her left just above the ankle and with a shriek of surprise, Catherine toppled to the left, crashing into a leather-upholstered armchair before slumping to the floor.
Dora scrambled to her feet, feeling the painful swelling in her cheek from Catherine’s blow. Her mind was reeling. What the hell have I done? She had gone too far and she knew it. The vindictive Medici would ruin her for this. She had come here to save her company and her son but all she had succeeded in doing was condemning them. A major part of her wanted to just curl up in a ball and cry, but another, stronger part wasn’t going to give in so easily to despair. This woman and her cohorts had taken her husband and Peter’s father from them, killed him just because he was in their way, and for the past twenty years Dora had been helpless to do anything about it. Perhaps she was still helpless, perhaps she would never have the full measure of her revenge but she would sure as hell make this bitch understand what it felt like to be helpless. You’ll beg for mercy, you cunt.
She leapt at Catherine while the brunette was still levering herself up into a sitting position, and launched a roundhouse kick at her enemy’s head. Weights and cardio weren’t the only things on offer at her local gym – they had a kick-ass kick-boxing class too and Dora was an enthusiastic participant. Catherine must have caught sight of it out of the corner her eye and ducked but she was just a fraction too late and was only partially able to ride the blow. It caught her in the side of her head just above her left temple and hurled her to the floor on her side with a sharp grunt.
Dora stepped in close, bent and grabbed Catherine by the hair, dragging her partway up and getting a shriek of pain from the brunette. Catherine somehow got her legs under her however and surged up into Dora, knocking her back a step. The shorter, stockier woman lurched against Dora as she overbalanced, and grasped the low-cut front of Dora’s dress with both hands for support. She lost her footing and fell but held onto Dora as she did so. Her weight and leverage pulled Dora off balance too and they both crashed heavily to the floor.
Catherine’s fingers dug inside Dora’s dress and inside her bra too, her long crimson nails scoring the flesh on the upper slopes of the blonde’s big firm breasts. Dora squealed with mingled anguish and anger, kicking out at Catherine as she tried to tear herself away from the brunette’s grip. She managed to break free but Catherine wasn’t letting go easily and as Dora rolled away, the other woman wrenched hard at her dress, yanking it downward along with her bra, popping her left breast free. Dora squealed again, more from indignation that from pain this time.
As she came to her knees, she resisted the instinctive urge to clutch a hand to her bare breast. It wasn’t like she had anything to be ashamed of. Her body was the envy of woman half her age. She was less impressed with the four angry welts that marred the tanned flesh, not far above the dark flushed aureola. “Bitch!”
With a snarl she threw herself at her enemy. Catherine responded in kind and their bodies slammed together, each with their arms trapped in between, fingers hooked, clawing and twisting at soft flesh, hissing and spitting like two feral cats as their cries of pain and hatred intermingled.
Dora snared her fingers inside Catherine’s bra, dragging it down easily – Frederick’s of Hollywood went for style, not support – to expose her twin targets. She grabbed hard, digging her nails in, and was rewarded with a roar of pain from the brunette. Catherine only squeezed harder at Dora’s breasts however, and tears of pain blurred the blonde’s vision. Then Dora screamed out loud as the other woman’s thumbnails jabbed excruciatingly into her hardened nipples.
The pain was unbelievable. Through her tears she saw the cruel, grim smile on Catherine’s face. The bitch is enjoying this! Frantically she tried to wrench her arms free and grab Catherine’s wrists but the pressure of their straining bodies kept her hands ensnarled in the brunette’s bra. She tried twisting harder on the bitch’s breasts but while Catherine groaned through gritted teeth, the torture continued.
In desperation Dora thrust her head forward and seized Catherine’s nose in her teeth, biting down and rolling her head to the side, twisting the brunette’s nose savagely. Catherine howled in shock and pain. She tried to jerk her head back but Dora hung on doggedly and the brunette’s shrieks redoubled in pitch and volume.
At last Catherine ceased tormenting Dora’s boobs and instead rammed her hands hard against them, shoving Dora backwards, away from her. Dora still hung on with her teeth but enough space opened between their bodies for her to wrench her arms free, tearing the flimsy lace cups of Catherine’s bra with her own sharp nails as she did so.
It took a second sharp shove from Catherine before Dora released the brunette’s nose and fell backward, rolling away. As she came back up to her knees and tossed her now-tangled tresses off her face, she saw her enemy glaring poisonously at her from a similar position a few yards away. Dora’s bite hadn’t broken the skin but it had left distinct teeth marks and the brunette’s nose was already beginning to swell. Stay calm. Dora heard the voice of Joel, the kickboxing instructor at the gym, in her head. Fight smart.
They began to circle, each eyeing the other warily and malevolently. No words were spoken. The time for words had passed. Dora watched Catherine carefully, looking for an opening, some weakness she could exploit. The brunette’s face was flushed from the exertion and beads of sweat glistened on her pale skin despite the air conditioning, matching those that Dora felt trickling down her own face and neck, and into her cleavage. Catherine’s chest heaved as she greedily gulped air. Her breasts, bared now through the wreckage of her bra, were blotched from Dora’s grasping fingers, dark bruises already beginning to show. Dora had no doubt that her own were in the same condition, judging by the throbbing pain in her chest. She didn’t dare spare herself a glance.
Catherine attacked, ducking low as she lunged at Dora, trying to get under her guard and firing her fist at the tall blonde’s midriff. Dora swept her arm downward and outward almost without thinking, batting her enemy’s fist aside so it merely grazed her side above her left hip. Catherine’s momentum carried her forward and Dora spun aside like a matador to avoid being slammed in the chest. As Catherine surged past her, she got a knee up and smiled in grim satisfaction as she felt it connect heavily with the meat of her enemy’s upper thigh. Catherine gave a groan of pain, stumbled but recovered herself, putting some distance between her and Dora as Dora turned to face her once more.
Again they circled. Dora noted that Catherine was limping slightly now, favoring her left leg. Wasting no time, Dora went on the offensive, feinting left and forcing Catherine to retreat onto her bad leg. As the brunette dodged clumsily, Dora lashed out with her right arm, reaching for Catherine’s hair, at the same time lifting her other arm and balling her fist ready to drive it into her enemy’s face.
Catherine saw the right arm coming and ducked under it, throwing herself forward and aiming her own right at Dora’s belly. That was exactly what Dora expected however and again she twisted to the right so that the blow skidded off her abs. She didn’t spin entirely out of the way this time, bracing herself for the impact as Catherine’s shoulder drove into her ribs just below her bosom. Her left arm, already raised, now whipped downward and pinned Catherine’s neck against her side in a reverse headlock. Got you, skank! She took a step back, dragging Catherine with her before she rammed her right knee up into the brunette’s unprotected belly – then again for good measure.
The brunette let out an explosive grunt at the first blow, then a strangled gasp at the second. Her knees went weak and she would have fallen as Dora released the headlock and stepped back, had Dora not straightened her up with a third knee to the midsection.
Catherine gave a deflated groan and bent over once again, clutching at her ravaged midriff, just in time to catch Dora’s fist squarely under the chin. The blow came all the way from Dora’s knees and lifted the brunette up onto her toes, arching her over backwards. She lost her balance and fell backwards over the coffee table behind her, sending a heavy ceramic bowl skittering to the floor. Catherine herself hit carpet hard in the narrow space between the coffee table and the couch.
Dora leapt up onto the coffee table then over it, aiming both feet at Catherine’s battered belly in a stomp kick that would have ended the fight right there had the brunette not somehow managed to roll aside in the nick of time. As it was, Dora’s left foot only brushed her enemy’s hip. She cried out in frustration.
The cry quickly turned to one of pain as Catherine twisted back in the other direction and drove her open hand into the outside of Dora’s knee with all the force she could muster. White hot pain lanced up Dora’s leg. It buckled and she collapsed face first onto the couch, striking her forehead a solid blow against the heavy padded backrest.
“Now you’re mine!” snarled Catherine in a hoarse whisper as she grabbed the back of Dora’s dress, hauling herself up behind the blonde’s back. Shoving one hand into Dora’s hair, driving her face harder against the sofa, she hammered her other fist into Dora’s lower back over her right kidney. Dora’s back arched as she wailed in agony.
She tried frantically to lever herself upward but Catherine’s full weight bore down on her neck, pinning her in place. Another punch slammed into her kidney and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her from the pain. Abandoning the attempt to free herself, she instead pulled her left arm in tight across her body, then drove it up and back with a shriek of pain-filled anger.
Catherine’s groan of anguish as Dora’s elbow rammed into her already injured belly was music to Dora’s ears. The pressure on her neck slackened and the next anticipated agonizing blow to her kidneys never came. She drove her elbow back again with another solid connection. As she reared upward at last, she felt Catherine’s weight come off her completely as, with a scream of her own, the brunette toppled over backwards onto the coffee table.
Dora rolled over into a sitting position, ignoring the stabbing pain in her lower back, then lunged forward at Catherine as she lay stretched over the table. With a scream of rage she buried her clawed fingers in her enemy’s abs and twisted as hard as she could in a vicious belly claw. Catherine convulsed in agony, her arms flailing in a desperate uncoordinated attempt to staunch the pain as her feet kicked spastically at the couch.
Ripping one hand loose from the brunette’s flesh, she drew her arm back and stabbed her steepled fingers upward under Catherine’s ribs. Catherine made a sound that was half groan, half belch, and her entire body shuddered. Dora drew back and hit her again, still twisting her nails in the other woman’s flesh, then a third time, lower down below the panty line, before the red fog lifted from before her eyes. She hung there, half on and half off the couch, panting.
Catherine coughed, then made a sound that was part sob, part laugh. “So…you won,” she gasped in a pain-filled voice. “Enjoy it while you can. By the time my family gets through with yours, you’ll all be living under a bridge.” She laughed again though the sound dwindled to a groan and she grasped feebly at her belly.
Dora almost let out a sob of her own. The bitch was right. She had won this fight – Medici was clearly finished – but the battle was just the opening gambit in a war she could not hope to win. Medici – and Valois too – had the resources to bury Otto Construction without breaking a sweat. She felt the weight of despair pressing down on her. In coming here, trying to save her business and her family from this evil woman but then letting her anger get the better of her, she had doomed them all. New tears welled up in her eyes.
“So you beat me up,” Catherine went on, her voice no more than a croak. “No one will know and no one would care if they did. All anyone will know is that you crossed me and I destroyed you. That’s what they’ll remember.” Her voice was equal parts pain and scorn. “That’s all that matters…humiliation.”
Humiliation…that’s all that matters! Dora’s eyes opened wide in surprise as it suddenly occurred to her. These people did have a weakness after all – shame. So that was the one thing that mattered to Catherine? Then so be it.
With new energy, she slammed another fist down into her beaten enemy’s navel. “Okay, bitch, have it your way!” Catherine twitched and moaned, but otherwise remained unmoving, her breasts rising and falling as she fought for breath against the pain.
Dora shoved herself to her feet, ignoring her own aching muscles, and strode quickly through the doorway into the foyer. Her purse was lying on the floor against the wall, still closed. She scooped it up, dropped it on the table, opened it and pulled out her phone.
Returning to the living room, she saw with relief that Catherine still lay sprawled across the coffee table. At least I don’t have to put the bitch down, all over again. Something in Catherine’s posed even suggested she had relaxed – perhaps she thought Dora had left. That changed when she saw the blonde looming over her again. There was defiance in her eyes, to be sure, but there was also fear. That made Dora’s heart pound. Just wait till you see what I’m about to do, bitch.
Dora kicked Catherine’s feet apart and knelt between her knees in the space between the coffee table and the couch. “What…what are you…?” the financier mumbled, then her voice rose in pitch, “No…STOP!!!” as Dora hooked a finger in the leg of her panties and yanked them aside, exposing her shaven crotch and her pink labia. “You can’t – ”
“I can’t???” hissed Dora. “You just watch me!” She pressed her fingers together into a spike just as she had done to spear them into Catherine’s belly moments ago, but this time she stabbed upward between her enemy’s legs, between her nether lips, driving her fingers deep into the bitch’s pussy.
Catherine’s body went rigid and she screamed, writhing on Dora’s fingers as they impaled her. “Oh my GOD!!!” She tried desperately to push herself up on her elbows, her legs scrabbling at the couch on either side of Dora. “You…BITCH!!!”
“Damn right I am!” growled Dora. She raised her free hand – the one holding the phone – up high and brought it down hard into the brunette’s belly once more. Catherine gagged, groaned and slumped back on the table.
Dora twisted her fingers inside her enemy. Catherine squirmed helplessly. With a smooth motion, Dora thumbed the camera icon on her phone, pointed the device at the other woman’s pussy, the swollen folds of flesh distended around her four fingers, and pressed the button to take a picture.
She took several more, making sure she got Catherine’s face as well as her crotch in as many as she could. Catherine was moaning, cursing, writhing as she tried in vain to force her battered body to respond to the desperate demands. Dora had to pound her belly a couple more times to keep her in place. Finally she hooked her fingers inside the other woman, letting Catherine feel her nails, and snarled, “Keep still bitch, or else!”
Catherine’s eyes opened wide. “No! Please! PLEASE!” She held her hands up in supplication. Dora smoothly flicked the phone camera to video mode and caught the second ‘please’ as her vanquished enemy writhed and twisted like a glove puppet on her hand. A part of her wanted to laugh but she was just appalled enough at what she was doing to prevent that.
Finally she jerked her fingers out of Catherine, leaving the brunette weeping and shuddering on the table top. Leaning over her, she grabbed a handful of her enemy’s hair and jerked her head up. She thrust the phone in Catherine’s face, actually smacking her on the cheek with it. “You see this? YOU SEE THIS???” She shook Catherine’s head savagely from side to side. “You EVER come near me, my company or my family again…EVER…and a copy of these pictures and the video goes to every major investor in your firm…every charity you patronize…not to mention all the news channels. Then we’ll see who humiliates who!” She smacked Catherine again with the phone. “Do you understand me? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME???”
Catherine’s eyes were wide with fear as she understood the import of Dora’s words, and saw the deadly resolve in her eyes. Oh I’ll do it, all right. Catherine nodded weakly.
With that Dora rose to her feet, leaving the battered, sobbing brunette there on the table as she walked away. Only when she reached the foyer did she even bother to tuck her breast back into her dress, which fortunately hadn’t torn. Snatching up her purse, she yanked open the door and left the suite. She was halfway down the corridor by the time the door clicked shut behind her.
There were several side doors that gave access to the parking lot, and Dora made use of one now. Her car was parked well away from the main entrance and she reached it without running into anyone. Only when she was safely in the driver’s seat with the door locked, did she bury her face in her hands and allow the tears to come.
THE END
The End