Jealousy & Breasts
McKenzie vs. Ewa S. from Discord

McKenzie:

Of course I remember the first time I met her. It’s burned into my brain like a brand. Not because she was instantly a bitch or a monster, but because she wasn’t. 

It was the grand opening of the new plastics building. I had been invited, though it was a more like a series of wooings. Brunches. Dinners. Food and wine. Flowers and gifts, all just to get me to say I’d move my practice. So finally when I agreed, you can imagine my surprise when they told me that after all of that, I still had to “compete” for it. Not in some mud wrestling match, or a game of rock, paper, scissors, but in a series of interviews. There was only one spot for a female-focused plastic surgeon in the building. Something about needing room for both genders, and then somewhere in between. 

Naturally, I was irritated. Most of my rational mind pushing me to retract my agreement and tell the board putting the plans together to go fuck themselves. But something about the idea intrigued me. 

Competing. Against another female-focused plastics doc. After all, I considered myself the best. So what would it cost me? I’d do the interviews. I’d show off my previous works, and I’d win the slot. A cocky grin on my face, and a few tears rolling down my competitor’s cheek. 

Or at least, that’s what I thought. What I expected. But as one interview turned into 10, I found myself in a battle of resume and charisma with another woman who somehow, survived the full weight of my talents and career. 

For months she was a mystery woman to me. I didn’t even get to know her name, not until that night. When I walked in for what I was told was going to be a meeting to discuss the board’s final decision. I parked my lipstick red Porsche, walked in my long black heels up the steps of the metal and glass building, and then boom. I ran into her. 

Not figuratively, but literally. Each of us distracted, worried. Our egos having been battered by weeks of being told someone was our equal, when for years we thought we were without one. 

Our steps carrying us to the same door, amongst 7. Both of us reaching for the same handle so that our hands brushed, just as our hips slammed. A collision of dress-covered frames that sent us into awkward, clumsy stumbles. 

In a flash she and I reacted angrily. We righted ourselves, turned, and with fire-etched glares, we fumed. That is until we both suddenly burst into laughter at how funny our each others once perfectly placed hair looked. 

The laugh was genuine. Kind, despite its cause, and in what seemed like an instant, disarmed us. We introduced ourselves, and walked in together. It probably would have been more thrilling if I pretended that we didn’t know the other was our rival for the office upstairs, but we knew. It was written all over us.

She was my obstacle, and I was hers. But for that moment, we just talked. Walking to the elevator and then the right floor. Taking seats in the lobby of the board’s floor, smiling, laughing, and enjoying each others company. Until finally the secretary at the desk in front of us called us to go in. That moment might have been the moment it all broken between us, but instead, as we moved, one of us reached for the others hand, and that same other took it. 

Whatever happened, we were going to face it together. 

Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiich, lasted until that smug, bald-headed mother fucker told us, we both were getting an office, but by that, they meant they were splitting one REAL office, into two smaller offices. Adding at the end of that ridiculous decision, “which makes me so happy that you two seem to be getting along.” 

It was at that moment that held hands released, and soft friendly expressions hardened. 

Ewa S.:

At what point do you stop pretending?? When you don’t care, or is it when you truly can’t possibly manage to keep the faux appearances anymore??

I never truly which one was you… You were always an enigma to me… Starting as a literal enigma to me… A nameless, faceless professional rival over two months of interviews that lasted too long for me to think that they just faked it so I could strut in, each time in a different dress, with a steeper neckline, shorter skirt, or a higher run up to show off my naturally slender, tight thighs….

But by the fifth callback, I was suddenly worried… Did the old fuckers want me to strip naked for them?? Go down on them?? Because they can just go fuck themselves… I don’t do that shit… Well, not anymore… I’m not a fresh med school graduate anymore… I have my reputation, a spectacular career and a long list of clients that wouldn’t go anywhere else for their face lifts, injections, boobjobs.. Not to mention the old fuckers who change their trophy wives faster than they do their sports cars, bringing them in for a 6-figure ‘routine’ before switching to the next one…

But then when we met, I was honestly.. Charmed… There was something about you.. That made me feel like I was looking at a friend…. A sister.. Or your own reflection in the mirror… There was something deeply familiar about that spontaneous, delightful laughter that ringed out of your perfectly plump lips… And then as we both sighed and stared into each other’s eyes, it felt like the walls were going to fall around us like a cheesy RomCom and open into a green meadow for us to go down skipping and laughing, drawing our names in the clouds with dreamy fingers…

And it took all but 7 minutes and 34 seconds… Not that I really timed it… When our hands fell off each other as we heard the news, that tested the fragility of that spontaneous connection…

And one thing about me, that everyone who has had the pleasure of dating me knows… Ewa needs her space… It’s why not a single guy or girl knows where I live, because I took nobody home… I once dated a Spanish diplomat for 7 months, and he didn’t even know what part of town I lived in… I would go back to their places… We’d fuck, and I’d leave on my terms, whenever I wanted… I’d spend the night if I choose to…. I’d leave minutes after like an escort if I choose to… But I’d never put myself in the situation where I need someone to fuck off and have them lingering there…. No sir.. Na’huh madame… Not Ewa…

But alas… Between admitting defeat and conceding the half-office to her… Which is unthinkable to me, I put on that grin to my face, turned to her, and with a fake as fuck grin, that is a far contrast from the one we shared earlier, and a voice that chilled the room, I voiced how much I’m looking forwards to this opportunity, and that we would make a good team.

Yeah right. I am not a team player. And she will find out real soon.

Troubles appeared immediately, with such limited space, it was impossible for us to have a fully functioning practice. It’s not about squeezing things, equipment, waiting areas, lavatories, changing rooms, reception, etc etc, all required room, so we quickly found out that we had to share a few things.

In reality, we had to share a LOT of things. All of the above, except for our own examination rooms, that was even smaller than the one I had before… Something that few of my clients noted with upturned lips, doubting if I had fallen on hard times to ‘downgrade’ like this.

But alas, the location was primo. And the situation; temporary. That’s what I told myself, as I began to plot and scheme. We might be reputable surgeons in our late 30’s. But this situation is no different than having to share your bedroom with a sorority sister. The methods might be more intricate and elaborate, but in essence, they were one and the same…

And the games began…. Subtle at first… Like parking my car JUST over the line into yours, to make sure you can’t get your Porsche in, causing you to park in the street and make a couple clients wait… Of course, apologies were swift and immediate, but the damage is done; no one likes a tardy professional, especially for our target audience.

Then it got even more invasive…. Like getting some of your clients in the waiting room, chatting, and sometimes outright flirting with them was a common practice.. And I made sure that it happened in full view of the receptionists who would report it to you….

And our tone and demeanor certainly worsened with each subtle jab and transgression… Because every game I played, you played with equal skill and elegance… And I caught myself few times, fantasizing about pushing my nails under your skin, and peeling it right off your pretty, big tits…. Before shaking the thought… I’m past that kind of craziness….

Or am I??

McKenzie:

It came in waves that rippled up and down. Swelling and receding as the days that followed passed. 

Yes, when they told us their decision, I was angry. So angry that I, like you, abandoned that oh so naive connection we had found. The one that was so unlike both of us. There being a glimmer in the others eye – a spark in the others being that made us feel … like we were meant to know each other. Meant to be something. 

I felt it. 

We felt it. 

But what I didn’t know, was that we had misread what that something was. We weren’t meant to be galpals or besties. No, we were meant to be two opposite ends of polarity. Like magnates in the hand of some silly child trying to force them together. 

Which makes me look back on those days where I tried to convince myself we could do it with disbelief and frustration. Those nights I spent writing out texts or emails to send to you. To try and set us up for success. Not as partners, or even co workers, but as two women who would conquer the world apart, even if in the end, we were side by side during our climb. But with each message, I found the tone I used too saccharine. Too fake. No, I didn’t want drama or conflict. No, I didn’t want to spend the next decade hating you. At least, that’s what I thought. What made sense. What was logical. Feminism dictated it. Our parents would have lectured us to make peace, not war. Love, not hate. 

But something stayed my hand, or more specifically, my finger hovering over the send button. 

But Jesus fucking Christ, I could not have been more happy about that failure to launch, than the first day I walked in to see “our” new office. Yes, we had our own lunchbox-sized private offices. Yes, we had our own exam and surgical rooms. But we shared the same elevator, the same main door, the same lobby, and most tragically, the main receptionist area. Your receptionist on one side of the room, and mine on the other. Meaning anytime we had to speak to our only staff member (also lamentable) we had to hear each other. 

Every instruction given, every plan made, every fuck up, every victory, was there for us both to hear. At first that led to hushed tones, and lowered volumes. Until the suspicion that bread led to passive aggressive comments, and cruel, stinging cuts. 

When those weren’t enough, and our pride were far too wounded and threatened to just forgive, we began doing whatever we could to irritate each other. You parking in my fucking spot. Until OOPs someone popped your tires, or keyed your car. Or the time coffee somehow got spilled on my date-night dress, without a culprit to be found. I knew it was you. Just like you knew it was me, when someone wrote bitch on your collectable gem-crusted Starbucks cup. Yes, in the most permanent marker I could find. 

And though all of that would have been enough to make us the enemies we were meant to be. We happen to share something that made it all even worse. Even more toxic. Something we showed off in every TV commercial, every magazine ad, every billboard, and bus-banner we had. 

Our breasts.

Big, bouncy, perfectly shaped breasts that should have set us apart from every other female doc selling enhancements. Until you ruined that for me, and I ruined it for you. 

I supposed it’s no wonder why our feud began to focus on that similarity. Why when I dreamed of settling things, as if that were possible, I always went for those tits of yours first. Claws bared. Fingers curling. Hands reaching for the only set in the WORLD that made me jealous. Made me angry. Made me hate you to the very depths of my soul.

Ewa:

The days rolled by, then weeks, and soon months…. And the changes to our lives, our demeanor became too obvious that the most casual of acquaintances began to point it out…. It always goes that way…. When you have trouble at home, your co-workers notice the halos around your eyes and short temperament… And when your boss or co-worker is a BITCH, your family suffers….

And it was the fucking latter in our case… I began to… Change… And everyone around me noticed it.. From my boyfriend, besties, all the way to my doorman; who all suffered my short temper and pissy demeanor… I began to lash out… Which ended the relationship I had with my beau; and that certainly did not help, as I showed up to the office with the worst tantrum, and we got into our first screaming contest….

I don’t even remember how it started…. But it escalated quickly, and in the worst way possible… We both had clients in our offices, and two more in the waiting area, and our voices rose so loud in our screaming match, it left us humiliated and angry, apologizing profusely to our clients who overheard it all, but alas, the damage to our image and reputation was done…

Our assistants were not surprised though… Mine sighing and handing the other a $50, the amount of their bet on who was going to lose it first… And I just decided I need to take some time off… And I flew away on a week-long vacation…

Or so was my plan….. Until my phone buzzed on the third day and I heard my assistant’s voice coming through.. Stuttering and worried…

Her: “Euhmmm… Dr. Sonnet??” 

Me (annoyed): “Yes Amy? I told you not to call me except for emergencies.”

Her: “Uhh. I think this might pass as one, doctor….”

Me: “….. what is going on? SPEAK!”

Her (stuttering): “Uh.. I just… I don’t know how it.. uhh.. happened… But Mr Vidalski came today with his fiancee, to get a boob surgery consultation…”

Me: “What? I told you to reschedule everything this week. Ugh! Just apologize to him and tell him we’ll give him a 5% discount on the usual.”

Her (pausing): “……….. That’s the thing, doctor… They came, to see Dr Amber…”

Me: “WHAT???”

================

5 hours later…. I was on a plane, heading back to San Diego….

The next morning… I marched into the office… Amy and Sarah, your assistant jolted up to their feet…. But I didn’t as much as say hi.. I just marched past them and turned left in the hallway and without even knocking, I twisted the handle to your office and walked in.. WISHING there was a client there, so I could drag you down in front of them.. But there was nobody else but you… And you look up at me, with an irritated look on your face.. UGH… It’s as if you didn’t even do anything wrong..

“EXCUSE ME?!?!? Knock much?” — You snap at me as you tilt your laptop screen a little, and I catch a view of your bulging cleavage… Your top selling point.. And mine too… We both flash our natural breasts around… And even tell clients they are implants… To sell them up on boob jobs, which are easily our most profitable ‘product’…

But I have no patience for your bullshit… As I walk up to edge of your desk and I hiss…

“Knock??? Alright then… KNOCK KNOCK!!” — And before you respond, I swing my right hand wildly, SLAPPING the side of your laptop’s screen and I send it flying off the desk to go crashing down to the floor…

“CLIENT-STEALING WHORE!”

McKenzie:

I’d love to pretend that Mr. Vidalski was the first client I tried to steal from you. That I could go all, one shot, one kill mode on you. But no, he wasn’t the first, or the second. The third or the fourth. 

I had been trying for months to steal a patient of yours. Wanting to see the look on your perfect little Polish face when you discovered what I had done. But then it dawned on me. Why do it when you were here? When you were at work, and were feet away from me and my new client. 

Why not wait till you were on vacation and helpless. Absent and unable to stop me. Oooh, the rage it would have made me feel. The anger it would have injected into my heart, had I been on a trip like yours, just to find out that you had taken our little feud to another level. 

And so I waited. For you to be not only on the plane, but off it and in the throes of a trip I KNOW you needed so badly. The same sort of trip my staff had been begging me to take, so I wasn’t such a heinous bitch around them. 

They meant well, but all I needed was THIS. Was hurting you. Was making it clear that even if we’re both powerful, educated, skilled, independent women who don’t need to man. I am the alpha amongst. 

I’m the one on TOP of the food chain. In the surgical world. In the beauty department. Certainly in the breast department. And now in this office I was forced to shared with a no good, piece of shit, C-U-N-T like you.  

And now, hours after my masterstroke, here you fucking are. In MY office. Glaring. Snarling. Fists clenched and teeth grinding. Your act-amplified loathing pushing you to slap my laptop off my desk, as if with our salaries I couldn’t buy 10 more, and pay some Egirl to copy over the shattered remnants of its hard drive. 

But I act the part. Craving this confrontation. This hatred. This RAGE.  And so I turn my head, look up to you, and with the cockiest smile I can muster, “Ewa?!” I say as I stand. “I thought you were on VACATION!?” 

“Did something interrupt your trip?” I ask, pretending I take your accusation as anything other than a greeting. My tall, black heels taking me around my desk, and to the front of it. My eyes scanning your body. Studying your eyes. 

“Why don’t we hold hands and talk about it, like that first day we met….” My tone drips with disdain. Excitement. And the poison of an assassin who feels she has gotten her kil.

Ewa:

Hold… Hands??

My eyes are wide…. Glaring at you… Your smug, pretty, perfect face…. The smirk on your face that might look so sweet and sincere for most.. But to me.. I can see the FANG it’s showing…. You’ve fucking struck… Where it hurts… And I can feel that fucking venom seeping through my veins…

But… You miscalculated…. It wasn’t a mortal blow…. I’m still… Standing… I’m still.. Breathing… I’m still… Alive…

My face slowly calms down…. And my tense shoulders relax….

“.. Yes.. Like the first day…”

I say in a soft, fake voice… It’s not as good as yours, as it’s still trembling with the anger that has been boiling in me for the last 24 hours of my trip back….

I turn my head, and see Amy standing there next to your assistant.. Both pale faced…

“Could you excuse me and Dr. McKenzy?? I think we need to sort this… misunderstanding….”

“But… What about the clients.. There are some appointments…” — Your assistants slowly stutters but Amy nudges her and they both turn and close the door, leaving us standing there…

I turn to you, and I smile…. My arms down, I reach forwards to you… And you reach, and we take each other’s hands… Fingers interlocking… Like two old friends… Squeezing each other.. Warmly.. But not too tightly…

“Please.. Forgive my outburst… I think I was out of line there…” — I purr in a sweet voice… Seeing your eyes widen, almost amused at me submitting so easily…

“But…. My dear, dear Dr. McKenzy…. Please believe this when I say it…. This was your ONE… Strike…. Come for me… Or any of my clients again…. And I… Will… Destroy…. You… And this little practice of yours…” — My voice as sweet as it’s venomous…. And I open my hands releasing yours and swinging them back to your hips.. Turning, before you can say a word and i step out..

And you can hear my voice…. Uttered loud enough for you to hear it through your open door…

“Oh Hi Ms Hensley! It’s such a DELIGHT to see you… Oh no no, don’t you worry, I’m here to help Dr. McKenzie… I think she… OVERBOOKED… Please come to my office…”

McKenzie:

I should want peace. A place to work and grow my practice. A place to be safe so I can ply my trade. But instead, I want this. I want you exactly this way.

Enraged and hateful. 

Wounded and on the verge of absolute meltdown. 

It is manna from heaven. Nurishment, in its truest form. It makes me giddy. It makes me exuberant. It makes me so happy, I could scream! And yet, I play it ever so cool. Acting so sweet and innocent, offering even to take your hand. 

All of which makes the moment even more delicious, until you reply in kind. Taking my hands in yours, raising them, and then apologizing to me. Not honestly, which would have done nothing to ebb my fire or assuage my jealousy. But falsely as you tremble with rage. 

Pulling me forward just enough for our large breasts to meet in a bounce before you threaten me. Our fingers unlacing and palms losing their press before you push me away. Oooh, you are such a cunt! Such a bitch! This is MY MOMENT, and you don’t get to just shrug it off and leave! 

And yet, before I can say another word, or grab your hair, you turn and walk away. Opening the door to the lobby, and then descending on my new patients as if they were still yours. At the sight and sound, my jaw crooks to the side, eyes narrow, fists ball, and blood boils. Not just over the lip of my pot in petulant rage, but instead in a team that pushes me to storm out of my office, into the lobby you had just taken my patients from, and between our two waiting assistants. 

Looking to neither of them, though my eyes burn with a visible and unmistakable malice. “You two need to leave, right now.” 

“But….” The two girls rebut softly, their voices overlapping. 

“No buts, just go…..” In the quiet before the storm, I try to be gentle. Knowing neither of them are my target or enemy. And yet, when they do not immediately leave, I explode in a sudden shout. “NOW!” 

A growled word that sends them both fleeing, though delivered just low enough for it to escape your ears. Giving me the time, as the door shuts to the lobby, leaving only the three of us. You, me, and the client I by all rights stole from you. 

I let you finish with her – our last appointment of the day, as I step over and then into your office, not mine. And close the door behind me.  

Ewa:

I take your client… Rightfully so.. Eye for an Eye… And if anything, Mr. Vitalsky is a much bigger client than this hag, coming in for a routine boob lift that I schedule for her…..

But my ears are pried out, hearing the mumbling outside, low and muffled, but then…. A very loud and clear ‘NOW’ shouted.. Catching the client’s eyes as I smile at her and shake my head…

“Poor Dr. McKenzy…. She must be back to the…” — And turning my right hand into a cup gesture, I raise it up and gesture two swigs to my mouth…. And she blinks, shaking her head in dismay… “Oh my… I did not know…”

I smile at her, finishing the meeting and entering the follow up, and then…. I walk her outside… Noticing the empty lobby.. And you.. Standing in your door… I ignore you, even though I could almost feel the pressure of your gaze pushing on me… As I walk the client to the door and as she walks out… I reach to the Open/Closed sign and turn it to the ‘Closed’ side… 

And I don’t really care… All those clients that will show up are yours anyways… And those you tried to steal from me…. If they show up to a closed clinic,that’s on you, not me…

 I turn, and I see you still standing there, glaring… And I make my way into my office, but I don’t close the door… I just walk up to my desk, and turn, resting my buttocks against it… My arms crossing under my chest….

My white robe is hanging down to mid-thigh.. My skirt down to my knees, and my charcoal blouse hugging my chest, with just enough buttons plucked to show some cleavage…

My eyes stare at the door as I watch you walking in… Anger on that pretty face that you kept calm so far.. And you turn, closing my door, and turning to face me…

“Anything I can help you with, Dr. McKenzy?” — I purr, staring straight into your eyes…

McKenzie:

I wanted to talk. To bury the dagger in your back and keep twisting it. To watch you deal with what I had done to you, and to milk it – milk you for every last drop of resentment I could.

But something about the way you played it. The way you took it in stride, and dared to undo what I had done, robs me of speech. Or at least the words I would speak, if I could find them. 

Leaving me so upset and unsure of myself, that I act on the only thing I am sure of. My heels taking me towards you, one slow, predatory step at a time. Our eyes locked together in a wordless staredown. My fingers wriggling, with my sharp red nails on the end of every digit. Until we are as close as we can get, without being pressed chest to chest. 

It is then, and there in that distance, that I finally find the words I need to reply to your question. “You can help me….” I mutter in reply, only half sane and fully lost in my loathing. “Ewa….” Again my voice is low, this time husky and heavy with a menace I can only barely control. 

For a moment I pause, knowing you’re studying me. Watching me with your smug, over-confident smirk. Thinking you’re in control and that you’ve found a way to put me in my place. Instead, all you have done is brought me here, before you. And in another methodical step forward, I press my body against yours, and then bring us nose to nose, eye to eye, and most importantly bust to bust. 

“By giving me a reason to tear these fucking tits off your chest, so I can show our clientelle exactly WHICH of us they should be using….”

Ewa:

The look in your eyes is… alarming…. I knew things were bad… And I’ve… replayed every possible scenario and outcome between us in my mind a thousand times….

Including…. A screeching, howling, clawing, swinging, flinging, slashing catfight….

And that look on your pretty face, that GAZE in your eyes, matches only one scenario… That…

I slowly push straight up off the desk.. Standing my ground… My legs spread to shoulder length… My back arched, my shoulders boxed.. And my arms come down.. Watching you slowly step towards me…. Your lips moving, your voice, filled with.. DISDAIN… It’s trembling with rage….

And then…

“UGHH..” I grunt as you push your chest into mine.. My eyes going wide, feeling the pressure of your massive chest, that rack that you know how to hide so well when needed, and give a glimpse into whenever you need to impress or get a client to sign off on a 6 figure boob job for his trophy wife….

“Oh…” I hiss in a soft voice.. My fingers curling into claws, my nails biting into my palm, almost reassuring myself of their sharpness…. My body tensing and I.. LEAN.. Into you…

Taking in your challenge, as our blouses… Shift… Slowly start to rub and hiss, as I grind my tits back into yours, feeling the pressure… The flesh pancaking and flattening under the bras…

“How about I give you.. TWO… Reasons…. Because quite frankly… From the fucking day I saw you, and was told I had to share space with you… I knew there wasn’t enough room for your pathetic, second rate tits around me…. So… Fuck… You… You want to act TOUGH bitch… Come at me… And I’ll rip your pathetic milkers right off your chest…”

McKenzie:

Layer by layer, we shed the lies, the pretenses, and all else we have donned just to keep this moment from happening. This moment we have been building towards since that day we met. 

Every second of sharing the same floor and office putting us at odds in every way. Our every matched and mirrored asset, that with others set us apart, drove us only deeper into this hell of jealousy and obsession. 

And though we could choose any of them. Our long, sexy legs. Our beautiful eyes. Our pretty faces. There is only one that makes sense, given our profession. Only one comparison that matters to our advertising and clientele. The breasts we have made the central message of our campaigns and careers. Cleavage creates cash, they say in our industry, and with two women with as well-matched breasts as we, it only makes sense that our minds would go there. 

When confronted. 

When cornered. 

When the moment comes when our cataclysm is due. 

And yet, once I have challenged, and you have accepted – even dared me to come at you, I still wait for the moment. Legs spread in a power stance, both of us leaning against one another, buoyed by our firm, delicious tits. “You ready for this cunt?” I ask, as I lift my hands to your hair slowly, and take two firm handfuls, though without applying any pressure – yet.

Ewa:

My heart is pounding…. I can feel its race tripling… But no… That is your own heartbeat, pounding through your firm bosom and reverating through mine…. Both muscles pounding in ancitipation like the drums of the war to come….

Our legs spread, straining our skirts… Our white robs parted open.. But it’s our blouses that bear the most… effects… of this slow, intense, chest grinding…. Slowly.. I can feel the top button plucked open on my blouse from the sheer pressure, but a moment later, like in a revenge, my buttons tag your top one and pop it open… And we both begin to feel more.. FLESH on FLESH as we roll our shoulders, staring at one another…

There is something.. Utterly.. HATEFUL about you…. I felt it… I felt it and knew it was my JEALOUSY being around you… You’re just… too perfect…. Hair.. Face.. Smile… Decorum… Wardrobe… ANd it felt we were at war on every level… But none more than our chests…

And we both know why… Because the other LIED…. We advertised them as enhanced… As a testament to our surgical prowess… But no… They are naturals… And we both know because we FELT them and now, continue to….

“Fucking… Bitch…” I hiss under my breath, feeling your fingers slipping into my hair, and mine move up… I slip my fingers over your ears, and into your hairs, filling the gaps between my fingers, as I let my finger tips touch, then I curl them, grabbing two fISTS of your hair, hissing at your face… Preparing mentally for the ANGUISH that will follow..

“I’m more ready that you ever will be… Whore… Come on.. FIGHT ME McKenzy… Fucking FIGHT ME, you fucking worthless cumstain…”

McKenzie:

I can barely decide what I want for dinner after spending a day sharing space with you. I spend hours trying to decide what to wear, if only so I can pick something I expect will out class whatever you’ve chosen. I am indecisive with most things, outside of the world of medicine, and yet right here – right now, I am certain. WE are certain. 

We want to fight.

We want to hurt each other. To test each other. And not for some gain or to avoid some loss, we just want to give into the jealousy and hatred that have been plaguing us for days, for weeks, for MONTHS. 

And now we are here, on the very precipice of that submergence, and we take our time. Using beautiful breasts to not only dare and overwhelm, but to undress each other one button at a time. Until the speed at which me move brings our hands to each others hair, and hisses from our lips. 

“You want to fight me? HUH!? BITCH?! YOU WANT TO FIGHT ME!?” My venomous words lift into a growled shout, just before I tug at your hair hard and we spin! Not in a wild, stumbling mess, but in a sudden and heavy tug that suddenly stops. Leaving us growling at one another, from only centimeters away. 

“I will fucking destroy you, bitch!” My words are not spoken by a surgeon or a doctor, but an animal. One, that suddenly finds herself in another violet, start-stop ug that sends us around in half, only to stop once more. The heels on our feet feeling more and more unwanted and unwelcome by the second.

Ewa:

“Yes bitch, I want to FIGHT YO-AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!”

My words are interrupted by a sudden, vicious shriek of pain… Feeling your arms stretching and PULLING my hair with SHOCKING strength… 

I knew you were tough…. I knew you were fit… I’m very well aware of your schedule, and how many hours you spend at the gym, or leave to go to a spin class or Bikram Yoga in the breaks… But despite that, feeling that raw…. STRENGTH that your arms and shoulders possess are nothing short of terrifying as you swing us around and pull my head sideways and down, hissing at me…. And from the slight vantage, you continue to PUSH your tits into mine… Oppressively, bullying me.. As you sneer at me…

But as you begin to speak, venom almost dripping from your lips it’s my turn.. I YANKK viciously, pulling your hair in the OPPOSITE direction and DOWN.. SHRIEKING as we stagger in another half spin, returning to where we were facing… And now, with your head pulled down as low as mine.. My right breast and your own right lined up, with our bodies tilted to the side… Grimacing and glaring at one another…

“You don’t… Fucking… know… Who.. You’re messing with…” 

I sneer as I can feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins.. The pain in my scalp skyrocketing, but I do my best to TWIST my knuckles to pull each individual hair OUT with my grip, pushing my wrist pad into your head to wrench the hairs OUT….

My right leg slipping forwards, feeling your own right and they both bend and coil behind the knee, our calves, clad in their stockings brush and hiss as we anchor ourselves… Pulling slowly at the other’s hair… Locked in place.. Our right tits PUSHING into each other…. Like two continental shelves pushing against each other.. Waiting for the moment that one overpowers the other and break the stalemate in a devastating earthquake….

McKenzie:

In soap operas this moment is always wild and reckless. Two stumbling women hurtling through a room and crashing into every piece of furniture there is to be found. No tactics. No strategy. No intent other than to fling and be flung. 

But something about us – something in us keeps this close and slow. Near and vicious. Every muscle in our bodies flexing so we can break will with our tight, pulling grasps. Struggling to keep from crying out in pain, even as the same sounds delight us when heard. 

Both of us wanting to impose our will on each other. Not in a flash, but permanently. And so we yank, turn, and stop. Yank, turn, and stop. Sounds of pain and rage slipping through our lips as we settle and then set back to straining. But as one revolution becomes 4 and 4 become 7, we clench and coil. Wanting to find a way to take the other down, both literally and figuratively. 

Our legs extending, even as we pop one hair follicle after another from their place in the others scalp. “Bitch! Bitch! Bitch! OWE! FUCK!” I cry, as I use our met right breasts to find leverage. Wanting to send you back, and down to the floor. 

But when I can’t push you down or trip you up, I decide to lift my right leg, angle the heel of my shoewear in, and then try to drive it into the back of your left calf. But just as I make that move, you shift and adjust. Leaving my heel to not only miss your leg entirely as it stabs inward, but then also to curl back in. 

For a second or maybe two, I am left on one leg. Imbalance. Off-kilter. And after a hard, merciless tug by you I am yanked down to the floor in front of you on a single knee. My hands still buried in your hair, but with half the effectiveness that you have, given your placement above me. “OWWWWWWWWEEEEEEE, GOD YOU CUNT!”

Ewa:

It’s like one of those scenes you see in discovery channel… When two animals… Two predators… Two scorpions or snakes meet in combat…

The battle is… terrifying…. For a moment it looks like both are frozen in place… And then.. A flurry of motion… Too fast for the human eye to catch.. And then.. Stillness… With both locked together…. Again… Frozen in time…. For long moments before another flurry, slashing claws or stabbing stingers dart in…. Before the other pause….

This is how we fight… This how we battle…. Grunting and grimacing… As we both quickly feel the other’s strength… And with every bit of pride in our bodies, we are determine to prove ourselves.. Stronger….

There is little in the way of tactics…. It’s just raw strength… Fingers twisting to pry hair out as we cuss and yelp, both twisting her right shoulder into GRIND it into the other… The pain spreading through our glands and connective tissue, as we each PINCH the other’s tit back to her chestbone with her own… and it’s FAR from a pleasant feeling… 

Until you swing your right leg for a kick, and you miss… Not by any bout of skill, but rather sheer dumb luck…. As you grunt and stumble… And I PUSH the advantage.. And even with one leg under you, you manage to keep your balance for a couple seconds before you crash down to one knee, and I immediately twist my body, PUSHING my weight towards my hands, my fists clenched, and PUSHHHINNNG down to the ground… Feeling the pain in my scalp SPIKE as you pull me from a lower vantage…

“Ah!! Ah! Ahhhh!! FUCK FUCK FUCKKKKKK!!” I screech but I don’t relent.. I don’t give in… Still on my feet while you are on one knee,… Grunting as stretch your hair down, trying to make my fists meet the carpet, to drag you down to the carpet, so I can mount you and pin you down…

My white robe is flapping open… Sliding down my shoulders a little… My blouse tucked from inside my skirt…. I grunt as the pain in my scalp builds and I try to push my right knee into your chest… To nudge and push you down further.. But as I do, you stiffen your body and PUSH into my raised leg and I YELP, as I hop back on my left heel, but it BENDS under me and I cry as pain erupts in my ankle, hearing the SNAP of my heel as I lose my balance and come CRASHING down to my left knee infront of you..

“FUUUUUCKKK!!!” I scream feeling my own head pulled down… Both bent over, forced to bown before the other.. Crying in frustration in pain, as we each are trying to make the other’s head touch the floor first…

McKenzie:

In a split second I can see our entire fight playout before us. I drop to a knee, and you wrench be down to the ground. I try to fight my way back to my feet, but you topple me, straddle me, and then ravage me there on the floor beneath you. Yes, I fight. Yes, I strive to overcome my own bad luck and your advantage, but you keep on me. Thwarting my every attempt to get up and on top, until finally I left a sobbing mess of run mascara and shed tears. Begging you to stop ruining my tits, as you cackle wildly. 

“No. No! NO!” I can’t let that happen! I can’t! Let you beat me! “I AM BETTER THAN YOU!” Thoughts become screams, and screams fade back into thoughts, as on my knee before you I struggle to keep pulling. Keep hurting you with my pull on your hair, even as you savage my own. Making me groan and moan – whimper and cry for you. My rival. My enemy. I hate you for making me seem weak. For hearing me in pain. And I will punish you. I will get my revenge, if I can only avert the fate I have just foreseen. 

And though in my mind, it is on me to adjust that course, as you try to finish the job, and take me down to the floor, you try to drive your knee in between my tits. But as you do, I drive forward and into that same knee. Making you retreat in such a sudden and forceful way that the heel on which you try to plant gives way, and you crash down with me. Each of us on one knee, as we suddenly pull close once more. Again bust to bust. Our robes falling off of our shoulders, and hanging at our bent elbows as we struggle.

This minor battle of who will pull the other to the ground first becoming so intensely important to both of us that we are willing to not only suffer to the point of tears, but also let the other hear us as we do so. Whimpering between curses. Crying out in between threats. Each of us pulling in an opposite directions, knowing if we pull to the same side we will collapse together in that direction. No winner, no loser, but instead, side by side. 

And though we might stay there, pulling in pain for hours, I notice something between us. Through our quickly messing here. Through a fresh layer of sweat forming and then dripping from our brows. The highest button on my blouse catching on yours. Not in a quick catch, but in a hold that seems not to give as we writhe together on our knees. 

A sight that cause me to make a play. Not my more pulling, to the left or to the right, but instead in as much of a stand as I can muster, and then in a sudden return. Back. Down. In a burst of effort and energy that tears open not only your blouse but my own! Victory though that may be, in a war like this, as I land unsettled, you push into me once more. Tackling me down to the floor, putting me on my back beneath you..

Ewa:

It’s happened… I’ve dreamt of this moment… I’ve fantasized about it…. 

Tipsy at parties, surrounded by friends, who took me out to try their best to calm me after a day at the office, and yet not able to get the events of the day out of my head…

At my morning run, jogging, and instead of smiling at the handsome studs casting looks my way, and trying their best to get my attention; fixating at the bitch I’m about to see in the office in an hour or so….

In my bed, laying there, tossing and turning, like I’m having a fever…. Recalling the events of the day.. What you did, what you said… Both real and perceived slights directed at me…

…. and in this very fucking office…. Door locked…. Knowing that you are only few meters away… With one heel balanced on the edge of my desk… And one hand pushing my panties aside, rubbing and fingering myself…

… I’ve dreamt of this…. This… crude… Raw… PHYSICAL end to our rivalry… To bring things to a close…. In the most barbaric, primal, and definitive of ways… Hands in hair… Chest pushing into chest… 

But what I never imagined, is how much of a resistance I’d feel…. How strong you might be.. and how… FIRM… your breasts would be, even in this singular duel, each pushing her right tit into the other…

“Ugghh… Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… Fuuckkerrr…!!” — I whine…

“NNgghhh.. Awwwwwww… Biiiitcchh! Takke iitttttt!!” — You cry back..

But then… you just.. collapse back.. It’s too deliberate of a fall to signal a win for me… no… You THREW yourself back, and as you do, I feel the top button latching and PULLING yanking my blouse open even more, now down to my belly button as we hit the floor hard.. A yelp leaving my lips, from the yank to my hair that you infuse with the power of gravity…

And as we crash together, grunting, my lips pressing to your cheeks and yours to mine, both sliding, smearing cheeks with the rouge of our lipsticks… The momentum takes me off you and to my side, and all you need to do is that little push to roll me fully to my back, and I feel your weight atop of me… My eyes going wide… Groaning, feeling your weight atop of me… Your chest pressing to mine… Your body tensing… 

No… no.. I’m not a wrestler…. I’m not even a fighter… But I can read the body language stemmed from just the contraction of your muscles, the way your knees bend and your thighs strain your skirt… You’re going for a straddle…

So my arms do what they need to do… Without thought.. They tense and my biceps lock… Holding your hair to me, cheek by cheek, my heels pressing into the carpet, my left foot slipping out of the shoe but I don’t mind as I thrust up, bridging and adding even more to the momentum, trying to pull to my left and roll you off me once again…

And I succeed… Despite the muscle-tearing pain in my shoulders and thighs… I slide back atop of you, but with almost perfect predictability, I feel you pulling my hair again and twisting, and I cry out as my shoulder hits the floor again and I land on my side facing you… Our thighs locked together, our legs straightened, facing each other on our sides… Fingers still pulling, PLUCKING at hair… Our blouses now open to my belly buttons, and our bra-clad breasts bumping and rubbing..

McKenzie:

Do you know how many dates I’ve spent stewing? How many brunches I’ve sat boiling? Angry about things you’ve have done, and things I expect you to do when I get to ‘our’ office. Even saying it makes me rage. I am too smart. Too talented. Too good to share an office. To share the spotlight with you. 

Sure, you’re good. You’re amazing. Incredible, even. Not only that, but beautiful. Sexy. Mysterious. And worst of all, just as busty as me. All of which makes me hate you. Loath you. 

Because you’re stealing these years from me. The years where I should be top of the food chain. The days that should be the best of my life, where I feel like I am on top of the world, after almost a decade of study and paying dues. 

That’s why I smile, even as I curse and cry as we yank at each others hair. Desperate to punish and hurt each other, but in addition to that, I want you bare. I want you stripped. And so I risk losing ground in our battle, by lifting my bust and body and then quickly dragging it back. 

Ripping open our blouses as we crash back to the floor. My body atop yours for a second, and then yours atop mine. Each of us fully aware that if one of us takes the top position, we will be disadvantaged. Maybe not hopelessly, but momentarily. And in a war like this, even a moment of weakness can leave us mangled and mauled. 

That knowledge and expectation is more than enough to keep us panicked and frantic, so that our efforts, which once focused solely on taking the other down to the floor, now split into two halves. One, to attack and harm, and the other to defend against being mounted. 

Despite those efforts, you press me to my back, and crawl atop me. Your heavy breasts hanging above me like a grim warning of a smother that is to come, as I kick beneath you. My heels coming loose, and then off, only to be pushed away by my heels and soles as they continue to extend and retract.

Somehow I still reach, still catch, and still find a way to PULL you off of me and to the side. Not so I can then escape you, but instead so I can lock us together once more. Our long, thigh-high-covered legs extending our, in-between, and then hooking to pull us close. 

Breast to breast and body against body. MY hands, which once balled in your hair, and threatened to remain there forever, releasing, and then moving south. Slinking between us and then latching onto your bra and blouse to tear them out of the way, or if they do not move, apart. 

There, as we squirm, ever so close, I hiss at you. Our heads leaned in so that our cheeks press and lips hover next to matted, snapped hair and listening ears. “I will ruin you, bitch. These breasts. This body. ALL OF ITT–AAARRRGGGGHHHH!!!!” I suddenly cry out, as you rip through my focus and fire with a new, blistering attack.

Ewa:

I should be shocked… I should be in utter disbelief, dismay… I should be running for the fucking hills… At the shocking reality that someone like you… Somebody who looks like you.. With such a perfect smile… A pretty face…. Bedazzling eyes, flawless brows and gorgeous hair can.. FIGHT… like this…

When you think of someone who fights… With such. PSYCHOTIC menace.. With such RAGE and almost sadistic DELIGHT to smile that way… You think of what media has fooled us into believing…. Leather-jacket-wearing, face-and-neck-tatooed, buzz-cut-haired, spike-collared-dykes fighting in a bar, before being carted to jail where they would find another day to continue their masochistic pursuit of violence and pain…

But no… No one has business of wearing that vicious GRIN on her face, while being so pretty… So picture perfect, grinding and writhing with me, grabbing my left breast, and letting me feel her nails make their introduction in a relatively mild drag over my skin that still makes me flinch and yelp, before you grab the bra cup and blouse, and violently yank outwards and back…

Hissing your words I grimace as your violent tug tilts our balance, sending me to my back again, coupled with the mixed track of POP and RIIIIIIP as my bra and blouse both snap and tear at the same time…. My bra retreating immediately sideways baring both of my breasts, while my blouse sags to the side, a significant chunk ripping in your hand, as you press your still firmly held breasts down on my unsupported pair…

“ARRRGGHH!! BIITCHH!!”

I’m not smiling… I furious… even as we are cheek to cheek.. You grinding your face down into mine.. I tilt mine and peel my lips back… and take a snapping, short bite with my right fang on the corner of your lip…

Trying to erase that stupid smile curl off your fucking face…

My left hand, sneaking around your back, fingers still stuffed with the torn hair…. And I slip my paw inside your loose, flapping blouse, reaching for your bra clasp…. grabbing it, and giving it a quick twist, trying to snap it open, before curling my fingers, and DRAGGGING my nails down your back, with my path now uninterrupted…

“You will fucking… Ruin.. NOTHING… I’m going to.. Take.. EVERYTHING.. From… You… McKenzy… Your.. Smile… Your beauty… Your tits… EVERYTHINNG–AIIIEEHHH!”

McKenzie:

I have had parents, lovers, BOYFRIENDS even, that take up less of my mind than you. That are less a part of my life than you. Sure they were there when I went home. Talked to me after school. Hugged me and told me they cared. 

None of that, have you done for me, and yet you are a constant presence. In my victories and defeats. In my moments happiness and despair – inspiration and desperation. 

What will you say? What will you do? What would you think? How are you judging me?

I’ve asked myself those questions a million times over. Again and again. And it is only now. Only as we war on our sides fighting to take each others bras and tops off, that those anxiety-causing questions fade from my mind. 

Leaving me in a sudden and long-wanted silence. The only sounds I can hear are your cries and mine overlapping. Your curses, threats, and dares, layering atop mine. 

Your words, as hateful and hissed as they are, perfectly encapsulating what this is about. What our entire feud has been leading up to. A contrary and yet mutual attempt to destroy each other, and to take everything good in life away. To rip away beauty, success, and all else we can latch our claws into. Why? Because we dared to stand in each others way.  

The lips that spoke that truth then retracting far enough to allow teeth to seek, to sink, and to bite down on the mirrored pair before them. Not in long, vicious bites, but in quick, feline snaps. Warning shots between us, as together we seem to work. Allowing and angling in such a way that robes, blouses, and bras can be unfastened, unpinned, and then pulled off of our upper bodies. 

Until finally, when they are free and away from us, I once more grab for your tits. Digging my curling fingers and pretty red nails into them hard! My back and neck arching as I try to apply pressure, but also as you DRAG your sharp dagger tip digits down the same! An attack that, even as our coiled legs keeping our lower halves together, causes me to scream out at you. “FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING WHORE!!! OWE OWE – CRY FOR ME!!!!”

Ewa:

There is a savage delight… To running my nails on your flesh…. It’s…. a sensory override of everything VICIOUS and NASTY and BITTER… It’s how your body tenses, even with you atop of me.. It’ show your scream echoes against the floor, hitting my ears twice.. It’s that feel of skin slightly flaking under my nail beds…. It’s the sensation that… I.. left.. a.. MARK… On something flawless…

Sure, it will fade soon… But oh… I can imagine you standing there, in front of a mirror, turning your back and twisting your neck so you can see them… I can imagine you sobbing and wining about not being able to wear a backless dress anytime soon… 

It’s delightful… It’s primal… And it’s almost orgasmic…

But you.. You don’t fucking stop… You’re that perfect, tit-for-tat bitch that everyone had at school…. The cunt who would spend all fucking class, sitting next to her, looking at up at the teacher, with one hand PINCHING the other’s side and thigh… In a game of cruel chicken to see who gets up and rushes to the bathroom to cry, and comes back to sit at a different desk…

You fucking.. Get.. EVEN…

And in a furry of screams, you pull at my blouse.. I grab for yours.. We grunt and growl, twisting and thrashing… We flop to our sides.. Which helps us get one arm out of our tops each… Then we flop over… I’m on top and you rip my blouse off, and yank my bra… I reach for yours, but you quickly turn us over and return back on top, but it allows me to yank your blouse off the remaining arm… Your bra falling loosely to the side…

And I can feel your naked.. Flesh… pressing on mine… Nipples stiff and poking… Aerolas rough, large, rubbing…

And your claws.. Find my flesh first… They JAM in and I SCREEECCH…

“AAHHHH!!! AAWWW!! AIIIIEEEEEH!!” I scream as you fucking demand… My legs tangling with yours more… Our skirts hiked up, the stockings hissing, and my fingers dig into the bulging outsides of your breasts…. Clawing back… PUSHING my nails in… And mauling as I slowly PUSH your tits togther… My thumbs slipping in, into the space between our breasts, and I JAM my thumb nails into your nipples…

“No.. Fuck.. YOU… McKenzie…. WEEP for me you nasty WHORRREEEE!”

McKenzie:

It is something that surfaces in day to day life. Or at least not in a way where the roots are showing. It was high school, and of course I was one of the two most popular girls in school. There was Stacy and then there was I. Both of us dating the football team’s stars. Both of us wanting to be prom queen. Both of us running for class president. 

At first it felt good to be on her level of the school hierarchy. At first I was happy to be either first or second. An equal to a girl who seemed to have literally everything. But I soon learned that Stacy didn’t feel that same way. 

And so, instead of just letting me be. She came after me. In every way she could. She tried to ruin me. To steal everything I had, and everything I might want. And one by one she took them. The boyfriend. The crown. The election. Not fairly, but by spreading rumors and turning my friends against me. 

That is until I started fighting back. Until I decided that TWO could play at her game. It wasn’t quick or pretty, but by graduation I had destroyed her. She making up some excuse for why she had to change schools, while I took my rightful place as THE most popular girl in school. 

I see ever so fucking much of her in you. The same malicious grin. The same hateful glimmer in your eyes. That’s why I can’t let you know how much it hurts as you drag small, red lines into my porcelain skin. Why when you grab for my bare breasts and begin to claw and squeeze, I have to focus on hurting you back. 

If you see me as weak, you’ll only keep going. You’ll only get worse. I have to stop you, just as I did Stacy. And so I grab and TWIST. Stab and RAKE my claws over your tits. Wanting them to look a wreck in your next ad, from whatever hovel you open your next office in. Once I’ve removed you from mine and my life. 

For a moment it seems as if our efforts are zero sum. Each of us taking what the other can dish, and giving back just the same. Bitch to bitch. Savaging each others breasts. 

But suddenly it comes. A perfect two pronged attack that makes me howl out in pain. Your hands, powerful and pretty as they are, smashing my tits together and then JABBING your nails into my rock-hard nipples. 

I cry out, just as you demand. Tears flooding into my eyes, even though I fight not to release. Falling off of you, and to my back, as you follow through and straddle me. My hands releasing your tits and shooting to your wrists to try and pry them from my breasts, as I hear your viperous words ring in my head. “Weep you nasty whore!” 

I hate you! I rage to myself without sound, only to repeat the same again, but audibly. “I HATE YOU!” My voice trembling with rage, and pain. My head turning left and right, with my eyes closed. Wanting to pain to stop, but being entirely unwilling to give into you. Now, or fucking ever!

Ewa:

I know your kind…. I know your type…. You’re every fucking teenage ‘All-American’ BITCH I met in my life…. When I first moved here in middle school… The sluts who isolated, bullied, and ridiculed me for my accent… Making up playground songs about my country that they know nothing about… The little twats who were just so fucking jealous of the attention I had, and the effect my heavy accent had on boys… That their only outlet was cruelty and evil…

You’re every cunt in high school and college, who gave up on that childish ‘honest’ cruelty, and replaced it by venom and malice.. Smiling in my face, while trying to stab me in the back… You’re Erin, my former bestie in Med school, who I found out after three years of sharing a room with her, that she was the one spreading rumors about me, telling my secrets to everyone and driving the wedges between me and every boy or girl I tried to date….

Oh, we ended up having a holler of a ‘talk’…. The first time we were HONEST and BRUTAL with one another…  And even though they pulled us apart, or rather, me off her… I was still grinning, despite the cuts and scratches and bruises… Because she was weeping….

There were no bells or belts anyone announcing a victory… But her tears were all I needed….

And so will yours…. 

Even if you’re atop of me, pushing down with your claws.. Carving into me… Making me SCREAM as you wish it… I don’t relent.. I gouge and claw back… Both seething, both squishing and mauling the flesh… As it oozes between fingers… Both attacking each other’s ‘pride’… We’re pretty girls for sure, but there is one thing that is just outstandishly flawless about us, and it’s our breasts… The first thing to draw attention to us from a far, before we ensnare every mind and break every heart when they see the pretty faces and eyes overlooking the mountainous orbs on our chest…

But as my thumbs make their mark, you SCREAM.. You flinch and I push into you… Or is it you trying to retreat… No.. Fuck that… I knot my legs tighter around you, and we roll over… I put you on your back, and I DOUBLE down.. Pushing my thumb nails into your nipples.. Feeling them inverting, as I scream, sweat and spittle and tears dripping off my face on yours…

“YOU HAVEN’T EVEN BEGUN TO HATE ME!!!”

And I mean it… I want to commit.. Atrocities to you…. I want to maul your tits so badly.. I want you covering them up when you walk into that interview to find another office to work in…. I want the fucking John that pays you for a night so you can afford rent to grimace and ask what’s up with the roadmap on your breasts…

But above all.. I want you to SUFFER…

My hips press harder on yours.. as I try to arch my back, to put more pressure.. Your hands now on my wrists.. Your offense paused.. But as I lift up, you manage to PULL my hands off you and I cuss out, but without delay, I DROP my body, driving my chest into yours as fucking HARD as I can…

No armor.. No clothing… and a LOT of fucking scratches on our breasts this time as they make their wet, fleshy, SMACKING contact…

McKenzie:

If it wasn’t today that we found a reason to fight, it would have been tomorrow. Or if fate intervened, the next day. There was never a world – never a universe – never a reality where this wasn’t what happened between us. 

If you were lesser in some way – in ANY way, we might have been able to co-exist. Not as proud or smart. Not as talented or tough. Not as pretty as me, or with breasts that didn’t in an instant compare with mine, we could have found a way to live side by side. Each of us with our own kingdom and throne. Not obsessed with each other and our parity. 

But no, you had to be the one woman in the FUCKING world who was a match for me. And then on top of that, your gradingly beautiful accent, doing just enough to give you an edge in every conversation. Not with me, but with everyone else. 

If I have to listen to one more person tell me how deliciously foreign you are, I would scream! Just like I do now, as you ravage my tits with your pressing thumbs, and smashing palms. Your attack so brutally effective that I am forced to abandon all offense, and just try to stop you. 

Just try and free my tits from your grasp. And so I pull and pry with all my might. Needing your nails to stop their cruel, constant digging into my sensitive pink nips. And finally I find it, the angle, the intensity, and the anger to yank your hands free and away from my chest. 

But with them removed, you lift your upper body up and off mine, and then SLAM it back down with a wild clap of soft, supple flesh that echoes around your office. The ripples from the impact still traveling across our now wounded breast flesh, all as I cry out. “UUuuuunnnngggggghhh, CUNT!” 

My limbs then wrapping around you, in two ways. The first, my arms, around your mid-to-upper back, cinching us up tight, not wanting you to rise up and slam down again. And second, with my legs, which coil around yours, as in the process of raising and descending, your straddle slides and our legs align. The effect an embrace that keeps us painfully close and tight, while I growl up at you. “I will SQUEEZE every last drop of CUNT out of you, SLUT!”

Ewa:

“NNNGAAAHHH!!!”

Even though, I’m the one who dropped on you… I can feel almost every ounce of pain that I dished, bounced back at me…

What the fuck am I thinking?? When I’m using my breasts as both sword and shield. As both targets and weapons… What did I expect…

The feeling of my proud chest, meeting it’s match, in this trainwreck of a collision, that splats, sending beads of sweat flying off to hit our necks and chins, as my face falls forwards into the bed of soft light brown hair of yours… Groaning… Feeling the way our breasts pancake.. The connective tissue pummeled, squished, stretched… Your right tit wedging itself between mine, your nipple poking at my chest bone at the root of my cleavage, forcing my left breast outwards… While my own right is pinning your left tit sideways, with my nipple gouging into its cleavage…

It’s that moment of pain… Shell shock that allows you to wrap your arms around my body… First, softly, as I hear you groaning and rasping… But then..

“ARRRGHHH!!!” Your arms tense and SQUEEZE, pulling me in, your biceps flexing, pressing into my ribs as you CRUS my body hard.. Hissing your hateful words into mine… Your legs straightening, the knot that was our limbs undone, but still, our calves are pressed together.. Stockings hissing as you squeeze, forcing my body to arch back..

“FFUUCCCKKK!!” I cry out in pain as you squeeze… You have no interest in swapping positions…. Why would you… You have a better vantage point from below…., Pouring as much pressure on my ribs, while using your tits to pin and crush my left one, even at the cost of yours being pinned between my right and your own left arm….

My fingers come up and I grab your shoulders, trying to push down… To force your shoulders backwards to ease the pressure… But you’re not relenting…. Our eyes meet… And I see that savage determination in yours…

“Uughh… You… Fuck.. Ackkk.. Acckk.. Ahhhhhh!!” I can’t even talk as you squeeze me, and with everything I got, I push my left hand on the floor over your shoulders and SHOVE hard, sending us rolling to our sides, but you follow me, you don’t let go even as I push my body to my back, trying to trap your arms around me, to weaken your vantage… But somehow, I go from a bad spot to another equally bad, as your squeeze weakens, but now I have to contend with your weight on me….

Groaning in despair.. I bring my hands up to your jaw, pressing my palms on them, and I begin to push hard.. Trying to force your head backwards… Pushing.. Pushing with all my might to break your grip…

McKenzie:

Stacy came for me when it all came to a head. When the walls were crumbling around her. When every well laid plan came to fruition and secretly planted seed sprouted. 

It was late, after cheerleading practice. Not by minutes, but instead hours after. I had stayed late to get myself a little promotion. Earning what I had wanted on my knees, beneath he captain’s desk. 

It was the last spike I needed to drive through my blonde rival’s heart. And I drove it. Hard and fast. And as I showered thereafter, cleaning the spilt sperm of our coach from my body, Stacy came. Pretending at first, she just wanted to shower, but within minutes we were fighting. 

Struggling under the warm water that rained down on us, and tangling in amongst the steam. We were both fresh, when I got her to the tiled-floor. Both able to keep battling wildly, pulling hair, and scratching skin. But when I caught her beneath me, I held, locking our naked bodies in a grapevine pin. Not for a moment or two, before she escaped, but instead for hours. 

I caught her and I kept her, until she was broken with delirium. So spent and fatigued. So unwilling to be under my physical control that she gave in. And when she did, I shattered her. Humiliating her again and again, until I finally drug her by her hair and then tossed her in front of her locker naked, wet, and sobbing. 

That’s all I have to do here and now with you, is catch you and hang on. And as my arms wrap around you, and then tighten, I see it, just as I saw your victory before. In a ‘what if’ film reel in my mind. Keep my hold. Keep squeezing. And you will give in, just like Stacy did. 

A thought – an expectation that drives me to hold on, even as our breast-to-breast embrace causes us both to suffer, a breast on either side giving way. Not perfect. Not optimal, but my hope is that I will tire you. Weaken you. All of which seems to be occurring as you try to push at me, and then when that fails, to roll off of me. 

Maybe you hope I’ll let go. Maybe you think I’ll go for not more than a straddle. But I cling to you like glue, even as we turn. Continuing my squeeze and the pressure it applies to our breasts and the lungs beneath. 

Following you up and over, and then digging in atop you. My ability to squeeze with my arms lessed, though it is quickly replaced by my body weight atop you. My breasts weighing heavy on yours, and giving me just enough room to move, to shift my tits, and break our dual-sided suffering. My gorgeous pair instead lifted and placed atop yours, risking the jab of your nipples digging into the soft underside of my breasts. 

My plan is to lean in, down, and plant my effort-warmed cheek against yours. Pinning you to the floor, and making your plight even worse than it is now. But as my head goes to move, you reach up, and flatten the palms of your hands beneath my chin. Thereby giving you the grip to push my head back. At a worse and worse angle, that I am not able to thwart with my neck muscles alone. I groan, and then grouse at you, as centimeter by centimeter, you angle my head back. ““ARGGHHH!! LET GO CUNT!!! OWE OWE!”

The words of pain slip my lips, just as the pain becomes too great to just endure. Leading me to try and fall off of you. To let you go, so that I can readjust, and then attack again. But in a realization that makes my eyes go wide, I find I can’t pull back or away, as my arms are trapped beneath you. And so, atop you, and as the pain mounts, I just hang there. A quarter into a roll you won’t allow, and help captive in the very cage I meant to keep you in until your will broke and body gave in.

Ewa:

It’s been so fucking long… Since I felt this way… Not just being in a fight… Not being.. in a sweaty, panting, gasping duel with another bitch….

No.. I mean being.. crushed… Overwhelmed… Bullied.. Flattened… 

Your breasts are the same size as mine, but they feel like they are mountains as you crush them into mine… Squeezing my ribs, forcing me to squirm, and my boobs to begin to glide and part… Pinned under yours…

I’ve not felt that since I was a Freshman in high school…. Locked in that bathroom with five seniors standing over me, laughing, as their leader… The bitch who’s half a foot taller, and 3 years older was pinning me down.. Under her.. Our blouses ruffled, with her breasts that were bigger than mine, pinned mine as she taunted me… 

I felt trapped.. Scared.. Hopeless… But despite it all… I refused to give.. I refused to submit to her… I bit my own lip bloody just to not give the cunt the satisfaction, and when I was happier being stomped on by the six of them at the end, as they were vented their frustration at my defiance; than giving….

And it’s this… defiance, that I channel into…. It’s not about the fucking office.. It’s not about our careers.. It’s about… PRIDE… About not imagining the world where you can fucking look yourself in the mirror and say that you bested me… That your body… broke mine…. Even as you are so goddamn close to doing it right this second…

I push my hands into your jaw… And shove… I push like I’m doing an overhead triceps push on a bench in the gym… And you begin to wince.. To groan, to cuss…. But I don’t stop…. Your body tilts to the side…. But you don’t roll off me… We remain like this… In a fucking… Stalemate…. My ribs for your goddamn pretty neck…

“NNgghhh.. Let… Go….. First… Bitch… Let.. Go… Or I will.. break… your pretty… neck….” — I groan…. My skirt hiked….. I can feel your left thigh pushed against my thong…. My own thigh mashed against yours… Both in this… Mexican stand-off… Neither accepting to be the one to release her grip first…

McKenzie:

We didn’t know it that day we met. Hell we don’t even know it now as we struggle against each other, neither of us willing concede a single inch. But we were made for this. Both by nature and nurture. Destined to meet. To bristle. To chafe. To hate. To confront. To fight. Every moment of your life, and every moment of mine shaping us in just such a way that we would have no choice but to meet body to body and war. 

Our weaknesses promising it.

Our strengths making it inevitable. 

Our temperaments making it inescapable. 

And our pride’s making it manifest in just this way. Neither of us giving in, even as I we remain trapped. You bending my neck back so far, that I can feel the nerves pinching in such a way that I start to see black spots and streaks of light. I have to let you go first. Have to be the one who concedes, even in this fractional contest amongst ever so many between us. 

Our hooked legs peeling apart, as I angle up and away from you. The soft inner recesses of our thighs crossing, as our panty-covered mounds slowly slide closer to meeting. 

I can hear you telling me to let go first. To pull my arms from around you, and in so doing give you the smallest taste of satisfaction. “Never….” I mutter in response, as your digits curl and wriggle just in front of my mouth. The tips of your nails glancing off my lips, as I try to hold on and keep squeezing. 

“You give in….” I demand, as my situation worsens and the constricting my arms inflict upon you weakens. 

“I won’t sto….” I try to keep adding. Keep talking, if only to embolden myself. But with the sweat generated by our struggle, and the growing weakness in my arms, no doubt from the work you’re doing to my cervical spine, my grip and arms slip. Out from behind you so that in a sudden collapse, I fall off of you and to the side in a clump. My matted and sweat-wet hair covering my face, as my chest heaves, and I try to collect myself. My hands moving to my neck to massage and mend.

Ewa:

Your neck craned back awkwardly… In such an unnatural angle….

My ribs are creaking…. Aching… Your arms seem determined to keep squeezing until they pop and break…

This unimaginable cruelty… Between two women who KNOW the damage they could cause to each other…. It’s past cosmetic now… You truly are trying to shatter my ribs… To crush my glands with yours…. While I’m obviously willing to pinch the nerves in your neck and cause damage to your vertebrae…

And it’s all about pride… About us just.. REFUSING… To be the one to give…

My palms are slipping over your cheek.. I cruss my thumbs under your jaw… I can barely keep my grip.. I let the nails dig into the flesh… Hearing your groans… Your gasps…

“Arrrghhhh… I… wonnnn’ttttttttttttttt… Aaahhh..”

But then, I feel them.. Your arms don’t break their grip.. They.. SLIDE.. Gliding up over my back and head and they SLIP off and you fall off me to the side, rolling away, while I roll with you, but I stop, face down… Panting, sobbing, my arms reaching back touching my sore and aching ribs…

For nearly two minutes we just lay there, sobbing.. Cussing… Panting… I’m grateful that my face is buried in my discarded white robe… But then I realise it’s not mine.. I smell YOUR fucking perfume on it, so I gnaw my teeth into the fabric… Letting my lipstick smudge it….

“Fuck.. You..” — I whisper at you…. Tilting my head up… Hoping to see tears of defeat.. TO see you curled up against the wall… To see your palm up signaling ‘enough’….

But no… Instead my eyes meet yours… And I see the determination.. The rage.. The… DEFIANCE….

“Fuck… YOU…” I repeat… Slowly pushing my hands under me… Pushing up to my feet… My skirt hiked high, but I fully pull it up, inverting it on itself, turning into a belt around my waist… My blue thong slightly misadjusted…. My right stocking rolled down to my knee, my left one still high, but it’s covered in holes and ladders….

I back peddle to the door, opening it… Standing in it… Glaring at you… “Get.. Out… And never… Come back… Your last.. Fucking.. CHANCE… You goddamned WHORE…. “

McKenzie:

THIS is where any two normal women would break. Where they would split like a wave crashing against a sharp cliff. How could what we’ve done to each other so far not have been enough. How can we want more? How can we long to keep hurting and being hurt. 

The sad scene making obvious how terribly we suffer. On our backs crying. Massaging our wounded body parts. Starved for air and calm. Neither of us the over-confident, unforgiving alphas we pretended to be when this fight began. 

We are not torn down to the studs and laid out before each other. Unable to simply shrug off the damage done and attack. Too tired and sore to just tear into each other once more. 

Instead a peace falling upon us. As we, without words, agree to a ceasefire. The true madness and agony that we have wrought heavy on our shoulders and minds. And yet, when finally we have the strength and will to look to each other, there is no submission or forgiveness. Still just the fire. The loathing. The MALICE.

And yet, even as those emotions glint and glimmer, and the tears drip down our faces, you fight to a wobbly stand. Adjusting your disheveled clothes, and then march to the door of your office. Standing there, as you pull it open, and give me a chance. 

One. Last. Chance to escape this. To escape you, and this fate we have together sewn. 

For a moment, as I have before, I imagine it. Walking out. Leaving the practice. Letting you win. Giving you my half of the practice. There is so much I could do with that opportunity. So much we could avoid, if one of us just gave in. 

As those images flash before my eyes, I too find my feet. Trying to adjust my skirt, just as you did, though as I try it falls over my thighs and then to the floor beneath me as I take my first step. Walking in the direction of the door you hold open. Our heavy breasts for the first time bared to each other, where we aren’t locked soul-deep in a frantic battle. 

I can’t help but stare and study yours as I move. Then letting my eyes move up to your mascara and tear stained face. Your bottom lip trembling with anger and agony. My visage no more collected or kempt. We are both a mess. A disaster. 

Out of the periphery of my vision, I can see your fingers tighten around the door, as you hold it open. Part of you wants to be free of this. To have this all be over. No more rivalry. No more feud. No more hurting each other – with words or otherwise. 

And the moment seems to be upon us where you might have it, as I stop. In front of the doorway and you. Each of us on guard and tense being so very close. Knowing that at any moment we might explode back into a wild catfight. 

“You think….” I finally speak, for the first time since I let go of you and collapsed to the floor. “….that I….” I continue, though barely able to convey the emotions that swell within me. “Would EVER!!!!” My broken, trembling sentence finally ends in a loud roar that comes just as I reach up and grab the door from your hands. Slamming it shut, just to the side of us. My body then turning to face you, before it surges forward, and into yours. 

The impact of my breasts and yours sending you back, against the wall behind you. Though I make no effort to pin or trap you. “You’re better than that. WE’RE better than that….” I hiss, as lips hover just a centimeter or two from your own. 

“Fight me….” I then mutter, before raising my hands to your hips to push myself back and away from you, though no more than a foot. 

“Isn’t that what you said, BITCH!?” I ask, spital flying out of my mouth as sweat drips down my skin. 

“Fight me….” I let the words ring in your ears once more as I glare at you with every bit of ferocity I can muster.

Ewa:

I stand by the door… Panting.. Holding it open… While you slowly.. Slowly raise your head to gaze at me…

I can see the pain.. The anguish… The way you are moving your neck.. It’s hurting… Your vertebrae sore, and gawd, I pray they are hurting more than my ribs are… The pain is not receding, and I’m worried that you might have cracked one… But I can’t show you my weakness, even though I am putting too much weight on the door handle to support myself…

You slowly rise… And.. Fuck me.. Yes.. YES… I can see that look.. The way your eyes lower as you picture it… Picture defeat, and let it wash all over you.. Just.. Just fucking embrace it and LEAVE.. Damn you…

Every fiber in my being begging for this to be the truth…. Wanting you to fucking stumble out.. Head hanging.. Defeated and DONE for…

My eyes gazing at your breasts… I can see the damage…. The bruising from the rubbing and smashing… The red dots where my nails sunk in…. The fine lines where they made contact while I was tearing and ripping your bra… And I know that my breasts are as damaged…. Not looking much better…

But instead… You stop, my body tenses, as you grab the door and SWING it shut.. I shudder from the loud BANG of it almost going off its hinges.. Then… 

“UUNGGHHH!!” I grunt as you thrust your body into mine.. Naked tits smashing together… As you shove me into the wall and I feel the pain in my ribs ERUPTING as I CRY out in pain… And glare at you… But… You don’t pin me… Instead.. You step back… Hissing.. Growling…

“You…” I hiss, as I push off the wall.. My body slumped slightly… My knees bent… You can tell that my left arm is pressing to my side… Aching from the pain in my ribs…

“are just…..” I pant… As I step to the side… Watching the way your teeth clench… How your hands are curled….

“Too damn…” I hiss.. Pretending that I have something to say…. But I don’t… Instead… I LUNGE for you… My hands shooting up to intercept yours, grabbing your wrists as I push them outwards.. To allow my own naked breasts to PLOW into yours..

“NNARRARRRGHH!” I cry out in anguish… But I hear your own yelp of pain… As the flesh collides, bulges and instead of bouncing off I PUSH into you and send your back into the wall, my hands shoving your arms beside you… Your fingers curling, nails pointing at me..

“What…. Don’t… You… Get??”

I pant, my mouth almost over yours.. Glaring at you…

“This doesn’t end… Until… ONE of us… are…”

I pant.. And slowly, I release your wrists and step back… Panting.. Watching you..

“So.. Go on cunt… Go fucking on.. Fight me… FIGHT ME….” I hiss… my lips curled in a VICIOUS growl.. Staring at you in utter hatred…

McKenzie:

I want you. I want this so bad that I can taste it. My tears, yes from pain. Yes, from shame, in being the one who let go first. But also, because of the perfection of this … this … release. 

We have waited so long to have this out. Held our tongue day after day. Resisted the urge to fight, when the consequence of such restraint was a growing and overwhelming obsession. 

But now, we have given into our urges, if not each other. And though there is so much we have lost and will lose because of our decision to fight, in such a real, tangible way, it has set us free. 

Free to hate each other without apology. Free to battle physically, the way we have mentally and emotionally for so long. 

And yet, despite our decision to taste what real war is like, still we stand. Glaring and daring. Pushing and pulling. My own quick claiming of you with a shove against the wall matched as you lunge into me. Meeting me breast to breast, and for a moment trapping me beneath you. 

It is only a second or even two that you keep me there. Our giant tits meeting and giving way to each other in a terribly even expansion. Neither pair holding strong or making their superiority clear. 

The sight of it – the feeling of it, grabs hold of my soul and brands it with a terrible jealousy. A feeling of nausea rising up in my stomach, as days and nights of comparison are made now worse. When clothes on, we could see, but did not know. With cleavage exposed, we could assume and contrast, but never with a certainty. 

Now though, we know. The tits that we had always hoped would separate us, if seen fully and examined, are no different than the rest of us. It is the final straw. The dagger in the back. The key to our rivalry thrown away, after the lock is set. It makes me, even as you step back and away, and dare me to fight you, lunge. Just as you did. 

Our wounded breasts meeting once more in an audible splash of flesh, as our fingers lace in each others hair. We growl and curse – spin and slam into the door to your office. The knob of it catching on your skirt in such a way, that as we struggle the handle turns, the door opens, and your skirt rips off as we pull away. 

Back and forth we stumble. Left and right. Stepping further into your office, and back towards your desk, only to suddenly change directions and careen back towards the door and then through it. Spilling into the lobby as we scream at each other. “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!!! I’ll RUIN YOU!!! I’LL MAKE YOU REGRET EVER STANDING IN MY WAAAAGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!” 

No more chances. No more space. We’ve made our decision. To fight. To assault. To hurt each other, until, as you said: ”one of us….”

Ewa:

SPLATTTT!

“AARRRGHHH!!”

“AIIIIEEEEEHH!”

“FUUUCCKKK!!”

“GAWWWWDD!”

There is nothing but the sound of our howls and the wet slick flesh of our breasts SMACKING together.. Our arms, loop around each other’s backs.. Our fingers turn to the other’s crowns, tearing and ripping at them… Screeching as we stumble around…. Each trying to overpower the other…

It’s obvious, how your arms pressuring on my ribs is hurting me.. So you do it even more… Driving me into the door, the handle catching my skirt… Pinning me… But I begin to SHAKE your head violently right and left, bringing back that agony in your neck and you cry, and as we stumble I feel the TUG on my hips, that brings me to a halt as I cry out in shock and confusion, allowing you to drive your hips into mine, sending me back into the wall, and the skirt RIIIPPING off me..

Now, only in my thong and torn, lowered stockings.. I grimace as we stumble around the office… Our feet shifting… Each trying to grind her chest into the others…. While simultaneously pull hair out.. While also remain on our feet.. And atop of it, bully the other back..

I almost get you down on my desk, but you turn and we stumble again, out of the door, to the lobby… I feel my ass hitting Amy’s desk… And you PUSH into me… I cry out in pain but then suddenly I let my body DROP back… YANKKIING hard on your hair, trying to practically JERK you by the hair off your feet and to fall atop of me on the desk, hearing you CRY as your sore neck protests and as your tits crash on mine I groan in pain.. Twisting and we go rolling on her desk, legs bent, hanging in the air as we writhe and sends notes, folders, keyboard and screen falling off the edges as we struggle and battle one another… With nothing but RUIN and destruction on our minds..

McKenzie:

I swear, every time you force my neck to bend it is true and utter agony. I should have let go sooner, to avoid what our long held stalemate did to my neck. Or perhaps you should have done the same, to save your ribs – which cause you to yelp and cry whenever I try to wrap around you. 

Sadly, we both held on, and because of that, we are both a razor tip away from suffering on either side. A fact that doesn’t stop us as we spin and slam. Tit to tit, again and again. Each blow sending one or both of us back. Through the doorway, into the lobby, and then in a crash onto Amy’s desk. 

“ARRGHHH!!! CUNT! OOOOOWWWWEEEE LET GO!!!” I curse as you bend my neck back over the edge of the desk. A crippling attack I escape from, as I yank your hair and drive all of my weight into your ribs. Each of us knowing the others weakness and taking full advantage of them. 

Despite those shots, we find a way to go from a roll on the desk, back to our feet and then once more into a hairpulling, breast slamming stagger together down the hall of the office. Knocking framed degrees and pictures of our favorite clients smashing down to the floor behind us. 

But just as we have run out of chances to escape this war, we soon run out of hallway and office to traverse. And so with one last trip, stumble, and SHOVE we together fall into the operating room. Separating only then, as our lungs burn, breasts ache, and minds reel. 

My feet only bringing me to a stop, just in front of the operating table, and yours doing so just in time to leave you standing in front of me. 

“Bitch! BITCH!!” I shout and spit, before once more trying to lunge at you! But with the same on your mind, we collide in mid-air. Our heavy chests causing just enough of a bounce for me to fall back onto the operating table, with you between my spread legs. Both of us trying to recover from the collision, so that we can go back on offense.

Ewa:

Screaming and wrenching each other around… We fight… Like savages… Like primal cavewomen, swinging their chests around to batter the other back and out of HER cave… Protecting her territory with whatever she feels is the appropriate measure to counter the other….

And as we writhe on Amy’s desk… I go for your neck again.. You know it.. And you ram your bicep into my ribs hard.. I howl…. As you alert me damn well that you know my weakness as I know yours…

But instead of sliding back atop of me you let your feet touch the floor and you step back YANKING me hard by the hair..

“AIIEEHH!” I scream and THRUST my body forwards, driving my breasts into the underside of yours.. You cry out as I drive you into the wall, pushing with my knuckles.. I SWEEEP you across the wall, using your shoulders and head to knock the diplomas down, they fall smashing… But then you push a foot to the wall and THRUST, driving your chest into mine and propelling my almost naked, excpet for a thong body into the wall.. I grunt in pain, feeling you pressing your body to mine, and using your elbows to push into my ribs and DRAGGING me across, my head bobbing into framed photos until we stumble and through the swinging doors of the small operating room we share, and have argued weekly on its usage…

Panting.. We both sob… My body is aching, dark bruises on my ribs… Massive cross hairs for you.. While you cotinue to rub your neck.. I watch you rising up… And I roar and CHARGE into you we fall on the table,  but your legs curl around my hip, holding me down as I try to CRAWL over you…

My left hand pushing on your right cheek, trying to turn your head, your neck weak, it obliges and I feel my breasts mashing into your abs… Hissing…

“Fucking… Cunt… MY clinic… MY operating room…”

And without thought I reach with my right hand and grab the nozzle atop the gasp mask beside us and twist it… a low HISS escaping as I grab the mask and shove it down towards your pinned face…

“I’m going to… Fucking… OPERATE… On you.. Doctor…  There is so… Much.. Of you.. that I need to.. FIX!!”

I snarl menacingly… Feeling your hands wrestling with my wrists.. Trying to free your head while stopping the mask… 

My body sliding up along yours more…

My breasts now touching yours… Panting as the bulging flesh kiss.. The nipples poke and graze.. The gas leaking closer… Closer to your face.. Even I can feel it…

But then… Suddenly.. Your spread thighs slide up, and..

“AAHHIIIIIIIIIIEEHHH!!!” My entire body JOLTS up.. Freezing in place as your legs trap my body and you SCISSOR me hard.. Crushing my ribs…

“FUUUCCKKK!!” I cry and instantly lose my grip on the mask and your head.. Reaching down to slap and claw at your thighs…

But as I do… I suddenly feel it.. Your left hand.. Cupping the back of my head, and your right SHOVING the goddamn mask over my nose and mouth…

My eyes bulge out… I’m atop of you.. But I’m trapped.. Like a fly in a VenusFlyTrap… your legs CRUSHING me.. Holding me in place.. Squeezing my sore, wounded ribs… And your hands are injecting my lungs full of the sleeping gas…. 

And I begin to see them.. The spots… Black.. White.. Colored.. Like a swarm of bugs flying from the corners of my vision… As my body begins to sag.. To weaken… To slowly fall into you…

Even the pain in my ribs begins to fade…

No… No… What… How….

McKenzie:

We want to hurt. To ruin. To destroy. But somewhere in that promise we made to each other, there was still a humanity. There was still an understanding. We would fight like women. We would pull hair and claw flesh, but we would still reach a certain point, and then step back. 

But you. YOU. Somewhere in our struggle and in our stumbling tangle through the hall. Somewhere in amongst my blows to your ribs, and our collisions of chest, you’ve crossed a line. I can see it in your eyes. Hear it in your voice as you yell at me about surgery. About fixing me. 

I would scream in terror, if before I could you didn’t lower the surgical mask down over my mouth and nose. 

I would fight like hell to get out from under you, and way from this table, these tools, and whatever madness you have in store for me. 

Instead I do nothing but whimper out into the mask, as I feel your hand catch the back of my neck and pull me up and into it. The one body part I can do nothing with. The one stretch of bone, muscle, and flesh that you have ruined beyond repair, is the one I need to escape. 

But this you know. THIS you count on, as you crawl up my body. Planting your wounded tits on mine, keeping me pinned as the gas fills my lungs. Beneath you I squirm with increasing weakness. My eyes wide and angry, only for that rage to slowly meld into fear and panic. 

What will you do to me when I am unconscious? What will I wake up to find? The fears swirl in my mind, as one light after another goes off. 

Blink. Blink. Blink. Where am I? Who am I? Why are we fighting? My mind drifts and focus shatters. I am helpless. 

Hopeless.

All while your beautiful breasts rest atop mine. They being the vice of your trap. The lock to your cage. 

It is only that thought that awakens my primal instincts. Instincts which bid my thighs to close about you and then tighten. Not around your hips, but instead your ribs. A perfect placement, by luck alone, that lets me in an instant apply a vicious pressure to your weakest point. 

I hear you scream, somewhere in the fog. I hear you curse me, from the oblivion I peer over. 

“Wha-t what…?” I mutter as finally the mask falls from my face, and from your hand to my the valley between my breasts. It is there I grab it from with what little wits I have left. There I turn it above, before I lift it and press it to your face. Sealing away my mouth and nose, just as you did mine not moments before. 

“Fix” me…. I repeat after you. Barely conscious. Barely aware, and yet with all that I have left I taunt you. “Fix” me….? I demand, as strength returns to me. Still using my thighs to crush your ribs, and the mask to force you into sleep. 

But you still struggle. Still squirm. And knowing I can’t risk you breaking free, I quickly switch my own hands, for my breasts. Which I use to cup and keep the mask pressed tightly to your face, as my arms wrap around your head and pull you in deep. 

And deep is where I keep you, in that tight, intimate embrace. Trapping you in my control, just like I did Stacy. Just as I wanted to do since the moment we laced our fingers through each others hair. 

I feel you strike at me. Push at me. Hear you curse at me and even beg weakly. But I don’t relent. Not when I feel. Not when I hear. Or even 2 minutes after. Instead I wait for your last resistance to age before I finally let you go. Uncoiling my clutches about you, and then rolling you off of me and to the surgical table. 

My weary arms and legs pulling me out from under you and then to a stand. The thrill of victory surging through my body. The satisfaction of besting you setting off a cascade of endorphins through my mind. And the glory of making you still in my arms, going leagues to heal my tortured soul.

Despite all of that, I do not leave to collect my things or get dressed. Instead, I stand there trembling, next to the table and stare at your bruised, scratched, and naked body. Your beautiful eyes closed to the world. Your mouth no longer open and insulting me. Your mind no longer working on how to destroy me. And yet your breasts remain. Perfect and beautiful, despite the damage done to them. 

Tonight you will wake, and in that one way we will still be the same. Still equal, despite this victory and your defeat. And as that truth dawns on me, I hear that word you spoke in my head. 

“Fix”. I whisper it softly, as I lean in and down. 

“Fix.” I say it again, as my lips lower to yours and steal a long, slow kiss. 

“You would do it to me, Ewa. You wouldn’t stop until we are freed from this hell.” My words would be warning enough to any present that I too have crossed a line. That the humanity we had has finally been extinguished in both of us. 

And though you are not able to hear or reply, in my mind you nod and smile at me. Warm like that first day we met. The day we held hands. Your sweet lips telling me to do what I must to free us from the obsession that has haunted us. 

An imagining that compels my left hand to reach out for my – for OUR scalpel. So that I can do what you ask of me.

What we need…..

A reduction that will release us finally and for good. 

The End.

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