When Life Starts: Chapter 5 by Rival’s Rapture

Want to Go Back to the Beginning of the Series?

Chapter 1

Sexfight: For Brooke, the day holds a new city, a new home, a new rival, and a battle that takes her to her very limits.

Miss the Last Chapter?

Turns in the Dark:
(Chapter 4.5)

Warning: This story is far more sex than fight, and though it is super steamy and contains lesbian erotica, it might not satisfy those looking for actual back and forth combat.

Erotica/Pro-Fetish: After another hard night on the road, Jennifer “The Better Woman” and Katherine “The Doll” Dahl satisfy each other’s needs in the heat and the dark of their shared hotel room.

Sub-Chapter 1:

I was business. One-hundred-percent business when I knocked on the door of Kat’s hotel room.

My mind focused on one thing.

Telling her.

Telling “The Doll” that we were bringing another girl in. A girl we KNEW Kat hated. Not because we read about it in the “dirt sheets” or heard Conrad Thompson drag it out of Bruce Pritchard. But instead, because Kat told us when we signed her.

In fact, the new girl told us when we signed her too.

They didn’t get along. Not backstage. Not in the ring. Not in the hotel bar after the show.

Green eggs and ham, they were.

Which is why Rheena needed me to give Kat the news face to face and soon.

So there I was knocking. Waiting. And hoping our biggest star would take the news well, or at least wouldn’t quit the promotion — our new in-house counsel having only been hired that day. Which meant that a contract dispute was the last thing I wanted to be the cause of.

And though that’s where my body and mind were, suddenly, they were both somewhere else entirely. As in mid-apology, and at the very moment the door swung open, I was grabbed, yanked inside, and then held tightly by a girl I had hired not a week before. Her cute, infectious voice greeting me, just before the star I came to meet ripped my top open.

I should have lost my mind about all of it. Called HR. Called Rheena. Got a lawyer and sued. And maybe I would have, if I hadn’t immediately melted into a little puddle of Brooke and long for all of it to continue.

But I can’t really blame myself, even now, distanced from the moment. Kat looked like a goddess, which was fitting, given it was one of her 18 nicknames. Sweat dripping down her shimmering body, as her eyes narrowed into the sexiest little slits.

And if that wasn’t enough, Jennifer’s equally sweaty body and breasts were pressing against me. Into me. My black blouse soaking through, even as she hung her head down, and laid on my shoulder. Her lips pressing against my neck and pecking slowly as Kat’s eyes bored holes through my soul.

A soul that pulled into two opposite directions, both of which would lead me deeper and neither of which would lead me out.

“You’re going to be a good girl, and do exactly what we say. Is that understood?” Just the words made me almost cum, half because of what those words could mean for me, and the other in how certain she was that I would accept her ultimatum.

But whatever domme-sub bliss I would have been allowed to sink into, had I wilted in Kat’s stare, I knew what I wanted more.

What I want whenever the choice is given or the opportunity is presented. And so I resisted her.

Rebelled against her.

Not with words, but by spitting right in her face.

Which turned out to be so … the right call. Kat’s eyes lighting up at the very instant I gave her the opportunity to lash out. Her left hand moving to my hair, and yanking it down hard. So hard that she pulled me down to my knees and out of Jennifer’s grasp in a single tug.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch.” The second blonde among us snarled, as she stepped forward and presented her sweat-drenched sex to me. Like an appetizer on a tray at a fancy Italian restaurant. And though I would have taken it in an instant if that was all I could get, instead, I looked up to its owner and growled back.

“I will NEVER eat you, Kat. Because I’m twice the woman you are!” The words sounded so confident and bold. And I thought I had nailed them. Right up until the moment Kat reared back to hit me. It, somehow, escaping my mind that she was a professional fighter and I .. was not.

But as her closed fist neared, Jennifer reached out and stopped it. “Kat, wait!”

“Wha…?” The Doll replied dumbfounded.

“She’s a sexfighter!” The answer jumped from Jennifer’s lips like a frog from a lilypad.

“A what?” The blonde questioned, as her balled fist and raised arms softened and returned to her side.

“She uh … she doesn’t fight like that.” Thanks, Jennifer, I thought to myself, as I reached back with my left hand and tried to convey the same with a squeeze of her calf.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Jenn?” As she spoke, and her eyes shifted, I could feel the aim of Kat’s anger switch from me to Jenn. And though I could absolutely sit there and watch them battle, I decided to throw myself back in the middle.

“She means that sometimes….” I started while hopping up from my knees to a stand. “Most of the time, I fight with pleasure not pain.”

Triggered though Kat was, by my audacious decision to stand up without permission, it was my explanation that truly made her pause. Not a single word slipping from her lips, though I could tell she was at least intrigued by the mystery.

“Look. We’ll show you.” Jennifer presented as an alternative, just before she stepped around me, turned my body to face her with a gentle hand, and then leaned in to kiss my lips with her own.

And though yeah, for maybe a few seconds … or a minute … or a couple of them, we kissed like no two women had ever kissed before. Hotly. Passionately. The sensation of my lips and hers pressing — my tongue and hers dancing a magic that I can barely describe now, let alone when I was lost in it.

Still, after some heavenly ever, the kiss ended, as Jenn pulled away. It was then, and ONLY then that the realization hit me like a truck. I know I’m a sexfighter, but how does Jenn know? How does a girl, only a week in the company, know that about me? And so without any sense of calm or collection, I asked in a panic, almost forgetting about the red hot goddess standing before me with her hands on her hips.

“Wait, how did you know I’m a….” I asked, even as my heart and soul begged me to forget it and so I could kiss her again.

“Rheena tol-shoooowed me.” Jennifer, who appeared just as taken by our kiss as I was, began with an understatement and then ended with the truth.

“Rheena showed you? A sexfight?” I asked as my eyes grew wide with shock.

“Mmm hmmm…. That day you kicked me out of your apartment to pull hair with that girl, I just waited. Eventually Rheena came out, and took me out for some coffee, some lunch, and then we … um … sexfought. Sexfighted. Whatever you’d say.” Every word of the young brunette wrestler’s explanation made sense, and yet all of it made my mouth curl into a half-smirk/half-scowl.

“I can’t believe she–” I muttered until being interrupted.

“I thought you said she didn’t fight, and yet she was pulling hair?” A suddenly inquisitive Kat asked.

“It was a — she just….” I tried and failed to explain what happened between Nazmin and I before my voice trailed off and Jennifer cut back in.

“They ended up sexfighting too.” The still nude, still drenched Ms. Diaz explained, once again shocking me.

“How do you know that?!” I asked, as my face contorted in shame and embarrassment — which seems silly now, given all we had been about to do moments before.

“Rheena told me.” Jennifer said simply.

“Does she just tell everyone everything about my sexlife?!” I asked with a voice that told the tale of my complete disbelief.

“Mmm hmmm…. Now!” When she said it: “now”, I had no idea what was about to happen. But what was about to happen was that Jennifer grabbed me and my, by-then sweat-wet blouse, and pulled my body against hers and us once more into our kiss.

And though I wanted it to last forever, again I was torn away from it. Not by my own curiosity and but instead by Kat. Who grabbed both Jennifer and I by our biceps and pulled us forcibly apart and into stumbles in opposite directions.

Her strong, confident voice then announcing, after as she stepped forward and between us. “She’s mine now.” The Doll claimed, as Jennifer, without argument, stepped back and allowed her tag partner to take her place in front of me. “And because YOU’RE mine, you’re going to show me how to fight with pleasure. Right here. Right now.”

And though I wanted Kat and I to do exactly that only 5 minutes before, as Jennifer disappeared into the blonde goddess’ shadow, I felt a sudden wave of disappointment wash over me.

An emotion I didn’t have time to focus on as only a second after it came, Kat’s hands moved to my red skirt and yanked it not down, but completely apart at its clasp.

Sub-Chapter 2:

It was the loudest click I’d ever heard. One that seemed to not only echo, but shake the long, empty, hotel hallway from one end to the other. Calling like a siren to whoever might still be awake at that late hour. Begging them to yank open the doors to their room, step out into the hall, and find me standing there in front of Kat and Jenn’s shared room.

Looking like the hottest of messes.

My hair matted, sweaty, and disheveled. Reeking of sex. Wearing torn, wet, and wrinkled clothes. The skirt I wore being mine, though the bra and top I had on were Kat’s. The underwear that clung to my splatter stained mound and cheeks Jenn’s.

My two captors having to take pity on me to get me back to my room in more than the shredded garments I had earned in our late night, impromptu get-together.

And though I was, at that moment, a literal trash fire, I still had the widest of smiles on my face. A smile I wore as I began to step back towards the elevator. An elevator, after a push of a button, that arrived with a ding. A welcome sound that came with one that was less so. An alert noise on my phone that told me in an instant it was my boss.

“Did you tell her?!?!?!” Rheena asked impatiently.

A question to which I replied only with a blurted out: “FFFUUUCCCKK!!”

Sub-Chapter 3

Riiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiing. Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing. My alarm went off again and again as I fought to stay asleep and ignore it. Having gotten only a handful of hours of sleep after spending a wild evening with two of the company’s biggest stars in a hotel room I swear had to have been 100 degrees.

But as hot as the room was, what The Doll, The Better Woman, and I did was even hotter. The memories of each successive battle for control keeping me from sleeping, even after I had made it back to my hotel room.

Images of it all flashing in my mind as I drug myself out of bed, fought my way through a quick shower, and then dressed myself as quick as I could. Making sure to keep myself in my late-night rivals’ panties and bra. Wanting something sexy to think about during what was to be a 6 hour flight across the country.

Not on one of our company’s Bowman-provided private jets, but in coach. Punishment for my failure to deliver the bad news to Kat. Rheena spending the the morning text-lecturing me about taking the bull by the horns, or giving Kat the horns — something about horns, I remember seeing through my sleep-deprived eyes.

But I’d flown coach before. And really, didn’t think too much of the temporary demotion, other than the normal dread that comes with the will-they or won’t-they sit someone next to you on the flight.

Would it be the fat guy? The smelly old lady? The talker? Or maybe the armrest taker?

At least I was in the aisle seat. A stroke of luck which, along with my delirium, allowed me to hope as the number of people who entered the plane and sat down rose. Each of them skipping the window seat next to me. Maybe I had gotten lucky, and would be left entirely alone during the flight. That is until finally my dreams of privacy and space were shattered.

By her.

A gorgeous, brunette who looked to be my age and my build, but with tits that made me instantly jealous. Did they dwarf mine? No. Were they twice the size of mine? Proooobably no. But they were big enough to make me not only envious, but self-conscious. My right hand instinctively moving to my halter top, and pulling it closed.

“Hi.” She said with a smile, as she lifted her luggage into the overhead bin. An extension that left her assets to protrude about 8 football fields into my sightline.

“Hi!” I said with a warm return of expression, hoping my still nascent jealousy wasn’t written all over my face.

“Name’s Ahna.” Introduced the busty woman as she traveled her Trapeze dress wearing body into the seat next to mine. Her shoulder brushing and then coming to a rest against mine.

“I’m Brooked….” As my eyes fought to pull themselves away from Ahna’s gaping cleavage, I apparently forgot how to say my own name.

“Brooke, sorry. Brooke is my name.” As I corrected myself, I finally pulled my gaze loose and found that Ahna had caught me. She, wearing a confident smirk that grabbed my jealousies, poured gasoline on them, and then lit them on fire.

All of which I suffered, as Ahna’s voice softened, lowered, and with all the sexual confidence in the world, replied. “Nice to meet you, Brooke.”

Ugh! I hated myself. And I hated Ahna. Not because she had done anything wrong to me, but just because she existed with tits that I couldn’t match.

Don’t get me wrong, my breasts were incredible. Supple, soft, natural, and bigger than those of most women. I mean, D-cups!! That’s supposed to be big, right? But her’s were … just … bigger.

How big? I don’t know, but they needled me, even as I awkwardly looked away from her and her chest. Locking my gaze on the pretty stewardess down the aisle, as I tried to survive my nearness to a woman whose body was apparently driving me mad.

In that half-pout, half-shame-cocoon Ahna let me stay. Each of us avoiding any kind of contact or conversation as the plane filled up. As the door shut. As we took off. And even when we made it into the air and the signal freeing us to move about the cabin went off.

That’s finally when I let my eyes drift just far enough to notice, in the periphery of my vision, that Ahna was turned towards and looking at me. As if she wanted to say something.

“Yes?” I asked, trying to finally play it cool. Wanting to regain some semblance of the confidence I had lost in Ahna and I’s initial interaction.

“I want to try something.” She asked without context, but the excited expression on her face and tone in her voice gave me all that I needed.

“Ok, try.” It was then, that with our eyes locked and my assent given, that Ahna reached into her purse and pulled out her cellphone. And at the very moment she did, it vibrated and let off a low, hateful hiss sound. At the sound, my eyes went wide. Both because of my shock at what her phone had done, but also because my own cell had done the same.

“Tangler’s new feature.” She said with a smirk, as she fell back into her seat.

“Oh….” I said, suddenly scared of being outed, the taboo feeling of fem fighting still affecting me, despite the popularity of the hobby’s new found social acceptance. My hands struggling to unlock my phone to figure out what had just happened.

“Tells you when you’re near a possible rival.” Ahna continued, as she let her eyes scan the cabin before us. Letting the information she just conveyed sink in.

Any other moment, I would have responded with a whip crack sass. Immediately taken the chance to latch my proverbial claws into a woman whose interests might match my own. But something about Ahna put me on the back foot, robbing me of my normal fire. Leaving me not to reply, but instead mutter the word she spoke. “Rival….”

“You ever been in a titfight, Brooke?” She asked, not meaning it to be an insult, though in half, it felt like one.

Had I ever been in one? ME?! Brooke?! Of course I had! I was the queen of them in sophomore year! Yeah, I fell into something a little more focused on clits than cleavage, but I could play that game.

Now, did I tell her any of that? Did I stand my ground and tell Ahna how experienced I was in smashing breasts and taking names? No. Instead, I just gulped. GULPED and then muttered. “Yes.”

Not ‘of course’. Not ‘you bet your cute, juicy ass’. Just a soft, trembling ‘yes’. An answer that immediately filled my row-mate with doubt.

“Hmmm….” She said, as she examined me and my less than equal assets.

“Listen, ‘Brooked’. I’m not looking to press chests for 30 minutes, and then have you quit on me.” Of course she called me that, I was losing her! Quickly! I wasn’t presenting myself as bold or confident — equal to her, in terms of attitude, and especially not tits.

I had to turn things around, and quickly. “No, no, no…. Ahna. I … I … know I seem like a beta, right now. Like I’m a cuckold or a clitold or something.

But I swear, I will….” I paused, as I realized how loud I was speaking about a subject that is best left quiet regardless of whether Ahna cared about others hearing us or not. “….I’m not looking to be dommed here. I’m not a jobber or someone who just found the Tangler app last week. I’ve been fighting girls for years. YEARS….” I pled my case.

In the wake of it, my little speech, the busty brunette tilted her head, and peered into my soul. “Promise me. When I’m winning, you don’t quit until you can’t take a second more.”

It was a fair ask. After all, ever since this hobby of hours hit the mainstream, there had been an influx of pretenders. Girls who act like they’ve been at it a long time, when really they’ve just discovered it. That, or the girls just looking to get beat and then punished. But still, the tone of Ahna’s voice and the words she chose left me no choice but to flare back at her.

“Slut….” I whispered hotly. “…it’s going to be me who wins and you who quits.”

The reply made Ahna smirk, and then lean into me. Her lips whispering in my ear, as I once more stared at her ravine-deep cleavage. “My tits vs. yours. Winner, which will be me, gets worshiped.”

“Worshiped and washed.” I amended, before the two of us clung to that moment — that closeness. Letting our breasts brush as we cooed to each other about all we would do when finally we were alone.

Sub-Chapter 4

When the plane landed, Ahna and I hurried from our terminal to an Uber, and then from the Uber, to my pre-booked hotel room.

There, in a frantic and excited hurry, we stripped off our clothes. Flirting and trash talking to each other as we pulled off tops, bottoms, panties, and shoes.

“Remember your promise!” She reminded me, while hopping on one foot, so she could pull off her lace thong.

“Oooh, you’re just trying to convince yourself you’re going to win. But I’ll remember you thought I needed that promise, when you’re begging me to leave your breasts alone!” I tried to forget how overmatched and outgunned I was. Thinking about the girls at Penngrove I had beaten, even when I was the girl with smaller tits.

“Mmm hmmm, we’ll see!” Finally naked, she began to strut towards me. Her bare breasts swinging as I tried to match her. To pull off my last strips of fabric so I too could strut. But by the time I was finally bare, she was already there and we grabbed for each other.

Pulling together tight and then sealing forehead to forehead. Her breasts laying atop mine, making it seem as if her pair were the only ones in play.

“Feel that, Brooke?” She taunted me, knowing how uneven our chests looked at that moment.

“The only thing I feel are tits that are about to meet their match!” I growled back, as we slowly spun. The tips of our noses brushing, as on soles, toes, and heels we pirouetted together. Our egos clashing and wills to win bared.

“On three.” She then offered.

“Two” I replied.

“One” She announced, and we began.

The two of us spending the next few hours pressing tits pridefully, on one side and then the other, until we had talked each other into a contest of slams and crashes. The impacts so hard that even with our mismatched pairs, we caused bruises and welts.

Once and then again. Once and then again. Our tits clapping together in a muffled percussion that stole us away from all else but the struggle. All else but the strain.

Our bodies wetting with sweat as our mammaries met and married in heavy collisions of tits and nipples. Studying every wince, whimper, and cry. Wanting to know what attacks worked, and which angles gave us advantage.

But with every charge, crash, and retreat to do it all again, we drove each other towards exhaustion. Expending energy, with emphasis on the ‘spend’. Not saving a single ounce of strength for later or eventually, wanting to try to push each other to the edge, hoping we could take an advantage early and then keep it.

But when those efforts failed to earn either of us an unequal momentum, we wrapped our arms around each other and hung. Rubbing. Shifting and dragging our tits across each other in opposing directions. Left and right. Up and down.

We both wanted to win — to overwhelm, and most importantly, to see the fire in the other’s eyes dwindle first. But as we watched expecting, hoping, needing to see weakness and worry, we instead found only disappointment.

We were wearing down, but together. Side by side. No advantage. No momentum. We instead finding ourselves as just two women draining one another. Of energy and energy and strength, but never defiance.

“Fuck you, Ahna.” I muttered at her.

“Bitch, you’ll give in.” She fired back.

God, it was hot. Both literally and figuratively. The air thermostat not having been touched when we burst into the room and started tearing off our clothes.

A distraction-caused inaction that left us locked together on a sweltering and steamy battlefield where we wore each other out, sweat pouring down our warring tits and battling bodies.

We weren’t enemies, but we wanted to feel that way. Like we had reason to hate each other. Like we were rivals through and through. It’s like a drug, that feeling. That passion and emotion mixed with competition.

You almost can’t understand it, until you’ve done it. Until you’ve felt it. And Ahna and I, we had, and we were addicted to it.

We both chasing a dragon that, unlike heroine or cocaine, always manages to get its user high.

Not by needle or pipe, but by talking each other into an absolute fervor. The two of us clinging to each other and dragging. Energy reserves faltering. Our weapons of flesh aching from friction and impact, to the point where we winced and whimpered with every shift.

Until finally, when we could no longer stand, we climbed up onto the bed, knowing we were soon to collapse.

I was giving as good as I got, in terms of jabs and parries — strikes and counters, but during all of that hot, humid, struggle, no matter how hard I fought, I was still battling a heavier pair of breasts.

Breasts that wore on mine more. Ground against mine harder. Layed on mine in such a way, where even in moments of rest, Ahna was doing damage.

My tits were good. My tits were great! They were fucking PERFECT! But Ahna’s were unbelievable in almost every sense of the word.

And so with every impact and drag — lift and drop, she was able to do more with less. And though I was practiced and talented in the sport of slamming tits, I was starting to wear down, due to that fact.

It was something she and I both expected. Something she and I understood before we began.

I’d be David-ica and she’d be a dead sexy Goliath with massive tits. Don’t get me wrong, at no point did I regret my decision to take her on. But by that moment, when we climbed onto the bed, I was suffering.

My tits aching and red. Something that might not have been as noticeable if I had a darker tan, like Ahna. But with my alabaster complexion, she could see the damage she was causing, just like I could feel it.

And of course, because I had been overcompensating for my tits being smaller, for hours at that point, when we made it onto the bed, I was doing little more than hanging from Ahna weakly. My arms wrapped around her neck, as she kept her hands on my hips. My efforts spent on trying to keep from collapsing, as she, with a cruel efficiency, spent hers lining me up for her next attack.

“Bitch….” I muttered, as my lips pressed to her ear.

“You’re tired.” She replied, my voice making it clear that I was on the verge of crumbling.

“No, I’m–uunnngghhh….” I wanted to tell her how much energy I had left. How she could expect so much more from me. But as I spoke, she drug her mighty tits against mine, and I moaned out in pleasure and in pain.

I felt her smirk, as she planted a quick peck of a kiss on my shoulder. She had me on the ropes, and she knew it. And worse than her smirk, she then lowered her body. Both down and forward. Letting the fact that I was relying on her for support work against me.

Making me hang lower and deeper. All before she shifted her tits up, which wasn’t so bad, and then down, which was the WORST! The combined efforts causing me to not only groan, but also to slip and to fall back to the comforter’s soft surface.

Ahna, of course, followed me. Letting her body and tits crash down atop mine in a hard, heavy clap of flesh that rippled through our thick bodies.

“Unnnggghhh….” I offered, my breasts already beyond sore and my body not far from completely exhausted. Ahna, as I moaned, settling in atop me. Her hands seeking out, finding, and then pinning my wrists down to the bed.

“Now’s the time to make good on that promise, Brooke.” She cooed while lifting her head and then confidently looking down into my eyes.

“No, it’s not! I’m…. Going…. To…. Beat you!” At the refusal, I shifted. Left and then right. Left and then right. Wanting to hurt her breasts with my own. To re-engage, as if we weren’t nearing the end of our struggle. And though those swift, sweat-aided drags did cause Ahna to moan in pain, she remained.

On top of me, with her breasts pouring down on mine. Like wine from a goblet. Her flesh expanding at their base. Seeking out any crevice and space between mine to seep into.

“I’m going … to … get … out of this … and….” I grunted out. Trying to press myself up — to get Ahna off of me. But with the weight of her tits on top of mine, I could do nothing other than try.

Not accomplish.

Not succeed.

Just try and fail.

For seconds that stretched. And minutes that meandered. Her grip on my wrists finally releasing, when my struggles had weakened. All so she, with her right arm, could reach across the great span of her tits, at their narrowed middle and then grip at her distant breast. A bracing she used to better aim and guide her meaty weapons as she shifted her body back and forth like a metronome.

Like a pendulum of calm, collected, certainty.

I would give in.

I would ask her — beg her to stop.

But when? Would I keep my promise? Or would my will disintegrate when finally she was in full and undeniable control.

I told her it would hold. Hoped it would hold. Needed with every fiber of my being for it to hold.

And so I grit my teeth and closed my eyes tight. I shifted beneath my abuser. Squirmed. Releasing a torrent of soft, powerless whimpers. As for five minutes or ten — ten or maybe twenty minutes. I was counting seconds as they passed, as each came and went I let it go, so I could focus on the next.

Just one more minute. Just another 60 seconds, if there is any way I can, I told myself.

And I did…..

Hold out. Hold strong.

And as I did, I suffered beneath Ahna. Moaning in pain. Gasping deep when she would lift and then groan when she then dropped her massive chest on top of my nearly red, swollen breasts.

“Don’t you give….” She instructed, at odds with her boasts from before. When we were rivals, she was chasing my submission. Fighting towards it — for it. She wanted to push me as close to that edge of capitulation as possible, but not over.

Not till she could have this. Not till she could have me fractured and smashed beneath her. Drifting into oblivion as she buried me in her tits.

I understood all of that, as I laid under her. And though I did, and though it might seem ever so cruel, I fought to stay strong. Specifically because this was what she was truly after.

Each of us finding our own ‘moment’. Our own perfect trigger.

For me, it’s the moment when desire overcomes will. When me or my opponent want to keep resisting, but because of friction and fire, we melt at the others touch. Wanting it. Craving it. Begging for it with our squirms and sounds, even if we don’t put it into words. But for Ahna, it was punishing the woman who challenged you. Not after she gives in, but before…. And that was exactly what I was going to give her, if I couldn’t break free.

“Fuck you! I’m not done…. We’re not … done….” I grunted out through gritted teeth and in response, all while Ahna kept shifting and slamming.

Her heavy tits collecting atop my smaller breasts in large pools, before they slowly pulled back and then came again. Every now and then, as beneath her I squirmed, she’d give me a soft peck. A quick, gentle kiss on my lips or forehead.

Why? Because I was keeping my promise. A promise she asked of me, because of what she was chasing. She was grooming me there on that plane. Preparing me to be her perfect little victim.

And hey, there’s no shame in it. And I certainly wasn’t judging. It was part of it — our hobby. We wanted things that were hard to describe and even harder to ask for.

And though I understood, at that moment, I was in pain.

Lots of pain as I languished beneath Ahna. And she could see it. Feel it. Hear it. But she didn’t want me to quit. She wanted me to hold on. So she could enjoy me. So she could savor hurting me. Hurt me, and all the while hiss down at me.

“Your tits are weak….”

“My breasts are better….”

“You’re not woman enough to fight me….”

“I’m flattening you, Brooke….”

With her saying all that, you’d think I’d hate her, but I was all in. On her gloating to me. On her taunting me. And sometimes, yeah, having the woman you’re fighting trash talk you can make you go blind with rage. But that’s when you really hate each other. When you’re fighting about something real, or you’ve found a way to hurt each other deep.

Ahna was my rival. She was my competition. At that moment, she was my tormentor. But she wasn’t my enemy. And so the cruel insults she spit at me were like a hooka-shared aphrodisiac. In part allowing Ahna to enjoy her time in control, and in another, allowing me to do the same.

It’s hard to explain, but when you enjoy fighting other women. The struggle. The strain. You start to enjoy both sides of the coin. The victory and the dominance, as well as the suffering and subjugation.

The intimacy of being trapped and punished by your rival.

The delicate sounds of pain and frustration you release, as atop you they moan in satisfaction.

It’s intoxicating.

Incredible.

So much so, that as she muttered cruelly to me, my pussy was soaking, even as I tried to hold back tears. My tits being so sore and savaged, even though Ahna had slowed her drags to try and help me keep my promise.

And though I wanted to, desperately, my nipples and areola were so raw and tender that the bumps and ridges of her own felt like dredgers carving their own little canyons in mine.

My breasts battered and bruised to that point where I felt lost. No longer able to enjoy my own suffering, or Ahna’s control. The pain of it all having welled and worsened, to the point where I teetered on the very edge of giving in. “I…. I….” My lips opened and lungs expanded, my promise a blink from breaking.

But after only a single letter was let loose, Ahna lifted her left hand and covered my mouth. Leaving my nose uncovered so I could breathe, but keeping me from telling her I was done.

It was then, and only then, when she knew I could take no more, that she aligned our hips and started to grind on me. Her pussy against mine. Each of us wet and leaking. Hungry for pleasure, even alongside all the pain.

With my mouth sealed away, I started to cry as she fucked me. Her attacks on my breasts never ceasing, even if the pressure applied was as light as she could make it.

In any other endeavor, what she was doing to me might be considered unfair or outside the bounds of our agreement. But there is too much passion. Too much desire. Too much fire in conflict to expect everything to fall within specified lines.

I could not promise myself or her that I wouldn’t step outside what we agreed upon or what might seem fair, if I was close enough to what I truly wanted. So I couldn’t ask that of her.

She wanted me to give her more. To let her exist on the edge of my utter (or udder? He he) destruction, and if I could possibly give her that, I would.

Her insistence and my understanding gave me the strength to try and hold on.

To keep going.

An emboldening plused by how clear it was that Ahna was going to cum. Her enjoyment of my suffering amplified by the chance she had to silence me. By the idea that I tried to submit, and she, with her palm, cut me off.

And so she built. Gathered. Grinding our pussies together. Again and again. Her whole body, in one long drag after another, wrecking me with pleasure and pain. Ecstasy and agony.

Until in a sudden combustion she began to shake above me and moan. Deeply. Primally. A deep, soul-rending orgasm taking her, as her hand lifted. She riding me, as her chest lifted. Thrusting her seeping cunt against mine. Giving me a last few lashes of carnal satisfaction, as I muttered in a sob. “I give….”

Not once. Not twice. But in shattered and repeating mutters. Sounds I use to intensify and stretch out Ahna’s orgasm. Even though I can barely think past the burning pain that she had inflicted upon me.

But finally, it was over. Our battle and her orgasm. And when it was, teary eyed and wounded, I looked up at the stranger I had met on that plane. Not a hint of defiance or jealousy in my stare.

Just submission.

Just a need for her to stop, now that she had gotten all that I could give her before giving in.

You’d think after all that, I’d have been proud of myself. Having lasted so long against the big-titted goddess I had met. But instead, I just wanted to disappear in my punishment. In the stakes we had made on that plane.

Maybe Ahna knew that, as only a moment later, she shifted her chest to the left, and then began to lower her right nipple to my mouth.

“You kept your promise!” She said with a bright, pleased tone. One that then dipped into a forceful command as she felt my lips brush against her pink tip. ”Now suck….”

And suck I did. Latching my lips around her nipple, and drawing hard. Letting the breasts that had brutalized mine engulf me and hide me from the world.

When I did, I saw Ahna flinch. I had hurt her. Damaged her powerful breasts. That knowledge made me smile, even though I knew it was my duty to worship.

To lavash her incredible tits with the affection I had hoped I’d earn for my own.

First with my lips and tongue. And then in the shower, as I washed them clean. Softly rubbing them down with water and soap. Taking my time, as the warm shower water washed away my tears.

Winning a fight, whether it be cat, sex, tit, or any other, is great. It fills you with confidence and pride. It lets you plant a flag and say this bitch is mine!

But there’s a warmth in losing too. In giving into your rival, letting both of you lower your defenses. We’re not competing anymore. We’re not straining against each other’s will.

It’s over.

You win.

I’m yours.

I was hers that night. And after we had toweled off, we moved back to the same bed she beat me on. Laying down side by side. Talking. Laughing. Exchanging numbers and socials. And then when we were both too tired to stay awake any longer, she pulled me into her breasts, so she could have one final prize for beating me.

Letting it be them that helped my breathing slow, as I drifted off to sleep between them.