FreeCatFights
General Category => Catfight , Boxing & Wrestling Stories => Catfighting => Topic started by: sinclairfan on December 10, 2016, 01:14:42 PM
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My name is Trudy. I'm not an accountant, but I work in an important staff role for a very large accounting firm. I don't plan on staying there much longer, but the last couple of years have been so good, I'm socking away enough to retire in the next 2 to 3 years. While I'm young enough to enjoy it.
Enjoy it doing what, you ask? Reading, for one--I love to read. I might finally figure out what this Netflix, and binge watching TV seasons, is all about. And power hiking, to stay in shape. I'm blessed in that area. I'm 51 right now, but look and feel 33.
I didn't mention anyone else, did I? When I was in my 20s, I learned that about six months is my limit for tolerating anyone else, man or woman. So I'm careful not to tie myself down with anyone for longer than that. If anyone hits it off with me and wants to spend about that much time together, great, let's do it. But it's not going anywhere after that. So, if I miss out on something because of that, so be it. I know what makes me happy, and need to be true to that. True to Trudy.
I mentioned the last few years at work have been good. This past year was really, really good. Our company throws a huge Friday night Christmas bash at the biggest downtown hotel, and I was won of 5 employees to win an overnight stay that same night in one of the hotel's penthouse executive suites. The idea was that you could then drink like crazy at the open bar at the party, since you didn't need to worry about getting home. But a traditional bonus, if you were single like me, was that you'd get hit on all night, with everyone knowing your sleeping arrangements for the evening. And even if you declined, you learned who in the office had a crush on you. So this evening promised to be interesting.
And, woah Nellie, was it ever.
I arrived, dressed in my most flattering semi-formal wear, a black-and-red theme showing lots of leg, my hair straightened and longer than I've worn it for years. I looked and smelled fantastic. Go ahead boys and girls, stare, and stare good. Eat your hearts out--I qualify for AARP discounts, and can still turn heads. Best of both worlds.
I notice that there's another company Christmas party in the hotel tonight--LA Fitness. Much more modest affair than ours; appetizers instead of a full meal, cash bar, no music, smaller room, causing the partiers to spill out into the lobby of the hotel. Definitely a different set of employees there--they're actually, well, fit. Two ways to think of this. It's either a bigger set of people for me to, umm, mingle with. Or it's competition.
A word about that--competition. I mentioned that 6 months is about all I can tolerate in a relationship. Let me amend that. 6 months is about how long a partner can tolerate me, or at least my jealousy. Jealousy adds a spark to my relationships at first. But it gets ugly after that. I don't know why, but I start looking for trouble with people in my partner's life around the 180-day mark--his or her exes, friends, siblings. And not just looking for trouble--causing it. Including, if the target in mind is my age, my size, and female, a likely catfight. It's something instinctual in me, something I crave. I like it to be "personal", issuing a challenge, and fighting to a finish. With clothes off and claws out. I like to communicate with looks that it's what we both want, that we're worthy opponents. I resisted this part of my personality at first, but eventually came to terms with it and even embraced it. It's who I am. True to Trudy.
Back to tonight. Those LA Fitness employees sure look better than our accountants, even with us dressed better. I remember why I've only got another 3 years in accounting left in me. Maybe even just 2.
Dinner is served at the accounting party. I sit and talk, wondering what tonight will bring. I'm drinking a bit more than I normally do--I can handle it, but it makes me need to pee. What a pain. I go to the ladies room. I relieve myself, and go to the sink to wash up, standing next to a statuesque blonde. Must be one of the LA Fitness employees. I say hello, and we strike up a conversation. We continue our flirting back out to the lobby, when we are abruptly interrupted by a brunette about my size and closer to my age.
Her: What's your problem?
Me: Are you talking to me?
Her: Yes, I'm asking why you're bothering my friend.
Blonde: Umm, Vanessa, it's no big deal...
Me: What, do you OWN her?
Her: I don't own her. I watch out for her.
Me: Controlling! You know you don't have to put up with that, right, blondie?
Her, getting in my face: I said to stop talking to her. You have something to say, say it to me.
Me: Ok, Vanessa. I don't know you, I don't want to know you. But believe me, if there was ever a fight you want to de-escalate quickly, it's this one.
We stare each other down, nose to nose, sizing each other up. A colleague of mine pipes in, "Trudy, she's not worth it."
Her: You watch yourself, Trudy.
Vanessa storms off.
"Well, that was a buzzkill," says my work colleague.
But it wasn't a buzzkill. Not to me. The no-nonense challenge. The staredown. This Vanessa seemed like a worthy sparring partner to me. And her jealousy--I recognized it as mine. Her relationship with blondie was fraying because of it.
I knew what I needed to do.
I pulled out a business card. I wrote on it, "Vanessa, I have Executive Suite 45 to myself tonight. I could get blondie up here with me if I wanted. But I thought I'd give you the opportunity first, for us to "chat", woman to woman. Trudy." I walked straight into the LA Fitness throng, spotted Vanessa, walked to her and handed it to her. By the deathstare she gave me, I had no doubt she would answer my challenge affirmatively. I handed her the note, saying I wanted to deliver it personally. I then went up to my room, awaiting the inevitable.
Back in my suite. Vanessa will be coming soon, I know it. Should I change now or when she arrives. I look so good, I decide to stay dressed. Let her see what a real lady looks like.
I push the furniture away, making an area for our fight. If anything gets broken, I'm on the hook. But it's worth it. I've earned it. I need this tonight.
A knock at the door. I look thru the peephole. Vanessa, alone. Good.
I open it, and just stare. Vanessa stares back, then pushes past me to get in. Damn, she has a hard body--was this a mistake? Didn't wait for me to invite her in. Good. My kind of woman
She instinctively moves to one of the couches facing the bare "ring" area, and starts removing her shoes and jewelry. Not wanting to appear to be having buyers remorse, I do the same, and up the antenna by removing my short skirt and top. "I don't want these ruined," I unnecessarily explain. Vanessa matches me, and we're down to underwear in no time at all.
Me: In a hurry, sweetie?
Her: Jessica is waiting for me.
Me: Waiting for you, or for me? Don't I get her if I win?
WHAM!!!!! Vanessa slaps me full in the face, and drags me from the crouch down onto the floor. Our hands go for each others hair, and we pull as hard as we can. This is the full on catfight I love so much, not standing duking it out like two guys. Just 2 women, on the floor, flesh on flesh.
Vanessa and my tits line up immediately and begin crushing each other. Our legs curl around each other, and we're locked in the catball position in no time. Vanessa is rubbing herself off on me, clearly frustrating by her waning sex life with Jessica. Part of me is disgusted--I don't want to be a humping post to this bitch Vanessa.
But part of me is excited. This fight is the rawest fight 2 women can have -- over a perceived romantic rival. Vanessa is defending what's hers, and will fight with no rules. I'd best step up my game.
Both of our hands have claimed clumps of hair, and now seek more sensitive targets. I'm inclined to nipple-pinching in this situation, and being my repertoire, causing Vanessa to squeal. She aims lower, tearing my panties and finding my clip in no time. The pain is beyond excruciating. We roll back and forth on the floor, wrapped together.
Vanessa and I scratch each others backs hard and deep. I have no real shot with Jessica, but I'm not telling Vanessa that. I want to humiliate her totally, putting the final nail in their relationship. It's clearly not a healthy one.
"I hate you Trudy," hisses Vanessa, as we stay locked together but slow the pace of our fight. Our hands return to our hair and resume pulling. At this point in a catfight, a typical opponent of mine would be gassed. But Vanessa is fit--This will be a battle of wills.
Both Vanessa and I are afraid to release our grip. We experiment with slapping, but every slap is met with a breast pinch or a clip grab. The pain from those is raw and primal. As is our sweat--we've both clearly been drinking, and the carpet we've been rolling on is coated with sweat. We can smell each other distinctly, increasing my hatred of this bitch I've just met and never want to see again. Shit, why'd I give her my business card.
Vanessa starts rocking on my rhythmically. The thought of her humping me disgusts me. In hatred, I pull her hair and pinch her breasts, trying to give her any non-verbal sensation I can. The sweat between us acts as lubrication, and the rocking motion continues. Is this what Vanessa does with Jessica? I picture me with Jessica. How sweet would it be for me to walk downstairs and tell Jessica I fought her bully and won? Jessica would be so grateful to me. She'd do anything with me. A..n..y..t..h..i..n..G.
In the rocking, I imagine myself with Jessica. Is that what Vanessa is imaging now too? Vanessa cums. Then me. Then Vanessa again. If I cum simultaneously with Vanessa I swear I will seriously barf. Vanessa and I tell each other we hate each other. We start fighting again.
We both go for the facesit pin, wrestling desperately to get on top. Damn, Vanessa is strong. Her knees get on my shoulders. I try kneeing her back. This is normally and effective move for me, but normally my opponent hasn't destroyed my clit like Vanessa has mine. Vanessa starts slapping my face, hissing at me to stay away from Jessica.
I'm beat, physically and psychologically.
Vanessa gathers her stuff and leaves.
And I think of something else I'll be doing when I retire. Joining LA Fitness.
I wonder if Vanessa will still be working there.
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Sinclair! You continue to amaze. Another great story. Love the first person narrative.
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Vanessa you Bitch. This isn't over
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Reminds me some of our fight Vanessa dear, and makes me look forward even more to our next "coffee" together.
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Trudy hon, anytime you want to go another round let me know.
Dana...gods yes I want to have you over for another " cup of coffee" as soon as possible.
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TRUDY VS VANESSA, ROUND 2
I spend all weekend recovering from my catfight with Vanessa. Don't get me wrong, it was totally worth it--after all, what are Friday nights for if not fucking or fighting? But once you pass 45, a proper catfight takes days to recover from, if not weeks. And Vanessa and my catfight definitely qualified as more than proper.
I go into the office Tuesday. If my instincts are correct on Vanessa, Jessica and her have broken up by now. Vanessa was so horny during our fight, she and Jessica have long since ceased having regular sex. No doubt due to Vanessa's jealousy.
Now, don't get me wrong. My opinion of myself is not so inflated that I think I can regularly date blonde bombshells like Jessica. But, I'm not looking to date. I'm looking for a roll in the hay with a heartbroken, lonely blonde. While she's vulnerable. Horrible, I know. But the beautiful blondes ate always the available ones, I've found; everyone is afraid to ask them out.
I call LA Fitness and ask if Jessica works there, and if she gives private classes. Bingo, cardio kickboxing.
Figures--Vanessa was dating a fighter.
I ask for a private hour. I prepay. I don't give my name as Trudy. Too obvious. Jessica will recognize me when I arrive.
$400 per hour. Totally worth it. On Friday afternoon.
I spend all week thinking about Jessica. Lordie, is she hot. I stalk her on the Internet. Just a few pics, but so hot.
I hate you, Vanessa, for dating her.
I'm in the workout room Friday afternoon, waiting for Jessica. She does a double take.
Her: Ohh..., umm..., you're the woman from the Christmas party. I'm so sorry, I didn't want trouble, I..., umm...
Me: No, no. It's not what you think. Just the opposite. I'm here to make sure YOU'RE ok.
Her: Well, umm, not really. Vanessa and I broke up.
<<<I'm glad to hear that.>>>>
Me: I'm sorry to hear that. But, Jessica, she seemed a bit abusive.
Her <<<<sobbing>>>>>
To be continued.....
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Vanessa, Looks like we may get that 2nd round after all.
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INTERLUDE--THE REAL TRUDY
Now, let me correct some misperceptions I've given about myself, both from my suite fight with Vanessa, and my advances on Jessica.
Number one, I almost always come out for a fight claws bared and heels on. Trust me, if I had had even a hunch that my suite stay would involve an impromptu catfight, I would have been dressed, umm, shall we say, less upscale. Less uptown. Less upstate. Less uppercrust. The heels woulda been three fingers higher, at least, and the nails eight orders of magnitude sharper. That's how I roll; mess with me at your own risk. I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing.
Vanessa caught me on an off night. Spirit of the season, and all.
Now, second. I was taking a detour, a pit stop, with Jessica. But Vanessa was still my bogey. There was no way I was done with her. None. Zero. Trust me.
But back to Jessica. She spilled her guts. And then it was Three Minutes in Heaven. For a week.
Jessica showed me how yhe young girls do it these days. I'm normally the alpha. And Jessica let me do a bit of that. But Jessica went to town on me. Part of it was a damsel-in-distress thing--I had guarded her honor Friday night. But mostly it was a student-teaches-the-teacher thing. Jessica knows her way around PornHub. FonF section. I'll leave it at that.
Naturally, I have her a diamond for Christmas.
Totally worth it.
But all good even the best new relationships stop being, we'll, new. And Jessica and I hit that point just as it was time to put away the Christmas decorations for the year.
New Year's Resolutions 1, 2, and 3.
1. Fight Vanessa
2. Fight Vanessa
3. Fight Vanessa
To be continued.....
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So happy of watching Trudy and Vanessa going at it... Long time I don't see any of you.
Sinclair (is this your name? The "Fan" confuses me), This is a nice story, gracefully written and, as a writter myself, I congratulate you for it.
Thank you
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LATE JANUARY--I FIGHT A STRANGER
By late January, I was in full blown winter blues mode. The weather was cold, and the action in my bedroom even colder.
Jessica had ditched me without even the courtesy of a goodbye, and before the diamond I'd bought her for Christmas was paid off. From 12 hours of sex per session to none for a month.
Not fun.
And Vanessa was no where in sight either, having resigned from LA Fitness. Without leaving a forwarding address.
The year was off to a gruesome start. I was going to make a bitch pay. Any bitch would do. But I got it into my head to take down a blonde my age.
I got out my wolf clothing. Short skirt, high heels, busy top, 1980s throwback hair (sort of; without the hairspray or the feathering).
And I went to a sports bar on NFL playoff Saturday.
But, wait, you ask, weren't gross men all over you?
Yes, they were. And if they were out alone, I told them to bug off. And if they were with a date, I locked eyes with her.
Now, in order to make most efficient use of my time, I checked the lineup first. Pittsburgh Steelers--jackpot. Their fans have the most 40-something bitches.
I waste time with 20 men and 7 women.
Then I see her.
Krissy. Can't make this stuff up. As in Krissy Snow.
Same weight class as me. Same age. Same clothes (except for the shoes--hers are more sensible).
By halftime, we're mouthing "fuck you" across the bar to each other. She's wearing a wedding ring, but the man she's with isn't. Slut.
Perfect.
To be continued.....
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is Krissy Snow somebody i should know ?
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Isn't that the character's name on "Three's Company"? LOL
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Then we must have been at the Regal Beagle
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MY FIGHT WITH KRISSY SNOW
As soon as we're back at my place, Krissy is using my bathroom. How rude, I think, until I realize she's in there not to relieve herself, but to pop prescription pills. Xanax, no doubt--I've fought a couple other bitches like this. Wanna know what scares me about them? During the fight, they feel no pain. So you can't end the fight by submitting them with a hold--you need to be stronger and get on top on them. Could be a long night.
Krissy then goes straight into my bed room, hops on my bed, and calls me over. Now, this is really rude. Is she clueless, or just trying to provoke me? Even when I fight a bitch I have an actual grudge with, if I'm at her place, I show respect for her property and home. What have I signed up for tonight?
I hope of the bed. Krissy is a grubby one. Our hands are all over each other, pinching and twisting, and starting to slowly strip each other. I look at Krissy's crotch--the carpet matches the drapes. A real blonde.
Krissy is good with her hands. I'm getting aroused. Are we going to fight or fuck? The anticipation is driving me wild.
We lock eyes and call each other names. Slut. Whore. Bitch. cxnt.
We're topless now. We pull each other close. Krissy's hard nipples dig into mine, like sandpaper scratching paint. Mine feel some inadequate compared to hers, so much softer. Have I underestimated this woman?
Krissy now leaves no doubt this is a fight. Her hands are in my back now, digging into flesh. My hands go into her blonde hair, hers into mine, and we're rolling on the bed. My breasts are in excruciating pain.
My fear, my desire to hurt Krissy, is primal. I never get tired of this feeling--it's new every time.
I need to step up my game, and fast. Krissy and I are angry now, screeching and hissing at each other. Our faces rub together. Did she just kiss me? The hairpulling is as hard as I can ever remember being involved in.
Our legs wrap together, and we buck our crotches hatd, trying to inflict more pain, not wanting to release our hands from each others hair. My eyes are tearing so badly that I can't see.
Neither of us are trying to win a fight. We're just trying to hurt each other.
And I love it.
To be continued.....
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MY FIGHT FLOPS
So, you know how I said I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing?
Well, turns out, Krissy Snow was a sheep in wolf's clothing.
About 15 minutes in to our "fight", she climbed on top of me, and started kissing me. Hard, but totally kissing me. And fondling me.
Turns out, Krissy just likes rough sex. All that hairpulling and grabbing and namecalling? Just foreplay to her. She came into my bedroom because she wanted to sleep with me. Simple as that.
I played along for a bit. I kissed her back, and felt her up.
But I wasn't "into it". To start with, Krissy was no Jessica, either in looks, or in skill. Had Jessica spoiled me for other women? I sure hoped not. But it was too soon after Jessica to be with a woman like Krissy. In fact, it reminded me how empty I was feeling.
As Krissy pleasure herself on my indifferent body, my mind wandered to Vanessa. Had Jessica sent her into a similar tailspin after they split? Was Vanessa unable to "get back on the horse" and have relationships? Is that why she quit her job and moved away?
Krissy rolls off of me, and begins gently fingerings me. I lay on my back and relax. I tell Krissy her rhythmic rubbing feels good, and she continues doing it, kissing my neck. My mind wanders. I picture Vanessa in my mind. She and I are naked, angrily facing each other. We face slap each other, moderately hard at first, then very hard, then viciously.
Vanessa and I grab each others hair, not breaking eye contact. Krissy senses my excitement, and modulates her fingerings to my waves of arousal. My hands clench, imaging themselves tearing at Vanessa's hair. In my mind, Vanessa and I hit the ground hard, rolling over and over, never releasing our grip. I cum repeatedly all over Krissy's hand, but still wanting more. More hairpulling with Vanessa, more waves of ecstasy. My entire body is aroused, and Krissy begins sucking my breasts hard. I continue to cum to the memory of my catfight with Vanessa, and the desire for another one. Imagination is not enough now, my desire so strong, that I grab Krissy's hair, and she grabs mine, and we roll off my bed on onto the floor. I cum 2 final times, and collapse into exhaustion on Krissy's body. I want it to be Vanessa's body.
But it's not.
But now I know what I need to do.
I need to find Vanessa.
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NEW GIRL AT WORK
Well, well.
What do we have here?
A new girl named Jennifer is starting at work. 10 years younger than me. Married. Returning to the workforce now that the kids are gone. Attractive. Same build as me.
Are you competition for me, Jennifer? Gonna run me out of here before I'm at my target retirement savings goal? Care to fight for the job?
Or even better, for your husband? How'd he like a month or two of banging me? You got what it takes to keep him from me?
Back to reality, Trudy.
Real life isn't like that.
Oh, sure, we can fight for the job. But it's whoever performs better who's gonna keep it.
And your husband ain't leaving you for me, even if I do trick him into bed once.
It's not you, Jennifer, it's me. It's April, and I've had zero luck tracking down Vanessa. She's "off the grid". Where could she be?
And it's starting to mess with my brain.
Because anytime I meet someone like you, Jennifer, all I can think about is fighting you.
We meet up somewhere in badass clothes, fully expecting them to be shredded. We stare each other down, but not for super long. We tear into each others hair.
We pull, yank, and twist, our scalps burning in pain. We grunt and groan and screech uncontrollably. Our bodies come together on the ground.
Our genitals line up, as we seek to impose even more pain on each other. We want to quit, but know that won't stop the punishment--we've each gone too far in angering the other.
And there's stakes in the fight. With you, Jennifer, it's you and me seeing who's the office alpha bitch. When you decided to come back to work, you must have known there'd be someone like me in the office that you'd be in competition went. When we met the first day and shook hands, did you get aroused, like I did, knowing it might come to this?
Does your husband like catfighting? Do you do it for him?
I cum in my own hand, imaging myself fighting Jennifer.
This is crazy.
I'm projecting my rivalry with Vanessa onto everyone in my life. This is pure desperation. I hate it.
I hate Vanessa for messing with my head like this.
I need to find her soon.
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I remember when I was the Jennifer when I was the new girl. I never had to fight for a job but I did fight for a whole lot of other reasons. And sometimes for no reason at all. Sometimes those are my favorite fights. Vanessa will show up again I just have to be patient. Or .....
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JENNIFER AND I ESTABLISH OUR "WORKING RELATIONSHIP"
Early June. The search for Vanessa was making progress. Achingly slow progress, but progress nevertheless.
I was chatting up the staff at LA Fitness. Now, this was costing me a small fortune--membership fees, class fees, tips. But I was getting a picture of Vanessa's itinerant lifestyle. Vanessa was bilingual, and when she needed a change, short- or medium- term, she had a handful of "refuges" she would retreat to. New Mexico was one. I had remembered seeing on Fox Sports one night that Albuquerque and Santa Fe had women's MMA academies--is that where she had learned to fight?
But another Vanessa refuge was American expat communities in Central America--Costa Rica and Panama in particular. I convinced one of the LA Fitness staff to pretend to have a check for Vanessa, and to reach out to her asking for a place to mail it. Like the gold-digger she no doubt is, Vanessa responded in a day.
She was hanging out in a ex-American military community near the Canal Zone. The cost of living was dirt cheap, and there was housework available to get spare cash. Vanessa's plan was to stay there for the rest of the year, and then into the next winter, before coming back home. A solid 10 months.
I couldn't wait that long to fight her. I made plans for a 2 week August vacation, and booked travel to Panama.
So I had my opponent. Check. I had a fight date. Check. I had a fight location. Check.
Now, all I needed was a tune-up bout.
Which was falling into my lap as well.
As I closed in on solving the where-is-Vanessa mystery, I was spending a heck of a lot of time at LA Fitness.
Jennifer started noticing.
Then commenting.
"I better watch out, your muscles are getting so toned."
"Look at the strong woman."
"I sure hope we don't meet in a dark alley."
"I better increase my reps, to keep up with Trudy."
"Watch out, Wonder Woman."
"Don't hit HER with you best shot."
At first, Jennifer's comments were cute. Then annoying. When I would look at her after a comment, she would inevitably be looking away. I couldn't read her. She wasn't like other women I knew. What was her point?
But, now that I was in need of a "sparring partner", why didn't I just find out?
I cornered Jennifer in the rest room one day.
Me: What's your deal? Are you trying to start shit with me?
Her: What if I am?
<<<<<<Right answer.>>>>
Me: If you're trying to start shit with me, you can just tell me.
Her: I'm trying to start shit with you. We both know there's only room for one of us in this office. And I'm not leaving--I like it here.
<<<<I soak instantly.>>>>>
Me: Well, I was here first. I'm not staying forever, but I'm not ready to leave yet. You have a suggestion, Jennifer?
<<<<We stare each other down, face to face. I remember those bathroom fight from high school, where you'd get 2 minutes before the teachers interfered.>>>>>
Her: I say we discuss this away from work.
Me: Oh, I'd love to have a discussion with you, honey.
Her: You asked for it. My place or yours?
Me: If we fight at your place, do I get to bang your husband?
Her: Maybe. What do I get if I win?
Me: Forget it, I don't want your husband. This is between you and me, for status in the office. Let's fight at my place.
Her: Fine. When?
Me: How's after work on Friday?
Her: Fine.
Me: Good.
Her: Bitch.
<<<<We lean into our stare and make contact. I walk out first, shaking.>>>>>
Friday night bitch fight.
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TRUDY VS JENNIFER
I normally don't subscribe to the one-office-one-alpha-woman theory of office politics. But in the case of Jennifer and me, I have unfortunately concluded that it's true. You see, neither Jen nor I have professional accounting credentials. We're here on elbow grease, and feminine charm, alone. And, while every office needs one babe like that, especially at our mature age, it doesn't need two.
Ever since Jen started here, my interactions with cute young interns and hunky contractors has been on the wane. And I know exactly where that action has been going. Because even though I've been admittedly distracted tracking my true enemy Vanessa down to the Southern Hemisphere, Jen has been getting increasingly bold about flaunting her growing stature and status.
And if she can beat me in a fight, she can have it. After all, that's how I got here.
But can she beat me?
Physically, she has a 10-year edge on me. But psychologically, I doubt she's run up against my kind. So it'll be a classic battle of wills, the outcome of which won't be clear to either of us in the immediate aftermath of the fight. Not until we work together the following week will we know who the alpha is. In other words, what i call "fun".
During the summer, my enclosed backyard has a small lawn and patio. With the summer heat wave in full force, I picture wrestling Jen back there, naked, sweating, in the Friday night twilight. I'll light candles to keep the mosquitoes away. I broach the setting with Jen in the office bathroom. She agrees.
I picture our rolling around immortalized forever by an ill-timed Google Maps satellite photo.
Jen arrives at my place Friday night, clearly nervous. I'm winning already.
Her: So, this is the bitch pad, huh?
Me: You don't worry about my place, k?
Her: I can't help it, I hate you so much.
Me: Prove it.
Her: Love to.
We get naked in the living room, and walk out to the back yard. It's a scorcher--I forget to get a bottled water. Before we even get all the way off the patio and onto grass, our hands are in each others hair. We throw each other onto the grass, and catball right away.
Shit, Jen's body is toned. I go to scratch, but the sickness of her sweat makes my nails glide straight off. Jen's hairpulling is more effective, and I'm underneath, getting a mouthful and nose full of grass and mud--the last time I've experienced this sensation is literally back on the schoolyard.
In desperation, I start kneeing Jen's pussy. She scratches mine, relaxing my face from the suffocating position it was in. We rise to our knees, our entire bodies covered in dirt and grass stains.
The disfiguration triggers a feeling of rage at Jennifer in my core, and I double-fisting Jen's breasts and squeeze. She does the same to me, and we shriek and squeeze for as long and as hard as we can, release, repeat, release, and repeat. I headlock Jen, and begin to tug hair from her head by handfulls, while her right hand gets in my pussy hair and reciprocated the tearing and tugging.
Although Jen and I are face-to-face and nose-to nose-to, our coatings of mud prevents us from being able to read each others faces. We rely on the sounds, our screeching, to know when a hold is effective and should be intensified.
We both want to stop for a water break, but neither wants to be seen covered in mud and grass, or, increasingly, just mud. So we take short breaks while clinched together, but otherwise continue catfighting.
I can tell by the dimming light that time is passing. But there's no way I'm letting up on this bitch while I can still move.
I can now tell that my modest lawn is as wrecked as our bodies. It's a good thing her husband didn't come, he wouldn't want either of us if he could see us now. I realize why it's gotten so dark--a small shower is rolling in. I feel rain pelting my back--it feels good. I grad ahold of Jen's hair, and her body becomes visible again as the rain washes her flesh.
We roll out of the mud, onto the patio, lay on our backs, and let the shower clean us.
The storm passes.
We stand and face each other, exhausted.
Jen says, "Bitch!", trips me and pushes me into the enormous mud puddle which earlier tonight was my back lawn, goes back into my living room, changes, and leaves.
Oh, yeah, I'm ready to fight Vanessa.
-
Oh great, now I have yard work to do too !
-
FINAL PREPARATIONS
Jennifer never did show back up at work after our fight. I was a little disappointed. I had become accustomed to our verbal confrontations in the ladies room to keep my juices flowing.
There was one side benefit to me, however, from Jennifer's withdrawal from the field of office battle. I had free reign over that summer's intern class. I ended up "doing it" with three males in the class and one of the females. The female also gave me a crash course in conversational Central American Spanish, which would help me navigate Panama in my search for Vanessa.
Time would be of the essence in my arranging a summer vacation fight with the bitch. I had 2 weeks, but time would pass quickly. I needed to find where Vanessa was living, get her alone for a little "talk", and then make arrangements for a catfight (or, "una pelea", as my intern/translator taught me), all without giving her the opportunity to lay low until my return flight brought me back home--all while I was immersed in an unfamiliar sub-culture. Vanessa had an annoying history of not putting down deep roots, so my biggest fear was that I would end up chasing a ghost. And wasting round trip plane fare to Panama City.
I thought back to my December fight with Vanessa. The chemistry between us was electric. Something about her look, her attitude, her voice just made me want to fight her. The way our bodies lined up, stimulating each other. Even my summer sex romps with the summer interns wasn't quite the same--one or the other of us always seemed to be "into it" more, making me self-conscious. With Vanessa, it had been a total mutual release. I craved that feeling again.
Wouldn't be long now.
-
I ARRIVE IN PANAMA
My August trip to Central America was like a whirlwind. So much so that, looking back, I now realize that I was not controlling events, but that events were controlling me.
I arranged, thru airbnb, to stay at a home in the heart of the military expat region in the Canal Zone. Just enough "danger" to feel I was in a foreign 3rd world country, but familiar enough that I wouldn't lose my bearings.
Shit, Central America is humid in August. I start sweating the instant I step off the plane. And mosquitoes everywhere, even if you wear bugspray. On the cab ride to my rental, I fantasize about Vanessa and I catballing on the jungle floor, in a pool of sweat, mosquitoes swarming whichever girl gets on top, causing her to lose focus and getting her pin reversed. Over and over, with neither woman getting permanent control.
I arrive in my room, strip, and masturbates to that fantasy for an hour.
Just arrived, and the trip has already been worth it.
I step outside, my masturbatory pheromones still at work, as military men come up to me to chat me up.
I tell I'm looking for Vanessa.
Their eyes light up.
To be continued....
-
Vanessa seems to be just as elusive online and she is in this story
-
As I bask in the sun letting the warmth soak into me I think back to the last real challenge I had. It was with the sexual beast Trudy. As i relive our fight in my mind, as I can feel the emotions build, I wonder where the hussy is and how much I will enjoy our next meeting. Rousing myself from my relaxed position I go and dress in preparation for the fight that will happen later with my next victim, the Central American slut Maria.
-
A MID-DAY CHAT
The masculine-as-hell military men surround me in a somewhat intimidating circle. Two of them, one ex-Army the other an ex-Marine, with distinct Georgia/Florida Panhandle accents, take the lead in the ensuing conversation, while the eight others check me out, flaterringly, from head to toe. Or, from tit to hip, in the case of half of them. They're undressing me in their mind. As I am them. I love military men--been awhile since I've been around them. I get jealous as Vanessa for being around them these past eight months.
Army: Well, well. You know about Vanessa?
Marine: You ain't no cop, is ya?
Me: I, no no, uh,...
A: He's just shittin' ya, relax there missie. Altho, what did you say your name was?
Me: <<<blushing>> Trudy. Pleased to make your acquaintance, sirs.
M: The pleasure is all ours, pretty lady. Now, does you come for Vanessa as friend or foe?
Me: <<<hesitation>>>>
A: C'mon now, Trudy, we'll be straight up with ya, but ya gotta reciprocate.
Me: Foe, sirs. Vanessa and I met and tangled in the States, right before she came down here. Well, we more than tangled. We had it out, claws and fists, naked, the whole nine yards. I didn't like how it went down, and I'm here to tell her so. And to do sumethin' about it.
<<<<<<whistling>>> <<<chatter>>>>
M: Well, yuz sure cum to the right place, but I don't as ya got the best timing.
Me: Sir?
A: So, Trudy, the thing is this. Vanessa, when she comes down here, well she interacts with us, or our wives, pretty much how she does with you, and with the same hurt feelin's.
M: She used to come down here and fight the military wives for money. Seemed like a good idea at the time, win-win for everyone. We get some entertainment, our wives let off some steam, Vanessa gets some cash.
A: Except the bitch, that bein' Vanessa, takes things too far, like she obviously did with you.
M: Makes herself not so welcome down here with the ladies.
A: So, this past January, she comes down again, we tell she ain't welcome no more.
M: So she says, how 'bout insteada fightin' our women, she fights Colombian women.
A: That's why we joshed ya about the cop thing.
M: <<<air quotes>>> "Colombian women" can be Colombian, Guatemalan, Salvadoran, Venezuelan. It's code for pretty girls who were drug mules, ya know, couriers, when they was minors and couldn't be jailed. But now they're turning 21, and that won't work as a livelihood anymore.
A: So they pay placement agencies, usually in cash but sometimes with their bodies too, apologies for the graphic language, ma'am, to get jobs in the Canal Zone.
M: They's lookin' to rub shoulders with divorced military men.
A: To score themselves a U.S. guv'mint lifetime pension, or half a share in one.
M: Lifetime benefits add up when ya start collectin' at age 22.
Me: Ya, I can do the math, sir.
<<<<<whistling>>>>>
M: No disrespect intended, ma'am.
Me: None taken, but what does this have to do with Vanessa.
A: Ya see, things is pretty bad in the drug game in these parts right now.
M: There's way more "Colombian women" aspirin' to be brides than there is lonely ex-soldiers.
A: So if one passes thru and ain't gonna make the cut as a bride, she has to find an alternate career pdq.
M: Or move on.
A: Some of 'em make a career as fight club, umm, "performers". <<<<more air quotes>>>>
M: Great career choice if you're pretty and good at it.
A: So Vanessa realizes this place is all about guys who want a caviar lifestyle on a Ramen noodle budget. So they move here, but get homesick for the States.
M: And they'll "pay up" if a white girl is fightin' 'steada 2 Latinas.
A: So she gets paid premium purses.
Me: I understand, sir. But a few minutes ago, you said my timing for wanting to confront Vanessa was bad. How so?
M: The premium-est purse is coming up in 4 days. This Friday.
A: Vanessa is fighting the reigning Colombian girl fight Club champ. A crazy number named Maria.
M: So she's not gonna be doin' and tangling on the side.
A: And if she does, she and the other woman are gonna have three thousand angry soldiers angry at being deprived of a fight they've pre-paid for.
Me: Vanessa fights in front of three thousand people?!?!?
M: Forty or so live. We pass around the video on closed-circuit TV.
A: Hafta pay to see it tho.
Guess I know what I'm watching Friday.
To be continued.....
-
nice story !
-
FRIDAY NIGHT FIGHTS, PANAMA STYLE
Now, don't get me wrong. There weren't 6,000 Canal Zone expats tuned in to Vanessa vs Maria on closed circuit TV. Catfight Fandom was confined to, oh, maybe 100 or so hardcore guys and ladies. But everyone in the zone was paying indirectly via their subscription fee, and Vanessa was getting 40% of that purse (Maria was getting 40% as well, and the house was getting the other 20%).
So Vanessa was raking in 24 grand for a 30-minute fight. And 24k, US dollars, goes a long way in Central America, let me tell you that. And she was fighting about once a month or so. Quite a gig.
Now, two downsides I could think of. First, the girls Vanessa was fighting were economically desperate, so they were putting up quite a fight. And they were in their early 20s. I had fought Jen, a 40-something bitch, and her 10 year age advantage had nearly broken me. I couldn't imagine fighting an opponent half my age. But Vanessa was doing it monthly. This would be something I had to see with my own two eyes.
"Captain Rob" was a hardcore girlfight fan, and my host, and guide, for the evening. He was one of the kindly Floridians (Pensacola, I later learned) who had welcomed me upon my arrival. We spent the afternoon and evening before Vanessa's fight screwing each others' brains out, so I was quite ready when it was time for the big show.
Vanessa and Maria were dropped into a shallow 10 foot-by-10 foot clay-like pit in a room with about 25 shouting fans. Rob told me that the fight would go until one girl either submitted or was clearly helpless. He said submissions were rare.
Outstanding.
The 2 fighters were topless, with just a miniskirt bottom. Vanessa was exactly as I remembered her from our December fight--straight, thick, brown hair past her shoulders, impossibly proportioned tits, hard-bodied belly and thighs, a clearly intimidating grappler. Maria was a gorgeous Latina, jet black thick hair, flawless body, a tad smaller than Vanessa.
The 2 girls circled each other warily, occasionally slapping and jabbing each other in the face. I was jealous of Maria for her opportunity to tear into Vanessa, which I wanted to do more than anything. After each landing over 4 hard slaps, Maria and Vanessa's hand were in each others thick hair, and the catfight was on. Each was attempting to pin the other into the clay walls of the pit and knee each other in the groin.
Maria's lower center of gravity was tentatively working to her advantage, and she was connecting with more direct knee strikes. I heard Vanessa's distinctive grunts, which were getting me even more turned on than the afternoon's sex marathon. Bloodlust consumed me, and I wanted Maria to maim Vanessa.
Maria and Vanessa fell the the ground of the pit, their chests, backs, and legs caked in clay. Chunks of hair were visible on the floor of the pit. Vanessa grappled herself on top of Maria, kneaded Maria's breasts viciously, and Maria shrieked in agony.
Maria desperately tried to buck and kick Vanessa off of her, but Vanessa's pin was clearly unbreakable, as her legs got control of Maria's arms. Vanessa now freed her fists and began punching Maria repeatedly in the face. She alternated between tearing hair, kneading tits, and punching the face of her increasingly defeated opponent. Maria refused to give, and the punishment continued. I got on all fours, and begged Captain Rob to mount me before the fight ended. He did so, and we did it to the sight of Vanessa finishing off Maria. I came explosively to the sight of clay-caked Vanessa knocking out Maria with her fists.
Rapture.
The closed circuit TV telecast replayed the fight. Captain Rob and I watched, caressing each other. I told him I needed to fight Vanessa in that pit before I returned to the States.
He said he'd see what he could do.
To be continued...
-
This story is getting better and better.
-
A FIGHT AT CAPTAIN ROB'S
Three days go by after Vanessa's televised fight. My flight back to the States is in 6 days. I start to get antsy if I'll be meeting Vanessa in time. Plus, I'm bored as hell.
Which, lately at least, means I'm horny as hell.
And, by that I mean, masturbating-isn't-gonna-cut it horny.
I crave another roll in the hay with Captain Rob. I put on my tightest jean cutoffs and my sluttiest tank top. My tits are practically bursting out of it. I tease up my hair, almost 80s style. I cake on the makeup and perfume.
Full hooker mode.
And I walk over to Captain ROB'S. I barely make it--the men, and a couple of the women, are whistling at me as I strut.
Still got it.
I get to ROB'S front door. Hopefully we'll be doing it in 30 seconds. I can't fuckin wait.
I knock.
I wait.
A blonde answers. Mid-30s. Long hair. Dressed for action, like me.
"What the fuck do you want?"
"Let's me in."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"ROB'S friend, Trudy."
"I don't know you."
"Well he knows me."
"He's not home."
"I don't believe you. Let me in."
"Make me."
"Oh, honey, there's is nothing I would like me right now."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes, really."
The blonde bimbo let's me in. I inspect ROB'S place. Apparently not home I'm alone with the blonde. This will be interesting.
"Believe me now?"
"When's he back."
"In an hour. You won't be, tho."
"Oh, really? You're making me leave?"
"Or you'll get wise and leave first. Don't make me do this, Trudy."
"I ain't leaving till he's back."
"You're leaving now."
"Start something, blondie."
We stare each other down, inches apart. This an an expat military retiree community. I might be in the process of provoking an ex Navy SEAL, a blonde groupie or anything in between. Pretty dumb of me.
But I'm hot for some action.
Here goes nothing.
I slap her in the face.
She pauses. Smiles. And goes for my hair.
Phew. I'm still breathing, so she's not a SEAL, or special forces, or even enlisted.
Just some slutty bitch.
The catfight is on. I grab clothes instead of hair, seeing blonde's tits are vulnerable. The pain in my hair is excruciating, but in no time I'm on her firm tits, clawing and pinching. Blondie is screeching in my ears, letting me know that I've chosen an effective strategy. She's strong as hell, slamming me into the foyer wall by the hair.
Blondie is definitely a lover of Captain ROB'S, as she is trying desperately to win this fight.
The fight almost goes to the floor several times, but we're in tight quarters. We're each stubborn, wanting the other to believe we've chosen the better tactic. I squeeze blondie's tits even tighter, she yanks my hair even harder. Shit, I'm pissed at her--my hair was so nice, I wanted Captain Rob to see it how it was.
I must have ESP.
There's a knock at the door.
And keys going into a luck.
The front door opens.
We stop fighting.
It's Captain Rob.
To be continued.....
-
MEET THE FAMILY
At this point, my aggravation level is at a 125 out of 100. I was thinking I was minutes away from screwing, and instead I'm sweaty, my hair is destroyed, my scalp is burning, and a blonde bimbo just fought me to a draw. And now she and I and her man are about to have a stereotypical who's-she domestic argument. I'm half-hearted to walk out and avoid the whole thing, but I'm kinda into Captain Rob, and I don't want him to think his bitch can drive me away. I'll leave if he asks me to, but that's going to have to come from him, not her. I don't roll that way, bitches.
How wrong I was. Captain Rob speaks first.
Rob: What the fuck?? Trudy? Stef?
Stef: Who is this, Dad?
<<<<<Stef scrambles to repair her top.>>>>>
Me: Dad??? Excuse me?
Stef: Excuse me what, bitch? What don't you understand? Dad, who is this?
Rob: This is Trudy. I met her the other day. She's staying 4 houses down. She's on vacation.
Stef: And why is she trying to rip my fucking tits off? What's the big idea, bitch?
Rob: Trudy?
Me: <<<<sheepishly>>>> Oh, Lord, Stef, Rob. I'm sssoooo sorry. Stef, I totally misread who you were. Please, I'm sorry.
Rob: Stef, what happened.
Stef: Hooker lady comes over here all bad-ass an invites herself in.
Rob: Trudy, is that true?
Me: <<<<not quite so sheepishly>>>> Ok, now, not exactly. First of all, I don't know where Princess Stephanie is one to call anyone else hooker lady. But second, I wasn't looking for a fight--I just asked when you'd be back.
Stef: You were totally looking for a fight, slut. You don't barge in on a woman home alone and not think there's not going to be trouble. What the fuck?
Me: That part I'm sorry for Stef. But I didn't know it was your place, too. Rob, I thought Stef was some bimbo you were doing. Bad assumption on me. I thought I had as much right to be here as her. Stef, I did ask you who you were.
Stef: Trudy, that coulda ended really ugly, you know.
Me: Stef, I know, I know. But, please, next time just say who you are.
Rob: She has a point, Stef. Or did you think you could take her.
Stef: <<<<now her turn to talk sheepishly>>>>> Well, that was part of it, too. Trudy, you go straight for my tits?? Shit, I've done the whole get-cheated-on-confront-the-girl thing, but never had someone start with pinching my tits. Damn.
Rob: Damn is right. Stef, Trudy came here to fight Vanessa.
Stef: Vanessa?!?!?
Trudy: You two know where I can find her?
<<<<Stef and Rob communicate to each other with their eyes.>>>>>
Stef: Dad, Trudy's the real deal as a fighter. I'm gonna feel this tommorrow, and we had just started.
<<<<<Rob thinks.>>>>>
Me: Rob, don't hold out on me. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't think straight. <<<<Motioning at Stef's wrinkled top.>>>> Look at what's happening to me.
Rob: Ok, ok. Enough. Come here at 8 tomorrow night. Vanessa will be here.
My heart races. I need to get home and prepare. I apologize to Stef, and we gingerly hug. I kiss Rob. How does he know Vanessa? At this point, I don't care.
I race back home. I strip and get in the tub.
I masturbate, my hand moving like a hummingbird's wings. Images race thru my mind. My catfight with Stef. My December fight with Vanessa. My fight tomorrow night with Vanessa. Will Stef be watching. Will Rob be watching? Will he and I fuck before? After? Has he fucked Vanessa? Who does he like better, her or me. I explode in orgasm to each of these thoughts, then start over.
I continue until my legs are shaking and my hand is sore, then keep doing it.
What's happening to me?
What will happen tomorrow at 8?
-
Tomorrow at 8????? thats when I beat your ass again Trudy and then fuck you man Rob in front of you.
-
Vanessa, I am going to beat your ass, then FUCK you, then fuck Rob. It's going to be a fun evening for ME !
-
FIGHT DAY
My cellphone rings the morning before my fight night rematch with Vanessa.
Me: <<<<Groggily>>>> Hello?
Her: Hey, sleepy head. It's Stef!! Get up so you can take a nap later, k?
Me: Oh, hey, Stef. So the fights still on, right?
Her: It's on, girlfriend. No stopping it now, even if you wanted to.
Me: Ok, good. By the way, we're girlfriend's now? I mean, that's good, I want to be. But our fight got broken up before there were hard feelings?
Her: Before there were hard feeings, but after we figured out who woulda won. Trudy, you're a toughie. You were winning?
Me: Well, thanks, but are you sure about that? Girl, my hair still ain't right.
Her: I got your hair, but Trudy my chest was in agony. I woulda gave if I wasn't in my own house, defendin' the castle and all.
Me: Stef, you're strong as fuck. That was a war, girl.
Her: So I'm "Stef" and "girl", and not "Princess Stephanie" now?
Me: Uh, ya, about that, that was uncalled for. And about your clothes, too--I was just aggravated. I didn't mean that.
Her: No worries. I'm on your side tonight, girl. Vanessa's a gold-digger bitch. I want her away from my dad.
Me: Oh about that, so I take it she's done it with your dad.
Her: She has, and I hate it. I want her gone. I'd do it myself, throw her out, if I could. I can't, but you can Trudy. I want you to tonight.
Me: I'm glad you know your limits, Stef. If she's ever hurt you, I'll go ghetto on her. Has she?
Her: I've never gotten physical with her, so now.
Me: Good. So Stef.... <<<<touching myself>>>>
Her: So Trudy.... <<<<<moaning>>>>>
Me: During our fight, you said you had a confront-the-girlfriend fight in your past. Tell me about it, about her.
Her: Mmmmm. Well Trudy, I was married, way too young. 19. He still was in love with a girl named Cathy.
Trudy: What did she look like?
Her: Blonde like me, but bleachier. Is that a word? We move had long wavy blonde hair. Same height, she was a bit bustier.
Trudy: Did you hate her?
Her: With a passion. And she hated me worse. I thought getting married would get rid of her. It didn't, of course.
Trudy: Was the fight planned or spontaneous?
Her: Both. What I mean is, we met somewhere alone, a jogging trail. I don't think we knew 100% we would fight right there. But we both wanted to, so we did.
Trudy: What clothes, Stef?
Her: We both had classes earlier in the day, so pretty nice clothes, actually. Capri shorts, Polo tops.
Trudy: I'm so hot, Stef.
Her: Me too, Trudy.
Trudy: Did you kick her ass? Did you go rounds?
Her: Four rounds. I guess it was officially a draw, but I think I won on points. We were young and scared, Trudy, so there was lots of pointless punching.
Trudy: So, fist fight?
Her: Fist fight. We were afraid to pull hair. The folly of youth.
Trudy: Still hot as hell. Did she bleed?
Her: That's why we went rounds. Both of our faces were bleeding.
Trudy: Stef, that's hot. Did you ever talk to her again.
Her: We avoided each other. Pretended it didn't happen--couldn't really believe it had, I guess.
<<<<Stef and I listen to each other cum 2 or 3 times each.>>>>>
Trudy: Stef, thanks for telling me what really happened in your fight. That was way hotter than any fantasy.
Her: Thanks. I thought it would be, I mean for me too. And it was.
Trudy: Thanks for this morning.
Her: Trudy, don't get hurt tonight.
Trudy: Don't you mean, hurt Vanessa more than she hurts me?
Her: Well, yeah. But don't get hurt either.
Trudy: I won't unless I have to.
Her: I know what you mean. Sort of.
Trudy: Ciao.
-
THE AFTERNOON BEFORE MY FIGHT
I wake up from my nap before my 8pm fight with Vanessa. I'm obsessed with thoughts of the fight Stef told me she had with Cathy. I text Stef and ask her if she can come over real quick. She agrees. My door knocks. We sit down in my living room, facing each other.
Her: Sssoooo, is this a booth call?
Me: Mmm, something better, maybe. At least for me. I'm thinking about your fight with Cathy.
Her: Oh, I thought I mentioned it was nothing glamorous, and nothing like your fights.
Me: You shortchange yourself, Stef, but regardless, that's not what I'm thinking about. My question is, do you know what Cathy looks like today?
Her: <<<coyly>>>>> Maybe. Promise you won't like her more than me.
Me: I guarantee that's impossible, babe.
Her: Well, in that case, I can show you her Facebook page.
<<<<<Stef fiddles with her cellphone, and scooches next to me on the coach, our hips touching.>>>>
Me: <<<<<God, Cathy is hot>>>>>
Me: God, Cathy is ugly.
Her: You're just saying that.
Me: <<<<You're right. She's fucking hot.>>>>>
Me: Stop it, I'm not. She's got brillo pad hair, saggy tits, baggy eyes.
Me. <<<<She's got movie star hair, luscious tits, gorgeous face.>>>>>
Her: You're thinking about me and her fighting, aren't you? Not back then, but today?
Me: <<<More than anything.>>>>
Me: Perhaps. Would you do it?
Her: If you would watch.
Me: You'd do that for me?
Her: I would.
We stare at each other silently. And stare. And stare. Our faces slide together.
Stef and I make love.
I love Captain Rob and Stef. I want them to myself. I want them away from Vanessa.
Far away. Forever.
Totally ready to fight Vanessa.
-
TRUDY VS VANESSA, FIGHT 2
At long last, I walk over to Captain ROB'S place to fight my enemy Vanessa.
I replay the ending on out last fight over and over in my head. She got on top of me and pinned me. She's strong like a horse in her ground game, so I can't let her on top when tonight's fight goes to the ground.
It's humid as can be out--August in Central America. I'm already sweating.
Stef meets me out front. Is the fight cancelled, I ask?
Stef says no, you don't think you're fighting inside, do you, breaking our stuff?
So where are we fighting?
Follow me, says Stef, taking me into the jungle behind the houses.
Why is Stef being so cold? I need reassurance.
I grab her hips gently from behind and kiss her shoulders.
She swings around and tongue kisses me deeply and long.
I'm reassured, and sssoooo ready to fight. I don't want Vanessa near this family.
"Show me how to fight Cathy," says Stef.
My reward for the pain I'm about to sustain tonight. Getting to watch Stef fight the blonde bombshell who homewrecked her marriage.
Heaven.
We walk and walk. How is tonight's loser getting back to civilization?
I'll have to make that Vanessa's problem.
I see a spotlight lighting up a clearing.
I see Captain Rob.
I see Vanessa. Naked.
I start stripping.
We approach and lock eyes.
"Stealing another lover from me, bitch?," hisses Vanessa.
"Good, you remember me." I'm not letting her get the first hit this time. I elbow her jaw and am in her hair.
She's ready, and is in mine. And kicking and kneeing me viciously. The area lit up by the spotlight is small, and we're in semi-darkness in no time. I can't get a feel for the size of the clearing, but it seems small. Has Vanessa fought here before? I wish I had looked around.
I rely on feel. The feel of Vanessa's skin. Toned, but at least I'm back to fighting Gen Xers. I take in the feel of Vaneesa's 48 year old skin. I dig my nails into anything fleshy. She starts uppercutting me with fists, missing at first, but now connecting. I'll still take this over a ground fight, at least for now. Stef can't be seeing much, but I don't want her to until I'm dominating Vanessa.
God, you stink Vanessa. Our sweat is dripping everywhere. I can't sustain my grip on Vanessa, and can't.see anything. I bull-rush Vanessa into a tree. We straighten up. Vanessa bear hugs me. Our tits line up and rub together. Vanessa has me in a bear hug I can't break, somewhat constricting my breathing. I'm conscious of breathing, as our faces squash together and our mouths are on each others ears. Our legs open for each other, and our crotches rub together. The fight slows down, and we are both aroused. I think of my tongue kiss with Stef, and Stef fighting Cathy, and explode in orgasm.
Vanessa throws me to the ground. The spotlight is at least 20 yards out of sight, and we are in near complete darkness. Vanessa is trying to get on top, which I must resist at all costs. My hands fight her tits, and start digging desperately. Vanessa is screeching uncontrollably. Our holds break, from time to time, but by feel we re-engage.
Vanessa and roll down a short hill, pause, re-orient, and find each others tits. We start kneading desperately. The spotlight is no longer visible. We're on the jungle floor in total darkness. Our legs reopen, and our crotches resume their rubbing. I cum, less explosively, but multiple times. I refuse to let Vanessa pin me.
The pain to my tits in unbearable, but my fear refuses to allow me to quit. We're both committed now--Vanessa can neither punch me to a knockout, nor pin me. Nor can I do either to her.
Our mutual kneading continues desperately, while our crotches rub and arouse each other at every pause.
My brain toggles from the pleasure of arousal to the pain of the ferocious tit gouging I am receiving.
We repeat to each other, "Give, you psycho bitch!!!!"
I claw deeper, and Vanessa's screeching becomes primal.
I claw and twist.
I notice Vanessa's shoulders are pinned between tree roots.
I start punching her in the face.
And now in the tits.
Stef pulls me off. "Trudy, that's enough, you'll kill her."
I collapse in exhaustion.
*************
At 3am the next morning, Vanessa and I are back at Captain ROB'S. He and Stef saw the whole fight in infrared glasses. They compliment us both.
But especially now.
Vanessa and I are both generously bruised.
Rob tells me we spared each others pussies, so if I wish, I can now claim my prize.
His cock.
And Vanessa has to watch.
I claim it, and she watches.
Stef walks me back to my place.
I hope I never see Vanessa again.
Just Stef. And Cathy.
I ask Stef if she got any ideas tonight.
"Only about 20 of them."
Oustanding.
-
Bitch this is NOT over, not by a long shot. You are just fucking lucky I was trapped by that fucking tree or your ass and tits would have been mine. Are you ready for our third go tound cxnt because next time ai won't go easy on you.
-
Vanessa, Any time cxnt. But this time just you and me. No spectators, no cameras, and no time limits. If it takes us all night or even all weekend to satisfy our fight lust for each other... so be it. I knew immediately that neither one of us would be content with one win a piece. As soon as we mend our wounds look me up Bitch
-
Trudy you cxnt. You are so right. Just you and me so no one can seperate us and we go as long as it takes. Just be ready cause this time we settle it once and for all.
-
A TESTY LOVERS QUARREL
A few days after Vanessa and I fought in Panama, Stef and I boarded a flight for Atlanta. I extended my summer vacation at work by an extra week, because I was dying to watch Stef fight her old enemy Cathy, who was now living in Georgia.
Stef and Cathy had reconnected via Facebook, after 8 years of not speaking to each other after having an after-work fistfight on a jogging trail. Stef had suggested to Cathy that they reunite for some "girltalk", and Cathy eagerly accepted. I told Stef that that sure didn't sound like a fight challenge to me, but Stef insisted it would be taken as such. I repeated my doubts, but Stef insisted she was right, and I finally relented.
Reluctantly. I was anxious to be a catfight spectator for a change, rather than a combatant. Especially Stef versus Cathy. 2 hot 30-something blondes. Wow.
Well, 1 hot blonde at least. Stef was cute. But, damn, Cathy was hot. Could she really fight? If so, wow. Finding a smoking hot blonde who can catfight is rare.
Stef looks me in the eyes on the plane. Can she read my thoughts? That I prefer her enemy Cathy to her? That I wish Cathy was my lover? That I want to see Cathy fight?
Stef: "What are you thinking?"
Me: "Oh, um, lots of things."
Stef: "Liar."
Me: "Um, ok. Why the attitude?"
Stef. "You called me 'Cathy' in bed last night. More than once."
Me: "Um, I did? Um, sorry?"
Stef: "I don't want sorry. I want to know what you think of her."
Me: "Stef? I hate her. Your enemy is my enemy."
Stef: "Liar."
Me: "Stef, I'm not proud if I said that. But jealousy does not suit you."
<<<<<Passengers and flight attendants turn their heads to us. Stef and I lower our voices. I am seething at her, and she at me.>>>>
Stef: "You're pimping me to a fistfight to meet a woman."
Me: <<<<so fucking what?>>>>>
Me: "Stef, I'm not. Are you trying to back out?"
Stef: "No, I'm doing it. But for me, not for you."
Me: "Meaning."
Stef: "Take it how you want."
Me: "Oh, we're in junior high now? This isn't awkward at all, doing this on a plane."
Stef: "Doing what??"
Me: "Breaking up."
Stef: "Are you ditching me?"
Me: <<<<yes, bitch>>>>
Me: "Are YOU ditching ME????"
<<<<Half the flight stares at us.>>>>>
Stef: "Just, shut up."
Me: "Gladly."
I open my cellphone, find Cathy's Facebook page, and email her.
"This is Stef's friend Trudy. I want to help you beat Stef in your fight."
And I mean it.
To be continued.....
-
ALONE IN BED
I rent a room, for one, in a seedy Motel 6 and inspect the sheets for bedbugs.
I'm half-tempted to just go back home, run out the clock on one last year at my accounting firm, collect one last bonus, retire, and settle into retirement.
But two women are preventing me from doing that. (And, no, one of them is not Stef. There's zero chance of her and I getting back together now. The thought of her creeps me out. Prissy. Daddy's girl. Trashy. Lippy. Everything I don't want in a woman.)
The first woman keeping me here in the Motel 6 tonight is Cathy. She and I are meeting up at a mall tomorrow to discuss her fight with Stef. I'm going to coach her on how to kick Stef's ass. Cathy was surprised when I told her that the purpose of her and Stef "meeting up for girltalk" after 8 years was a catfight.
"I just thought she and I were going to chat," said an incredulous Cathy.
"I knew it!," I exclaimed. "That weasel bitch Stef told me knew you know it was to fight. Cath, she's gonna jump you, then brag about it on Facebook."
"Oh. My. God." Cathy's wheels are spinning. "I'm gonna make that whore so sorry."
My panties soak. I'm gonna get to see Stef lose. And Cathy win. Cathy is so much prettier than Stef. No wonder Stef's ex kept going back to Cathy. I would too.
The second woman keeping me here is Vanessa. I've been insatiably horny since I fought Vanessa last December. Jessica. Krissy Snow. Office interns. Jen. Captain Rob. Stef. Masturbating. More masturbating. Yet more masturbating. None of it is enough.
Why, I wonder.
I sit back and think, touching myself, counting the ways.
Fighting Vanessa is brutal. She fights dirty from the opening bell, without building up to it like most women do. She's straight in my hair, in my tits, in my crotch. I've always wanted to fight like that. We make each other sweat. Is there a pheromone in our sweat that makes us react to each other? Vanessa goes for the pin and then grounds and pounds. I've figured out she can't beat me if I stay on top. Does she know that? Will she fight different next time? Will there be a next time? Is she ashamed she lost to me in Panama? Or is she seething with revenge? Or does she just want to fight because it's so hard to find an opponent that's so even? Does she think we're even? Or does she still think she's better than me?
I play back in our mind our jungle night fight. Vanessa's distinctive smell. Her mouth scrunched to my ear, hissing threats and insults like some fairy tale witch. The feel of her hair in my hands. The feel of her tits as I knead them.
I fall into an unstoppable wave of orgasms. The hooker and john in the Motel 6 room next to me can hear me thru the walls, but I can't stop.
I finish, my hands soaked.
I text Cathy.
Me: Did you ever think about fighting Stef again?
Cathy: Not once I came to my senses and realized the guy wasn't worth it.
Me: But it's worth it now?
Cathy: Hell ya.
Heaven.
To be continued.....
-
MY COACHING SESSION WITH CATHY
Cathy and I meet by a water fountain at a large shopping mall. We shake hands, then hug. She's even more beautiful in real life than on Facebook; all the real beauties always are. Possibly the most attractive blonde woman I've ever met. A guy actually couldn't choose between Stef and Cathy? What a moron.
Then again, maybe Cathy is mediocre in bed. She's so hot, she doesn't need to try hard at it. Doesn't need to be a whore in bed, the way Stef is.
And doesn't need to fight, either, maybe. I approach the subject gingerly. If Cathy is going into tomorrow's fight green, Stef will steamroller her. How embarrassing for her. And for me.
Me: Cathy, if you don't mind me asking, have you ever fought anyone besides Stef?
Cathy: I had a step sister almost my exact age growing up. Or, starting when my mom remarried when I was in high school. We were at each others' throats almost from day 1. We got physical easily over 25 times over the years.
Me: Ahh, stepsister catfights. Been there done that. Cathy, that's definitely more vicious in some ways. But in others, not so much. Don't you agree that your first fight with Stef had a different feel?
Cathy: I can see that. For some reason, we were both afraid to call it a fight. Either before or after.
Me: Because you didn't think ladylike to fight?
Cathy: <<<blushes>>>>
Me: And now?
Cathy: Now I know that some women aren't ladies?
Me: Like Stef?
Cathy: Especially her.
Me: <<<<questioningly>>>> And if you treat her like one.....
Cathy: ...then she walks all over you. All over me.
Me: <<<<again, didactically>>>> And you know now that even tho you didn't want the guy anymore that you fought for the first time....
Cathy: ....that Stef and I need to fight again.
Me: <<<<Socratically. Damn, I'm good at this>>>> So when Stef called you for "girltalk" tomorrow.....
Cathy: ....it was obviously to fight. Or, if I don't, I'm obviously submitting to her.
Me: Now that your head is where it needs to be strategically. Let's talk tactics. Stef told me your first fight was with fists.
Cathy: And slaps. And kicks. No good?
Me: Thanks to me, I'm afraid, no. No good. I'm afraid I've, well, shown Stef some new tricks.
Cathy: She saw you fight?
Me: In a jungle. Literally.
Cathy: You pulled hair?
Me: Yes. And....?
Cathy: You punched boobs?
Me: Yes. And....?
Cathy: Knees to the groin?
Me: Yes. And...?
Cathy: Biting?
Me: Not in the fight she saw me in. But you're on the right track. Cathy, I bet I know how you knew all that.
Cathy: Tell me.
Me: You just told me everything you've ever wanted to do to your stepsister, but never did.
Cathy: The hairpulling, yes. But the others, wrong?
Me: Oh?
Cathy: Yes. The others I've always wanted to do to Stef.
Me: Well, well.
Cathy: Well, well?
Me: Yes. Cathy, I think you'll do just fine tomorrow.
Cathy: I hope so.
I hope so, too.
-
THE NIGHT BEFORE STEF VS CATHY
9pm. Alone in bed. A good time to evaluate debits and credits.
On the minus side of the ledger: my increasingly reckless behavior has now drawn in two women who, a month ago, I didn't even know. And who knew each other, but not for 8 years, and who had settled into let-bygones-be-bygones-mode. They were now back at each others' throats, and were now going to embark on a war tomorrow afternoon, with me as instigator and agitator. No peacekeeper, me. The nuns at my old Catholic high school (Trudy is short for Gertrude, ok asshole?) would be so ashamed of me. Partly for that reason, I've not mixed fighting and fucking this time around. Although I'm wildly attracted to her, I've not "made a move" at Cathy in the dating department. Strictly professional.
On the plus side: No matter how hard I try, I can't be ashamed of myself. Tomorrow, I'm about to witness two sexy blondes, with a real life love triangle grudge, have their first catfight. As in, they're going to actually go after each other lady-parts, no holds barred. And since they're determined but relatively unskilled, well, let's just say, "We could be here awhile."
The thought triggers visuals. I pull down my pajama bottoms, and......
Shit, I knew I forgot something.
We never established clothing for tomorrow's main event.
Two problems with that.
First, if Stef shows up in tough-to-rip-off Dura-wear, and strips Cathy, it'll be like shooting fish in a barrel for my enemy. And second, if Cathy is as virginal at the catfighting thing as she's letting on, she might spend more time covering up after she's stripped than battling.
I call her.
Me: Feeling good about tomorrow.
Cathy: Yes, but a little scared, too. Is that normal?
Me: Yes, of course. In fact, to help distract you from that: Cath- you gonna be ok tomorrow if some clothing gets ripped. As in off?
Cathy: I would think so. I mean, when my stepsister and I fought, sometimes it was in the bathroom.
Me: Again, tho, Cathy: tomorrow won't exactly be like fighting your stepsister. It won't be like it at all.
Cathy: The catfight Stef saw you in--did clothes come off?
Me: Ok, this is what I'm talking about Cathy. Sweetie, they STARTED off.
Cathy: You fought a girl naked??
Me: Buck.
Cathy:..
Me: You there?
Cathy: <<<<<moaning>>>>>
Me: Cathy, you bad girl. That's a compliment, by the way.
Cathy: Can you send me a naked selfie?
Me: Show me yours, and I'll show you mine.
Cathy and I exchange naked selfie of each other in bed.
Well, separating fighting and fucking didn't last long.
We finish. Then get back to business.
Cathy: Sssoooo, you recommend Stef and I start naked tomorrow.
Me: I just don't want her pulling any crap trying to get an unfair advantage on you.
Cathy: .....aaand, you want to see a naked girlfight. You bad girl. I mean THAT as a compliment.
Me: You know me too well.
Cathy: Good night.
Me: Get rested. You'll need it.
-
CATHY VS STEF
The morning of fight day, I wait outside Cathy's house waiting to drive her to her fight with Stef. We've agreed I won't go inside, since we both know we'll end up having sex and being late to the fight.
Cathy emerges from her front door. Her bleach blonde hair is as big as she can possibly make it, curls on top of curls, bouncing done to her tight ass as she walks. Damn, Stef is gonna have a field day on that mane. I hope Cathy is prepared for this war.
The movie star hair makes an odd contrast with the plain Jane clothes. Cathy is going to need to be able to get clothes back onto her bruised body post-fight, so she has dressed sensibly.
Cathy gets in the back seat of my car. She smells immaculate. I tell her so, and she answers meekly, her voice breaking, her hands shaking. I can tell she is nervous, but then, so am I.
We have a 45 minute drive to the house the fight is at--I've already entered it into the GPS. I put on the radio so we don't need to small talk. I run thru a checklist of things I do before a catfight, but don't want to make Cathy even more nervous than she already is.
"I'm gonna fuck. That. Bitch. Up."
She'll do fine.
-
Oh you're such a tease with the little updates, lol. Keep 'em coming, we are enjoying this story. :)
-
CATHY VS STEF, THE FIGHT
Cathy and I arrive at the fight address, a posh-looking McMansion on a Jacksonville golf resort. A nerdy-looking military retiree, male, tells us we're at the right place and waves us in. I breathe a sigh of relief that Stef's corner person is a male--if it was a female, I might be tempted to tangle with her. And I want today to be about me watching, not me fighting.
We are led downstairs into a finished basement bar with shag-type plush carpeting in a cleared out 30 ft x 30 ft fight area. The host tells us to get ready while he gets Stef.
With Cathy and I now alone, we proceed to get Cathy stripped. I take her clothes with me and sit on a nearby couch. Cathy drinks from the water bottles we've brought, fluffing out her hair. I sit on a nearby couch, telling Cathy I love how sharp her nails are. She says matter-of-factly that she hopes they don't break "right away." Smart.
I notice stripper poles at the other end of the basement. Some crazy shit obviously goes on at this place. I admire Cathy's perfect nude figure. I could cum right now to the sight of her on the stripper poles, doing a little dance for me. I spread my legs on the couch in an unladylike posture. Not one square inch of Cathy's body has a hint of sagging. Her 36c tits stand erect. Her butt is firm and flat. Her legs are muscular but all woman. Cathy catches me checking her out.
Stef comes down the stairs, buck naked. Her sandy blonde hair is blow dried and teased out, long and wavy. Her bush, normally untamed, is long, but trimmed into a perfect rectangle, begging to be grabbed. Did she do this on purpose, I wonder. Cathy's eyes seem to notice. Cathy's bush is also long, but with whispy hair rather than Stef's tight curls. Stef's tits look larger than I remember--she's clearly aroused.
Cathy drops her water bottle, and the staredown is on.
Stef: A woman comes to a catfight with her hair like that is asking for it to get pulled out.
Cathy: Whatever floats your boat, Stef. I heard you think you won the last fight.
<<<<<closing, now eye to eye>>>>>
Stef: Well, let's make sure this time we leave no room for doubt.
Cathy: Fine by me.
Stef has not so much as glanced my way on the couch, for which I am now grateful, as I cum, already, for the first time on my hand inside my shorts to the sight of Stef and Cathy in a double headlock. Our military host, preparing to enjoy the point event himself, has prepared me a pair of Grey Goose vodka shots, which I gratefully accept. I feel the buzz almost immediate. Watching a catfight beats being in one any day of the week, I decide. I accept 2 more shots. That's 4 I've had now. Or is it 6? Or 8? Whatever.
Cathy and Stef stumble around the room, pulling hair, but otherwise doing little damage. I want to shout out ideas to Cathy, but since Stef's corner man is not doing so for her, I decide that must be against house rules. I will reserve my instructions for Cathy for between rounds, if they make it that far. The intensity is genuine, as time has apparently not healed the wounds in Stef and Cathy's love triangle, even though the man is long gone. They are giving their all in this fight, slamming each other into the wall everytime their stumbling brings them close.
I continue fingering myself, cumming several times to the view. The vodka makes me cum more times, but less intensely. How many have I had? I take 2 more shots.
If I was yelling what I'm thinking to Cathy, I'd be telling her to yank the vulnerable rectangle between Stef's legs. But then again, I don't want Stef to defend herself there, so I hope for a break to whisper the plan into Cathy's ear.
The pace of the fight slows, as Cathy and Stef begin to breathe heavier. It hasn't gone to the ground yet, which I take to be a good sign for my girl--she must be feeling confident that Stef will wear down first in a long fight. I begin to resume pleasuring myself to the view, when both women simultaneously begin using their nails.
Releasing each others long hair, Cathy digs her nails into Stef's breasts, and Stef rakes Cathy's sides and back repeatedly. Cathy shouts in distress, as Stef's swipes immediately start to mark up Cathy's skin. Cathy holds and twists Stef's chests in increasing fear and desperation, her eyes tearing.
I begin to regret the Grey Goose, especially on an empty stomach, as the fight seems to flow in slow motion to me, and my eyes are slow to make sense of the sights they are witnessing. Stef's and Cathy's long blonde hair is disheveled and sticking to each others sweaty bodies, and it's harder for me to see what their hands are doing. I sense fear and pain in Cathy's cries, and sadistic pleasure in Stef's. The fight drifts to the corner of the room furthest from me, and I have difficulty perceiving what is happening. Why hasn't Cathy grabbed Stef's pussy hair?
Minutes pass, the room spinning more and more. Stef is winning this damn fight. Cathy should have brought it to the ground by now. Why isn't she kicking Stef?
Stef, meanwhile, is doing everything she saw me do to Vanessa. Cathy's twists of Stef's breasts pale in comparison to the fist-full kneading Stef is applying to Cathy's. Stef stole that move from me.
I can't get the thought of Stef's vulnerable bush out of my head. Why isn't Cathy tearing at it?
Stef tortures Cathy for minutes with her tit kneading. Cathy's nails last out at Stef and buy her a few minutes respite, but this is rapidly ceasing to be a fight. It's a beatdown.
Military guy has jerked off to the fight a couple times and now is passed out at the bar. Figures. Guys always finish and pass out. I remember that yesterday was the last day for the summer interns. There was a 20 year old boy from Princeton who was hung. And rich. And he was crushing on me. He texted me at how disappointed he was that my vacation hadn't ended before he had to return to school, including a dick pic to leave no doubt what he meant. I missed out on him for this crap fight. I've still got it, but i don't get offered 20 year old dick everyday. I get angrier at Stef.
Why isn't Cathy tearing Stef's bush off? I'm cranky from being hungry. I'm embarrassed for backing the losing catfighter. The buzz is turning into a hangover. I'm sexually frustrated. This is a bad combination.
Stef's and Cathy's fight drags on. Cathy's not giving, I'll admit. But the scratches on her sides look horrible, and her breasts are bruising. Long swaths of her curly bleach blonde hair cover the carpeting. That should be Stef's pussy hair on the floor, not Cathy's.
I decide I've had enough. Or, should I say, Grey Goose decides I've had enough. I stand up and march over to Stef, whose back is to me while she tortures Cathy's tits. I headlock Stef with my left hand, while my right hand reaches down and around and grabs Stef's trimmed and shaped bush.
Me: "Girl shows up at a catfight with her hair cut like that is begging to get it pulled."
Stef gives a primal scream.
The rest is a drunken, hazy scrum. Cathy recovers seemingly instantly and goes barbarian on Stef with fists. Stef's nose gets opened. The three of us hit the carpeting in an angry scrum. I work Stef's crotch, Cathy works Stef's face and tits. I feel no pain, the vodka having taken its toll. The beatdown which was in progress just moments ago is reversed. Clumps of Stef's bush are in my hand, under my nails. Now it's Stef that's crying. And, Cathy and I notice minutes later, not fighting back.
Military guy is starting to come out of his siesta.
Cathy and I panic.
"Shit, we gotta get out of here."
We dress hastily. We run out to the car. Blood from Stef's nose is all over both of us. We pray nobody sees us.
We drive as far away from Jacksonville as we can.
We stop at a hotel. Cathy is in no shape to show her face in public, so I check in.
We go into the room and the shower, together. To clean up.
And to have sex. Intense, passionate, make-me-forget sex.
For three days and nights.
We drive back to Cathy's place.
More sex.
I haft a get back to work, I tell Cathy. She does to.
We'll talk soon, we promise each other.
I get home.
I have one message.
"This is Vanessa. That wasn't cool what you did to Stef. Watch your back."
-
HOME SWEET HOME
I return to work the Tuesday after Labor Day. Me vacation ended up being 4 weeks, and I've blown my vacation time for the whole year. I reflect on how lucky I am to be back here. My behavior has been non-stop reckless, culminating in my attack on Stef, which by any definition, was criminal assault. Will she and/or her dad consider bringing charges against me? Will they come after me outside the law. There were obviously guns in the home Stef and Cathy were fighting in--Cathy but especially I are lucky we got out of there alive.
I tried talking thru my regrets, my fears with Cathy over the phone. And while not being rude about it, Cathy was cold with me, finally telling me, "Look, Trudy. What happened happened, no hard feelings. But I need to get on with my life. Please don't call me anymore."
Ouch.
And what was it all for? Was I in love with Stef? Or Cathy? I don't think so. When I left my home 4 weeks ago to fly to Panama, i didn't even know either of them. I wanted sex with them, but didn't need to jeopardize my freedom or my life to get with them, did I?
Shit, who am I kidding--I want sex with everyone right now. Meaning, where my self-control is at this past year, I wouldn't turn down even the most clumsy obtuse proposition. You know that "Anchorman" scene where Brick invites Christina Applegate to the "pants party"? I would totally fall for that line.
I console/distract myself by catching up on my office mail. Two notes, one each from the two female summer inerns i slept with. My imagination races. What if? What if i had been back home at the end of summer, and "accidentally" had them both over my place? Would they have been jealous? Would they have fought for me? Then i get angry at myself. I'm no angel, but seducing innocents? Inciting fistfights?
And what's causing this horniness, this irresistible craving for sex? It might be some funky postmenopausal biological thing.
But it's probably because of Vanessa.
I sensed the change in me while I was fighting her at the Christmas party. I've been in a lot of catfights. And by a lot, I mean in the hundreds. And some of them even had sexual overtures--clothes being stripped (not always by accident), grabbing of genitals, "accidental" kissing, genital-to-genital contact.
But the first Vanessa fight was different. And watching Stef and Cathy's interaction from their first fight, when I didn't know them yet, through their second fight, when I did, was instructive to me.
After their first fight, eight years ago, they "pretended like it hadn't happened", I think were Cathy's words. And now, after the second, Cathy was doing the same.
Stef and Cathy, I now realized, and other women I had fought, the fight usually "resolved" things. Like a volcano erupting, it released whatever tension or pressure had built up, and afterwards both women just wanted to move on.
When I fought Vanessa, it never, at least not yet, resolved anything. When I lost, I wasn't afraid of her. And when I won, I wasn't satisfied. Either way, I just wanted to fight again. Heck I flew 1,200 miles to find her.
Nothing could hold me back from fighting her. Not a continent's distance between us. Not total risk to my freedom, my finances, my safety. My sexual recklessness was a futile attempt to distract myself from my real desire, which was to clinch with Vanessa, trying to arouse myself, to feel her arousal, to get the better of her.
What if Vanessa and I were driving distance from each other? We would fight. And for what? To fight again? Because the loser wouldn't concede anything, that's for sure.
And as pointless as that seemed, what was the alternative? To keep involving innocent people? Like I would have done with the 2 interns? Like I had done with Stef and Cathy?
I needed to fight Vanessa again. And again. Till whatever was in my system got worked out.
Because until then, I can't retire. I'll blow my savings, my safety, my health on my reckless behavior. I'll hurt innocent people.
I certainly am not ready to retire.
One thing I don't regret. Bouncing that bitch Jen the hell out of this office. With me out 4 weeks, she would have made the whole office not miss me, realize they could do without me.
But I won't always be so lucky. They're already a couple weeks away from hiring a replacement for Jen. By years here are numbered. It might not even be years.
I need to get my shit together. I need to have it out with Vanessa. While I still have time.
Her phone message told me to watch my back.
I will, Vanessa. And you need to watch yours.
-
TRAINING MY REPLACEMENT?
OK, something you need to know about my company. When we do layoffs, it happens in November. It used to be December, to get a full year's worth of expense savings, you know? But then we got some bad press for doing layoffs right before Christmas, so we moved it to November. I guess our management never heard of Thanksgiving.
Anyways, I can tell there are gonna be layoffs this year. I was hoping I could last here the rest of this year and all of next year to "hit my number" of my retirement savings goal. I'm close, but not quite there. I have visions of being a bag lady someday.
Time to get serious, Trudy. No more reckless sex, no more instigating catfights. You're not 25 anymore. Or 35. Or 45, even. Ok, enough.
I throw myself into work. Vanessa still leaves me the occasional vaguely threatening voice mail. But I haven't heard from Stef or Captain Rob, so I think I'm safe from them coming after me for assault, either legally or extra-legally.
I also cut back on the masturbating. Not completely--what am I, a nun? But outstanding progress from where I was over the summer.
And the summer interns are back at school, so no issues there.
Just one threat. The looming November layoffs. And Jen's replacement starts today.
Her name is Susan, but she's basically Jen Junior. In fact, as intimidation, I actually call her that. She's a mom with one kid who's independent now, and wants to get out of the house. She 37, so 15 years younger than me. She wants to be an office manager. Just one problem--that's what I am. And this office only needs one manager.
I'm told I need to train her.
What I'm not told, but which we both know, is that if she works out in the next six weeks, I'm getting fired. Which means I might be training my replacement.
We hate each other instantly.
I rub in the "Jen Junior" thing as a way to remind her that her predecessor had left when she couldn't hack it. And maybe she ought to consider going back home and being a wifey again. At least for a couple more years.
One day in the ladies' room she asks me to stop calling her Jen Junior. I say, OR what? She says, I'll start calling you Gertrude. Or better yet, Gertie.
So, naturally, neither one of us backs down. I call her Jen Junior. She calls me Gertie.
Did I mention, I hate the name Gertrude? So, everytime I hear Gertie, I grind my teeth. Work becomes hell.
And, no, a preemptive catfight is not a solution in this case. You see, Jen Junior is 5'1". I've got 6 inches and a good 30 pounds on her. We're not the same weight class. Jen Junior would run to management instantly, and I'd be out.
Shit, I need this job.
To be continued.....
-
FIGHTING DIRTY
September turns into October, and Jen Junior is mastering the job. My career is in serious jeopardy. If I don't do something fast, I'm getting a pink slip in 6 weeks. The partners who used to flirt with me are already giving me the cold shoulder, and flirting with Jen Junior. The handwriting is on the wall.
Time for a Hail Mary.
I remember the hung Princeton intern, Josh, who had the crush on me. He was a master of computers. If I can get him to hack into Jen Junior's account, I can see if she has dirt. Or I can plant some dirt on her.
We might not be able to fight physically, bitch. But you and are are gonna cyber-fight, honey. You might still win, but you're gonna know you were in a fight.
That night, at home in bed, I text Josh. I ask him if he's alone. He says, yes, and I get right to the point. I tell him I'm horny and I want to Skype. We connect on Skype, and are both naked. I tell him I'm sorry I was on vacation when he went back to school. He tells me, not as sorry as he was. I talk filthy to him. He finishes fast. I guilt him into staying online and chatting a bit more. Good, what I'm about to ask won't sound planned.
Me: Josh, when I told you things are going ok at work? They are, except for one thing.
Josh: What's that, Trudy.
Me: There's a new office manager here, and I think she's trying to force me out.
Josh: What? Who is he?
Me: It's a she. Susan.
Josh: That's terrible.
Me: Josh, if you could, would you help me keep my job?
Josh: Yes, baby.
<<<<<Good Josh.>>>>
Me: I'd be so grateful, Josh. I'd text you naked pics, you know.
Josh: Really?
<<<<<Nice Josh.>>>>>
Me: I'd send you dirty texts.
Josh: Like what?
Me: Like, "Fuck me, Josh. I'm soaking for you."
Josh: And what else?
<<<<You're mine, Josh.>>>>
Me: Like, "I'd rather get fucked by you than anyone, Josh."
Josh: I like it. And?
Me: "Fuck my face hard, Josh. Cum on my face."
<<<<Josh cums again.>>>>
Me: Oh, baby. Cumming again?
Josh: <<<<sheepishly grins>>>>
Me: Josh, I can only do this if I keep my job.
Josh: What do you need?
Me: Baby, here's Susan's resume. It has her home email on it. I need you to log into it. I know you can do it.
Josh: <<<<thinking>>>>>
Me: Josh, the bitch is gonna take my job next month. I need you.
Josh: <<<<thinking>>>>>
Me : Josh, I'm scared. I can't get another job at my age.
<<<<He must be able to tell I'm not acting now, even if I was before.>>>>
Josh: Call me tomorrow night , same time.
Me: Jack off to me when you wake up tomorrow morning, baby.
Josh: <<<<<grins sheepishly again>>>>
Josh, you really are a man-child, aren't you?
*******************************************
My expectation is that Jen Junior won't have dirt, and that I'll have to resort to planting some. (Hey, I don't give a crap if you judge at this point--that's tame compared to rekindling 8-year-old-dormant love triangles.) The rough outline of my plan is that I'll have Josh go into Jen Junior's account, and send pics of Josh's dick to Jen Junior's husband. The husband will wonder where Jen Junior got the pics, what the heck is going on at Jen Junior's next job, Yada Yada Yada, and ask Jen Junior to quit the job at the sleazy downtown office. I haven't figured out the Yada Yada part yet, but heck, God helps those who help themselves. (My Catholic school education again.)
But Trudy, Trudy, Trudy. How you underestimate the slimiess of you fellow man. Or fellow women. Or fellow bitches.
Turns out, Jen Junior has been a busy beaver at work. Or, should I say, her beaver has been busy. With one of the partners at work. One of the married partners. They're fucking each other.
You ass is mine now, Jen Junior.
Josh writes an email from Jen Junior's account threatening to blackmail the partner if he doesn't leave his wife.
I go into work next Monday.
Jen Junior doesn't work there anymore.
That will teach you to fuck with me, bitch. Actually, it won't, since you don't know it was me who took you down. But, shit, that feels good to say.
Nobody fuck with Trudy. I have my MOJO back now.
That night I Skype Josh. This time I'm not acting. I totally want Skype-sex with him. I tell him I'll do anything. You got that, baby. A...N...Y...T...H...I...N...G.
He's smart. He goes to Princeton. He thinks of a good one.
He tells me to go to my refrigerator, to get a cucumber. If you don't know the rest, never mind, I can't help it.
I do it.
********************************************
The next week at work is totally busy. But it's ok. My career is saved. The office layoff list is passed around. My name isn't on it.
I need to take up Jen Junior's projects. Included on that: the office Christmas party.
The location is different than last year--a country club.
I look at the contact. Jen Junior has been working with. My heart sinks.
It's Vanessa.
To be continued......
-
PREPARING FOR THE INEVITABLE
I begin the process of psychologically preparing myself for a 3rd catfight with Vanessa, who will no doubt be thirsting for revenge for my beating her in the jungle in Panama.
I go onto the internet, often for hours at a time. I find a website with catfight stories. I obsess over three in particular. I find one called Diane vs Darlene, about 2 women who were neighbors in Massachusetts during college in the 1980s, hated each other, but never fought. Fast forward to their early 50s, the age I am now. The find each other on the internet, and Diane tells Darlene she thinks it's time they have that long-deferred catfight. They meet in a condo in the process of being renovated, and have a vicious no rules catfight, 34 years of pent-up hatred and frustration exploding in a whirlwind of claws and hairpulling.
I find a second long fight story about 2 other women also my age, Regina vs Sue. Both are employees at the same large company in Connecticut, and have both been sleeping with the same married man for 8 years. The man gets divorced, and they both decide to elbow aside the other and marry their now-available lover. They have 2 ferocious but inconclusive catfights, one in Sue's apartment, the other in an abandoned department store parking lot. They finally are at a large conference in a hotel, with their man due to arrive. Their mutual hatred gets the best of them, and culminates in a no holds barred elevator catfight which gets them both fired from their jobs.
Finally, I find one called Michelle vs Pam, about 2 blonde MILFs from the suburban pressure cooker of Carmel, Indiana. They know each other from each having graduating daughters who have played on the same volleyball team for years. Michelle, due to having married a jerkier-but-richer husband, is better off socioeconomically than Pam, and each resents the other for it. Michelle trolls Pam on Instagram, wanting to instigate a catfight. "Why didn't you just ask?", replies Pam. God, I love that line. The 2 meet in Michelle's basement for a vicious, clawing fight, while the 2 daughters, seeing their mom's social media troll-fest posted on the web, meet up in a different location for their own girl-on-girl battle.
I masturbate for countless hours to all 3 fight scenarios, getting inside the heads of all 6 women, all about my age. How wonderful to have such an enemy, to take to chance to get the better of her.
I have my own business to take care of, I realize. I need to face Vanessa.
To be continued....
-
I CALL HEATHER
September turns into October. Vanessa still has not returned my call to set up the annual Christmas party (and showdown catfight with yours truly).
Columbus Day weekend arrives. A standard 2-day weekend for those of us who work. But a 3-day weekend for college students.
College students like Josh. I call him. He answers. I say, "It's Trudy. Do you still want to fuck me?". He does, and we have phone sex.
But it's still not enough. I need a woman's voice, a woman's perspective.
I call Heather, one of the interns who hooked up with me last summer, and who I didn't get a chance to say goodbye to, because of my extended fight-cation last summer.
She answers.
Me: If I had been around in August, would we have gotten together again?
Heather: Maybe.
<<<<These Millennials. Always too cool for school.>>>>>
Me: Do you remember Lesley.
Heather: You fucked her too?
<<<<<Not too cool for school now, are we?>>>>>
Me: Like rabbits.
Heather: Who's better?
Me: At what?
Heather: At fucking?
Me: Who cares? Who's better at fighting?
Heather: Good answer.
Me: And? Who would win?
Heather: Shouldn't you answer?
Me: I asked first.
<<<<<I cum, silently.>>>>>
Heather: I'd fuck her up.
<<<<<<I cum, loudly.>>>>>>
<<<<<Heather cums too.>>>>>
Me: I would pay too watch you two fight.
Heather: I'd do it for free.
<<<<<I cum again.>>>>>
Me: I'm glad I called.
To be continued....
-
MY NEW BEST FRIEND, HEATHER
Heather and I let go of any remaining inhibitions, and completely open up to each other. Heather is a student at Bucknell, outside Philadelphia. Bucknell has been a longtime feeder school of interns to our firm; it also has a bit of a lingering reputation as a school where well-heeled girls, or wannabe well-heeled girls, to meet a husband. Since female attendance rates at the school have started exceeding 60%, the competition for eligible boys has increased, and girls who are there for that purpose have had to sharpen their elbows.
Heather walks me thru her Facebook page, and shows me girls who have real or rumored rivalries in progress. We talk about which pairings would make good catfights to watch.
Heather tells me which girls she wouldn't mind taking a swing at. And which she would steer clear of. The latter get my wheels in my head turning--I fantasize about stirring up social media shit between Heather and one of the toughies. (I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing, remember?)
Heather isn't at school to meet a boy. But she opens up to me about a fantasy she would have if she was. She says that most of the "eligible" boys at school have a "local" girl attending state school back at home, that they're now "just friends" with. Just friends, my ads, says Heather. They're hooking back up every summer. Heather fantasized about meeting a Bucknell boy, and wanting to marry him. Both families agree. There's only one "loose end". The girl back home. The girl he went to prom with. The girl he got his first blow job from. The girl with the unspoken bond. A fight between Heather and that girl is inevitable--both girls know it. Might as well have it before the wedding. Heather describes to me how she and that girl meet at a place halfway between the 400-mile distance between the hometown and Bucknell. Neutral turf. They tear into each other, holding nothing back. Post-marriage pecking order, and emotional affair rights, are at stake. The highest stakes there can be between 2 women.
Heather and I cum repeatedly to that fantasy.
I wish it was real. Like my rivalry with Vanessa.
To be continued.....
-
HEATHER VS DAWN
I return to work on Monday, Columbus Day. I'm unable to focus on work, with thoughts of talking on the phone with Heather consuming my attention. At lunchtime, I text her to see if she can talk in the afternoon. She can.
I take the afternoon off. I drive home, masturbating at every red light on the way.
I strip and hop into bed. I call Heather.
I ask her to reverse the fight scenario. Instead of her wanting to marry and "clearing the way" by having a fight with the hometown girlfriend, I ask her if there's any guy in her life she'd like to protect from a bad marriage to another girl. She thinks.
Then she tells me about a disc jockey friend her age from Joe. He's dating a too-mature-for-her-age 18 year old named Dawn. I need to see Dawn, so I log onto my laptop, and Heather and I go to her Facebook and Instagram pages. Gross. Not Dawn--she's pretty. It's gross how every other pic is her glomming onto Joe.
Heather and I masturbate to thoughts of Dawn wanting to marry Joe, and Joe playing hard-to-get-to-commit. Dawn figures out that Heather is giving advice to Joe. She gets angry, and calls Heather. The two have a vicious verbal argument, which transitions to a challenge to a catfight. The two determine a time and place, and have it out. Heather and I masturbate together to that fight.
We hang up.
I can't let go of the scenario, of the rivalry. Except I need even more pre-fight animosity between the opponents. What if Dawn thought that Heather's relationship with Joe was more than an advice-giving one? What if she thought Joe was actually sleeping with Heather?
I ask to connect to Dawn on Facebook and Instagram. I wait. I take a nap. When I wake up at 4, Dawn has connected with me on Instagram. I take a topless pic Heather has sent to me, and I share it with Dawn. I explain to Dawn that I'm romantically interested in Heather (which is true), and should I be threatened by Joe (that part is false), who Heather talks about all the time (well, she talked about him 2 hours ago) [I've just played a very, very twisted game of Two Truths and a Lie with a woman 1/3rd My age--if you don't like it, sue me.] .
Dawn has a temper, I learn.
But the slow burning type.
She keeps me on the phone. She thanks me, in fact, for bringing Heather and Joe's "relationship" to her attention.
Social media to Millenials is what global geopolitics would be like if every country on Earth had nuclear weapons. Everyday, you'd be seeing into the newspaper 2 (or more) countries lobbing the things at each other. North Korea at Japan. Russia at Ukraine. Libya at Egypt. Saudi Arabia at Egypt. Turkey at Syria. Sudan at South Sudan. The Central African Republic at itself. Colombia at Bolivia. (I'm a politics/history buff; at least before my fight with Vanessa 10 months ago.)
I ask Dawn to be discreet, to not reveal my identity to Heather. She agrees.
It won't be tonight, and it won't be tomorrow, but Dawn and Heather will eventually fight. Because of me.
I feel a twinge of remorse.
Offset by a burning desire to hear about the outcome of that fight.
Like I said:
(1) Wolf in wolf's clothing
(2) Don't like it? Sue me.
To be continued.....
-
OBSESSING
I spend the entire workday obessing about my phone conversations with Heather. I still have the desire to instigate a Heather vs Lesley catfight, but if something goes wrong, i would feel guilty. Knowing both of them, they would fight until one or both of them was seriously injured. They're like me. They fight for keeps.
Plus, I would be in trouble with my employer.
But I've apparently instigated an online catfight between Heather and a rival named Dawn. Not exactly with Heather's permission. Will she be angry with me? Have a ruined a budding catfight friendship?
The next day after work, I call her. Yes, she notices I've stirred up shit between her and Dawn. Yes, at first she was upset. But now she likes it. She likes the mystery of wondering if a rival 600 miles away will jump her unexpectedly. She likes having the unspoken rivalry between her and Dawn in the open. She likes giving Dawn reason to hesitate pursuing Joe. If Dawn pursues Joe, she knows now she needs to go thru Heather. And it would be a good fight.
Heather tells me she's been snooping around my social media accounts. "Oh, and by the way, those secretaries and office managers who left--that was your doing, wasn't itg Trudy?".
"Damn straight."
"How vicious were the fights?".
"On a scale of 1 thru 10? 9"
"Have you ever had a 10?".
"Yes, twice. Same woman. Once last Christmas, and then this past summer, in Panama."
"What's her name?".
"Vanessa."
"When's round 3?".
"Christmas again."
"I know what I want for Christmas this year--to watch you and her fight."
To be continued....
-
2 A.M. PHONE CALL
It's 2a.m. Friday night/Saturday morning. I'm in deep, deep REM sleep. My phone rings. What the fuck. I check the caller i.d. It's Heather. I smile instantly. I miss her.
Me: Hey, darling.
Her: Hey, Trude.
Me: What's up, baby doll. Any hot Friday night date?
Her: College girls don't date anymore, we hook up. But that's not why I'm calling.
Me: Not that I'm complaining, but your voice sounds shaky, baby doll.
Her: It is. My hands, too. I just had the most vivid dream.
Me: Like, as in, a nightmare?
Her: Sort of. It was, like, a fight dream.
Me: Hun, who was fighting.
Her: Me. And Lesley.
Me: Like, what kind of fight?
Her: Trudy, I'm serious, it was, like, sssoo fucking realistic. Like we were trying to fucking kill each other.
Me: Heather, I've never heard you like this. You sound so..., so..., like actually shaken up.
Her: Trudy, I am. Like, I can't even......<<<<breathing>>>>
Me: Heather....Heatherr, stay with me, girl. Deep breaths.
<<<<<<<Deep breathing>>>>>>>
Me: Take your time, girl. I have all night.
Heather: I'm ok....it's, just.....Trudy, my fist was, like, crunching into her face. It was, like,......
Me: Were you not wanting to be there??
Her: Trudy, no. ...just the opposite. Trudy, I loved it. Trudy, I need to tell you something.
Me: Heather, you're scaring me. What is it?
Her: Trudy, if I wasn't calling you right now, do you know who'd I be calling?
Me: No, Heather. Who??
Her: Trudy, I'd be calling her. Lesley.
Me: To tell her what? About your dream?
Her: Sort of, but more specific. To tell her I want to fight her. Like, tonight.
Me: Heather, like, do you want to fight now? I mean, now that you're talking to Me?
Her: No, no, I mean. That's why I called you. I know that's insane. But, Trudy, I swear, if you hadn't answered...... I mean....Trudy, .....What's happening to me?
Me: <<<<<fingering myself>>>>>> Baby doll, that's so,....hot.....i think about you and Lesley fighting all the time......i don't even do work, really, at work anymore.....<<<<both of us breathing harder, more in more in unison>>>>>......i think about you fighting Lesley......fighting Dawn....
Her: .....I think about you fighting Vanessa.....
<<<<<<protracted mutual orgasms......>>>>>>>
Me: Heather, thank you for calling me.
Her: Thank you for answering.
Me: mmmmmmmmm......
<<<<<<long pause>>>>>>>
Me: You versus Lesley.
Her: Me versus that cxnt.
<<<<<<I cum loudly>>>>>>>
Her: I need to do that for you.
Me: You Don't owe me that.
Her: But I want to.
I want that, too.
More than anything.
To be continued.....
-
A CONVERSATION WITH LESLEY
The next day, I call Lesley at Middlebury College in Vermont, another of the feeder schools for our program, though not as extensively as Bucknell. Lesley comes from a family of lawyers (not her parents, but generations of aunts and uncles and cousins), and is studying a borderline pre-law field, History, with an emphasis on Asian History in general and Korean language in particular.
The History angle gives me a conversational "in" with Lesley. I'm a bit of a history buff myself. If I had become a scholar for my career instead of an office manager, that's the field it would have been in. What most people don't realize is that becoming a historian, unless you specialize in American and/or British history, requires immersing yourself in original sources in the native language of the country you're studying. So you are forced to become a fluent reader of the native language of your area of specialty. For Lesley, this means Korean, and it's unique script and alphabet system, which was created in the 14th century and is called "Hangul".
Lesley and I discuss her studies. She is impressed with my eclectic knowledge of the 1592 to 1598 invasion of Korea by the Japanese warlord Hideyoshi, who was "passing through" on a Quixotic (and unsuccessful) quest to conquer China. The Koreans stopped Hideyoshi, but only at the cost of the destruction of most of the cities in their country.
Lesley is impressed by my use of the word Quixotic.
The conversation turns erotic. She asks what made me think of her. I tell her about my conversations with Heather. I tell Lesley that I would love to watch a catfight between her and Heather. She can tell how serious I am by my arousal.
Lesley describes to me how during last summer she fantasized about fighting Heather. How she imagined the two of them interviewing for single job, a returning intern slot for next summer, and the 2 of them privately agreeing to fight for the spot, with the loser agreeing to withdraw her application. The day of the fight, after 5 minutes of hairpulling and kicking, the two women realize they are an even match, and that the fight will get more vicious than either had anticipated. But their competitive female instincts kick in, and neither is willing to back down.
I get an inspiration. I try to think of a way to secure budget funding for a January thru May personal assistant. I tell Lesley I have only 2 candidates in mind, her and Heather. I ask if she would take a semester off of school if such a position were available. I lose track if we're fantasizing now or being serious, but Lesley says hell yes. Hell yes she'd take the job, and hell yes she'd fight Heather for it.
Lesley and I masturbate to thoughts of that fight.
The fall sunset is kicking in. I Don't want to hang up with Lesley. I ask her to tell me about her most vicious real fight. She tells me about a summer lacrosse camp, with girls from around the country. She tells me about a blonde named Fallon who had a run-in with her in a scrimmage. The two stared each other down and knew right away that before the camp was over they would fight. Fallon's friend arranged a nighttime meet up spot in the woods with Lesley's friend, and both showed at the designated time and place. What each expected to be a 2-minute tussle turned into a 4-round war, ending in topless tit-boxing. As Lesley describes the 2 jeans-only clad warriors in a stand up punching duel under a summer full moon, their skin glistening in sweat, I scream and thrash in multiple orgasms.
Next Monday is my party planning phone call with Vanessa. I know what I'm going to tell her. She and I are going to get together after the party. And we're going to have entertainment.
A battle between 2 college girls named Heather and Lesley.
To be continued.....
-
SSAUDA = KOREAN FOR PHYSICAL FIGHT
Did you know, the Korean language has a lovely word for a physical fights, as opposed to fighting for, say, a cause or something. The Romanized word (the Korean word transliterated to our ABC alphabet) is "ssauda".
I learned this from my new best friend, the Asian History asdcholar, Lesley. I was staying in close touch with Lesley for 2 reasons. Firstly, I needed to prevent a social media/text war from erupting between Lesley and Heather. If one did, they might fight before I could arrange a viewing by Vanessa and me. And Lesley-Heather was one catfight I did not want to miss--it had the makings of the catfight of the decade. Secondly, I was trying to bond closer to Lesley. I had already bonded closely to Heather via masturbation sessions on the phone, but Lesley was not quite so, umm, enthusiastic in that department. History was my "in" to bond with her.
Another was to take her fight-clothes shopping. On the internet, in the Regina-Sue fight story, Regina had gone to a LGBT shop in Northampton to go shopping for catfight clothes. I decided Lesley and I needed to do the same. I picked her up at Middlebury the last Saturday of October, and we drove south to Northampton.
When the clerk in the store came over, I just blurted it out. "My friend needs clothes for a catfight for a job." The first clerk excused herself and went in the back. But she sent out a colleague. "Did I hear correctly?".
You did. Yes, you did.
To be continued.....
-
I GET TO WATCH LESLEY FIGHT
When the store manager, a bi-looking-but-feminine brunette a couple of years older and a couple of inches taller than me, came out from the back of the store, I briefly thought I might be in trouble. Bringing a college coed to a store to buy catfight clothes--great role model I must be, right?
My fears were groundless. I soon learned that rather than being in any sort of trouble, Lesley and I were being welcomed as VIP guests. The store manager offered to concierge Lesley through a wide array of catfight clothing option.
--So, this catfight is over a job, you say? What type of employment?
--A law office.
--Figures. You lawyers. Only the bankers enjoy catfights more.
--You don't say?
--Or at least that's how it is in the Northeast. The West Coast has its own unique, errr, tastes. And customs.
--I bet.
--Lesley, darling, how about fighting in these nice slacks and this blouse.
--(Me) She'd look smoking in it, of course. But will she be able to move? You know, quickly and flexibly?
-- That's precisely why I recommend it. But you don't need to take my word for it. What do you say we have her put it on and try it?
--(Lesley)Try it how? You mean, like, fight in it? Against who?
The store manager claps her hands, and into the room steps a gorgeous model, about Lesley's age and size. The two stare each other down, inches apart.
--Against, me, bimbo. That is, if you have the guts.
--Can I, Trudy? Please?
*****************************
Five minutes later, the store manager and I are seated on a couch in the back of the store. Lesley has changed into the office clothes. The model, who the store manager calls Leah, has changed into a similar outfit.
Lesley and Leah step to the center of the room, and immediately lock hands to shoulders, kicking each other's shins. They're doing more than sparring, but They're not even close to "cutting loose", going at 20% of what They're capable of, tops. Both Lesley and I are still have wondering if this is some sort of prank. Or worse, a set up.
My fears start to subside when the store manager takes her right hand and slides it down the front of my pants. She begins the slowly caressing me, while smiling at how soaked I am. She brings her finger to her mouth and licks it.
--Now, Lesley dear, show me if those clothes give you the flexibility your friend said you require.
Lesley digs her nails into Leah's scalp. The two girls still aren't brawling, but the fight is now clearly on. As is the foreplay between the store manager and me, our tongues deep down each other's throats. We are both maximally aroused, the sounds of us cumming blending with the two girls fighting.
The store manager and I simultaneously finger each other as Leah and Lesley roll on the floor. Leah gets Lesley into a defensive guard--Leah clearly has martial arts training, at least at a self-defense level. Which means she knows how to hold off Lesley without hurting her. This last inhibition, me worrying about Lesley getting hurt today, falls away, and I release in an explosive climactic organism to the sound of Lesley and Leah calling each other bitches.
I tell the store manager that Lesley and I will take 2 of the outfits. One in Lesley's size, and one in Heather's.
Leah tells Lesley to come back anytime she wants to try out any other clothes.
To be continued.....
-
"WHAT WAS THAT PLACE????"
Lesley and I take the boxes of new fight clothes, her with her own and me with Heather's, and get back in the car for the trip back up to Vermont. After an awkward silence, Lesley turns to me and says:
Her: How did you know about that PLACE? I mean, not that I'm complaining, but what WAS that?
Me: Pretty cool, huh? Clothes for any catfight occasion.
Her: And test them out with sparring partner, while your patner gets finger fucked. By the way, how was it.
Me: Hey, now.
Her: Well??
Me: It was pretty same good. But I was aroused watching you and your new friend, Leah.
Her: God, what a bitch. R. B. F. Resting Bitch Face, if i ever saw one.
Me: She seemed anxious for a rematch. Gonna take her up on it?
Her: Can you imagine? The manager says, "and what type of catfight do you need clothes for?", and I say, "Umm, yes, what do you recommend if I'd like to kick Leah's ads in, say, 10 minutes?".
Us: <<<<<Genuine joyful laughter. The first I've experienced in years, i realize. This Lesley is a keeper. I think I'm falling in love. Seriously. Me. Trudy.>>>>>
Her: So it wasn't a buzzkill that Leah got med into some bullshit MMA hold.
Me: Not a chance, kid. You did great. The animosity between you two was intense, raw, real. Besides, Leah must pretty much have to do that to every new customer. Don't let t hem get any ideas about making a name for yourself by coming in one day and beating up the store model.
Her: So back to my question. How did you hear about that place?
Me: Well, I didn't, not quite exactly. What I mean is, I was there on a tip from a story I read. There was this catfight story, Regina vs Sue, on the web. Regina is a woman from Connecticut who is this mistress to a guy from work, and she finds out that at the same company has this other mistress, Sue.
Her: Hot. Mistress vs mistress catfight.
Me: So, Regina goes to Northampton and impulsively tells the store clerk that she needs new clothes for an impending catfight, and the store clerk nonchalantly engages with her likes it's the most normal thing in the world for a clerk and a customer to be discussing.
Her: Like it's a category on Amazon or something.
Me: Exactly. "Mistress Catfight Fight Wear." So, I figured the writer of the story must have gotten inspiration from a real place in Northampton.
Her: Maybe even that exact place.
Me: Maybe.
Her: <<<<coyly>>>> I just got inspiration of my own.
Me: Oh? Do tell.
Her: Well, I'm your mistress. And Heather is your mistress.
Me: <<<<slyly>>>>....and? What are you going to do about it? <<<<our hands touch>>>>
Her: We're. Going. To. Fight. For. You.
<<<<<<I pull over to a rest stop with a view of the Vermont October foliage. Past peak season. But that's not the point. Lesley and i tongue kiss and finger each other for the next hour.>>>
Yep. It's love.
To be continued.....
-
WOLF'S CLOTHING
Now, the "normal" course of action for me to take at this point would have been for me to retire from work, move to Vermont, and pursue a future with Lesley. She was my intellectual equal, I was ridiculously attracted to her, we enjoyed fighting for each other's viewing enjoyment, and hell we had found a fight club "in" in Northampton.i was 29 years older than Lesley, but heck the new President of France has a partner that much older than him. It could work.
But I'm a wolf, and I got greedy. I wanted to see a Lesley-Heather bitch war. And I wanted a final crack at Vanessa.
So I got sloppy. I dropped off Lesley at Middlebury, and went back to work to secure funding for a personal assistant the next spring. This was a prerequisite for the 2 coeds having a job to fight for.
And I got busy reaching out to Vanessa for Christmas party arrangements for the first Saturday night of December. I told her that after the party, she and I would have our 3rd showdown. And I had prepared an undercard--Heather vs Lesley.
Vanessa enthusiastically embraced my plan.
And I did as well.
I started calling Heather a lot. Then Lesley. Then Heather. Telling them what they were saying about each other. Getting them jealous.
What could go wrong?
A lot.
To be continued.....
-
FIGHT TIME
In hindsight, once I started hanging out with Lesley, I had surrendered control of subsequent events. The reason was social media. Lesley and Heather began stalking each other on Facebook and Instagram, and it was impossible to defer their fight to early December.
I actually should have known this would happen. The catfight website i had been visiting had a story on it called VOLLEYBALL MOM CATFIGHT. It was about a rich bitch suburban divorced mom named Michelle, whose daughter played volleyball, who wanted to fight a less-well-off mom with a daughter on the same travel volleyball team. It occurred to Michelle how easy it is to trigger a catfight on social media, so she posted a bitchy comment on the other mom's Instagram page. Sure enough, laater that week, the two mom's were fighting each other. And the 2 daughters were as well.
Once Heather found out that I had spent time with Lesley, Heather and Lesley posted on each other's Instagram pages. They then started texting each other. And finally were calling each other, and arranging to fight at the next possible opportunity. Which was the first weekend of November, not the first weekend of December.
Escalating the stakes of the fight was that neither had summer internships lined up for the subsequent summer. Both had turned down other offers, and not applied at all for others, because each was hoping to work for me.
So, their fight would have both a romantic and a financial angle. In other words, there was no way I wanted to miss this fucking fight.
And I knew Vanessa wouldn't want to miss it either.
So, I called her. Good news--college coed bitchfight going down.
Bad news--it's going down in 5 days. Can you make it.
Vanessa: "Oh, I'll be there. Where and when?"
Me: "Halfway between Bucknell and Middlebury. Albany, New York. 8pm Friday."
To be continued......
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TALE OF THE TAPE
Now, you might be wondering: Trudy, two whip-smart sexy college coeds are about to beat the shit out of each other for you. Why not just enjoy the show, and the aftermath, alone? Why involve your enemy Vanessa.
Well, there are two answers to that, one practical and one selfish.
The practical answer is that Heather and Lesley were going to school 300+ miles away from each other. And get this. Neither of them own cars. These Millenials take Uber everywhere and have no interest in owning cars. It's weird. When I was 17, getting wheels was the way you got to parties, to dates, to booty calls. It was how you got to the mall to see and be seen. To buy sexy makeup and clothes and shoes. To have a staredown with a bitch and maybe start shit with her. Now all the malls in the country are closing because these Millenial bitches sit in their rooms, order stuff of Amazon Prime, and start shit on each other's Facebook and Instagram pages.
I've become my grandmother, not understanding this generation.
But I digress. The point is that I had to drive at least one of the girls to the fight. So I needed Vanessa's help to drive the other.
But, there was a second reason for the decision I made. Even though I was extremely attracted to both Heather and Lesley, I knew that once I watched one of them lose a catfight, that attraction would go right down the toilet. I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing, and I need a partner who is a worthy sparring partner. So, I needed Vanessa to gracefully get the fight loser out of my face and, frankly, out of my life. And pawning off my sloppy seconds on Vanessa would give me one-up points on Vanessa. Let her play nurse to some broken wannabe, while the winner and I enjoy new heights of ecstasy.
Now, in hindsight, this plan was ill-conceived. Vanessa was like me, and would make her play for the winner, just like I would in her shoes. I should have known that. But, more on that later.
For now, I was fixated on the girlfight, in lovely office wear. I would pick up Heather, Vanessa would pick up Lesley, and we would meet in a rented off-season banquet room in Colonie, outside of Albany, New York.
Now, who would win the fight? I was dedicating a great deal of thought and contemplation to this question. Heather was a natural alpha. In everything she did, she needed to be the prettiest, the smartest, the best. Just by my opening the door and having a simultaneous affair with her and Lesley, Heather was "rising to the occassion" to outdo her rival. Almost businesslike about it. I liked that. But Lesley--well, she was the sleeping dog that you let lie. Because once you woke her, she would bury her teeth into your jugular and not let go. I could totally see her in that lacrosse camp fight she had one summer with another girl, just a face-saving sparring match to start, but a slugfest war by the time it was done. Lesley was awake now--and knew the stakes. The loser would miss an intern cycle the next summer, thus greatly increasing their student debt balance. And both knew it.
And, not to be conceited, but I do think I was beach's first serious girlfriend. There was feminine pride on the line.
In short, the perfect matchup. The irresistible force versus the immovable wall.
Let's fight, ladies.
To be continued.....
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Oh I cannot wait to get my nails and teeth in you Trudy. After Heather and Leslie find out who the Alpha cxnt is then I will show you I am Trudy, I am the Alpha cxnt between you and I.
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Vanessa, I am glad to hear that because I want to get my teeth and claws in you too. In fact maybe before we have it we should discuss what we both want. I don't want a knock down punch out fist fight with you, I want it to be hair pulling, claws, and teeth. And we can't settle this in an hour. In fact I think we should check into a hotel suite and take as much time as we need. Overnight? The next day? I'm up for it if you are. Any ideas?
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Why not make it at the secluded cabin and all weekend so I can totally make you my slave. And teeth and claws and everything else we can come up with is how I want you Trudy
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ROAD-TRIPPING WITH HEATHER
On Saturday morning, I pick up Heather at her off-campus apartment near the Bucknell campus. Her roommates are still sleeping. I wonder to myself if Heather has told them where she's going and what she's doing. Surely by tonight they'll know, when they see her bruised and scratched body. Or worse, if she loses to Lesley. But, I don't push the issue.
Instead, we kiss on the lips. I miss the taste of Heather's mouth, since i started hanging out with Lesley. Heather is a better kisser than Lesley, and her mouth always tastes fresh and minty. I tell her that. She rewards me with another kiss. Longer and deeper. I want go further, but we need to hit the road.
I wonder if Vanessa is kissing Lesley right now.
Heather finishes putting on the business suit Lesley and I bought her at the shop in Northampton. It's dark brown, like her hair. In hindsight, something with a tad more contrast with hair would have been sexier, but otherwise this will do. Hell, the suit will be shredded anyways by this afternoon. She carries a hoodie to wear for the ride home. The hood must be to cover her face. Smart. She's obviously road tripped to a catfight before. Sexy.
We get in the car and enter the address in the GPS. Once We're on the highway, I tell her how I'm amazed women her age don't go to malls anymore, telling her how central the were to girl drama when Vanessa and I were in our early 20s.
Heather: Tell me about a time you started shit with a girl at a mall, Trudy.
Me: Let me think, let me think. Ok, here's one. So, I'm 18, and a senior in high school. I'm class of 1983, but I'm not partying with the boys and girls in my class. I'm partying with the boys and girls in the class of 1981, 2 years older than me and already going to community college or commuting to regular college or "taking time off to make money before attending college"--you see, that was another difference between your generation and mine. We'd think twice before taking out a student loan.
Heather: Even though college cost $50 per semester?
Me: Little bit more than that, but you've got the right idea. Maybe $800 per semester for state school--and that was everything if you commuted--tuition, commuter meal plan, books....
Heather: And people took time off for that instead of just borrowing?
Me: Well, in all candidness, girls who <<<air quotes>>>> "took time off" sometimes never did end up going back. Or they would, but wouldn't finish, because credits wouldn't transfer, yada, yada.
<<<<<<I get nostalgic for 1983.>>>>>
Anyways, back to fighting. Or starting shit, which can be just as fun. So, anyways, the girls from the class of 1981 are none too pleased that I'm hanging with them. An 18 year old still in high school is more alluring to the boys than a used up 20 year old in the process of slowly becoming a college drop out. But we don't have Instagram and Facebook, so how do I show or tell them that I'm not going anywhere.
So one of the boys goes by Nuge. I think it was a piece of his last night, I don't even remember, isn't that weird? Anyways, he was class of 1981, and had been center fielder on the state tournament baseball team. That team was legendary--they were losing 7-2 in the last inning of the state tournament and came back and won, 8-7. Nuge had one of the big hits in the rally.
So Nuge and the girl, Laura, who didn't like me hanging out with them and partying with the 81ers, used to walk around the Lincoln Mall on Saturdays holding Nuge's hand and holding bags of clothes he would buy her.
Well, the next Sunday, I call up Nuge and ask him if He'll take me to the Lincoln Mall. And he and I walk around for 4 hours. And he buys me a couple bags of stuff.
Heather: Did you have to "give it up" for that?
Me: Not bad, just a hand job in the car.
Heather: Because Laura was a skank and was too disgusting to share cock with?
Me: See, now, you're holding out on me--you know more about 1980s bitchfighting than you're letting on.
Heather: Well, actually, I would have never guessed the hand holding in the mall part. But now that you describe it, I get it. Kinda neat. Less to-the-point than a bitchy Instagram post, but just as effective. If Laura's friends so you and him. Did they?
Me: They did.
Heather: And did they tell her?
Me: They did.
Heather: And who won the fight between you and her?
Me: You seriously need to ask that?
Heather: Correction. How bad did you hurt her in the fight you and her had?
Me: Mmmmm. Scratches. Bites.
Heather: Bites?????
Me: Hell ya. You're not gonna hesitate to bite today, are you?? Because if you are, i might as well call work right now and tell them to put the name Lesley on the office.
Heather: There's an office??
Me: Sure is.
<<<<<We drive in silence for 10 minutes.>>>>
Heather: Did Lesley bite in the fights she told you about?
Me: In one of them, at least. At a lacrosse camp.
Heather: Did Laura stop hanging out with Nuge after you fought her?
Me: Never saw her again.
Heather: I never wanna see Lesley again after today.
<<<<<<More silence.>>>>>>
Heather: So I know what i need to do. Thanks.
To be continued......
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INTERLUDE--A FALL CAR TRIP IN UPSTATE NEW YORK
As Heather and I go over the Delaware River, which is the border between Pennsylvania and New York, on what is proving to be a gorgeous October Saturday, my body takes in a plethora of erotic sensations.
Heather has started combing her beautiful, thick, lustrous brown hair. I wonder how much of it she will lose in the catfight which is about to happen. She puts eye shadow and lipstick on her face in an intentionally ironic excessive manner, trying to look like a hooker, even though she is not one. I tell her I love the lipstick. She smells wonderful. I'm jealous of Lesley, getting to smell her up close when she's done up like this.
But erotic sensations are not the only ones I feel.
I feel fear. Heather and Lesley both have families, including parents. What if the parents someday find out that I've instigated a fight between Heather and Lesley? What will they do to me? Legally or otherwise?
I fear the future. How much longer will I be desirable enough for two college coeds not just to want me, but to fight for me? The catfight website i got involved reading had a story Regina vs Sue. Regina was my age and bi--check and check, so far just like me. But she talked about being in polyamorous relationships, where, without jealousy, you share partners. Or, even worse, your partner takes other partners. And you shut up and allow it. No, honey, that's not me. If you're with my partner, sweetie, you and me have a beef. We're coming to blows. Always been that way, whether the 3some is fff or fmf. I do NOT share partners. And guess what else? Two of you want me? Fine. But at the end of the day, one of you is leaving. Either you sort that thru civilly, or you fight for it. And I get to watch. Again, that's me. Always been that way, always will. Wolf in wolf's clothing.
Except.
Except, for how much longer will the two combatants be fit, smart, sexy, gorgeous college girls. Not when I'm 60, right? I mean, even if i still have my looks and smarts at that age, won't just saying "I'm Trudy, and I'm 60" be a mood killer? I fear the loss of having that power.
I feel guilt. I won't desire the loser of today's fight. Will that hurt her feelings.
Will my employer find out the "job interview" I've set up? (And am i fearful about it, or guilty?)
I look down at the Delaware River. I took a rafting trip down if one June in 1989. 4 girls and 6 boys. Not enough boys to go around. A blonde girl Jamie and I competed for one of the boys. I wanted to fight her so bad for him. But there was no opportunity.
Heather and Lesley have that opportunity now. They're the age now that I was that 1989 afternoon.
I try and block out the fear.
I try to live for this moment.
This wonderful, erotic moment.
To be continued....
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STAREDOWN
Heather and i arrive at the banquet facility, and enter the carpeted dining room. I tell her I want to kiss her minty mouth one last time before it gets messed up in her fight with Lesley. We tongue kiss for 10 seconds. 20 seconds. 30 seconds. Big mistake. I want to call off the fight, or defer it for at least a 2 hour lovemaking session with Heather, I'm so aroused.
But our kiss is interrupted by the arrival of Vanessa and Lesley. Laughing loud and obnoxiously, as if drunk or high or stoned or all three. Arm in arm, sides rubbing together.
"Hey, bitches," they set in unison.
"Strange way to show up for a job interview, slut," purrs Heather. "Kissing your boss's enemy."
"After 5 minutes with you, I'll be the only healthy candidate, cxnt," hisses Lesley.
"I like these two, sweetie," Vanessa tells me. "But especially Lesley. Especially." Vanessa and Lesley full on tongue kiss for a minute.
Between kissing Heather, seeing how much Heather and Lesley hate each other, and seeing Vanessa for the first time in months, my crotch is quaking and in need of attention. I fake a cool demeanor, but I'm past ready for the fight to begin. Way past.
I lock the door with all 4 of us in the room. I motion Vanessa to take a chair in one corner, and I take a seat in the opposite one. There is plenty of room in the middle, where Heather and Lesley now approach.
"Winner gets a thousand a week working for me January to August. Loser--don't let the door hit your ads on the way out. No rules. Go."
The girls are in each other's hair on the the floor in a ball in ten seconds. Heather is already biting Lesley's wrist.
And I already cum.
"Bite her back, Lesley!!!!" shouts Vanessa.
Lesley doesn't hesitate, biting Heather exposed midriff.
To be continued....
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VICIOUS CIRCLE, PUN INTENDED
As their fight progress, Heather and Lesley are getting more and more angry. Which is causing them to bite harder and more brutally on each other's arms, shoulders, fingers, legs, and bellies. Which is making them angrier. Which is causing them to.....
Well, you get the idea. A vicious circle. Figuratively. And literally.
I take in the sublime visual of the biting, clawing fight happening on the ground in front of me. With Vanessa masturbating to it.
Have you ever had the light bulb go off in your head? That feeling that you can now perceive something that's been in front of you all along?
I get that feeling. It occurs to me--Heather will do to Lesley whatever I tell her to do. Lesley will retaliate back however Vanessa instructs her to do.
I tell Heather to tear Lesley's top off. Including the bra.
I barely get the words out between orgasms. But I manage to do it. Heather hears me. And complies.
Vanessa shouts as Lesley to do the same. "Get her tits out!". Real classy, Vanessa. Classy as always.
I yell at Heather to twist Lesley's chest. Hold on an twist, like an owl twists his head. 360 degrees. All the way around. Heather twists and turns as hard as she can. Not quite a full 360. Maybe 270, though. Impressive.
Vanessa tells Lesley to retaliate by biting Heather chest. Lesley doesn't hesitate.
One advantage of biting I hadn't noticed till now--your opponent can't hear you scream. So she doesn't know the agony you're in.
Heather is screaming. Lesley is not--her mouth is full.
I tell Heather to pull Lesley face down by pulling her hair. There--see her back? Bite it!!
Heather and Lesley rise to their knees, completely topless, hands and mouths locked onto their opponent.
I tell Heather to knee Lesley in the crotch. Lesley's cry of pain causes her to release her grip with her mouth. She retaliates, encouraged by Vanessa, striking a direct hit on Heather.
Heather and Lesley clinch by mutual fistfulls of hair. Both need a break, a pause, but ate afraid to show it. They clinch on the floor. I need a break as well, but for a different reason. I need to release in the worst way. I rub myself hard, and come explosively in waves of orgasm. But I don't feel release. Just more arousal.
I encourage Heather to dig deep and resume fighting. I yell that she hadn't bitten Lesley's tits yet. Heather does as I instruct her to. And Lesley returns the favor, now biting into Heather's previously untouched back.
Both women bite, pausing only to take breaths, hands steadily ripping out brunette hair onto the carpet. Both skirts are sliding off, with only panties remaining.
The sight of pubic hair renews my waves of orgasms.
Vanessa is moaning and writhing in her chair.
Why is this not bringing me release?
Because I need a winner. It's not about the fight. It's about one winner, one loser. I being to instruct both girls, not just Heather.
"Someone get on top," I plead. "Get on top. Finish her."
Both girls change tactics, using their arms to headlock the other, trying to mount the other.
"Bite her, dammit, Lesley. Bite!" Vanessa and I are competing to influence the fighters.
I flash back to the Delaware River. 1989. Jamie and i competing for the attention of a boy.
"Don't listen, Lesley. Get her under you."
Did I just say that? Why am I telling Lesley what to do now. Did Heather hear me?
"Don't talk to her, Trudy," Vanessa snarls at me.
We both stand.
"She's not YOURS, asshole," I hear myself tell her.
The release I need. Her.
Vanessa and I grab full fists of each other hair and fall to the floor.
Our mouths find each other. I feel out bodies tense in unison. We tear our skirts off and lock onto each other, both slick and soaked. Waves of simultaneous orgasm was over us.
Heather and Lesley watch us.
The room gets quiet.
To be continued.....
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"THE FUCK?!?!?"
Heather stares at me. She's angry again. But not at Lesley. Now She's angry at Vanessa and me. Or certainly at me.
"The fuck?!?!? Lesley and I bite the shit out of each other, while you two sluts have ssssexxxxx?!?!?"
Lesley joins in, too.
"Trudy, you dumb slut. My family can sue your ass, then buy and sell it, too. How about you and Vanessa bite, while Heather and I, ummmm, relax?".
The fear I felt in the car kicks in. At least Lesley and Heather aren't threatening to go to my employer. But Heather and Lesley's parents will be smart enough to do that.
The girls have me by the balls.
Vanessa is a different story. But the dumb bitch is swooning over Lesley. She must not get college pussy very often.
They want Vanessa and I to fight. For their entertainment.
This weekend is not going how I planned.
To be continued.....
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THE PUPPETMASTER BECOMES THE PUPPET
In the space of a couple minutes, I went from having three women doing my bidding to have three women trying to destroy me.
Heather and Lesley assumed the chairs which, for most of the morning, had been occupied by Vanessa and me. Whilst Vanessa, still aroused from the biting catfight which was now suspended, was listening to the encouragement, taunts, and shouts of the 2 coeds, and was pulling my hair and barrell rolling me onto the carpet.
Desperate not to lose a catfight in the presence of the two high potential young fighters to whom I was becoming increasingly attached, I amped up my hostility, and began fully engaging in what was my third catfight in less than a year with Vicious Vanessa.
All the familiar sensations of fighting with Vanessa returned to me slowly but steadily. The smell of Vanessa's sweat--part workout, part sex marathon. The parts of her body which would produce sweat--her armpits, her underboob, her back, between her legs and buttocks. The smell of Vanessa's thick dark hair, the oils which would permeate when she exerted herself. The way Vanessa's muscles would tense, then shutter, then release when she was aroused. The way or breasts would always find each other in a clinch, hardening against each other like diamonds. The way our legs would wrap around each other, Vanessa's strong like 2 pythons. Her thick pussy hair, grinding into mine like sandpaper. Her clit poking into mine like a railroad spike. Our mouths lining up with our ears to hiss curses.
And, now, a new sensation. Vanessa biting me, and not love nips. The were full on bites. To my ears. Now my shoulders. Now my back. My ears tearing up to the searing pain, like when your in the kitchen dicing vegetables and first realize you've cut deep into your thumb tip. I pull Vanessa's hair, desperately trying to get her mouth away from my body. But she pulls my close with her hands, and continues to sink my teeth into any exposed flesh she can find.
"Get her, Vanessa!!!", screeches Lesley.
"Bite her, Trudy!!!!!", shouts Heather.
As Vanessa slides down my body, we get into what fighters call the north-south position, and what lovers call the 69 position. With muscular thighs now tensing, coated with sweat, we simultaneously bite, not letting go. I feel satisfaction at retaliating for what has until now been minutes of one-sided torture.
But now another sensation awakens my senses. The familiar smell of Vanessa's cum. She enjoying either the anything-goes attacks on me, my response, or both. I get scared. If Vanessa finds this torturous pain to be sexually arousing, then I have a long, punishing fight ahead of me. Vanessa's familiar shuttering begins. We lock our legs around each other's heads, and begging rocking rhythmically. Vanessa is ahead of me in arousal, but I'm gradually catching up. I lock eyes with Heather, as she rubs herself on the chair. Vanessa releases her mouth from my thigh as she begins screaming in rolling waves of orgasms. I try to cum, grinding my clit in Vanessa's thick hair, but experience only frustration, unable to get over the top. Heather can see the desperation on my face. With my eyes, I motion her over to Lesley. Only the visual of Heather fighting Lesley will bring me relief. Heather understands, gets up from her chair, and begins slapping Lesley in the face. The two girls catchall as they resume fighting. My arousal heightens to unprecedented levels, to wedding night levels, past confronting your worst enemy highs, beyond the first affair bliss. My sexual/catfighting life passes before my eyes. First oral sex. First fucking-a-stranger. First fight-with-a-bully. First topless catfight. First naked catfight. First breast-kneading. First pussy clawing.
I cum, but not in a normal climax. This one is like a volcano eruption. Ash emitted miles high in a never ending plume, blotting out the sun. Magma rolling down the sides, flowing for miles, burning everything in its path until it reaches the sea. Ash cooling and covering the earth over 500 miles a way. The atmosphere covered with so much ash that the party's temperature will be 2 degrees cooler for the next 6 months. Tambura, 1815. Krakatoa, 1883. Liquids and heat ooze unrestrained from my pussy, soaking Vanessa's hair. I grind my clit in her face, seeking relief from the uncontrollable waves of pleasure.
I pass out.
To be continued......
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INTERLUDE--MY FIRST DIRTY CATFIGHT
As I lie on the ground passed out, my mind wanders in a dream state. I flash back to 2003, when I was 38 years old. I had just exited a chaotic relationship with more drama than i normally tolerate or allow to develop. Summer was turning into fall, and my Seasonal Affective Disorder was giving me the blues.
Against my better judgment, I went to a neighborhood Halloween party. Out of defiance, I refused to wear a costume. I wasn't the only costume-free rebel at the party, but definitely one of the few.
I was there to get laid by a dumpy divorced guy at the party. Men are boring and predictable sexually, but that's what I needed that night. A man, inside of me, no drama.
But the man I wanted that night was talking to a married neighbor named Denise wearing a French Maid costume. I gave her attitude with my eyes and snippy words, and she gave it right back. It was on.
There were chips with guacamole at the party. I told Denise the dip appeared to be running low, that I had avacadoes in my fridge, would she come back to my place to help me cut them. Without hesitation, she said yes.
The walk back to my place was taut and tense. I half expected us to start fighting in the middle of the street.
We got back to my place and shut the door. My hands were under her French Maid outfit and on her breasts in three seconds, tops. She reciprocated, reaching under my shirt and locking onto my boobs and twisting.
And that was it. We continued to twist and knead and shout and moan and cry. Twisting and kneading, now digging in with nails, standing nose to nose with each other. So close we could smell each other's breath.
After 4 minutes Denise gave. I got the man. He was so drunk, he either didn't notice my clawed boobs or didn't care.
The sex was pedestrian. But the excitement of the fight was exquisite.
I wake up to the sight of Heather standing over me.
To be continued.....
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LOSERS
I'm horrified at what Heaather tells me has been occurring while I was passed out. Vanessa and Lesley have been celebrating Vanessa's "victory" over me by ravaging each other while hissing insults at Heather. Worse, Heather is ok with this, waiting to comfort me and, apparently, be taken home by me.
Ok, first Heather, your fight with Lesley still hasn't been decided. Even worse than being beaten is conceding defeat before being defeated.
Ok, so, second, Vanessa did NOT knock me out. I passed out from the sight of watching you and Lesley fight. Nothing to brag about, I admit. But that bitch did NOT beat me tonight. At least, not yet.
And, third, if you did lose to Lesley, you are not working for me. You are not living with me. You are not getting a ride from me. Don't even ask.
And fourth, if I need to explain any of this to you, you don't know me, and you never did. I want to be with winners. Winners like Lesley.
I should have known when I bonded with Lesley over history. And the Korean language. That magnificent word. SSAUDA. A physical fight between two women. So specific.
Lesley is the girl for me. Heather, you get a damn ride back to Bucknell from Vanessa. Back to your damn finishing school. Go marry some man and have him lay on top of you every night for three-and-a-half minutes. Five if you're lucky and he can't finish because he's buzzed and full of crappy chicken enchilladas you made for dinner and didn't let cool before serving.
That's your sucky destiny, Heather. Not mine. And not Lesley's.
I want Lesley back from Vanessa.
"Hey, bitch," I call out to Vanessa. "Give her back."
"Come and get her," invites Vanessa.
We close, hands again finding each other's hair, our genitals locking up tightly.
The sound of Vanessa moaning returns me to my state of arousal. I feel her body tense. We are Cummings together, but this time fighting as well.
SSAUDAing.
To be continued.....
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CHANGE OF TONE
I remember one of the first times I was interviewed for a job, early in my career. The hiring supervisor asked me if I was supposed to be trying to impress her, or if she was trying to impress me.
Well, today is working the same way. It started with Heather and Lesley trying to impress me. But with my public declaration to Vanessa to give Lesley to me, the vibe in the room has changed. Lesley now knows that both Vanessa and I desire her. It's unlikely she's going to be putting her body at further risk against Heather, especially given the biting and twisting tactics to which their battle had escalated. The lovely visual of two catballed brunette coeds, which caused me to pass out, will likely not be repeated today. Instead, Vanessa and I must face up to the likelihood that one or both of us is about to be very badly hurt. We both want Lesley, and don't want to share her.
Lesley is now reposing comfortably on a chair, both hands rubbing her crotch, as she watches Vanessa and I on the floor, hissing claims to Lesley's affections.
"I found her. She's mine."
"She enjoys fucking me more than you."
"She my intellectual equal, dumb bitch."
"I make her cum harder."
"I can pay her more than you can."
"You just want her to be your whore--she deserves better."
"Don't you dare corrupt her."
Vanessa and I somehow manage to spew these words between moans of agony as we torture each other's swollen chests and crotches. We are aroused with desire at the temptation of "owning" Lesley if we can emerge triumphant over our rival. One of us will be driving Lesley home, and starting a relationship with a woman 28 years younger than us. The other will have a long, quiet care ride with the pathetic loser, Heather.
My eyes meet Lesley's as she masturbates. I imagine months of bliss as we watch each other doing that in bed for hours on end. I remember a vibrator she showed me in her dorm room. How natural she was at sliding it inside of herself. I could watch her do that for hours.
Vanessa and I continually mount each other, but the woman temporarily on top inevitably is punished with knees to her kidneys, causing her to fall to the side, thick sweat accelerating the slipping and sliding, and in turn get mounted. Being on top also invites painful slaps and pinches to the breasts.
I become conscious of the sweaty, cummy smells in the room, Vanessa sweating much more than I am. Did she sweat like this when Lesley and her made love this morning. Does that turn Lesley on or off. I long to explore Lesley's turnons.
To be continued....
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SODA BREAK
The catball Vanessa and I are in grinds to a halt, figuratively and literally. Our muscles begin to cramp, and our moaning is not in ecstasy but in agony. We are unable to wrest control of each other's bodies, as we have been fighting into Saturday evening and have not eaten or had a drink all afternoon. Lesley is bored by what has become an unentertaining performance, and has found a soda machine and gotten each of Vanessa and me a 16 oz. Coke.
I pour almost the entire bottle into my parched mouth and ravenously hungry stomach. Heather come over to me with napkins and tends to my many wounds. She seems to be under the impression that she and I are a couple. But her attempts are more annoying than comforting. I have no interest in her. Lesley has won the job interview, and now I am trying to "close the deal" with her.
I picture my future with Lesley. Yes, 2 or 3 years of her at my beck and call at my accounting firm. But then I think back to the clothing store in Northampton, MA, with the clothes appropriate to any catfight occasion. With a model/sparring partner who will let the customer test what it's like to wrestle/catfight in the clothes she's buying. Lesley would be perfect for that job. I picture her and I opening a store like that in an LGBT community, but much bigger than Northampton. And not in a college town, but in a town with more spending money. Somewhere like Florida. I picture women coming in to the store. "I might be having a catfight with my partner's ex. She's coming to town for a week and I question her intentions." or "Some bitch just broke my little sister's heart. I'm going to confront her and give her a good ass-kicking." or "An old girlfriend I though I was helping out is late on her rent. I'm going over to collect, and it could get ugly." or "This bitch who works with my partner won't stop texting him. I'm going to confront her." or "Some girl and me got broken up in the bathroom by bouncers at a club last Friday. I'm going to the same club tonight, and I want to be prepared in case she's there."
So many sexy scenarios. We discuss what clothes would be appropriate. The customers don't believe me that they'll be able to fight in the clothes I recommend. I snap my fingers, and out comes Lesley, dressed as the opponent they're expecting to fight. Lesley and the customer roll around on the floor until the customer is satisfied. And until I am.
I look across the room. Lesley is tending to Vanessa, but also eyeing me. She is impressed by the fight I am giving Vanessa. I could have Heather all to myself right now, but I am making a play for the A candidate, not settling for the B.
Lesley is appreciating the competition for her attention.
Lesley calls on her cellphone for pizzas to be delivered to the banquet hall. "I'll pay," she offers. "But the loser pays when you two bitches finally finish."
Wouldn't have it any other way......
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COED FIGHT!!!!!!
As we eat our pizza and drink our soda, Vanessa and Lesley lay of each other's bodies, exchanging tongue kisses. Heather lingers near me, apparently expecting the same for me. But her presence has become annoying to me, her body not attractive, her smells a turnoff, her conversation uninteresting.
Heather and I are over, no matter what happens the rest of tonight.
But rather than tell her that (I may need her help if Vanessa or Lesley get crazy with me), given that I've been fighting like a lioness for her amusement, I decide she can do the same for me.
There's gonna be a girlfight. A Bucknell vs Middlebury coed fight.
I start needling Heather. I ask her why only Lesley showed leadership and ordered food. And then, i sink the knife in.
"So, Heather, how is it that the pizza delivery guy didn't even suspect Lesley had been in a fight this afternoon? You didn't even scratch her."
Heather walks over to Lesley and says, "Stand up, bitch. I'm not finished with you."
Lesley smirks and rolls her eyes. Damn, I love that girl.
She stands up deliberately, and she and Heather exchange ritualistic face slaps.
Lesley gives Heather a "we gonna do this?" shrug.
After a tense pause, it's on.
Coed fight!!
Heather and Lesley are on the ground in a catball, nails and teeth visible everywhere.
Vanessa and I notice each other enjoying the event.
Or are we enjoying each other enjoying the event?
Lesley gets the upper hand.
I feel zero guilt.
To be continued.....
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INTERLUDE--DARLENE VS DIANE AS COEDS
As Lesley and Heather battle on the floor, fighting like Millenial girls fight these days, I recognize that Vanessa and I have made a mistake in forcing them to bite and scratch like Vanessa and I do when we fight. Lesley and Heather's fight has near constant clutching of each other's long brown hair, interspersed with upper cuts to each other's faces, kicks to each other's shins, and knees to each other's midsection.
But the hairpulling. Goodness. Vanessa and I pull hair to steady ourselves. Maybe to get our opponent to face forward to us if we're standing, or to get her back to us if we're on the ground. These younger girls, wow--They get handfuls of hair, and they're actually trying to twist your entire head around. Or to shove your face down so you can't see the next round of incoming punches. You know what it's like? It's like a hockey fight, except the grab the hair instead of the "fight strap" hockey players have on their jerseys.
And these 2 girls are darn good at it. And Lesley is a tad better. She's putting a beating on Heather, but not so much that Heather can honorably give just yet. So the beating slowly continues.
In other words, my idea of heaven.
Between cum's, i think back to how my generation fought when we were college age. Way less hairpulling. Or if we did pull hair, not in the same way this generation does.
I think back to the Diane vs Darlene story on the website i found. Diane was reflecting on her college years at Bridgewater State in Massachusetts in 1983 to 1987, which is when I was in college. She remembers late night talks in the dorms with her classmates, with girls being away at school for the first time in their lives, 50 to 100 miles from home in the days before cell phones or email. Knowing that back home, their home town boyfriend was being pursued and tempted by a rival girl. Knowing that when long weekends came, they would be going to house parties back in their home town, both girls knowing through body language that clandestine hookups had been occurring while the coed was away at school. Which was fine with the coed, as long as the hometown knew her place, knew to "step down" now that the coed was back home.
But what if the hometown girl didn't want to "step down"? What if her vibe to the coed, "Things have changed since you were away. He's mine now. Deal with it." The coed would have already anticipated this scenario, would have already decided if she should move on from her hometown days, or have it out with the hometown girl. Diane got excited listening to her classmates, their situations, their decisions. And the outcomes when the long weekends were over and everyone was back at school. Or perhaps didn't return to school--because taking care of business on the home front, defending a first true love and potential future husband from the hometown slut, was more important than a Bachelors in General Studies from Bridgewater State.
In the story on the website, Diane would think about her own situation. Herself away at Bridgewater State, her neighborhood social rival Darlene away at Salem State. Darlene's mother recognizing Diane as "competition for" Darlene, putting ideas in Darlene's head about a cul de sac catfight between the two. Both knowing they would be back home on Columbus Day weekend. Both knowing the hometown high school football game, where all the recent high school grads re-gathered to see and be seen, ended around 10. Knowing there were reunion-style house parties scheduled for the next 2 nights. So that there was a 10:30pm-to-midnight Friday night window where Diane was alone with the light on in her bedroom, Darlene alone with the light on in hers. Darlene's mom has suggestively left the spotlight on, lighting up the grass field between the two enemies' houses. Perfect place for a private catfight. Perfect time. Perfect setting. The two girls go out into the crisp fall New England Friday night and sit on their patios. I'm here. So am i. I'm ready. Me too. Ok, let's go.
That was college fighting when I was that age. When Vanessa was. Planning weeks in advance on where and when you would cross each other's paths.
I look at Lesley and Heather. It's totally different now, with the internet, with social media. "Just In Time" catfighting I call it. Someone disses you. Someone's with you man. You post her, or even more pointedly, post "about" her of Facebook, and the fight is on. Talk shit, get hit. No weeks and weeks of planning.
There's benefits to that. But something's been lost. The anticipation. The wondering if the fight will happen. The wondering if either girl will chicken out and back down.
And Lesley and Heather have another advantage. They can watch girtlfights on YouTube. Vanessa and i had to learn by fighting siblings. The occasional schoolyard firefight was so rare, the one which did occur became legendary. So, when we would fight, we had no idea what to expect out of each other. We're we supposed to punch like boys? Was hairpulling allowed?
Lesley and Heather are clearly mimicking YouTube fights they've seen. The twisting of hair. The leglocks on the ground.
I miss the 1980s.
I miss my youth.
To be continued......
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INTERLUDE--HIGH SCHOOL LEGENDARY GIRLFIGHT
As I continue to watch Lesley fight Heather, I reflect back on the rarity of 1980s girlfights. And how the rare few which did occur grew thru word of mouth into epic proportions.
In the Diane vs Darlene story which I found on the internet, Lisa vs Sandy. Two mature "bad girls" who were dating older boys with cars, a "girl swap" switch between the four of them gone bad, resulting in a planned catfight in front of 30 to 40 students from their class, mostly girls. And talked about for the next thirty years.
My high school had an epic girlfight in our lore. I've never forgotten it. Vicki vs Laura. They were 2 jock girls, one track and field, the other basketball and softball, who were 2 years ahead of me. As seniors, there was a seed of bad blood planted when Laura clotheslined Vicki, intentionally, at the Powder Puff Football game. But no fight happened until 2 years later. They were by then home from college one Thanksgiving Break, and patents were all out Black Friday Shopping. There was an impromptu house party at a jock house--not usually my crowd in high school, but I stumbled across the invite by chance. By luck. My lucky day. Because Laura and Vicki were both there. And neither of them had forgotten the Powder Puff Game. There wasn't much trash talk--they were both like, "Let's get this over with, let's fight." About 20 of us were there--i think they wanted to get it done before word spread and 150 people were there.
Shit, what an incredible fight they had. They both tore each other's tops off and were punching and grabbing tits. I kept needing to pinch myself to convince myself what my eyes were seeing. Vicki's punches, we could all tell by the cracking flesh-on-flesh sound, were causing more damage, so Laura turned her back first and walked away, effectively ending the fight. The boys were so horny by what they had just seen that they immediately began hitting on the girls at the party. I must have been horny too because I let one I didn't like pick me up and have his way with me. Then went home and masturbated for hours, even though I didn't do that much back then.
The whole rest of the high school envy, to this day, the 20 of us that were there. Laura never showed her face in town ever again, obviously; but neither did Vicki, apparently ashamed at having her top taken off. This only added to the legend of the fight.
Lesley finishes off Heather, Heather crying buckets of tears.
Pathetic.
Vanessa and I are up now.
To be continued......
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INTERLUDE--MY FIRST NAKED FIGHT
After the Vicki vs Laura topless bare knuckles fight, word got around that Vicki was a ringer--She had a basement full of boxing gloves, punching bags, etc. She had tricked Laura into the type of fight she had been training for for years, and Laura had been dumb enough to fall for it. If anything, she was lucky they weren't punching each other in the face.
Partially as a result of hearing that, I've shied away from fistfighting since then. I've always preferred to catfight.
Not that I immediately went on a binge of catfights. Just the opposite. I got married young, and entered what I call the "Betty Crocker" phase of my life--Taking meat out of the freezer at 8am to defrost, putting it in the oven at 3, dinner on the table for my groom at 5:30 sharp, making love to Johnny Carson at 11.
We met another couple. The wife's name was Deanna. Curly frosted hair just begging to be pulled. After watching an episode of Knight Rider where Bonnie posed as a prisoner and got into a courtyard catfight, my husband confessed he fantasized about Deanna and i doing that. I thought he had a crush on her, and wanted to prevent her getting any ideas of flirting with him.
So, one liquor-fueled evening, the inevitable happened. Deanna and i, with our husbands watching, started some friendly hairpulling, which didn't stay friendly for long. I remembered how humiliated Laura and Vicki had been at losing their tops, so i made sure Deanna lost hers. The fight ran its course after our husbands came, but i was hooked.
I remember that night as I approach Vanessa.
To be continued....
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Vanessa dear, you are about to get yours
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Trudy hon, fucking bring it!
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FINALLY
Vanessa has been watching Lesley and I bond during Lesley's beat down of Heather, and senses she's losing Lesley's affections to me. She also, like me, has no interest in going home with Hapless Heather. I feel her anger as we lock up. Vanessa takes a page out of the Millenial catfight toolbox, and uses my hair to whip me down to the ground. My butt lands squarely on my tailbone, and I suddenly understand how elderly women are always one fall away from a broken pelvis. Vanessa then pounces, putting me flat on my back, grabs a double fistful of my chest, and kneads away with her signature motion that I've come to dread in my fights with her.
To be honest, Vanessa had me at her mercy here, as I did not have the strength or positioning to either buck her off of me, nor to wrap my legs around to kick her off. For a solid 2 minutes, I was convinced I was a goner. But I had become attuned to the tension which fills Vanessa's body when she's aroused, and the nearing of her final victory over me was doing the trick. I could sense her getting more and more turned on at the humiliation she was inflicting on me with the object of our rivalry bearing witness.
I opened my legs to offer Vanessa satisfaction to her engorged crotch. She resisted at first, knowing that sliding up tight to me would jeopardize the unbreakable pin she had me in. But I added verbal temptation to the mix. "Trib me, baby. Do me, Vanessa. I want it so bad. Give it to me, " I pleaded. Vanessa was clearly weighing in her mind if my lust was genuine, or a trap.
"I need you body baby. Let's mix our cum," I purred, feeling Vanessa's arousal course every fiber of her body.
"Find my clit with yours. I'm begging you, Vanessa. Don't make me beg you with Lesley watching. Vanessa, this is so fucking humiliating, to need you this bad."
More thinking by Vanessa.
"Vanessa, this is so fucking degrading. How can you do this to me? How can you humiliate me so bad?"
Vanessa's wet pussy makes contact with mine.
"Vanessa, Don't stop. I'm begging you, Vanessa."
Vanessa screams in orgasm. I aim my right knee direct at her kidney.
TTHHHUUUUDDD. I feel my right knee sink deep into Vanessa's lower back. Her body is stiff as concrete, and her entire upper body slams into mine, our foreheads cracking together.
For the second time today, I struggle to maintain consciousness. But this time is from pain overload, not pleasure overload.
I roll to the side to get her off of me, but Vanessa is instinctively struggling as well. We wrap our arms around each other's faces, each in mutual headlocks. I feel our crotches still locked together. Our legs struggle to get leglocks onto each other, which only tightens our rubbing. Neither of us know how badly dazed the other is, and don't want to loosen our grips to find out.
Our left arms have each other's faces firmly neutralized, so each of us has our right hand free to roam. We scratch and jag at any exposed flesh we can reach--faces, shoulders, chest, and inner thighs. Our scratching alternates between slashing, digging, and clawing.
We begin to taunt each other at how wet we are.
Her: "I made you beg for me, Trudy."
Me: "I was faking, you dumb slut."
Her: "You can fake quarts of cum, liar."
Me: "It's from enjoyment at hurting you, sweetie. What's yours from?"
Her: "You've never hurt me once in a single fight we've had dumbass, Don't you get it?"
Me: "Answer the question, cxnt. Why do you cum so much when we fight?"
Her: "Why do you care?"
Me: "ANSWER THE QUESTION, BITCH!!!"
We both cum simultaneously in waves. Wave after wave after wave after wave, breathing into each other's faces.
To be continued.....
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Trudy you cxnt when I finish making you cum and cum and cum for me you will be mine body and soul!!!!
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Vanessa you sweet Bitch. All I need to do is make you cum one more time than me and I will consider it a victory. I don't know that we can settle this for good in one night or even a weekend. You and I may need to rent a beach house for the summer
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"SHE HAS A POINT, VANESSA"
As Vanessa and I stand yelling at each other, Lesley steps forward. Lesley has put her clothes back on and fixed her hair, and the unpresentable, nude status of the other 3 women in the room (Vanessa, Heather, me) becomes suddenly apparent. All 3 of us have our hair a toussled wreck, our flesh soaked in sweat, our makeup a distant memory. Lesley stands alone, a youthful, statuesque marvel. And smelling spectacular. We stand around her, hanging on her every word.
"Trudy has a point, Vanessa. She can clearly make you cum at will. Like Niagara Falls. But I don't see you making her cum much. What's the deal?"
" I.....well....i...." stutters Vanessa, clearly stung.
I marvel at how Lesley has taken control of the situation. In fact, I melt.
I think back to when my first marriage was ending, and an office romance with a woman I worked with was budding. We were at an office picnic, and she said, "I'm glad you're here." "Well, ya, you knew I'd be he.....ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh." We left the picnic as soon as convention would permit and went to her apartment, tearing our clothes off.
Now Lesley has me in the palm of her hand like that woman did when I was young, a quarter century ago.
That's the only explanation I have for what happened next.
With Vanessa, Heather, and I all tongue-tied--granted, for very, very different reasons--Lesley fills the void. "Vanessa, make Trudy cum."
My mind hears, "Siri, make Trudy cum," or "Alexa, make Trudy cum," humor distracting me from the fact that my posted hated enemy and I are about to hook up. With the object of our affection watching us, to see who enjoys it more.
I'm of two minds as to my approach. If I go limp noodle, I won't get aroused at all, but it won't arouse Vanessa, either. If, on the other hand, I strut my stuff, bring my A-game, I'll no doubt send Vanessa over the edge in ecstasy. But I might join her there. And That's not a place I ever want to be with anyone except Lesley. Especially with Lesley watching.
Before I've even settled into a strategy, Vanessa approaches me, arms open, tongue unsteathed, seeking my mouth.
We kiss. Ok, That's an unstatement. We inhale each other. Pulling hair, but not catfight style. We're not tearing it out, We're feeling each other up.
I remember the first fight Vanessa and I had, almost a full year ago now. Her teeth were inside my mouth. Later that night, I felt scratches on my gums. How did she do that, I wondered at the time. She's doing it again, and I still can't figure out how, still can't make the geometry work.
We go to our knees, gently, not in a fighting pose, and then to the floor. I mount Vanessa, our mouths not losing contact, a our hands still hungrily caressing each other's hair and scalps. I begin sucking Vanessa's tongue like It's a cock.
Vanessa's body constricts in its familiar aroused tensing. But this time is different. She's letting go, letting me lead. SHE never has before.
My left hand reaches down and penetrates her, sliding in easily. Her moaning builds and builds, and I sense She's way beyond the point of no return. But I keep my mouth sealed on her, letting her lack of air intensify her arousal. Lesley's hand is inside her own pants, obviously enjoying the view, the sounds.
Vanessa explodes in screams.
And so does Lesley.
"NO, NO, NO, Vanessa!!!!" Lesley shouts, taking the air out of the moment, and startling all of us. Taken aback, Lesley continues, "Not you, Trudy, you're fine. It's YOU, Vanessa. I thought I told YOU to make Trudy cum. What don't you understand?????"
Vanessa, angered at having her pleasure interrupted, turns and walks to Heather. "Ok, you want to see Trudy cum, bitch??? You want to???"
Lesley: "I do."
Vanessa: " Well, watch this neat trick. Heather. Kick the living shit out of Lesley."
To be continued.....
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"KICK HER ASS"
There's a lot of unspoken lady-speak occurring in the room right now, some of which I'm able to decipher, and some not.
Two "frequencies" I tap into right away are with respect to the Vanessa-Lesley dynamic. The first is that Lesley is attempting to leverage her fully-clothed status over the three naked women in the room. I remember the Seinfeld episode where George had "hand" over Susan, and didn't was to relinquish it. Well, Lesley has "hand" over us right now, and Vanessa is trying to seize it back. Which brings up the second dynamic in the room. Lesley has just made Vanessa cum, after ordering Vanessa to make me cum. Vanessa failed, has lost face in front of Lesley, and is trying to get it back.
I pick all this up. But am unable to comprehend other dynamics.
Heather is surprisingly eager to kick Lesley's ass. I had thought Heather had "dropped out" of this competition hours ago, especially in the issue of being able to handle Lesley.
Lesley. Sweet, sweet Lesley. Out of no where, i flash back to one of our phone sex sessions. I remember her telling me the Korean language has three different words for rice--one for the growing plant, a second for the edible grain part, and a third for the prepared, cooked dish. Lesley, so smart. Lesley, so fuckable.
And yet, Lesley still has not managed to put Heather away. Still has not gotten Heather to cry uncle, to give, to beg for mercy.
Heather goes at Lesley with the signature Millennial hair pull, grab, yank, and throw. My clit, still engorged from my mount-hump-and-grind session with Vanessa, throbs and climaxes like a cock. I strain to keep my eyes open and focussed on the delightful view of the renewed coed fight.
Vanessa does not cum. Only a beat down by Heather on Lesley will get her there.
Heather and Lesley are grappling on the ground, tearing hair by the handful, each struggling to get on top, each succeeding just half the time. In less time than I expect, Lesley is nude again. Those perfect globes of breasts of hers, pointy, firm nipples jutting up at the ceiling, no matter what her fight position is, like a cat who always lands on its feet. I resist the urge to jump into the fight and suck on them. How, I do not know.
Vanessa urges Heather to tear into Lesley. Vanessa has already proved her point. I'm slow to cum while kissing, but cum uncontrollably while there's a girlfight in the room. If Lesley wins the fight in progress, Vanessa will attempt to use this against me with Lesley. If Lesley loses, Vanessa won't care--she'll want Heather.
And what if Heather and Lesley stalemate? They are curled up on the floor right now, neither with a clear advantage. If this was an after-school playground fight, Heather and Lesley are at the part of the fight where two alpha boys would come over and separate them. Is that what Vanessa and I should do?
I get down on my butt and face Vanessa. I want to scissor with her to the site of the stalemated college girls. Vanessa either wants the same, or reads my body language, because she sits facing me and opens her legs. Vanessa and I gingerly line up our crotches, and lock them together tight. We grab each other's legs, lock our eyes on the Heather-Lesley struggle, and rock and grind. Out clit penetrate each other as we roll on the floor.
The orgasms which roll through my body are transformational.
I lose track of time.
To be continued.....
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INTERLUDE--STALEMATED CATFIGHTS
At the end of my first marriage, my first husband and I fell into a neighborhood catfight swingers club--a set of about 7 or 8 couples whose wives would fight for the entertainment of the group. The arrangement failed to save our marriage, but succeeded in getting me interested in catfighting.
One night, a full-figured curly-haired housewife and a thinner, younger redhead were the evening's main event. Both had fought before, but never against each other. The contrast made for an intriguing matchup, and the crowd was not disappointed, as their catfight evolved into an all-out fistfight. Fistfights aren't really my preferred mode of feminine combat, but the outcome was. You see, for the first time ever that night, I saw two women battle to a genuine draw. Neither woman wanted to give, but neither could get the upper hand on the other.
To this day, I lose control whenever 2 women are locked in a genuine stalement. It unleashes something primal in me. I think the attraction is the what-if. What if these 2 women were alone somewhere. Alone in a house, alone in the woods, alone on an island. What if they couldn't end the fight by either winning or losing. How long would the fight last. Hours? Days? Weeks? How long could 2 women possibly continue in a single fight?
That night, with the crowd watching, both women, not wanting to destroy the camaraderie of the couple's group we had going, mutually said, "It's a tie," after about 10 minutes of stalemate. But I've always wondered since then--What are the endurance limits of 2 genuinely even female fighters?
Until tonight.
Heather and Lesley are on the floor in front of Vanessa and me. And they're locked in what appears to be an unbreakable stalemate. Neither can let go of the other without risking a humiliating and vicious beating. Vanessa's command to Heather is still echoing in all of our ears: "KICK the living shit out of Lesley." Both girls have seen enough of how Vanessa and I fight to know that if one of the coeds starts ground-and-pounding the other, neither Vanessa nor I will intervene to rescue the losing girl. We'll sit back and watch.
I finally am watching my lifetime fantasy--the perfect catfight draw. With no one to break it up.
Vanessa and I lean our faces onto each other, turning to face the struggling coed gladiators.
I want this night to last forever.
To be continued.....
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Such a great story!!!!
Two hot cougars making two young chicks fight for their pleasure!!!
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NEW RESPECT FOR HEATHER
As Vanessa and I gently carress each other's bruised bodies, I take in the intoxicating sight of Heather and Lesley's continuing struggle on the floor. Lesley is on top for now, but Heather is cleverly corkscrewing Lesley's body so that Lesley's back is on Heather's chest. By doing this, Lesley can no longer see which parts of Heather's body to target, and Heather is giving herself to slap a headlock onto Lesley's throat. If she completes and tightens the hold, she will be able to reduce Lesley's breathing, and win their war of attrition. Heather will then be free to execute Vanessa's request that she "KICK the living shit" out of Lesley.
Heather. Lovely Heather, who as recently a half hour ago i had written off. But was I too hasty. I compare Heather in 2017 to myself in 1987.
I dated and foolishly married a dud because "it was time". Heather was sent by her parents to a marriage mill, Bucknell, and avoided that fate. Advantage Heather.
I watched a few girlfights but never indulged in any myself. Heather learned by sharpening her elbows in high school and at college, and by watching YouTube fights. Advantage Heather.
I dicked around at junior college and stare schools, accumulating nontransferrable credits and student loans. Heather is a year and a half from a degree. Advantage Heather.
I bounced from job to job and clawed my way up to office manager, running the office while the partners reap the rewards. Heather is looking for internships that will put her on the express elevator to the executive suite. Advantage Heather.
I lost my sexual inhibitions at 40. Heather at 20. Advantage Heather.
I'm a wolf in wolf's clothing. Heather is a woman in woman's clothing. Push.
My mouth betrays me. "Put the choke on, Heather."
But Lesley hears me. I don't know if the gradual corkscrewing was in Heather's mind this whole time, but if it was, I just ruined 10 minutes of struggle. Lesley slides her body down, and while Heather's arms now have a hold on Lesley's face, they are unable to close the hold around Lesley's neck.
"Fuck," I mutter, too quietly for Heather to hear, but loud enough for Vanessa.
Vanessa calmly purrs at me, "Let them fight it out themselves, darlin'. Here, I know how to keep us quiet."
Vanessa's mouth locks onto mine, and we slowly kiss. I expect to be repulsed. But I'm not. I like it.
I let it happen.
I let the girls' fight happen.
I let the experience wash over me.
To be continued....
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WHAT DO YOU WANT THEM TO DO?
Vanessa and I continue to softly caress each other to the sight and sounds of Heather's and Lesley's grappling and moans.
We begin whispering to each other.
"I think Heather really likes you."
"I think Lesley likes you."
" I think Lesley is a bitch."
"In a good way?"
"Yes. But in a bad way, too."
"Want to see her taken down a notch?"
"Yes."
"Think Heather could do that?"
"Not sure. Still deciding."
"Because she's not tough? Or not tough enough to take Lesley?"
"I think she's tough. But Lesley might be tougher."
"But you're not sure."
"I'm not sure. Neither girl has shown a finishing move."
"Like breast pinching?"
"Yes."
"And what else?"
"Crotch scratching."
"And what else?"
"Biting."
The tenserness that happens to Vanessa when she's aroused returns. I am aroused as well.
"Let's make them bite."
"How?"
"Let's show them how real women do it."
Our conversation and caressing lulls.
"I hate you, bitch."
"Show me."
To be continued.....