[TheScribbler]

This is the second chapter in the rebooted Society series.  Many thanks to Tiffany_Fights and Tara Wild for their permission to use their characters.  The other characters in the story are all fictional characters of my own invention, so any resemblance to FCF members in name or appearance is purely coincidental.

The story will be posted in sections, a day apart.  The intent of this is so that people can insert themselves into the story as audience members or comment however they wish as the story progresses.  Feel free to roleplay and have some fun with it.  Remember, this is all in fun so let’s not be too nasty.

Enjoy!

Scrib

HAPPY NEW YEAR

Tiffany shifted in her seat as she guided the rental Honda Pilot south along Bellevue Avenue in Newport, Rhode Island.  Traffic was lighter here than it had been on the long drive up from New York City – it had taken six hours on Interstate 95, then another hour from there – but the GPS on the dash told her that her destination was just minutes away now.  She looked forward to an opportunity to stretch her legs.

The all-day trip had been a little more palatable due to the presence of her traveling companion.  Blair Anderson had been in Tiffany’s sights for several months and for much of that time, her attraction toward the petite, blue-eyed blonde had definitely been mutual.  They had bumped into one another at the gym, in various clubs and even on the street.  They had shared coffee, drinks and some passionate kisses but despite their obvious desire, had never quite managed to take things further.

This weekend, that was about to change.

Unlike most of Tiffany’s recent romantic entanglements, Blair was not a fighter herself.  She knew exactly what Tiffany did for a living however and thought it was, in her own words, “a total turn-on.” Blair was something of a gym rat and any time they got together, she would waste no opportunity to touch or stroke Tiffany’s well-toned arms or the smooth hard plane of her belly.  “I love your muscles.” Even today, as Tiffany drove, Blair had occasionally reached out to squeeze her thigh, the touch accompanied by a knowing glance and a promising smile.

Tiffany grinned at the little blonde now as she made the final turn off Bellevue and slid the SUV up a winding hill.  Blair smiled back at her and rolled her shoulders, which drew Tiffany’s attention to the firm, full orbs of her well-rounded breasts, stretching at the confines of the blue turtle-neck sweater that exactly matched the shade of her eyes.  Her black leather jacket hung open and her shapely legs, sheathed in tight black leggings, were crossed at the ankles.  Her black patent leather ankle boots were decorated with little gold chains that jingled softly when she walked.

She couldn’t wait to get Blair alone.  More specifically, she couldn’t wait to get Blair alone, naked and into bed.  That would have to wait however, because this wasn’t a pleasure trip – or not entirely a pleasure trip.  There was business to be taken care of, and then she would be free to have some fun.

The invitation to Nick Sheridan’s New Years Eve party, here in Newport, had been a surprise.  Tiffany knew Sheridan and his wife – they were wealthy socialites, patrons of the elite and secretive Society Fight Club where Tiffany regularly fought other women in front of the assembled audience, and she had met them both on numerous occasions at Society gatherings.  She had never mixed socially with them outside the Society however.

The invitation hadn’t been entirely a social thing, as she learned during the first phone call when Sheridan had made the invitation.  There was a catch, though a small one and it would be both pleasurable and lucrative.  Sheridan wanted a catfight – an exhibition match – as the entertainment for his party, and he wanted Tiffany to be part of that fight.

Her opponent was to be his ‘protégé’ as he termed it.  “She’s quite the fitness fanatic though she’s never fought anyone in public before.  She’s really keen to try out her skills.” Tiffany figured that meant he was fucking the girl and wanted to indulge his mistress by hiring Tiffany to fight her.  She wasn’t averse to taking on some newbie but, as she warned Sheridan right then and there, she wasn’t going to go easy on the girl just because she was an amateur – or because she was Sheridan’s floozy though she didn’t say that out loud – not even for the twenty five thousand dollars he was offering as an appearance fee.

The money was definitely attractive.  It would go a long way toward paying off the rest of what she owed her investors in Club Catz, her own fight club.  Then she would own the place outright – the nest egg for her retirement.  Unlike some others who fought in the Society, she wouldn’t need to marry – or become the trophy girlfriend of – one of the Society’s patrons.

Apart from the money though, Tiffany looked forward to the prospect of putting some amateur wannabe catfighter in her place.  She had done that often enough with girls who had earned their way to an audition fight for the Society, but here was somebody who had never even had a public fight before.  She would learn – and learn the hard way – that facing a fighter from the Society meant losing and losing badly.  Tiffany wouldn’t be particularly cruel, but she wouldn’t be lenient toward the newbie either.  She would give them a show, and make an example of Sheridan’s girl.

The icing on the cake was that she would get to do all that in front of Blair.  She had no doubt about the effect that watching her demolish the amateur would have on her friend.  Blair would be panting for her, all too keen to worship her body after her victory, and they would celebrate the New Year in fine style with champagne and wild sex.  At the thought of it, she reached out and stroked her right hand up Blair’s thigh.  The blonde reciprocated, though her hand rode higher and her fingertips brushed the crotch of Tiffany’s own black leggings.  That got her a sharp look from Tiffany and they both laughed though the unspoken promise was evident in both their gazes.

They pulled up at last, at the top of a long sweeping gravel driveway, in front of a mansion that looked like something out of a period TV drama.  Carved columns supported a two-storey high portico either side of the enormous oak-paneled front doors.

Tiffany’s calf-boots crunched on the gravel as she stepped gratefully out of the car.  It was unseasonably warm this year – in the low 40s – though the wind that ruffled her chestnut hair was cool on her cheeks.  Like Blair, she wore a black leather jacket over a turtle-neck, and though her sweater was black, it hugged her generous bosom in a similarly spectacular fashion.

The front door opened as she and Blair both walked around to the back of the car.  Nick Sheridan – tall, Patrician, with salt-and-pepper hair just a little too long – stood in the doorway.  “Welcome, ladies,” he called out.  “Leave your bags in the car.  I’ll have somebody park it for you and bring the bags up to your room.”  He nodded to his right, toward the end of the driveway where a collection of other cars – most of them expensive – were arrayed in a row.

They crossed the expanse of gravel to the granite steps that led up to the front door.  Tiffany was glad her boots had Cuban heels and not stilettos, or she might have found herself stuck half way.  She took Sheridan’s extended hand.  “Mr Sheridan.  It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise, Tiffany…and as I said before, call me Nick.”  He turned his grey eyes to Blair.  “And this is your friend.”

“Nick Sheridan…Blair Anderson.” Tiffany performed the introductions.

He shook Blair’s hand.  Even in her high heeled ankle boots, Blair stood two inches shorter than Tiffany.  She was almost as busty as Tiffany however – a fact not lost on their host, whose eyes drank her in.  “Nice to meet you, Blair.  Welcome to my home.  I hope you’ll enjoy the party tonight.”

He led them inside, into a marbled floored foyer from which twin staircases curved up to the second floor.  A blonde-haired man, fit-looking and in his thirties, appeared and took Tiffany’s car keys.  The two women tried to avoid staring at their sumptuous surroundings. “White and gold,” remarked Tiffany.  Indeed, it seemed everything was white marble, white wood and gold trim. 

“My particular tastes,” smiled Sheridan, “and also the theme for tonight’s party.”  He gestured toward the stairs.  “Let me show you to your room.  The party begins at eight, so you have plenty of time to relax and rest up after your journey.”

At the top of the staircase they turned left, along a wide hallway carpeted in cream between white-painted walls and white wood doors.  At the end they turned left again into another corridor, and near the end of this hallway Sheridan stopped in front of a set of double doors.   “My wife decided you’d probably enjoy some privacy,” he smiled, “so she put you in this room, away from most of the crowd.”

They entered the room, and Tiffany’s eyes widened even further than they had at the rest of the lavish house.  It was more a suite than a room – they stood in a wood-paneled living room with twin white leather couches on either side of a thick Persian rug, two armchairs and a huge blonde wood French provincial armoire that sat between the floor-length windows.  The curtains were drawn back and the last of the daylight revealed a view down the hill and across the water to the south, where gathering clouds gave the promise of a coming storm.

Another set of double doors stood open, leading into a bedroom beyond.  Tiffany could see a king-size bed decked out with white linens, carved end tables and a thick snow-white rug.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” said Sheridan.  “Marie…my wife…will probably be along to say hello as soon as she’s able to take a break from supervising the preparations.  In the meantime, if there’s anything you need, just pick up the phone and one of the staff will bring you whatever you want.”  With a final smile at each of them, he backed out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

What Tiffany wanted most of all right then was to find the bathroom, which she did – off the bedroom, with a huge whirlpool tub, a shower that was more than big enough for two, a long vanity and the commode.  She smiled to herself, anticipating a long, luxurious soak in that tub with Blair and a bottle of bubbly, later than night.

When she emerged, Blair had kicked off her boots and stood barefoot by the couch.  She gave Tiffany a beaming smile as she crossed the distance between them, until she stood close enough that the upper slopes of her breasts brushed the undersides of Tiffany’s own – Tiffany still had her boots on so she now stood an easy four inches taller than the little blonde.  “We’re finally alone,” breathed Blair, rising up on her tiptoes as she slipped an arm around Tiffany’s waist, her fingers brushing the brunette’s butt.

Tiffany leaned down a little to kiss her lightly on the lips, though the kiss quickly escalated until their tongues were dancing with one another.  She smiled as she reluctantly broke off.  “Mmmm, let’s not rush things, Babes,” she reproved her friend and soon-to-be lover mildly – and quite reluctantly.  “We’ll have plenty of time for that later.  Besides, I have a rule…not before a fight.”

Blair pouted theatrically for a moment, but then she smiled.  “I can’t wait to see you fight,” she said, and her eyes sparkled with lustful anticipation.  “I’m so excited.” She leaned a little closer and her breasts pressed even more firmly against Tiffany’s.

“I’ll dedicate my victory to you, Babes,” Tiffany promised her with another kiss on the lips.  “And we’ll celebrate like you can’t even imagine after I get done showing up this amateur nobody.” The look in her eyes should have left Blair in no doubt just how much she was looking forward to that celebration.

*****

The party was all that Tiffany expected and more.  The festivities took place in a grand ballroom in the central part of the house, with arched French doors – closed against the weather tonight – that gave sweeping views over terraced, well-lit and artfully arranged gardens.  More enticing than the views outside however, were those within the mansion’s walls.  Those walls themselves were hung with artworks depicting the glory days of Newport and its surrounding harbors, and Tiffany had no doubt that most if not all were originals.  The fighting arts were not the only arts that Nick Sheridan and his wife patronized.

No less eye-catching were the party guests.  Mostly couples and ranging in age from mid-twenties to mid-fifties, they were without exception attractive and both expensively and tastefully dressed.  Tiffany recognized one or two faces from Society parties and a few more from television or social media, but most – just like the Society’s gatherings – were anonymous in their wealth and power.

Blair, at Tiffany’s elbow as they mingled with the crowd, turned a lot of heads, both male and female, in a clinging white evening gown that showed off every curve of her petite yet voluptuous body.  High-necked and long-sleeved, it nevertheless had a keyhole cutout in the front that revealed a tantalizing amount of cleavage and even a glimpse of the underslopes of her bosom.  The skirt was slashed almost to her waist on the left side and, as she had teasingly revealed to Tiffany before they left the room, she was bare beneath it.  Four-inch gold stiletto sandals elevated her height and emphasized the lines of her legs and butt.  She wore her long golden hair loose, and it tumbled in shining waves over her slender shoulders.

Tiffany, on the other hand, had worn her hair up, twisted into a tight bun and secured at the back of her head.  This was her preferred style for a fight.  She hated having her hair pulled, and didn’t believe in making it any easier for an opponent than necessary.  The bun could and would come down eventually if assaulted with enough determination, but she’d make the other girl work for it – and while she was occupied trying that, Tiffany had plenty of attacking moves of her own.

She had kept to the party theme of white and gold tonight, but her dress was even more daring than Blair’s.  Her left arm and shoulder were sheathed in white jersey but the neckline of the dress was slashed away sharply from there, exposing her other shoulder and cutting low across the tops of her breasts.  A side cutout revealed the chiseled lines of her abs from the lower margins of her ribs to well beneath her navel where a tiny amulet with the Society logo hung from a gold ring.  The skirt of the dress fell to her ankle on the left, but was slit high on her right hip, exposing the entirety of her lissome, powerful yet feminine thigh.  She wore a diamond necklace at her throat, a matching bracelet and earrings.  Her shoes, with four-inch heels like Blair’s, were a pristine white.  She had wanted to look every inch the queen tonight and she knew, even in this company, that she did.

Certainly she was a queen in Blair’s eyes.  The blonde was never more than inches away from her, and she frequently brushed herself against Tiffany or reached out to let her fingers trail across Tiffany’s bare arm or waist.  Their eyes met frequently and the unabashed lust on Blair’s face was evident.  Tiffany looked forward to disposing of her opponent in record time so she could get to a much more enjoyable clinch with Blair.  She wouldn’t short-change the audience of course.  She had come here to give them a show, and that was precisely what they’d get.  Everybody gets what they came for – including the little bitch who wants to play at being a fighter, though she’ll get a whole different experience than she’s expecting.

It surprised and, to be honest, disappointed her that her erstwhile opponent had not made an appearance at the party.  In truth, Tiffany was looking forward to letting the bitch see her well before the fight, to let her know what she was going up against – to let her see just how outclassed she was and make her sweat.  She had expressed her surprise to Nick Sheridan and his wife Marie during one of several conversations they had over the course of the evening.

“Oh, Tara’s so looking forward to facing you,” breathed Marie, a statuesque blonde who stood as tall as her husband in her heels and white floor-length gown.  She was still svelte and attractive in her mid- or late forties.  “She’s been working hard to get herself in shape, but she’s very…well…anxious, I suppose is the right word.”

Tara, hmm? Well, she better be anxious thought Tiffany.  She has no idea what a world of hurt is about to come down on her silly little head.  Tonight she’s gonna be schooled.  It was clear that Marie thought quite fondly of her husband’s ‘protégé’.  Either Tiffany was wrong about the girl being his mistress, or his wife didn’t know about it.  She shrugged mentally.  Maybe she did know and just didn’t care.  Stranger things had happened.

The fight was scheduled to commence at ten-thirty.  That way, as Nick Sheridan explained it, “You’ll both have a chance to get cleaned up afterwards and be back down here in time to help us ring in the New Year.”  It was shortly after ten o’clock therefore, when Tiffany excused herself, extracting a promise from Nick and Marie to ‘take good care of my girl’ and made her way upstairs to her room to change for the fight.

Rather than the main ballroom, the fight itself would take place in a smaller drawing room next door.  Marie Sheridan had shown Tiffany, with Blair in tow, the way there earlier in the evening.  “Come down here as soon as you’re ready,” she had said, “and wait in the study next door.” She had shown Tiffany the adjacent door off the hallway.  “Someone will come get you and bring you in when it’s time.”

Back in the room, Tiffany removed her dress – it didn’t take much getting out of – and hung it in the closet.  She laid her shoes beneath it and placed her necklace, earrings, bracelet and her navel piercing on the dresser.  Naked, she walked across the bedroom carpet to where she had left her overnight bag.  In it, neatly folded into triangles, was the bikini in which she would fight – or at least begin the fight, for she knew that even against an untried amateur, it was unlikely to remain intact or undisturbed throughout the combat.

She picked up the tiny thong bottom first, stepped into it and slid it up her long, muscular legs, snugging it into place over her mound and settling the straps high on her hips.  She had taken a liberty tonight – broken some rules even – because the scarlet thong wasn’t just any tiny bikini bottom.  In the center of the tiny triangle was a circular gold sigil – the emblem of the Society.  This was the champion’s thong, something of a trophy, hers by right of conquest.  By rights however, she was only supposed to wear it in a Society-sanctioned fight and even then, only in a title fight.  Tonight was neither of those.

She had decided to wear it however, for several reasons.  First, she wanted this jumped up little wannabe with her rich sugar daddy to see that she’d bitten off way more than she’d be able to swallow.  Second, and maybe even more importantly, she wanted Blair to see her in the full fighting regalia – brief as it was – of the Society champion.  The little blonde was already drooling for her but when she saw Tiffany in this outfit – saw her wipe the floor with the wannabe – she’d be falling over herself to give Tiffany every form of pleasure she could think of.  Tiffany smiled to herself – she had no doubt that Blair would prove to be a most innovative lover.

Now the thong nestled in the vee of her crotch, with the gold embossed Society logo in its center, the only thing keeping it from being all but sheer.  The thin dark stripe of her pubes protruded a good inch or more above the top edge of the thong and below the logo, the fabric pressed deep between her nether lips – the camel toe that had become her trademark.

The narrow straps arced high over the swell of her hips.  The strong muscles of her thighs rippled as she turned first to the left, then the right, checking out her profile in the mirror.  The tight globes of her butt cheeks, bisected by the slender central band of the thong, twitched as she flexed her muscles.  She grinned in satisfaction. 

She picked up her bikini top – scarlet to match the thong – and slipped it over her head, pulling her hair out from under the encircling strap.  She stretched it downward over the generously rounded swell of her bosom and reached behind her to tie the lower strap in place before snugging her breasts firmly – or at least as firmly as possible, given the tiny triangular panels that offered little support – into the cups.

As she turned back to face the mirror again, she eyed the hard, flat plane of her belly, the ridges of muscle faintly but clearly delineated.  The lower edge of her ribs was just discernible, below the full, lush excrescences of her breasts.  She took a deep breath and they strained at the flimsy restraints of her thin top.  Her nipples, flushed dark and half erect in anticipation of the fight, showed clearly through the thin fabric.  She licked her lips at the thought of the crowd’s eyes when they laid eyes on her.  Even more, she savored the thought of the look on her opponent’s face.  Then you’ll know just what you’re facing, bitch.  She smiled as she began her warm-up routine.

Fifteen minutes later – ten twenty-nine by the clock on the mantel in the small study where she stood waiting to be summoned – she paced slowly back and forth, one eye on the door that led into the adjacent room where the fight would take place.  She wore a white silk robe, provided for her by her hosts, over her bikini.  Her feet were bare, her bun pulled so tight that not a single hair escaped.  She looked immaculate.  She looked powerful.  She looked like the champion she was.  Get ready for the hardest lesson of your spoiled little life, girl.

The door opened, and a blonde-haired young woman, one of Sheridan’s household staff – they all seemed to be blonde and beautiful, both the men and women – smiled and beckoned to her.  She followed the girl – she might have been a few years younger than Tiffany – through the doorway.

The room beyond was smaller than the ballroom but large nevertheless – almost perfectly square and perhaps forty feet on each side.  The walls were paneled in blonde wood like the ballroom.  On one side, to Tiffany’s left, tall windows were covered by long white drapes.  On the other, the wall was entirely mirrored, no doubt to reflect the views of the outdoors.  Tonight though, it only magnified the images of the partygoers who had packed the room and filled the couches that lined the walls, or stood around the edges, several deep.  It seemed the evening’s entertainment was going to be a popular spectacle.  Tiffany smiled to herself once again.  She would make sure that was so.

The center of the room was cleared of people and the floor, in an area maybe twenty feet square, was covered with a thick mat.  The half of the mat nearest Tiffany was black, the other half white.  Tiffany walked between the rows of onlookers, all of whom were gazing at her curiously, and stepped onto the edge of the mat.  It gave beneath her bare toes, firm enough to provide a good footing but resilient enough to cushion a fall.  Good.  I won’t have to worry too much about damaging the bitch.

Another identical door stood directly opposite and that door opened now.  Another blonde-haired staff member – this one male – stepped through and then aside, to make way for the woman who followed him.

She was blonde too – platinum blonde, her hair cascading in thick waves over the shoulders of her white robe, identical to Tiffany’s.  It framed a heart-shaped face with high cheekbones and a narrow chin.  She had the slightest Mona Lisa smile on her face, and her emerald green eyes were fixed on Tiffany as she advanced to the edge of the mat on her own side, moving with a measured, rangy stride.  She didn’t stop at the edge of what would soon be the arena however.  She came all the way across to Tiffany until the two stood face to face, less than a foot apart.

For a long moment they stared silently into one another’s eyes.  The blonde – Tara – was maybe an inch shorter than Tiffany.  She seemed a few pounds lighter too, though that was difficult to tell for certain with her robe on.  “So,” she said at last, her gaze still locked with Tiffany’s own, “this is what they’ve given me to play with.” Her smile widened but her eyes narrowed at the same time.  Her words were directed at Tiffany but her voice, unusually low, carried throughout the room.

Before Tiffany could reply, Tara reached out and grasped the edges of Tiffany’s robe.  With a single swift movement she yanked it open, pulling it off Tiffany’s shoulders and exposing her to the crowd’s – and her own – scrutiny.  Tiffany stiffened, for the moment too surprised by the woman’s effrontery to do anything but gape at her.  It was all she could do to quickly bend her arms at the elbow and catch her robe there, at least preventing it from falling off her completely. Arrogant bitch! She bit her tongue though, unwilling to give this little whore the satisfaction of rising to her bait.

Tara took two steps back and now stood regarding Tiffany with an appraising but carefully nonchalant stare.  “The Society’s champion, hmm?” She shrugged.  “Well, I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Tiffany wanted to rip into the egotistical cxnt right there and then, but she held herself in check.  Instead she forced herself to smile as she deliberately shrugged the robe further down her arms and caught it in one hand, tossing it carelessly away behind her.  She raised her arms, clasping her fingers behind her neck, and stretched for the benefit of the crowd as well as this bitch who stood before her, showing them the firm, toned muscles that undulated beneath her tanned skin, the rise of her magnificent chest as she inhaled deeply, and the golden sigil emblazoned across her crotch that proclaimed her the queen of catfighting’s elite.  There were appreciative murmurs from the watching audience.  At last she relaxed and rested her eyes back on Tara.  Her smile never wavered, but her eyes were ice cold.  Be afraid, bitch.  Be very afraid.

Tara’s face remained impassive as her gaze traveled up and down Tiffany’s body.  When they rested their eyes upon one another again, Tara’s smile broadened again and now her eyes moved too – not narrowing in hostility however, but hooding slightly in anticipation.  She licked her lips.

The blonde took another step back and her fingers tugged at the belt of her robe.  Slowly she peeled the robe off her shoulders and let it fall away to pool on the floor at her feet, leaving her exposed to the eyes of the audience.

The assembled crowd gasped. 

So did Tiffany.

Tiffany’s prior assessment had been correct.  Tara was maybe four or five pounds lighter – but her petite frame was all hard, toned muscle.  Her arms rippled as she raised them over her head, clasped her hands together and twirled for the crowd.  The movement lifted her full, rounded breasts high and they brimmed around the edges of her tight , tiny gold mesh bikini top, bouncing just a little as she turned a slow second circle for the delectation of the watching partygoers.  The golden brown aureolas surrounding her nipples were clearly visible against the slightly paler shade of her bronzed skin, and the nipples themselves poked urgently through the mesh as though fighting to escape.  Her breasts were easily a match for Tiffany’s own – just as large, just as high, just as firm and maybe – just maybe – even more beautifully formed.

Below her bust, her smooth skin betrayed just the faintest hint of her ribs, sheathed in firm muscle, tapering down to her narrow waist.  Her abs were hard and well delineated, the smooth flat plane of her belly suggesting perhaps not quite a six-pack, but certainly impressive tone.  Her belly button was a deep pit shadowed by the bright lights.  A tiny dot marked her skin just above it, evidence that she too was pierced there. 

Below her navel, the chiseled lines of her muscles curved inward and dipped beneath the meager coverage of her miniscule thong, perhaps even tinier than Tiffany’s own.  Above it, pale against her tan, was a narrow strip of platinum blonde hair, finely tapered and projecting perhaps two inches above the top of the thong.  The gold mesh fabric pressed tight against the flesh of her mound and her nether lips swelled around it.  Tiffany heard herself growl softly.  The bitch was deliberately goading her – the landing strip, the camel toe – those were her signatures.  She’d teach this jumped-up Barbie doll some hard lessons about stepping into another woman’s territory.  She might step in, but she was going to crawl – or be carried – out.

Slender spaghetti straps curved high over Tara’s hips, then came together to disappear into the deep cleft between her hard, tight butt cheeks.  Her hips swelled sensuously but nowhere near as large as her bosom, and her thighs flexed powerfully as she rose up on her toes.

Perhaps it was true that this woman had never fought a fight like this before.  Perhaps she really had never fought at all, but she would nevertheless be a formidable adversary.  She was superbly fit – in truth, she was simply superb.  Under other circumstances, Tiffany would have lusted after her, would not have rested until she had made Tara hers.  Here and now, it was her job to destroy the blonde – but that did not stop Tiffany wanting her.  She smiled to herself .  The traditional aftermath to a Society fight – where she got to make the loser lick her to orgasm – was going to be all the sweeter with this woman.  She might even break her own long-standing rule and not let it go at that. 

She too licked her lips in anticipation.  Then she noticed Tara gazing at her with exactly the same look of anticipatory relish.  A sudden unwelcome feeling of anxiety came over her, and instinctively she cast her eyes around the room in search of Nick Sheridan or his wife, in search of Blair, in search of any supportive face.

Sheridan was seated on one end of a couch on Tara’s side of the room, off to Tiffany’s right.  In the seat to his immediate right sat his wife and on her right sat Blair.  She was smiling encouragingly and coquettishly at Tiffany, though Tiffany noticed her gaze linger for a long , appraising moment on Tara.  Nick and Marie Sheridan were also smiling, but their smiles held a hint of something that gave Tiffany pause.  What are they thinking?  Do they know something I don’t? Or am I just being paranoid? She hoped it was the latter.  As she turned her eyes back to Tara however, something told her not to be quite so sure.

“Come here…Tiffany.” The blonde started toward her in a loping stride that quickly gained momentum.

Tiffany too began to advance upon her foe.  What was going on here?  Tara was clearly something very different than what Tiffany had been led – or had led herself – to believe. Who is she?  What is she?  She found herself quickly revising her game plan for this fight, even as she quickly closed the distance between them.  It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.  She swallowed hard.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[Vanessa Marsh]

Who knew there was such a strong Chinese presence in RI? Oh, and good start as usual, Scrib. 

[TheScribbler]

Who knew there was such a strong Chinese presence in RI? Oh, and good start as usual, Scrib. 

Thanks Vanessa...or the ghost of Vanessa   I'm baffled by the 'Chinese presence' though 

Scrib

[Vanessa Marsh]

Who knew there was such a strong Chinese presence in RI? Oh, and good start as usual, Scrib. 

Thanks Vanessa...or the ghost of Vanessa   I'm baffled by the 'Chinese presence' though 

Scrib

yesterday was Chinese New Year.

[TheScribbler]

yesterday was Chinese New Year.

kaching! the penny drops That makes sense.

[TheScribbler]

Here's section two of the story.

It seems the trash talking has started between Tiffany and Tara...somebody is going to get rather embarrassed by the end of this

Enjoy!

Scrib

*****

They came together at full speed, slamming chest to chest with a loud smack of flesh on flesh, breasts flattened against one another, arms locked up, strong thighs straining as each woman fought to force the other backward.  Tiffany felt Tara’s breath warm on her cheek, felt the blonde’s hard body pressing into hers, every muscle tensed.  Tara’s nipples, hard as rocks, scraped across her own and sent a thrill through her that was partly the lust of the fight and partly just lust.  She wanted to dominate this bitch, to show her and everyone watching just what it meant to face the queen.

For long moments they thrust against one another, muscles quivering from the strain until, with a roar of effort, Tiffany at last managed to shove the blonde away from her, breaking the hold and sending Tara back a step.  “That all you got, bitch? Not going to be much of a fight at this rate!  Hope you’re ready to get owned!”

Tara didn’t reply, but bounded forward again with surprising speed and slammed into Tiffany with even greater force than before.  Caught off guard, Tiffany found herself knocked off balance and thrown backward, taking two steps before she was able to recover herself.  Her eyes widened but she quickly concealed her astonishment.  The little bitch had actually knocked her back!  She got lucky, that’s all.  She caught me off-guard.  It won’t happen again.

She came off her back foot and charged Tara again, determined to show her adversary – and the crowd – that it had indeed been a lucky accident.  The girl might have strength and speed, but Tiffany had the experience gleaned from a hundred savage fights and she would soon show this bitch her place.

Tara came at her again and Tiffany too lunged at the blonde.  At the last moment before their bodies slammed together again however, Tiffany swayed to her left, avoiding the other woman’s charge, and whipped her right arm up, outstretched to catch Tara across the throat, clothesline her and take her down to the mat.

Just as she was crafting a sneering comment in her head to taunt her opponent, Tara dropped into a half-crouch and ducked under her arm.  Committed to her attack, Tiffany stumbled forward and took a step past Tara.  Before she could turn to face the blonde once more, Tara had bobbed up behind her and thrust a hand into Tiffany’s hair, snagging her fingers beneath Tiffany’s bun with an unerring aim.  With a amazed shriek, Tiffany felt her head jerk backwards, sending pain stabbing through her neck for an instant before her own arrested momentum took her feet out from under her and she went down hard on her ass with a jarring thud.

There was a collective murmur of surprise from the audience that mirrored Tiffany’s own astonished anger.  She wasted no time wondering how the bitch had managed to dodge her assault and counterattack like that – Damn she’s fast! – and, still on the mat, she spun rapidly on her butt to face Tara again.  She was just in time to see Tara’s foot arc in toward her chin, but she avoided the kick by hurling herself backward in the nick of time.

She wasn’t able to avoid Tara’s follow-up however, and the blonde’s bare foot slammed down into her belly between her navel and her ribs.  “GUUUHHH!!!” The air exploded out of Tiffany’s lungs just as pain exploded in her midriff.  Her hard abs managed to absorb much of the impact but the kick still hurt her.  She gagged as her body struggled for air.  She rolled rapidly to her right even as the pain was still coursing through her, knowing she had no time to nurse it, trying to put some distance between herself and Tara, to give herself the respite she needed to rise to her feet.

Tara stalked in a circle around her as she rose.  She turned to keep herself facing her opponent, all the time glaring at Tara while she rubbed her aching belly with one hand.  Tara’s grip had loosened her bun a little and a stray strand of hair dangled across her face.  She brushed it aside with the edge of her free hand.  “Bitch!” she snarled.  “You’ll pay for that.  You’re going to wish you’d never laid eyes on me.”

The other woman smiled.  “Oh I’m not going to regret a moment of this,” she assured Tiffany with a smile.  “I got plans for you, honey.”

Again she leapt toward Tiffany, hands up.  Tiffany initially moved to meet her charge but a lingering twinge of pain in her belly warned her not to test her strength against the blonde again just yet – not until she had given herself a little more time to recover.  She therefore changed tactics smoothly and halted her lunge, letting Tara come to her.

Tara reached high, grabbing at Tiffany’s hair but the move was a feint and at the last instant she redirected her attack lower, grabbing instead for Tiffany’s bikini top.  Nevertheless Tiffany was ready this time and batted the blonde’s clutching claws aside, firing a punch of her own that slammed into Tara’s left breast below the nipple, bouncing it inward and upward against its twin.  Tara groaned and backed away, but she still managed to get an arm up to deflect Tiffany’s next punch aimed at her other breast.

They traded blows for a minute or more, dodging, weaving, each parrying or deflecting most of the other’s attacks.  Some got through, and Tiffany gave as good as she got, landing blows to Tara’s belly and ribs.  The blonde’s strength, speed and agility both impressed and concerned her, however.  The bitch was as strong and as fast as her.  Never fought before? My ass! Whoever Tara was, whatever her background, she was no stranger to using her fists and feet.  This was going to be a very different fight than the easy victory Tiffany had expected.

Tiffany attacked again, feinting another punch at Tara’s chest but then pulling back and going in high with her other fist in a haymaker aimed at the other woman’s temple.  Let’s see how well she fights when her brains are bouncing around in her skull. 

Tara ducked the swing however and before Tiffany could regroup and come back at her, the blonde stepped in and her fist drove hard into Tiffany’s abs in precisely the same spot she had kicked Tiffany before.  Tiffany knew she couldn’t hope to absorb this second blow – she still hadn’t fully recovered from the first – so, almost without thinking, she threw her upper body forward, pushing her belly back, bending almost double over Tara’s fist to ride the impact.  Pain blossomed once more in her midsection but it was not what it might have been, and she took advantage of her bent-over position, reaching down to grab the blonde’s ankle, to heave upwards and plant the bitch on her ass.  Then they would see who’d give a good kicking to who.

She reckoned without Tara’s own cunning however.  The blonde spun away out of Tiffany’s reach and as Tiffany grabbed at her retreating ankle, she jerked her leg up to ram her knee brutally into Tiffany’s chin.  Tiffany’s teeth came together with a loud clack! that reverberated around the room and brought a gasp from the audience.   The force of the blow straightened Tiffany partway to her feet and Tara’s two hands thrust into her hair yanked her the rest of the way with a loud yelp at the sudden pain in her scalp, neck and already injured abs.

Fucking bitch! The blonde was dominating this fight from the outset.  Tiffany had underestimated her opponent, to be sure, but she wouldn’t do so from here on.  If the bitch wanted a fight, she’d get one.  She and everyone here would see just what Tiffany was capable of.  Pull my hair, you cxnt!  I’ll rip yours out by the roots!

She spun to her right, sending her elbow up to slam it into Tara’s chest.  To her dismay however, the blonde was already spinning behind her and Tiffany’s elbow merely grazed Tara’s arm.  Worse, she felt her wrist suddenly seized in a firm grip and she was yanked around in a half circle, her arm twisted up behind her back in a cruel hammerlock.  Tiffany groaned as Tara forced her arm up until her wrist was almost in the nape of her neck.  “You…bitch!” she gasped through gritted teeth.

“You have no idea…” purred Tara close in her ear, “…yet.”

Tiffany stomped down hard, aiming her foot backward hoping to catch Tara’s instep and do some damage – at least slow her down – but the other woman snatched her foot away just in time.  Tiffany twisted her body hard in an attempt to tear herself free of Tara’s grip but without the distraction of the stomp kick, Tara held on tight and Tiffany cried out in pain as her own movement torqued her arm savagely.

She had to get free of Tara’s grasp, turn around and take the fight to this bitch, wear her down so she could begin to counterattack.  Despite the blonde’s disconcertingly skillful attacks so far, Tiffany was confident she could outlast her.  She tensed her body and whipped her head suddenly backwards, anticipating where Tara’s skull would be and aiming a reverse head butt to smash viciously into the blonde’s forehead.  Tara simply swayed her head to the side however, avoiding the blow, and jerked Tiffany’s head back even harder against her shoulder.  “Uh uh, honey!  That’s fighting dirty!”

Holding Tiffany’s arm with one hand, hooking her fingers beneath Tiffany’s fast-disintegrating bun, she pressed her body tight into Tiffany’s back and slammed her right fist up under Tiffany’s arm, into the underside of the brunette’s right breast.  Tiffany squealed in pain and cursed aloud.  “cxnt!” The force of the blow knocked her breast upward, almost popping it out of her bikini top, the edge of the flimsy panel barely catching on her erect nipple.  Tara yanked on her hair, arching her back, thrusting her chest out until her breasts strained at her tight-stretched top.

Tara wasn’t letting it rest there either.  “Let’s give them all a look at those big titties of yours, huh?” She reached up further, hooked her fingers into the edge of Tiffany’s top and wrenched it down.  Tiffany cursed again and struggled even harder as her breast bounced free.   The bitch was playing with her!  White hot anger boiled up inside her.  Nobody does this to me!

Tara held her tight, arching her back further and forcing her up onto her toes with the hammerlock.  Tiffany would have twisted away in the opposite direction but the blonde’s hold on her hair prevented that.  She kicked out wildly, thrashing her other arm backwards, trying to find something to hit with fist or elbow, but she merely pummeled Tara’s left shoulder ineffectually.  “Let go, you bitch!”

Tara laughed, a mocking sound that made Tiffany’s blood boil.  “Let’s make sure they all get a real good look, shall we?” she murmured.  Her hand slid down beneath Tiffany’s breast, cradling it, lifting it, cupping it.  Holding Tiffany like that, still in the hammerlock, she pushed the brunette forward, frog-marching her around in a slow circle, fondling her breast, squeezing it like she was judging the ripeness of a melon at the supermarket.  “Oh I bet the boys love these big boobies of yours, honey!” she observed in a loud voice.  “And the girls too!” She brought her thumb and forefinger together, pinching Tiffany’s nipple firmly.   Tiffany jerked and moaned, torn between fury that the blonde was putting her on display like this and embarrassment that it was even possible.  There were ripples of laughter among the onlookers.   Some lifted phone cameras and snapped pictures. 

Tiffany’s rage and humiliation grew in equal measure.  She snarled in fury to wash away the shame and the growing frustration.  This jumped-up amateur was exhibiting her to the crowd like a trophy!  Her!  She squirmed in Tara’s grasp, trying vainly yet again to twist herself free, but Tara’s grip was relentless.  She had no choice but to submit to this humiliation and wait for the inevitable moment when the cocky cxnt would make a mistake.   Then your turn will come, skank!  She ground her teeth together so hard her jaw ached.

Their circuit ended facing Nick and Marie Sheridan, with Blair sitting alongside them.  Sheridan had one arm around his wife.   Both were smiling at Tara.  Blair’s eyes were alight and she too was smiling – also at Tara.  Tiffany felt a new rush of anger.  The little bitch was turned on by this wannabe!  That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen!

With renewed vigor she threw herself backward again, once more slamming into Tara and sending the other woman stumbling backward a step, then two, dragging Tiffany along with her.  Tiffany felt her head bump against Tara’s cheek once more and, knowing exactly where her enemy was now, she sent another head butt crashing backwards into Tara’s skull.

Again Tara dodged the blow with uncanny deftness.  “Oh you really are a dirty girl!” she sneered.  She yanked hard on Tiffany’s arm again, dragging her back several more steps.  “I like dirty girls!” She squeezed harder on Tiffany’s bare breast, twisting the nipple until Tiffany squealed in pain.

Her anger boiling over, Tiffany snarled savagely and stomped her heel down again at where she thought Tara’s foot would be, but again Tara dodged the attack, pulling her foot away. What the fuck does it take to hurt this cocky bitch? It’s like she’s reading my mind! 

She threw herself backward again against the blonde, feeling Tara’s breasts squash hard into her back.  Her weight drove Tara back a step, opening some distance between them again.  She hadto get this bitch off her, to turn this fight around.  She thrashed savagely, ignoring the shooting pain in her arm and shoulder, focused only on breaking herself free. 

Tara’s grip slackened a little but still she did not let go.  Tiffany slammed herself back against the blonde yet again, determined to free herself.  Tara lurched backwards once more, almost into the middle of the mat, but again she pulled Tiffany with her.  Tiffany’s ankle caught Tara’s shin, their feet tangled, each tripping the other.  Tara stumbled, still maintaining her grip on Tiffany.  She dropped to one knee and, still holding on with a vice-like grip, dragged the brunette down with her – down onto her upraised knee, which drove into Tiffany’s crotch with devastating force.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[TheScribbler]

I have a feeling Tiffany's troubles are only just beginning.

[lulufights]

I sit on the arm of one of the couches, my hubby standing by my side.  His hand is on my shoulder and I'm holding it tight.  I'm in a white strapless evening gown.  I do strapless well.  My excitement is pretty obvious as I glance down and see my nips standing up to attention through my dress.

Hubby and I have been to Society fights before and seen this Tiffany girl fight.  She's a tough cookie but tonight it looks like she's outclassed.  That knee to the pussy is going to be tough to come back from.  I'm shocked but also turned on.  I can't wait to see how this goes down.

[TheScribbler]

Here's section three of the story.

Scrib.

*****

There were a dozen ways that impact could have occurred with nothing beyond a painful jolt, no more than if Tara had kicked Tiffany hard in the ass.  It took the perfect confluence of position and angle for Tara’s knee to connect precisely over Tiffany’s clit and crush it into her pubic bone like a hammer hitting a nail.  It was a million-to-one chance – but that was exactly what happened now.

Searing agony burst forth from Tiffany’s groin.  Her mouth gaped wide in a soundless shriek, as did her eyes, wide as saucers for an awful moment before she shut them tight against the oncoming pain.  Instinctively she clasped her free hand against her tortured loins.  Her entire body went rigid for an interminable moment, trapped in terrible anticipation.  Then the pain came, tearing through her, and she shuddered uncontrollably.  “AAAWWWNNNGGGHHH!!!”

She stayed there, balanced precariously, impaled on Tara’s knee, for what seemed like an agonizing age, before Tara finally let her keel slowly over, toppling off the blonde’s knee and crashing to the floor on her side.  She heard a strange, far-off sound like someone wailing in torment.  She couldn’t identify it for a moment.  It’s you a tiny voice inside her head, speaking from somewhere far away, beyond the pain, told her.   It’s you screaming.

Eyes pressed shut, both hands clamped in her crotch, she lay there writhing as her screams subsided into pain-wracked moans, as tears of anguish flowed down her cheeks.  She couldn’t believe what had just happened.  The bitch kneed me in the cxnt!  Could it have been an accident?  Had their feet simply gotten tangled up?  It doesn’t matter, argued her inner voice.  You’re done.  It’s over.

She was barely aware of Tara’s voice from above, muffled by the fog of her pain.  “Oh honey…look at you!  Sure you don’t want to give it up right now…before you hurt yourself any more?”

Tiffany stifled another sob.  She had been on the brink of listening to that inner voice, of conceding the fight, but the syrupy complacency in the blonde’s voice put paid to any thoughts of surrender.  She would turn this around – somehow – and she would destroy this bitch in front of the whole crowd.  No mercy.

Clenching her teeth even tighter against the agony, she pushed herself painfully up onto all fours.  Her bun had largely unraveled now and hung over her right shoulder, no more than a handle for her enemy to grab and hold her by.  She lifted her head and glared venomously at Tara through the hanging tendrils of her hair, matted with sweat and tears. 

You’re done, her inner voice turned harsher now.  She’s as good as you – just as fast, just as strong, just as cunning.  She’s hurt you and she’ll keep hurting you.  You can’t stop her.

She ignored the voice – or at least did her best.  It was difficult when her pussy was on fire, the pain so bad it made her nauseous, but there could be no room for doubt.  It was going to take all her strength, all her willpower to wrest a victory now, but she would do it.  The look in Tara’s eyes as the blonde smiled back at her, the tone of menacing promise in the woman’s voice – spurred her on.  She would win.  She had to.

Fighting her pain every inch of the way, she gathered one knee beneath her and braced a hand on that knee to push herself to her feet.  She had risen no more than an inch off the floor however, before Tara’s flying kick caught her in the chest, under her left breast.  The blow flung her over onto her side and sent her sprawling across the mat accompanied by another collective gasp from the crowd.

She lay there for a moment, gathering her shattered wits, before she once again drew herself slowly up onto all fours, battling against the pain that burned in her belly, against the nausea that flowed through her so she thought she might throw up.  She was consumed with the single-minded desire to regain her feet.  Then she could defend herself, then she could – would – fight back and ruin this dirty skank.  But every movement, every step, every ounce of exertion cost her strength she could not afford to squander.  The pain gnawed at her.  She choked back yet another sob as she forced herself to one knee by sheer willpower, wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, and made to rise again.

This time she made it and stood swaying, still with one hand held defensively across her crotch.   For a moment she wasn’t sure her legs would support her – she stumbled and almost fell – but they did.  Both breasts had bounced loose from her bikini top now, and bobbed slightly as she took a hesitant step toward Tara. She considered reaching up behind her to tug the knots loose and toss the top away, but her right shoulder already throbbed from her arm being twisted up behind her, and she wasn’t going to risk the distraction.  Give her an inch and she’ll own you, the voice in her head warned her.  She’d already given this bitch way more than an inch.  She couldn’t afford to concede any further advantage, couldn’t afford to take any more damage.

She took another step forward, hobbling, her gait awkward.  It was partly an act, though only partly.  She was hurt, and hurt badly – her shoulder, her belly and most of all her loins – but she had taken bad hits before.  She’d survived them and she’d survive this now.  She just prayed that Tara would rise to the bait and believe she was in even worse shape than she truly was.

Sure enough, Tara leapt at her, arms outstretched, crouched low to crash tackle Tiffany and send her down to the mat on her back once again.  This time however, Tiffany was anticipating just such a move.  Clenching her jaw tight against the pain, she waited until Tara was almost upon her before she spun to the left, hooked the blonde’s arm with her own and jerked her body forward, pulling her enemy into her and over her body in a flying hip toss that would send the other woman skidding across the floor on her back.

For a moment she feared that she couldn’t do it, that she no longer had the strength left to lift and toss Tara, but the move went flawlessly.  With a scream of surprise, Tara hurtled up and over Tiffany’s head and Tiffany felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

That relief lasted only an instant however, before Tiffany’s plan went awfully awry.  As the blonde sailed over her, the grasping fingers of her left hand snared into Tiffany’s dangling hair, caught her bun, and suddenly Tiffany too found herself flying forward.

Tara hit the mat hard but curled her back to cushion the shock of the landing. At the same time, she thrust both her feet out and up – right into the pit of Tiffany’s stomach as the brunette in turn flew over her.  Tiffany was too amazed at her attack being turned back upon her to even steel herself for the impact.  How the FUCK did she just do that??? She let out an agonized “GAAAWWW!!!” as her full weight came down on Tara’s hard heels, which blasted through the meager defenses of her abused abs and sank deep into her gut.  Tara thrust with both legs and Tiffany careened back into the air before she slammed down face-first to the mat.

She landed so hard that she bounced and then slid along the floor on her face, her entire body tensed in anticipation of the deep, debilitating pain that she knew would come – and come it did.  She gasped – she had no breath to scream – as a wave of pure agony bloomed in her belly and radiated outward to every extremity, sapping what little remained of her strength, leaving her trembling as beads of sweat broke out all over her body.

It was some time before she realized that she lay no more than six feet from where the Sheridans and Blair sat watching, rapt.  Blair had a hand to her mouth but what caught Tiffany’s attention was Marie Sheridan’s hand on the little blonde’s bare, bronzed thigh where the skirt of her dress had slipped aside.  As Tiffany stared through her tangled hair, the two women glanced at one another and exchanged smiles.  Marie squeezed Blair’s leg more tightly, then they both looked back at Tiffany, their faces flushed and glowing.  She’s horny! Both of them! They’re watching this bitch destroy me, and it’s making them horny!

Tara had rolled to her feet while Tiffany was still airborne and now she swiftly pounced on the fallen brunette before Tiffany could summon the strength or the wit to rise.  She bent over and seized Tiffany with one hand in the back of her bikini top, the other hooked through the strap of her thong.  “Still not ready to give up, slut?” she snarled mockingly.  “You want up?  Here, let me help you!” She bent her knees further and jerked violently upwards, heaving Tiffany up with her.  Tiffany screamed aloud as her thong dug deep into the tortured folds of her pussy lips, and a further flood of tears burst forth from her eyes.  Tara hefted her bodily into the air and she wailed in misery while her mind roiled in disbelief that the bitch could actually manhandle her this way.

She hung like that for only a moment however, before the knot securing the lower strap of her bikini top gave way and her head and upper body dropped back to the floor.  She thrust her arms out to brace her fall but she had insufficient warning and she slammed down hard, her breasts pancaked against the floor.

Tara too was taken by surprise and stumbled forward a step before she could regain her balance.  She still hung onto Tiffany’s thong with her right hand however, keeping Tiffany’s ass poised high in the air, keeping the thong dug deep into the cleft of her nether lips, tormenting her with her own camel toe.  Tiffany groaned.  She was afraid she might throw up from the pain.  She felt as weak as a kitten as she struggled ineffectually in Tara’s ruthless grip.

“Almost dropped you there!” laughed Tara.  She thrust her left hand into Tiffany’s hair and yanked her upward again.  Tiffany shrieked in anguish, grabbing desperately at Tara’s wrist with one hand while trying to support her body weight with the other and take the terrible train off her scalp and her pussy.  Oh God! She’s killing me!

Tara wasn’t giving her the opportunity.  With a growl of fierce exertion she lifted Tiffany even higher until her extended arm was clear of the floor, her toes barely brushing the mat.  Spinning a quarter circle, hefting Tiffany like a sack of wheat, she hurled the battered brunette away from her.  Tiffany flew a yard or two through the air, back toward the center of the arena, before crashing down on her belly in a tangle of arms and legs.

The force of Tara’s fling had yanked Tiffany’s thong part way down her thighs.  She was acutely aware of it, her legs akimbo, her ass and pussy bared to the crowd.  She had been naked in fights before – more often than not – but rarely had she been shown up like this.  She threw me!  She lifted me and she fucking threw me!

She tried to pull her legs together, to bring them under her, to force herself up, but she could barely move.  The failed counterattack had cost her dearly in terms of her strength and flagging stamina, and now Tara’s merciless attacks had steadily sapped her remaining reserves.

You’ve got nothing left, the voice in her head mocked her now.  You’re at her mercy.

Tiffany’s felt a terrible surge of fear as she realized it was true.  She had thrown everything she had at Tara – all her strength, all her determination, all her guile, and none of it had been enough.  The bitch had thwarted her at every turn – not just fended off her attacks but turned them back on her and hurt her, time and again.  She deserves to win this fight.  She’s going to win it.  She’s already won. Tiffany trembled as realized the implications of that.  Tara would not be merciful.  The mere thought sent a chill through her that went beyond apprehension and into real fear.  She’s going to shame me in front of all these people.

Slowly she pulled her arms in and braced her hands against the floor, but just as she began to push herself up, Tara’s foot stomped down hard between her shoulders, slamming her back to the mat again.  Her groan became a breathless wheezing gasp as the blonde’s weight drove the remaining air out of her lungs.

“Ready to admit you’re beaten?” asked Tara with a sneer.  She bent and grabbed Tiffany again by the back of her thong, though it was pulled down far enough now that it didn’t dig into her sex now like it had before.  Tara jerked it down until it was just above her knees.  “Champion, huh?” she scoffed.  “You don’t look much like a champion to me. “ She jerked again, sliding the thong even further down Tiffany’s legs.  The brunette’s knees fell back to the floor.  “You look more like a loser who’s about to get thoroughly shamed,” she added, echoing the words in Tiffany’s own mind just moments before.  She snatched the thong away, letting Tiffany’s feet drop to the mat once more.

Tiffany lay there, panting, trying to find some hidden scrap of strength to force some fight back into her exhausted, beaten body.  Why bother? asked her inner voice.  You’re only making it worse.  She’s better than you.  Own it – and she’ll own you.

Again she drew her arms in closer to her body, to lever herself up.  Tara laughed, “Gotta give you points for perseverance,” and stomped hard on her back again, driving Tiffany back into the floor with a despairing moan.  Tara leaned her full weight on Tiffany’s prone body, grinding her heel into the brunette’s back as Tiffany struggled just to breathe.  She moved her arms awkwardly against the floor as she tried to get a better position with her arms but Tara spun around atop her and planted her foot firmly on Tiffany’s right bicep, pinning that arm to the ground.  Tiffany fought to pull it free but she no longer had the strength.  She was horrified to hear a whimper of mingled frustration and fear escape her own lips.

You’re helpless, her inner voice chided her.  She’s going to make you her plaything.  She can do whatever she wants to you, and she will – in front of this entire crowd.

The horror of that spurred Tiffany to frantic – though, she knew, futile – action.  With a massive groan she tried yet again to wriggle free but Tara held her fast, on her face on the floor.  She saw cameras flash again and knew even without being able to see, that the blonde was striking a victory pose.  She felt another rush of anger.  She’s acting like she’s won this when she hasn’t!  Not yet!

Yes she has, her inner voice taunted her.  She knows it.  You know it.  The whole crowd knows it. It’s all over.

“I might have gone easy on you if you just knew when you were beaten,” Tara said as the cameras continued to go off.  Then she laughed again.  “Oh, who am I kidding?”

Without another word, she dropped to her knees astride Tiffany’s back.  Pressed into the floor as she was, Tiffany’s own weight had pushed her breasts out to either side of her.  Now Tara’s knees pounded them into the floor, crushing them flat with the blonde’s full weight as Tiffany howled and writhed beneath her captor in helpless agony, desperate to free herself, desperate to make the pain go away, but knowing she could do neither.  Oh fuck! Make it stop! 

She tried to pull her legs under her, to push up onto her knees despite her chest being crushed into the floor, her head pinned to the mat beneath the blonde’s butt.  She tried to gain some leverage, to throw Tara off her or at least to get the sadistic bitch’s knees off her tortured tits.  She hadn’t had the strength to free herself from Tara’s one foot though – now she had no chance.  Please! Make it stop! The words were only inside her head but her sob of despair was all too real, though muffled beneath Tara’s smothering butt cheeks.

She couldn’t let this happen! God only knew what the bitch would do to her.  It would be beyond humiliating.  I can’t let her make me her bitch!  With despair bordering on outright panic she kicked wildly backwards, over her own head in a vain attempt to try and land a kick on Tara’s upper body or face – anything that might have the slightest chance to save her. 

Then she felt Tara’s fingers close tight around her ankle, and screamed in frustration.  “NO!” She tried to yank her foot away, but Tara laughed out loud and pulled her leg up behind her, arching her spine and putting a painful strain on her thigh and her ravaged abs.  Tiffany tried desperately to keep her other leg out of Tara’s grip but, bent cruelly as she already was, she had no real chance and it was only moments before the blonde caught her other flailing foot and wrenched that leg too up behind her back.

“Now,” said Tara in a conversational tone, as she tucked Tiffany’s ankles firmly under her arms, locking the hold in place, “this is the part where you beg for mercy, bitch.” She leaned backward, bending Tiffany’s back like a bow, and the brunette screamed.  OH FUCK! But I won’t beg!  I won’t!

“No?” asked Tara with mock surprise.  “Oh, I forgot!  I need to show you what happens if you don’t.” With Tiffany’s ankles trapped beneath her arms, she had both hands free and now she slid her hands slowly up along the insides of Tiffany’s splayed thighs, gently but firmly, almost a caress.

Tiffany stiffened in sudden terror as her tormentor’s hands moved inexorably toward her crotch.  She’s going to stick her fingers inside me!  She’s going to maul my pussy! She squirmed in a panicked frenzy but the violent movements, useless as they were, only served to send further paroxysms of pain coursing through her tormented body.

Tara’s fingers skirted the margins of her abused, swollen sex but did not linger there.  Instead the blonde leaned forward a little and extended her arms, reaching out over Tiffany’s lower belly, spreading her fingers wide.  Only then, with both her thumbs pressed into the pit of Tiffany’s navel, did she dig her fingers deep into the tight-stretched flesh and twist with all her strength.

Tiffany convulsed.  Her sudden sharp intake of breath made a sound that wasn’t human.  She clawed at the floor, kicked her trapped feet wildly and mewled in desolate anguish as the pain of the vicious belly claw robbed her of all remaining reason.  She had no idea how long the torment continued.  She lost all thought, all sense of time.  There was nothing but the pain.  She could not have begged for mercy right then if she had wanted to.

Slowly it dawned on her that the pain had ebbed.  It hadn’t stopped entirely – her boobs were still crushed painfully under Tara’s knees, her back and legs and belly were still stretched pitilessly and she could scarcely breathe – but Tara’s claws were no longer twisting and gouging at her insides.  Her tears of pain turned to tears of relief.  Her breath – what little there was of it – came in tiny plaintive sobs.

She had never been in such a position as this – not ever.  She had lost fights before, but never like this.  She had even lost two since she had come to the Society – most recently another exhibition match in Miami against the blonde bitch Valeria who had gamed her and embarrassed her, but she had come back and totally humiliated that skank in New York.  A long time before that, she had lost to the big blonde Babs, who had grapevined her, shown her off to the crowd and forced her to submit.  She still had a grudge to settle with that cxnt.

Never had she been in such a predicament as she was now, however.  Never had she been so painfully, so shamefully shown up.  She could imagine how the audience saw her now – trapped beneath Tara, her head and chest forced into the floor, breasts crushed flat, her back arched over, bent almost double, her legs spread wide and held there, her bare pussy pushed up toward the ceiling – displayed for the crowd while Tara tortured and toyed with her at whim.  Even with her head jammed beneath Tara’s butt, she sensed the partygoers’ cameras flashing, capturing the memory of the Society champion’s bare pussy being flaunted for their amusement.

Dear God, don’t let her claw me like that again.  I couldn’t stand it. Just the memory of that agony made her tremble all over yet again.  She was bathed in a cold sweat.

Tara didn’t claw her again though.  Instead she shifted her hands up to Tiffany’s inner thighs once more.  “Your stubbornness is getting boring,” she said in a scolding voice.  “I need to teach you your first lesson in obedience…my pet.”  With that, she whipped her head forward savagely and, with the hard crown of her forehead, nailed Tiffany’s clit for the second time that night.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[TheScribbler]

The girls have asked me to slow down a little in posting the sections of this story, since they want to participate more but are busy irl.  I'm therefore going to delay posting the next section until tomorrow night. 

Cheers,

Scrib

[TheScribbler]

Herewith, section four of the story.  Thanks to Tara and Tiffany for their posts, to those who've commented and to Lulu Fights for inserting herself into the audience  I'll post the final section of the story on Monday night since I'll be busy irl tomorrow.

Scrib

*****

Tiffany bucked so hard in Tara’s grasp that, for an instant, she lifted the blonde upright on her knees.  “NNNGGGHHHUUUGGGHHH!!! Her ear-splitting scream of abject misery cut though the buzz of the crowd like a knife, stunning them all to silence before her voice cracked and dissolved into a strangled sob.  Tara held her for a long moment as she trembled and writhed, then released her, rose and let her collapse in a quivering heap on the floor.

She lay there a long time, her back still half-bent, legs still splayed wide, unable to make her overwrought and overwhelmed body obey her.  She was wracked with pain, consumed by exhaustion, and she fervently wished her body was as numb as her mind.  I can’t fight back.  I can’t even move.  I’m beaten.

You are, the voice in her head agreed, but she won’t stop there.  She’s not here just to beat you.  She’s here to break you.

She won’t break me!

She will.  She already called you ‘pet’ and you didn’t even notice.

Tiffany tried to focus, to recall that.  It had been an instant before Tara head butted her pussy.  Her pain-fogged mind hadn’t had a chance to process it before the agony had consumed her once again.  Now she remembered.  Pet? PET??? I’m nobody’s PET!

She felt a touch against her shoulder, then Tara’s foot shoved her over onto her back.  She lay there unmoving – unable to move.  The pain – her back, her belly, her scalp, her pussy – had utterly depleted her strength.  Her legs remained open, her arms akimbo.  Her breasts, battered and bruised, sagged limply to either side of her body.  Her chest rose and fell slowly, with long pauses as she needed to gather the strength for each breath.

Tara stood over her.  She lifted a foot, placed it on Tiffany’s neck – on her throat – and stared down between her breasts into the brunette’s beaten eyes.  A half smile played across Tara’s lips.  You’re defeated, said that smile, and you know it..

The pressure of Tara’s foot increased slightly and Tiffany’s eyes widened.  Oh my God, is she going to kill me? Is she going to crush my throat? Tiffany had heard rumors – she had always thought they were myths – of fights like that, but the whispered rumors had always talked of flea pits in South America or South East Asia, not opulent mansions in Rhode Island.  No, that’s crazy.  It couldn’t be – could it?

She stared up into Tara’s emerald eyes.  Tara’s skin was damp, glossy with a sheen of perspiration – glowing.  With her foot raised, her thighs slightly parted, Tiffany could see the hood of her clit poking through her pussy lips, visible through the open weave of her thong.  The firm muscles of her thighs were equally in evidence.  She has the power – the power to do it if she wants.  I can’t stop her.

Tara raised both her arms, slid her hands behind her head, into her hair, and shook it back and forth.  The glossy mane swept across her shoulders as she arched her back and thrust her chest – bare now, her bikini top pulled down and aside – toward the enthusiastic audience.  Cameras captured her proud pose.

The blonde removed her foot from Tiffany’s throat, and Tiffany’s chest heaved as she drew a grateful breath.  Tara stepped back and stood between Tiffany’s spread legs.  She raised her foot and Tiffany suddenly held her breath again as the still-smiling blonde rubbed the sole of her foot firmly over Tiffany’s crotch.  Tiffany shuddered. No, please.  Not that. Not there – not again.

Tara kept her foot there for a long moment before she removed it, stooped and seized Tiffany by the hair.  “Up you get, pet,” she ordered, and gave Tiffany no choice as she half-dragged her up to her eyes.  Tiffany groaned and tried to raise her arms to clutch at Tara’s wrists, but her arms merely flapped uselessly at her sides.  The blonde twisted Tiffany’s head, until she was staring up through her tears into Tara’s limpid eyes, which gazed mockingly back at her.  “How the mighty are fallen,” she said teasingly.  Tiffany gulped.  She had seen the look on Tara’s face before, seen it all too often, but usually it was her own eyes that stared down scornfully into those of the beaten loser, the girl who had tried and failed to tame her.  Tonight, this girl – this woman – had succeeded.  Tiffany had been tamed.  She’s going to make me submit to her.  She’s going to force it out of me and it’s going to be bad.  

Holding Tiffany by the hair like a leash, Tara half-led, half-dragged her on her knees in a second slow circuit of the room.  “Take a look at her!” Tara called to the crowd.  “She thought she’d beat me without breaking a sweat…but now she’s going to be my bitch!” Tiffany hung her head, shielding herself behind the curtain of her tangled, sweat-soaked hair.  Tara took Tiffany’s chin in her hand, lifting her head.  “You don’t even know what that means, do you pet?  Never mind…you will.”

Tiffany tried to gaze back at her, tried to look defiant, but the pain and fatigue and shame of losing – losing like this – wouldn’t let her. Oh God, she’ll make me her pet.  She hated it that she lowered her eyes – but she lowered them nonetheless. She had to, to hide the flood of her tears.

Tara paraded her on her knees before the crowd, stopping to taunt her, to slap her face if she didn’t keep up, to cup and fondle her breasts, making a mockery of her to the audience.  She even lifted the dangling ends of Tiffany’s bikini top and looped them around her neck to give them an unimpeded view.  Tiffany didn’t want to look down at her boobs.  They throbbed painfully with each awkward, stumbling pace she took.  The pain her back and belly meant it was all she could do to hold herself upright, and the fire in her battered pussy made her bite her lip so hard she was afraid she would draw blood.

Come on.  Get it over with.  Make me surrender, make me lick your feet.  I’ll even kiss your feet – God knows you can make me if you want to.  Just get it over with and let me go.

Again they ended their circle in front of Nick and Marie Sheridan.  Nick’s eyes flicked rapidly back and forth from Tara to Tiffany and back again – the victor and the vanquished – and they burned with lust at the sight of both.  The bulge in his pants was obvious to all, not least because his wife was openly stroking him there.

Tiffany’s gasp of surprise and horror was directed not at that however, but toward Marie’s other side – toward Blair.  The little blonde – Tiffany’s date – had hooked one foot up over the arm of the couch, spreading her legs wide, and she was licking her lips as she gazed with vacant, wanton eyes at the spectacle of Tara and Tiffany.  Her face was flushed all the way down to the upper slopes of her bosom, which heaved with every tremulous breath she took.  Tiffany didn’t need to see Marie’s hand, hidden beneath Blair’s skirt, to know precisely what was happening there.  Blair was already humping the older woman’s hand.  She thought bitterly of the plans she had had for a post-fight celebration with Blair, plans that were doomed now.  Blair would be celebrating all right – but not with Tiffany.

Beyond them, around the edge of the low couch through a gap in the crowd, Tiffany caught sight of herself, reflected in the mirrored wall.  Her hair was a wild tangle, encrusted with sweat and either plastered against her neck and shoulders or standing out in tufts around her head.  Her lipstick was smeared across one cheek, her mascara streaked garishly down her face.  The tracks of my tears. Her breasts were reddened and swollen from Tara’s abuse – no wonder they felt heavy, the skin tight like overripe fruit.  Her belly was blotched with livid marks from the belly claw, and larger dull red patches from the impacts of Tara’s fists and feet.  Her shoulders shook, her chest shuddered and her breasts jiggled as her breath came in short, panting sobs.

She was a wreck.  Tara had wrecked her.  Worse though – the thing that truly frightened her, was the look in her own eyes, tearful, red-rimmed, staring back at her out of the mirror.  She had seen that look too, on the panicked faces of her beaten opponents, the defeat and the despair, the finality of knowing that everything they had – tonight, everything she had – wasn’t enough.

Perhaps worst of all was the fear.  Was this really the end? Or was it just the beginning?  Is she really going to make me her pet? Is she going to make me her bitch? How far will she go?  How far will she make me go? She shuddered.

In stark contrast stood Tara.  Her hair too was damp with sweat, but not the tangled ruin that Tiffany’s was.  Her makeup was barely marred and her skin glowed with a thin sheen of sweat that only lent better definition to the finely sculpted muscles of her arms, legs and torso.  Though her breasts had burst free from her bikini top, the tight mesh cups still lifted and supported the firm, jutting orbs.  Her nipples were dark and engorged, pointing out at the audience like little fingers.  Her smile lit up the room, beaming at the crowd, and her eyes shone with the thrill of victory as she showed off the evidence of her triumph to the crowd.

That’s me.  I’m her trophy.  I’m her bitch – or I soon will be.

“Now,” Tara bent and seized Tiffany by the chin, still keeping her other hand in the brunette’s sopping hair, “it’s time for you to be a good girl and show these people how you’ve learned your lesson.”  She heaved Tiffany bodily to her feet with a grunt of effort that matched Tiffany’s own groan of pain and distress.  Tiffany stood there, teetering on unsteady legs.  She would have fallen if Tara hadn’t held her up.  The blonde stared into her eyes.  “Are you ready to submit to me?”

Tiffany blinked at her through her tears.  She had nothing left with which to resist – nothing but her silence.  She knew that too would be taken from her in just moments, along with last shreds of her dignity, but she would hold onto it every second she could.  She pressed her lips tight together.

“No?” Tara raised an eyebrow.  “Well that disappoints me…though I must admit there’s a part of me that hoped you’d hold out to the end.” Her smile widened.  “And the end is now.”

With a sudden smooth movement she stepped to her left, thrusting her left foot behind Tiffany’s legs, shoving Tiffany backward while maintaining her grip on Tiffany’s hair.  Tiffany had too little breath to scream or even yelp in surprise, but she stiffened on impulse as her body arced over backwards.  She made an instinctive attempt to step backward and keep her balance but to no avail as Tara’s leg caught hers.  She toppled backward and Tara dropped to one knee along with her.  Tiffany let out a long, low, quavering cry of anguish as the blonde’s raised knee connected hard with the small of her back.  Her spine bent savagely and the over-stretched muscles of her devastated abs screamed in protest.

Tara loomed over her, one hand still in her hair, bending her head back and stretching Tiffany over her knee.  Her other hand slid across Tiffany’s hip and onto her mound, pressing down hard there, arching the brunette’s spine even further.  “You will submit to me,” Tara assured her with a steely edge to her voice.  Her fingers curled downward into Tiffany’s crotch, spreading her swollen lips.  Tiffany went rigid, her eyes wide in panic.  She’s going to claw me there! Tara’s fingers pushed inside her.  She’s going to claw me inside! What made it even more horrific was that she could do absolutely nothing about it.

All thought of further defiance left her.  She shook her head violently.  She would beg if that’s what it took.  She would eat Tara out in front of everybody.  She would kiss her feet and kiss her ass.  Don’t do that though.  Don’t do that! She opened her mouth to say ‘Please don’t hurt me any more’ but the words caught in her throat and, to her infinite shame, what came out of her mouth in a clear, plaintive voice was “Please…hurt me…”

Tara threw back her head and laughed.  So did everyone else within earshot.  Tiffany flushed crimson and wished she could sink into the floor and disappear.  “Well,” said the blonde with a smirk, “since you asked nicely…” She pushed her fingers just a little deeper into Tiffany’s already wide-stretched pussy.

“NO! NO!!! Please…no…” Tears of desperation, tears of shame, tears of pain and despair poured down Tiffany’s cheeks.  “I give…I submit.  I submit to you, Tara!”

Tara smiled down at her.  “There…that wasn’t so bad, was it?” She kept her fingers in Tiffany’s pussy as she leaned down, lifted Tiffany’s head by the hair and kissed her lightly on the lips.  “And now the hard part is done.  It’ll get much easier from here on…you’ll see.”  She wiggled her fingers inside Tiffany – though she didn’t use her nails – and the brunette twitched as an unwelcome but not unpleasurable sensation swept fleetingly through her.

Tiffany wasn’t so sure about that and besides, the tone of the woman’s voice gave her an ominous sense of foreboding.  What will be easier? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that question.

Tara removed her hand from Tiffany’s pussy and rose to her feet, dragging Tiffany up to her knees.  “I hear you have some traditions in your Society, bitch,” she said loudly, as much for the benefit of the crowd as for Tiffany’s ears.  “First, you have to bring me your bikini.” She tugged at the strings of the top already wound around Tiffany’s neck.  “You’ve already got this part, but the rest is over there.” She twisted Tiffany’s head to the left and pointed.  “Fetch it for me, pet.” She thrust Tiffany’s head forward.   The motion sent a stab of pain through Tiffany’s body as she instinctively tried to hold herself upright and, with a whimper, she fell forward onto her hands and knees.

She knew how this worked.  She had seen it a hundred times.  She had ordered other bitches to crawl on their knees in shame across the arena to retrieve the remnants of their bikinis and present them to her as her prize.  Tonight, I’m the bitch.  I’m the loser.  I’m the one crawling on her knees.  She tried to tell herself it was part of the risk, that it went with the territory.  It didn’t make it any easier.

The crumpled scrap of her thong lay on the rug, half way across the mat where Tara had tossed it.  She thought about picking it up with her hand, but something stopped her.  Tara had won this fight.  She might have had a harder time if she hadn’t nailed Tiffany with that knee to the pussy.  She’d still have won, the voice in her head assured her.  It would have taken longer, but she’d still have beaten you.  She’s the one.  She’s stronger, faster – better.  You always knew she’d come along eventually.

She bent her head and dutifully took the thong in her teeth.  It tasted of sweat.  It tastes of loser.  She choked back that thought.  She turned, every muscle aching, and made her way ponderously back toward where Tara stood waiting, hands on hips.  

As she drew closer, Tiffany’s tear-filled eyes widened in horror yet again.  Marie Sheridan had slid off the couch now.  She was on her knees, her back to Tiffany.  She had her husband’s cock out and was wanking him hard, but her head was buried between Blair’s open legs.  Blair was holding the older blonde by the head with one hand, gripping her own breast with the other, and energetically grinding herself onto Marie’s face.

They weren’t the only pair indulging their arousal at Tiffany’s defeat.  Several couples stood locked in passionate embraces.  One woman was straddling her husband or boyfriend on an adjacent couch, her cocktail gown hitched up around her waist, and was riding him enthusiastically.

Tara snapped her fingers, drawing Tiffany’s attention back to her.  “Ignore them,” she directed Tiffany, without indicating whether she was talking about Blair and Marie, or about the others.  “They’re not your concern.”  She reached out her hand.  “Bring it to me.”

Tiffany obeyed, crawling to Tara on her knees.  She stopped in front of the blonde and raised herself slightly on aching arms until she could reach out with her neck and place her thong carefully in Tara’s hand.  Then she sat back on her haunches. She knew what would come next.  She hoped it wouldn’t and she certainly wouldn’t initiate it, but she knew it was inevitable.

She deserves it, said the voice.  She’s better than you.  She deserves for you to lick her pussy.

Tiffany stole a look up at Tara through her hair.  The victorious blonde stood with her head high, her shoulders back, her breasts thrust out proudly as she smilingly examined the thong before she wound it around her wrist.  God, she’s magnificent.  She does deserve this.

Tara stepped closer to her, until Tiffany could see the shaven lips of her pussy through the open weave of her golden thong.  She pointed downward.  “Kiss my feet, pet.”

Tiffany hesitated only a moment before she bent forward, bracing herself with her palms flat against the floor, either side of Tara’s feet, and pressed her lips to tops of the blonde’s toes.  She felt rather than saw the cameras flash as the audience recorded this latest episode in her degradation.

Tara tasted of sweat, but she also tasted of musk that was far from unpleasant to Tiffany’s tongue.  She tastes like strength, like power, like victory. Much to Tiffany’s surprise she found her lips traveling further up Tara’s foot, over her instep to her ankle.  There she hesitated.

“Don’t stop there,” said Tara softly.  “Keeping going, my pet.”

Tiffany clamped her eyes tight shut.  She wanted to stop, she wanted with all her will to refuse, but she kissed Tara’s shin, then her calf, then the inside of her knee.  Why am I doing this?

Because she owns you, answered her voice.

She beat me! That’ all!  I owe her this – fair enough!  But nothing more!

She beat you and she broke you.  You’re her bitch.

Tiffany blocked the disgraceful thought out of her mind – but still she continued to kiss Tara’s leg, further up her thigh, tasting, savoring the victor’s scent despite herself.  Before she knew it, her nose was brushing against Tara’s crotch.  She shivered.  Did she really want to go that far without being asked – without being ordered?  Do I dare not to? The memory of Tara’s fingers inside her gave her the answer to that.

Tara caught her by the hair.  “No,” she said as she stared down between her breasts into Tiffany’s eyes., “not yet.  I want to feel this properly, pet.  Undress me first.”

Tiffany gave a tiny nod.  She raised her hands, though her arms felt like lead.  Her fingers felt like they belonged to someone else as she stroked them up the outsides of Tara’s legs, over the firm muscles of her calves, trailing ever upward over Tara’s powerful thighs..  This is the body that beat me.  This is the body that lifted me and threw me through the air.  She’s worthy of this.  She hooked her fingers through the straps that crossed Tara’s hips, and drew the thong inch by inch down Tara’s thighs, revealing the dark flushed folds of her pudenda.  Tiffany kept her eyes fixed on those lips as she eased the thong all the way down to Tara’s ankles.  She could already smell the blonde’s arousal and it made her nostrils flare involuntarily.  The smell of defeat.  The smell of disgrace.

“There,” said Tara as she stepped out of the thong, “that’s much better.” She stroked a hand through Tiffany’s hair and the gentleness of that touch – almost a caress – made Tiffany shiver in a way she didn’t want to think about.

The blonde’s voice hardened.  “Now, on your back, bitch.  It’s time to give me the rest of my prize.”  She placed her hand on Tiffany’s face and shoved her hard, sending the brunette over onto her back, her legs folded uncomfortably underneath her.

Tiffany could already hear moans of pleasure – is that Blair or some other bitch getting off on Tara’s humiliating me? – even as Tara stepped astride her.  Her eyes were once more drawn to the blonde’s shaven sex.  Then she had a much closer view, her head filled with Tara’s lust once more as the victor sank slowly to her knees, hovering her crotch just inches above Tiffany’s face.

She slipped her hand beneath Tiffany’s head, into her hair once more.  “Do your duty, my pet,” she said.  Her voice was softer now, almost tender.  To Tiffany’s continuing surprise, she found herself thinking she liked it that way, much more than the cruel, taunting Tara.  “I know you’ll do it well.” She pulled Tiffany’s face into her waiting loins.

Tiffany tried to take a deep breath before her nose was pushed between Tara’s pussy lips, but she didn’t quite make it and got a deep lungful of the other woman’s musk.  The scent filled her nostrils and made her almost giddy.  God, under other circumstances… She pushed that thought out of her head.  She would do what she had to do, in the here and now.  She would get this over with.  I’ll give her what she deserves.

She thrust her tongue out, lapping at Tara, parting her outer lips, worming her way inward.  She heard the blonde moan atop her – or was that Blair too? – and Tara’s hips twitched, pressing herself more firmly into Tiffany’s face.  Tiffany licked the length of her and was rewarded with a shudder and another moan.  She paused a moment, letting Tara’s expectation build, until she felt the other woman trembling, then she flicked her tongue outward once again and brushed it over the tip of Tara’s turgid clit.   Tara bucked convulsively.

You’re enjoying this, the inner voice jeered in her head.  You’re giving her pleasure and you like it.

I’m not! I’m doing what I have to do! Tiffany cut short another pause and instead lapped harder, faster, more insistently at Tara.  She’s going to enjoy it anyway.  If I make it really good, maybe she’ll let me go. Tiffany started at the sudden realization that Tara really might not let her go at that – that she might want more.

Do you have what it takes – in body or spirit – to stop her if she does?

Tiffany didn’t want to think about it.  She didn’t want to think.  She flicked her tongue harder across Tara’s clit, then wiggled it downward to dart it inside the blonde’s eager, open tunnel.  Tara cried out and clutched at her head, digging her nails into Tiffany’s scalp.  It hurt but Tiffany no longer cared.  It was nothing – a drop in the ocean.

She licked, she sucked, she used every trick she knew – and they were many – to give the victor her due pleasure.  Tara had responded right from the start and her responses soon grew louder, more urgent.  She moaned, bucked and ground her loins into Tiffany’s face.  Her moans became cries of lust, then screams.  “Oh! OHHH! OH!!! YES! YES! My pet…my pet!...MY GOOD PET!!!” She writhed uncontrollably atop Tiffany, gripping the beaten brunette’s hair savagely, clutching her tight as she bucked and thrashed in the throes of a tumultuous climax.

Tiffany lapped at her diligently as she came, not letting up, neither slowing nor softening the rhythmic chorus of her tongue.  She would make sure that Tara was well sated, totally satisfied, before she would stop.  Then she’ll let me go.

She might – if you’re lucky.  Or she might decide you’re a good little pussy licker and she’ll want more later. That was an infinitely disturbing thought.

At long last, Tara’s spasms grew less violent, further apart.  She still knelt with her pussy pressed hard into Tiffany’s nose and mouth, holding still for long moments, punctuated with shuddering aftershocks from the string of orgasms that had rocked her.  Finally those aftershocks also ebbed, and she lifted herself slowly off Tiffany, the muscles of her thighs still twitching reflexively.  “Well, wasn’t that just delicious, pet?”

Tiffany lay there, gasping.  Her face was red from lack of breath and the grinding of Tara’s loins against her cheeks.  Her mouth and nose were full of Tara’s juices, even her eyes were sticky with the blonde’s liquid lust.  She coughed weakly.  She smelled Tara in her nostrils, tasted Tara in her throat and on her lips.

Tara rose into a squat and then, her hand still in Tiffany’s hair, she rose slowly to her feet, drawing Tiffany with her, up to her knees.  The blonde stood proudly over her, her inner thighs glistening just as Tiffany’s face did.

More cameras flashed.  Someone called out, “Tara! Turn her this way! Strike a pose!” Tara obliged, holding Tiffany close against her hip wrapping the brunette’s tattered hair beneath her chin to tilt her head up further.  Tara raised a fist in victory, smiling triumphantly at the crowd.  She’s showing off to them, showing off how she’s made the Society champion her plaything.

She has every right to, the voice reminded her as the cameras continued to flash.  There were more catcalls, more pleas for particular poses.  “Hold her tits up!”  “Make her arch her back!” “Stretch her nipple out!” Tara was obliging, and Tiffany was obedient.  She didn’t have the strength or the spirit left to be otherwise.  She hung her head and her shoulders shook as she sobbed in utter wretchedness.

“Don’t hide your face like that,” Tara scolded her.  “Let them all see.”  She pulled Tiffany’s face up again to the mocking eyes of the audience.  “Look there,” she twisted Tiffany’s head in the direction she wanted.  “Your little friend is having a good time too.”

Tiffany didn’t want to look, but she had no choice.  She blinked Tara’s juices out of her eyes and stared.  Blair had her legs wrapped tight around Marie Sheridan while the older woman’s arms held Blair in turn.  Her husband was slumped on the other end of the couch, his cock flaccid now, his own climax clearly evident.  Marie thrust her face firmly into Blair’s loins, licking and sucking.  She pushed sher head forward and despite herself, Tiffany imagined her tongue spearing deep inside Blair.  Her own pussy clenched convulsively at the thought.  Is this Tara’s doing too?  Did she set Nick and his wife up to seduce Blair while she was destroying me? Her mind reeled at the enormity of it all.

“Let’s take a closer look, shall we?” Tara led Tiffany, still on her knees, across the several yards that separated them, until she stood over Marie with Tiffany on the other side of the busy older blonde.  “See? Nick and Marie promised they’d take good care of her…and they are.”

She leaned forward over the two coupling women, steadying herself with a hand on the back of the couch, and bent to kiss Blair firmly on the lips, sliding her long pink tongue into Blair’s mouth.

Blair’s eyes flickered open.  She stared blearily up at Tara.  “Is that nice?” Tara asked her.  “Is she making you feel good?”  Blair’s eyes flickered and she nodded almost imperceptibly, her chest shuddering, her erect nipples poking urgently through her dress.  “Cum for me now, then.  Cum for me, and I’ll give you a wonderful reward later.”

“Oh…yes…” murmured Blair, and she ground harder against Marie.  “Yes…yesss…” Her voice grew suddenly more strident and she screamed out, “YESSS!!!” just as her hips bucked and she climaxed explosively, writhing impaled on Marie’s questing tongue.

“Good girl,” smiled Tara.  Tiffany didn’t know whether she was talking to Blair or to Marie.  Both were clearly – now – firmly in her thrall.

Just like you’ll be, soon.  The voice in her head made her shiver.

Tara turned to Tiffany again.  “I know we’ve been big on Society traditions tonight,” she said, “and you’ve done so well, pet…you’ve done everything expected of you.” She unwound Tiffany’s scarlet thong from her wrist.  “But I have a little touch of my own that I’d like to add.”  She reached forward and stretched the thong over Tiffany’s head, the crotch resting on her head, the sheer front panel over her face, the Society sigil over her mouth.  She stared at Tara through eyes once again filled with tears, appalled at the latest ignominy but helpless prevent it.  She can do whatever she wants to me.

There was a flurry of flashes again as the audience rushed to get their pictures of this further humiliation.  Tara twisted her fingers in the strap of the thong that hung down the back of Tiffany’s head, until the front was pulled tight across her nose and mouth, forcing her to open her mouth wide, to breathe laboriously through the thin cloth, inhaling the odor of her own sweat.  Holding Tiffany like that, she again tilted her head first to one side, then the other.  “Show them all your good side, pet.  Show them the real you.” Again she raised her fist and struck a victory pose.

Oh God.  I shouldn’t even have worn the thong, and now they’ve all got pictures of me hooded with it.

“Marie, darling,” continued Tara, “get her up.” She motioned at Blair who was still flopped across the couch in a post-orgasmic stupor.

“Of course, Tara,” Marie, still on her knees, her face shining with Blair’s juices, smiled and quickly helped the younger woman to her feet.

Tara smiled as she slipped an arm around Blair.  The younger woman was still panting from her orgasm, her eyes bright with lust, nipples rock hard.  Her dress was in disarray, hiked up to her waist on the slit side, her shaven pussy visible from Tiffany’s vantage point on her knees.  Tara pulled her close and kissed her hard.  Blair stiffened, then moaned and her body melted against Tara’s.  Her arms went around Tara – one hand slid down to cup Tara’s butt cheek – and she returned the kiss passionately.  “Mmm, you were awesome!” gushed Blair.  “You totally ruled her!  You’re so…”  She squeezed Tara tighter.  “…powerful.” She devoured Tara’s open mouth with her own.

Tiffany’s tears flowed freely now as she watched Tara claim the willing Blair.  The little blonde was literally rubbing herself against Tara, heedless of the sweat from the other woman’s body that stained her dress.  She wants that.  She wants to rub the sweat of victory all over her.

“Now,” said Tara to Tiffany, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “let’s continue your training in private…shall we?” She tugged encouragingly on Tiffany’s hair.

On her knees, following a half-step behind the woman who had bested her and her no-longer lover, her heart filled with a horrible mixture of trepidation, resignation and, most shameful of all, anticipation, Tiffany crawled from the room.  God I’m so fucked.

TO BE CONTINUED…

[lulufights]

Frankly I'm shocked to see how completely Tara is dominating Tiffany.  The first hit to the pussy seemed to take all the fight out of the society champ and since then it's been totally one-sided.  The whole thing has me wet and I'm even a little nervous I might have dripped a little on my dress.  On the up side I've got plenty of pics with my iPhone and a few girlfriends of mine who also come to society parties are going to get some juicy texts in the morning.  That Tiffany bitch has been walking around with her nose in the air sneering at everybody for way too long.  It's good to see her on her knees being totally owned.  I can't wait to get hubby back to our room.  Come on, midnight!

[Dirty bad bitch]

Oooh, it looks like the over-confident Cameltoe Queen, Tiffany, is finally broken ... long live the new Cameltoe Queen ... ME!!! 

Great story, and congrats with your devastating win, Tara ... I'd love you to force the broken slut to acknowledge ... with her tongue and mouth ... that I'm the new Queen!  Naughty giggles! 



- Sonja

[Freddy (B.A.W.)]

A further masterpiece by The Scribbler! Just amazing!

I'm a bit shocked by the result because Tiffany is a real queen of catfights! Kudos to her for the long reign! 
Congrats to Tara for the big win! I'm a big fan of you now! The Society has a blonde champion! Very good!

[TheScribbler]

Here's section five.

Thanks to Freddy, Jessie, Lulu and Sonja for your comments.  Freddy, I hope to see you and the lovely Marlies at the next Society gathering

Cheers,

Scrib

*****

It took quite a while for them to cross the room.  Every few steps there was another halt, another pose for photographs as Tara displayed her two trophies – one willing and eager, smiling and hugging her, the other desolate, defeated, sobbing on her knees.  The cameras flashed over and over.  Tiffany didn’t bother to lower her face any longer.  She had no dignity, no pride left to protect.  Tara had beaten her, humbled her, shamed her – yes, broken her.  She deserves everything she’s getting tonight – and so do I.  She let out another choking sob.

She wondered where Tara was taking her.  She presumed they would go to Tara’s own room, wherever that was.  They made their way back to the mansion’s foyer, up the stairs and along an upper hallway.  It took a lot longer to traverse the distance on her knees, and required more effort too, all the while with Tara tugging on her hair.  “Keep up, pet.” Tiffany didn’t want to dwell on the unspoken threat that went along with those words.

Eventually they stopped before a door, and Tiffany realized, retracing their route in her mind, that this was her room – hers and Blair’s.  Not now. She didn’t look up at the sound of Tara and Blair kissing.  Now it belongs to Tara.  Just like Blair. The thought sent an icy dagger of painful regret through her.

Just like you, added the voice in her head, and an even deeper chill gripped her heart.

Blair pushed the door open and stepped aside so Tara could precede her into the room with Tiffany in tow.  The naked blonde strode straight to the center of the living room, to the rug between the two white couches.  Blair closed the door behind them and crossed to press her body against Tara’s again.  “Oh my God, you were incredible!” she cooed.  She didn’t even look at Tiffany though she brushed the brunette’s shoulder with her hip as she leaned in to kiss Tara again.  “That was so hot!”

Tara gently guided Blair to a seat on the couch to Tiffany’s right and joined her there.  Her hand in Tiffany’s hair drew the brunette closer too until she knelt a foot away, listening and trying not to look as the triumphant Tara kissed and fondled the delectable little blonde who, hours ago, had been eager for Tiffany’s touch.  Now she only had eyes for Tara.

“Thank you, baby,” smiled Tara, stroking Blair’s cheek lightly.  “It was pretty hot for me too.” She laughed.  “And I’m enjoying the prizes…all of them.”

“You threw her! You actually picked her up and threw her like it was nothing!”

Like I was nothing. The thought was another cruel lash to Tiffany’s shredded ego.

“Can I touch your muscles?” asked Blair.  “Can I kiss them?”

“Go right ahead, baby,” replied Tara.  She flexed her arm and Tiffany could not resist looking up through her tangled hair at the bunched, bulging bicep – powerful yet sexy at the same time.  She picked me up and threw me across the arena.

“Mmm,” Blair bent her head and kissed Tara’s bicep.  She trailed her tongue along it from elbow to shoulder, licking the sweat from Tara’s skin, then continued upward over Tara’s neck to nuzzle her ear.  Tara turned and their mouths opened to one another, tongues entwined.  “I want to kiss you everywhere,” breathed Blair.  “I’m going to do such wicked things to you…”

“And you will, lover,” promised Tara.  “But first I’m going to give you a present.  My new pet here is going to give you an orgasm.” She smiled and stroked Tiffany’s cheek softly, a tender touch that gave Tiffany all kinds of unwelcome feelings.  She plucked the scarlet thong off Tiffany’s head and once more twisted it around her own wrist.  “She’s very good with her tongue.  It’s like she was born to serve.”

Blair pouted.  “But I want you to have me,” she protested.  “I want to be the prize for the winner…not the loser.”

“Oh I will have you,” Tara assured her.  “I’ll take real good care of you, lover. It’s a very special gift I’m giving you, you know.”  She grinned.  “I don’t normally share my toys.”

She kissed Blair again, stroking a hand down her face, down her neck and onto her chest to lift and fondle her left breast.  She drew Blair down across her lap on the couch, reaching out to lift Blair’s skirt.  Blair lifted her butt and spread her legs wide.  Tara glanced at Tiffany and said, “You know what to do, pet,” before she turned her attention back to kissing Blair once more.

Tiffany shifted herself on her knees until she could push her head up between Blair’s splayed thighs.  Blair was still wet from Marie’s ministrations downstairs in the drawing room, and Tiffany tasted that leftover lust now as she pressed her own tongue against the nether lips of the woman who would have been her lover.  The irony of it twisted her gut and made the ache there even worse.  This was what she had fantasized about – giving Blair pleasure, making the little blonde moan and squirm and cum over and over – and here they were.   Her tongue found Blair’s clit and Blair bucked her hips upward, grinding on her chin.

Not like this.  It shouldn’t have been like this.

Tara had unzipped Blair’s dress, pulling it down off her shoulders, freeing her arms and baring her breasts.  She fondled them now, squeezing and stroking, rubbing and pinching gently.  She leaned forward over Blair, dangling her own breasts in Blair’s face.  Blair kissed them ardently, sucking hungrily on Tara’s hard nipples.  Both blondes moaned in pleasure.  “Oh…oh my God!  Tara…”

She’s all over Tara.  I’m licking her pussy and she doesn’t even know I’m here.  I’m nothing to her. Fresh tears brimmed in Tiffany’s eyes, and trickled down her cheeks, mingling with Blair’s free-flowing juices.

Blair was writhing in Tara’s lap now, humping Tiffany’s face, panting and moaning out loud.  She was already halfway to boiling point and it wasn’t long before the cauldron of her desire boiled over.  “Oh…OHMYGOD!!! YES!!! OH FUCK!!! OH TARA!  OH FUCK!!! TARA! YES!!!” Tiffany’s desolate sob  - I’m here too! – was buried in Blair’s gushing pussy, lost in the blonde’s screams of ecstasy.

It was supposed to be me celebrating with her – celebrating my victory.

But it isn’t, said the voice in her head.  It’s Tara she’s celebrating with.  It’s Tara who’s using you to pleasure her.  You’re Tara’s toy.

Why am I even here?  I don’t need to be here!  I gave her what I owed her, down there in public!  I don’t have to do this!

Then why are you doing it?

Because –   She couldn’t finish the thought – or couldn’t bring herself to finish it.  Her inner voice laughed at her.

Tara cradled Blair in her arms, stroking her hair, still fondling her breasts, still kissing her.  Tiffany pulled back a little.  A long trailing strand of saliva hung from her lips to Blair’s swollen clit.  Without thinking, she flicked out her tongue and lapped it up.  Blair shuddered and cried out into Tara’s kiss.

Tiffany sat back on her heels, her head hanging.  She didn’t want to look at Tara and Blair.  She knew she’d weep all over again if she did.  She felt the back of her heel press against her own pussy.  It still hurt from the abuse she had suffered in the fight, but it also ached in a very different way.

She was horny.  It mystified her, it horrified her, but she was horny.  Licking Blair, serving Tara, watching and listening to them cum – tasting them – made her ache for some pleasure of her own.  In the past, there had always been a plethora of women, and even men if she wanted them, eager to share her bed and worship her body, to offer themselves as the spoils of victory.  Even on the rare occasions she had lost, there had been those who were all too ready to console her.

Not tonight.  Not now.  Tonight I have nothing.  Tonight I am the spoils of victory.  Tonight I’m the toy, the plaything – the pet.

Again the bitter irony was not lost on her.  Many fighters she knew, even many in the Society, would publicly humiliate their beaten opponents by forcing an orgasm from them at the end of the fight – after they had made the loser lick them of course.  Tiffany had a long-standing rule however – losers don’t get to cum.  Now she knew what it felt like to be on the other end of that rule – how it felt to be denied the solace of pleasure.

“Mmm, that was amazing,” gasped Blair, flicking Tara’s dangling nipple with her tongue, “but now it’s my turn.” She stroked a hand along Tara’s flank, feeling the muscles there.  “I want to serve you.”

“And you will, baby,” smiled Tara.  She eased Blair up off her lap and Blair, her dress now just a crumpled band of cloth bunched around her waist, slid off the couch and onto her knees.  Tiffany knelt there too, to Blair’s left, her head still down, unsure what to do, uncertain what was expected of her.

“Let me help you,” Tara continued.  She lifted one leg, planted her foot firmly on the back of Tiffany’s neck and pressed hard.  “Down, pet.”

Tiffany obeyed, not knowing what else to do.  Tara pushed her down until her forehead touched the floor, her head wedged up against the front of the couch, her breasts pressed into the carpet, her ass in the air.

Tara slid herself forward, off the couch, her feet spread either side of Tiffany’s legs, until only her head and shoulders remained on the white cushion, her back suspended in mid-air and her butt resting firmly on Tiffany’s own.  “There you go,” she crooned to Blair, “enjoy yourself, lover.”

Blair wasted no time.  She scrambled over on all fours, positioned herself between Tiffany’s feet, leaned forward and pressed her face into Tara’s snatch.  Her moan of pleasure combined with Tara’s own in a cacophony of lust.

Tiffany knelt beneath Tara, her legs trembling under the blonde’s weight, her back aching from the strain.  She felt the warmth of Tara’s flesh pressing into her, felt the victorious blonde move atop her.  Blair’s swinging breasts brushed Tiffany’s buttocks as she began a steady rhythm, rocking back and forth, tending adoringly to Tara with her lips and tongue.

Tara’s juices began to flow too, oozing down between her butt cheeks, already twitching with tiny tremors, dripping onto Tiffany’s ass, running down between her buttocks and over her pussy, hot and viscous.  Oh fuck, Blair should be licking me!

No.  You only get what you deserve – just like Tara.

“Oh God, baby, that’s…wonderful,” gasped Tara.  “You’re…the best…”

Tiffany felt a strange pang of something – jealousy?  Yes, it was right to be jealous that Blair was pleasuring Tara and not her.  She needed it just as much if not more.

It’s not about that.  You’re jealous that she’s doing a better job of serving Tara than you did, sneered the voice in her head.

NO!

It’s true and you know it.

Tara shivered and threw her arms up to grip the edge of the couch either side of her, to steady herself as the bucking of her hips, the undulations of her torso, the thrashing of her head grew wilder.  Her moans turned into loud squeals, then shrieks of needful urgency as she hurtled toward her climax.  “Oh…FUCK…this is…going…to be…”

“Mmmppphhh!” Blair’s encouraging cries were muffled as Tara thrust her pussy hard into the younger woman’s mouth.

“NNNGGGHHH!!!” Tara shook like a leaf.  Her hips bucked spastically, shoving Blair back away from her, almost toppling her off Tiffany.  “GAWWWDDD!!!” She came hard and Tiffany felt the gush of hot juices explode out of her, spattering Blair’s face and rebounding all over Tiffany’s own ass and pussy, running down her thighs.

She clenched her teeth and clenched her fists, trying to blot out the feel of Tara’s fevered flesh on hers, to ignore the sound of the woman’s fierce exultation, trying to forget how much she wanted to feel a lover’s touch – all in vain.  She was nothing to either of them – just a part of the furniture.  She was their fucking stool – literally, their fucking stool.  Tears of anger, of frustration but most of all, of shame, soaked the carpet beneath her face.

When Tara’s spasms finally subsided, she pushed herself laboriously upright, sitting on Tiffany’s upturned ass with her legs splayed wide around the kneeling Blair.  “Baby, you are so good,” she purred.  “And I’m going to give you even more in return…all night long.” Blair giggled delightedly.  “But let’s continue this somewhere more comfortable, shall we?”  She rose, somewhat unsteadily, to her feet and drew Blair up with her.  Together, hand in hand, they walked toward the open door to the bedroom.

Tiffany lifted herself up on her elbows and watched their bare, bobbing butts through tear-filled eyes.  Should she go after them?  Would Tara be displeased if she didn’t?  Should she ask?

The question was answered for her when Tara turned in the doorway and told her, “And keep your hands away from yourself, pet.  Pleasure is only for those who deserve it.”  The bedroom door closed behind her with a conclusive click.

TO BE CONTINUED…