Ewa S vs. Crimson Desire on FCF
Hey, everyone! Not all of you know me, but I’m Kim, aka Crimson Desire. Since the moment I came back to
We’ve fought twice already. I won the first time, she won the second time, and neither of us
It’s still almost breathtaking to consider how quickly this woman has become part of my – no, OUR – lives. Our initial meeting was certainly noteworthy, although not necessarily anything out of the normal. Michael and I were new in town and we had heard about a club, more of a social club, for women and couples who enjoyed feminine competition. I hadn’t been in the door for more than 15 minutes when you approached me, while Michael went to get drinks. There was an instant … feeling. Call it attraction, call it lust, call it anger, call it jealousy, call it doubt, call it a threat. It was a combination of all those things, and the more we talked, and the more I looked you over, the more I could sense just the kind of woman you are, and that excited me beyond belief.
When you asked me to fight that night I couldn’t say no, and what started as a “honey, let’s go check this place out” kind of night turned into a “honey, hold my purse” kind of night. We fought there on the four large square mats, pulling hair, slapping faces, and clawing skin, and it was magical in a “I hate you and want nothing more in this moment than to hurt you” kind of way. You proved every bit the woman I thought you were, and though I got the win at the end, it wasn’t the cleanest ending, and it left doubt in both our minds.
A month later, in the week leading up the club’s next meeting, I kept wondering if you were going to be there, and so did Michael. I hate to admit how much you got into my head and into his, but it’s true. He was as excited watching that fight as I’ve ever seen him, and we’ve talked it through so many times it’s like he’s got every detail memorized in his mind. I was anxious to prove that the ending wasn’t a fluke, and I’m sure you were anxious to set things right, so when I saw you there we didn’t even have to say a word. We marched directly to the registration table and signed up to fight, and fight we did.
It was wild and like nothing that club had ever seen before. So vicious and catty that at times they tried to pull us off each other, and we wouldn’t let them. I gave you all I could that night, but you were a woman on a mission to conquer me, and you did. When it was finally over, as we laid there exhausted, bleeding, drenched in sweat, and covered in bites and scratches, only then could they finally pull us apart. The club management was furious. “We can’t have girls doing this to each other here” the owner screamed at us as we still kicked and swiped at each other and had to be held back. Banned is a strong word, but we were both told that we weren’t welcome back to the club until we had sorted this out.
So if this was going to happen, it was going to happen on our terms. Michael, I could tell, was hesitant. He had gotten your number from someone at the club, and every time I’d bring up that place or your name would come up, he’d casually say something like “maybe you two should talk.” Fuck NO. The last thing I wanted to do on planet earth
A month had gone by and we hadn’t gone back to the club, and I know that was hard for him. It was hard for both of us. I had been fighting, fighting a circle around Ewa with her friends, but he hadn’t seen those fights, and he was longing to see his queen conquering another woman. I told him to get in contact with you and to pick a weekend. Since we couldn’t use the club, we could host, if you were ok coming here, and we’d send the kids to my mom’s. It wasn’t 15 minutes later, and he was telling me the date. I was immediately on edge.
This fight has come to dominate our house for the last two weeks. It seems like it’s all he wants to talk about, he’s as aroused as I’ve ever seen him in bed, and of course, I can’t get you out of my mind. You won the second fight fair and square, but the first fight, the one I won, the victory wasn’t so clean. What if you are the better woman? I’ve done this for a decade and never worried about inviting another woman to my house. Sure, have I lost? Absolutely. But that’s not what it was like with you. What if I give you my all, in front of Michael, and that’s not enough? I sip my glass of wine as we wait and try to calm my nerves a bit. I’ve only had a sip or two though. The last thing I want is not to be focused or clear-minded.
Michael told you to come over after 2p, and its shortly past that now. I’m going to wait in the backyard for you, and Michael will meet you at the door, because I can’t promise what will happen the moment I lay eyes on you. Just as we agreed I have on a tank top and short, the top yellow, the shorts black for me, and a pair of sandals. Mom comes to pick up the kids, and I give them each a kiss goodbye. My son even asks me what’s wrong, but I told him, “Oh nothing sweetie. Mommy just has to take care of something.”
As mom leaves I hear a car door shut, and I immediately stand. Michael takes my hand, “just breathe… let her come in,” he says, and I know he’s right, even though everything in me wants to attack you the moment I see you. I know this is a war, and you can’t start a war by going all out. But it doesn’t mean my fire isn’t burning bright inside. I stand slowly, breathing deeply, setting down my glass of wine. I hear the doorbell ring, watch Michael open the door, and then there you. My heart pounds, my nostrils flare, and I whisper to myself, “Welcome to our home, Ewa.”
It’s the 15th of the month. The 15th of the damn month, and here I am, sitting on my couch, in my comfy PJ’s, with a pint of ice cream slowly scooping it up with my spoon and licking it in almost slow-motion, watching some lame Comsat on the TV. Yup, I look and feel like a dumped girl fresh out in the first few weeks of her breakup. And in a sense, it is kind of true. But I didn’t break up with
By this time, I should have been dressed to the 9’s, walking around the large bar, smiling and trying to find out my opponent for the night. A girl who likes it easy, or one who loves it hard. Someone who I deemed attractive, or feisty enough for me to vent into her the entire month’s frustrations and angst with life, work, and relationships, and let her body be the depository for my frustrations. But no. I’m now banned. After being a member for SEVEN fucking years, and all because of that redhaired cunt, her tattoo’s, and her craziness. I sigh, and feel a shudder up my spine, as I try HARD to not remember her. I just, go nuts when I do, and I better stop. But as I do my phone vibrates and I glance down at it, and my eyes go wide; Megan “Punky” Dow?? What the hell?
I put down my ice cream pint, and I pick up the phone, surprised. Megan is not… the type that calls… She’s the kind that comes knocking at my door, randomly… Months since the last time I’ve seen her, and either grabs me in for a kiss, or sends a knee to my gut. The kind that gives me the wildest sex or the dirtiest fights, before cuddling with me and purring into my eras as we both pass out. I didn’t even think she knew my number. I hear her voice, so relaxed, so ‘sexed-up’, asking me to drop by, and that she had something to tell me. I sigh, and ask her if it’s a must, I’m not in the mood for sex, but she insists. I put on a coat, because I don’t feel like changing, and drive over. I get to her apartment, and holy smokes. She is a mess.
The place doesn’t show a sign of a fight, but she is limping, her thighs spread, and I make a comment about what she has been up to, but then she tells me that she ‘met someone’. And as she narrates to me the random meeting in that Greek restaurant, the taunts, the sexed up depraved talk, the hands reaching under the table, and then the violent sexual tumble in the bathroom I almost blush. What the…. I feel so bothered, and a bit jealous, that I ask, why she wanted to tell me all this, but she says two things that make my blood freeze in my veins. First was ‘cuz she reminded me of you soooo much sugah’. The other reason was a little Japanese Origami of a flower, the paper used to fold it made of pure Crimson. “Kimberly said she knows you, and she wanted me to give you this.”
It took me a whole fucking week to get my blood pressure back at nominal levels. Thinking it was a one-off thing. A coincidence perhaps. But then, well. Things took a different turn. They certainly did, when I got the next call from Rebecca, who I thought didn’t even want to talk to me anymore. Another house-call. And this one she was all black and blue, but mostly red. Clawed and bitten and mauled. And the tale, was not so different. And she ended it with giving me that origami. I didn’t even need the third call, from Stephanie Gibson to see the pattern. And when she said she wanted me to come over, I answered coldly that I already have two origamis and don’t need a fucking third. I hung up on the poor girl, and I was… Boiling.
So that’s what she’s doing now? Fighting and fucking a circle around me, trying to make me feel cornered… Isolated… Completely and utterly alone… Or is it a spiral with her intent to land me… Is it a warning? An attempt at intimidation? Or mind games? If it’s the latter, it certainly worked. But when my phone rang yesterday, the number unknown, and I picked up, I recognized the voice. The voice I heard cry out your support, telling you to hit, to pull, to bite, to ‘come on’ and ‘you can do this’. The voice of Michael….
He asked me almost shyly, if I wanted to have a tie-breaker with his wife, and I just paused. I pondered if he was truly a fool, unaware of what you have been doing, or if he was into it. Either way, I just responded calmly; “Absolutely. I have been thinking of NOTHING but Kim the last two months. This last one especially. I know it’s not the 15th of the month… But hey… Who cares. What time?”
He texts me the address to your place and tells me to show up after 2pm. And I was already parked outside by 1pm. I sat in the car at the start of the street. Shaking. Staring. I knew that the grandma was picking the kids. And I didn’t want to make any mistakes, in case she comes late. But she arrives before 2, and I make sure to see her walking the two adorable kids that I have NO idea how they came out of YOU to her car. And as they drive off, I wait another 10 minutes. I take in few deep breaths. Then I turn the engine off and I step out. I’m dress in just a simple tank top, with a black strip running down the front. One that shows off my toned arms, and ample amounts of cleavage. Tight enough to show my abs that I have worked on hard to match yours, with little success. A pair of black tights hugging my legs, and squeezing my buttocks, framing them. Along with a pair of open-toed sandals.
I walk up to the door and I ring the doorbell. I wait impatiently, and then, the door opens. I tense, but it’s Michael. He greets me with a wide smile and heck, it’s TOO big for a man knowing that his wife is going to fight her worst enemy. A glance down and I can see why, dude, wear two pairs of underwear or something to try to suppress that boner. I don’t have anything against him, but I SLAM my purse against his chest and in a cold voice I hiss; “Where is she?” — “Eh, the backyard, let me show you the wa—” But I’m already marching… Wide steps at first, then I’m rushing through the house, almost running. Down the hallway and into the living room. And I see the large glass sliding door. It’s open and through it I see the green yard, the tall tree lines and green fencing, that would give us privacy. And you standing there, with your frustratingly hot tanned body, your ink on display, and your thighs and calves flexed. Not a bruise on you from the fights you’ve had since our last. Your red hair is blazing in the red sun, and I just grit on my teeth and come RUNNING towards you. All I see are flashes of Megan’s face, Rebecca’s, Steph’s… Their words… Crimson Origami…. There are no greetings, no words, no pauses, no circling games. I RUSH at you wildly, my arms shooting up, screeching like a banshee…. “BIIIIIIITTCHHH!!!”
I wait outside, pacing in my own backyard. If anyone has ever made me feel like this before, I don’t remember. I’m at my own home, in my own backyard, the place where Michael and I would sit out at night after the kids are asleep and watch the stars and sip wine, the place where my kids would play, and we’d get out the slip and slide and I’d do my best to cover myself as I played with them. This was my fortress of solitude, my domain, my kingdom, my home, and yet here I was pacing, nervous about what was to come.
It wasn’t intentional at first, but after what happened at the club, especially after our second fight, girls, your girls, started to seek me out. They saw what I did against one of the very best, and that’s when the idea hatched in my mind to leave you messages and threats in their pain and defeat, with a little something extra left behind as a gift just for you. I wanted you to know that even if I wasn’t at the club, I was still coming for you and those who held you in the highest regard were going to pay the price until this matter was settled.
And yet now there you are, standing in my fucking home, looking over my fucking husband. I can see through the glass as Michael opens the front door. I see your head look up and down and then back up again. I see you slam your purse in his chest, and I think to myself “good thing that cunt didn’t lay a fucking hand on him or this day would turn out even worse for her.” I see you coming down the halls, walking into the living room, and coming through the open sliding glass door. Michael is already trying to stop you. “Wait… WAIT! he shouts, but it doesn’t matter. He told me earlier this week he would try to give some order to the fight if he could, especially after what happened last time, and I just smiled and told him that would be great. But really, who the fuck was he kidding? Order?!? This is
As you step out and come rushing out at me, it’s not hard to see why those girls respected you so much. You were as skilled as they come, as you had already shown, with a beauty that should have put you on the cover of any magazine you chose, but all the hours you spent in the gym perfecting your figure, strengthening your arms and legs and making sure they were as sexy as they are strong weren’t for the cameras. They were for this. For right now. For fighting another woman. I get why Michael likes you, and I get why we could never coexist.
“FUCKING CUUUUNNNNTT!!!” I scream as you rush at me with your hands shooting up and I lunge at you and do the same, in part just to make sure that I don’t get bulldozed. We grab each other’s hair and we scream, and immediately we go stumbling. The momentum takes us back a few steps as we both shriek and jerk each other’s head side to side, and then I plant my feet and push, regaining one step as my arms flex and shove back on your hair by your hands. Quickly my hands jerk down, pulling straight down on your dark strands as they wrap in my fingers, and I try my best to bend you over and get some control to start this fight.
There isn’t any way that this was not going to happen. FUCK. We should have done this a long ago. Found each other’s contacts and reached for each other before reaching this point. Before the damage and hatred and grief lead us to go to this length, with you trying to invade my circle of friends and circles, fighting and fucking a rampage and leaving your stench and marks everywhere. Seriously, does Michael even KNOW that you fucked two girls just to spite me? Just to make them call me and give me those fucking ass Origamis as if it would mean anything more than you’re a leg-spreading whore who would do ANYTHING to undermine me? Well FUCK… Right now, I don’t care. Right now, it’s ON between us.
And as my sandals stomp on the wooden porch and I rush down the steps onto the grass I hear that ‘squish’ sound that tells me that the lawn was so freshly watered. In fact, heck, OVER-watered is a better term. I can feel tiny droplets of water flying up as I rush at you, my mind wondering if you did this intentionally, and if you have a strategy about it, but I glance down your toned, tanned, flexed legs and I see you too are wearing sandals. Are they rubber soles though to give you a better footing? I don’t really know, and my mind is sent OFF entirely as we CRASH into each other, hands grasping for hair, and the chaos begins!
“AARRGHHH!!” I cry out in pain, my neck yanked back in place while my body tries to continue forwards, our chests stopped from crashing into the other with only the mighty twin grips on hair, grimacing as we start to stumble, first sideways, then we begin to spin, grimacing and tugging hair. I feel your grips on my locks, and FUCK you are STRONG. I groan in pain, pushing with my legs, thrusting one behind me and when you begin to overpower I twist my hip and try to spin. A tactic based on instinct and common sense as Michael drops my purse on the coffee table and rushes after us. Standing there watching his wife and her raven-haired nemesis battle, stumbling and tugging hair.
Suddenly I feel you THRUSTING and pushing me back; “AAAHHHIIIEEEHHH!!” I cry in pain, as you push my head back then pull down, bending me as our chests collide for second time, and surprised at this surge of strength and control, my mind goes back to your sandals, and if you had a plan to use a non-slippery pair to get better traction. But I have NO fucking issues with that. My left leg, thrust behind me flies forward and I KICK the sole of my muddied sandal into your bare left shin and PULL my foot down, trying to use the friction and stickiness between sandal and flesh to help me slip my foot out, and I bring my leg down, my toes curled to bite into the mud for purchase… My right leg kicking wildly at you, but my foot swings between your shins and my sandal flies some 8-feet behind you. Leaving me bare footed. My right leg curling around the back of your left, I clench my calf pressing the muscle against yours, separated only with my black tights, I grunt and shake your head by the hair to the RIGHT, then LEFT violently, pulling on your leg and trying to unbalance you and send you either stumbling to your right, to lose your advantage, or even take you off your foot and bring you down to the muddy grass.
Michael’s shouting dies down as ours ramps up. Our initial salvo of curses gives ways to grunt and groans as we jerk each other around by the hair. The fact that Michael is watching only makes this more intense for me. So much of who I am is built on the premise of being the toughest, hottest bitch around, and your very existence is a threat to that premise. I drive with my legs and try to force you back a few steps, but after one move back you refuse to give me any more. Our chests collide, and that’s another infuriating feeling as a bigger pair of breasts rubs against mine when I’m so used to outsizing almost everyone. When Michael watered the grass today, hoping to “slow us down” a bit, I knew what the plan was. I needed to get out of my sandals and get into my bare feet, and while I should have expected it, I didn’t think I wouldn’t even have a single moment to kick them off before you came rushing at me. But I’ve got to get them off either way, and you clearly have the same thought.
Your left leg comes kicking at my heels and the muddy sole of your sandals sticks to my skin at you pull your foot out while it slides slowly off…. “
This… fucking… BITCH… AAAH! I am screaming louder than I am proud to admit, feeling your strong, stubborn fingers twist at my hair. You’re not just a random bimbo holding and yanking. No. Even your fingers have a method. And that’s one of fucking PLUCKING my hairs out with each grip, before adding the power of our arms and shoulders to get my head, neck, and body to comply, or else MORE hairs will be plucked out. And for a brief moment. You bend me backwards, my head facing up at the sky. The bright sun beating on my eyes. And forcing me to shut them in pain and the sharp burn my retinas briefly get. It throws my focus for a moment, but not long before I hook your leg, shake you and send you stumbling and off your feet.
You crash down, better than I hoped. Instead of your knees, you fall straight to your ass, but that comes with a price, me coming down with you. I cry and knowing exactly what happened in our first fight, when you fell, and I tried to resist. And the amount of hair that I lost at the moment. So, I throw myself down and UFFF!! Our chests crash, and I hear you groan. Your fingers loosening but then they regrip and PULL my head back. I screech and hold on to your hair, as I feel your legs kicking wildly, the sandals flying off. And for a moment, all you do is hold me back by the hair. And I know I need to do something to fortify this moment. A wild cat like you, can turn things around in a second, so for now, short-term plans are paramount, and it’s to extend my positions from few seconds into a much, much longer spot. And to do that I quickly spread my legs and bend them at the knees, trying to spread them wide and ‘squat’ atop of you. Not a straddle, because in that, I would be sitting up, and now, I’m chest-to-chest with you, our tank tops rubbing.
Michael, standing behind us must think I look like a frog, my legs spread and bent that way. My knees and shins grinding into the wet ground. And my right hand opens on your hair, moving up, moving almost to where my left hand is, and I grab the hair with BOTH hands at the same spot, and with everything I got I PULLLLL on the hair, towards your left side, trying to use both my grips on the hair to bend your head painfully, almost as if my goal is to make your left ear touch your shoulder. Grimacing and trying to strain your neck and hyper-extend your right shoulder muscle.
You beat me to the punch, of course the punch in this case was a kick to my shin with your wet muddy sandal and getting your sandals off your feet first, getting your legged hooked, and taking me down. My eyes shut from the sudden burst of pain as you land on top of me, and when I finally open them the sunlight wraps around your head like it was illuminating a goddess, although in truth all it’s doing is illuminating a predator. You’re smart and very quick. I already knew that, but you proved it time and time again in all sorts of small moments throughout our first two battles, and you’re proving it again. You don’t position yourself for sex appeal for Michael, you don’t just blindly throw yourself on me, you know exactly what you’re doing, and the only thing you’re concerned about is getting me into a position to start control me and start inflicting serious pain on me. At the very least I can respect it, even if it does make my blood boil to feel your legs pulling into my sides as your breasts push down on mine and I can’t open my eyes without looking up into your goddamn smirking face.
Your right hand slides up, joining your left and with both hands you pull to my left side. My neck bends painfully, my shoulder is stretched, and I let out a pain-filled scream… “AWWWWWW FFCUKKKKKK!!!!!” “Come on, Kim, fight back!” Michael finally calls out, noticing that since you tripped us down into the grass I’ve been most only the defensive and you are quickly securing the upper hands. I reach up with my left hand and I grab for your hands. My nails are extended as I grab for your left wrist I try to claw at least one of your hands out of my hair before my neck gets a kink from which I won’t be able to recover. My right shoots up, lifting high, and with Michael’s words ringing in my ear I slap down hard into your back… WHACK WHACK WHACK! my hand collides with the back of your top with protects your skin from feeling the crack of my hand. “LET ME GO BITCH!!!” I shout, and with the third slap my feet push into soft, muddy grass, which is getting muddier the more we move, and I pull with my right hand, lifting up w
I’m on top of you. Good. That’s a very good thing. Great job Ewa, nice start. But fucking don’t even BEGIN to celebrate or think it means much. Two fights I’ve had with you. Two of the roughest, wildest fights I’ve been in. One a defeat, the other a fight so wild, vicious, and violent that we both got BANNED from the club for. And both have taught me to fucking respect your ability as a fighter as much as I hate you. Down there, I can feel our bodies press. I can feel the tension in your muscles, but still, the rather disturbing lack of use to them. The way your abs tighten, clenching, and those six-packs of yours so provocatively, and in a very intimidating manner shift SO nicely under the fabric of your top, and through my own. Like a rubber band, or the string of a bow. Tensing up, ready to be flung out. And in a damn, nasty way I have to wait. But I know it’s not for long. I already feel the nails of your right hand scratching at the back of my left hand and making me YELP as a slap after another cracks on my back.
My head arches back and I MOAN in pain, my hair relieved, but in place, I feel the nasty, wild, vicious scratching, and those hard SMACKS, that are akin to open-palmed punches than slaps even, the type that I know will leave one heck of an ugly bruise on my flesh. “Ugghhh… Let go…. and WHAT??I thought I’m here to FIGHT bitch… I won’t let go… until…. this is… over… once… and… for… AAAHH… all!!” I grimace through the pain as your nails tear at my skin then with a violent BUCK you pull up, and I yelp, your hips thrusting lifting me, and making my squat obsolete as you throw me almost a foot in the air, your hips grinding into mine and you FLIP to your right, stretching my white top, the seams stretching, popping and a RIIIIIP coming off before I crash to my back with a wet SPLASH and your body is the one on top… I hear Michael cheering; “That’s it babe!!!” And I grit on my teeth, like you, my reaction is to pull your head BACK, so you don’t bite me… My legs…. shifting around your body… Every logical instrument telling me to wrap around your waist and scissor… But… FUCK THAT… I’m not a wrestler… I’m a fucking CAT…
So I slide my legs around your hips, and cross my shins around your ass to just… HOLD on to you… My right hand pulling your head back, trying to keep your neck stretched a bit longer… My left hand, scratched and clawed, rakes DOWN, dragging my nails across the side of your scalp and down to your right ear… Scratching my nails OVER the shell of your ears, and down to your earlobe… You obviously took your earring off… But I can see the three earring holes there… And picking the largest one, I trap it and PINCH it with my thumb nail hard. Hissing; “Okay bitch… I’ll ask nicely… Get… the FUCK… off me!!!” Pulling your hair to my right, and your ear to my left… Trying to stretch and hurt you to the max.
In a reflex of pain I shout for you to let me go, although I know you won’t. Your taunts about the shout are met with hard slaps that at the very least make you finish that thought in pain. I scream out in anger as my hips thrust up, bringing your knees out of the grass and I manage to pull us over as my hands yanks on your top which gives way to the pressure caused as my hand yanks the fabric away from your curvy flesh. Now it’s your turn to feel the wet grass and mud on your back. My own yellow top is now thoroughly soaked in the back and clinging to my skin. Michael cheers, but my thoughts are on you. Now it’s my turn to strike, but even through the thrust of my hips, the clawing of my hand on your wrist, and the roll, this ruthless determined bitch still has my fucking hair.
My neck is aching as I try to straighten it out, something you seem absolutely determined to make sure doesn’t happen, and as I’m focused on getting my head straight you reach up and grab for my scalp. “fuckkk… FUCKKK!!” I scream as I feel what you’re about to do and am in no position to stop you. Your nails drag down to my right ear, and then pinch down, jamming your thumbnail into the hole for my earring. “GAWWWDDD FUCKKKK” I scream as I feel your legs wrapping around mine at my hips and crossing behind my hips as you fight like a hellcat even from underneath me.
My ear igniting with a piercing pain, my neck jerked to the side and straining as you command me to get the fuck off you. “FUCKKKK… YOUUUU… BITCHHHH!!! With your hands high, my hands go low. One from around your back and the other pulling down from your hair, my first instinct it to get my arms around you in a bearhug, use my strength and crush the fight out of you right here, but you could have done the same to me with your legs, and you didn’t We agreed to catfight at the club, both times, and while we didn’t talk about anything like that for this fight, if that’s how you’re going to play it, so will I. As your right hand pulls my hair and your left hand pinches my ear while my scalp burns from the light scratch, my left hand comes up, jamming up under your large breast as your hair pull has put just enough space between our upper bodies to get to it, and I force it up, pushing as much of us up and out of your bra and tank top as I can before my fingers extend, curl, and close, and I dig my claws into the bulging flesh and exposed skin as my palm clenches around your gland.
My right hand runs through the grass and then comes up just under your arm. With my fingers wet and a slightly muddy with pieces of freshly cut grass stuck to them, I smear my hand across your face, sliding it right across your nose, mouth, and eyes, and then pull it back. I can’t pull back very far because it’s inside your arm, so I mainly use my wrists with my upper arm locked and I start to give you hard, quick, wet slaps to your left cheek as I scream and try to force you to let me go.
Michael must be ecstatic right now. Watching us fight. His hot sexy wife, the woman he regarded for so damn long as THE toughest and
He continues to cheer you on, staring at your toned, perfect buttocks shape up under your shorts, with your powerful thighs, covered in mud and grass blades tense with my own crossed behind you. And then watch me continue to wrench, weaken, and try to injure your neck. My entire focus on straining that right shoulder muscle of yours. And now, clawing your damn ear. But yet, you are on top, and it again, excites him even more, as even his voice shows it crying his encouragement; “COME ON KIMMIE!!! YOU HAVE THE TOP SPOT! MAKE IT COUNT!”
And as if his words gave you ideas, I can feel your damn left claw push at my right breast, you’re not attacking, you’re just sending it up, making more flesh ooze through the top of my tank top, and I can feel it getting displaced, as my nipple now can feel the frilly patterned lace atop my bra, then your nails STAB into the flesh; “ARRRGHHH!! FUUUCKKKERRR!!!” I screech in pain, my eyes shut, but I grit on my teeth. There is something about my breasts that makes them the most common targets in my fights with bitches, that I have manage to build some pain tolerance. But even that doesn’t help when your sharp nails bite into the flesh, and your palm grinds down your weight down. But then the muddy pal comes crashing, smearing my lips, nose, and eyes with the muck and I yelp, sputtering and hissing before the slaps begin… “AW FUK FUK FUK!!”
My words distorted as my own tongue tastes the mud… I grimace and bring my left hand down, releasing your ear, and I slide my hand between us. You’ve raised yourself a couple of inches to allow your hand to get to my tit, and I slide my hand between that gap, between our bodies, feeling for your abs… They are so pronounced through your sweaty tank top, but i still grab the fabric, and I PULL hard, exposing the skin, and I JAM my nails up, digging five claws into the tiny crevices between the defined muscles, twisting and growling. Digging my claws in trying to discomfort you just enough…. My right hand, still holding your hair. Relaxes. Just to give your neck muscles a tiny break before a sudden PULL to the left shoots and I bring my head up, in the tiny break between your slaps and I press my teeth to your right shoulder muscle, the one connecting to your neck, and the one I have been straining all this time and I BITE on it sharply. My teeth covered in mud, but I can still taste your SWEAT as I grimace and twist madly to my right, trying to roll us over once more.
It’s no accident girls like us get attacked where we do, and while we often bitch about it private “why does everyone go for my tits all the time?” as if we don’t really know, when we get the chance to strike, we often go for the same thing. Besides, I’ve seen how Michael looks at your tits. I caught him several times looking at your chest, and then there was just a few minutes ago when you came through the door into our home, into my palace, and he stood there gawking at your chest. You’re far more beautiful than just a pair of tits, but I know what part of me he loves the most, and I know where his eyes lingered. So it feels good as your flesh oozes between my fingers as my fingers clench and my nails stab down into your breasts. Your curse making it feel all the sweeter as I look down at you and smile sadistically and then smear my hand across your face, smearing your
Three rapid fire curses tell me that I got the good stuff right where I wanted it, and right now your tasting the mud our warring bodies are creating in my back hard. Your hand finally releases my ear, which is not bright red from the pain, and you drop it down between us. You pull up as I pull on your tank and the fabric stretches and rips more in my hands, but you don’t pull so much as lift, jamming your nails into my strong abs, the jealousy of so many women, and I scream… “AWWW GODDD DAMNIT BITCH!!!”
I scream out, and the slapping to your face with my muddy hand stops from the pain I feel in my abs, which clench hard as a reflex although that only make the pain worse, and in that opening as I free, you pull my hair hard, expose my neck, and sink your teeth in… “AAAEEEEEEIIII” I scream out as muddy teeth sink into my sore, aching, and slightly injured muscle. You jerk and send us rolling… once, twice, three times we flip over as we roll through the grass, our clothes getting soaked with the water and mud, and like a skilled warrior you keep your bite in me the whole time. I end up on my back, my hand still barely holding onto your tit, my right hand rests against your face as I scream in pain and my legs kick and press into the wet ground as I try to push myself out from under you and away from your bite, but the more I press the more my feet just slip, creating more mud and ruining more of our grass.
“FFUCKKKK FUCKK!!!” I shout as my right hand grips the side of your head, but not your hair. I jam my nails into your scalp and I push up as my palm rests on your ear and my nails curl in around it. My left hand joins the pushing too, shoving back on your breast as I continue to claw it, pulling down on your top and bra just enough to expose your nipple and jam my thumb in as I try desperately to push your upper body up at least enough to force you to give up your bite on my already throbbing shoulder.
I’ve been into more fights than I can count since I’ve began my tenor at FCF’s. Girls of all colors and races. All backgrounds and religions. I never turned down girls twice my size, or looked down upon girls smaller than me. I knew deep down inside me, as long we are there to cat it out, the better cat always had a chance to take out the ‘W’. And while I lost a lot at the start, I never quit. Back from my first ridiculous fight, where I lose in under 2 minutes, I began to slowly learn. Adapt. The losses became scarcer, and even then, I made sure the other bitch was hurt too. It made me fight dirtier. Nastier. And soon, my reputation rose that I’m not there for friendly bouts. I’m there for FIGHTS.
Even when I lost, the other girls would not ‘shake my head and leave’. No, they would be there, cussing, calling me a ‘horrible bitch’ and ‘fucking cunt’ from the price I made the pay. And then I began to lose less and less. Until I kept hearing it, that I’ in a ‘class of my own’. That I’m a ‘legend’. That I’m the best at what I did. And despite trying to remain real, a part of me believed it. And that came crashing down when I… met you… With more years of fighting experience. Being older. Having an even hotter more toned body. A married life, two kids. And yet, when we fought, you beat me. You gave me my first real loss in almost a year. And I hated you for it.
And now, now even as we roll and writhe in the mud, my teeth clenched to your shoulder. My claws in your abs. Yours crushing my tit and grinding against my face. I know that I am here to PROVE something. To myself, before you. The rolling settles and I press my body down on yours. My black tights are slightly ripped down the middle, and Michael no doubt can see my red thong beneath it. It’s a small tear but it’s telling for him as once again his wife’s rival perches on top, and I gnaw and bite at your shoulder. Trying to attack and weaken that muscle. The one bearing half the weight of your head on it. Something I rarely have to do, but against a bitch like you I need to get tactical.
Your claw jams into my scalp, and your other hand crushes my right breast, and I moan, holding the bite for few more seconds then I THRUST my body back. I don’t just lean away. No. I pull my right leg out from around your left leg and I slide it between your limbs as I SIT up. Growling and I SLAPPPP my left palm on your face PUSHING to make sure you remain down as I sit up, straddling your right thigh. I grit on my teeth. Your left claw still grabbing at my left breast, pulling and tugging at my tank top, exposing the white sports bra beneath. But my focus turns to something different. Half turning, I reach with BOTH hands to your left leg. My right hand grabbing your ankle, my nails digging into your achilles tendon, my left hand reaching around and I sink my claws into the toned muscle of your upper thigh and I PULL your leg up, yanking and trying to lift it up in the air, hissing in pain, and I lean down, hunching my body, with ten nails digging into your achilles tendon and upper thigh, I add to them two rows of my teeth, that bite at the front of your Quads, just above your knee cap. Hissing through the frustration and pain of my breast crushed and mauled!
I thought I knew exactly who I was: the Queen of all I see. Michael and I’s entire relationship was built on that premise. We met when he and his friend, who I was dating, got the idea in their head that they wanted to see their girlfriends fight. I was in, she was in, and the date was set. I only knew her a bit. She was a nice girl, and attractive, but she insisted if we were going to do this, she really wanted to fight, and so we did. And I dismantled that poor girl, and I couldn’t stop looking at Michael as I did. It was deliberate, I would hurt her just enough, just to the point that I think she might give, and then I’d switch tactics, or give her the upper hand for a moment only to take it back. The fight was long, because I made it long, and when it was over I had crushed both her breasts, clawed her abs, bitten her ass, and mauled her pussy with a claw hold I applied only after she started cumming.
I was with my boyfriend that night, so I couldn’t say much to Michael, but the next morning I got the text I was hoping for, and it was even more than I had hoped. “I hope he worshipped you last night.” My reply was quick “Not like I deserve. Do you want to try?” From then on I was his queen, dismantling, abusing, and hurting women not just for my own sadistic, competitive pleasures, but for his. And that definition of me and of us has sat unquestioned for years now, through dating, engagement, marriage, and even kids. And then I met you, and after two fights it feels like my very identity is in question. This isn’t just a tie breaker. This is about who I am.
I scream as you bite me. Your teeth sinking in and pressing down, and as we roll and you bite harder to secure the bite, I feel your teeth break my skin. First blood goes to you. I shriek out. You aren’t just wildly fighting and biting. That’s clear. You are deliberate. You worked my shoulder for a while using my hair to weaken it, and now you’re going for the pay off. “BITTCHHHHAWWW BITCHH,” I scream. Suddenly your body pulls back as your left palm slaps my face and pushes my hair and the back of my head into the wet grass. I growl at you, snapping my teeth at your fingers like a wild animal but you quickly move them away just in time as your legs slide over my left and you straddle my left thigh and sit up. My hand pulls down on your top, yanking it down and tearing the shoulder strap to expose your bra, but as I pull I feel you reach back and grab my left leg with both hand and you pull my leg up as your nails dig in.
Your right hand digs into my achilles and your left into my upper thigh. “cuntTTT FUCKK!!” I shout as I try to pull my leg free. Your teeth sink in, my hand clutches around your breast and just squeezes brutally through the pain as I scream out…
“AWWWWWWW FUCKKKKKK! YOU BITING FUCKK!!!!!!” as you bite me again so early in this fight. I know it’s going to be fucking vicious, and it’s escalating quickly. I scream and release your breast and sit up. It fucking burns thanks to the clawing you gave my abs, but not as much as the bite and the claws and I have to get you off. I grab your hair with both hands and pull forward as hard as I can as I grunt loudly, both in pain and frustration as I know Michael is over there to our side watching this bitch really take it to me, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him rubbing his shorts, and I know full well when he rubs himself like that’s it’s because he’s starting to feel too “contained.” “cunt!!!” I shout as I grab your dark tresses at the top of your head and fall back as I pull. My arms flex and I grunt as I try to dislodge your teeth from my leg, get you down on me, and hopefully save myself from having to fight with a limp for the rest of this sure to be wild engagement.
So far, I’m focused like a laser. Like a fucking razor blade intended to only slice through your defenses, your mind, and your resistance. All I care about, all I can think of, is what you’ve done to me, and those around me. All the damages you have caused to my life. To my balance, equilibrium, and to my personal sense of self. And it’s only fair, at least in my current mental state, to make you feel the same kind of anguish. To make you feel as panicked, as hurt, and as frustrated and humiliated. And right now, I exact my revenge on one of your many, countless assets. That slender, long, tanned, tattooed left leg of yours. Pressing my ass down on your right leg to pin. I claw, and bite at your limb. Targeting the most tender of areas, your
I’m rewarded with your horrible loud screams. The wails as you feel my wrath again. I gnaw and growl My tank top half hanging off my right shoulder, exposing the white lacey bra cup. The breast visibly pushed upwards, almost fully out of it, my nipple still contained, but barely. My entire body covered and smeared in the mud and grass blades. I don’t see Michael, I can’t, only you can see him touching himself, as you grab my hair and pull me violently. I cry out in pain and flop forwards, our breasts mashing, as I lose my body and I come crashing down on top you. I grunt in pain, but my hands, shoot up, my left hand grasping your hair again, gripping and pulling to the left, trying to get your face away from mine, to alleviate the risk of biting for now. My right hand reaching down, to the left leg of your shorts, sliding my fingers inside it, by the top of your thigh, gripping it from that unconventional spot and I yank UP, jerking hard, trying to tighten the short legs around your bitter, upper thigh, and in the same time, cause the crotch to grind and wedge against your sex with every violent pull. “Fuck… YOU… Kimberly… I… HATE… You!”
This bitch. It’s like we were born to be enemies. If some spiritual diviner of the mystic arts read our palms and said we’d been fighting for millennia in existence after existence, across different worlds, different timelines, and different lives, I think I’d believe him. It’s been war since we met. Quite literally the moment I laid eyes on you I knew we were going to fight that night. Not that I wanted to fight you and we’ll see if you wanted to fight me. I KNEW we were going to fight just by looking into your eyes. And when we came back the next month, there wasn’t a single person I was interested in other than you. It was like my whole body had been waiting and anticipating that night, as if I couldn’t fucking wait to walk with you to the registration table, put my name on the dotted line on the waiver releasing the club from any responsibility for what was to happen, and watch you do the same right next to mine. Everything about this feels right, even the fucking pain you’re dishing out on me, because we are supposed to hurt each other, and we’re doing a damn good job so far, even if you’ve been getting the upper hand. That won’t last forever though. I know it, and you know it.
But right now I’m the one screaming as you work my leg like a fucking expert. I pull you down by your hair, and even that causes me more pain in my abs, but at least it works. You cry out, our breasts mash, and you immediately go on the attack again as your hands are pulled from my leg, which drops back into the wet grass and mud. A I pull forward on your hair, pulling your chin dangerously towards my face, you get your hand on my hair and yank my head to my left, and we end up smashes cheek to cheek as we grunt and screaming in frustration that we can’t bite each other despite our close our teeth are to the other’s face. Your right hand reaches down between my legs, but you don’t go for where I expect, and why would you? Every step of this fight you’ve been attacking me in ways most girls would never dream of.
“uwwwww… UWWNNNN GAWDD” I shout as you yank up on my shorts and the crotch grinds and wedges up into my sex. I scream out in pain, and reach down with my right hand and grab your black tights which are already ripped and spreading across your ass, and I help the fabric along, grabbing and tugging as I feel it tear, and then I rip my nails into the exposed flesh, knowing your as is on display for Michael, but fuck it, it’s on display with my nails in it. “I FUCKING HATE YOU TOOO BITCH!” I scream as I claw in and pull to the side. My right leg starts so push into the ground, wanting to roll us over, but as soon as I try to push with it I feel too much pain and I stop, knowing I’ll have to satisfy myself with tearing my nails across your perfect ass and keeping your head in place to keep your teeth from sinking into me yet again.
Michael’s eyes are wide, watching us tear each other apart on the lawn. Our tank tops, white and yellow, now turned to ugly shades of brown and darker brown. Our flesh, our hair, our faces all caked in the grime. Your tattoos barely visible. And apart from few random strands, our hairs are almost indistinguishable. Laying atop of you, my right thigh between yours and yours between mine, my hips grinding against ours as we wriggle and fight intensely, he watches me grabbing your shorts by the top of your left thigh tugging, yanking your leg up slightly as I tighten the shorts around your limb, tangling it and letting the fabric dig where my nails bit just a bit earlier. Your cries showing him how much its hurting, and he covers his mouth with both hands, trying to breathe hard. But he sees you retaliating, with one hand holding my hair, my left cheek and yours brushing you go for my tights, you slide your hands into the rip and you PULLLL… ripping it vertically up to the waist and tearing it open, practically turning my tights into two pairs of leggings, connecting at the front. Your claw reaches down and you start to claw, rake and scratch at my ass…
Your attempt to bridge and buck us, fails as the pain spasms in your left leg, but I am starting to feel the pain on my ass, your nails are not messing around, scratching, raking, clawing, gouging. And I grimace in pain and as you buck again I do not fight you and I let you roll us over, splashing into the wet grass, with your body atop of mine… “Ugghh… FUCK!!” I cuss in pain, as my left hand in your hair pulls sharply back, trying to pull your head back and ease the pressure of your breasts on mine… My left tit still aching from the clawing you gave it earlier through my top and bra. My right hand, leaving your shorts, go up and I press my palm against your left cheek, my fingers curling, and I push my nails into your skin, my thumb, curling under your aw, I find that hollow in the middle of your under chin and I push up, curling my hand, trying to tighten, and use my thumb nail to force your mouth shut, a defensive move to make it harder for you to counter-bite me, I PULL down on your hair again, bringing your face towards my pinned-down head and I open my mouth, trying to bite the tip of your damn chin!
I’m fucking stubborn. Yes, it hurt when I pushed with my leg and tried to roll us over, but this whole thing is about pain, and there’s no way I’m going to just let you lay on top of me with your ass out for Michael. For a few moments, maybe, but I’m sure as hell not going to let you just stay on top of me. My foot pushes down into the muddy grass and finally finds traction. “UGHHH!!!!” I grunt as I push and you see more than willing to get your ass into the ground and let the mud smear against your cheeks if it means my nails will pull from your flesh. As I land on top my breasts come down on yours hard and I grind my right tit down, knowing what I did to you earlier, and that with a bitch like you ever little bit of extra pain in the same spot can help, but you are quickly pulling on my hair, pulling my head back and pulling our cheeks apart.
I scream out, and my hands which are now freed from your ass come up. My right hand goes back to your left breast, pulling on the bottom of your white (well, it used to be white, but now it’s a brownish color) lace bra just enough to expose your nipple, and then my fingers curl in. My thumb stabs into the underside of your sensitive flesh as the rest of my talons curl in and grip hard. My hands close, trying to grip and squeeze as much flesh as I possibly can and work your impressive assets. I know Michael can’t wait to see them again, and this time I’m going to make sure they are worse for the wear before he does. My left hand comes to your face, still wet and muddy like yours as they press against me and you smear mud on my cheek, and I slap your face as hard as I can manage and then push. My thumb presses in just above your cheek and curls just under your nose as my other fingers curl in above your eyebrow and I press hard, trying to shove your head down and pull back to free the tip of my chin from another of your fucking bites.
There is no fucking denying it. It’s something I’ve made my peace with a long time ago; I’ve never fought a bitch like you. I just haven’t. I’ve fought taller, stronger, heavier, harder-hitting bitches, that’s for sure. But that was it. Each of them had that… ONE… edge over me… But you… You fucking have everything… Everything balanced and rounded perfectly enough to match me in every way. Here we are. On the grass and mud, rolling, writhing, with my claws and teeth tearing at you, and yet, you are still fighting back hard. Still finding it in you to roll me off, to slap your body on mine and grind that right tit of yours against my aching left. It’s not wounded, it’s not bleeding, nor even badly scratched. But I can still feel the pain your grinding palm and mauling claws caused, and you make sure to liven it up. And against a slut like you I just must fight… like my life depends on it. It’s all going to come down to these tiny attacks and small dents we leave into each other’s armor. It will NOT be a big blow or one superior move. It will never come to that again, not since our first fight. It will all be a tally of who had more cuts, welts, bruises at the end, whose energy and pain tolerance reserves were sapped the most.
Laying down there, your body rocks above me, grinding, despite my bite on your face, you move your right claw, to the left side of my tank top, wiggling and grabbing my bra cup, pulling on it until it slides under my areola, and your nails JAM into my nipple…. My eyes go wide as your nasty nails, caked with mud sink into my flesh, while your left claw goes to my face, spreading and jamming your other set of dirty nails into my flesh and “AHHHIIEEHHHHH!!!” I scream in pain… My eyes shutting in pain as my head falls back and SPLASH sends a wave of water out of the grass…. My eyes shutting in pain, and I wince, holding your hair up by my right hand, my left reaching down and I sink my nails into the mud… Carving out a ball of mud, larger than the one you used to smear my face earlier and I send it flying in a hard SPLATTTTT to your face, trying to drive it into your eyes and nostrils, growling and THRUSTING up, bucking and trying to toss you off me…. Needing to retreat… My eyes set on Michael, seeing him standing there, and the sliding door to the living room behind him… Thinking if I can as much as SPRINT to him and use him as a human shield to break off and rush inside, I would get a chance to recuperate….
This bitch is wearing me out. From the moment you came screaming through the sliding glass door with your hands up, it’s been a vicious fight of nails and teeth. And not just to our bodies. That’s the regular, unwritten rule of the club. None of us are professional fighters. We have to go back to our regular lives: to work, to our families, to our hobbies, and showing up with scratches and bites on our face isn’t the easiest thing in the whole world to explain. But this fight, like our second fight at the club, is one of nails and teeth, and neither of us sparing the other’s face. You bite my face and claw into my chin. I claw into your breast and nipple and under your nose and above your eye brow. It’s a savage war, and if I know anything about Michael, he is equal parts worried and equal parts aroused.
You scream out as my nails bite down into your flesh, and your screams bring a smile to face, maybe even a sickening smile as I delight in causing you pain. Your eyes shut as you scream your hand reaches out and like I did to you, only more dramatic, you grab a hand full of mud and smash it into my face. Your hand smears across my eyes, under my nose, pushing it in my nostrils and I can taste it more pronounced on my teeth…
Within seconds it all happens almost simultaneously, he moves across us as you turn to stand, and you collide with his. Your wet breasts to your chest, your waist to his and if I could see through the fucking mud in eyes I’d know you felt him and he felt you. You collapse down as I frantically wipe mud from my eyes as the sprinklers click on and Te-te-te-te-te our state of the art sprinkler system, which Michael still doesn’t know how to work properly, turns on and starts to hose us all down as you lay there next to Michael in the mud of our fight. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry” I hear him saying as I look up, wondering what he’s sorry for and I see you next to him and the wet spots on his clothes tell me exactly what happened… “BITCH!” I shout as I reach out for your muddy hair as water begins to spray all around us from every direction… “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING!?!” I shout from my knees as yank your hair and try to pull you into me.
My face… I fucking feel the nasty cut your nail left above my eye, just at the inside of my eyebrow… It burns, and I hope, I HOPE it doesn’t bleed… I know my cheek is, but at least that won’t come in my vision… But right now, your damn thumb that have jammed into my eyebrow poked and brushed my eyeball roughly my eye is tearing out of control… I NEED to get some distance between us… I fucking must.. I push you off and I rise… My bare feet slapping on the mud and I stumble towards Michael, I want to put him between us, and as he sees me rushing towards him he does that fucking thing that happens all the time… I step right, he steps left… I step left, he steps right, and we COLLAPSE together… “UGHHH!!” I grunt as my exposed left tit, and my covered right one mash into his chest… His right hand that was trying to stop me brushes, then… GRABS… the bulging side of my left tit, giving it a firm, noticeable knead…. Like he wants to feel for himself how full and firm I am… And my eyes go wide… not at his outrageous move… No… But at what my right hand, that had the exact same thought felt when it lightly brushed against his crotch…… Feeling that…. police-baton-sized cock so tightly strangled by his jeans, and thrust down towards the left leg of his pants….
We slide and crash down as the sprinklers go off… I hear him bursting in an apology, pulling his hand back, but right now…. I almost totally forget about you… as I push up on my ass and try to rise up to get away when; “AHIIIIEEHHH!!” I yelp in pain as you grab my hair and YANKKKKK me back… On your knees, you have a higher vantage and I fall flat back, my head held up by the hair… and I screech as you shake me madly by the hair; “FUCKING PSYCHO BITCH!!! GET OFF MEE!!” I roar in pain, my right eye still shut from that dumb thumb to it…. My hands shoot up, and I curl my palms towards your chest and I JAM my nails into your cleavage and RAKE down, dragging my nails across the short distance of cleavage exposed to me, before feeling your yellow tank top, and I grab it with both hands, PULLING down, trying to stretch it towards me, as I coil my body, pulling my legs back towards my chest, trying to aim my feet at your chest, your face, your shoulders, anything, and KICK/SHOVE you back and off me, hoping it’s enough to make you let go of my hair, so I can break free, but determined that if it happens, that I would NOT let go of your dirty tank top…… The cold sprinkler water spraying the jets on our flesh, washing away the mud from the flesh, but not the fabric, which makes both our tops sag and feel heavy…
I look up just in time to see it, and I’m fucking furious. Not at him, of course, because what man wouldn’t want to touch you, and he’s as sexually healthy and active as any man I’ve ever met. He might be the only one I’ve known who can actually keep up with me. But there you are… this fucking cunt. with the mud wiped from my eyes, assisted by the first blast of the sprinklers, I look up to you two laying there in the mud, his hand on your bare breast, your hand between his legs. It’s one thing for this bitch to touch me. I agreed to this. I signed up for this. You can touch me however you please and if I don’t like it, it’s my job to stop you. But my husband. MY FUCKING HUSBAND!!! I yank back hard, pulling you to me, shaking your head side to side as I scream out, “DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HIM WHORE!!!” You call me a psycho bitch, and maybe you’re right, because seeing your hands on him has me in a rage.
Your hands shoot up as I whip your head side to side and the spraying water washes the mud away from your face, showing that I didn’t cut your skin above the eye, which might have been fucking sweet if you had to deal with blood running down into your eye the rest of the fight. But there’s no crimson or visible open wound, just a red gash. Your hands grab for my tank top and you pull down, immediately stretching it out towards you as your body coils… “FUCKKK FUCKING cunt!” I shout as I’m pulled forward into you from the hard pull, but my momentum is stopped as your feet pull toward your chest and then push out.
One foot lands in my hard, but clawed abs, the other lands in my sore shoulder. I shriek in the pain and am shoved back. My hands slide through your hair and as I fall back into the now completely soaked grass, my tank top rips from my body, pulling off in your hands as both shoulders give, the wet front pulls off in your hands and the back lays in the grass beneath me. Michael has decided to lay there in the mud and watch, seemingly shocked at what he’s seeing with his erection clearly framed in his now saturated jeans, “FUCKING BITCH!!” I shout as I lay back in the mud, the sprinklers cleaning my front side. I push my hands into the grass as we get a bit of separation, and I slowly start to stand. I watch you carefully, and very protectively test my right leg as the water now soaks us both, I stand up, scratched, my face, leg and shoulder bitten, my shoulder bleeding, and I breathe deeply… “Come on, bitch… Get up… GET UP!!!” I shout as I stand there soaking wet in just my black lace bra and my shorts with my black thong underneath.
I thrash and flail… Screeching and kicking… Your fingers tugging, shaking, yanking my hair from right to left, and back…. Trying to grind my head into the mud and obviously get the sprinkler water to blast my face directly with it being that low. It works, but in a way it clears my eyes and vision, and allows me to curl up and fold-kick you back and off me… I hear the tearing and stretching of your top as it comes off in my grip… I cuss and roll to my knees, turning. Panting and breathing hard. I see you already springing up. in your shorts and black bra…. Your thong poking up under the shorts, hiking over your hip bones… You scream at me, taunting me to rise up and face you…. And I turn my eyes to the side, Michael sprawling between us, but his body is angled in a way that’s between you and the glass door. I grimace and glare at you… Now is my chance… But I need to be clever… I need to be cunning… I rise up to my feet, and I slowly peel up my half turn white top… I yank it and pull the white left bra cup up, covering up my clawed left tit. It’s slightly bleeding from your clawing, and I almost wince in pain as the wound brushes against the inside of my bra.
But I pull the tank off and hold it in my hand, letting it dangle beside me for few seconds, letting the sprinklers wet it, soak it, and I turn my eyes to Michael, and I put on a little foxy smirk… For no reason… He didn’t do anything, but I’m trying to draw your eyes to him, to draw your guard for a split second so I can lunge forwards and SWING the wet, coiled up white tank top right across your FACE and eyes, trying to sting your face and buy myself that one second to DART past you and towards the glass door. My feet slapping on the wet grass as I rush over the small brick padding and the wooden steps, my hand holding my wet tank top lightly and I burst into the living room. I can see the large open space, the sectional sofa. The coffee table and sitting area. The small dining table by the side, with the high child’s stool, and next to it, the other stool fitted with the baby’s bracing and mini table. A typical home. With the open Kitchen space-style and the long, black large kitchen marble that you seem to have cleared off any plates or glasses in preparation for my visit.
I shout for you to stand, but really this place is becoming no space for us to fight unless we’ve decided to take up mud wrestling, and with the water streaming and getting into our faces, who knows exactly how this could all go. No, the best thing to do at this point is to get inside, even if it means bringing in all this wetness and what’s left of the mud that the sprinklers couldn’t knock off. I want you to stand. I want to grab you by your hair as you start to get up and drag you like a bitch into my home, and as I see you start to stand I push with my right leg, forgetting for a moment what you did to me, and my body quickly reminds me. Between the pain and the saturated grass my foot slips and I can’t lunge for you. Instead I’m forced to watch as you pull your tank top over your head and Michael’s fucking eyes are glued. In my mind I’m screaming… “HELLO!!!! ASSHOLE… YOUR WIFE IS STANDING RIGHT HERE IN HER BRA!” but his eyes are glued on you, and you can feel it. You give him a foxy smirk, and my eyes dark dangerously from you and onto him, so see her reaction. I see a smile on his face, and then all I see is dark white and then darkness as your tank top whips across my face.
“AWWWWWW FUCKKK!!!!!” I turn my head away, trying to grab the wet fabric but you pull it back before I can do anything. I look back, wanting to lunge at you and claw your fucking eyes for that, but when I look up I see you heading into the house. We had the same thought apparently, although I’m not at all happy that now I have to chase you into my own fucking home. I hear Michael ask, “are you ok?” but I’m annoyed enough that all I can manage back is “shut the fuck up” through labored breathes as I start to make my way through the spraying sprinklers, onto the small brick padding, up the wooden steps and into my living room. My eyes dart to and fro quickly, like I’m looking for a predator in my own fucking home, but I see you quickly, standing across the living room. Not giving me space, but far enough away that you can’t just lunge at me. Michael steps inside shortly after us. The sprinklers continue to spray out in the back yard, but their sound is muffled as he slides the door shut behind us without saying a word, and tries to slip to the side near the sectional sofa.
The run is… DEFINITELY not cowardly!! I tell myself that… Yes… Yes… It’s a “Tactical Retreat”… Exactly!! That’s what it freaking is, and right now, I don’t want to as much as hear anyone contradict my perfect line of excuses and elaborate nonsense! It’s really all about getting some distance… To take a breather… To count my wins and tally the losses, and those are simply terms for damage. I’m aching all over, but that’s normal, a totally expected side-effect from bumping, grinding, and writhing with another bitch on the ground, tackling each other and pressing our bodies so tightly together in attempts to crush, flatten, or outright shove our curves and toned bodies in the other’s faces.
But then, there are the other bits. The scratches, the aches and needle-like pinches of the nails. And despite a wide range that you’ve left on my body right now, what matters most is, well, that nasty claw grip you got on my left breast. Both the four marks at the top, and then the three marks on my areola when you briefly exposed my breast and mauled it. It’s hidden back now under my bra, soaked and soppy, but it still hurts. And then, the nasty clawing you applied to my face. The nasty welt above my left eye, that FEELS like it’s bleeding, but every time I wipe it, I feel no blood… But gawd it’s SO close to just seep out, and then, the two claw marks on my cheeks and sides of my nose…. And those ARE bleeding slightly, I can tell….
I heave, standing in the living room… My black tights torn at the back, hanging loose, and causing the front to sag a little, to show the white fabric of my G-string. I didn’t go for a lacey, sexy thong look. I went for the practicality of sports-grade undergarments to withstand the punishment, and to make it harder for you to rip… Also, cuz they are cheaper, and I KNOW they are getting ruined. But my plan is pretty simple regarding that… I beat your ass… I raid your wardrobe… And I take whatever I need there to get back in my car and get back home, then live in my bed for the next week until I can walk again…. And given your taste for clothing and our very similar dimensions, it won’t be hard to find something that fits my body and style…. But my thoughts are cut off as you rush in, and I see you standing there, dripping… Michael charging in after you, muttering his apologies, his shirt soaked, and so are his pants, and there is no hiding that bulge in his pants that I took more than one second touching when we tripped and fell down under the sprinklers.
But there is no time admiring your luck in nailing a stud like him… None at all…. I just grit on my teeth and I LUNGE forwards, screeching and I SWING my right arm with my coiled up, wet top again at your face…. Trying to nail you across the eyes, but this time, you’re more than ready and adapted to it, you bend your knees and duck, letting it fly over your head, and send a spray of water around, as I cuss, but I twist my body back and LASH in a diagonal, back-swing motion, trying to slap it across the right side of your face, growling; “Piece of fucking TRASH!!! Dress however you want Kim, you ARE trash!!!” Roaring in rage, as I pull my right foot up, trying to kick it towards your chest right after my swing, hoping I can catch you and send you sprawling back into Michael!
Everything is tense the moment I step inside the living room. It’s not just you and I who are tense as we stare across for a few seconds at the bitch we decided to trade pain with until one of us was the only left standing and the other felt the betrayal of her body and mind giving in to defeat. Michael is tense too. He always is when I fight. As much as he loves it there’s a part of him that hates to see his wife, the mother of his kids, getting hurt. He’s such a natural protector that it’s in his basic instincts to want to jump in a defend me, or at least pull me from the bad situation, but he knows better. He tried that shit once, and if he thought I was furious at the girl I was fighting, he hadn’t seen fury yet. I lost my fucking mind on him, screaming at him like I’ve never screamed at him before. From then on he knows, whatever happens, happens. He knows not to interfere unless it’s one of those fights where… well, he’s the center of our attention. But bitch on bitch, cat on cat like this, he knows what can happen, he knows he can’t do anything, and it makes his heart pound, his blood flow, and his cock swell so visibly in his jeans, with the added assistance of your fingers gripping around it and framing the fabric around his road.
My bra is soaking wet and heavy, and I don’t expect it to last long. My leg hurts. Every step gives me a wince of pain although I try my hardest not to show it. My shoulder is bit and bleeding, and there are bite marks on my chin and thigh. My ear is still bright and red, and I’ve got claw marks running down my temple to my ear. I’m fucking hurt, and we’re just getting started. There isn’t a single doubt in my mind that each of us are going to give everything we have to see who is left standing, and we’re both going to pay dearly for this. I won’t be at the PTA meeting tomorrow night for sure. I might even miss Joshua’s t-ball game next weekend, but all of that will be worth it if I can just put this bitch down and make her stay down.
We’re both breathing hard, trying to catch our breath and fill our lungs with much needed oxygen when you lunge at me, trying to strike me with your top again as mine lays outside in the soaked grass. I duck, just barely making you miss as water flies of the top and onto my walls and furniture, but I can’t even begin to be concerned with that now. After all the times I’ve told the kids not to make a mess as they play, it’s me and you who are about to make the biggest mess this living room has ever seen. I come up from the fuck only to see the wet fabric flying again at my face as you swing with a hard backhand, and I can’t move fast enough.
It hits, blinding me as your foot comes up and my hands go to the top as it smears across my face, and you lift your foot and drive it into my chest “uwwwwwwnnnn UWHNNNN FUCKKKKK!” I just barely manage to hold onto to my grip on your top as I go sprawling back into Michael. He collides with the wall, I collide into him, and I can feel his large cock framed perfectly between my ass cheeks. He grunts out, not just from the collision, but I know him well enough to hear the sound he makes. He’s too confined. It’s hurting him. “GIVE ME TAHT FUCKING TOP BITCH!” I shout as I pull with both hands, trying to tear the top from your hands. I arch forward as I do, shoving more of my ass back into Michael, and with one hard pull I don’t manage to get the top free because you won’t let it go. Instead you come tumbling into me, with the wet top and our hands between us. My right hand releases quickly, shooting down to your ass, and I start to slap down hard at the exposed, clawed flesh as I scream “FUCKING … BITCH!!!” with each slap while Michael moans loudly like he’s getting dry humped on the wall behind me with our bodies crushing against him.
It’s not even close to anything I’ve experienced before meeting you. Sure. I’ve made a pretty damn notorious name in the club for being a hard, no-nonsense kind of fighter. The type you don’t mess around with unless you really had masochistic needs, or truly hated yourself…. But still, even then, all my fights were… confined to the club… They were more or less sanctioned, observed, and with safe words to stop it when things get too far. But this is so… fucking different… This is a fight that will clearly, and easily top what we have done in our second, the one that got us both kicked out. It’s a fight in your fucking HOME. And part of me still can’t get my mind wrapped around the level of insanity we are getting into. Fighting not only in your living accommodations, where you live, where your children play and sleep, but in a way that could EASILY be labeled as home-assault should things go awry. But No. You’re not that kind of bitch. I could leave you within an inch of your life, or you within an inch of mine, and neither would involve the cops or even report it. We are just like that, we’re here for the same thing, and that is, to prove to ourselves first, even before the other, and certainly before Michael, who truly is the better fighter. Who is tougher, and the alpha cat in this damn town.
I whip at you and fire a hard kick to your chest, I feel my bare foot slapping against your wet chest, compressing your breast as I squeeze out some water from your bra and you stagger back, but with a firm grip on my top. I yelp in rage as I yank trying to free it, but you PULL violently with both hands and I grunt, stumbling into you and I feel our chests crash together… The impact immediately awakening the ache in my left tit, the one you clawed… “ARGGHHH!! LET GO YOU cunt! IT’S MY TOP!!” I roar out, but you swing your right arm out and you… SLAP SLAP SLAP hard on my ass… Your fingers curling and then DIGGING into my toned, exposed buttocks…
“FUUUCKKK!!” AIIEEHHH!” I arch up in pain and I PRESS my body, hips, tummy, chest into yours, and I GRIND you into Michael, your body sandwiched between me and him, but you don’t care… FUCK… I even feel you brushing your hip right and left… Ehhh… Did that skank just GRIND her ass against her husband’s cock while fighting me…. I feel fucking furious, as I keep my right grip on the top, and I hiss… “Fine…
Bitching at you I PUSH my body further into yours… And I mean… ALL the way… I slide my left foot up, and like a little girl in her middle school prom, dancing with her dad, I slide it over your right foot, and I curl my toes, digging my toe nails into your shin and the top of your foot and then I do the same to my right foot, literally standing on YOUR feet and LEANING into you… to further grind you into him… Your left hand and my right fighting over the top, I yank my hand UP between us, and then around, letting the top slide and wrap around your large, arching, prominently abundant left tit, wrapping from the underside, around the cleavage, the top and back down the outside and I YANK hard, using the wet top to strangle and squeeze your left tit, in a crushing motion… And to stop the wet fabric from sliding off your moist flesh, I bring my left arm up and I press my forearm into your right breast, while shoving my nails into the bulging top of your left tit, using my nails to both burrow into your flesh and as a ‘stopper’ to not let the top go away… Giving you the choice of either letting go of the top, or holding on, and helping me CRUSH your damn tit….
Is he really fucking moaning like this behind me while his wife is in the most intense and likely costly fight of her entire life? “uhhhhhh you FUCK. Just take them off!” I shout to him as you scream about making a whore sandwich and push your body into mine fully. I’m not sure we could be any closer even if you had come over tonight for sex instead of a fight. Your breasts are mashed to mine, our lips are practically rubbing, I can feel the front of your bottoms sticking to your legs and to mine from the wetness and our hips rubbing and pressing, but this is the exact opposite of fucking.
It’s full of hate and anger and frustration and pain. “uwwwww uhnnnnn what? what the fuck bitch!?!?” I ask in surprise as you step up into my feet one at a time and dig your toe nails into my shins. My nails jab into your ass again, tearing and pulling you into me even more as we look into each other’s eyes, which are only inches apart, and we see the rage burning inside each other brightly. Suddenly your hand shoots up and starts to wrap around my left breast. I try to stop you but you’re too quick and suddenly my left tit is being crushed in your top. “Uwwwnnn. AWWWW BITCHHH!!” I shout as you squeeze, knowing at least any second the wet fabric should pull from my breast.
But then your left arm comes up, pushing against my right breast and jamming your nails into the top of my tit. “AWWWWW GAWWDDD DAMN IT” I shout directly into your face as I hear Michael behind me say, “Oh my god,” as he has a perfect view of my tit being choked in your top and clawed with your nails. I’m furious, not just from the pain but from his comment. My hands release your ass and release the top, and I bring them to your exposed stomach. I curl my nails into your abs, which are much more toned and firm than the last time we’ve fought, telling me you’ve been working on them and we’re a bit jealous of the stomach I brought to our fights.
I dig my claws in, shove with my arms, and my right foot slides out from under your left and pushes between Michael’s legs and against the wall. I shove hard, again pushing more of my ass back into Michael as I do, and I manage to force you back. Your claw pulls from my breast, the top comes slides off, and you stagger back a few steps. “BITCH!” I scream as we separate for just a moment, and I reach back, not turning away from you entirely, but exposing myself for just a moment as I grab the bottom of Michael’s favorite t-shirt and start to pull it up and off him. “Give me your fucking shirt!” I order him, and he tries to comply, but I’m pulling too hard and the tee is too wet and the soaking wet Metallica shirt from one of the concerts we went to on our honeymoon rips and pulls off in my hand.
You bet your ass I worked my ass hard. Heck, I’ve been working my ass hard for the last 2.5 months, since we first met. Since that beating you gave me. I’ve fought many ‘fit’ girls before, but one after another, I beat them all down. I did so much that I often touted and joked that ‘fit girls are weak’, and that perhaps spending too much time in the gym for those glamor muscles make you actually weaker… All until I met you… With your provocatively rock-hard body, that got coupled by your skills, and whether I admit it or not, you kicked my ass… And since then I realized I needed to up my game. I needed to get stronger, fitter. My skills alone were not enough for you.
And here I am, not as toned and ripped as you, but certainly closer than I ever was… And as I hear you cry out at Michael, screaming at him to ‘take it off’, I almost grin, confused, but it makes me laugh as I tear into your breasts, mainly your left one to repay you for the clawing you gave mine…. But then, your nails GOUGE into my abs… The proud, toned mid-riff I sculpted, and I CRY out in pain. Muscle or fat, the nails hurt all the same and you shove all TEN of them… I cry out gasping as I stumble back, arched over…. The top slipping off your tit, and I barely grab on to it… as you turn and grab Michael’s shirt, and start to yank it….
My eyes fill with tears, seeing your back turned to me and I roar; “Why you BITCH!!” And I lunge for you, my right hand holding my top, my left grabbing your soaked red hair and I YANK hard, trying to pull you back away from him, and I succeed, but as I do my eyes go wide seeing the top SLIDE off his head and arms and come off in your grip… FUCK!! I turn my body and whip you around, to send you away but you spin, your hair still in my grip and you WHIPPPPP me with the wet top across my clawed abs… “AIIIEEHHH!!!” I cry out in pain, my eyes shutting as I let go of your hair, but I SWING my own coiled top, and SMACKKKKKK it lashes across the top of your breasts, and right across those bright claw marks I left….
I hear your scream as I stumble and thud into the wall, or so I feel… But it’s too bump… Too rippled, and I feel Michael’s strong hands on my arms giving me a soft push forwards, whispering again for the millionth time; ‘Sorry!!!’ Your eyes crazed with rage, and I know what you’re about to say and do, to tell me to get off your man, so I just grin and PUSH my ass back against his crotch… My tights split at the back, it’s now my G-string held buttocks, scratched and spanked GRINDING against his crotch and… OMG… That’s monstrous!! But I’m not doing it for him… No, I’m doing it for you, to get red with rage and rush me, to make that mistake ready to POUNCE to the side to avoid your lunge and swing my wet top under your defenses, and this time, hopefully nail you with a stringing slash right between your legs!
This isn’t my normal way of fighting, but this bitch is using everything she has against me, even the clothes she wore to the fight, and since we’ve come into the living room with her wet top hanging from her hand like a whip while mine laid out in the grass, you’ve had the advantage of having that weapon in your hand. It’s not an unfair one. I should have picked mine up, but nonetheless it’s time for me to even the odds. I grab Michael’s shirt and try to pull it form his body, and just as it’s about to come off suddenly my head is jerked back by your grabbing hands.
“OWWWW FUCKKK!!!” You turn and pull me away from him, but I manage to whip his wet tee across your abs as we tussle around the living room. You swing back, catching me across the breasts and I shout out in pain as the wet top slaps across my fresh claw marks that you gave me. We go stumbling, and as my head turns to see where you are I find you quickly enough. You’re against Michael, just like I was moments ago, except he was starting to listen to my command from a moment ago, and when I see it, I’m in a rage immediately. His jeans at his knees, leaving him with only his boxers covering his manhood, and you are against him, grinding your bare ass which is only covered by your g-string against my husband.
My face goes red. I scream immediately, “YOU FUCKING WHORE!!!” and I lunge at you, raising my right hand which holds his top and swinging it down as hard as I can aimed at your face and chest. I don’t care where the fuck I hit you, as long as I fucking hit you. But as I come in you move almost suddenly, like you fucking knew exactly what I was going to do. You slide out of the way and Michael’s own t-shirt whips hard across his bare chest. My eyes go wide as I strike him, and he shouts, “AWWW WHAT THE FUCK KIM!!!” I’m froze for a moment, but only a moment. I don’t even get the chance to say I’m sorry before your shirt whips up and strikes right between my legs, catching my inner thigh and the crotch of my shorts “UWHWHNNNNCUNNTTTT!!” I shout as the sudden pain makes me collapse forward into Michael, whose hands to my waist instinctively.
Suddenly there’s another hard whip across my back and I shout out in pain as my body arches and pushes against him. “AWWWWWW SHITT!!!!” I shove of Michael hard with both hands, turning quickly and swing my right hand back and try to strike you hard across the face. “you.. BITCH!!!!!” I shout as the look of Michael’s pained face from when I struck him still burns in my mind, and while I was the one who hit him, the only person I blame in this room is the fucking cunt who lured me into her trap.
Both wielding the wet, soppy pieces of fabric, even though their effectiveness as weapons is well… mediocre at best…. It’s not really about that… It’s about the BITCH holding it, and in our hands, freaking toothpicks would qualify as WMD’s…. I take a moment to GRIND against Michael’s crotch, his pants around his ankles, as you yell at him and he exclaims; “You told me to take it off!!!” Prompting me to smile bitchily and… GRIND… harder into his cock, that slides up and… “Ohhhh!!!” slides up between my butt cheeks with such force, that I can’t help the moans, and yeah, that one was NOT made up…. The cotton fabric of his boxers the only thing stopping his manhood from getting stuck between my thighs and just under my buttocks when you lunge, and I DUCK to the side… I hear the WET SMACKKKK and him yelling, and I wince… Ouch… Sorry Michael!! Feeling almost bad for him, but I have no time for pity, I spin and LASH you across your back hard, and I grin seeing the bright pink lash it leaves on our skin…. I grit on my teeth and rush at you, raising my left arm trying to snatch you by the hair to pull you back and maybe…. “ARGGHHH!!!” My thoughts cut as you SPIN and backhand me across my face hard….
I CRY out in pain… and stagger to the side… Holding my cheek and mouth with my left hand, my tongue pocking at the inside of my cheek and I taste some coppery thing… FUCK you fucking cut the inside of my cheek with my own teeth… I growl in anger and I charge at you madly, roaring, but you turn and THRUST your body at me… You don’t run, no, you practically SPEAR me with shoulders across my chest and I YELP in pain, my top finally falling from my hand, dropping to the floor as you send me stumbling and into the kitchen counter; “ARRGHHH!!!” I cry out in pain, it’s one of those low counters and it jams right into the small of my back… “FFFFFUUUUCKKKK!!” I arch over your body, grimacing and I reach down, sinking my nails into the small of your back and I RAKKEE up… Fast…
A quick swipe of my nails across your bare back all the way to the straps of your red bra…. Clawing across the skin I just whipped as I make a grab for your hair and twist violently, trying to jam your side and ribs into the edge of the counter. “PLAY TIME’S OVER BITCH!!!!” I cry in rage, as Michael’s eyes go wide staring at us, not missing a beat, not slowing down… His heart throbbing for a moment… Part of him is SO turned on by this, but another part realizes the risks, the danger…. He has never seen another fight his wife this close… Never seen a woman PISS Kim that much and he’s terrified of what would happen…. Either a risk of a horrible injury to you, or what madness you could slump into to get back at me if I push you just a bit more.
I saw it the moment I first laid eyes on you. There’s that sparkle in your eye that comes from the beaming confidence of knowing you are the most beautiful woman in the room. Michael saw it too, because he’s so used to seeing it in my eyes, and when we saw each other’s sparkle, that spark instantly turned into simmering flame. So, it’s not for nothing that when I turn, enraged and angry, I don’t swing for your breasts or your stomach. I don’t even swing for your legs. I swing for your damn face like I’m trying to knock that sparkle out of your eyes once and for all and had this been a small hard object instead of a wet shirt, it would have been devastating. But instead the wet shirt cracks across your face and leaves you staggering to the side.
You charge, and I charge with you, thrusting my body into yours, driving my shoulder into your hard abs and driving you, thanks to our own floor plan, back into the kitchen counters. You scream out, but you immediately go on the offensive because you are a fucking hellcat who won’t take anything lying down. You drop your top and as your nails sink into my back and pull up, the sheer pain of your nails scratching up my back, still red and freshly stung from the earlier whip, makes me drop his shirt as well as I scream, “AWWWWW OWWWW cunt!!!!.”
You start to turn us as you claw into me and my body freezes in pain, you turn us to the side and you jam my side and ribs into the edge of the counter, and now it’s my turn to deal with the fucking counter. I can see Michael now that you’ve turned us, with his pants down, his cock rock hard, and his look of worry mixed with raging just strewn across his face. He’s never seen anything like this, and it has him equal parts excited and worried as he stands at a distance and watches. I start to slap wildly at your back with my right hand, slapping into the small of your back now that it’s free from the counter’s edge, and then I claw down, clawing from the small of your back down to your ass again and then hooking my nails and pulling up, thrusting you into me more and making my side and ribs ache, but trying to get you off your feet just enough that I can push and drive your back ass first into the other counter. Your ass slams hard and you scream out, but I keep pushing, getting my hands on your abs and thrusting not just in, but up and forcing your bare ass up on my kitchen counter.
“I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!” I scream out as I push, but my scream is met with a hard slap across the face, then another as you try to fight your way off the counter. I claw into your sides, my face stinging and my mouth hurling curses at you, and I lean forward and try to sink my teeth into the top of your exposed left tit, knowing your natural reaction to move back away from the bite will send you back first into our recently redone maple cherry kitchen cabinets with their large, protruding handles.
There we are again. With no weapons, no Michael, and nothing but our furious rage upon each other. And you remind me once again, why I fucking hate your damn guts. Your strength. your speed, your fucking ferocity. You slam my back into the counter. I claw your back up, gripping your hair and spinning you and even with your ribs and kidney mashing into the counter’s edge, you swing, you slap my back hard, slapping and tendering my skin as you RAKE down to my ass… I wail in pain as you claw my buttock and PULL up… I cry out again and I whimper for a second.
I jam you into the counter, trying to punish your side but you twist and slide down, pushing your shoulder into my ribs and turning us, lifting up and I feel my feet leaving the floor…. “NNRRAGGHHH!! I HATE YOU MOREEE!!” You lift me up just to lay me on the edge of the counter. I grit as I realize your plan, I can feel the maple against my bare ass, my leggings now split even forwards to the crotch, held together by nothing more than the front of the waistband… And the stinging claw marks on my ass brush against the maple cheery wood…. But then you LUNGE forwards and I see your teeth going wide… aiming for my tit….
“ARRGHHH!!!” I cry in rage and frustrated by the corner you drove me into, I know I’m playing JUST into your hands as I fall back to avoid the bite, but as I do, I expect you to pounce atop of me, but… you don’t… You remain on the floor and you reach, gripping my hair and you start… DRAGGING me… Shaking me right and left, and using your feet to RUN across the kitchen floor, around the counter, to literally SPIN and DRAG me across the polished surface… Screaming curses at me… Michael’s eyes go wide, now down to his boxers, he watches as I cry and twist, my back and sides gliding on the polished counter, no way to stop or grab for anything, my hands going for your wrists as you PULL and TWIST, TUG and YANK at my roots… Trying to fucking scalp me….
I screech in pain and in pure frustration, I manage to turn my body just a bit, and I slide my right foot forwards and I slide it under your chin, pressing my foot against your throat and I PUSH hard… Grinding and pressing with my leg muscles hissing; “Let… Fucking… GO….” I roar as I feel you tensing your neck, but against my leg on your throat, you let go and stumble back and I gasp, sitting up, reaching up, teary eyed to grab my scalp feeling hair coming off by the roots; “YOU FUCKER!!” And I see you rush at me, but this time, I reach forwards, thrusting my claws straight for your face, aiming my nails at your cheeks to either slow you down, or impale your freaking face!!
I don’t remember if I’ve ever felt this much hate towards someone, and it’s not just hate, but it’s this delicious cocktail of raging hate mixed with the greatest of respect. I’ve done this for over a decade, in my home, in other women’s home, in parks, in bars, in fight clubs. You name it, I’ve fought there. I’ve fought every kind of woman imaginable from moms and even grandmas to club girls to fitness girls to dancers and even a body builder or two, but I’ve never ever met a woman who could give me a fight like you, where we could be this far into the fight and it feels like we’re both so much worse for the wear and yet with so far still to go. Already I’m starting to wonder just what the hell it will take you finish you of this time. It took everything I had in our first fight, and in our second I didn’t have enough for you.
I can’t! CAN’T! go through all of this in front of Michael and not come out on top. I know he fucking wants you. He’d be a fucking idiot if he didn’t. So I have to remind him who I am and what I can do, no matter what it takes. I claw your ass, lift, thrust, and push you up onto the counter. You scream as I drag you, twisting your head side to side as my teeth bite into your flesh and then pull back as I yank you across the counter. I’m pulling so hard on your hair even your strong strands start to yank out, and I smile as I start to feel them popping out. But that smile fades quickly as you shove your foot into my throat after a twist of your body. You push hard, screaming for me to let go, but even though I have no desire to, your foot on my throat insists that I must as it pushes.
We separate for a moment, and as you grab for your hair instead of coming after me, I got to strike again. I rush at you, my hands aimed for your midsection with my right going for your left breast and my left going for your abs, but my claws barely make it into your skin when your hands dive from your hair to my face. “UWNNNNNNN FUCKKK” as the pain stop my momentum and I’m already back pedaling some as you slide off the counter and your fingers grip into my face! “AWWWWWW FUCKKK FCUKKKK!!! I hear Michael gasp as he sees what you’re doing to me and you start to walk me back. My hands still grab and squeeze for your abs and breast, but the pain in my face and the humiliation of being walked backwards in my own kitchen like this makes them far less than effective.
You smirk and then shove, slamming my back into the end of my small kitchen table with four seats, one for Michael and me each and one for each of the kids, and you bend me over the table where I serve my family dinner meals every day, where we sit and talk and watch my kids
“YOU BITCH!!!” I scream out in pain as my left hand comes up, trying to get your nails from my face by pushing up with my forearm under both your arms, while my left slides down between your legs. My nails curl into the front of your g-string just as your teeth come down into my arched, swelling right breast. We both scream out in blinding pain as Michael stands across from us at the other end of the table and not so subtly rubs himself to our war.
The insanity of this fight is getting over the top… Michael stands there, watching, terrified. He can see the ugly, large purple bruises on my lower back, the rakes down my flesh, and while your tattoos hide some, he can easily see the welts on yours… The bite mark left atop of my right breast is bleeding slightly into my white bra cup, but as I grab your face, you flail wildly, nails raking across my tummy and chest briefly before you go on the defensive. my nails squishing your cheeks, jamming into the sides of your nose, right into where that nose piercing hole is, you’re smart to remove the piercing, or I would have twisted it into your flesh. But I attack the little hole madly, laying you on your back.
Your left forearm shoots up and I yelp as you toss my arms off your face and I splat down, but as I do I SCREECH as your fingers grab my G-string and PULL up… My tights have split in half now, and their tops are sagging now around just at the top of my thighs, like two stockings or full–length black socks… But Michael didn’t need that to see how you made the G-string VANISH into my crack as you pull and twist it… I screech and BITE your right breast madly… Gnawing my teeth as my hand grabs the top of your hair, rocking and right left….
But your left leg shoots up… It jams between my legs… I can feel it moving so I close my legs but the impact still thuds… “UUGHHHH!!” I groan into the bite, but I try to hold on… For a bit I do before you begin to GRIND against my aching, wedged crotched and I release the bite… You pull your other leg back and SHOVE me back… I stumble and right into the counter’s edge… Again hitting my lower back… I wince in pain and I see you rising up, so I grab the counter and spin, I RUN around it and you chase me, deeper into the kitchen, it’s a dead end and I try to pounce up over the counter to slide to the other side, but you grab my hair and PULL me back…
I screech as you pull me back and slam my back into the fridge, but my left hand grips your hair and I yank BACK… I grimace and grabbing the handle of the freezer with my other hand I YANK it open… Sending the upper-shelf-type freezer smacking into your cheek and mouth… Over and over and over… They are weak impacts, but they add up and you stumble back, still clenched together and I grimace and spin, slamming your ribs into the counter’s edge and your loud cry brings a grin to my face as you fall over it and you DRAG me with you… Bodies clenched, we tighten and roll over, struggling to the edge of the counter… “Oh no!!” Michael gasps as he rushes and extends his arms and we… FLOP into them… He grunts as our combined weights are heavy, but he lifts more as he ends ups standing with his arms curled and the two of us locked together clenched fighting… But what worries him the most is it’s my ass and back rubbing against his chest, not yours!
I don’t see it. I’m too busy with this fucking bitch who is trying to ruin me and possibly my entire fucking home in the process, but as you bite down into my breast, breaking the skin above my black bra and giving me another cut, the first cut you have me continues to bleed, and drops of my own blood drop down onto my own kitchen table, like condensation running down the side of a glass of water as a happy family chitchats about their day. “UWWNNNNNNNN UGHHHHHH” I grunt out as we’ve been fighting so fucking hard for the last couple minutes that I don’t have the air to curse you, scream, or even tell you just how much I fucking hate you or how much you will come to hate the day you met me. I pull on your g-string and it vanishes into your ass as it pulls up into your sex and saws against your ass, rubs between your lips, presses against your clit.
My hand quickly moves through as I feel an opening. I strike with my knee, but you close your legs too quickly. It lands, but not nearly as hard as I would have liked. Your bite weakens but doesn’t come off until I pull my legs back and shove you hard, sending you stumbling back into the counter. There’s no grace here. Not in our movement. Not in our attitudes. I pull myself off the table and come after you without any not natural fluidity of movement and sexuality with which I normally comport myself. I lunge at you as you try to slide across the counter, pulling you back into me and into the fridge, only to be met with your left hand yanking back my hair and your right opening my freezer door and swinging it at my face. My hands come up, trying to block the blows, and the freezer door slams into my forearms after the initial blow to my face with stuns and I go staggering back, just barely able to grab onto your arms as I do and bring you staggering with me.
“AWWWWWWW” now it’s my turn to take the counter top in my side, and you make the most of it. You drive me in, push just like I pushed earlier, and I pull as well, taking us both up onto the counter. top. “FUCK YOU BITCH!!!” I scream as we clench and roll back and forth, pushing our sore, weakened, cut, bleeding bodies into each other and trying to push each other back over the edge as our nails tour each other’s bodies frantically, scratching anywhere we can find for a moment before we go rolling again. Suddenly we get to the edge closest to the living room with you nearest the edge, and I push my right foot, my leg finally feeling slightly stronger after your attack on it earlier after which it’s been relatively spared besides the normal exhaustion that comes from a fight like this, and I shove it into the counter.
Michael screams as we start to fall, and in my mind, I’m furious. Who knows how the fall could have happened, maybe it would have been me who got crushed under your falling body, but it was still me who pushed you off, and as he grabs up, and instead of pushing you to the floor I push you into his arms, I’m angry and pissed. “FUCKKKK” We struggle in his arms as you don’t miss a beat, and every movement of our bodies has your bare ass grinding against his hard chest, and with your ass like that, right there in perfect view for him, I know with every deep breath he is inhaling your scent. and he’s breathing hard.
But the weight of two bodies, even women our size, is no small thing to hold in the air, especially as we claw and squeeze each other. I lean in and bite your right shoulder and make you howl out, and as you jerk from the pain it sends Michael staggering backwards. You grab my hair and pull back hard, tearing my teeth from your shoulder and then start to smack me across the face. I pull my knee up, trying to push the bone of my knee against your sex as Michael stagger back another step and I scream from the slaps. Your right hand comes down and mauls into my hard abs and my leg straightens from the sudden shock of pain. Michael loses another step and then the back of his legs hit our sectional, and he collapses backwards, taking us down with him. We both scream, immediately trying to get the top position and we turn. Your ass rubs down his chest to his crotch, and your ass pins his cock down and makes him moan quite loudly and quite sexually. I reach up and grab your hair with my right hand and pull hard to the side away from the couch. “GET OFF MY FUCKING HUSBAND!!!” I scream as I pull trying to yank us from him and send us sprawling to his feet, although I imagine you might want to give up fighting me while rubbing my husband’s cock so easily.
In his arms, we are a ball of claws and teeth… We’re sobbing, clawing and mauling… Our bodies are covered in bruises and scratch marks… We might have not done in the way of punching and kicking, but every slam of our bodies together, against walls, the damn counter and the fridge, each is leaving an ugly bruise, that erupts in pain as we grind together. I can feel my exposed buttocks grinding into his flesh and he stumbles. You push your knee into my sex, and I WAIL in pain, my shoulder bleeding, sobbing in frustration as I jam my nails into your abs, forcing you to stop but as we do he collapses, and we crash over his lap on the couch. I press my palm on your right ear and PUSH you down, just so I can slide up. I manage to slide up into a sitting position, but you spring up and grip my hair YANKING me to the side… “AIIIEEHHH!!!” I yelp as my body tilts to the side, my hip lifting off his and you can see it… His cock… Now thrust through the pee-sleeve of his boxers, and poking straight at my crotch, with my thong wedged up high, you can see his mushroom head brushing against the camel toe… Nothing to my fault, nor his, but it sure drives you INSANE….
I feel you trying to pull me up to my feet, and I grimace, seeing your left leg, the tattoos… The marks where my teeth and claws sunk, and I ball up my fist…. And pushing my weight down, REFUSING to get off him I fire my first, and perhaps, very last punch of this fight, slamming my fist right into the bite mark in the knot of your Quads as hard as I can… Trying to shock your leg and remind it of the pain I cause, and in the same time, make you slump and lose your lifting leverage… Your leg gives, and you lean in and I reach up with my left hand gripping the front of your red bra… And I YANK hard, sending you falling forwards into me and him but I SLIDE my body to the right, and I let my ass slide off his crotch, tugging, stretching your bra as I see your breasts, bitten and clawed spill out of it and I keep yanking, my right hand gripping your hair and I PUSH down, shoving your face into his crotch… Sitting next to him now, my left leg draped over his thighs, your body folded over it, trapping me in place, I just.. SHAKE and RUB your fucking face wildly letting his man-spear slap and poke and rub against your wide-open mouth… Roaring; “FUCKING BIIIIITTCHHHH!!!! YOU WANT HIM SO FUCKING BAD?? THERE cunt!! THERE!! FUCKING TAKE HIM!!!!
My eyes flared wide watching his cock slide into your mouth and I keep pushing on your hair, hearing low gagging sounds, but then your elbow flies up and NAILS the underside of my right tit and I fall back… Groaning in pain, you lean back, coughing and spitting, hacking… I push up on my elbows, but all I see is your body coming down with a SPLAT!!!! The impact knocking the air out of my lungs as your breasts now knock my own out of the bra, our bare tits grinding and poking… I sob and screech, wrapping my arms around your back, holding you tight… Our tits, tummies, hips rocking, our legs kicking and our feet slapping and stomping on his sides and lap that he edges to the side, staring wide eyed as my arms wrap around you, holding you close, our long legs curl and tangle around the other then with a twist we roll and PLUMMET down to the carpet, and he is relieved you guys picked such a low couch, as we crash and start to wrestle and twist, wincing in obvious pain and hurt… “Fuck… you… fuck… you Kim….”
I love sucking my husband’s cock. Actually, I love sucking cock in general. There’s something about wrapping my lips around a man’s large sexual organ, rubbing his balls in my fingers and sealing my lips tight literally sucking the pleasure out of his body that fills me with tremendous desire, and while I love cock and cum in general I love Michael’s more than any man’s that I’ve ever known. So it’s infuriating when I see his cock pushing out under you, the tip of his manhood, the cock of the father of my children, pushing against your whore camel toe. I scream out for you get off my fucking husband, you are on the warpath. You strike me in the leg right where you bit me, and I scream and immediately feel it go limp. I slump forward from the pain, groaning, looking down at Michael’s hard, throbbing cock as you pull as my bra and pull it down under my breasts, pulling on the wet fabric which hisses and then stretches and then pops in your hands until it’s jump limply hanging from my left shoulder.
His cock slaps and drags across my face until our right hand grabs my hair and you shove down. My mouth opens wide, knowing I either crash into his cock or take it in my mouth, and I swallow him down. My eyes go wide as you shove, and the cock I’ve sucked 100s of times, the one I promised him, no matter how badly this fight turned out for me, I would suck off for him. Once again that cock is in my mouth, but it’s not on my fucking terms, it on yours He gasps, “UWWWWWW GAWDDDD” moaning loudly in pleasure, and I scream around his cock as it pushes against the back of my throat, but all I can do is swing my arm back, driving my elbow into your breast and try to knock you down.
I look up at him as I pull my mouth off him as the elbow connects, you scream and fall off me, and the only look I see in his eyes is one of pleasure. WAS THAT FUCKER ABOUT TO CUMM IN MY MOUTH!!! I want to scream, as for the moment he seems completely oblivious that this bitch is in our home and just used my own husband’s cock to rape my mouth, making me swallow the cock that love against my own will. I lunge at you as you push up. “FFUCKING cunt WHORE BITCH!!!” the curses fly as wildly as wildly as we are fighting, Breast to breast, legs curling, abs pressing, his cock rubbing against us as we wrap our arms around each other, twist, and go plummeting to the floor. I gasp as we lay there for a moment in obvious hurt and pain with our bodies and arms wrapped around each other. We both breathe hard… “fuck…. you… Ewa….” is my only reply. I look into your eyes and I see you lick your lips, and then you smirk… “I bet… he tastes… good.”
My arms suddenly clench tight, my arms are strong from hours spent in the gym, although I know full well how strong yours are as well. I squeeze tightly, grabbing my left right in my right hand and pulling you into me with a hard bearhug that crushes our breasts together and makes breaking hard. I pull with my arms, rolling onto my back so I can really squeeze and hopefully trap your arms from getting a good grip as my right leg comes up, rubbing my foot up over your left, clawed ass cheek, and I start to kick down hard as I squeeze… “What the FUCK did you say, BITCH!” I shout as I arch my back and really try to pour on the pain, although I know full well that everything that’s happened, especially the last fight 7 minutes or so has really taken its toll on me, and I won’t be able to hold you here for long. For the moment though, crushing your upper body in my arms as best as I can while Michael watches feels really fucking good.
My breath is ragged. I’m groaning in pain. I feel you throwing your body down. A fucking BITCH. Even with your left leg laying limp, you buck, lift and drop your body down an inch each time to try to knock my air out, to crush my tits and hips with yours… “Ugghhh… Ngghh… ARRGGHHH!!” You force me to wrap my arms around you, to hold you in place, I feel your cheek on mine, both scratched, both grimacing, the welts rubbing, and I feel wetness on your lips… And… a scent… It’s a new one… But one that has been feint in the air the last few minutes… Ughhh… Is this… Michael’s??? I feel… suddenly… And for no reason… My kitty pulse…. A sudden… urgent desire…. And it’s something I have been struggling with every time we fought… Heck… The last time we fought, neither of us could resist it, as we ended up gushing and cumming against the other… We both hid it, it’s something to bloody the other up in the club, but to cum… That’s… another kind of scandal… But despite our best efforts to hide it, I sensed yours… I smelt it and felt it seeping against my thigh… And I KNOW you felt mine…. A secret I told no one about, and I wonder if you told Michael….
But right now… that pulse traverse my body, not only feeling your body grind and fight mine, but also smelling Michael’s scent… Feeling his cock against my buttocks and covered labia… “NNGGHHH!!” I grimace and twist, we tumble off and crash to the floor, we roll few times… But we rest on our sides… Me on my right, and you on your left…. Your leg curling, and you start to claw your toe nails at my ass… I YELP in pain… You’re doing a vicious job clawing my ass, and now, I can feel it bleeding slightly… “cunt…” I grimace…. My arms tightened around you, crushing and flattening the other… Michael watching us, as I reach down, my arms still squeezing, and I slide my fingers over your buttocks, they are covered with your shorts, but I don’t claw your ass, no, I reach and slide my fingers inside the opposite ‘leg’ of your shorts… In a way that my wrists are still crossed, so I can still apply hugging pressure back to you…
But this way, my arms are squeezing loser, against your lower ribs, and I start to… PULL… Yank… To JERK and TWIST… Trying my best to not only let your shorts bite into your upper thighs again… Cutting the circulation, and inflaming the clawing I did to the left one, but also use it as a way to finally rip as much of that fabric as I can…. I stare at you and I hiss; “I said… I bet…. he… tastes… GOOD….” My eyes teary…. And in front of Michaels shocked eyes I lean forwards and I press my lips on yours… In a… violent… kiss… Not a loving one… No… certainly not with my teeth BITING your bottom lip, wrapping around it and SUCKING his precum off it as I hear you moan for few seconds before I pull my head back releasing it, and licking my lips again, I hiss provocatively… “Yes… he does…. Thanks for… SHARING… bitch….” I growl and squeeze tighter, hearing the seams of your shorts slowly popping and ripping…
It’s a fact of life for me. It’s probably a big part of why I love fighting so damn much as I do. I’ve kissed girls and boys. I made love to men, women, even a tranny. I’ve done drugs before sex. I’ve done sex with groups, with other couples or even once just me and six guys. And nothing in this whole goddamn world has ever turned me on like fighting another beautiful woman, especially if she can fight too. I try to hide it, especially at the club where it’s not a place that women go to sexfight or to roll around and slap each other a bit while they kiss and fuck, it’s a place for real fights. If I want something like that I have friends I can call who will be here in a moment’s notice to head with me to the guest bedroom and spend the night in pleasure and pain. But I’ve never been in a fight where I haven’t been aroused, not one, and none more so then our second fight when we ended up gushing against each other without even getting into a trib battle. Just the bumping and smearing and constant friction, and we had to fucking release, and as much as I hate you, I respected you for not calling me out for it and I did the same. We both just dealt with it as best we could and kept fighting. And now that same feeling is there as I can taste my husband’s cock on my lips and my body presses down into your almost naked body. We squeeze and grunt and roll, our arms wrapped around each other in a violent, painful grip as your hands shift down to my wet, thin shorts which start to pull away almost immediately in your hands.
Your hands are crossed, crushing my ribs, as my hold on your is more traditional, and ever pull of our arms makes our bodies and our crotches press more, and every groan and every scream makes our lips brush as we roll back and forth across the floor and trade the top spot. You give me shorts a particularly hard pull, driving them up into me and making me scream out. My body arches from the pain and my lips press to yours and instead of pulling back as you did when the same thing happened at our fight in the club, you kiss me. But this is no soft, sexual “I’m ready for the fight to be over so we can fuck” kiss. Your lips seal against mine and then slide to my bottom lip and your teeth sink in. I gasp out as you pull away on my lip but don’t bite hard enough to break the skin, just enough to hurt and pull on my flesh.
Your lips pull, and teeth pull back as I moan, and you release my lip. It snaps back into place and I look at you with a furious glare as you lick your lips and talk about sharing. “I’m not sharing shit with you, WHORE UGHHHHHH” I shout just as you squeeze again and pull. The back of my shorts rips entirely, from the crotch to the waistline and down both inner seams, and now the only thing keeping my shorts on is our pressing bodies. I press with my left leg and thrust into you, rolling you onto your back as I look at your face with that smug fucking smirk. MY right hand comes from around your back. MY hips push down as the shorts slide out between us as we turn, and I grab your hair with my left hand, pulling your head back and to the side sharply as I extend my arm, lifting my lower body more easily than I would be able to if your arms weren’t so low around me. As my right hand swings down wildly at your mouth, I scream, “WIPE THAT LOOK… OFF F… YOURRR … FACEEEE!!!! as I feel a burning rage both at you tasting my husband’s cock and precum on my lips and at how you made me feel when you kissed me, no matter how violently and painful it was.
Michael is… Well… to say that he’s excited would be the understatement of the day. He looks rather silly, with his boxer shorts on, the front button undone and his manhood thrusting up…. Glimmering under the auto-lights that just went on, wet with his precum and your saliva. And he’s doing his best to not reach down to wrap his fingers around it. He knows what would happen if he does. He would start to squeeze, to rub, to tug and stroke, and he would end up doing that thing that made you throw a fit the last time it happened, only because his cum landed on the other girl’s face, and not yours. He watches us roll around, and each time you get atop of me, his hand moves towards it, almost reaching and grabbing… But then we buck and twist, and I roll on top. And right now, he can only see our clawed backs and asses… Your legs wrapped around the other, and our arms squeezing the life out of the other… The tit flesh oozing and mushrooming sideways, as we fight so… intensely… and intimately… But it’s different than what he saw us do… This… this seems like a very different struggle….
It’s almost… as if we are…. grinding…. with a purpose…. His eyes go wide, and he blushes when I bite and suck his juices off your lips, then thank you for sharing it… Then he watches as you go into a frenzy and roll me to my back, pulling my hair back, the bearhug over, as your other hand slaps harder and harder on my already bleeding mouth and I yelp in pain, shaking my head in pain… But I roar out; “CUNNNTTTT!!!” And I slide my hands between our bodies and to your now raised up breasts, sneaking my fingers into the space you created and I CLUTCH the front of your tits… Sinking my nails into your sensitive areolas and hard nipples… CRUSHING and SQUISHING… Mashing and twisting your breasts like a knob then I TWIST and roll you off me, so violently that we tumble and roll over three times, until I end on top, my arms pressing down, lifting my body, our belly buttons pressed, our crotches… GRINDING… Down to our thongs now… Your shorts ripped off, my leggings rolled down my thighs…. I just…. GRIND my sex into yours… More provocatively than we did that time… When we were locked on in the club… I can feel your labia… your camel toe crushed under mine… and I SQUEEZE your breasts hard… Clawing it, as I glare into your eyes… I can feel your every twitch… Your every motion… And I hiss through my bleeding bottom lip…. “… cunt…. You fucking… know… you will…. So might as well…. Just… get it on with… already…” And with a soft moan I GRINNNDDD my kitty harder on yours… Trying to get you off while he watches… While he hears… While he fucking KNOWS what I’m doing to his fucking wife….
I hate you. That’s all I can think about at this moment. I hate you for being the toughest bitch I’ve ever fought. I hate you for being hot enough that you actually make my husband look away from everything that he has at home, even if it’s just for a glance or two (or three… fucking asshole)) I hate you because we’re in my home and we’re fighting like hellcats with no clear, obvious end in sight. We’re just going to go and go and go until one, or both, of our bodies gives out. And I hate you in this moment, most of all, because of what you are doing to me. You grab my breasts as I slap at your face and immediately the slapping stops. I try to grab your wrists but you’re smart and send us rolling. You already have your grip and now I’m just trying to hold on, find my balance, and get on top, but with the pain in my chest with roll after roll it’s you who mostly stays on top until finally you get on me and I can’t get you off me. You press down, flattening my chest out as my husband watches, and you grind yourself against me.
There’s no mistaking it. This isn’t accidental bumping and rubbing like at the club in our second fight. This is you using every fucking weapon you have. I can feel you through my thong and I hate how good you feel. I hate that if Michael said to me “god she’d be amazing in bed” I wouldn’t have any response other than to fucking lie or admit he’s right. My breasts are on fire, my large hard glands being crushed and clawed in your fingers, and I feel myself twitching. I feel myself squirming. Your lips bleeding, dripping a drop of blood down onto my chin as you lean over me, and you tell me that I know I will, as if you know my body and know how to work it, but fuck if you aren’t right. You grind down into me, and I look at Michael and I see the look on his face. There’s a woman in my own home fucking me on my living room floor and he fucking loves it. “FUCKKKKKKK!!!!” I scream out in both pleasure and pain as I grab your hair and twist hard.
I buck with my hip, pulling your head to the side and trying to knock your hands off my breasts with my arms as much as I can as they shoot up. I push out with my elbows at least relieving the pressure a bit, and I thrust you down onto your back. But you won’t let me hold you down, you curse at me… “FUCKING DO IT!” you shout as you thrust and roll us to our sides, and with your hands on my tits and my hands pulling your hair back, we start to grind and thrust on the soft, white
“YOUUUU…. TOOOO… BITCHHH!!” I moan out loudly through gaps and moans of pleasure as I lean in and my lips find your neck with your head pulled back. At first, I kiss it, then your right shoulder, and then I sink my teeth in, biting down into you and grinding as you scream. With my teeth clenched in your shoulder
Atop of you, I am on a mission. I don’t know why, I don’t know fucking the reason about it. But right now, I want… I just fucking want.. to… TAKE…. something from you… Sure… I hate your guts… This… whole affair is as vile and violent as they come… That’s absolutely the case…. But… Right now…. I have something else on mind… And it’s coming from DEEP inside of me…. It’s this carnal… deeply erotic desire to just… rip something from inside of you…. My fingers clamp on your tits…. I claw, I squeeze, I knead… and you MOOAANN…. You cry in pain at first as I use the rolling to PULL and STRETCH your tits, as much as GRIND and flatten them… Trying to wear and tear your tender tissue and ravage your full tan jugs…. Clamping on them tight… I get on top and I begin to… GRIND on you… Michael can see it… From behind me, he can clearly see the way my knee bends to balance, my other leg curled around your right, and my bent leg locking behind you… How I shift and press my G-string on your thong and GRIND down… Rubbing… I’m short of fucking tribbing you and spanking your ass waving a cowgirl hat at now and even he moans out noticeably…
Something that gives you that… PULSE of rage and anger, that makes you grip my hair and yank me over, rolling us over few times until we are on our sides… Your hips rock… They are in motion and I KNOW that now, it’s too late for you to stop… But you keep pulling on my hair… You keep yanking, bending me over, craning your neck and you hiss ‘you too’, and you BITE my neck… I CRY out in pain, feeling you sucking the flesh… Grinding and rubbing, the bite starting harsh, then softening… as bit by bit, you relax and begin to gasp, to moan, to shudder, and then I feel it… Your body erupting and you GUSHHH hard… The thong is there, but the stream of yourcum seeps around the edges smearing my hip and my own panties front, as you shudder and bury your face into my shoulder…. I got you off… But… But why am I so fucking close behind… FUUUUCKKKK!!!
And my mouth gapes, my fingers weakening on your tits I suddenly EXPLODE, my hips bucking, and I release… and it’s HARD and LONG… “AWWWHHHHHHHHH!!!! FUUUUUUCKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!” My body trembling as I shudder and CUMMMMM hard…. My body shuddering as we lay like that… Your teeth on my skin, my nails on yours… Groaning… Then with a grunt we PUSH each other and flop to our back…… Panting, breathing had… I stare at the ceiling… Sweat streaming down my cleavage… My breasts swollen, bruised, clawed… My neck and upper right tit bleeding…. “Fucking… cunt…” I whisper under my breath…
Michael standing right atop of us… A huge, awkward grin on his face, and he mutters; “Err… Okay… How about… you girls call it a draw… and maybe get you into something…. I’m so glad you got this out of your system and maybe you can be frie——” — “FUCK OFF!!!” I screech as I sit up, my cheeks flushed red with rage and I reach down to your crimson hair, gripping it and I YANK you up; “I WILL NEVER BE FRIENDS WITH YOUR cunt OF A WIFE!!!” I scream and SHAKE your head wildly right and left, pushing up to my knees and from there to my feet, dragging you up with me, but keeping your head bent as I try to drag you, unaware that my back is pointed towards the hallway going towards the bedroom.
Why did it have to be now? Why did it have to be you? Why did it have to be this fight? Any other time with any other person an orgasm like that would have been pure fucking bliss. I would have rolled off whoever did that to my body, kiss him or her passionately, and then just laid there and enjoyed the fucking ecstasy. But it’s fucking YOU… in the middle of the most hellish fight of my entire life, and now instead of laying here and enjoying myself, I have to find some fucking way to recover. The only satisfaction I feel (not pleasure, because there’s pleasure coursing through my body after that, but satisfaction) is that despite your best efforts to fuck me on the floor in front of my husband and rip an orgasm from my body that would shake me to my core, I made you explode too.
You gush long and hard against me, and your wetness smears around your thong and smears with mine as our thighs and sex become coated and glazed with each other’s honey, and I can tell from how you react to the orgasm that this wasn’t a normal, everyday orgasm for you either. This came from deep inside you and made your body tremble and shudder as it came gushing out of you. We release each other. For maybe the first time in the past 20 minutes since you set foot in my house we release each other willingly, and we just lay there. That’s when I see Michael, and I hear his comments, and almost like we’re in fucking sync we both screech out, “FUCK OFF!!!” and synchronized protest startles us both, drawing out attention back to each other as Michael stands above us with his hard cock erect, and we instantly grab for each other as all the fury and anger comes rushing back.
“LIKE I’D EVER BE YOUR FUCKING FRIENDDDD GAWWD YOU FUCKING cunt!!!” I shout as you grab my hair and shake my head wildly. I get my hands up to your hair but for now I’m just hanging on as you push up to your knees and then your feet, your ass rubbing against Michael’s cock as you do, and you drag me up with you. My head is bent, looking down as you start to drag me back, and with step after step as I scream and pull your hair and slap at your head I expect us go crash into the wall, maybe into one of the painting my sister makes for Michael and I as gifts for our special occasions. The one that hangs in our living room now is a beautiful black and white and red abstract piece where the different shapes, so odd and non-traditional, like Michael and I that blend together with beautiful symmetry where all the pieces just seem to fit together. It was our wedding present and it’s hung there ever since, and it’s only when my arm grazes the painting as we go barreling past that I realize exactly where we are… the hallway.
There’s nothing behind me but the door to the master bedroom, with one side of the hallway having two doors, one for each of the kid’s bedrooms, and the side a single door that leads to the guest bathroom. The hallway is painted a light tan color, with white trim around the door frames and several collage style framed pictures of Michael, myself, and the kids at different ages all along the walls. Suddenly the walls close in on us as the wide-open living room and kitchen give way to the narrow hallway. You tug my head to the side and jerk my body hard, driving my side into one of the walls so hard is makes the collage of pictures near Anna’s bedroom fall off the wall onto my back and crash to the floor and shatter. “UWWWHHNNN FUCK!” I shout and drive, pushing with both hands in your hair and I push you in the corner of the trim around the bathroom door, letting it drive into your back as I still feel the sting of the sharp corner of the picture frame in my back. You jerk my head to the side, slap my face with your right hand and grab my right tit with your left hand, and I howl as you spin us off the door frame and drive us backwards, not pulling but pushing until…
‘UGHHHHHH GAWWDD” my back slams into our bedroom door, which is always closed to keep the kids out and to reinforce that they can’t enter without permission ,and I’m just thankful that the fucking doorknob didn’t slam into my back. Of course, Michael screamed, “WATCH OUT!” to both of us, but it was hard to hear him over the sound of my back slamming in and the door almost giving way, and I grab your hair, pushing my right foot off the door and pushing back, spinning just enough to slam you into wall and another frame falls about a foot from our feet and crashes to the floor. I jerk your head back hard as I press you to the wall, smearing your bleeding ass against the walls I just yelled at my kids last week for coloring on and I had to spend several hours cleaning up. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!” I shout as I jerk your head back and lean in, trying to bite down into your right breast as I push your head back against the wall.
You yell out your mutually agreed consent to… NO consent!! Michael’s proposition for peace, heck, even a fucking truce is as juvenile and naive as they come. And we make it obvious tuning and reaching for the other. But I am a split second faster. I find your hair and YANK hard… I pull down and your hands miss mine, reaching for my shoulders…. I grimace and spread my legs, curling as I rock sitting up, feeling how my thong is sticking to my kitty… It’s so soaked and soppy, the black leggings now rolled down my thighs to the knees, and they feel so uncomfortable, but I don’t have time to take them off now… I rock and try to remain a step ahead of you as we rise, shaking your head, screeching. Michael watching in disbelief…. We may think that we have been fighting for 20 minutes, but he knows truly how long this has been going…. We’re entering our 40th minute already… Something that neither of us would even believe if he told us…. But in the heat of battle, time gets so distorted and messed up… I grimace and swing you hard… capitalizing on your hurting left leg to make you stumble, slamming you into the walls and dragging….
I don’t even know where I’m leading you…. I fucking don’t…. But as long as there is room to drag you… Walls to slam you in, it’s what I care about… you begin to resist… Grabbing my wrists and I hiss SWINGING and mashing your side into the wall… Grunting, I reach down to your bare, hanging right tit and I SQUISH it, pulling down… Hissing as I SLAPPP your face hard… We’re breathing hard, wheezing… But I’ve seen you in this state before… And I know that even in this condition you can still… FIGHT…. Harder and better than most bitches at the start of their fight…. No, I won’t go easy on you… And you know better than that too… Spinning I slam you into the bedroom door… It reverberates with the impact and you CRY out… Michael’s cry echoing, but as you cry out in pain you reach and grab my hair and you YANK, spinning and “UUGGHHH!!!” My back hits the wall hard… I cry as a portrait crashes down. FUCK… I need to watch out to not step on it…. Your body grinding me into the wall, smearing it with my bleeding ass and cheek…. “AWWWHHH FUUUCKKKK!!!”
You PULL me in suddenly and lean in, biting my right tit and I YELP in pain, as you THUDDD my skull into the wall… “ARGHHHHFFUUUUUU!!” My body slumps… My arms weakening, and you just BITE harder into my tit, pulling my head again and you THUMP it into the wall, even harder… I groan and start to slide down… but you clutch to my hair and pull back… But Michael rushes in and screams; “KIM!! NOOO!!!” And he grabs your wrist, stopping you from bashing my skull a third, and perhaps a third time… Even he knows how fucking dangerous this is…. And you turn at him swinging your knee up and into his thigh… Narrowly missing his cock…. He groans and stumbles back, and you turn to me… On my knees before you…. Moaning, stunned you hiss; “Fucking BITCH!!”
But you know he’s right, so you twist your body and THROW me chest down on the carpet… I crash down… Moaning, my tits mashed to the floor… I try to rise up, but you DROP down on my back, smacking your ass on my bruised lower back and you reach to my right legging, you PULL it down my leg…. yanking it off and you toss it around my head and under my chin, and you begin to PULL back… Leaning in, putting your weight… Your biceps framing your tits as you LEAN back and start to throttle and choke me with the fabric, in a near Camel-Clutch like move!
The crashed frames lay behind us as we battle in the hallway. Maybe it’s because I can see pictures of my kid’s smiling faces, often with me next to them, hugging and kissing them, now lying broken on the floor, or maybe it’s because we’re so closed to the kids’ bedroom where the most precious things in the world to me rest in safety and peace and now I’ve let this vicious cunt within a few feet from their rooms, even if they are far away with grandma. Or maybe it’s because I know where this is going, and what will happen if we get to the bedroom. Two women fighting in a bedroom with a man practically naked and fully erect. Yeah, it doesn’t take a fucking genius. So I grab your hair and I slam you to the wall. Your head hits, which wasn’t my intention, but I do it a second time, pulling back for a third when Michael grabs my wrist. He’s interfered before when a girl broke some of our clearly set rules and I was getting hurt, but he’s never STOPPED me from hurting someone.
“WHAT THE FUCKK!!!” I scream out and I turn instinctually, and I knew him hard in the thigh. He stumbles away, “FUCKKK KIMBERLY!!!!” as he staggers back into the bedroom door holding high thigh. And FUCKING AGAIN!!!! you’ve made me strike my husband in this hellish fight. As I turn to knee him you drop, and now I’m pissed. I rip the rest of your leggings off and wrap them around your neck and pull back. “KIMMM KIM!!!!” he screams as I pull back, “FUCK OFF MICHAEL!!!” I scream back at him and as I do I feel your elbow fire into my ribs, so bruised and hurt from the fucking counter tops earlier that one hard strike sends me collapsing to the side next to you. I pull again on the legs, but you grab them with both hands and pull as I pull, and they rip in your hands and come free of your throat and I fall back hard, banging my back and then my head into the wall.
“fuckinggg…. whorreee” I breathe out as I rest there, trying to process everything that’s happening, trying to come to grips that this whore just made me cumm and I did the same to her, trying to process that I just hit my husband, something he’s never and would never do to me, and trying to figure out what it will take to finish you here, or if this goes to the bedroom. With anyone else I wouldn’t have any issues taking a fight to our bedroom. With anyone else it would be fun to put on a show for him. But you’re not fucking anyone else, and I know it. I start to rise but before I can you grab my hair. Michael reaches up for the door handle, trying to balance himself and as he does he opens it. I’m sure he would say accidentally, but it sure doesn’t look or feel accidental. Especially not with you rising, calling me a fucking whore and grabbing me by the hair with both hands.
You lift me up to my knees, driving a hard kick into my side that would double me over if it weren’t for your hands holding me up by my hair, and then you start to pull. “FFUCKKKK YOU!!!” I shout as you drag me down my own hallway to my own bedroom, and I can feel the hairs of my head starting to break and pop in your vicious grip. “NO FUCK YOU KIM!!” you scream as you drag me through the door frame, toss me onto my back on the wooden floors of our bedroom and shift your hand from my hair to my breasts and dig in again, making me howl as Michael shuts the door, which is totally unnecessary since we’re all alone, but it signifies that were here now, at the end of the line, and whatever else happens, happens here in the master bedroom and bath.
Laying flat down on my chest… You hold on my right legging in your hands, leaning back… Choking me… I gag and hack… My eyes gushing with tears… Michael yells at you… Tells you to cut it out, to stop it… But you ignore him…. You do and lean in, probably to either scream something in my ear, or just bite it. And I nail you with my elbow. You grimace and double over, you fall off and PULL at the legging… It’s too thick and sturdy for me to rip it so I just lean back and push it, letting it slide from under my chin, but it DRAGS over my face, my lips, nose, eyes and I CRY in pain as I fall, clutching my face… Now only in my G-string, my bra around my waist…. And the left half of the legging still around my left shin…. You lay there for a moment and I try to clear my vision. rubbing my face and eyes with my palms….
I then see you stir… And I reach grabbing your hair. I YANK up… And pull you up again… I grimace as the pain in my scalp makes me just go… CRAZY… Tugging viciously, and I KICK your side again hard… Same spot… And you moan out and slump…. Suddenly, I see a light falling on us from the side. One that shines through the open door of the bedroom and casting some brightness on this end of the hallway. And I see not only your tear-covered face, but your bruised and clawed tits and your claws flashing up…. I growl, and I take a wide step back dragging you by the hair and on your knees… Trying to move fast to give your shins an Indian burn on the rug…. But you growl and pull your legs forwards, pushing up on your toes, almost ‘skating’ on them and your claws shot up and DRIVE into my breasts… “AHHHIIEEHHHH!!!”
I scream as the jolt of nails send me stumbling back… My hands falling on your wrists, releasing your hair and you thrust up, your teeth snapping at my tit, but I bring my right forearm up and press it under your chin, holding you at bay… momentarily…. As you screech and howl…. Your claws twisting and mauling my breasts… I swing my right knee up, and I drive it into your left thigh…. Just above your knee and you cringe in pain, stumbling back… But you don’t go freely, you RAKE your nails down, across my areolas and breasts…
“ARRGHHH!!” I howl in pain as I watch you slump and stumble, but I POUNCE on your back, tossing my arms around you, my claws jamming into your tits, I PULL up, your back grinding into my freshly scratched tits. I moan in pain, but I lean in and BITE your left shoulder muscle and I CHARGE forwards… Sending us stumbling in front of Michael’s eyes and at the last second I lift my hands off your tits and I let them CRASH into the wall… Using them like airbags and you the test-dummy in a crash test…. Knowing I need to get as vicious, wicked, and creative with you as I can…
It’s like a whirlwind of bites and claws and screams, and Michael only watches, having paid the price for interfering in any way. He knows it wasn’t on purpose. If you saw two animals looking like they were fighting for their lives out in the jungle and you decided you needed to interfere, the same thing would happen. You’d get hurt. And just because we are both beautiful women, and just because we are in this domesticated, modern, suburban home, that doesn’t mean we aren’t animals, and that doesn’t mean we see everywhere and every place as a wild jungle that can only have one queen. It doesn’t matter to us where we are. Even if we woke up one day on as the only two people on a deserted island, with enough shelter, coconuts and a fresh stream of water to last us both for a long as we needed, we would still be doing THIS, because this is what we have to do. This is who we are. Clawing, biting, scratching, even kneeing and punching not to get what we want, but to prove who we are, to prove who is the Queen of this jungle.
And I feel that now as much as any moment in our fight as your arms toss around me and your claws jam into my breasts. You pull me back into you and my back smears against your chest and the instant wince tells me you’re in pain too in this position, even if I’m getting the worst of it. Then you bite and charge. I scream. The pain is blinding, and I just try to keep my feet as I stumble through the bedroom door, tossing and turning side to side until you drive again and. UMMPHHHHHHHHH your hands move just in time. my tits slam into the wall, taking the brunt of the impact as I hear the door to our bedroom close. You back off for a second as I grunt, maybe it was the door startling you or maybe you just want to assess the damage you did.
I breathe in hard, thankful for a moment of respite, and I turn around to face you slowly. And there you are, standing in my fucking bedroom. The canopy bed, which if it weren’t for this fight, with the kids away at grandmas may very well have had handcuffs and chains hanging from it tonight, stands against the far wall. A California king giving Michael and I, and whomever we invite, lots of room to have our fun. On each side is a nightstand, filled with the usually and the not so usual. On the opposite wall, just a few feet from where you slammed me is the large hutch always stays locked. In one corner a full-length mirror, and just to the side of that the master bedroom with its jacuzzi tub, glass enclosed shower, dual sinks, and of course the potty. This is my space. More than any other space in my home, this is mine. This is where I rule. This is where I share my love. And now you’re fucking in it, and I’m not happy.
This is the end. It’s time to be careful, to plan, to be proactive and reactive as necessary. One false step, one wrong move and all of this could come crashing down. If you go through something like this and you win, it’s all worth it. Lose, and you start to question a lot of things. the bedroom smell of incense and scented candles, and I breathe in deeply. This is mine… all of it, and there’s an intruder. It’s time to deal with it. I step towards you with my hands up. I lunge out, shoving you hard in your chest, knowing both of us have been worked over hard almost everywhere. But the push isn’t just for space. I’m pushing you back towards the bottom right corner pillar of the canopy bed, and as you step back I charge, driving my breasts into yours, grabbing your hair, and pushing you back into the round poll. “UGHNNNNN BITCH” I grunt as our bodies collide again and our breasts smear, and I release your hair with my left hand, only to reach around the poll and grab for it again as I try to pull my arm forward and yank your hair around the poll and strain your neck much like you did to me at the very beginning of this torrid fight.
Michael stands there, hunched a little. His right hand still pressed against his thigh, that still aches from your vicious hard knee shot. And yet, his mind is just… amazed…. At how you and I are still standing. For close to an hour, we have been throwing these at each other. We have done much worse, using claws and teeth. Chokes and body slams. We’ve bounced each other from walls, counters, couches and even more walls. And yet, we still stand. We still have it into us, to fight each other. He blinks, looking at you, feeling so… aroused… so proud of his wife, but then his eyes glance at me, the way my body GRINDS into yours from behind, pressing your large breasts into the wall, grinding mine into your back, grimacing and sobbing. And he looks at me, my body. Every cut, bruise, gash. Each one inflicted by his wife, and he feels that same sensation. That admiration for me. When it strikes him how… similar we are… He blinks, imagining my hair red, or yours dark… Your skin clear, or mine inked….
Our bodies tanned to the same level. And he can see us almost as twins. Two sides to the same fighting, battling, tearing-up coin. And his body rumbles, shudders, biting his lips, his cheeks flushing. He’s about to CUM hard. SHIT. His right hand moves to the front of his cock and He feels the stream, the violent gush slap at his own palm and seep down, drooling and dripping to the carpet. He wants to turn away, to reach and grab a towel. But even with his shame, he can’t take his eyes off the action. He remains glued, watching us. Then, with a grimace he turns and SLAMS The door shut… So loudly it startles me, and you buck and SHOVE me back with your ass… I stumble back… Panting, and I stare at you….
I’m fucking… beat…. Aching everywhere… But right now, I’m so injected with adrenaline… I don’t even consider the thought of stopping…. Of slowing down…. “Bitch…. It didn’t have to get this far…” I hiss at you… In a mixture of anger and frustration… “… it’s your fucking fault… it’s YOUR fucking fault Kim…. And you’re going to fucking PAY!!” I sneer at you, but you roar and LUNGE… Your claws out and I bring my hands up but you SLAP your palms at my chest and you send me back… I stumble, but you SLAM into me, chest to chest, and you send me sprawling back, my back hitting something solid, round…
FUCK what is it? It’s too warm to be a dancing pole…. But I have no time to turn around as you grab my hair and wrap it around the damn thing and PULLLLLL; “AIIIIEEHHHHH!!!” My eyes squint and shut in total fucking pain!! Michael gasping as you PULL my hair and grind that same sore spot that you rammed into the wall against the pole… “FUCKKK FUCK FUCK FUUUUCKKK!!” I screech as you PRESS into me…. You’ve fucking done this before… You’ve USED this to your advantage… My eyes begin to dart around the room, even as my claws reach up for your face, slap-slap-SLAPPING… Clawing your cheek… I try to acquaint myself with the room… To at least shrink this ‘home advantage’ you possess….
But for now, something is more urgent…. And I grimace…. My hair and skull GROUND into the pole… I take sharp… deep breaths… And I bend my knees and SLIDE my body down… You’re not holding me by the hair, you’re wrapping it around the pole, so sliding down doesn’t increase the pressure by much, and I just slide down until my face is level with your breasts… My arms wrapping shooting up, under your armpits and I sink my nails into the back of your head…. Gripping your red hair by the back of your scalp, and opening my mouth, I BITE at the front of your left tit, at the scraped, scratched bit of flesh around your nipple, trying to reopen and freshen the cuts… And using the shock… I pull your head back by my grip on your hair then SHOVE it forwards, trying to mash your nose or your lips into the pole, right above my head!
I pull hard on your hair as it wraps around one of the poles holding up the canopy above our bed that I insisted to Michael “we MUST have” and he’s been very grateful we do ever since. I want to hurt you. I have to hurt you. I know this battle is winding towards its conclusion, but I’m going to make you go through hell to get there, and if you some-fucking-how beat me in my own bedroom, you’re going to pay for it as dearly as you ever have in victory. So I start big, wrapping your hair around the poll and pulling, and it works. You’re screaming loud, and for a moment I let my eyes glaze over to Michael, and? WTF!!!! His cock is still big but hanging limp, and there’s a long stream of cumm pooling on top of the carpet and he just looks like a puppy dog who just got caught doing something he shouldn’t have done.
And as I look at him, you drop down just enough to get your face even with my tits. Your arms wrap around me, grabbing my attention back to you fully, and your arms curl up, ripping my soaked hair back and pulling my head with them. UGHHHHH GAWWDDD I scream and increase the pull on your hair, but the way you pull straight down has my body moving towards yours, and even with your head pushed against the pole you can lean in and bite into my flesh. “FUCKKKK FUCKKK!!!” I scream out as my grip in your hair loosens from the shock of the bite into my flesh which reopens the wounds you gave me earlier. Then suddenly your pull becomes a shove, and my head flies forward. “FUCK!” I shout, but it’s a different tone, more surprised than anything, and my head ducks down, and I take the blow on my forehead which is already red and throbbing from the slams of my freezer door into my face.
“UGHHHHHHNNNN!!” I scream as my head hits and my hands come completely off your hair and I try to gather myself. My hand grabs for your breasts, the most obvious place to grab as my head is throbbing. My hands turn as your breast are lower now and hanging as you lowered yourself in the pole, and I grab them in my grasps and squeeze as hard as I can. I feel the flesh oozing through my fingers and my hands collapsing on your glands as my nails pierce in and tear at your flesh. My left leg plants behind me as my right snakes behind your left and I drive hard to my right as my hands push on your breast.
With your back on the pole you start to slide, your back curving around it until we both lose our balance as your leg trips over mine and we fall to the floor at Michael’s feet with a loud grunt from both of us. We fall to our sides hard, our arms taking most of the fall and we land with our heads just inches above Michael’s cum puddle. I’m on my right side, you’re on your left, and my left hand reaches, grabs the side of your face with my thumb pressing into your ear and the rest of my claws into the side of your head, and I shove down hard, trying to drive the side of your face into Michael’s cumm as it rests on the floor? “IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT WHORE?!? HERE? FUCKING HAVE IT!”
My head feels like it’s about to explode… The pressure building on my skull. I moan in pain, as I bite on your tit and pull on your hair… I try to prime it, to attempt to fucking finish off this nasty cunt with a hard face-blast into that damn pole…. But you’re too clever, and as I shove you, your head swings and you slam into it… You gasp, releasing my hair, it flies down but your nails jam into my tits, and you start to CLAW… Your left leg thrust back, your right behind my left, you twist and maul my breasts, and I MOOAAN in pain, unable to rise up again with the way you maul my tits, and with a fucking twist you slide us and we crash to our sides… Legs kicking up in the air as I try my best to not be wrapped in yours, but even as our legs tangle and toss over hips, we remain on our sides… My face buried into your breast… And your claws now leaving my right tit, you jam your nails into my right cheek and; “AHIIIEEEHHH!!!” I finally break the bite as you PUSH my face down into the floor…. And… SQUISH
I feel something… STICKY… WARM…. Something MESSY… And yet… It smells familiar… It smells… fucking amazing!! My eyes go wide, as you GRIND my face into his cum…. Furious, you SHAKE my head wildly, screaming at me like a crazed woman, and my eyes shut in pain… What?? WHAT?? She thinks… She thinks this is about him??? My mind just explodes as… For a second, EVERYTHING I thought I knew about you and our rivalry comes back into question…. Was it all about… jealousy… insecurity…. Do you think I want your man… That I want to break your family apart…. Do you think I’m THAT LOW?? Part of me suddenly begins to understand your obsession… Your frustration, but another part, that starts like a bright red dot, that just goes SUPERNOVA burns with RAGE… FUCK THIS WHORE… FUCK THIS cunt to think I’m that kind of woman….
“ARRRGHHHH!!!! FUCK YOU AND FUCK HIM YOU INSECURE DELUSIONAL cunt!!!” I roar in pain, as Michael watches his wife RUB her rival’s face into his cum…. Smearing and smudging my scratched cheeks and even busted lips… Knowing that his seed is now on my lips, it makes his shudder slightly…. But my left hand, releases your hair and slides down, and I grab the front of your damn thong… and I TWIST it around my fist… I don’t pull… No… I TWIST it… Then… I TWIST again… And a THIRD time… Each time I twist, I tighten it, like a screw turning, applying pressure to your labia…. My hand closed in a fist… But my thumb, sticks out… Staying in the same place, level with your wait, I PUSH my thumb nail slowly into your abs… Right into your belly button. Giving your thong that tiny extra TUG to saw into you even harder, as I drill my thumb nail into your abs…. My right hand yanking your head back sharply, and I BUCK into you, trying to roll you to your back, and get my face off the cum puddle.
From the moment you grabbed his cock out in the grass, even my accident, to the moment you were grinding your almost bare ass against his rock-hard cock as we pinned against the wall, to the moment I saw his cock pressing against your sex to the moment you kissed me, and bit and sucked on my lips just to suck his precum. this fight has changed. You didn’t come here for my husband. We both know that. But I didn’t miss the fact that you drove me down the hallway towards my bedroom, and now we’re here, and we both know what could happen. You didn’t kiss my lips for no reason. You wanted to taste him. We didn’t force each other to orgasms because neither of us has sex and pleasure on mind, and if you think this night ends with me lying on the ground, bleeding, crying, and broken with you straddling my husband on my own fucking bed, you are sorely and wildly mistaken, and as I press your face down into his cumm I want to make sure that you know that. Your eyes go wide, not just with pain as my nails dig into your ear and into your head, but with RAGE. You scream about me being insecure and I shout back, “WHO THE FUCK IS INSECURE, WHORE?” and I pull my hand from your face and slap down into the side of your cheek hard.
That’s when I feel your hand grab my thong, and I expect you to jerk it up, yank it up into my pussy, but you don’t, surprising me again as you start to twist it around your hand one twist at a time as you yank it up into my pussy. UWWWW… UWWWWW FUCKKKK… My sex is still wet from what happened earlier, and the fabric cuts up inside me with tremendous pressure and I start to gasp. Your hand closes into a fist and your thumb jabs into my belly button as you pull, and I buck hard in pain, so when your fee hand grabs my hair and pulls back on my head sharply, it only takes a simple buck of your hips to roll me onto my back, and now it’s my turn to get his cumm in my hair as my head pushes down into his mess.
“FUCKKK… FUCKKK!!!” I scream as the thong tears up inside and I’m practically begging for it to break off. I reach down with both hands and go after one of the areas I’ve been focusing all fight, expecting that eventually we’d end up here, on the floor with our asses taking turns being on the bottom, and I wanted to make sure that you paid every time I got on top of you. I reach down with my right hand for your left ass cheek again and I don’t claw it, I reach for the wounds I inflicted earlier, the ones that left bloody marks on my walls and on my counter tops, and I sink my nails in, pulling and tearing up as my left hand shoots up, grabbing for your right wrist and trying to get it out of my hair so I can free my head, lean forward, and get a bite down into your shoulder as you scream in pain… UWHNNNN FUCKKK… YYOUOUUUU”
The fighting is as wild and intense as it could get… FUCK… FUCK this tough bitch…. My cheek grinds into the carpet… It’s smudged and smeared with the cum of a stranger. A man who does not belong to me, nor am I in love with… And yet, somehow, he’s the only man I am ok with watching me fight this woman tooth and nail. The only man I’m alright with watching me get naked… No… scratch that… Get STRIPPED down…. Get clawed, bitten, and beaten up… The only man I’ve accepted the fact, the damn risk that at the end of today might be carrying my beaten, sobbing body off the floor, and to the front step of your house if you choose to. But I grip your thong, and I tug, I twist, and slowly grind up. I poke at your belly button, clawing, yanking and slowly we roll… I get atop of you again, and as I do, I spread my legs… I try to plan my knees and shins to the floor, pressing your head down… I let your hair soak up and literally MOP up the cum…. “Bitch…. You’re…. INSANE… I don’t fucking want your man…. Get it… through… your… fucking HEAD!!!! I don’t…. break… family—-AARRGHHH!!”
My words are cut as your claws JAM into my left ass… Right into the cuts, the rakes, the gouges that you worked on earlier during the fight… My eyes shutting in pain as you drill your nails and twist… You’re trying to deepen, and open the cuts, and my body shudders, trembling; “AWW!! AWWW!! FUUUCKKK!!” Your hand gripping my right hand and you PULL hard on my wrist… My eyes shut, and you lift your head up and BITE at my right shoulder… “FFFUUUUCKKKK!!!” I cry in pain as Michael’s eyes go wide, he sees you suddenly going on the offensive, my cries turning to loud shrieks…. But I grimace… and with a violent YANK I rip your damn thong off, freeing my hand…. My right arm, releasing your hair, snakes under your neck…. around the back of your head, and I find that bit of flesh that I strained and bit into… The muscle connecting your right shoulder to your neck… I sink four nails at its back, and finding the deep, bleeding gouge my teeth caused… I… JAM… my nails in… It’s ugly… it’s fucking dirty as it comes… but you’ve sunk there first, and I need to show YOU that you’re not the only one who plotted in advance…. My left claw… Moving up, and curling my nails, I jam them under your eyebrows… Like tiny fish hooks and I PULL back, driving the tips of my nails into the tender under brow skin…. Threatening to cut it open and send blood streaming into your eyes if you hold on to your bite any longer.
“Fuck… You… WHORE!!! I saw… how… you … touched him!!!”I shout back, but the truth is that I’m just looking for that extra drive, extra motivation, digging down as deeply within me to find whatever hate I can find to compel me to keep going, to keep throwing myself at you over and over. I know you’re here for him but if thinking so gives me even the slightest of fucking advantages, and little extra that can help me conquer this vicious vixen, I’m going to use it. Because no matter how much I hurt you, you’re right there, hurting me back. I go back to your ass, clawing into those wounds, not caring if I leave permanent scars on your body and if you hate me for the rest of your life every time you see them. I hope you fucking hate me for the rest of your life. All that matters is hurting you and conquering you, but then…
“Uwwwww UWWHNNNN FUCKKKK!!!!!” you pull on my thong and it saws into me even tighter, and finally the fabric snaps in your grasp and your hand comes free, but there’s no “I ripped your panties bitch” moment, no attempt to shove them in my face and make me eat them or smell them, at least not yet. There’s too much on the line for that. Your hand snakes under my neck as I claw your ass and I know right where you’re going. I start to buck, trying to get my neck away from you but there’s no fucking point. Your claws sink into the wounds your teeth left and I scream out… AWWWWW AWWWWW FFFUUUUCKKKK!!!! It’s a loud and tortured scream from someone experiencing intense physical pain and it’s coming from my lips in my own bedroom.
But with Michael watching you don’t stop there, you curl your nails under my eyebrows and pull back. I shriek again and open my mouth, releasing the bite completely and jerking my head to the side away from your claws, which still scrape and scratch hard, although I don’t think they broke any skin. It wouldn’t be the first time I have finished a fight with my face a bloody mess, but Michael has never seen me quite like that, and I’m not sure how he’d handle it. I pull to the right on your as my left hand grabs for your wrist and I sink my nails around it, clawing into the soft underside and literally tearing your nails out of the back of my neck as I scream in pain. I buck hard as I pull, not willing to just release your wrist lest you go right back on the attack, and for the moment I press with my legs on the floor and lift with my hips and send us rolling over onto your freshly wounded ass, and my hands pulls away just as you come down.
My left hand still holds your wrist, while my right, now free, slides down between our pressing bodies and looks for fresh meat, a place that’s been relatively unmarked on your body through the whole, vicious fight, and I find it in the sensitive folds of your inner left thigh. I thrust my breasts down into yours, knowing you outside me and both our tits are messed up badly, but at least I am on top and can push down into you while my right hand digs into your thighs and pulls up savages before grabbing the waistband of your thong and pulling up hard and to the side, trying to wedge the durable sporting fabric into your sex and make you scream like you did to me.
There is no sense in slowing down… In pausing… In fucking talking sense into you… So what… What does it fucking matter if I convince you that I’m not into your husband or not…. So fucking what…. It won’t make any difference… We’ll still fight…. We’ll still tear each other apart, until only one of us is standing… Or rather, conscious…. I grimace and SCREECH into your face; “IT WAS AN ACCIDENT YOU WHORE!! BUT FINE!! FUCK YOU, YOU’RE THE ONE RUBBING HIS CUM ON MY FACE YOU PSYCHO cunt!!!” I roar madly as I realize also the hypocrisy in this… I DID lick your lip and suckle it earlier… I wasn’t thinking straight… And I just wanted to taunt you…But…. How far is too far between us… A question I can’t seem to EVER answer as you bridge up, pressing your naked kitty into my covered one and you FLIP us around… I crash on my ass and “AWWWHHH!!!” The bleeding read end is ground into the carpet and you make sure to THRUST your hip down into mine… My legs on the outsides of yours curl and I latch my heels on the insides of your thighs… My right grinding and rubbing on that bite mark I left on you earlier…. As you pull my right arm back and push it down… Clawing at my wrist and pinning my arm over my head…. You lift and SLAM your tits on mine… I groan in pain….
And it gives you the chance you needed to slide down, to latch your nails on my thigh and you… rakkkeeee up… “AIIEEHH!!” Your claws grabbing my G-string… Soaked, soppy, and already wedged up from your previous attack in the backyard, you give it a strong TUG upwards, and I CRINGE in pain… My legs tightening on yours…. Then… it SNAPS off…. Had you not wore it out before, it would have probably lasted you long, but I won’t count my blessings now, reaching up and I wrap my free claw around your throat… My fingers latching to the sides of your neck and I SQUEEZE… Squish and I arch my body and THRUST, grinding my now naked sex against yours…curling y lower body, to both lift my bleeding ass off the carpet, and in the same time, jam my clit and labia against yours… To PRESS and GRIND….
I growl and Hiss into your face, my claws biting into the side of your neck, the webbing between my thumb and index compressing your windpipe… “You’re just a piece of TRASH Kim…. A fucking tattooed up SKANK that’s trying to hide who she is… And that’s… a piece… of… TRASH… I bet you CUM like a little slut whenever he chokes you…” And with that I TIGHTEN my choke a bit more, and THRUST my hip up, jamming my clit into yours and I TWIST, pushing up with my left arm, and I flop us over, rolling atop of you and I DROP my chest back on yours… Grimacing and GRINDING down… Rubbing our sexes together as I try to asphyxiate and rob you from this nerve-wrecking orgasm…. “How much… do you want to bet… Michael…… She’ll cum…. like…. a two-bit… skank…”
You scream that it was an accident, and I’m fucking sure if I walked in one day and found you two fucking on my bed it would be because you accidentally tripped, lost all your clothes, and fell onto his cock. Accident! Ha! Listen to this fucking whore… I pull hard on your thong as my nails scratch up your inner thigh, wanting to pay you back for that cruel attack you gave my pussy as you wrapped my thong around your fist over and over, but instead it snaps off, and I shout out “FUCK!!!” as my arm pulls free with the fabric in my hand. I toss the thong aside but before I can get my hand back and attack you grab my throat, startling me, and I mean really startling me for the first time this fight. It’s one thing to put cuts and bruises into someone’s skin, and hands on my throat, cutting off my air… that’s something different. “UGHHHHH FUCKKKK” I shout on instinct and then shut my mouth, knowing that depending on how this goes I might need as much oxygen as I can possibly find still in my lungs.
You squeeze tightly on my throat and you start to grind down into me, grinding your sex on mine for the second time since this fight started, but this time without our thongs to keep our kitties from pressing together directly. I look down at you, trying to get my hand on your face, trying to slap you as you taunt me, calling me a piece of trash… ME? A FUCKING PIECE OF TRASH? after all of this that’s what this bitch thinks I am? some piece of trash she can just choke out? I go to slap you but before I do you send us rolling, getting me onto my back and your hand on my throat pushing straight down and pinning my head to the floor. I can’t even respond. My eyes are enraged. My face changing color as you start to talk directly to Michael and while you choke me and fuck me, doing something to me that I’ve only EVER trusted Michael enough to do. And he knows it. He knows that’s his special thing, and there you are, rubbing yourself on me with reckless sexual abandon as your hand closes around my throat.
Both my hands come up to your arm, not going for your wrist because it flexes in pain too much it could really hurt me, but your elbow. I dig my nails in deeply on the soft, sensitive inside of your elbow and on the outside, and I start to tear down your arm as I push with both hands and try to force your hand open and away from me from the pain. Your hand finally slides off as my nails dig 10 red marks down your arm and I gasp loudly. Sucking air into my lungs as quickly as I can as my eyes dart to Michael who seems almost frozen… except for his cock which is starting to go erect again. “YOU BITCH!!! UWWWH YOU FUCKING BITCH!!” I shout as you continue to grind your pussy down on mine, and I grind back into you now, angry – no, FURIOUS…
“YOU THINK I’M FUCKING TRASH WHORE!!!” more outraged at the insult after all we’ve been through in these three fights than at the fact that you were choking me. “FUCK YOU WHORE!!” Without any hands in my hair my head jerks up, and I sink my teeth into the right side of your jaw and I bite down. I GROWL at you as I bite, like a lioness defending her jungle and doing what she must, as my feet press, my hips thrust, and we go rolling over again, back onto your ass, back with my breasts on top and compressing yours, but this time with my teeth in your jaw and with my left hand digging into the inside of your elbow and my right hand stuck into your ribs and pulling down.
There is no…. hope in this bitch…. How can I break her…? How can I fucking beat this bitch down…? My mind starts to rummage with the question, and my tears swell with frustration in my eyes…. Your nails latch at my elbow… You claw… You drag, you rake, and I YELP as you rake and leave furrows down my forearm… I screech, and you sit up, our tits slapping, and you throw me to my back… Your teeth latched to my jaw… My eyes go wide as we flop back… Your body grinding down on me… You’re practically foaming at the mouth, gnawing and biting with your teeth like your life depends on it…. I shudder, I shake, I twist, and I buck…. But you keep GRINDING down on me…….
My legs are spread, and your hips are rocking, grinding, driving your sex into my open, naked sex…. And I’m trembling… your right claw dragging down my left side, across the ripples of my ribs, and I MOANNN out in pain… My eyes shut, for a second, I just… I just consider screaming for you to stop… To get off me…. As my legs tremble and buck in the air….
But then I see it…. My perhaps, last chance…. My last gambit… A card I left intentionally late, and now…. It might be my only salvation… The left half of my legging, still wrapped around my left shin……. I groan and with my right hand moving over your face, scratching, clawing, trying to distract you as you clutch and drool down my jaw, your teeth biting, breaking skin… I pull y left leg back and my left hand reaches, wedging my thumb inside the rolled inwards leggings and I Pull them… FUCK… it hurts… But I bend my leg as much as I can then YANK the legging until it comes off…. And as it does…. I grunt, and I let my right hand fall off your face… My body trembling… Shaking as you FUCK and GRIND into me… My hands, both of them working the legging…. Every passing moment, your teeth dig deeper, and your right claw finds new masses of my flesh to tear and rake into… I turn the legging into a small noose… A hand-sized noose….
Michael’s eyes going wide… He stares, and he gasps; “Kim!!” But you GROWL madly… PUSHING and turning my head… Like a lioness you’re readying for the kill, as I reach with my left hand and I grab your right claw and I PUSH your arm outwards…. But as I do… And your hand begins to struggle with mine…. My right hand comes from behind and I HOOP the noose’s end over your hand and around your wrist, TUGGING, as I try to tighten it and YANK hard… To pull with my right arm and BUCK violently, to pull your right arm behind you and roll you to your back, so as to trap your right arm under your weight….
This feels like it. I’ve got you down with one arm trapped, my teeth in your jaw, and I’m biting hard, clawing at your side, and grinding my sex into yours. Give into the pain. Give into the pleasure. I don’t fucking care. You’re seconds away from losing this fucking fight and I can feel it. Your hands aren’t even grabbing for me. Your reaching down, like your grabbing for a weapon or something. Tugging on your own leggings. That’s what you’re doing… maybe you’re just trying to relieve the pain by finding something to grab on to. But before I can really process what’s going on, your right hand comes up to my face, but even your attacks are weak. They don’t seem to lack your full commitment. This is it. Your body is giving out. Your mind and will is starting to break. My head turns side to side, trying to avoid the clawing and scratching as I keep the bite. I can feel you trembling and shaking below me as I grind into you and bite your face and use every part of me that I can think of to assault your body.
Then I hear Michael call my name. Fuck HIM! What’s he going to do? Tell me that you’re done, and I should get off you? Is he going to tell me to stop? FUCK THAT!!! I’ll stop when you’re out, or maybe if you fucking beg me, but after all of this, I’m not giving you a fucking inch until this is completely fucking settled. Your right hand grabs my left claw and we start to fight, trying to get control, and I’m focused on completely owning you, defeating you and breaking. You want to fight for control of this one arm… FINE… we’ll fucking fight. My hand goes outside and then suddenly I feel it, and I know why Michael called my name. He wasn’t telling me to stop, he was warning me, and FUCK, that might almost be worse. My right arm is suddenly pulled back by the wrist, jerking my whole upper body back and pulling my teeth from your jaw. I can taste your copper on my lips as I scream out… “YOU BITCHH … FUCKING BITCH!!!!”
You buck and send us rolling, pinning my right arm under me. I’ve attacked your left breast and your left ass cheek, focusing so much on your left side with my dominant hand, and now all I have left is my left. No that your right side is unscathed, but it’s nowhere near as clear and deliberate wounds on your left side. “FUCK YOU EWA… FUCK YOU!!!” I scream out, calling you by you first name as my left hand swings out and slaps down hard into your back, and then again, trying to pummel my way out of this as you trap my arm and get your body on top of me.
I feel trapped. In my own bedroom. Not like with my husband, where I totally trust him to tie me up, handcuff me, blind fold me, anything he wants. I’m trapped by this hellcat whose life and body have been on a seemingly unavoidable collision course since the moment we met. My left hand curls and I dig my claws into your kidney, anything I can think of now to hurt you as I buck and squirm under you, moving and flailing like a wild animal who knows she’s been trapped and fears the wilder, stronger animal is moving in for the kill. ” I HATE YOU EWA… I FUCKING HATE YOU!!!” I scream as my claws sink in, although with all my panicked movement it’s hard to get a strong hold.
I knew from the first moment we decided to fight again, that I had to come up with a plan. That at the end of the day, I can’t fight you with brawn alone. You are… stronger…. And fitter… Despite all the changes my body went through, you are still, undoubtfully the stronger of us, and the one with the more endurance… Heck, going through childbirth not once, but TWICE alone should make your pain tolerance something I would dream of…. And unlike our second fight, I’m not the one fighting with total abandon and despair… No… You are…. We’re both tied up… But you’re the one fighting in your home… On your turf… in front of your man…. I knew that you had so many chips on your corner…. And that…. If I wanted to beat you… I needed to be the more unorthodox one… The more wicked… Savage… And creative….
And as you feel my weakness, or rather, my deceit for one, you go on a rampage, clawing, biting, gnawing…. Your hips thrusting and grinding between my legs, trying to fuck my brains out, as much as fuck me UP…. And if not for my voluntary retreat from this battle, who knows… Who knows who could have won this straight up catball…. A coin toss, or more likely… In a frenzied, savage, unsanctioned clawing/biting fest, you might have actually pulled the win…. But that’s what I gamble against… That I can take that punishment… That cut to my cheek… Those nasty welts to my side… That pain of my ass ground into the carpet… Just to capture your right wrist, your dominant arm, and the one that scored the majority of my skin and blood so far… Bending it behind your back, I PULL, TUG, and TWIST…. and we roll, now your weight laying on your arm, and I GRIND down… My thighs spreading to your sides again and I start to HUMP hard… My right hand, coming off your left side, holding the leggings, I PULL violently, and pull it just over your shoulder, curling it… Trying to send surges of pain to every joint on your arm, wrist, elbow, shoulder with every THRUST of my hips……
You scream at me and I SCREAM back; “FUCK YOU KIM!!!! FUCK YOU BITCH!!! I HATE YOU MORE!! I FUCKING WISH YOU WERE DEAD YOU PIECE OF SHIT!!!” I roar madly as I twist my right hand, and I slide the legging end over the front of your throat and PUSH my fist down… Trying to tense it even more over your neck…. Tears rolling down my face…. THRUSTING… HAMMERING… GRINDING… Still FUCKING you as I can feel my juices seeping down my thighs… our clits jabbing… fencing… dueling…. My left hand, swinging in wild, angry, hacking SLAPS across your cheeks… Growling, almost foaming at the mouth myself… Pushing my weight down, trying to accelerate the numbness to travel up your arm…. Knowing this is not over yet…. But I am close to putting this tough slut DOWN…
Rolled onto my back with my arm under me and trapped, I start to scream at you. I scream and tell you how much I hate you. I tell you how much I can’t stand you, and you return the favor screaming down into my face, and I can hear it in your voice. The hate, the rage, the fury. It’s all such a shared feeling between us, even as you scream down that you wish I were dead. And yet despite the threats and the shouts of hatred, we’re still fucking grinding. Both of us. Slamming and pressing and rubbing our pussies together on pure animal instincts. Your hand twist and the legging goes across the front of my throat and your fist pushes down and I scream as my arm is tweaked even worse with each passing moment and you mix violent, vicious pain with the thrusting and hammering and grinding and fucking going on between our legs. My clit is stabbing with yours even as I curse your name. My pussy is spread and rubbing against yours as widely and openly as we can be. We’re both crying, but I’m the one screaming in pain. Slap after slap start to rain down on my face… “Awwwwwwww awwwwww gawwwddddd uwww… uwhnnn… fuckkk… FUCK YOU… AWWWWw… FUCK… UWWW YOU… UGHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN” My whole body jerks.
Michael can see it on my face. “Kim!” he calls out, and the sound I hear is one of fear, concern, and …. fucking doubt. “‘UWWWWWNNNNOOOOO NOOOOO GAWDDD NOOOOOOO” I scream out as I start to gush against you for the second time in this fight. My body shakes and writhes in pleasure and pain under you, shaking almost uncontrollably as the second powerful orgasm in the past hour rips through my body and I gush directly against you. You pull on my arm more tightly. You keep slapping my face as I orgasm, slapping my cheek over and over so hard I know it’s going to be fucking bruised for days. My body shakes under you and then just stops. My claws stop digging into you. Slap after slap still smacks against my face and my arm feels completely numb, and between something like the sixth and seventh slap, you hear it… “pleasee….”
Before I can even finish the sentence and ask you to stop another slap connect with my face, and I say it again… “pleasee…. stop…” My mind swirling. I can’t even think. I feel like I got into a car wreck and we just kept colliding over and over and over for an hour, except it wasn’t our cars we were throwing at each other, it was our bodies, and it was an accident, it was everything we wanted it to be. I invited you here. We did this to each other intentionally… and now all I can do is plead with you to stop.
Sobbing…. I grind into you…. My hips rocking… My thighs spread… Michael watching… His eyes are wide… He can see me on top now… And even though we’re rolled and traded positions a hundred or so times today, this… this looks BAD…. Your arm is badly bent underneath you… Your neck is trapped under the legging… Your left hand clawing my side, my tit, my cheek, but it’s weakening…. mostly grasping… And each jolt I sent through our hips is making you grunt, gasp, and now… whimper…… He gazes in… disbelief… he… he heard for two months… what you said… That me beating you up was a fluke… You blamed it on him getting involved… On the club organizers stepping in multiple times… On the fucking weather… And on your aunt’s limp eye… On fucking anything that you could put it on… And he has seen you go on the war path these weeks… Coming back home… rushing to the shower, washing up the sweat, cum, and blood of your fights with random girls, that all you told was ‘my friends’ and that you were sending a message…
And yet… He finds himself staring at me… My body rocking atop of you… Groaning… My lips trembling… Blood and saliva drooling down our chins…. Our tits bouncing… Mine spraying bloodied sweat down on your tits and abs…. He watches my abs… That are usually less defined than yours, but right now… They are clenched in a knot, as I rock my hips and thrust… GRIND… MASH into you… Wincing from the pain to my flexed left butt cheek…. bleeding down my thigh… When finally, you GUSH… You CUM… And I gasp… Tightening even harder on your neck and he finally gasps, pleading; “EWA!! PLEASE!! HER ARM!! YOU’LL BREAK IT!!!”
I blink hard and I suddenly realize that I’m yanking SO hard on the legging, your cheeks are crimson, and your wrist is not between your shoulder blades with your weight on your arm… I loosen it a bit and I hear you groaning… gasping for me to stop…. I blink hard… Staring at you… Suddenly, my sanity returning…. FUCK… How long have I… How FAR was I going to take it…? I pant… and I lift my hips up… Your cum dripping down my thighs… and I lick my lips then I push you over, rolling you to your chest, and I grab your left arm and I bend I t behind you… And I wrap the other end of the legging around your wrist… An overkill… But at least this primitive tie-up would help if you were just tricking me… I drop you to your front… And I fall to all fours above you…
I glare at you… Tears rolling down my face… My breasts hovering above you… My hips… My thighs… My hair dangling down…. I look at you… I could gloat… I could rub it in… I could twist the dagger…But all I say is; “… I win…. Bitch…. You hear me… I fucking… WIN….” And I then slowly crawl up your body, wading, like a TRUE lioness… My knees by your sides. I press my shins against your upper arms to make sure they are trapped, and I lower my ass down, resting my buttocks over your collar bone… I moan in pain and discomfort… My left buttock hurting like fuck… But I GRIND down, to try to make both of your arms go numb… Holding your hair with my left hand, I PULL on it, and lift it… bringing your face next to my kitty and I say in a calm, scary voice; “Don’t you fucking THINK of biting me whore…. Or I will go ride Michael’s face… AND his cock… Is that clear??” My hand slowly pulling your head up, bringing it to my sex… As my eyes go up to Michael, giving him a little cocky, sexy smirk.. He WISHES you would bite me now I bet…
I can’t… I can’t fucking believe it. All of that. All of that pain, all of that chaos. And you fucking win. Michael’s screaming out for you to stop, having to plead with another woman not to inflict further physical harm on me. ON ME!!!! I can’t believe he saw this. I hate this. I hate you. I hate losing to you, but more than anything I hate losing to you in front of him. I wondered why you wore leggings to this fight. I wondered you didn’t rip them off and left one dangling. I think of how many times I could have ripped that legging from you. It’s been an hour. Maybe over an hour. At any point I could have ripped and stripped you and…. who knows. But it doesn’t matter now. Tears flood my eyes as you lift your hips up and I can feel my own honey dripping down from you onto my body. You push me over, and I go willingly. I couldn’t stop you even if I wanted to. You start to tie up my hands, “noo… pleasee…” but it doesn’t stop you, and I wonder if you’re going to hurt me more. Would Michael stop you? Would I want him to? Would he ever look at me again the same if he did? You drop me back down and move on all fours above me. You stare into my face and even through my streaming tears I can see your smirk. I hurt you too. I know I did. I’ll remind myself in the days, weeks, months to come, but ultimately how much I hurt you doesn’t matter. Two words matter: Win or Lose, and I lost, and you’re happy to remind me. “yess… yes… just please… stop”
I’m nervous as you crawl up my body, crawling over me like a lioness who has finally defeated her prey, like a goddess who has won the war that will define her rule. Your shins to my upper arms and I groan… “uwwwwwwwwww… fuckkkkk” Your ass comes down, the ass that was rubbing against my husband’s cock in the living room, and you set it on my collar bone, and I look up at you with a full view of your pussy. Were you close? Could one hard thrust, one precise stab with my clit sent you into overdrive? I’m going to be second guessing myself until…. fuck…. until we do this again… OMG… do this again? That’s…. almost unthinkable. This was hell, and I paid the price. I am paying the price as your knees press down and my arms go dumb. I hear your ultimatum, and…. fuck…. I’m so frustrated. So confused. What good would biting you even do? What then?
But I see the look in Michael’s eyes, and for the first time I see it. He looks at someone else the way he has always looked at me since the night we met. I can barely speak, so I just nod as another stream of tears come down my face as my gaze is pulled from him to your sex and I think I know what you want. You aren’t just sitting on me. You’re making me pleasure you in my own bedroom in front of my husband. But what fucking choice do I have? I could resist, but you could do so much worse, both to me and to my marriage if you wanted. This is bad for me. All of it, but …. how did it come to this… the best I can do is to do as you please. I breathe deeply, and then bring my lips to your sex and I start to kiss it. My tongue slides inside you, inside the woman my husband is gazing at longingly, inside the woman who almost just broke my arms and beat me and clawed me and fucked me into submission. I’m forced to taste you, and not in a pleasurable way like you tasted Michael on my lips. I’m just forced to taste your insides, taste your sex, and I’m just thankful that it’s my tongue inside you and not by husband. I rub my nose on your clit and then suck it into my lips, purring and humming against it before shoving my tongue back inside you as you pull on my hair and shove my face against you more, driving my tongue deeper inside you, and with my arms underneath me, tied up and bound, there’s nothing I can do than as you please.
I slowly move up, I’m so tired, so beat, but… I’m horny… I’m aroused as FUCK…. And that alone makes me want to do this… Just this last hurrah… Before… Before I collapse into a coma that I won’t wake up of for days…. So much blood… hair… skin… sweat lost… It’s a miracle I am still able to move… I miss my ultimatum at you… and you… nod… I smirk, but I still keep my grip on your hair… And I lift your head… I see your tears streaming… And for a small fraction of a second, I feel bad for you… we’re so much alike… You haven’t done anything that I haven’t done… And yet you lay down defeated, broken, and about to endure the worst humiliation of your life…. In your home…. on the same carpets your children run on…. In the same room you and your husband sleep in….. But that sensation evaporates as quickly as it appears… My eyes narrowing in total cruelty… No… You will… fucking… deal with the consequences…. I reach back, and I SLAP at your sex… Not too hard, but still rough enough to make you shudder… And in a loud voice I purr; “Michael… get… over here…”
I feel your lips pause, and your eyes go up…. And I purr; “Shhh.. I told you… I can fuck him now…. and you can’t do anything about it…But… I won’t do this… Not for your sake… But for the sake of your kids… I told you already you stupid cunt… I’m not a homewrecker….” I hiss and shake your head then BURY your face back into my sex… My right hand PINCHING your clit… Twisting it… Slowly abusing and punishing your sex… as I look up at Michael, he’s standing over us, his hand holding his cock, stroking it… It’s level with my mouth… All I need to do is… Lean forwards… Take it… And it’s mine… But I just nod with my head for him to sit down, right in front of me… Facing us… His knees inches above your head, and pressing down on your splayed red hair….
“Just… watch…. How your wife eats pussy…” I purr to him and I start to rock my hips… GRINDING my sex into your face… My hand, slapping… Pinching your clit… Pinching your labia… as I mash your face into my sex… Michael, kneeling before me… Stroking his manhood… Pleasuring himself… As his hand strokes his cock. he’s groaning, And I smile then lean forwards and I give him my only contribution, I purse my lips and let my spittle drool down, lubricating his cock, and He groans, looking at me in gratitude as I just go back to riding your face, and punishing your sex… “Come on… Come on… Harder… harder… Deeper bitch… Come on…” My words, not only aimed at you… as my eyes gaze at him… His hand, pumping harder…. His face grimacing and after few seconds he groans and… his cum SHOOTS, flying straight to smear against my tits… My tummy… Down on my hips and kitty and lastly on your face… Entering your mouth… And as it does my body erupts and I CUMMMMM hard… Gushing… My own juices seeping into your mouth, mixing with Michaels…
I shudder, gushing as I moan and ride your face… Grinding hard… slowly… letting every bit of my cum seep out then I….. collapse forwards… falling face first into Michael’s chest who grabs me with his cum-stained hands…. I’m practically passed out…. My lips smearing his chest with my saliva; “Ewa? Ewa? Are you alright?” He asks as he gets up and picks me up, carrying me and into your bathroom… Leaving you… on the fucking carpet!!! You can watch him tend to the stranger first… As he slides me gently into the tub and turns up the water, setting it to light warm and he lets it pour down… Before he runs back to you to help you up to a sitting position, fumbling with my legging, trying to undo it with his clumsy hands…
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. My tongue is shoved inside your pussy and all I’m doing is trying to work you as fast and as quickly as I can to get this over with. You pull my hair, pulling me into you, and then you call out his name and tell him to get over here. I almost scream but you pull my face even more tightly and all I can do is mumble into your sex. You said you wouldn’t. You protested so strongly even at the idea, like it was an affront to your character to even suggest you might sleep with the man whose precum you just had to taste on my lips. But again you assert your honor, despite the bruising and the bleeding the loss of hair, you insist you will keep your word and I can only watch as he kneels in front of you and starts to rub himself off to the sight of his wife, his goddess, his conqueror, with her tongue deep inside the sex of the woman who just broke her.
Tears run down my face and I see you lean forward. My heart starts to race thinking you might kiss him, but you don’t you spit own on his cock, adding to his rubbing pleasure and it’s only moments later I hear that all too familiar groan. “UHHHMMMMMMMMM” he grunts out and shoots, and I see the stream fly over my head, onto your chest. I have to watch as it trickles down, making its way down your clawed and bruised and red stomach, until finally is seeping into my mouth. I toss my head back and forth, even those it?s my husband’s cumm it feels so humiliating to drink it off your body, but you hold my hair, shoving my face right against your pussy and you start to cumm too, during the mouth I kiss him with, the mouth I kiss my children to bed with, into a depository for their father’s cum and for yours.
You cum and collapse forward into Michael, and he grabs you. I can see it all. Your lips are on his chest, and he’s asking if you, YOU, are fucking ok. My heart feels like it’s breaking, and that might be the worst pain of all. I watch as he picks you up, carries you into the bathroom with arms supporting your back and your legs, much the same way he carried me in the first night we lived here after we bought the home, the night we made love in the shower for seemingly hours, and you two disappear from my sight. I hear the water running, the water in the custom tub we picked together, and he just fucking leaves me here. It’s a while that he stays with you until I finally hear the water turn off. I hear him talking to you, but I can’t fully make out what he’s saying. I just lay on the floor crying.
He comes in to help me FINALLY. His voice calm, but concerned. “let me help you…” He doesn’t ask if I’m ok. He knows I’m not. I push at his chest, trying to get him to put me down I’m so angry and hurt, both at myself at him for taking care of you first, but he’s strong enough and I’m weak enough that he scoops me up. But he doesn’t care me to the master bath. No, he carries me down the hall being careful not to step on any broken glass, and takes me into the small guest bathroom with hits small shower/tub. He runs the water and sets me down…. and I bury my hands in my face. Crying. He doesn’t know what to say. He takes a step way, but I reach for his hand, but he pulls back.
“Let me… let me go check on her…” he says to me… “I’ll be right back… I promise… I just… I don’t think you should be around her right now… I don’t think it’s safe… for either of you… let me go check on her” His stumbling over his words, but the point is clear. To the victor go the spoils, even in my own home, and he’s every bit as concerned about you as he is about me. He’ll tell me in the days and weeks to come when I finally confront him about it that the fight was hellacious and vicious and he was worried about both of us, because we’d been through hell, but all I could hear in my mind as he tried to explain himself were those words… “let me go check on her” … maybe you hadn’t come here to wreck my house, but you had invaded our lives, and I don’t know if there was any going back. That thought echoed in my mind as I buried my hands in my face and cried until I passed out.
I woke up the next day in one of the kid’s beds, but at least Michael was there, sleeping on the floor next to me. You were gone, and so were some of my favorite clothes, and most obviously my most expensive bra and panties and heels. I could barely walk. Michael had to hold me up every step of the way and I wonder if had done the same for you. Did he help you get dressed? Did he help you pick out the clothes you were going to take? Did he walk you outside? Did he drive you home? My mind was swirling as he helped me into my own bed finally, and I just laid there, feeling like had been run over, feeling heart broken, feeling lost and like I didn’t know who I was…. all because of that fucking bitch… all because of that sick, sadistic smile you flashed me that night at the fight club and I knew we had to fight… all because of Ewa.