Marcy Fights Dana
The first forty-eight hours after Marcy’s fight with Sara, I was Sara’s toy at the beach house. Her dominant beatdown of Marcy set Sara on fire. She had my cock in her hand, her mouth, her pussy, or her ass, until my balls were as dry and empty as a lunar landscape. And then she grabbed my ears and made me tongue-fuck her. But for Sara it was about the conquest, not the prize. After the weekend, she was gone. When I got home from the beach house, Marcy was gone.
Marcy didn’t come home for a week. She didn’t physically heal for a month. Marcy finally had sex with me about six weeks after Sara. I was gentle, at first, but Marcy didn’t want gentle. She slapped me and fucked me like a tasmanian devil, and cried afterwards.
I don’t know, maybe things could have been different.
First, Marcy had fought a woman she knew I had fucked, with me watching, and she’d lost in brutal, humiliating fashion.
Second, she knew that I’d then fucked that woman again as her prize for winning. Only the fact that Marcy had agreed to that in advance saved me, but the knowledge humiliated her even deeper. I fairly wisely didn’t tell her exactly how many times and how many different ways that winning prize was taken.
Third, I was still fucking Dana about once a month. I just couldn’t quit her.
Fourth, I told Dana about Marcy’s fight with Sara. Every detail of it, in fact, while I was fucking her. When Marcy was forced to quit, Dana came, hard, her pussy like a vise on my cock.
Fifth, and this was the killer, Dana decided to call Marcy, and tell her we’d been fucking behind her back for years. I came home that day to a hurricane of fury.
Pain, humiliation, and betrayal are a bitter cocktail. You might think two women who had taken brutal beatings would shy away from another catfight. You’re wrong, my friend. The desire for redemption is a powerful thing. So are jealousy and lust and hate. They all added up to a long-burning fuse, to a big fucking powder keg in the beach house. Marcy and Dana.
After tearing up blood-stained carpet twice, I just didn’t replace it. The sunken pit living room in the beach house was all hardwood now. Unyielding oak. I sat in a chair drawn up to the edge, naked. They’d both insisted on having my balls and cock on display.
They were both naked too. Marcy’s left nipple was thickened with scar tissue from her fight with Sara. Because I knew where to look, I could pick out the line on Dana’s neck where Holly had choked her out with her bikini top.
“You’ve been fucking my husband for years,” Marcy’s voice was flat. “Pretending to be my friend.”
“Save it,” Dana said. “You knew it, deep down. And I wasn’t the only one fucking Nick, I know.”
That was news. Dana and Holly had fought over Nick, Dana’s on-and-off lover and long-time member of our friend group. Marcy and Nick? The tension between the two women was not just over me?
“Hold on,” I said.
“Shut up, Ron,” they said in unison.
Dana ran her hands over her breasts. Dana was a dark-haired slender beauty, but her boobs were her best assets, big solid 34Ds. “Remember when I busted Holly’s tits with my tits?” She was looking at Marcy’s 34Cs, but I didn’t know if she was talking to me or to Marcy. “Looks like your little girls got beat pretty bad too, Marce.”
“I remember when Holly choked you out, bitch,” Marcy spat back. “While Nick came on your half-dead face and fat fucking tits.”
“At least I didn’t quit!” Dana snapped. “I didn’t beg her to suck his cock because I couldn’t take any more!” Marcy flinched like Dana had slapped her.
Only the sound of their heavy breathing hung in the air. I just held my breath.
At last Marcy spoke. “I won’t quit tonight. Not even after you do.”
They started toward each other.
They weren’t skilled fist fighters but hate fueled them. They went toe-to-toe in a no-defense slugfest for a good five minutes. Both noses dripped blood. Marcy’s left eye was swelling. Dana’s lip was cut. They clinched, digging fists into each other’s ribs and bellies, knees into each other’s thighs. Their verbal battle was just as intense, a non-stop stream of cxnt, bitch, slut, whore, you name it.
I’ve got to say, it was fucking surreal. I’ve known both women for over eight years. In college, Dana gave me my first blowjob, not long before Marcy took my virginity. Dana was one of Marcy’s bridesmaids, for Christ’s sake. The modern man part of my hippocampus told me this was very, very twisted. My lizard brain stem pumped blood to my cock.
Marcy fell first, to her knees, with a choked groan as Dana’s fist drilled deep into her belly. Dana set her feet and pumped her knuckles into Marcy’s eye. Each shot whipped Marcy’s black curls across her face. The third one knocked her sprawling on her side. She’d just lifted her head when Dana stomped it. Her skull ricocheted off the oak with a dull crack.
Dana dropped astride Marcy, pinning her arms to her sides. She slapped her tits. Left, right, left, right. Marcy’s skin turned pink, then red. Dana clenched her fists, and the loud slaps turned to dull thuds. Then both fists at once, raised high and slammed down. Over and over again. She was beating Marcy’s tits into raw hamburger.
“I saw you,” Dana’s voice was a feral snarl. “When that bitch Holly was biting my tits. While I was screaming because she was trying to tear my fucking nipples off with her teeth. You . . . had . . . a . . . fucking . . . orgasm!” Her arms finally fell to her sides. She stood.
“So you watch me now, Marcy, you bitch. This is why your man keeps coming back to me.”
Two steps up from the sunken pit. Dana put her hands on my chest, dug her nails in. She kissed me hard and deep. I tasted copper and salt from her bloody lip. Then she swallowed my shaft with her dripping hot pussy. All her weight on it drove it to the hilt into her. She ground her pelvis into mine with short, quick thrusts. Oh god.
Marcy did watch. She screamed in broken rage and tried to get up. She screamed again at the pain in her swelling breasts.
I came, pumping my cock up into Dana. Dana came a second later, her juices streaming down my cock along with my cum with the last few frenzied thrusts. She collapsed on me for a second, her breasts on my chest, but she knew she only had that second. As she stood and dismounted my hips, I saw Marcy’s face framed between her olive thighs.
“That one was just for me,” Dana said to her. “The next one will be after you beg me to.”
Dana did not make it back down the two steps. Marcy lunged up to meet her. She crashed into Dana and together they crashed into me and as a threesome we all crashed to the floor. Knees and elbows were hitting me. I pushed them off and scrambled out of their way.
Marcy was on top, in a sort-of 69 position. Why sort of? Well, no tongues were working, except for the non-stop screaming and cursing. Dana lay on her back, her head tilted back, trapped between my wife’s thighs. Her hair fanned out over Marcy’s legs and the floor. Marcy’s lean legs were hard with flexed muscle, and she poured on the pressure on the scissors across Dana’s neck. While she looked over her shoulder at Dana’s contorted face, she curled her nails into the pussy my cock had left only seconds before, clawing it, like she was trying to dig out all traces of my spunk.
Dana couldn’t break the scissors, no fucking way. She bucked her hips, one knee flying up. This was a mistake, because it brought her ankle into Marcy’s reach, and she grabbed it and dragged it back, doubling Dana’s leg under her, immobilizing it. Dana moaned in pain. Her tits were pushed out on either side of Marcy’s thighs, quivering, her nipples pointing outwards. Marcy pushed up, lifting her upper body, increasing the torque on Dana’s neck, then drove her elbow down into Dana’s pussy. Then the claw again.
The only thing Dana could do was claw Marcy’s ass. She tore livid furrows across her butt cheeks. Marcy twisted her hips a little. The angle of Dana’s head to her shoulders was wrong, and now she wrenched it to the verge of badly wrong.
“Fucking kill you,” Marcy gasped. “Fucking break your fucking neck!”
God help us, I think she was trying. But despite what you see in ninja movies, necks are very hard to snap.
Marcy pushed up again, and drove her elbow into Dana’s belly button. It looked like it sank all the way through to her spine. A bubble of blood inflated and popped on Dana’s lips. Marcy did it again, over and over. Dana’s hands beat at her ass, at the floor, at her legs, no use.
Then Marcy’s hamstring cramped. I could literally see it, the muscle locking up. She screamed in pain and broke the scissors.
They lay a few feet apart. Dana was breathing in harsh sobs. Her olive belly was a big bruise now. Her mauled pussy dripped a brew of the last of my cum and her juices and blood. Marcy’s cramp was easing, her face changing back from a mask of pain and hate to a mask of mostly hate. She got to her feet, gingerly.
For the next minute, she stomped Dana’s face and tits. Dana’s body jerked with every impact. Blood ran from one of her ears. Marcy straddled her and ripped at her tits with her nails until they ran with blood. Exhaustion overtook her before the frenzy was spent. She tipped off, and lay on her side, gasping. Dana lay on her back, dazed, only half-conscious.
I was throbbing hard again. Marcy began to get up.
Whoever had last used the beach house – was it my fuckfest with Sara? – had left on the wetbar an empty wine bottle and a corkscrew, the kind that opened like a pocket knife. Marcy picked it up, turned it in her hand, closed her fist. The metal spiral protruded about an inch and a half from between her first and middle finger. The air in the room changed. The hippocampus screamed at me to intervene. The lizard brain just wanted more blood.
Marcy turned back to Dana.
Marcy lifted Dana to her knees with a grip in her sweaty hair. She waited, watching Dana’s eyes slowly focus. When she was satisfied that Dana was fully present, Marcy held the corkscrew in front of her face. It was a sign of how far gone we were that Dana hissed rather than shrank.
Marcy dragged the knife-point of the corkscrew across Dana’s cheekbone. Lightly, the first time. The second time, deep enough to cut.
“I should take your eyes, you fucking whore,” Marcy said.
Dana’s hand snapped up, her fingers closing on Marcy’s slender wrist, twisting it outward. Their biceps bulged. Slowly, Marcy moved her hand back towards Dana’s face at first, but Dana was stronger. She bent Marcy’s hand back out. She made it to her feet. She hit Marcy in the belly, jolting her. Still twisting her right arm, she hit her again, same spot. Again. Again.
“You should have taken your chance, bitch,” Dana said. She rammed her fist into Marcy’s guts yet again. The corkscrew clattered to the floor. Dana wrenched Marcy’s arm into a hammerlock, spinning my wife around. They were three long steps from the wall. Dana drove Marcy chest-first into it. With Marcy’s arm still pinned high up between her shoulder blades, Dana repaid the pussy mauling, from behind.
“I see why Ron likes my tight pussy,” Dana taunted. “And Sara’s. Did he tell you how many times he fucked her? He told me. He fucks me like that too. He can’t get enough of me, Marcy. Why do you think that is?”
Marcy was sobbing uncontrollably, her cheek pressed to the wall. She’d beaten Dana down, brutalized her tits and pussy, and Dana had still turned the tables on her. Dana tightened her claw, forcing Marcy up on her toes.
“I think it’s because you just aren’t good enough,” Dana said to her.
She released Marcy’s arm and slammed her forearm into the back of Marcy’s neck. With a scream of effort, she lifted Marcy off her feet, half-turned, and dropped to one knee. Marcy’s body slammed down across her other knee. The sound that burst from Marcy wasn’t really human. Her nude body rolled, and lay still.
The corkscrew was beneath her.
For a minute, nothing happened. Dana stayed on her knees. She looked utterly exhausted. Her cheek and nose and mouth were all bleeding steadily, dripping from her chin and jaw onto her chest. Her tits were slashed and battered almost as badly as she and Holly had done to each other, and remember in that fight Dana had ruptured one of the blonde girl’s big boobs. She gently touched her pussy and winced, her fingers coming away bloody.
Marcy stirred, and moaned.
“Have you had enough, you little slut?” Dana said.
Marcy shook her head.
“Fuck you, Dana,” she said. She slurred her words
Dana came for her, for what must have seemed like the thousandth time.
Marcy slashed her across her abs with the corkscrew. Dana screamed and jerked back, and that probably saved her breast, as Marcy’s fist whipped up. The weapon didn’t miss entirely – it ripped a gash up the undercurve of Dana tit into the bottom edge of her areola – but make no mistake, Marcy had aimed to stab deep into its center.
Dana went down with Marcy on her. Dana caught Marcy’s wrist, stopping another stabbing strike just inches from her nipple. Marcy bore down, growling. I am dead serious, she was fucking growling, like a she-wolf. Dana barely managed to deflect her. The steel tore a second gash down the side of her breast.
Dana threw her off with a shriek of desperation. Marcy slammed hard into the wet bar. She lost the corkscrew, which spun across the floor and under a chair. The empty wine bottle crashed to the floor.
Dana reached it first. She swung it like a tennis forearm into Mary’s chest, smashing her right tit flat against her rib cage.
“You cut my tit,” Dana said, and in her voice I heard the kind of ice Dante described in hell.
She clubbed Marcy with the bottle. Her head, her tits, her ribs, her arms, her legs. I was watching my long-time mistress beat my wife to death with a fucking wine bottle that I had drunk with yet another woman, and my cock was like a steel rod. Lost souls, indeed.
Once again, exhaustion temporarily stayed rage.
“You ask her this time,” Dana said, her stomach pulsing in and out as she gasped for air. Marcy was lying in a pool of sweat and blood, but she was still conscious.
“Marcy,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Baby. Say you’ve had enough.”
Dana crawled to me like a cat.
“I want your cock in my mouth when she says it,” she said. “I’ve beaten her little tits to pulp. I think I’ve cracked every fucking egg she has in her fucking ovaries.” She looked up at me from her knees. “I’ve proven that I’m the one you should have married!”
She took me all in one deep gulp, closing her throat on my cockhead.
“Marcy,” I could barely breathe. “Say . . . . “
“I WILL NEVER SAY IT!!” Marcy screamed. Once again, unbidden, hell returned to my mind as a metaphor.
I held Dana by her hair, working my cock deep in her throat, until Marcy was able to make it to her feet. I owe her that much, right?
Owe which one, you say?
They circled.
“I heard what you said,” Marcy said. “But he picked me, didn’t he? Not you.”
“You know, the first time I fucked Ron was two months after your wedding, Marcy,” Dana said. “You hadn’t written all your goddamn thank-you cards yet. When did you first fuck Nick? Why don’t you tell us both?”
Nick again. I couldn’t help it. Marcy loves it best from behind, on her hands and knees. In my mind, I saw Nick fucking her like that. Her hair was in her eyes and she was moaning, the ways she does before she cums.
“Nick’s a toy. A plaything.” Marcy said. Something about it wasn’t convincing. “The same way you treat him, bitch.” I noticed she used present tense. Son of a bitch.
They clashed, body to body. I’ve noted before that Dana has bigger tits but at this point both women’s boobs were so swollen and bloodied that the difference hardly mattered. In a mutual bearhug, they staggered across the room, grinding together. The pain cut lines in their faces, aged them, but neither tried to shirk it. They hit the glass doors to the terrace. Marcy twisted, broke the hold, pinned Dana’s tits-first against the door. She drove her knee into the base of Dana’s spine, then into the meat of her ass, then her back again. Every shot smashed and spread Dana’s tits on the glass. I knew Marcy hoped it would shatter, imbed its shards in Dana’s flesh. It held, though, and as Dana slumped, it glistened with blood and sweat.
Marcy fumbled with the lock. The door swung open. She dragged Dana out onto the deck, slung her against the waist high railing. She hit her in the face with a lashing backhand that spun and bent Dana over the railing, the edge of it just beneath her dangling breasts. Marcy grabbed the one closest to her, dragged it back and forth on the rough wood. Dana moaned as splinters stabbed into her. She reached back, got her arm around Marcy’s neck.
They tilted, up on their toes, then toppled over.
I rushed to the railing. The deck was built to the dunes, so they’d landed in the sand and marram grass and tumbled down the beach side. It was late night, off season, private community, unoccupied houses well-spaced. And my two cats were now beyond screaming. They struggled to their feet as I came down the beach stairs. It was high tide, the waterline only about twenty feet away. The long shallow beach dampened the waves but there were still small breakers.
They clubbed at each other, sobbing. Fists missed or landed, hitting faces, shoulders, breasts. They stumbled to the water’s edge. They fell, rolled. The first wave slapped them apart, but they smashed back together like cruel gravity drove them, the salt water burning every cut and gash on their bodies. When the second wave hit, one of them was astride the other. The impact jarred her but didn’t dislodge her. Knees braced wide, she punched, drew back, punched. The ocean didn’t care how many times
She finally got up. In the moonlight, she was a goddess. The next wave lifted the still body between her feet slightly, then let it drop. She dragged it the few feet necessary to clear the high-water line, and came to me, her dark hair matted wet around her face, her body washed clean.
When she sank onto my cock, it was like a blood-warm sea swallowing me. I spurted my own primeval life-fluid deep into her and she shuddered with her own orgasm. She relentlessly squeezed me, held me, milked my cock as she came again, and again, using me for so long as any hardness remained.
I told my parents to sell the beach house; only I ever used it, and I no longer wanted it.
OK, OK, I get it. You want to know.
The moonlit goddess. The dark-haired victor who left her former best friend, beaten unconscious, at the ocean’s edge.
It was Dana.
I left Marcy – my wife – more dead than alive in the sand, while I fucked Dana.
I didn’t see Marcy again for two years. Divorce proceedings never required us to be in the same room.
Dana moved in with me, but that didn’t last either. She was an amazing mistress but a mediocre full-time partner. I, of course, was no catch, either. I’m just glad we didn’t get married.
I am fucking a married woman, though. Her husband is gone on business a lot; he doesn’t suspect a thing.
I spent the night with her last night, in fact. She was still asleep as I wrote the email on my phone. The sheet covered part of her leg but the curve of her hip was bare. Is there anything sexier than a naked woman lying on her side, that hip? She stirred, and stretched. When I first met her, I remember thinking she had perfect breasts. Now, there was a small asymmetry; her left one was just a little bigger.
“What are you doing?” she asked sleepily.
“Writing to them,” I said. “Before you change your mind.”
Last night, I’d found the position where the tip of my cock hit her g-spot. Yes, boys, it exists, but it is nirvana to get to it with your cock. In her orgasmic ecstasy, she had described a threesome. I do want to be clear about that: it was her idea. I was still hard now, just thinking of it.
“Come here,” she said. “Let me see what you’ve written.” Her fingers idly stroked my erection while she read. I watched her nipples stiffen.
“Perfect,” she said. Her lips slid down my cock while I pushed Send.
Both replies came back while we were still fucking. Both were Yes. I showed her, while the sweat was still cooling on her skin.
“Mmmmmmmm,” Holly purred. “A three-way catfight with both of those bitches. You should sell tickets.”
She was full of great ideas.
The End