Remington vs. Bailey from FCF
Remington:
The cloying heat hasn’t changed at all from the last time we did this and this time I’m finally basking in the warmth. I watch as the last of the guests are shuffled inside and out into the back of the house. I can already picture it with its eight foot black plastic enclosure so as not to scandalized the neighbors. Sighing the pleasure of memories that bubble up from our encounter some weeks back I shift my legs around while I sit in the car. My blue dress from the last time claws at my curves like a desperate lover and does battle to contain my hips and ass as I shift over. Poor thing, well it wouldn’t have to survive long.
As the night air settles on my exposed skin I dangle my left hand from the open car window and sigh again almost contentedly waiting for you so I can plunge once again into the depths of the shadow world that is the backyard. The difference this time is that instead of an audience of drooling mortals it will be an audience of goddesses. Some lesser, others perhaps equal or greater. After the destruction of their peons senses last time the fraternity had sent in their collection of Adonis’. To try and combat the lust. The spectators were going to take apart these toned frat boys like they were nothing.
At the sound of car wheels I stirred from my memories and day dreams.
Bailey:
Taking it on two, so unlike last time as I’d gotten my ducks in a row and had everything wrapped up long before zero hour. This time, I’m flying in by the skin of my teeth, and it shows, my bumper coming mere inches from yours as I crunch to a stop on the gravel driveway. Taking a moment, I check in with myself in the mirror….then in my mind. “Okay. Show time…” I coo, opening my car door, and making my way up the drive. I see the alabaster and inked skin of an arm sticking out of a rolled down window, and as I approach, my hunch is confirmed. “Well well. Are we ready to give them what they came here for?”
After some moments of preparation not to mention a growing fever pitch of anticipation amongst our guests, we step from our respective changing rooms, I in black silk robe that ties just above my hip bones, and does an admirable, if not modest job of covering my assets. The high heels are still on, and we’ve been dolled up to the nines. Walking hand in hand down the back steps of the porch that leads out to a sprawling backyard, immaculately upkept. The old live oaks that are ubiquitous to this region of the south have just enough Spanish moss hanging from the boughs to look like something from a movie set in Savannah. The black tarp, stretched and hung around the perimeter of the yard, reaches 8 feet, and encapsulates this little corner of the world unto itself. No one is going to see this except those who were meant to. Christmas lights hang from the boughs of the trees, giving an almost romantic feel to the debauched proceedings, and I couldn’t be more ecstatic about the mingling of the chaste with the profane. As we near the pool, our hands part, and we turn and face our audience. “Greetings”.
Remington:
At your cooing voice an unbidden smile tugs at the corners of my mouth as I turned to look up at the brunette slinking up to my car. Like a languid cat I uncross my legs and open the door sliding out smoothly onto my heels. The gravel is awful to walk on but the effect of the height and the curve it puts in my back is too much to give up for a little bit of unsteadiness. Slinking out of the car I finish letting the smile creep onto my lips. Painted blue again and nearly bullet proof as before. Trailing in your wake I’m not sure if your lack of timeliness has effected your mind but I’m certainly not about to complain about an advantage.
Bailey:
Still trailing you like a dream made of pale and blue shadows my own silk robe is on its last legs doing battle against my assets on both sides of my waistline. This might as well be Arcadia given how the trees strung with lights seemed to waver and the entirety of the moment hung on a thread. This had ever so much been your show and as you greet the collection of goddess that have decided to join us for the evening I step out of my heels and sure enough the are swept away by one of the chiseled attendants. So glad to see they were no longer so easily bent or broken as the first time. My gaze tracks across the crowd a contented smile on my lips, lazy to go with my hooded eyes as I trace familiar and unfamiliar curves in the crowd before alighting on your figure. With the slightest of eyebrow raises I step my now bare foot into the oil of the pool almost delicately.
Flicking my eyes up suddenly sharp.
“Care to join me…” a smile creeps back over my lips. Only this time its far more serpentine.
Remington:
“You’re a dove to offer” I purr in response. The undertone of malice and venom is so effervescent and ubiquitous that it’s actually not recommended to sit within ten feet for fear of contact poisoning. My bare feet sink into the rich dark green grass for a moment, before I shift, and plant my left, then my right foot in the shallow oil. As we step, and near the other, my hands find the soft gossamer whisper that is the belt around your waist. I look out at the crowd to see the seething mass react the moment I tug the knot, letting your own voluptuous assets take over. The silk drips away from your centerline, revealing a cream white abdomen in the rarest of all levels of maintenance, your alabaster flesh, festooned in radiant technicolor, and the expertise of many hands, and quite a few years. Your flesh is a living canvas, and I watch them as they watch you. I look at their faces for the same reason that I look at a groom’s when the bride stands in the back of the church. I want to see unbridled awe. The robe slips over your shoulders, and the rest I leave to your diabolical mind. I’ve no doubt that you’ll shed the thin vellum of fabric in a seduction that would make Mata Hari blush.
Bailey:
At your assistance I tilt my head and savor the acrid aftertaste of your words. Its incredible how love and hate are the separated by such a knife edge and it scrapes the edges of the psyche to vault along the knife edge of the two the way we do. The swirling morass to either aide a constant threat that tugs at the heart and mind. The slip of silk brings me back as the pale line of my flesh terminates at the top of a black thong. Only a pretendance at modesty really. A suggestion if you will that some part of me remains forbidden. The sweetests of lies have the most potent of venom though. This is one of them. Its not modesty but anticipation of the final line to be crossed. The last secret to strip bare. Turning away from our audience l shrug my shoulders more and catch at the fabric as it hooks itself on the ample curve of my hips before I cast it aside like so many of my broken lovers. The flick carrying the fabric free of the pool. Tossing my hair with on hand the and moving my left to cover my ample chest; the movement revealing how high my chest sits despite the insistence of gravity. Finally turning with the hand in place I smirk arrogantly at those gathered to watch.
Soon enough… but for now.
Sliding my right hand down the front of your robe I hook a single finger on the soft note and tug it loose, slitting the front of your already defeated robe.
Remington:
The black robe decouples, and with a whisper of fluttering silk, it seems to sigh, “Vicisiti” to my body. That your hand accomplishes the unknotting with so minuscule an effort points undeniably to practiced precision. In a would full of dull axes, your movements are that of a scalpel. My eyes linger on your frame for a moment, the false demure, the facade of modesty. The thong you’re wearing has all of the substance of a rumor, and is twice as salacious. Mine, now visible, is a satin deep rich purple. Short on frills, it’s chief draw is in the minimalist approach. While simple, no one would dare say its inelegant. The fabric clings to my vulva just like the humidity on the bodies is these assembled revelers. And then I breach etiquette. I can’t hardly spell it; how am I supposed to uphold it?! I sway my shoulders and reveal my immaculate 36D breasts; bare, supple, rich with dewy grace, swollen and ripe. My nipples are like crowns, marking my globes with a dignity soon the be tested.
Bailey:
Feigning some sort of irritation at you sudden brazeness I roll my eyes and turn my languid smile on the crowd as if to look askance for what to do in such a situation. Its of course farce anyone who can’t see it is probably too fixated on your curves and hasn’t actually bothered to look at my face. With a sigh as though I don’t know what to do with an unruly child my lips quirk up into my smug little smirk. Plucking my hand from my chest like a waiter removing the covering from a particularly succulent dish my breast bounce free in their full glistening glory. Courtesy of the humidity and my skin they are already slicked with a heady mixture of condensed water and my sweat. Inhaling I look you up and down. The movement might as well have been me running my forked tongue from your ankle to your lips such is the radiant desire in the movement.
Lazily I lift my hands to my hair and push it up off my neck as though to remove an irritation. The movement lifts my dense 36DD chest slightly. I leave my hands tucked high and finally give you a full raised eyebrow and quirk my lips into a half smile before mouthing ‘your move’ my position signaling my readiness.
Remington:
To a chorus of unmitigated, condensed desire from the crowd, I give you just a little smirk and wink, noting that Act One, the Denuding, is over. Act Two is now upon us. Looking out at the crowd as they enjoy the Venus’ step daughters, i drag the nail of my right middle finger through the humid valley of your creamy flesh. Oughtn’t there to be some fort of sign, a warning of some sort? As i drag the digit through your dewy depression, scraping gently along your sternum, and then final, inexorably, around and around your navel like a Circus Maximus, I then hook the thumb of my left hand into the waistband of your thong, and tug your body in flush and tight with mine. The overture is done with. The crowd now dissolves back into a faceless void…..”It’s good to be back, isn’t it…”
Bailey:
As you pull me in tight my body is flushed with a cocktail of hormones. The adrenaline screams into my veins on the heels of a rolling wave of lust and viciousness. The trail you just traced still tingles like a numbing agent but its all lost against the palpable pressure of your body against mine. Sweat slick skin cleaning together and slipping past at the barest movement.
“When your fantasies become reality…” I trail off the rest of the line. You’ll understand or you won’t. Either way my smile is fixed nearly rictus in appearance. Feeling your body in the initial press I keep my arms high as I press against you and feel for your breasts with mine. After some rubbing that really belongs in an fake adult film and not a true fight I strike like the viper I am. Sliding my feet slightly apart in the oil I bend at the waist and roll my breasts forward and down as my weight drops and I press my hips back. The movement drags the tiny daggers of my nippled across the slick and sticky surface of our ample orbs in tiny angry furrows as though my breasts are raking yours with claws. As they dig low I prepare for the body roll to snap my chest back upwards…
Remington:
Now then. Since we’re done being neighborly. In the twinkling of an eye, things turn from soft porn to rage thrash. Maybe not that bad, but you get the point. When you lean down, your orbs drop like fleshy hammers, splattering onto the tops of mine, slamming with a delicious thudding weight….your nipples (unadorned, thank you very much; I don’t need scars from your steel) scrape along the gentle curve of my orbs before licking of the tip of my nipples like a teasing kiss. And in just as malicious a turn, you arch your back, and bring your ladies to thunderous applause and standing ovations, upending mine and tossing them into a wobbling, spiraling disarray, to the delight of some of your onlookers. Well let them look on…..My thigh plants into the delicate Lambda of your femininity, snugged in flush and taut, just barely enough to give you something to think about, gripping your panties in a death vice, as my free hands splays against your back, resting in between your scapulae, and pressing you punishingly tight. You wanted them on top? Let’s see how high up you can handle them……My ladies rest under yours, a heavy blanket of flesh on each of my globes….squeezing my shoulders tight, i press my tanned orbs together, and lean back, shunting your paler twins upward, and holding them in place. I rare back again, and instead of slapping your beauties around, I’m forcing my ladies, taut and together, under yours, leaving them with the recours of stretching to morbid proportions….or to yield and allow mine to pass through.
Bailey:
The initial thrashing appears to be beyond satisfying as I hand down an opening salvo the likes of which a Greek goddess would be jealous of in her own battles. Of course that does mean that I end up on top of you and I feel your thigh pressing between my legs. Despite appreciating the gesture it’ not going to make me overly uncomfortable; just perhaps a little more slick than I was before. I start my left foot backwards trailing it in the oil in a slide backwards to relieve some of the potential disaster your thigh between my legs could cause. I feel you soft hands tighten down threateningly and I know I’d best brace for impact given what I’ve already done to you.
With a hiss of pain more befitting a snake than a human and definitely close to being from a B list vampire movie. My eyes flutter and I swallow hard clenching my jaw down as you drive your smaller but no less feisty rack together and then up underneath mine as you drive me forward into you forcing my chest to stretch upwards. I have little intention of enduring such an onslaught for more than is realistically necessary. Driving my left leg the rest of the way backwards I flick my hips to the left and send my right thigh into the outside of yours trying to disrupt your balance but more importantly I grab the crook of your elbows. On your right side I pull outward slightly; on the left I pull down. With my hips snap I shrug my shoulders together and drive downward. I have no idea if its going to work as intended but I shift my breasts so that my right is plunging between your cleavage and my left is between your right arm and your right breast. With that I drive my breasts downward in opposition of your press upwards. Trying to hold your left arm open to keep you from compressing my right breast between you breasts while I squeeze your right breast between my cleavage. This is going to hurt no matter what but I hope it hurts you way more as I drag my body down yours trying to treat your right breast like its being turned into pasta.
Remington:
One thing is for damn well sure, it hurts us both. The air is rent in a pair of guttural, pained eruptions, and the wind seems to take the sounds all about the back yard. As always, your spatial awareness and body mechanics are sound as a pound, and you’re able to wriggle away from the nasty clutch of your breasts with barely some tug abrasions to show for it. I shore up my footing, squaring up my stance for as stable a base as there is to be had in this oil. Your grappling has ensured that my right elbow is pointing a few degrees higher than the horizon and so I decide to use your motions to my advantage, as my grip on your panties is still intact. I jerk and rip; looking to crush your sex in the Silk Maiden, hoping to make your labia bulge in the flimsy material of your bottoms. My left, well, i scramble upward with that hand as well, hoping to latch into those beautiful blue locks of yours, cinching in a handful, and jerking down…..this is all ground work, setting the stage for the siege of your creamy white breasts….so that when I jerk my shoulders to the right, my left hand naturally plummets, hoping to wrench your neck back a little further…..and when I crank back to the left, I pull up a bit with my right handed parcel, looking to saw your sex raw in your own bottoms, even as I’m trying to batter your ladies about.
Bailey:
The burning biting throbbing sensation of dragging our breasts between each other is not lost on me as I try to push the buzzing pain to the edges of my perception I need to keep slugging and slogging if I’m going to finish this fight in my favor and not on my back with your toes playing in the putty of my chest. The imagine makes me snort like a pissed mare. As I twist my footing to line myself up better with you I can see you maneuvering to start your own assault. I can feel your hand scrambling for my hair and then suddenly your right hand yanks my panties tight and I can’t fight down the breathy moan as they slick and slide along my sex. My head is jerked as your fingers find my dangling hair and as if that wasn’t bad enough you use the grip to alternate a pair of pummeling hits into my chest. The pain is exquisite and if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m trying to not lose this battle I might very well be into the unnecessary roughness. Sliding my right foot back away from you I wait until I feel the tension in your grip on my hair and my panties.
That’s the point at which I strike.
Like a meteor falling to earth I shift my weight suddenly forward and drive off my right foot now behind me. At the same time I drive my arms straight down. One of them coming down on top of your left bicep as I turn my head to the right trying to render my hair as taught in your hand with a direction I can pull in without giving myself whiplash. Hopefully breaking that grip on my hair before you can wind my locks in your fingers. My left hand comes down on your wrist slamming it down and back. All of which is wildly secondary to the fact that I launch myself forward with full momentum for a splashing body check tit to tit as I use your body as a brake for my momentum and weight. Hopefully it hurts like a bitch. I know I’m going to be sore from the fleshy full body smack!!
Remington:
Make no mistake, at this point this is really just a battle of attrition. Which one of us can outlast the god awful abuse that the other conditions out?. While true, jerking up on your panties until your labia bulged practically through your panties, really that only cost you. And rinsing your hair around so that your perception is as compromised as your pain receptors are stimulated, yes. Those were just for you. But it’s not like you take it lying down. You lurch into me like a bull in a China shop. Smashing your full milky orbs into mine, squashing all four ladies painfully flat. The resulting flesh on flesh crack resounds all through the backyard, with our viewers (and listeners at this point) at ground zero for the erotic fallout. I feel like you are popping the glands into my ribs, and threatening to puncture them through. My left hand is free, and instead of going back for your main, I wrap that arm around your upper back, just under your shoulder blades. My rate is similarly in the midst of being decoupled from your bottoms, and so I resigned that attack a little early. Instead, I look to hook the crook of my right elbow around the point of my left, hoping to cinch in a gawd awful bear hug….and if you want us to be crushed, by damn I’ll do the worst to your massive pair that I can….
Bailey:
As your arms cinch me into a bear hug. I don’t stop to think. If I do I will second guess this. If I pause for an instant my lust will make me recognize how hot I am for this creature across from me. In the shimmering tingling moments of taking the impact of your smaller tight mounds on mine I move. Your arms close around me and it’s just noise to my nerves. So I just fucking do it. You pull me in and I oblige your yank in. By driving with both my feet on the ground straight into you pushing step after step into the bear hug I cinch both my arms low over the top of your arms and then pull up and in. With a heave I try to drive you from your feet and onto your back in the shallow pool. Hopefully with the result of blasting your chest with mine on the back end of the fall. Never mind the fact that it will put our bodies in tight pressing contact. Never mind its going to hurt me again. Never mind it all I just have to fight while my senses are still trying to register pain properly.
Remington:
One of the never mind that you missed there was, never mind it will blast the fucking air out of my goddamn lungs. Of course, I guess that seems more boon than bane at this point. Smashed flat into the pool, I wince for a moment….no, that’s not the action….it’s more like I convulse under you. This isn’t a knife fight anymore. This is mobile mechanized assault. The only advantage I have now, and it’s one that I’ll leverage to the bone, is that I can get a better grip around your back than you can around my arms…..that and the little side bonus that presents itself to me a moment after I start breathing again….in the struggling melee of the moment, I realize the nails of my left hand are perilously close to the taut, bulging flesh of your right breast….. I wait until I can make eye Contact with you. I wait for the moment that those stormy eyes fall onto mine, Auburn and flaming and in raged, and then I just drag the edge of my nails along the bulge of your flattened globe, as if dragging a razor across a drum head… Just barely with enough force to let you register this new fresh hell that I’m getting ready to unleash, before I plunge in with reckless disregard for humanity.
Bailey:
The hit is honestly titanic and rattles my teeth in my skull as well as balloon both or racks painfully. As you lay stunned I glare down at your preparing to pummel you into the bottom of the pool as your hair fans out behind you in the thin oil slick beneath your back. I smirk but suddenly it goes from a smirk to an ‘O’ of my lips and then I let out a banshee wail as your savage the milky flesh of my right orb. I thrash left and right trying to work my way away from nose razors buried in my sensitive breast flesh. I’m spitting pissed at this. In a spray of oil, flicking blue hair and painted flesh I wrench my hand free of your back and then like a bird of prey I slash both sets of my claws down across the top of your breasts. Raking them down in furrows I hook my thumbs in under your breasts and then I pound my weight down on top of your chest with mine. The result is my described this type of interaction to a tee once. Stay with me, because it loses a little something in the translation. Attic Greek to Bastardized English isn’t easy, and linguistics isn’t an exact science.
Basically it goes a little something like this. “Some days, no matter how many vitamins you take, prayers you make, and cheerios you eat….you’re just going to find yourself in between the shit hammer and the fuck anvil. Pass the Mountain Dew.” I’m pretty sure it went like that exactly. In any event, the moment that you spear the fibrous, undersides of my glands with those definitely not street legal thumb talons, something goes cold and chill inside me.
But when you hammer smash your succulent globe down onto the top of mine, I can rest easy knowing that you’ll never make a decent carpenter….you hit the *nail* with the hammer…..you don’t drive the board onto the nail. In any event, it works out for you pretty well, as it feels like your thumbnails are in the nerve centers of my breasts, a fiery, cold flame flits through me, threatening to wither me to the core…..The scream that flutters from my lips is barely even human, and is positively curdling with agony…..and in a moment of similar diabolical inspiration, owing to the hell your thumbs are putting me through, I employ my own nail….hooking my left thumb into your right nostril, and snapping my arm to the side. One of two things will happen; you’ll be off of me….or you’ll need some creative stitches…..and at this point, I don’t care which, and I can see the merits of either scenario playing out…..
Remington:
I’ve had my nose pierced. Twice actually. Its not a terribly pleasant experience at the best of times down by a professional. If you’ve ever been in a boxing match and been socked in the nose you know the resulting eye watering is highly unfortunate. The only way I can describe the way that this feels is by meshing the two experiences; accept its a meth addict delivering it the nose piercing and they are way too high in the nares. If you’ve ever seen a cool action movie where someone throws themselves free of a situation just before it all goes bad you know how me aborting this flame engulfed car of a ground battle looks.
Teary eyed and teeth gritting I peel myself off you and throw myself clear. At least I’d like to lie blatantly and say I did all the work. If you’ve ever been grabbed by the nose and led by it you know I’m full of crap.
Crawling on hands and knees away from you in the oil I stagger to my feet and almost trip to eat oil. Rubbing at my aching tits I turn around hoping that my recovery time was short enough for you to not ambush me with a renewed assault. We are both going to need an ice bath after this. I can feel everything now as my adrenaline wanes and my body reminds me that I do in fact hurt. Hopefully you’re worse off. Either way I intend to finish this fight like a woman. Hopefully not on my back like a loser by the end. Glaring down at you I drop my hands from my aching orbs and purse my lips. My own breasts bounce not nearly as high as before and with less resistance but they are not beaten yet. Red angry lines and swelling mark then and underside the redness from the pull you put them through. Despite it all I know they have more fight in them. With tight erect nipples and a bad attitude written all over my face I glare right into your gorgeous eyes. My smirk starts back up my face. “Come get it….bitch” I’m a fucking poet and I’m pretty sure I just proved it with such a unique and creative taunt.
Bailey:
I watch as my gambit pays off and you, opting for the constitution of your nose, roll off of me, and allow me the momentary reprieve of not being behind the 8 ball. Mental note. Do not wrestle this bitch until you’ve paid up your life insurance…..I scurry away from you, none to anxious to get back into a knock down drag out. Maybe that’s the beauty of this; maybe in little pockets of hell being unleashed, there’s a thing of beauty to be found. That I couldn’t go one more second without inflicting as much pain as possible, and you wouldn’t do without taking me to task (and to the tile) for it. Traditional tit fight? No. No, this devolved into something more primal. More bestial. I feel myself dripping (and not just in oil) and, as I get to my feet, I see that we’re both giving the other a moment, and a healthy helping of bitchy side eye.
My body is far worse for the ware, my bronzed breasts are red and swollen, the undersides bearing the evidence of being fucking impaled. How you didn’t break the skin I’ll never know. But, bringing myself up to full height, I formulate a bit of an idea…an olive branch if you will….”Seems like this took a left turn the moment I flossed your panties against your clit…..”. I hook my thumbs into my own greased bottoms, and slip the embattled garment off…..my bare labia, swollen, and puffy with avarice, gleam in the evening sunlight….my thin patch just above is matted with oil. Kicking the panties out of the pool, I up the ante, “Winner keeps them. Loser leaves the pool stripped. And naked….in more ways than one….”
Remington:
A single jerk of facial muscles produces the apropos expression. My left eye brow climbs to a curious height and its incredibly obvious that behind my eyes I’m contemplating what exactly you are playing at. With a flick of my head I whip my hair over my left shoulder, turning my back I spread my legs slightly and run my thumbs and fingers along the edges of my panties basically turning them into a thong as I bunch the material. Bending at the waste I inch them down over my ass and thighs one tantalizing inch at a time before the finally hit just above my knees and I let them drop before I stand back up and flick my hair back over in an arch of oil, now slicked more or less thoroughly with the stuff. Turning I pluck the panties with my toe and flick them clear of the pool to land with a squelch with yours.
“As you wish, I hope you’re not we expecting me to blink…” I cock my now naked hip and make a come hither gesture with my left hand. The space between my thighs is clean as can be and glistening. From the oil but perhaps for the discerning eye from more than just that. I’d challenge anyone not to be aroused by such a confrontation
Bailey:
You do more with an eyebrow than some women can accomplish with their entire nude form glistening. And now that it’s your entire nude form glistening, with the black magic thick in the air, the evening dew gathering into drops on the grass, as the witching hour is upon us, we stride toward the end of this affair. One way or another, we’re settling this…..I lick my lips as you put on a show of denuding yourself that would make a featured dancer at a gentleman’s club break out her pen and paper to take notes. You cock your hip like you’re expecting an installation crew to arrive in a moment and attach a diving board to the thing…..I stride through the ankle deep oil, my body now sufficiently slicked in the viscous fluid, my hair is a leather veil hanging over the back of my head, my nipples dripping with a hellborn succulence that just ought not be allowed. “Oh, no. I want you to watch every last second of it…” i coo in return…..laying my hands on you, my thumbs (the pads of my thumbs, not the nails, mind) press in gently against the flesh just to the insides of your hip bones, securing as good a grip as there is to be found….
Remington:
“Oh so glad you’ve decided to join me.” My husky voice comes out like a knife on velvet as this battle of curves moves solidly into the end game. The truth of the matter is that I hurt. I know you do too but the rush of closeness and sexual excitement drowns it in endorphins long enough for my body to catch up with the situation and override the part of my brain screaming sex with adrenaline screaming fight. The two products of my endocrine system have it out in my blood so I decide to make use of the natural pain killer and the stimulant both bathing my nerves. Securing my own grip devoid of claws I smirk and inhale as though I’m relishing the moment. I am after all. I just also happen to be preparing my chest. With a lunging strike like the coiled snake I’ve made my body I drive down and forward. Not quite the flicking smash of the fights start. No this is more akin to a box throwing a stiff armed cross low into the space between the navel and the beltline. I ram my breast point first into the front of yours at a downward angle trying to bury the tips of my nipples in the soft flesh at the base of yours as I press and grind downward typing to soften up those pink diamond nubs of yours.
Bailey:
Honestly? If you’re trying to soften my nipples, we’d need a lot less you naked in oil, and a lot more Barry Manilow’s greatest hits. You drive your orbs, swollen and ripe, into mine. The thud is positively painful to listen to, but a discerning ear could pick out a lower timbre than when we first started. The shots, although shorter, quicker, were also a bit higher pitched…..we’ve beaten the other’s breasts to the point that they’re more swollen, and less dense….the thought is enough to make me quiver in nausea….but I lock my eyes with yours and stand and deliver, arching my back in sudden violence, and whipping my shoulders right, my ladies slashing low to high, and left to right, taking a rakish angle at your own supple, glimmering breasts…and then I arch again, this time wrenching my upper body right, looking to slash an X across the undersides of your heavy, plump creamy tits….
Remington:
You jerk up and your nipples skip across the underside of my breasts despite the grinding pressure of my stiff assault in on your breast. As I lose the initial contact I groan in pain. The slither of oil is making this less realistic to continue a grind and all but necessitating something far more impact heavy. Thankfully it also means drawing patterns on my skin with your nipples is far less painful than if I was dry skinned. Still. You move to draw your breasts down like a rapier across mine. Its now or never. As you swing them down I jerk to the right and downwards catching the slash of your nipples on the side of my left breast. Springing back across and following the momentum of your chest I swing hard whipping my chest across and trying to bludgeon you with my breasts aiming them into the left side of your left breast trying to swing my chest in a crashing arc as I push in your hips trying to make you naturally respond by pulling and put you right in the curve of the arc.
Bailey:
The full weight of your fleshy hammer splatters into mine with sickening aplomb. Oil flies in little oblong bolos as you beat the fluid off of my breasts….My thumbs massage just inside your hip bones, more out of instinct than wicked design, but…hey, if it gives me a leg up at this point, so be it……I tilt back, and twist my chest to my left, and drive my body back in flush with yours…..nausea roils through me, ravaging me to my course, the resultant trembling beginning to make it’s way into my furtherest members, where the stroke of my thumbs against your naked flesh takes on a tremulous undertone. I crank my shoulders to the right again, like I would if I were just looking to club away at your own breasts, screaming in effort, but this time, with as tight as I’ve thrust myself against you, it results in more of a scrubbing, and pulling, as I try and rip at the roots of your orbs….
Remington:
Following the smack you twist in and press close. My chest is heaving and I’m really not sure how much more of this I can take as I feel the self preservation centers of my brain screaming and scrabbling at the uppermost parts of of my functioning thought. I have to do something to make this not a fair fight and in my favor. Something before you do. I feel you scrub back towards the right as you drag at my breasts trying to basically turn our chest into interlocking cogs in a fleshy machine. Again it would seem my only saving grace is the damn oil. Flicking my hips and shoulders over I do my best to follow the pull. Seizing on an idea I push across with you as my swollen and rapidly softening chest takes another round of punishment but I’m hoping that its going to get through this.
Like a dog with a favored chew toy I follow your rotation however instead of stopping I drive down. Drop my legs and twist my hips as I pull my shoulders back. Flicking my still tight nipples along the underside of your chest drawing a searing line and hoping to bait you down on top of me. Continuing the circular motion however I just hope youre going to thrust down as I spring up from my knee bend. Moving my hands to your ribcage I shove back and using the built momentum of a full body wind up I whip my red, sore, once creamt, certainly swollen and starting to bruise breats out into open air on the left side of your pair and then yell as I drive my shoulders down at an angle trying to hammer down on the top of of your breasts as I drag my chest in a right to left line through yours aiming to pull free on the left side as I try to bulldoze through.
Holy fuck. Ow. My brain ticks over. Yup ouch. Doesn’t matter what you do that hurt me like a bitch. Im just praying it hurt you more of I’m about to be in insane amounts of trouble.
Bailey:
You belt into the underside of my tits, leaving gashes, slashes…..despite the oil, a chafing is setting in that makes each movement at absolute least a chore, and more clearly to the point, it makes even the act of breathing crackle with pain. You swipe up, and the side, and that uppercut is probably enough….I know my body is nearing the limits of what I can ask of it…..but that evil glint is in your eyes, and the slash up is only just the beginning. I can’t make it stop, I can’t put the brakes on, and the part that chills the blood and makes my pucker crinkle is the fact that the slash *up* was really just a preamble and you’re warming up the orchestra for a brutal slash down. And in a flurry of mental clarity, I steal a page from your playbook, and intercept your blow with my one. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to rip me, stem to stern, most likely. But by god it’ll be on my terms, and I’ll be damned sure well it’s going to hurt you too…..arcing back, and slashing to the side, meeting your pummeling head on…..and in the resultant carnal humanity, my knees nearly give out, my head is spinning, and my ears are ringing……clenching my jaw, and your hips, I hold onto you, in the aftermath of that suicidal riposte. When my eyes can focus, I look on for your response….
Remington:
My face is left locked in a soundless scream from your unexpected heft upwards into my chest. With mt eyes closed tears are pushed out and roll down my face. Everything hurts now I don’t even known where I am for a few seconds my poor pounded orbs sending rolling endless pulses of pain through my body. I should know better, your tenacious, strong, beautiful, cunning and oh so adaptable. The swing was slow and unfortunately telegraphed and sure enough you met me in it. The result is sort of disasterous for both of us. I feel you clinging to my hips and in any other situation I’d be stroking your hair and cooing to you. I feel my hands in voluntarily release your hips and go for your hair. Instead however the clasp the back of your neck. Like an exhausted kickboxer in a clinch I latch my hands behind your neck. Instead of throwing a knee though I roll my left shoulder up and forward. It flops my left breast on top of your left breast with a wet smack. It slides down and drags. Then I roll my right shoulder. SPLAT. SHHHLIK. Left shoulder. Right shoulder. Splat. Slide. Drag. The whole time I lean into you and get up on the balls of my feet to give me the height to do this as my arms press down on your shoulders and neck. Each hit more of a drop and relying on the impact making your sore breasts scream. Its not graceful, powerful or pretty but I just try to bounce you into submission.
Bailey:
What’s happening now is the equivalent of a runner stroking out the last few miles of a marathon. Her legs hurt. Her lungs hurt. Her heels hurt…..her arms, her fingertips….her hair hurts. Everything in her is screaming to stop. No…it’s pleading. But she keeps going. Because if she stops now, she’ll never finish. And that’s the only loss that matters. Can you finish. Can you look at your body and say, “shut up, your fine.” You answer that in a definitive yes. It’s a whimpering set of strikes….but they’re landing. You’re keeping the habit going. And right now, that’s really all you need….just don’t stop. It doesn’t have to be mind blowing…..they’re not all going to be winners, or bludgeoners. Just don’t stop…..I borrow some of your resolve from the crimson in your cheeks….i see there the vulnerability painted on you that seems to be scrawled all across me in bright neon. My brain throws up its hands, “What the fuck am I even showing up for, if she won’t listen to me?!” And I arch my back..popping into the swollen, stretched undersides of your breasts…..not enough to bounce mine clear through to the top…thankfully. I arch back again, bending my knees and snapping up as much as I can. I gulp as I turn my head, hoping to fuck you don’t see the expression on my face……and lurch back again….just trying to rip into your glands from below….”You…..heinous…fuck….”
Remington:
Sometimes in life there are moments where you only have a singular choice. Do or die moments where its not so much a question of if it will. It just has to I truthfully didn’t expect you to lurch back and shive up under me. It aches deep in my chest the way that you never hope to feel in your boobs. I mean no one in their right mind would sign up for this. Guess that means I’m as mad as I look most days. I can feel you stretching the first round of abrasions and pulls. One of the first smarting hurts of the battle my boobs acquired. I know I’m crying from the pain and I know that I’m absolutely gassed. Anyone who says struggling under tension while pounding your tits to hamburger isn’t a fight? You punch them in their flat justice face. Then you tell them to grow some tits.
None of these thoughts actually help me as you try to remove my womanhood from the front of my chest. So we are going to have to put a stop to that. Or try. So be it, the moment was upon us and either way this was what I’d given so far.
One for the money…
With an inhale I brought myself to my toes. Pulled my weight up onto your body as my dainty feet left the ground for a split second.
Two for the show…
I release my grip on your neck and crossing my arms over the top of my chest. It’s basic physics. I instinctively split my legs on the way down preparing to shock absorb and try to keep my footing.
Three to get ready…
At the same time I drop my chest down and forward willing my softened, swollen, battered, bruised, and basically on the edge of defeat titties to flatten yours against your ribcage as I smear down over them. I use my arms as a brace over my tit flesh to keep my boobs from just being smeared back across my ribs providing a braced backing to keep them in place as they drive down on top of yours. Either I’m going to plow a furrow through your smaller rack or I’m going to basically be wrapping my boobs around your tits. Painfully. And crushing them against my arms.
And. Here. We. Go…
I flexed my abs and yelped as I fall. Lets find out if it’s a scream.
Bailey:
It’s stalemate of the first order. God almighty, this is reckless self hate. My womanhood (northern) is swollen and, and besieged by a cacophony sensations that rip through me, overwhelming me, bending my senses and intoxicating me with overload. My womanhood (southern) is swollen and besieged by a cacophony of sensations that rip through me, overwhelming me, bending my senses and intoxicating me with overload. It’s a miracle of miracles then, when when I see you backstop your breasts with your arms that I have the wherewithal to do something about it…..Mutually assured destruction. We’ve made no qualms about it thus far…we’re here to hurt the other. Reckless endangerment of well being. So when you lean back and clasp your arms above your breasts, when you backstop your tits, is what I’m saying, in a move eerily reminiscent of a guillotine being lifted……I decide that, fuck it. Let’s go for fucking broke. Falling guillotine, meet resting anvil. I clasp my arms *under* my breasts and grasp my elbows, and clench my jaw….i know beyond any shadow of a doubt this is going to be a nightmare. I know this is folly. But fuck me, I’m addicted to your pain….the kind you dole out, and the kind you soak up…..Remi….you’re a fucking drug……and as you slam down, i arch up, backstopping my own tits, and driving up into the undersides of yours…..
Remington:
If you’ve ever been punched so hard your vision blurs you’re going to understand what I’m trying to put into words. My brain certainly registered you back stopping your own breasts but nothing actually computed other than the movement. It was neatly cataloged and stored. Rating one of the last correctly stored memories for the next hot minute. It was about to be analyzed when the impact of breast on breast resulted in an abundance of alarm bells. I can only begin to imagine what you just did to your own chest by putting your arms under it and catching it against the claw marks from my earlier thumbs. Its a thought that processes less akin to a timely train and more akin to a caboose being hauled through barbed wire and mud.
To paraphrase a quote. This was the kind of pain that stands over you and laughs before asking if you come here often? Understand that the blackness at the edge of my vision was not the result of a head hit. It was the byproduct of nerves buried in my chest being so mechanically deformed that they fired off a signal that made my brain toy with the idea of shutting off.
It didn’t. I sort of wish it did.
Stumbling in the ankle deep oil I resolved to not fall on my ass. Finding my footing my chest heaves as I roll my shoulders back. Gods it hurts. It all hurts so much more than before. I resolve to at least be standing for the end. I look up to see if its coming or not.
Bailey:
A woman that can beat you just this side of ambulatory? Yea a dime a dozen. One that can stroke the lowest, basest cords of your psyche while doing it and make you love every painful moment of it? Hang on to that one…..she’s one in a million….I’m going to hate myself for this for the rest of next week. But I’m a very forgiving person. The stroke, the Hit as I’ll have to call it from now on, rips something loose inside me and asks me if it’s essential. What the fuck do I look like, a doctor?! I just used my tits as the pad on a high striker carnival game……The agony is unreal, unlike anything I’ve ever known, and it breaks into that segment of my brain that only too seldom ever gets seen, sets up camp, and makes a core fucking memory. I won’t remember the food truck tacos I had for lunch, I won’t remember little pieces of conversations, I won’t remember how I drove home, or the half gallon of Blue Bell chocolate ice cream I mainlined……I could live to 100 and remember that hit…..
I stagger back, and swoon on my feet, my world is contracting, narrowing….it’s making room for just this pool we’re in, just the painted Valkyrie I’m waging war on……There are no smiles left. There’s no capacity for trash talk (Idk, maybe you’re just more gifted? I couldn’t even recite the ABC’s right now, and I’m generally pretty good at it) there’s also no capacity for mercy; giving or receiving……huffing….nauseas….everything inside me is screaming red lights……I stumble into you…..cupping my hands around the back of your neck….half support, half set up…..and in an act of supreme self hatred, I arch my back, and yank down on your neck, hoping your chest lurches downward into the direction of my rising pair…..
Remington:
I’m not sure how you made it to me. It’s really more akin to a zombie lurch as your hands go flailing towards me.
I’d like to say I take credit for my actions here. I really don’t see…I’ve been doing martial arts since I could walk. I hurt like an absolute bitch. So when your hands hit my neck I grab your elbows on pure instinct and crunch my abs swinging my elbows down to keep you from controlling me by my head.
You see where this is going now don’t you?
Consequently in my sagging state (tits and posture it put the top of my triceps on the slope of my boobs. I have just enough time to register that they are sensitive as hell before you launch your tits up under mine. Suffice to say they in fact the lower front side of my boobs which my triceps are resting on. There is plenty of give since my swollen melons are pretty fluid filled at this point. It also means that they basically stop dead and don’t lift. At all.
The next thing I remember is being on my knees shaking the blackness out of my vision and looking around for you to see what fresh hell you’re cooking up at the expense of our now thoroughly ruined boobs.
Bailey:
There are limits. We’re not iron. And eventually, the well runs dry. I teeter on my feet for a moment, silently cursing whichever frat boy made himself a legend here for thinking of putting an oil pit in the back yard…..and crash to both knees in the oil pit. The fluid blasts out from the impact, and the undersides of our (now swollen beyond any hope of bra-wearing) breasts are coated in a fresh wave of oil……”You………”. I’m looking for a crusher…”You……”. My left hand clasps the back of your head as I lay my forehead against yours…..’You left your lights on….” I giggle in the maelstrom of agony as i cup my free hand, and drizzle oil over your breast-tops……
Remington:
The hand behind my head pulls me off balance given my state and I yank you down sideways in a mindless flail. What. The. Fuck. The first sensation I register is pain. Yup. That ones my left breast as I maneuver in the oil. Skin? Yes skin and not mine. I pull and roll my left elbow saving me from the splat of landing on my tits. My right tit however finds the curve of something soft and fever hot. I yelp and shimmy higher before I realize I’m tangled up with you on our side in the oil. With a weak push I flop sliding weakly on top of you.
“I…fuu- mm” leaning down from position barely across you supported with my arm so as not to truly put my weight on our mutually squashed mountains…well…mole hills now. I plant my lips firmly on yours for a long lust filled second before I break away my breath coming in gasp. “I ….I.. w-win.”
Honestly. I sort of fucked up that punctuation.
I win?..
Rolling off I lay on my back red swollen beat to hell chest heaving up and down. I don’t feel like I won that one. I sure as shit don’t look like it from my undignified sprawl. Legs open tits up. What the hell just happened.
Bailey:
Sure….whatever….you win….Is….is this dumb thing over?! Can we stop this now…..i pant in the oil…..staring up at the sky that’s gone from periwinkle blue to a deep cerulean…..then to a bruised purple….and now a velvety black, flecked with diamonds. “Heh…..heh heh heh….”. I laugh as I look up at the sky…..even the moon isn’t out tonight…..she must not have wanted to bear witness to this gawdawful Greek tragedy. I turn my head over, to where your form rests in the oil, the both of us sprawled and on our back, like something out of a crime scene. I mean, on second through it *is* a crime scene……I decide to end this match the same way we started it…..clasping your hand, my fingers sifting in between yours……”Hey 🙂 …….you’re one fucked up twist…..you know that?”
The End